135 miles of rockin' (or how I almost gave up 343430989 times)

Yesterday was not only the most difficult ride I've ever done, but it was the most difficult day of my life.  It made my "metric century" (67 miles) and my "century" (100 miles) look like a cakewalak.  So herein lies a tale of heartache, rejoice, broken chains, broken spirits, and finally.. the sweet smell of victory.  It's going to be a long post, in other words. With a big "what I did wrong" at the end.  

It started right after 6am, about 6:05 everyone took off.  There was a huge group of about 20+ riders, some that came as far away as Kansas, so the first couple miles for those of us in the back were a blur of gravel dust.  I started looking down at the trail instead of up, as all my headlamp did was to further blind me.  Didn't realize it, but there were some guys in the front who were racin' hardcore, and from what I hear, they really posted some awesome times.  Then there were a bunch of us just out to ride, and that was fun too.  I met up with one of those out to ride, guy named Dale riding a Haro that he had setup as a fixed gear and put some slicks on, about 5 miles out of Lincoln.  We were both trying to navigate, and both had backed off from the group's rather brisk pace, so we got to talkin' and ridin'.  

Speaking of navigating, Cory put together a great ride.  The cue sheet was spot on (supposedly there was an error, I never noticed it), and that's all I've gotta say about that.  Excellent job man. 

Had a nice ride into Cortland, when I got closer I met up with Matt W and Jim, who I would end up riding the same pace as for quite a bit of the ride.  One of my big mistakes was pushing ahead during the Wilber to Denton section, which was the section that pretty much did me in.  More on that later.  Matt was the man, riding a fixed gear mountain bike for the ride, which on those hills was probably just a destroyer going up and down.  

Rolled out of Cortland with Cory and had a good time pushing a little faster pace to catch up to the rest of the group.  The hills weren't too bad at that point, the gravel pretty compact, and all that.  The ride from Cortland to Wilber was probably the most enjoyable point of the trip, I started with a moderate pace but slowed it down after Cory leapfrogged to meet up with others in Wilber.  Here's the first pavement, it was glorious, rolling into the bustling metropolis of Wilber, Nebraska: 

Wilber was a good stop, Oliver and the group he was with had been about 5 minutes ahead of us, so I grabbed a water refill and some granola bars.   Lathered up with sunscreen, as did several others, then rolled out about 15 minutes later.  Here's where my first, and probably largest mistake, came into play.  Our next stop was Denton - about 37 miles away.  I figured by slamming 32 oz of water in Wilber, and having the three bottles on the LHT I'd be fine.  I had food with me, so that wasn't a concern, so I didn't buy any water to throw in the pannier.  This was, by far, my largest mistake as the trip from Wilber to Denton took me a shade over 4 hours.  I ran out of water after 3.  Oops.  Anyway the group headed out of Wilber.. on to Denton.. 

During this section I decided to push a little bit. We were going to be on Pella Road for about 12-ish miles, and from previous experience I know Pella to be pretty darn hilly. They are the types of Nebraska Rollers that you go up, then go back down, then right back up again.  It's like you climb the same several hundred feet over and over and over again.  On Pella they got pretty steep, too, and I decided to push it because I was feeling good.  I also drank a lot of water because I was sweating a lot.  And.. I broke my chain.  Particularly annoying, this was, because at 5:30am I had saw my spare chain laying on the shelf in my garage, and I said "naa, it's heavy, and this chain is fine".  !@#!#!!  I had no idea how to fix it, so I was about to call and give up when Jim and Matt W showed up.  Jim thankfully knew all about this, so he proceeded to show me how to remove the Power Link, shorten the chain, and put it back on.  Shortened by two links, it still worked, and that's all I cared about.  Shifting was a little off in the steeper gears, but I wasn't using those much so I didn't care.  The granny gears worked greeat :).  Kept up with Jim and Matt W for a bit until I stopped to have some granola bars once off Pella Rd.  That's when I realized the water situation, I was down to my last bottle and still had about 18 miles to go.  Profanities ensued. 

About the time I was 6 miles out of Denton I was desperate.  There literally was nothing closer to me than Denton, aside from farmhouses, and I was about to give up right here: 

And I really do mean almost. I was hurtin', could feel the dehydration kicking in, and didn't think I could make the 6 miles to Denton without water. I got a voicemail from a guy named Neil, a guy who rode with a broken rib for a day, and realized that I could make it. I had to make it.  So I pushed on, and even stopped at a couple farmhouses where I found nobody was home to say I could use their faucet.  Dang.  Oliver and crew were about a half hour ahead of me at that point, the chain and dehydration had slowed me so much, with Matt and Jim about 15 ahead.  The gas station in Denton was about the most beautiful sight I saw on the entire ride, I sat outside eating granola bars, guzzling water and a Gatorade, and eating a ice cream sandwich.  

