This is part 2 of a 3 part tale of woe (and possibly redemption) about my challenges encountered trying to bike my first 100 mile century ride. Read the first part here.
Electronic Trouble
I got a tenth of a mile in before I hit my first snag. So, if you're counting, that's roughly 1/1000th of the way done. At least that's as far as the computer on my bike said I had ridden before it promptly stopped working. 0.0 MPH, it read, but I was definitely moving some MPH, which was actually really frustrating. I mean, how was I going to take a picture of the odometer showing 100.0 miles at the end of the day if it wasn't working?
I pulled over at the end of the first block, as Jeremy and Alex waited for me. I adjusted the sensors. Nothing. I tinkered with the wires. Nothing. Just 0.0. We rode on and I began to realize how often I stare at my computer. I had no idea how far I was going now; how long it was until the next rest stop; how fast or slow I was moving. This was not a game-changing problem, but it was certainly more than a petty annoyance. Like my bike jersey, this was rather an important part of my ride day stuff, and now it was sitting there uselessly at 0.0.
After a time I let Alex and Jeremy go ahead and sat on the side of the road, tinkering with the sensors and doing everything I could think of to make my little electronic gizmo work. Adjustment after adjustment did nothing until finally, as a last resort, I took the computer off the clip on the handlebars and then clipped it back in. It reset. I held my breath and spinned my front wheel. After a second the sensors engaged and 1.9 MPH showed up on the screen. It was working! I actually laughed. Then, setting my bike back down, I pedaled quickly ahead to catch back up with my riding partners. My computer was working; my cold was manageable; the day was looking up.
The slog commences
One thing you should know right now is that it never stopped raining. Never. Accuweather had confidently pegged every hour around 50% for rain, and it was--to be fair--50% right but also 50% wrong. It rained 100% of the time and in those first hours it mostly got worse rather than better. The rain itself wouldn't have been the end of the world, except with the rain came wind and, most unfortunately, cooler temperatures.
What had once been fun was quickly becoming something else. In fact, as we turned north on Hwy 71, I distressingly noted we had around 15 miles to get to the rest stop. My fingers were already cold. And that 15 miles turned into a serious slog. I don't remember much about that hour or so to be honest, but the parts I do remember involved suppressing pain. I learned quickly that my cold weather gloves were useless when wet (something that simple dishwashing gloves and rubber bands would have fixed). I also learned that my light fall jacket left my core considerably under-protected. Only later did I think, "Hmm... maybe I should have worn a rain jacket." Ya think?
As we continued north I began to realize a sad truth: I wasn't biking 100 miles. It just wasn't happening. In fact, by the time we turned into Itasca State Park I was finding it more and more difficult to hold on to my handlebars. I wanted nothing more than a rest stop and a chance to get off the bike. At mile 31 my wish was granted. We had arrived. And I was done.
Throwing in the towel
When we arrived at the Itasca rest stop I was a mess. I quite literally wandered the place two or three times before figuring out what on earth I was doing. I found a port-a-potty. Used it. Found coffee. Drank it. Re-filled. Drank it. And finally, in a desperate kind of voice, told my partners that I thought I was done. They understood, I think. After all, I had started shivering, and my hands were ghostly white, and basically I looked like a person who might drop dead at any moment.
They continued on. I called it quits. And, honestly, I made the only call I could. It's no exaggeration that I may have been hypothermic by the time I finished the 18 mile loop around Itasca. I was quickly reaching a dangerous point of no return. So, instead I sat in the visitor's lodge, warming myself by a small fire, teeth chattering, and wringing out puddles of water from my socks. Then I caught a ride in a SAG vehicle back to the school where my ride home was waiting.
Reflection
As I began my three hour ride home a few things became gradually more clear. First, I was under-dressed for the weather. I was ready for cold but really not for rain, and I paid the price. Second, the conditions were worse than I supposed. The temperature had dropped 12 degrees since the start and now sat at 51 and the wind was whipping out of the west around 20 mph. Between those two points alone I was in serious trouble. Add in my cold and even great clothing may not have saved me on this day. It's hard to say.
But a few other things clarified themselves, too. First, I was glad I came and tried to ride. If I would have been home and feeling better I would have regretted not going. Second, this was not going to be my last chance to ride a century.
In fact, I soon hatched a plan for real redemption. I was still going to do a century, I thought, but just not in the way I originally intended.
And that's where we'll conclude this tale tomorrow...
P.S. Jeremy and Alex not only continued on but finished the 100 miles! This is noteworthy in itself given the conditions, but especially noteworthy because A) they were both riding upright-hybrids and not traditional road bikes, B) it was Jeremy's first century, and C) Alex, at 64 years old, was the oldest person on the day to finish the full 100 miles. All told it sounds like less than 10% of the riders who started completed the 100 mile route, a testament to the weather.
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