the fine art of sagging - NOT! (tales from the ride, part 2)
I opened my eyes Saturday morning to the wake-up call phone ringing at 5:30. I knew there was a pancake breakfast starting at 6:00, but I really wasn't all that interested. I just wanted to findmy bike and get organized and make sure I was ready to go at 7:00. Eating a huge breakfast wasn't on my agenda. All I could think of was the resulting stop at a porta-potty several miles down the road and thought, "No thanks." I had a banana from a snack table.
That's one thing about this ride. There was no shortage of food. They had food at every rest stop. It was mostly fruit - apple slices, orange slices, banana halves, PB&J sandwiches and then stuff I guess cyclists usually consume. I heard one guy actually say, "That's the problem with this MS 150 thing. I come home and weigh more than I did when I started." At one rest stop this little kid was walking around offering everyone "gels." In my ignorance, I asked someone I was riding with, "What's a gel?" He looked at me a little incredulous and said, "If you don't have any, get some." OK, but that didn't answer the question. Then I got more of an answer from someone else. It's a sugary goo substance that's supposed to give you more energy. I asked how you consume it and they said just open the packet and squirt it in your mouth. Well, I'm up for almost anything, so I did....and that shit is gross. It's very sweet. I couldn't finish it. I threw the packet away. I'll make do on the energy I already have if that's the alternative. Back to Sunday morning though.
I got downstairs, got my bike and went outside. There were remnants of the day before. They had tents in the parking lot from different companies, including ours. The day before they had food and drinks for the folks finishing the first day ride. Sunday morning they were shells, flapping in the wind. There were small piles of folding tables all over, and collapsed piles of folding chairs, blown by the same nasty wind. People were loading their luggage on trucks that took it back to the St. Augustine airport, and under one tent, people were offering cold water to refill water bottles, all in the dark. There was a lot of talk about the wind, which had picked up from Saturday. I heard one guy say half his team said "the hell with it," rented a car and drove back to Saint Augustine. It was raining on and off, so I sought shelter under one of the tent shells with a few other folks until the ride started.
Before I go any farther, I should explain the SAG vehicle, because it plays a big part in Sunday. This ride is very well supported. All along the route there are motorcycles that ride with you, looking for riders in trouble. There are vans from various bike shops to help if you have a flat, or some other mechanical difficulty, and there are SAG vehicles. SAG stands for "support and gear" but the volunteers driving the vehicles basically look for riders who aren't making it, and give them a ride to the next rest stop. They are primarily vans and larger SUVs. The term is even used as a verb, as in, "We decided A1A was too hard, and sagged to the next rest stop."
Before we even started, people were talking about sagging, and how if it gets too nasty, we can all sag to the finish line. There was just a lot of nervous, anxious talk about the ride home, because everyone there knew it wasn't going to be about enjoying it. It was going to be about surviving it. The second day started promptly at 7:00. Some folks were anxious and wanted to leave earlier. I heard a volunteer with a bullhorn saying several times, "Don't leave before 7:00 if you want any support. The police blocking traffic, the volunteers at the rest stops, the motorcycles and support vehicles are all working off a 7:00 time table."
There's nothing that says you have to start at 7:00. Many slept in a little and started later, maybe hoping the rain would let up. At 7:00 though, the great mass of bicycles slowly moved out of the parking lot in the twilight, onto the route. You don't move too fast at this stage. You're surrounded by bikes and it's everything you can do just to get a little comfortable space. I settled in behind one huge mass of riders, letting them break the wind as we went north, and stayed behind them to the first rest stop as the sun came up. They stopped there, and I kept going. I didn't feel the need to rest, and I kind-of wanted to get away from large groups.
Again Sunday there was rain, but not the stuff coming in sheets like Saturday. There was an occasional light rain, but I could deal with that. The one thing I noticed was I could hear the chain in the sprockets of my bike - some gears more than others. Cycling is usually a very silent thing, but on Sunday, that, and the noise of my thighs sliding up and down against the number affixed to the bar from the seat to the handlebars, kept making me wonder if something was wrong with the bike...until I figured out what it was. By the way, I was number 444 for the ride. The chain noise though, made me think the bike needs a major tune up when I get it home, which is where it is now.
There's a bridge on the Sunday route north, over the intracoastal waterway, going east into Flagler Beach. One with grating on the crest. Saturday we crossed it going west. Sunday, it was dead into the wind. Getting to the top was incredibly hard. At the top, again there were volunteers advising everyone to walk the grate, and we did. Going back down the bridge on the other side, it's fairly steep. On a windless day, you can hit 30 miles an hour easy. Sunday morning, I went down without pedaling for a while. I got up to about 12 miles an hour for a second, and then started to slow back down before I started pedaling again. The wind was pushing me back that hard.
Again, going north, the wind was very strong, but more out of the east than north. I've never been so grateful for beachfront property, and the bigger the better. When you could see the ocean, the wind was incredible, and you were pelted with a mixture of light rain, sand, and salt water. When there were condos between you and the ocean, it was a momentary respite. Like I said yesterday, I saw none of the bad accidents, but I did see their results. Several times, especially along A1A, there were ambulances along the side of the road, attending to someone in a bike accident.
