Well, It has come and gone. This past weekend marked the MS150: Escape to the Lake in Western Pennsylvania. This year was slightly different in that there was a return loop trip - so one could feasibly ride from Zelienople to Meadville and back over the course of two days, OR ride from Meadville on to Conneaut, OH and the shores of Lake Erie. Having ridden to Lake Erie last year, and NOT relishing the thought of a three hour busride back to Zelienople, I elected the return trip - the Loop. Day one was 75.3 miles, Day 2 was 79.8 miles. The following is my account, for better or worse, of the points I can remember.
I managed to get into the first starting group on Day one, and it wasn't long before we managed to establish a rhythm, moving along relatively smoothly. The first 16 or so miles to the first rest stop - an area I've ridden a couple times in training - really didn't cause me any problems, other than a loose crank bolt - even after I'd tightened it. Stop at the base of the first real climb of the day, tighten the bolt again, and I was off. I found that the hill - previously climbed - was relatively ok. Drop the gear, get into a manageable cadence - it seemed to work pretty well. Indeed, I was passing a few people. of course, a couple passed me as well, but the fact that I was passing people made me feel pretty good. Not bad for 9 miles in, when it useually takes me about 5 miles to loosen up and get comfy.
Rest stop at 16 miles, have crank bolt tightened. Eat, drink, refuel. life was good. Second major climb at 17 miles - this would be a theme where if we stopped, there MUST be a hill coming up. - scooted up it with relatively no problems, other than reaffirming my general hatred of hills. Latched on with some teammates, and was hitting some good stride. The next stop was at the top of a small rise further down the road - about mile 34 - and I realized I was strong. Plenty left in the tank, legs felt comfy, was having good rhythm, good power - I was in that zone. I powered up the rise in the big ring, the sun shining behind me. On the ground ahead of me, I saw my shadow - and I was surprized. As my legs pounded up the rise, I saw them moving in shadow form. They looked good. They looked....well, they looked like the pro riders' legs look!!!! I know, this may make no sense to some of you, but for the Fat Kid, it was a nice moment of satisfaction.
Lunch was at mile 47 - and by 11AM, I was just about ready to get back on the road. We'd started about 7:30 AM, and I was still feeling pretty good. Mile 56.6 was where I'd been stalled a few weeks ago, so I forced myself to eat and drink more than I wanted to. The next climb, one that just about did me in last year, was next up. I cramped. It wasn't too bad, and after a couple of minutes, I started up the hill again, and proceeded to the top, where, although I was hurting, I once again found that I was passing a few riders...many of whom passed me whilst I was working out my cramp. Find the cadence, push the pedal around. Don't let up. At the top, I was strong again, and then we came to it: my favorite stretch of road.
Now, growing up near the mucklands of Central NY, the Fat Kid KNOWS how to ride the flats. The hills, not so much, but the flats?? Oh, I excel at them. When riding a 53 x13-23.....well, let's just say it doesn't take a lot to start pulling some speed. Those legs I was so proud of a little while ago? They are my engine (corny, I know) and the engine wanted to have some fun. The power was there, the rhythm was there. Shift up. Hands to drops. Slide forward in the saddle. Start the engine. I think I took that section of road around about 22 mph - with virtually no effort...just steady momentum, all the way into the Grove City area. When it works - when the body is working correctly and the conditions are right - speed, form, machine, engine, lungs and head become as one, and that is where the cyclist finds his/her joy. That stretch of road was pure joy.
The going got tougher after that. The hills became a little steeper, and a little longer. While I suffered a little up them, the cadence and the power were there. A few times, riders latched on behind me, holding the slipstream and letting me cut through the wind in front of them. Occasionally, I would catch a rider and do the same. There is a strange allegience that takes place on a ride like this, where strangers become friends and partners for a little while. We need each other out there. We help one another, say encouraging things, form pace lines, draft off each other, converse to relieve boredom - anything at all. We are all in this together. And we were all heading to the same place, where many a cold beverage was waiting...some even non-alcoholic!
But up the hills we went. Over the tops and down the other sides. Mile 70 came and there was a veritable wall of a hill. I was forced to walk some of it. It was just too much to push through at that mileage. I felt bad for those who did the century route (100 miles, for those not in the know) who had to do the hill twice. My leg cramp had returned, and there was no way I was going to get through the short, but very steep (estimated 10% or steeper) hill. From there, the ride to Allegheny College was downhill, the finish line was attained.
