Boz: With a belly full of McDonald’s grease and
the help of the course map and my I-Phone, I drove to the first bottle
exchange, just before mile twenty of the bike course. It was here that volunteers would hand the
cyclists bottles of water and Gatorade, as well a packet of energy gel, a
favorite snack among endurance athletes.
I
noticed that wise bikers would slow considerably to ensure they would receive a
fresh bottle of liquid energy. On the
other hand, some cyclists would pedal though this bottle exchange at full speed
and seemingly be stunned when they fumbled the hand off. I recall one gentleman yelling out in disgust
upon leaving the bottle exchange empty handed.
All I could think was that he was so concerned about not costing himself
five seconds by slowing down, when he likely cost himself much more time in the
end when he became dehydrated.
A bit less than an hour after I had last seen him, Nick came cruising by. He didn’t stop to refresh his drinks and just gave me a smile as he flew by. I said goodbye to the volunteers at the bottle exchange and had enjoyed watching the process.
Nick:
Coming out of the transition area on the bike, we had to ride on a short
bike trail that went through a tunnel under the town’s main highway. To get on
this bike trail, we had to ride on grass for about 30 yards. It is funny watching people ride $3,000+
skinny triathlon bikes through bumpy, wet and, by this point slightly muddy
grass and swearing. A few people even dismounted and walked through it instead.
The first 17 or so miles of the bike
course was shared with the sprint triathletes, so there was a good amount of
bike traffic on the roads. As expected, there were a many people out there who
were not used to riding in groups, and thus there was a lot of highway-like
road rage – generally by people with big egos yelling at slow-movers on the
left side of the lane. There are quite a few people that put bells on their fancy
bikes just for this reason, but they’re usually the people with good senses of
humor who really don’t get worked up anyway.
I began my feeding at about mile five
when I ate my first gel pack; one with a little caffeine in it that I could
actually feel after awhile. We came to a
T-intersection at just under an hour. At
this point, the spring triathletes split off and suddenly the hammer dropped on
the half-iron course. The serious guys got into their tight aerodynamic tucks
and started to cruise. There was a lot of passing and being passed as the field
sorted itself out.
At about mile 19, I came up on two
cyclists off their bikes and on the shoulder of the road. As I got closer, I noticed one was bleeding
from his hand and the other was taking off his shoe. I slowed and asked if all
was alright. They didn’t give me a verbal response but they both waved me on.
As we approached the first water
exchange, I peeked down at my two bottles - one water and one home-mixed
Gatorade. They were both still over half full, so I moved to the left and
skipped the exchange. I told the volunteers
that some people were down on the course a mile back. One said, “I know” quite
hastily, so I think they already knew about the incident.
Shortly after the bottle exchange, I saw
Boz snapping photos. I waved, said
something that I’m sure was unintelligible, and kept on cruising. We agreed
beforehand that I wouldn’t stop or spend much time interviewing while on the
bike, unless of course I needed to stop to barf at that exact point, so no
feelings were hurt that I know.
Boz: I next drove to mile 39, a quiet stretch of a
two-lane road. I parked my car on the
shoulder and took pictures of the cyclists to kill the time. It was also at this time, with my arms
somewhat elevated to hold my camera, when I noticed I must not have used enough
anti-perspirant deodorant. I think it is
safe to say that I will never be the Old Spice poster boy.
I
saw Nick pedaling hard in the distance, still maintaining his admirable pace of
over twenty miles per hour. I called out
to ask him how he was doing. He yelled
back, “Awesome” and was gone before I knew it.
Around this time, I crossed “Watch the Tour de France” off my
bucket-list, but not because I had accomplished it. Watching a bike race is about as interesting
as sitting in Ben Stein’s economics class in the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.
Nick:
After the first bottle exchange, everyone seemed to have found their
pace and we all settled down. Around mile 22, an ambulance flew by us in the
opposite direction, and I assumed they were heading to the downed cyclists I
had passed just 10 minutes ago.
