Little Red Riding Hood

Saturday was Little Red Riding Hood. 

100 miles.

If I thought that I was nervous before riding 60 miles at Goldilocks, it was nothing to what I was feeling the night before this ride.  So much so, that if I said I got 2 hours of sleep Friday night, I would be exaggerating.  This was not the way that I wanted the night before my longest ride to go.  I had hoped to sleep like a baby and wake up feeling refreshed and confident.  Instead, I waited impatiently for my alarm to go off at 5:35 and got out of bed feeling exhausted and doubtful.

The drive into Lewiston where the ride was starting only took about 25 minutes, but felt a lot longer.  Marci and my mom were dealing with their pre-ride jitters in incompatible ways.  Marci plugged her MP3 player into the car's radio and cranked the volume, while my mom seemed to be needing quiet; perhaps going over a mental checklist.  In my state of sleep deprivation and near-consuming nervousness, I found this really funny and sat quietly trying not to giggle. 

Here's the only picture that I was able to get.  It was taken right before we started.        

The first 30 miles I rode with a group of women from a riding club that my mom is a part of.  We rode in a double pace line and kept up a pretty quick pace.  I kept doing mental checks of how I was feeling.  As  I completed each of these inspections I was happy that my legs seemed to be holding up pretty well, but soon I realized that something wasn't quite right.  My stomach started hurting a lot and I felt like I was having a hard time breathing.  It didn't take me too long to figure out that I couldn't keep up the pace that these women were riding at.  I heard someone say that they weren't planning on taking a break until mile 50, that's when I knew I had to let them go.

So, I peeled off the back of the pace line.  As I watched them go on ahead of me I had a very distinct thought.  I said to myself, "I am going to finish this, but I'm not going to finish with them," and somehow, that thought gave me a lot of confidence.

I stopped at the next rest stop (about 39 miles, I think).  I knew that I had to eat something, but I was worried about the messages that I was getting from my stomach.  If I threw up I was afraid that my body wouldn't be able to continue.  So, very carefully; very slowly I ate a quarter of a PB&J sandwich.  I hopped on my bike and was grateful that my stomach started settling down.

The next several miles were blur of beautiful vistas and interesting people.  I rode off and on with small groups, drafting as much as possible.  I was so glad to have people to talk with when the road felt long but  having time alone to admire God's handiwork was incredible too.

When I reached about 85 miles I hit a stretch of road that had some great downhill.  I was enjoying being up off my seat and giving my legs a bit of a break.  Then I started thinking about what the end of this respite would hold...uphill, of course.  I saw it then, the biggest hill so far on the course.  I gave myself a little pep talk and then dug in.  I passed a woman who had stopped about a quarter of the way up the hill, I asked if she was ok, her response was, "I don't want to do this part!"  I really couldn't blame her.

The top of the hill eventually came. I felt a surge of energy thinking that the hardest part was behind me.  That feeling turned out to be short lived; that's when I noticed my first flat tire.  (Now, when I say first I mean two things.  I mean this was the first flat that I had ever had, so I didn't know how to change a flat.  I also mean that this was not the only flat that I ended up having on this ride.)  Remember the lady stopped on the hill?  As I was fumbling with my spare tube and other tools she stopped to help me.  It meant the world to have somebody else there to walk me through getting the tire changed, and after I botched using my own CO2 cartridge, she lent me one of hers.  Changing the tire took awhile, and watching so many riders pass by was frustrating, but we got the tire changed and we were off.

I rode three miles, only about thirteen to go; that's when I noticed my second flat.  I got off of my bike feeling more than a little annoyed.  I was off of my bike for less than a minute when the same lady stopped to help me again!  Since she had helped me before, she knew that I didn't have a second spare tube, so she gave me one of hers.  This woman is now one of my best friends.  Have you ever had a best friend whose name you didn't even know?  She didn't have to stop at all, let alone twice, and she certainly didn't have to give me any of her gear.  I asked her if I could get her information and replace what she had given me, she refused saying others had helped her in the past and she was just paying it forward.

After we worked on the tire for a little bit a car pulled over and a guy got out and ran over to us.  He told us to stretch our legs while he took care of the tire.  He's my new best friend too.

Pretty soon, I was off again and the end was in sight.  As I crossed the finish line I saw Marci and my mom cheering their guts out for me.  I couldn't help myself as tears welled up in my eyes.  I had ridden 100 miles on my bike and I had survived!  I was elated!