[I know this post is long, but read it anyway. It's fun.]
Day One was 78.5 miles. It started in Frisco, Texas and proceeded north and west until we had pedaled across the top of Denton, well to the north. We stopped in the small town of Sanger for lunch and then it was all pushing south against a south wind until we reached the end of the first day at the Texas Motor Speedway.
Darrell Crow, my fellow rider (and one of four riders committed to the G.R.E.A.T. Ride coming up in October) came by our house as soon after work of Friday as he could. We loaded his bike and gear into our Odyssey, that was already loaded with my bike and gear, and headed for Mark’s house. Mark is my younger brother and he had volunteered his house, again this year, as the staging point for the beginning of Day One. Darrell had done the MS 150 once before - when it was a ride to Ardmore, Oklahoma. That was three years ago. Since Mark’s wife, Carla, was in China visiting their missionary son and daughter-in-law, Marilyn was the gal amongst the guys for the evening as we talked and planned and prepared for the next day’s ride. We had a great evening, but we retired early - get up time: 4:30a. Breakfast at Mark’s - departure for the Start Line by 5:15a - arrival at 6:00a - ready to ride by 6:30a. It was fun anticipating the ride, joking about who would be crazy enough to get up this early, let alone for these purposes. The first words out of my mouth as I stepped into Mark’s front yard were, “It’s windy.” That was to prove to be the curse of the weekend. Day One was 18 miles of northbound (wonderful tail wind) and 32 miles westbound (bothersome cross wind) and 28.5 miles southbound (brutal HEAD wind). Day Two was worse.
We said our “Good-byes” in the parking lot and Darrell and I headed to the Start Line. There is always an aura of great anticipation in the air at the Start Line. Everyone is ready to go, but not sure they really want to. You are noticing how others have prepared and hoping your preparations have been sufficient and yet not overdone. Some carry two hydration bottles, some only one. Some carry water, some some strange home-brew that looks like it might really be helpful or horrible. There is loud music being broadcast, as if to keep everyone awake. The announcer is hyping and introducing dignitaries on some stage not visible to anyone but those on the front row of the 3,000 rider throng. Then they sang the national anthem. Riders stopped their chatting and their tinkering with their bikes, removed their helmets and found one of many flags around to gaze at during the singing. Then the cheer at the end. The three plane fly over that had been announced didn’t show up until about five minutes later. Then you knew why. They were old W.W.II planes that took about as long to pass over as it had taken to sing the anthem. But, the idea was good.
The start of the ride at 7:00a meant that front pack started. Then, subsequent packs (maybe 100 riders) were released at intervals. Darrell and I crossed the Start Line at about 7:20a. The ultimate goal at this stage is
don’t crash.Darrell and I had decided we would make Break Point 2 our first stop. So we had 18.1 miles to ride. It always gives you a feeling of power to ride past a Break Point and think of all the riders you just got ahead of. Of course, many of them will pass you while you are eating sliced oranges and bananas at the next Break Point.
The ride to lunch was without incident except for one mental mistake. Everything that had been published about the Day One ride had the Lunch Stop at 44-46 miles. So, by mile 43 you are looking anxiously for the food place. Well, it turned out to be just after mile 50. We almost died in those last four miles.
After Sanger, we passed through Krum and Ponder and Justin. It was drizzling the whole way and the wind was in our faces. But, it was peaceful and satisfying. I could wax poetic about it all were I a poet. But I’ll simply speak of the multiple shades of green that blanketed the soft hills of north Texas - greens caused by the recent abundant rain. Some of the houses tell of simple agrarian folks who live and work hard happy lives. Others houses betray city lifestyles exported to the country side. I’ve often wondered why it is part of the American value system to want to be so wealthy that you have no nearby neighbors.
I completed Day One slightly ahead of Darrell, but he came in strong and tired. He recovered quickly. My computer read 5 hours and 2 minutes, 78.47 miles at an average speed of 15.4 mph. That’s shorter and slower than last year, but then the wind was no factor last year.
Day Two was scheduled to start with a lap around the track at the TMS and then cover 74.3 miles. It would be a west-northwest ride to Decatur - only 30 miles - and then south-southeast 44.3 miles to Sundance Square in downtown Fort Worth.