We had one or two nice long hills on the
back side of the course as we headed toward the second bottle exchange. While I
didn’t completely drop the hammer up the hills, I stood and spun a bit to get
the blood flowing back into my groin and to stretch my back.
It was fairly uneventful leading into
the second bottle exchange at mile 32. I ditched my bottle in the designated
dumping area of a ditch and took another bottle from the volunteers. I still
had about half of my Gatorade bottle remaining and made a mental note to drink
that before getting back into my water.
I also snagged another gel from the volunteers and ate that right away.
I was starting to feel a little burn in
my legs and clicked through my cycle computer to determine my speed for the first
half. I noted that I was above 21 miles
per hour, faster than I had trained for.
But, I decided that since I was still feeling great overall, it would be
okay for me to keep churning at a decent pace. After all, it was race day and I
couldn’t leave anything on the course and all that. So I continued to drop the
hammer.
I flew by Boz around mile 39 and again
tried to yell something which I imagine was incomprehensive into his voice
recorder. I am sure it was one of the most boring interviews ever, but I would
like to think it was 20 times more colorful than anything Minnesota Twins star Joe Mauer has
ever said into a microphone.
Boz: After my stimulating two-second encounter
with Nick at mile 39, I decided to try and find him one more time on the
course, hopefully at the top of a hill this time so that I could see the
cyclists in a bit of pain. I followed
the course map to what I thought was mile 50, at which time my I-phone told me
I was in the middle of a large lake. No
wonder I couldn’t see any bikers.
Once
I emerged from the lake, I found my way to mile 52, which was on a slight
uphill. I again snapped pictures of
random cyclists to kill time until Nick came into view. Still cruising and looking great, he paid
homage to Johnny Cash by yelling out “Burnin’, burnin’ burnin’” as he cruised
by. At this point, I was convinced he
would medal in the triathlon.
Watching
Nick and the other cyclists keep up such a fast pace for the entire 56 miles
caused me to reflect back on the longest cycling venture of my life. In junior high, I participated in a
bike-a-thon to raise money for a Christian camp associated with our
church. We rode 150 miles over 2
days. I am pretty sure that we stopped
for breaks every ten miles or so, had lunch in the middle, and finished in a pace
of less then 10 miles per hour. I don’t
believe I wore a helmet and went shirtless on the 2nd day. I ended the day so sunburned that my back was
blistering. Times have changed.
Nick:
As I headed back toward the city, I saw some dark clouds to the south.
This was great because it actually became overcast for a while, meaning that we
didn’t have to battle the heat. I found myself sticking around the same few
guys for a few miles and we all pretended like we were drafting off each other
for a while.
I passed Boz again at some point; I’m
not really sure at which mile, but I was feeling my efforts at this point. I
checked my bike computer again and my average pace was still at about 20.8
miles per hour. For some reason I had
this notion in my head to try to keep my pace as close to 21 miles per hour the
whole way, completely ignoring the fact that my longest training ride was about
58 miles at a pace of 17 miles per hour. Undeterred, I ate another gel and guzzled more water to wash it down.
I hadn’t really processed how this best
bike ride of my life might impact me in the upcoming half-marathon. It wouldn’t hurt me that much, would it?
An
exchange about to take place…
…and
it’s a success!
This
would also be my preferred style of biking for 56 miles.
"Oh
water bottle, how I love you so."
Our
hero pedals by - looking great, Nick!
Cyclists
generally prefer a diversion like seeing a camera
Apparently
this is the universal way for cyclists to acknowledge people
Such
nice smiles after so long in the saddle!
And
then there are some goofballs. Hey,
that’s Nick!
Dig
hard up that hill
I
have several pictures of this guy. I am
pretty sure he is the one who yelled out in disgust when he dropped the water
bottle at the first bottle exchange. I am also pretty sure he thinks
I am stalking him by this point.
Yes,
Ben Stein, I compared your economics class to a bike race. Deal with it.
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