It was at the rest stop on the north end of the A1A leg that I met up with a few other members of my work team....as they exited a SAG vehicle. One was one of the co-captains. Her husband was another. They were among those who opted against the leg up the beach, and caught a ride. I did not chastise, but at the same time, I vowed I will never do this ride and sag anywhere, unless for whatever reason, I don't have a choice. I'm not making any judgement of those who do sag. I just know I won't, unless I have to. I rode with them on the downwind leg to Hastings, and we flew. I don't think we ever saw speeds less than 19 miles an hour, and that's including the fact that my legs were feeling the effects of two days of constant bike riding. I was sore, and getting more so with every mile, but at that point it didn't matter. We were flying. We pulled into the rest stop at a ranch, just east of Hastings, and heard two things. One was that the last rest stop on the way home was closed. That made sense, even if we didn't like it. It was at a church, and after all, it was Sunday. They may need their parking lot. The second was that our other co-captain, her husband and another team member were in a SAG vehicle, trying to go to that closed rest stop, so they were probably riding the rest of the way home.
We left the ranch and made the turn northeast toward Saint Augustine....and the rest of the trip home was defined.
The wind was incredible. It made me hearken back to the practice ride, where some people wanted to do a 40 mile loop instead of the 54 mile loop, because the wind was so bad. Sunday made that practice ride look like a cakewalk. The wind was worse, and my thighs, calves and butt ached. I struggled to see the speedometer hit 15 miles an hour. Most of the time it was around 12 or 13, and it got down to 9 on more than one occasion. Everyone you met up with, either slowly passing them or having them slowly pass you,made light of the wind, because it was all you could do. You dealt with it and tried to laugh a little, and just wanted it all to be done.
I got to the church that was supposed to be the last rest stop and, lo and behold, it was a rest stop. There was food, and water, and a guy from a bike shop who sprayed my back sprocket with some spray lube stuff, which quieted down the chain. There was also my other co-captain and her husband, and the other team member, who sagged that far. I rode from that rest stop most of the way back to Saint Augustine with them. At the airport, it was much the same atmosphere as in Daytona. Small children were in the road disbursing medals for completing the ride (the one in the picture below) and people lining the street, some in wheelchairs, all applauding. Again, the reality of what you did, and everyone you did it for, hits home.
Now, when I look back, and think of where it started back in March, and all the weeknights in the gym, and the early Saturday mornings, the sense of accomplishment is overwhelming, and the fact that what I did is part of something that helps so many people...I don't know how I could not do it again. This may have become an annual part of my life now. I think I've done a fair job of describing the actual ride, but there's no way I can do justice to what you feel when you finish it in that atmosphere. I don't have the words to convey what that's like.
That's one thing about this ride. There was no shortage of food. They had food at every rest stop. It was mostly fruit - apple slices, orange slices, banana halves, PB&J sandwiches and then stuff I guess cyclists usually consume. I heard one guy actually say, "That's the problem with this MS 150 thing. I come home and weigh more than I did when I started." At one rest stop this little kid was walking around offering everyone "gels." In my ignorance, I asked someone I was riding with, "What's a gel?" He looked at me a little incredulous and said, "If you don't have any, get some." OK, but that didn't answer the question. Then I got more of an answer from someone else. It's a sugary goo substance that's supposed to give you more energy. I asked how you consume it and they said just open the packet and squirt it in your mouth. Well, I'm up for almost anything, so I did....and that shit is gross. It's very sweet. I couldn't finish it. I threw the packet away. I'll make do on the energy I already have if that's the alternative. Back to Sunday morning though.
I got downstairs, got my bike and went outside. There were remnants of the day before. They had tents in the parking lot from different companies, including ours. The day before they had food and drinks for the folks finishing the first day ride. Sunday morning they were shells, flapping in the wind. There were small piles of folding tables all over, and collapsed piles of folding chairs, blown by the same nasty wind. People were loading their luggage on trucks that took it back to the St. Augustine airport, and under one tent, people were offering cold water to refill water bottles, all in the dark. There was a lot of talk about the wind, which had picked up from Saturday. I heard one guy say half his team said "the hell with it," rented a car and drove back to Saint Augustine. It was raining on and off, so I sought shelter under one of the tent shells with a few other folks until the ride started.
Before I go any farther, I should explain the SAG vehicle, because it plays a big part in Sunday. This ride is very well supported. All along the route there are motorcycles that ride with you, looking for riders in trouble. There are vans from various bike shops to help if you have a flat, or some other mechanical difficulty, and there are SAG vehicles. SAG stands for "support and gear" but the volunteers driving the vehicles basically look for riders who aren't making it, and give them a ride to the next rest stop. They are primarily vans and larger SUVs. The term is even used as a verb, as in, "We decided A1A was too hard, and sagged to the next rest stop."
