How it feels to ride 200 miles: Part 2

It begins with a 5:30 wake up call and two dogs wondering what the hell you're doing up this early on a Sunday. Things hurt, but not as much as expected. Eight hours of sleep did the body some good.


At 7:45 the horn sounds and the troops march off. At times cycling can have military like precision. A team of riders reach the top of each stroke simultaneously, and power forward. Men move from front to back without a word. When one goes down everyone stops.

Shadows dance along the pavement as the early sun peeks over the trees surprised to see one hundred men and women clad in spandex. You've already got 20 miles under your belts before the mist and fog burns away.

Your friend is back today, with a new tire. After the first ten miles you work together to catch that team riding for “Micah.” Once you do, things get easier. Later you'll wonder if you would have finished had you not put the hard work in early.

Mile 50 brings lunch, at least it's supposed to. Lunch is running late, and the group is anxious to keep moving. Every time you hop off the bike for a drink or a “nature break,” muscles seize up like a teenage boy asking a girl to dance.

“It's only 13 miles to the next stop,” someone says. He lied.

Every ride of distance has a point about three quarters of the way through that tests one's spirit. Some combination of hills, wind and heavy traffic make this stretch especially painful. It feels like the blacktop has turned to topsoil. The group loses rhythm, and the weaker links begin to lag behind.

“Gap!” someone shouts to tell the front of the group to slow down. “Gap!”

US-153 tested your group. One water bottle and a granola bar would have lasted 13 miles, but not 22. Traffic is heavy and the stress breaks your concentration. Suddenly you realize how sore your butt and legs are. You shift around every minute or so.

After lunch, only 30 miles remain. These slip away quickly in comparison to the last stretch, and as you approach the final leg, only four remain in the group. You and your friend find energy to race up the final hill that almost broke you yesterday. Everyone suddenly has the energy to surge to the finish line.

A few handshakes, pizza slices and Gatorades later you're back in the car proud of what you've accomplished.

“You're crazy,” they told you once upon a time. From here on out you'll wear that as a badge of honor.