Darrell and I stored our bikes and carried our bags to the camping area. About the time we found the place we would pitch our two tents, I was thinking of calling Mark to let him know we had made it. As I was getting my phone, I looked up and there was Mark. He had already finished his day’s work and driven over to find us. Last year he had stayed the night with me at the TMS and determined, at that time, to ride this year. But, alas, time slips away and the intentions to prepare, physically, get overcome and life distracts and then it’s too late to get ready and so you come back and spend the night in the tent, again, and console your good intentions with the ol’ Aggie anthem “Wait ‘til next year.” He came, again. It is a great blessing to have a brother who is determined to have our lives be connected. We also connect ourselves with our baby sister, Becky, through this event in that she has MS. We really want there to be a cure.
The three of us set up tents, sat around talking and had supper. Darrell and I ate at the camp ground - supper furnished by the organizers - while Mark watched us eat. Mark drove us to Wendy’s where he ate and we watched. Well, we also had a Frosty - you can do that guilt free when you’ve just biked 78.5 miles. Back at the camp site they had a rock band playing that reminded Darrell and Mark of AC/DC. It all sounded like a lot of noise to me. But we passed the rest of the daylight listening and talking. We laid down to sleep about 9:00p. We were tired.
The night was necessary, though not as restful as one would hope. What
can be said is that as we laid down we were not at all sure we could do the next day’s ride. As we arose there was the hope that it would be possible. The wind was relentless throughout the night. It never shifted nor abated. I thought the tent would blow away. 5:30a came well after I was ready for it to come. We had to arouse Darrell from what seemed to be a deep sleep. Mark left as soon as the tents and bags were packed - it was, after all, Sunday morning. It had been good to have him there.
Darrell and I were actually a bit behind schedule. We wanted to get onto the track to do the lap and that meant being inside the stadium gate by no later than 7:00a. We finished gearing up and took our bags to the baggage trucks. Then, as went back to the breakfast area and stood in line for food. We ate quickly talking of the discouragement the wind was bringing to our hearts. Back at the bike corral they said, “turn right” if you were going to the track or to the Start Line.
We left the bike corral together and turned right. It was down hill and it was a wide smooth surface. Many had already gone ahead of us and we were a little unsure if we would arrive at the gate in time to go in for the lap. Then it happened. It was like three bikes in a “V” formation - but the opposite from what planes would do. There were two in front and one at the rear. The rear one was me and I had Darrell to my left and another rider (named Tim I would soon discover) to my right. I think we were going about 20 mph. Tim turned his body around to his left and bent down to look back at his back wheel. When he did he lost control of his bike veering left. I broad sided him and we both went down. I had no time to turn or brake or shout or jump. I hit the ground hard - fortunately it was not my head but my butt. My bike hit Tim’s hard. As we assessed ourselves, Tim had no injuries. I had “road rash” on my right palm, right forearm, right knee and right calf. I also had a very painful rear end. It has since become a blackish purple bruise about the size of a grapefruit.
Disentangling our bikes we discovered that I had fared better then Tim. I put my chain back on and my V-Rex was ready to go (though I was not at all sure I would be able to). Tim’s rear fork was bent. That’s a bit like a horse that has broken its leg. He was out of the ride and in the market for a new bike.
The delay cost us the lap around the track. We went to the Start Line and I lined up with everyone as if I was going to ride. Darrell tried to encourage me by rehearsing how dramatic the crash had been. He had helplessly witnessed the whole thing. The encouragement part was complimenting me on being willing to consider continuing. When they said go we went and the day’s ride had begun.
Lunch was only 30 miles away and the first pre-lunch Break Point was 14.2 miles in. I told Darrell I wanted to stop there and get the medics to dress my wounds. So, we did that. I was really unfocused and confused because of the crash, but slowly I regained my focus. We were both very distracted by our thoughts of the after-lunch ride to the Finish Line that would be entirely into that unceasing wind. By the time we reached Lunch we were needing the rest and the time to get ourselves mentally ready to face the wind all the way home. Without a lot of joy, we set out to head south-southeast.
