How to eat an elephant...

Ever wonder how to eat an elephant? Although I'm a vegetarian, I know the answer to this one. This is the day of the annual Superman ride in Metropolis. My goal (extreme as usual) is to ride to the ride, ride the ride, then ride home. About 170 miles will roll under my wheels before the day is done. It's now 3:30 a.m. and dark (duh). The temperature is 77 degrees and the humidity is 85%. There is sweat already dripping off of my cycling cap. Today we'll have to race against dehydration.



This tunnel on the Tunnel Hill Bike Trail is usually treacherous during the daytime. The daylight entering the far end makes it impossible to see anything while inside. Every time I've ridden through it I've nearly crashed into the walls due to a case of vertigo. I'm thinking it will be easier at night.


I've brought along a bottle of "skeeter" spray. The bike trail is wooded and damp - perfect for breeding the little blood suckers. It will be daylight soon, and they'll all be waking up and ready to feed. I'm not particularly worried about the blood loss, it's West Nile Virus that bothers me. Some of these little creatures are carrying it, and since 1: you don't know which ones and 2: none of these "skeeters" are likely to be using itty bitty "skeeter" condoms, it's best to protect yourself. I always told my daughters, you can't depend on the mosquitoes to bring a condom, make sure you use "OFF"!


This railroad trestle is nearly 60 feet off of the ground below. But I have my CatEye HL-EL 530's to light the way. We're not afraid.


I can only guess that the loved one buried here was a big fan of the board game "SORRY". Why else would they choose this style of monument? Unless it was just to make a cyclist passing by say, "What the hell is that?" Because that's what I said as I rode by.


A fake Superman will be leading the ride today. As he was drawing names for the door prizes to be given away, I couldn't help but wonder if he felt a little silly dressed in that costume. Then I found his blog site. fakesuperman.fakeblogsite.com

He wrote: "I went to the Superman ride again this year. I often wonder if all those middle aged fat people feel silly riding bicycles in those costumes. Oh well, each to his own, I guess."




Elgin won a gift certificate for something this year. I have never won anything. They always give away a lot of small stuff and one bicycle. I always hope I can win the bike. It's a TREK so I wouldn't ride it, but I'd trade it for a RALEIGH if they had one. Maybe next year.


All the riders are lined up and ready to go. I'm going to start at the front of this pack and let them pass me after we get out of town. As you know, my Clark Kent is a gas truck driver, and I hate to drive or ride in a crowd. You can never be sure about the skills of those around you.


Here we go. The pack has already begun to split up. Those who want to race the ride are motoring away. I've never understood that. Since this is not a brevet or race and there are no results to be posted, what difference does it make? But perhaps it makes a difference to some. I, however, need to ride a little more conservatively. I already have over 60 miles in my legs and there are about 100 more to go.


I submit to the jury exhibit A. There are always these "masters" pacelines in every ride I go to (even brevets for some reason). These men will ride with their heads down, only seeing the jersey of the guy in front of them mile after mile. In fact, the second man in this line will join several of these today and be dropped by all of them. I passed him 5 times today. And later, as a part of a group, he would pass me back. Then I'd pass him as he struggled solo up a hill or into a headwind. By the end of the ride, I would finish ahead of him. Go figure.

I don't know exactly what it was about this man that made me want to stop and take his picture, but I felt drawn to him. Although he's not my own dear dad, I had the feeling that I needed to send him a Father's day card. Not sure why.

Somebody forgot to plant trees out here. The temperature is about 95 and the heat index is about 105. I think a few trees would be a good thing.

This turn, as I learned last year, was a HUGE temptation for quitting. The route turns right onto New Columbia road and it's about 25 miles into Metropolis from here. But if I turn left, I can head for Marion - this is the very road I will take home. By staying with the route, I will add 50 more miles in this heat. And who will know but me? That's just it. I will. You know my motto...miles to go - promises to keep.