Before we even started, people were talking about sagging, and how if it gets too nasty, we can all sag to the finish line. There was just a lot of nervous, anxious talk about the ride home, because everyone there knew it wasn't going to be about enjoying it. It was going to be about surviving it. The second day started promptly at 7:00. Some folks were anxious and wanted to leave earlier. I heard a volunteer with a bullhorn saying several times, "Don't leave before 7:00 if you want any support. The police blocking traffic, the volunteers at the rest stops, the motorcycles and support vehicles are all working off a 7:00 time table."
There's nothing that says you have to start at 7:00. Many slept in a little and started later, maybe hoping the rain would let up. At 7:00 though, the great mass of bicycles slowly moved out of the parking lot in the twilight, onto the route. You don't move too fast at this stage. You're surrounded by bikes and it's everything you can do just to get a little comfortable space. I settled in behind one huge mass of riders, letting them break the wind as we went north, and stayed behind them to the first rest stop as the sun came up. They stopped there, and I kept going. I didn't feel the need to rest, and I kind-of wanted to get away from large groups.
Again Sunday there was rain, but not the stuff coming in sheets like Saturday. There was an occasional light rain, but I could deal with that. The one thing I noticed was I could hear the chain in the sprockets of my bike - some gears more than others. Cycling is usually a very silent thing, but on Sunday, that, and the noise of my thighs sliding up and down against the number affixed to the bar from the seat to the handlebars, kept making me wonder if something was wrong with the bike...until I figured out what it was. By the way, I was number 444 for the ride. The chain noise though, made me think the bike needs a major tune up when I get it home, which is where it is now.
There's a bridge on the Sunday route north, over the intracoastal waterway, going east into Flagler Beach. One with grating on the crest. Saturday we crossed it going west. Sunday, it was dead into the wind. Getting to the top was incredibly hard. At the top, again there were volunteers advising everyone to walk the grate, and we did. Going back down the bridge on the other side, it's fairly steep. On a windless day, you can hit 30 miles an hour easy. Sunday morning, I went down without pedaling for a while. I got up to about 12 miles an hour for a second, and then started to slow back down before I started pedaling again. The wind was pushing me back that hard.
Again, going north, the wind was very strong, but more out of the east than north. I've never been so grateful for beachfront property, and the bigger the better. When you could see the ocean, the wind was incredible, and you were pelted with a mixture of light rain, sand, and salt water. When there were condos between you and the ocean, it was a momentary respite. Like I said yesterday, I saw none of the bad accidents, but I did see their results. Several times, especially along A1A, there were ambulances along the side of the road, attending to someone in a bike accident.
It was at the rest stop on the north end of the A1A leg that I met up with a few other members of my work team....as they exited a SAG vehicle. One was one of the co-captains. Her husband was another. They were among those who opted against the leg up the beach, and caught a ride. I did not chastise, but at the same time, I vowed I will never do this ride and sag anywhere, unless for whatever reason, I don't have a choice. I'm not making any judgement of those who do sag. I just know I won't, unless I have to. I rode with them on the downwind leg to Hastings, and we flew. I don't think we ever saw speeds less than 19 miles an hour, and that's including the fact that my legs were feeling the effects of two days of constant bike riding. I was sore, and getting more so with every mile, but at that point it didn't matter. We were flying. We pulled into the rest stop at a ranch, just east of Hastings, and heard two things. One was that the last rest stop on the way home was closed. That made sense, even if we didn't like it. It was at a church, and after all, it was Sunday. They may need their parking lot. The second was that our other co-captain, her husband and another team member were in a SAG vehicle, trying to go to that closed rest stop, so they were probably riding the rest of the way home.
We left the ranch and made the turn northeast toward Saint Augustine....and the rest of the trip home was defined.
The wind was incredible. It made me hearken back to the practice ride, where some people wanted to do a 40 mile loop instead of the 54 mile loop, because the wind was so bad. Sunday made that practice ride look like a cakewalk. The wind was worse, and my thighs, calves and butt ached. I struggled to see the speedometer hit 15 miles an hour. Most of the time it was around 12 or 13, and it got down to 9 on more than one occasion. Everyone you met up with, either slowly passing them or having them slowly pass you,made light of the wind, because it was all you could do. You dealt with it and tried to laugh a little, and just wanted it all to be done.
I got to the church that was supposed to be the last rest stop and, lo and behold, it was a rest stop. There was food, and water, and a guy from a bike shop who sprayed my back sprocket with some spray lube stuff, which quieted down the chain. There was also my other co-captain and her husband, and the other team member, who sagged that far. I rode from that rest stop most of the way back to Saint Augustine with them. At the airport, it was much the same atmosphere as in Daytona. Small children were in the road disbursing medals for completing the ride (the one in the picture below) and people lining the street, some in wheelchairs, all applauding. Again, the reality of what you did, and everyone you did it for, hits home.
Now, when I look back, and think of where it started back in March, and all the weeknights in the gym, and the early Saturday mornings, the sense of accomplishment is overwhelming, and the fact that what I did is part of something that helps so many people...I don't know how I could not do it again. This may have become an annual part of my life now. I think I've done a fair job of describing the actual ride, but there's no way I can do justice to what you feel when you finish it in that atmosphere. I don't have the words to convey what that's like.
Labels: It's all about me
John put this out here at 7:58 AM
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