MS 150 Update

Well, we survived. The route was a hell of a lot harder than they advertised. “Moderately hilly” my ass. Those Missouri rollers were brutal and some of the climbs were just plain vicious.

We left my in-laws house at 7 p.m. on Friday and were due to arrive in Columbia just before 9. The best laid plans . . . Just five miles away from our house we hit a traffic jam that lasted two hours. No escape, nowhere to divert. It was gridlock for miles and miles. Five miles from home! AUUUGH. We rolled in to Columbia after 11 and were slated to meet the team in the parking lot at 6. We were sleepy. Very, very sleepy.

Day 1

Got up and met in the parking lot, headed over to the starting line for the event to grab some breakfast, get our team photo taken, gather back together, waited in line, and then start rolling around 8ish.

Note to organizers next year: the food you served and the amount you gave was not good for a bunch of people who were about to ride long distances. Not at all. Too greasy, not enough carbs and not nearly enough to eat. The juice and coffee were good though. Luckily I had my pockets filled with all sorts of on the bike energy.

We hit the road at 8, left the busy roads quickly and hit the first big climb of the day, less than a mile from the start. Never easy on cold legs. It was a shock to the system, but it was only the beginning. The descents were fun, I hit about 40 mph on the downhills, but little did we know what was ahead.

About three miles in I stopped to help a teammate inflate his tire, which was a little soft. Behind us there was a very, very loud man talking about how his bike “sounded like a diesel engine” and that there was something wrong with it. He was just going to hit the SAG wagon and head home. Wow. This was an ominous sign.

About five miles in we found our first victim. A girl had fallen and broken her collar bone. Then she had an asthma attack. She left in an ambulance. We churned away to our first rest stop where we were treated to shots of Fitz’s root beer. Yummy. I loaded up on oranges and we hit the road again.

I rode with Chris for a while but then decided to chase down her former co-worker, and also former racer, Jon. In about five minutes at speeds of up to 30 mph, I caught up and marked him on several tough climbs. That was fun. Then I waited for Chris at the top of the hardest and stuck with her for the rest of the day.

Shortly before the second rest stop at about 22 miles or so, we hit the hardest climb of the weekend. Everyone called it Highland Hill. It was steep, angry and had many false summits. Chris preferred to climb at her own pace, so I took off and took the climb solo.

I started passing people on the first slope of the climb. It was gentle, but gave you a little hint of what was coming. I passed a very, very tall man on a road bike that was far too small for him. He was singing a Culture Club song as he hit the first tough part of the climb. His momentum was cut in half and he started sinking like a stone. He’d play a major role later on.

I churned through my gears rhythmically, trying to control my breathing. People were starting to fall like flies. They were walking their bikes, wheezing and some were literally falling off their bikes. It was carnage. Hitting the steepest part of the climb I stood in the pedals and just started to focus on the top of the hill.

Sadly, it was not the top. Just beyond the false crest was another 500 feet of climbing. Even more carnage. At the top was a rest stop, but not until one last steep pitch.

At the top were people clapping and yelling encouragement. I pulled to the side and laid my bike in the grass. A little girl came up and handed me a packet of fruit snacks and said, “Thanks for riding!” Fruit snacks never tasted so good.

I stood at the side of the road, waiting for Chris. I figured she’d be a minute or two behind me. Four minutes rolled by and she still wasn’t there. Finally I saw a teammate of ours who I knew Chris had passed on an earlier climb.

“Chris was on the side of the road,” she said gasping. “I don’t know if she crashed or not but she was mad and walking.”

A minute later, Chris came riding up the last hill with a look of rage, and parked her bike next to mine. “Some guy knocked me off my bike!” (Note: That’s not exactly what she said, but I cleaned it up because no one needs to know she can curse like a sailor when angry.)

Turned out the super tall guy took Chris out. He was riding up the steepest part of the climb just ahead of Chris. She was feeling good and was pleased that she was going to clear the toughest climb of the day. Tall Guy started swerving. She tried to get out of his way, but that’s tough to do on a crowded road that’s heading straight up. He wobbled and than fell over to his right, hitting Chris and causing a domino effect. She hit the ground hard, hit her head and then got hit by the guy behind her. She was fine, just a little road rash, but that part of the climb was impossibly steep and she had to walk it to the false summit to get started again.

That’s what pissed her off. She was mad at the idiot who, it turned out, had just bought clipless pedals and didn’t know how to use them, but she was angrier that she had to walk her bike. That and the Gatorade at that rest stop tasted like soap.

This is that idiot, by the way. Thanks to Kim Morris, the official photographer of the MS 150 for capturing Tall Guy.

Filled with fruit snacks and covered in band aids, we headed off again. Little happened between there, lunch (hey, I was still looking fresh!) and about mile 60. At about mile 50 we left the quiet rural roads and hit some suburban roads and busy roads. Some idiot tried to bunny hop a road hazard rather than just avoiding it, nearly taking out all of us behind him. Our team captain yelled at him about that at a stoplight, and rightly so.

When we hit rural roads again I started picking up the pace, leaving Chris and our team captain’s wife behind. Our Captain rode with me for a while, but at about mile 60 I dropped him and started churning out a pace on significantly hilly roads of about 23 mph. I don’t know why. I don’t know what was motivating me. I was tired, my legs were a little sore, but I was passing everyone on the road, climbing like a monster and just flying up and down those hills.

I hit the last rest stop a full minute ahead of our captain and three minutes ahead of Chris. With ten miles to go, Chris was starting to flag. She couldn’t eat any more and had to force a gel and some Gatorade down.