I wasn't expecting to face another temptation to quit so early. At this water stop about 5 miles later, several people abandoned the ride. It was about 20 miles to the park where the ride ends, and it would be riding rollers against a headwind all the way. They simply couldn't face another hour and a half of this heat. I sat in a camp chair (the first time I've EVER sat down at a water stop or control stop) and debated turning north toward home and saving myself at least 40 miles on the day.

As the temptation got stronger I picked up my bike and headed for Metropolis. Miles to go - promises to keep.



Before I could make it to Fort Massac Park in Metropolis, my "cooling" system began shutting down. I realized that I had stopped sweating and I was beginning to get chills. Heat stroke, I reasoned. I didn't have a rectal thermometer with me, so I couldn't check my core temperature to see if I was in danger yet. In fact, I asked several riders if they had a rectal thermometer, and they all looked at me funny. I guess they don't check their core temperature on these rides.

When I finally made it to the park, I went into the men's room and stopped up the sink so that I could pour cool water over me for about 10 minutes until I began to feel human again. Then I lay on a bench in the shade for another 20 minutes. I finally started the ride home. Only 56 more miles to go.

By the time I reached Vienna I was struggling with the heat. I'd had to stop a couple of times in a shady area and pour water over my head to recover. It would be good to get home.

The Tunnel Hill Bike trail offered more shade than the road, but it's 10 miles to the trail head and it's all uphill. It's only a 3% grade, but it IS uphill. Coasting for a little is not an option. You have to keep pedaling for 10 miles, and because the trail is crushed limestone, you can only make about 12 mph. That means nearly an hour of using up my dwindling resources.

I asked this guy as he passed if he had a rectal thermometer. He hurried away. I guess nobody checks their core temperature anymore.

This was the hardest part of the ride - the last 4 block to the house. For the last several miles, I had adopted the strategy of standing for a few pedal strokes, and then sitting to coast off the momentum then repeating it over and over. I was completely beat and on the verge of shutting down. But I would make it home.

Now the answer to our question. You eat an elephant one bite at a time, even if it's a fried elephant. You can always do more than you think you can, but you have to avoid thinking too far down the road. Just make it to the next stop, or even the next patch of shade. Only eat one bite at a time.

Gotta look safe out there.

(My racing friend asked me to dress "visibly" for the feed zone of the MO State Cycling Road Race last week so that he could spot me quickly as I handed him his hydration and nutrition when he rode by. He assured me that EVERYONE would. Everyone did not. Only me.)

It has taken me some time to adjust to not being "hot". I think that I was cute when I was young (at least I had hair). I can say with some pride that I don't have any empty places on my romantic resume even as far back as 7 years of age.

A couple of years ago, however, as I was driving my gas tanker through Princeton Indiana, I passed by a gas station where the local high school cheerleaders were having a car wash. Two of these young ladies, dressed in modern fashionable bikinis, were near the street trying to entice drivers into the car wash. It looked like it was working. As I drove past they began to pump their right arms up and down, giving me the signal to pull the cord on my air horn. To their delight, I obliged. They smiled at me and waved a most friendly wave.

All of a sudden I realized that they were not seeing me as potential romantic material, but probably as a grandfatherly figure. A grandfather who pleases his grandchildren by blowing the air horn for them. In fact, I reasoned, just the thought of a romantic encounter with me would have probably made them feel a little sick. That made me feel a little sad. If I ever had "it" to begin with, "it" was gone, and would never return.

Fast forward to last weekend and the bike race in Ste. Genevieve Missouri. Do you remember the woman who had Duchess on the lead? She was hot. So hot, in fact, that a teen-age boy near us had his mouth hanging open and his tongue hanging out as he stared at her. She was so hot that when I took the photo of the dog, I asked her not to be in the photo. I told her that my wife would kill me if I took pictures of other women while I was out of town. This woman was so hot that when I pointed her out to my friend later, he said he had been checking her out earlier.