What happened once at the finish? It's like Vegas - you don't say. I can tell you I met up with an old buddy, took a dip in the pool, had an adult beverage, and met some very fun people. Hijinx, Hooliganism, Shenanigans, pranks, and Tomfoolery were in abundance. Well, we were on a college campus, what did you expect?
Day TWO:
Once again, I was in the starting group, and once again, it didn't take very long to be dropped from them. I was there to ride MY ride, not make a race out it. It wasn't long before we hit the hills coming out of Meadville. This was the part I was mainly concerned with, as I didn't know how I would recover in time to ride. Turns out, I wasn't that bad. Early on, the hills, while significant, were managed decently. The rhythm was there, the gears were right. I now know why I've hated hills for so long, and what I was doing wrong at the bottom. The issue is corrected...but I still hate hills. Up and over them we went. But they kept coming. I think we rode more uphill on the way home thanthe previous day, even though the slopes were a little more gentle for most of it. Uphill is still uphill.
But the power was there, the gears were right, the timing better, and even though the saddle sores were forming (yep, I'd used chamois cream) It was still good. Through the high flat parts of the plateau we went, and once again, I was able to find the power I liked, and was able to engage the engine again. I met Dean, who was having some difficulty with his left knee. Dean is about 60 yrs old. I told him to tuck in behind me and ride my slipstream for a while to take it easy on his knee. It got Dean through a couple pit stops where the medical pros could assist him. I don't know if I'll ever see Dean again, but I know that for those miles, I was his best friend. And he was very cool to talk to.
Mile 54.4, rest stop. Saddle sores were seriously hurting every time I got on and off the bike. Food. Water. Gatorade. I'd finally tapped into my reserve fluids (two waterbottles full of gatorade) Thermometer on the bike was reading 92. No clouds. Any other day, I would have thought it beautiful. I just wanted it to be over. 25 miles left to go. Start again. cover some of the same roads we were on yesterday. The tar on the pavement is bubbling, and I can hear it cracking under my wheels as each bubble pops. Eventually, I'm forced to walk up a small ascent that is just too steep to ride. I know I'm spent. A couple minutes at the top of the hill, and I hop on, painfully, and continue. A long, slow climb up to the top of a hill, descend into the state park again for the last rest stop.
16 miles left to go. I want a taxi. I'm not even sure where I can draw strength from anymore. Head out again, after more chamois cream, bananas, gatorade, and water. And Gummy treats. Those things rock, and I've eaten a ton of them at this point on the ride. They take us on new roads that we didn't travel yesterday. Up a climb witha "false flat" and then up the rest of it. Up again. And again. Turn the corner, more uphill. Round a bend. Then, I see it. It's the hill where I died two weeks ago. They put it on the ride. Everyone's first reaction on seeing it: "WTF!!!!!" Oddly - even though I rode it only a couple weeks before, I didn't realize it was THAT hill until I was halfway up it. That is when I knew I had this. Again, the cadence was right. the strength was there. The power was in my legs. My muscles were screaming - but they were screaming something new: "WE"RE NOT READY TO GIVE UP." OK, legs. Just keep climbing.
Into Portsville and one last small climb. I'm starting to pass people. They're blowing up. We're about to drop into the valley, and they're blowing up. They are cooked. I have strength. I even have a little speed. It's under 7 miles to the finish. Engage the engine one last time. I catch up to a couple of riders and as we hit some of the small rises, I realize that I'm ready to go. I Just have to NOT stop pedalling, and I've got it. I overtake the guy who has been outclimbing me all day. He used up too much and he's gassed. I won't see him again until I'm already on my second bottle of water at the finish. He's weraing an Indiana kit he thinks he got from Steevo....it makes me think I've just beeten Steevo. Adrenaline fills me. Suddenly, I know I could do the century today, if I wanted. I don't want to. I am a man-machine - like the Terminator. 3 miles. 2 miles. One last stop light. A guy I rode with three weeks ago on a training ride is there ahead of me. I catch him and we head off together, along with a third. We make the turn and ride the last mile together, down the chute where we started.
It's a party.
I wasn't the first to finish, but I was far from the last. People ask me why I love this sport. The friends, the allies, the pain, the pleasure, the realizations, the heart and will it takes to push through hot temps and nasty climbs, roads blistering under your tires, saddle sores and sunburn...every time I'm out there on the road, I find a little more of who I am. And I like that guy.
Thanks for reading,
The Fat Kid
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