We posed for a few pictures. That was Chris’ last smile until the finish line. We had some tough climbs ahead. We knew what was coming because we had descended them earlier.

When we hit the climbs, I tried to stay with Chris and encourage her. After the second climb she told me that she preferred to do it alone. Or, rather, she growled, “STOP TALKING!” So I would wait at the top of the climbs for her, make sure she didn’t need more water, etc.

Finally, after a grueling last climb we descended toward the finish line. I pushed Chris in front of me and found some of our teammates cheering us over the line.

Tired, we headed back to the car, changed into non-sweaty clothes and hit the finish line party for a little while. The consensus of nearly every rider we found was that this course was much harder than advertised. Vicious, actually. Everyone was shocked and it looked like the 75 mile route would be sparsely attended the next day. Everyone was surprised and exhausted.

Chris did fantastic on this ride. She trained hard and was presented with a route that was more than we expected. She gritted her teeth, and left her lungs, muscles and heart out on those roads. She should be proud of her riding on Saturday. It was a heroic performance for someone’s first organized ride.

We went back to the hotel, took a power washer shower (bad Travel Lodge shower) and Chris took a nap while I searched in vain for coffee. Sure, could have hit some of the coffee shops downtown but they had a festival going on and I would have had to park, walk six blocks and then drive back to the hotel. Not worth it.

Day 2
Because there were no team photos, we didn’t have to arrive as a team today. So, we had the car loaded for home and were ready for breakfast by 6:30.

We decided to skip the free breakfast and hit Waffle House with Chris’ former co-worker Jon. The waffles were just what the doctor ordered. I needed that energy the day before, but today they gave me just the right base for a nice, hilly 40 mile ride.

We rolled out as a group on a totally new route. Almost immediately we hit a long, slow climb along a busy two lane road. I call it “Bull Cry Road” because somewhere in the distance a bull sounded as if it was having its balls pulled through his throat.

Anyway, Jon and I immediately hit the climb at a good, but comfortable clip. Yes, I left my wife behind. But I was feeling good, loose and wanted to spin out some of the antsy feelings from the day before.

We hit rolling hills immediately. Unlike yesterday, they felt like nothing more than a driveway. Jon and I started picking up the pace, passing people at a regular pace. Then, as we were passing a group that was hogging the whole road, Jon started climbing like he was attacking on the Col d'Aubisque. I answered and hung on his wheel. We rode like that for a while, taking turns in front and chatting as we rode.

Three miles from the first rest stop I started churning hard in my big chain ring over the hills. We started hitting speeds in the upper twenties up the hills, using the descents as power up hills.

About a mile from the rest stop something snapped in my head and I just went nuts. I hopped up a gear and started hammering like I was going for the line in a solo breakaway. I didn’t look behind me, didn’t give Jon warning and I just went.

I averaged about 28 mph through those final hills, possibly fueled by the excitement of the speed. I hit the rest stop about 20 seconds before Jon.

“Hey, what’s up Hammerhead,” Jon said, in reference to my sudden need for speed.

Chris rolled in a few minutes later and we grabbed some snacks. I said I’d ride with Chris for a while. That lasted about five minutes because suddenly I took off again and we just hammered to the second rest stop. Chris found us on the porch of some old small town store talking about why we’d want to live in a town like this. Riding being one of them.

Chris was thrilled because the rest stop had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which are her training fuel of choice. She hopped on the bike ready to chew up some terrain.

I swore I’d ride with Chris to the end and Jon went up the road ahead. And we rolled through some of the most beautiful scenery on the whole ride. We seemed to be at the highest point in the ride and there were vistas of trees and rolling farmland. This, I thought, was what riding should be.

Well, I hit a descent and the speed monkey got on my shoulder again and I just started pedaling. Suddenly Chris was behind me and I was bridging back up to Jon. Chris had little interest in chasing as she was just enjoying the ride at her own pace. Besides, I think I made her nervous because I would mother hen her. “Did you eat enough? How are you feeling? Did you get enough to drink? Are you hot?”

A few miles from the third rest stop, Jon looked ahead and saw a rather nasty hill up ahead. “Faster,” he yelled and we started churning up the hill. At the top we found a man standing over his bike proclaiming that he didn’t even like cats.

That’s odd, I thought. Then a black kitten leaped off his wheel and meowed at me. Jon stopped to pet it and we laughed. Now that climb is known as kitty hill. We flew down to the next rest stop.

I waited for Chris by the road. After yesterday, if she wasn’t exactly where I thought she was I’d start to get nervous. Did she tank on the hill? Did she crash? Did the idiot knock her down again? A minute or two later she came rolling in.

“Did you see the kitty?” Of course. She wasn’t delayed by a problem. She stopped to play with the kitten.

We rode as a group, more or less, for the rest of the way. I learned yesterday that Chris did not want company on climbs, so I’d hit the hills and soft pedal until Chris bridged up. Here's me, Jon and Chris from the official photos.

We looped back to where we had started and found ourselves on a slow slope for about a mile. I was going at a nice clip, seemingly alone because I hit the turn off first. Then Jon shouts behind me, “Man, if I sit right here I don’t even have to pedal. You’re just pulling my up the hill.” I called him a wheel sucker and he took off toward the finish. Chris bridged up and we took the last few miles together.

She hit the line, with our friends cheering us on and grabbed our medals.

We were tired, but invigorated. Before we even made it back to the car we were talking about next year. Now that we know what we’re dealing with, we’re going to destroy the 75 mile route both days.

Ultimately, it was a great weekend. And oddly poetic. Next year I’ll do better at fundraising. I’ll be better prepared for the hills and I’ll definitely leave my wife alone to ride the ride she wants to ride.