I also called my wife, who put it into perspective.  Look, she said, just go on until the next stop (which was at mile 107 for me - about 17 miles up the road), and if you are feeling good there go until mile 120.  It would be awesome if you complete the ride, but at 120 you have gone further than you have ever, and me and the kids will come pick you up.  I said okay, bid her goodbye, and took a portrait of my machine in front of the filling station, recharged with fuel, water and good words from my awesome wife. 

This time I took no chances. I refilled all three bottles on the bike, and then I filled up the Gatorade bottle with water and threw it in my pannier. The trip to the next - and final - checkpoint in Malcom would take me about 90 minutes, and I consumed all of that water in that time.  That trip was the high point of the ride, by a long shot, I felt good - so good in fact that at one point I was rolling down the road screaming "Rock Lobster" at the top of my lungs.  As I got closer to Malcom, however, the first set of leg cramps hit.  Stopped, let them wear out, then started going back to a moderate pace on the hills.  Arriving at the general store in Malcom, I found out that the groups were still 15 and 30 minutes ahead of me.  It was mile 107, and I felt good, really good.  This would be the last stop before the end - another 35 miles away - so I didn't take ANY chances on water.  I spent the last $4 I had on these: 

Looking at the picture, I almost forgot about the 79 cent fig newtons I picked up. Heh, they were almost as good of a call as the extra water, in retrospect. Heading off I did the one section of sidewalk on the course: 

And then I saw more "traffic" on the road, this was about the only "traffic" I saw during the entire ride:

I'm going to warn you now, there's about three paragraphs that aren't going to be pleasant.  Shortly after I left Malcom, the leg cramps hit yet again.  I stopped on the side of the road and yelled, because it's all you can do, and it makes you feel better.  Guzzled some water, then headed off again.  A couple miles down the road, they hit again.  And again.  Three episodes by the time I hit Branched Oak Road, which was 12 miles of hills.  I was getting worried, honestly, and was just trying to make the 120 mile mark.  Branched Oak Road almost did me in, morale wise, but today I'm glad I pushed through.  

During those 12 miles I'd climb a hill, the cramps would kick in, I'd ride through them to the top where I'd stop and scream, then I'd ride down.  It wasn't every hill, but if you said every other you'd be pretty accurate.  Nothing I could do - even the lowest granny gear - could keep them from coming on.  I departed Malcom, mile 107 for me, at 4:05pm.  Mile 135 came at 7:07pm.  That should give you an idea of how much the cramps slowed me down.  Were it not for them I'd have easily shaved a half hour, probably an hour, off that final trip.  This is the ugly side of the ride, the part where at one point, cellphone in hand, blubbering like a baby I was about to throw in the towel.  Again, I was saved by a voicemail from Neil in Pennsylvania who said "Go Ben Go", and looking at pictures of my kids on my Treo.  I was at mile 120, but I wasn't going to make them come out into the middle of nowhere to get me.  No, these pains were my penance for my previous lifestyle, I said, and I just had to deal with it.  I even walked one hill when I couldn't stop the pains, and slugged ibuprofen.  

Branched Oak Road came to an end, and I was greeted with North 96th Street, nice crushed gravel that sloped downhill.  I literally almost cried, refilled the bottles on the bike with the last of the reserve water, finished the rest of the fig newtons then headed south.  I flew down that road, almost as if the leg cramps and uncovered the power lost in my legs many miles ago on Pella Road.  I again belted out Rock Lobster, several other tunes, and the spirits were up as I imagined I'd make it to the end of the road - mile 142 - around 7pm.  I was about to stop to call my wife to ask her to meet me at the end at 7pm, when the cramps came back.  Now it was every single hill, even minor, that would trigger them.  They literally destroyed my morale.  I'm tough, and I work hard but I won't lie, they did me in.  I'm not tough enough for that.  So an hour later I limped my way to 96th and Havelock, and stopped, fighting off another cramp.  I called Cory, who was checking on my status, and told him to go ahead an head home - that I had hit the 135 (counting my commute to the start) and that it would probably take me another hour to get the 7 miles to where he was at.  He was awesome, marked me as finished even though I didn't finish the entire route, because I had finished the whole 135.  Great guy, and I'm going to have to come out on another one of the rides he organizes.  Just nothing near Pella Road.  :) 

