day two of the MS ride
Day two actually began the evening of day one, when the youngster was using the hotel blow drier on his shoes and shorts. For whatever reason, he didn't pack a second pair of bike shorts. The blow drier gave up on him after a while, and had to cool off before giving it a second try. He never did get everything completely dried out, but it was better than soaked. I put the rest of the Saturday clothes in a bag so the wife could just bring them home and throw them in the wash. They were very wet and plain ol' nasty, with a 'racing stripe' up the back from riding in the rain.
We got up on Sunday morning and put on dry clothes, for the most part. My shoes and the youngster's shoes and shorts were still damp. So were the gloves. It was looking like the day was bringing more of the same weather as the day before. We were both a bit sore, so we took some Advil, before even leaving the room. We went down to breakfast and someone had an i-phone with the weather radar on the display. Things were looking bleak. There was only one blob of rain on the screen, but it covered most of the way home. We just shrugged, accepted it and headed out to the start line...where it wasn't raining yet.
We got underway, and the clouds were around, but didn't look threatening. Then the sun came out. The wind, still steady out of the northeast and in our faces, wasn't near as strong as the day before. Things were looking up. We got through the first few rest stops and kept truckin' steadily north. Going north on A1A, the youngster was leading. I asked if he wanted to trail and let me block the wind, but he declined, saying there really wasn't much wind anyway. On we went, at a steady 16-17 miles an hour. We started passing people. I didn't know it at the time, but as we did, they started falling in line behind us. I could see shadows that weren't ours at one point, very close behind, so I looked back, and yelled up to the youngster to try and keep it steady, speed-wise. He was now pulling a line of riders. He did a great job, staying in front for about 5 or 6 miles, into the next rest stop. Three guys from the line behind us stopped him and thanked him for pulling.
We then struck out on our own, and leaving one rest stop, the youngster got a flat tire. All the rest stops have bike shop support, so there were people there to fix the flat. All was good, and about 20 minutes later, we were back on the road. On the way to the last rest stop, the youngster started asking...how much farther?
Leaving the last rest stop the complaining started. "How much farther?" "I'm soooo tired." "I don't think I can finish." I kept offering words of encouragement, and he kept protesting, but he kept pedaling too, so we were still getting closer, and there was less than 10 miles left. Finally we were in Saint Augustine, pedaling through neighborhoods, and I think he knew there was light at the end of the tunnel. He stayed fairly quiet, and we turned onto the road leading to US 1 and the airport. Inside I was saying, only a few miles left. We got it made.
Then behind me I heard, "That's it! I'm done! I quit!" I turned around and asked what happened and he was getting off his bike. He had another flat tire. We had less than a mile to go and he was walking his bike and ready to stop. It was the same tire as before. One of the motorcycle support guys pulled up and asked if he could help. Between us, we got the tire taken care of. We felt around the inside of the tire to see if anything sharp was there, maybe from the first flat or whatever, but felt nothing. We got back on the bikes, and finished the ride. The wife and some neighbors were there at the airport, and the youngster was grinning from ear to ear as we pulled into the finish line. We received our medals from a woman in a wheelchair, with MS, and she thanked us for riding. We reset our odometers at the beginning of the ride. At the end, his read 171.50 miles and mine read 191.35, the difference being the extra stretch I did Saturday for the century ride.
On the way home, he told me, "Last year when I said I wanted to do this, you made it sound like it would be really hard. It was harder than I thought it could be." When we got home, we unloaded the car and took showers. It was then my skin let me know we didn't do sunscreen on the second day...because we were expecting rain. I got a bit burned, but the youngster, not so much, and I was thankful for that. Sunday evening we went out to eat, and he brought a pillow....to sit on. Sunday night I had to talk him out of sleeping with the medal he got. The little yellow wrist band, that identified him as a rider in the MS ride (everybody had to wear one) is still on his wrist. (He has a $10 bet with some girl at school who has one from a local amusement park on her wrist...to see who keeps their's on the wrist longer.) You couldn't pry that off with a crowbar. Just like you couldn't pry this "father and son" weekend memory away from me, for anything.