The course into the wind began with downhill and smooth roads for a long way. That was encouraging. Then, as we began to actually feel the resistance and resolve ourselves to simply not making as good of time as would be expected without it, it all began to seem possible. Our plan was to stop at Break Points 4 and 6. BP 4 was 18 miles past lunch. I was feeling good and riding strong. I had regained my focus. Darrell fell in with a “speed line” (5 or 6 guys drafting off each other) and left me behind. I was glad he did because I had left him on Day One and still felt a little guilty. Now I was vindicated. By the time I reached BP 4 he was there waiting for me. He said he was feeling good and strong
and attributed it to the Lord giving him strength. I was glad. I was doing OK and rooting for Darrell. He mentioned he might go ahead of me on the next leg and I gave my blessing. “Ride at your own pace” was the procedure for going to BP 6.
I’m almost sure it was four - it may have been only three, but they constituted a multitude of monster hills between BP 4 and BP 6. I’m not sure on which one it was that I passed Darrell, but I did. I couldn’t wait for him because I would loose my momentum and I was absolutely sure I would never regain it. The hills were more monstrously long than they were monstrously steep. Pressing on to
BP 6 meant passing BP 5. I wanted to stop, but didn’t know what Darrell’s preference might be so I stuck with the original plan. At BP 6, I was 10 miles from the Finish Line. I called Marilyn. She was already there waiting for us. I told her I would wait for Darrell to make sure he was OK and then pedal on in, ahead of him. When Darrell arrived he was determined finish though he had “hit the wall” at 57 miles. He wanted us to cross the Finish Line together. I agreed. That was a much better idea. So we left BP 6 and rode side-by-side to Sundance Square. We both had renewed energy and it almost felt like we were crossing the Finish Line the whole 10 miles.
It was my second time to turn onto the bricks of Main Street in front of the Court House in Fort Worth at the MS150 Finish Line. The barricades, the crowds, the music, the announcer, the knowledge that Marilyn was there somewhere, the exhilaration of a successful ride - the whole atmosphere makes you feel like you could just keep riding. But, as one rider I spoke with along the route - a lady who noticed my wounds and had heard of the morning’s crash through the grapevine - reminded me that even if I were unable to complete the ride “it’s not the mileage that will find the cure; it’s the money.” So, I’ll close this account of the MS150 with heartfelt thanks to the nine respondents to my solicitations who contributed almost $700 toward finding the cure. It’s not too late, if you still want to help. My goal was $1,000 and I have until June 6. I’ve done the mileage. But, we’re still looking for the cure.
Darrell and I stored our bikes and carried our bags to the camping area. About the time we found the place we would pitch our two tents, I was thinking of calling Mark to let him know we had made it. As I was getting my phone, I looked up and there was Mark. He had already finished his day’s work and driven over to find us. Last year he had stayed the night with me at the TMS and determined, at that time, to ride this year. But, alas, time slips away and the intentions to prepare, physically, get overcome and life distracts and then it’s too late to get ready and so you come back and spend the night in the tent, again, and console your good intentions with the ol’ Aggie anthem “Wait ‘til next year.” He came, again. It is a great blessing to have a brother who is determined to have our lives be connected. We also connect ourselves with our baby sister, Becky, through this event in that she has MS. We really want there to be a cure.
The course into the wind began with downhill and smooth roads for a long way. That was encouraging. Then, as we began to actually feel the resistance and resolve ourselves to simply not making as good of time as would be expected without it, it all began to seem possible. Our plan was to stop at Break Points 4 and 6. BP 4 was 18 miles past lunch. I was feeling good and riding strong. I had regained my focus. Darrell fell in with a “speed line” (5 or 6 guys drafting off each other) and left me behind. I was glad he did because I had left him on Day One and still felt a little guilty. Now I was vindicated. By the time I reached BP 4 he was there waiting for me. He said he was feeling good and strong
and attributed it to the Lord giving him strength. I was glad. I was doing OK and rooting for Darrell. He mentioned he might go ahead of me on the next leg and I gave my blessing. “Ride at your own pace” was the procedure for going to BP 6.
BP 6 meant passing BP 5. I wanted to stop, but didn’t know what Darrell’s preference might be so I stuck with the original plan. At BP 6, I was 10 miles from the Finish Line. I called Marilyn. She was already there waiting for us. I told her I would wait for Darrell to make sure he was OK and then pedal on in, ahead of him. When Darrell arrived he was determined finish though he had “hit the wall” at 57 miles. He wanted us to cross the Finish Line together. I agreed. That was a much better idea. So we left BP 6 and rode side-by-side to Sundance Square. We both had renewed energy and it almost felt like we were crossing the Finish Line the whole 10 miles.