Then I called my wife and did everything I could to keep my composure together on the phone, as I was still dealing with not being able to finish the 150 miles I set out to do, or even the 142 I had conceded in my mind to doing.  .  She packed the kids up and headed to the Lancaster Event Center to pick me up.  I rolled the last mile down Havelock covered with dirt, just spinning my cranks, and enjoyed the sunset.  I had seen the sun rise and set on the bike yesterday, and both times it was great.  I leaned up against the pole at the event center, and just watched it as my lights blinked away at me.  My wife showed up, my man Nate told me about his new toy, and Natalie about her play practice as I loaded the LHT in the back.  Sitting down in the front, my wife handed me a big piece of pizza and one of her amazing "protein cookies" that I wolfed down.  At that point the guilt of not finishing the 142 or 150 bled off, and I just enjoyed the fact that I did something outstanding.  

That's what this post is about, not that I did something outstanding, but that anyone can.  If you are sitting at home wondering if you can - well - YOU CAN.  I still weigh over 300 pounds, and I pulled it off, and you know what?  I would take yesterday over any day living like I did when I didn't care about my health.  Remember, you can do it.  It's not easy, but the glory is something that I can't summarize.  

About the bike:  Okay, I'm going to say this, the Trucker performed outstandingly yesterday.  I think I finally have it setup exactly how I want it, and that's awesome.  The Schwalbe Marathon Crosses are amazing tires, they roll great on pavement and they saved my hindside several times in the loose stuff (there was a LOT of loose stuff).  They ride so smooth that I was actually kind of thrown back.  It rode great with the 700x37 Continentals, but the 700x38 Crosses just are awesome.  They look gnarly and they really dig through the tough stuff, while also riding pretty smooth on the pavement and giving a cushy ride.  Oh, and zero flats yesterday.  None.  I rode through some nasty crap too.  I'm sold on 'em, they are going to be a permanent addition.  

Second, the fit is perfect for long rides.  I really like how I feel on it, and how it feels under me.  It's a confident ride that I can bomb over anything with, never once did I feel out of control yesterday, even sliding on loose gravel.  

Oh, and Chamois Butt'r?  It's heavenly.  I had applied it a little sparingly before I left, but in Cortland I put it on like it was going out of style.  It definitely helped, I wouldn't have been comfortable - at all - without it.  

Finally shoes.  That's the only other fail point I had, was that my feet really started hurting after awile.  Today my right foot still has some numbness, I just need to throw some insoles in my shoes for now, then next spring get some cycling shoes with stiff soles.  

Lessons Learned:  First, I always underestimate my water needs.  I still have a LOT of tissue, and I need to always carry double the water I think I'll need.  Then add a reserve bottle.  Or have a bailout-for-water plan.  

Second, I pushed too hard too soon.  On Pella Road I should have hung back with Matt and Jim from the get-go, I spent most of the energy I had trying to hammer those hills, and it came back to haunt me.  Had I backed off, in the end, I would have felt better. 

Third, and this is a tough one to admit, but I should have called my wife after the first half hour of cramps.  I was trying to prove something, I don't know what, but in the end all I proved was  that I didn't listen to the REALLY LOUD signals my body was sending me and instead was listening to my pride.  The accomplishment was great, but forever I'm going to be wary about hills after the cramps I experienced. 

Fourth, again pride, I shouldn't have ridden the week before the ride.  I should have taken at least two days off, even from commuting, because even at the start my legs weren't "fresh".  Again, pride.  

Summary:  I had an absolute blast, all things considered, and have something I can forever look back on as an amazing accomplishment.  The crew I rode with were all really nice, and really helpful guys.  Jim, the guy who helped me fix my chain on the side of the road, was riding a Sala La Cruz lent to him by another rider after his El Mariachi's frame broke earlier this week.  That should tell you something.  

Would I do it again?  I struggle with that, and with the thought of doing Dirty Kanza come next spring.  I didn't train for this, and it was brutally apparent.  If I do plan to do something like this again I need to spend some time working those hills, and that terrain before I even consider it.  Climbing a gravel hill is different than anything else you experience on the road, not only are you climbing but you are also at the same time digging through the surface.  Many times I would look down and see the impression my tires would make on the gravel. 

In the end, though, I can always remember it.  Today might hurt, but that victory, that's eternal.