But she considered me safe enough to leave her dog with, and later to sit with. I looked safe. You can see by the picture, that I looked like a nut. Looking nutty is probably interpreted as looking safe.

In fact, as I began walking back to the start/finish area later, another good-looking woman near us offered me a ride with her. And she actually said, "You look safe." (Gone are the days when fathers locked up their daughters when I came to town in my Marine Corps dress blue uniform.)

In fact, I maintain that if you want to ride your bike safely, you need to look just a little nutty. I have style conscious friends who will ride in a complete "kit" that is mostly black. They have no reflective tape on their bikes, and their headlight and tail light only have one LED each. That's ONE for the front and one for the back. ONLY ONE! They want to look like racing pros not a little nutty, like me.

I wear a high viz reflective vest when I ride, and I have two headlights on my bike and one on my helmet. (I leave them attached even in the daytime.) I have two tail lights on the rear of my bike and at least 6 pounds of reflective tape covering every vertical surface of my frame. AND I fly an ORANGE SAFETY FLAG on a 6 foot long fiberglass pole!

On a group ride, most of the riders pretend they don't know me. I don't blame them. I don't look "hot" like them - I look safe. There was a time that "hot" would have been the deciding factor. Today is not that day. Today, I want to look safe. At least to motor vehicle drivers. They may think I look a little nutty, but if they have seen me and are able to make this assessment, then I'm probably a little safer.

I will admit, however, that I still wish that father's would feel they need to lock up their daughters when I roll into town. Once a Marine, always a Marine.

Neutral Water

On Sunday, 23 May, I traveled with a couple of friends to Ste. Genevieve Missouri for the Missouri State Championship Bicycle Road Race. Both of my friends were racing.

Rob Landes was racing Masters 40+ class and his race would be two laps on a 35 mile course. At the beginning of the second lap the racers would pass a "feed zone" where a crew member would be able to hand up extra bottles or food to the racers. The day was hot and muggy, so having that crew member ready with extra water could be the difference between winning and not finishing.

The feed zone was a little over two miles from the start line, so I walked up, carrying the cooler with Rob's extra hydration and nutrition. By the time I got there, I was sweaty and thirsty. I couldn't imagine riding in this heat without extra water.

As the riders passed the zone, each crew member held out bottles or bags to "their" racers as they whizzed by. When most had passed, a lone rider came along asking for "neutral water". He rode by the crowd holding out his hand asking for "neutral water". Neutral water would be water not designated for someone else, just extra water that any rider could have.

None was lifted out to him. He kept riding with his hand out all the way past the feed zone, but no one was prepared with neutral water. I immediately felt the wrenching feeling of deep compassion mixed with deep guilt at having nothing to put in his outstretched hand. It was a bad feeling.

So you wonder why I have posted the picture of the dog with this story?

The dog's name is Duchess. Nearly everyone drove the two miles to the feed zone. There were only two people who walked to the feed zone on Sunday. Me and the woman holding the leash attached to Duchess. She had cached her cooler, to avoid having to carry it, but now that she had arrived, it was nowhere to be found. In vain she searched the weeds where she had left it, dragging Duchess behind her.

I asked if I could watch the dog. Thanking me she handed me the leash. Duchess is a Pit Bull who is 40 pounds of pure cane sugar. I fell in love immediately. Duchess was also a very hot dog thanks to the walk to the feed zone. The woman who brought Duchess hadn't yet found her cooler. Duchess needed "neutral water". I had already finished all the water I brought with me. So I dug into the ice of my cooler and held it in a cupped hand for Duchess. She greedily licked the ice to cool herself. We repeated this twice more. Eventually, her owner found the errant cooler and poured Duchess a proper drink. And then sat down beside me, for which I was grateful as it offered me more time with this wonderful dog.

You see, the racer with his hand out came to the race without a crew member to help him. He chose to be there. He could just as easily drop out if the struggle with the heat became too much. Duchess didn't choose to be there. There was a 5 foot lead attached to a chain around her neck. And she couldn't leave when she felt the need to find an open gas station so that she could purchase water. She was depending on either her owner to provide for her, or someone else with "neutral water".