Now he's talking about...next year when we do this...and he stopped sitting on a pillow last night.
We got up on Sunday morning and put on dry clothes, for the most part. My shoes and the youngster's shoes and shorts were still damp. So were the gloves. It was looking like the day was bringing more of the same weather as the day before. We were both a bit sore, so we took some Advil, before even leaving the room. We went down to breakfast and someone had an i-phone with the weather radar on the display. Things were looking bleak. There was only one blob of rain on the screen, but it covered most of the way home. We just shrugged, accepted it and headed out to the start line...where it wasn't raining yet.
We got underway, and the clouds were around, but didn't look threatening. Then the sun came out. The wind, still steady out of the northeast and in our faces, wasn't near as strong as the day before. Things were looking up. We got through the first few rest stops and kept truckin' steadily north. Going north on A1A, the youngster was leading. I asked if he wanted to trail and let me block the wind, but he declined, saying there really wasn't much wind anyway. On we went, at a steady 16-17 miles an hour. We started passing people. I didn't know it at the time, but as we did, they started falling in line behind us. I could see shadows that weren't ours at one point, very close behind, so I looked back, and yelled up to the youngster to try and keep it steady, speed-wise. He was now pulling a line of riders. He did a great job, staying in front for about 5 or 6 miles, into the next rest stop. Three guys from the line behind us stopped him and thanked him for pulling.
We then struck out on our own, and leaving one rest stop, the youngster got a flat tire. All the rest stops have bike shop support, so there were people there to fix the flat. All was good, and about 20 minutes later, we were back on the road. On the way to the last rest stop, the youngster started asking...how much farther?
Leaving the last rest stop the complaining started. "How much farther?" "I'm soooo tired." "I don't think I can finish." I kept offering words of encouragement, and he kept protesting, but he kept pedaling too, so we were still getting closer, and there was less than 10 miles left. Finally we were in Saint Augustine, pedaling through neighborhoods, and I think he knew there was light at the end of the tunnel. He stayed fairly quiet, and we turned onto the road leading to US 1 and the airport. Inside I was saying, only a few miles left. We got it made.
Then behind me I heard, "That's it! I'm done! I quit!" I turned around and asked what happened and he was getting off his bike. He had another flat tire. We had less than a mile to go and he was walking his bike and ready to stop. It was the same tire as before. One of the motorcycle support guys pulled up and asked if he could help. Between us, we got the tire taken care of. We felt around the inside of the tire to see if anything sharp was there, maybe from the first flat or whatever, but felt nothing. We got back on the bikes, and finished the ride. The wife and some neighbors were there at the airport, and the youngster was grinning from ear to ear as we pulled into the finish line. We received our medals from a woman in a wheelchair, with MS, and she thanked us for riding. We reset our odometers at the beginning of the ride. At the end, his read 171.50 miles and mine read 191.35, the difference being the extra stretch I did Saturday for the century ride.
On the way home, he told me, "Last year when I said I wanted to do this, you made it sound like it would be really hard. It was harder than I thought it could be." When we got home, we unloaded the car and took showers. It was then my skin let me know we didn't do sunscreen on the second day...because we were expecting rain. I got a bit burned, but the youngster, not so much, and I was thankful for that. Sunday evening we went out to eat, and he brought a pillow....to sit on. Sunday night I had to talk him out of sleeping with the medal he got. The little yellow wrist band, that identified him as a rider in the MS ride (everybody had to wear one) is still on his wrist. (He has a $10 bet with some girl at school who has one from a local amusement park on her wrist...to see who keeps their's on the wrist longer.) You couldn't pry that off with a crowbar. Just like you couldn't pry this "father and son" weekend memory away from me, for anything.
Now he's talking about...next year when we do this...and he stopped sitting on a pillow last night.
Labels: Family Stuff, It's all about me
John put this out here at 6:56 AM
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