Into the Rain

It is 5:10AM and we are up. Well, I am up and Nathan seems to still be slumbering. So I'll start getting my stuff ready and eating loudly soon to be sure he isn't tardy for the 6:00 departure bell.

Rain in the forecast, probably unavoidable even with the early start. I'll miss my "B" bike with great clip on fenders, disc brakes (that don't get mushy and significantly less effective in the rain) and the big tires.

But we've all got fancy rain gear galore so we won't get cold. We swallow some grit from the riders in front of us, we might have to brake a little sooner and go a little slower. We might not have quite as much fun as we've been having these last few days.

But considering at least one of the big reasons why we're doing this, it sort of seems fair.

Bike Church on the Lobster Roll

Today is Sunday and I didn't go to church because I was riding my bicycle. This is not something that happens often but when it does, it is called "bike church," a term I learned from Nathan years ago. And it actually made sense to me when I thought about it because I was so struck by my friend Jimmy saying to me when I was in college that "running is a form of prayer."

So that was a long way of telling you that I am going to bring up another Mormon thing today because I think it is apt because it is Sunday and all that. There's a guy named Lehi in the Book of Mormon who supposedly told his son Jacob that "there must needs be opposition in all things." This is not a concept unique to Lehi, it runs through all sorts of religions, but basically without good, you can't have bad. Without bran flakes, fruity pebbles lose their appeal. Without some of us being afraid of going downhill fast on our bikes, you couldn't have other people who love it so much. (maybe that last one doesn't quite work but you get the idea)

So today is a series of stories about opposites.

At one point (sorry Dr.) I was feeling peeved at Nathan. I don't like knowing exactly how far there is to go (except in race situations when I really, really want to know). I especially don't like it when I am not feeling great or the task is unpleasant. When I worked at Red Lobster and Macaroni Grill in high school, I would try to avoid looking at my watch or the clock because I felt like not knowing made the time go by faster. The whole watched pot thing.

But then, not too long after telling us that we were 1/3 of the way done with the ride and 1/4 of the way done with the climbing (I think) Nathan pulled us on a long, gradual descent with some tailwind at about 73mph for at least an hour. And then when we passed a "ride and fly" festival, there was a finish line and Nathan posted up like Edvald Boasson-Hagen and it was tremendous and I loved him for it and forgave him for being helpful and me being annoyed at him being helpful.

(Actually a re-enactment of the original post-up that he did when we rolled onto the gravel descent but also a preview of the later post-up at the airshow.)

Today had more climbing than yesterday, or the day before, more climbing than tomorrow, just more. And that was worrisome. I felt like yesterday went pretty well and then I was afraid that today would be something of a disaster for me. I know part of this is me sand-bagging but I've had some rough days on long rides the day after long rides so it wasn't just that...

Anyway, I was nervous. And stuff didn't always feel great, my feet hurt, I couldn't find a comfortable position for my hands all day, my drinks weren't always cold (seriously once I complain about one thing, the absurdity of complaining at all about this whole endeavor is readily apparent but bear with me please), and there were moments like when we started out flying after lunch and I was doing 400 watts to try and catch back on behind flying Brian Howles that I struggled.

But then we went up the last big climb of the day and I  managed to stay pretty close to the smooth, ridiculously relaxed (and fast) climbing Brian. And it felt good to dig deep a little bit and feel like there was still power down in there. There is an immense satisfaction that comes when you ask your body for something and it responds, particularly because you know you've worked hard to make it capable of doing such things.

Which is part of the paradox of this whole trip that is so fascinating. Because asking your body to do something, especially something like going up a climb chasing Brian Howles towards the end of day 3 of 100+ miles a day of riding and having it actually do it is the exact opposite of being sick, of having your body betray you, whether it is cancer or any other kind of illness. 

We are doing this physically challenging thing and in doing so trying to help provide mental health care for people dealing with that horrific betrayal where instead of doing what you ask it to, your body is destroying itself.

So it makes sense. 

Because when you roll into town and find the Howles clan holding up signs and cheering you on and telling you that it matters, it makes today into the opposite of the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

Lobster Roll Days One and Two

Nathan said he was going to blog about the ride. I've been neglecting this bad boy for quite some time so I figured why not fire it up. But then I have had absolutely zero cool things to say. And yesterday, when we got to the end of the ride at 6:30, I couldn't come up with a single thing. So here's the second attempt.

I only drank two Mt. Dews today. And only 12oz each at that. I'm just thinking that if I go to that well too many times too early, it won't have the same restorative effect on day 5 and 6 when I really need it. Right?

You would think that after 105 miles yesterday the part of me that would hurt the most would be my legs. But honestly, it was my hands and the bits I sit on. Vague discomfort, then really annoying, then feeling overwhelmed by the desire to not be sitting on my bike pedaling.

Of course, if I give in to that, I miss this:

And there were plenty of times today thanks to some very smooth roads and some nice tailwinds where you get to just cruise along in line at 20-25mph. There is something immensely satisfying about working in a pace line and perhaps even more so when they are your friends and you are working on something that is so much fun and will end up helping people facing something much less pleasant. Something terrifying and soul crushing.

Plus one of my favorite songs and one that I even had ambitions of learning to play on the piano ages ago is Ashokan Farewell, composed by Jay Ungar not far the reservoir at a camp where he ran a festival for years.

He said he wrote the tune as a way of trying to deal with the feeling of loss that overwhelmed him when he had to return to regular life and say goodbye to the special people that he played and sang and lived with at the camp.

He wrote that by the time "the tune took form, I was in tears. I kept it to myself for many months unable to fully understand the emotions that welled up whenever I played it. I had no idea that this simple tune could affect others in the same way."

Well it does.

And I think all too often we think the things that move us might not move other people and so we keep them to ourselves and we don't share.

There's a strong current of shared salvation that runs through Mormon theology and one that I've been more and more moved by over the past ten years as we've been part of a very special congregation in Philadelphia and also, sadly, as we've born the burdens of grief and loss together as we've lost members of that extended family.

And I've tried to articulate a thought along those lines as I've thought about this ride and what we are trying to do and how doing something that I really enjoy and am incredibly privileged and fortunate to be able to do (ride bikes with my friends through beautiful places for six days while neglecting all the other responsibilities in my life) could possibly be meaningful to people facing the exact opposite sort of thing.

But then someone said something to me Thursday night about this mattering. At first I thought she was talking about something else and I tried to play it off with some off-hand comment. But she said it again, "it all matters."

So I still don't have anything cool to say but I am awfully grateful to share this week with Mike and Nathan and Tim and Brian and Rob and CJ and in some small way with the folks who will benefit from the support that people have donated to Flatwater.