Winter Bike League: Bowman ride report

Humbled. Broken. Left for dead on the road somewhere between Athens and Bowman. Didn't even make it halfway. Almost there, so painfully close to the halfway point store stop that I almost thought I could make it, could almost taste the cold, sweet, crisp Coca-Cola that might give me the boost I needed to finish this 80-mile festival of torture, but it was not to be. The view from the back of this pack is not a pretty one. I spent the miles I was able to suffer through in constant flux, from coasting easy to giving everything to just barely hang on, big ring, little ring, never the right gear, and always a little nervous about the sketchy guy trying to ride up the middle of our double-wide pack, or the guy who crossed the yellow line to unzip his vest and almost got creamed by an oncoming pickup truck, or the nasty unforeseen potholes waiting to eat my wheels or - even worse - the pair in front of me. And then came one particular climb, which was not so terrifyingly steep or long as climbs come, but was sufficient to cause my already bewildered legs to begin convulsing like a pair of asthmatic lungs that just slammed down a Lucky Strike. By the time we reached the top, I found myself off the back and struggling to bridge the gap. A couple of riders passed by, too fast to jump a wheel, and then came the look back, over the shoulder, to realize that there was nobody left behind me. Where was the giant group that we left Downtown with? They were somewhere out there on the road, left behind or gone another way, probably enjoying their Saturday's ride on a nice smooth road at a reasonable pace, and here I am trying to bridge the 150 meter gap to a pack of lunatics hauling ass on plastic bikes. And what for? To prove to myself that I could do it. That I could hang with the big boys out on the open road. I can't hang. This sucks. No cue sheet, no map. The only way to survive is to catch the pack that leads the way. And then comes the final pass: the sag van. "You okay?" the driver asks. I shake my head and hang out my tongue. All I can muster at the moment. She passes me by to rejoin the pack. So close, still within sight. Just keep them in sight, don't miss a turn. The gap widens. Another rolling climb. The gap widens, but not much. "I'm climbing faster than the back of the pack," I tell myself. "You can still bridge up." My left leg keeps trying to cramp. Standing doesn't help, sit back down. I'm all out of gears. Stop sign coming up, where's the pack, where's that van? Which way did they go? Up or down? Left or right? Where am I anyway? Dropped. That's where. Nowhere. No-Man's-Land somewhere in between life and death, at the corner of some road I don't remember and one with no sign at all. I roll into a driveway, take a drink, try to decide what to do. I pull out the phone, make a call to the Mapping Department at Loose Nuts HQ, try to figure out the quickest and flattest route home. If I stretch out, take it slow, recover a little, maybe I can survive the trek back to town, back home to where my baby waits for me wearing naught but a loosely fastened bathrobe with a slice of pizza in one hand and a tallboy in the other. While Chris processes my coordinates, another dropee rolls down the hill. He's got a cue sheet. His name is Greg. He figured on getting dropped. He's got more sense than me. He tells me that the store stop in Bowman is only four miles up the road. Great! Maybe we can get back with the pack, get a nice draft and get sucked along all the way home. Let's get going then! The first uphill grade is mild. I favor my right leg, try to keep the pace high. I pass Greg on the flat to do my share of the pulling, turn a corner into another hill, steeper this time. Have my legs recovered? I try to stand on the pedals, and the inevitable but still unthinkable happens. Total lockup. Both legs eating themselves from the inside, being crushed inside the black hole that this ride has punched in my spirit. The pedals won't turn. The wheels have come off the bus. I've got nothing left, tell Greg to go on, and coast to a stop on the side of the road. At least there's a street sign. HWY 172 and Corinth Church Rd. This is the end of the road for me. They broke me. I thought I could hang, and the awakening is pretty damn rude. I report in to HQ and arrange for a pickup. This has never happened before. I've never not finished a ride. But it happened today. After being dropped off at Headquarters I still have to make the ride home. On the way, I run into another Loose Nuts compatriot who missed the start of today's ride because he was sick with a hangover. I fill him in on the details and we conclude that he didn't miss much. I tell him to call me if he feels like riding tomorrow, and roll my bones on home. I stop at the corner store and pick up a frozen pizza and some tall boys. What's the point of all this hauling ass anyway?