While getting ready, I realized I'd forgotten to pack one item: extra chamois cream. I dreaded a 100 miles without it, on a rear that had already taken a day's worth of abuse. I did the best I could with what I had, and resolved to check my handlebar bag for my emergency stash.
We got to the start around 6:30. Bikes had been brought out of overnight storage, but there were so few people about that it looked like the rapture had come and taken all the cyclists.
I'd eaten breakfast, and only had to fill my bottles before I hit the road. Well, that, and find my bike. After locating it, I tip-toed through the Treks, then gingerly picked it up and carried it out of the way of bikes that probably cost more than my car. My one bike splurge - a Brooks B-17 leather saddle - had been laying on the dew-kissed grass, which pleased me not at all. But it hadn't been there THAT long, and I regularly apply proofide to it, so I dried it off and left it at that.
That turned out to be the perfect time. I passed the first aid station before it was open, but knew they'd be ready when I passed it again at the end of the 25 mile loop that was the difference between century riders and 75-milers. I rode with one gentleman for about 10 miles; we chatted amiably as we rode, both of us more interested in enjoying the relatively cool morning than we were in hamming down the road.
After I turned off for the loop, I spent a good deal of Sunday riding alone. Some cyclists may dislike that, but I find it peaceful. Twice, I saw a gray fox, but otherwise enjoyed watching the countryside go past in the quiet morning, accompanied by the sound of the wind rushing past my ears and the susurration of my bicycle chain.
As the day progressed, I started seeing the effects of the weather and the miles on other riders. There were quite a few who sagged out - called a support vehicle for a ride to the next rest stop or the entire way to the finish. Some had mechanical failures that stopped them, but it seems like quite a few were simply worn down by a combination of dehydration, exhaustion, bonking, and the relentless heat.
I didn't realize how much it was affecting me until about 85 miles into the ride. With about 20 miles to go, my hands and rear were both in pain. I couldn't find a comfortable place on the saddle, and that in turn kept me from adjusting my hands on the bars as much as I needed to. My pace dropped from a stately 15-18mph to a lethargic 12mph, and it became obvious that I was getting tired. I upped my liquid intake, popped some electrolyte tabs, ate some fast-acting energy, and hoped that my shotgun approach would fix the problem. When I pulled into the last rest stop, I felt more energetic, but still in pain. I finally found my emergency chamois cream, applied it to where I hurt the most, and looked forward to the end of the ride. It helped.
When I got to the finish, I was greeted by the best sight ever: my wife, grandson, & as many of our kids as could fit in our van were waiting for me, cheering me on. It felt good to finish; it felt better that it was all for a good cause, but it the best thing was a kind and giving wife waiting for me at the end of it all.
In the end, my fenders worked as expected: it never did rain all weekend.
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