Dogs are usually completely at the mercy of the people who keep them. They can't go where they want, or leave when they need to. If they are indoor dogs, they can't even go to the potty unless someone lets them out or they risk punishment by pottying indoors.

Dogs on chains in the back yard have it the worst. They usually live in a dusty (or muddy) 10 foot circle of their own filth. Their water, if they have any, is dirty and hot. If they have a dog house, it is flea infested and stifling. Is this any way to treat the animals which God gave us for companionship? Given any small chance at all, a dog will be the most loyal friend you'll ever find. And what does her loyalty purchase for her in return? Decent treatment? Sometimes not, I'm afraid.


I doubt if Duchess would remember me. But I'll always remember her. Will you? Next time you see a dog on a chain, perhaps you might remember Duchess and offer some "neutral water".

http://www.dogsdeservebetter.org/

You can buy love, but you can't buy cool.

Which one is my bike and which one is Pee Wee Herman's bike? Can't tell? Don't feel bad, most of my friends can't tell either. (Hint: my bike has an antennae on the rear with which I can contact the mother ship. I've cleverly disguised it as a safety flag.) Read on...

Let's try one more...

Which one is Captain Kangaroo, and which one is me? This is easier only because Captain Kangaroo didn't use a bike helmet (although his hair looked like a helmet), and I always do (I even sleep in mine in case I fall out of bed. Safety first!).

I haven't always had a beard. I used to wear only a mustache. Several years ago a young woman once said to me,"You look like that guy on that TV program."

Knowing that Sean Connery didn't do TV, I began to suspect that she meant Tom Selleck. She went on,"You know, he had that rabbit and that moose, and ping pong balls were always falling on him."

"Captain Kangaroo?" I offered.

"Yes!" She exclaimed. "You look just like him!"

I thanked her.

'Cool' is a genetic possibility for some and not for others. You can't "be cool" if you're not. If you try, you wind up looking like Napoleon Dynamite's brother. (Napoleon Dynamite IS cool.)

The moment you give up trying to be Dean Martin and accept that you're Jerry Lewis, you take a huge step forward towards peace. Bicycle marketers make a good living trying to convince us that by purchasing Lance Armstrong's bike and clothing, you will suddenly become cool, too. If you will mortgage the house just one more time to get that Ultegra gruppo, and have it installed on a custom carbon frame, they say, you will finally have real men looking at you with the respect you've always craved. Not so.

If you don't have the "cool gene", you won't ever have it. It isn't a matter of hair or not (think Telly Savalas); it isn't a matter of wealth or fame (you've often seen some very cool young men in the local sub shop). It's genetic. And you either have it or you don't. You can't upgrade from who you are to cool. You might as well discover how much fun Pee Wee Herman had on his bike, and have your own Big Adventure.

"I don't have to see the movie, Dottie, I lived it!" (Pee Wee Herman's Big Adventure)

No longer a bridesmaid, now an ABO

The registration table is ready. My bike is ready. I'm the only volunteer today. I had others, but life intervened. So my plan is to start the brevet then ride to the DuQuoin checkpoint. After that I'll ride across country to meet the riders at the 100 mile mark to encourage them (not really a secret control), and meet them back here at the finish.

John Jost, my Regional Brevet Administrator (RBA) is training me to be his newest Area Brevet Organizer. He says that ladder of success in RUSA is: Rider, Route Owner, ABO, RBA, President. He assures me that if I can succeed as an ABO, I'll be well on my way to the top job in our organization. I hope he's right. I can imagine it now...RUSA President Miles....

John Jost (the RBA from St. Louis) and his faithful sidekick Dennis Smith arrive to ride the first Marion brevet. (They rode Last Chance together last year.) One of John's goals today, besides a really fast time is training me as his newest ABO.