Steve B.
Buddy B.
Eric & Dee Dee C.
Carla E.
Stuart E.
Scott H.
Tim H.
Richard L.
Mike M.
Aaron P.
David T.
Roger U.
Due to my fundraising in this years MS150 ride I will receive a “Heroes” jersey; but the people listed above are the heroes. Those are the people who gave to help find the cure for this tragic disease.
Thanks to all.
Also thanks to those listed below for putting forth you’re hard earned dollars to help make this a team event. Doug is the owner of Superior and Gale is our Medline rep. Gale donates the money that assures each person on the team gets a free jersey for riding on our team and Doug pays for pre-ride parties and also for all the amenities we have at the overnight stay at Camp Gruber.
Doug W.
Gale B.
Again, thanks to all.
Now on to the story:
The ride sucked. You guys & gals donated a lot of money and will enjoy your donation more knowing that the MS150 turned into a sufferfest for me!!!
After a week of beautiful weather things turned ugly. Leading up to this weekend the weather had been high 70’s to low 80’s with light breezes and just gorgeous; this Saturdays high was 97° with 20-25 mph winds and gusts to 36!!! E-fucking-gads that’s atrocious. My day started off with the bonehead move of forgetting to slather on the sunscreen I’d begged the wife to put out for me the night before, which of course leads to some really weird sunburned wrists along with a striped head from helmet vents. (Yeah, that’s fucking sexy.)
Oh, it gets better.
The ride started out late of course and the first 30 miles most people were feeling froggy. I rode with David Griggs and his friend who is a marathoner; knowing deep down that I wouldn’t last long with these two I started looking for a big group to ride with that could break the wind once we got out onto the open plains. I hooked up with a group and had good luck for the first 30 miles; we had a good pace and it looked like I’d make it to camp in time to shower and watch the OU game @ 2:30. What I didn’t realize is that at the 30 mile mark this group had blown itself up. After waiting about 30 minutes I set out alone heading due east into the hardest flattest 30 miles I’ve ever ridden. The sun was pounding, the wind was fierce, the road was brand new chipped surface, (see rough with gobs of rolling resistance,) and it was fucking HOT! I stopped at each rest stop and reloaded my 20 oz. bottle of water and 16 oz. bottle of Gatorade only to empty them before each 10 mile rest stop.
Oh, it gets better.
At mile 58 a demon appeared at the end of my right big toe. I was already miserable and then this little bastard pain that can only be described as a razor blade being jammed into the end of my toe with each revolution of the pedal. I’ve never felt anything like it before. At the 60 mile lunch/rest stop I discarded the shoes and hung out in my socks giving the toe a break. After lunch I was feeling good again with no problems until mile 62 where the turkey sandwich was now a knot just at the base of my neck. I worked on keeping that jewel down while heading into the first hills of the day. It was still hot, windy, chipped road, but now hilly with a puking on the horizon. It was glorious; I trudged on and caught up with David and marathoner at the 70 mile rest stop. The group of resting riders giggling at me walking so tenderly since my demon had showed up at mile 68. Real funny bitches.
Oh, it gets better.
So now into the final 12 mile stretch with one two-mile climb lurking toward the end I set off. The toe’s rested, the lunch knot has subsided and the wind is behind Braggs Mountain and no longer bothering me. At mile 78 the toe demon came back with a vengeance so I decided to pull off the side of the road and rest. I rested.....forever; every sag wagon pulled up and asked if I wanted help; nope I’m waiting it out I replied at least a dozen times. (Like I said I rested for a looooonnggg time.) I’d taken my right shoe off as hurriedly as possible when I dismounted and sat in the shade pondering my possibilities; I finally decided that it’d be best if I took my right sock off and allowed the piggy’s a little more room. Good idea; bad result; I bent my knee, reached for the sock and BAM goes a cramp! I’ve got the four toughest miles ahead and I’ve got a kick-ass cramp? Fuck me! After about 15 minutes of hopping around and stretching I get it worked out a bit and decide it’s time to go; I mount up and ride alongside a guy who’s motivating me until he gets a cramp. (Evidently they’re contagious.) He pulls over and I continue on until with ½ mile of the big two mile climb left my one cramp multiplies somehow into four separate huge cramps. (One quad, two hammies, and one calf.) I jump off the Bianchi like its hot molten lava and dance around on my painful toes trying to get the legs working. After about twenty minutes of trying to soothe the legs it’s evident that they don’t wanna go anymore; so I take the walk of shame to a SAG wagon. (SAG drivers should do like grand tour officials and rip your number off when you have to have help; I deserved the humiliation.)
Yep; I said it, I did it, and I ain’t proud. The cycling gods were on me:
SAG driver: “Want me to take you to camp?”
ME: Umm, hell no, just to the top; I’ll spend the night there and ride the rest in the morning if I have to.
SAG: I understand; what seems to be your problem.
ME: It’s my fucking toe; I don’t’ know what’s wrong with it but it's killing me.
SAG: What shoes are you wearing?
ME: Shimano
SAG: Oh, you gotta ditch those and buy you some sandals.
ME: Eat me, those are for queers.
SAG: I think it’s because you’re dehydrated.
ME: My toe hurts because I’m dehydrated?
SAG: Yeah man, weird huh?
ME: Yeah right, pull over and let me out now.
The legs never got better and they still hurt today (two days later), but I rode in. There were two more hills to climb which actually did me good and worked out some of the cramps; but I did notice one thing that I’ve never had happen before. While descending the backside of one of the climbs I noticed while coasting that my speed was dropping! That my friend is fucking windy! I normally descend like a freight train; gradually gaining momentum the entire decline, but not Saturday; the wind was angry that day I tell you.
Sadly, my pains pale in comparison. Saturday evening’s festivities were somber compared to previous years. At about mile 56 a 15 year old youth who was riding in his first MS150 was struck by a vehicle and killed. Details of exactly what happened are still sketchy; I hope all parties involved will remember why we were there and that accidents do happen. Hopefully not a single lawyer will make a dime off of this tragedy. Sorry to end this on a sad note but no matter what happened or happens this kid should be remembered for what he was doing; raising money for a fantastic charity.
Fittingly; Sundays return ride was cancelled due to foul weather.
Due to the nature of the last paragraph they’ll be no titties in this post.
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