Day 27 – July 13th

As I go through my morning routine of preparation and packing, a thought strikes me: Today will be the last Sunday that I saddle up and ride east. Including today, there are only 7 days in which I will have to coax miles out of my lactic filled legs. A week; no longer is this ride about 3,600 miles, but rather a mere week in the saddle knocking out pedal strokes. A week? Yeah, I can do a week. Not sure how, but I know if need be I will drag, push, and pull my bike but I will see that ocean on this sick love affair of a ride. With that thought, I clip in and push on. The Atlantic beckons, and I have no power but to heed her call for another week.

My ride starts out very similar to yesterdays: wet. Last night, before the sandman pulled me into slumber, the clouds outside grew heavy with rain and this morning as I awoke the earth was being pelted with that cloud heavy burden. No worries, though, since a late start is still a start. And so, a few minutes after 8 a.m., I am breakfast laden and rolling down yet another highway of this glorious country. The rain is persistent, but not stinging, and the first 30 miles drizzle away with nothing to show for it but a wet bike, a wet biker, and me closer to my ultimate goal. As I pedal along, slowly pulling away from Gary as it’s too miserable to draft with the spray coming off the lead bike, I grow excited for today and what it will bring. When I reach the 70 mile marker for the day, I have a prize awaiting me; family. My sister, Wendy, her RAA enthusiastic husband, Jeff, and two amazing kids Austin and Josie live in the Ohioan town I will be pedaling through; Cuyahoga Falls. Rolling into town a little after 12, I am wet, filthy but still smiling as I am drawn into hugs. While I load up on calories, we all engage in conversation about anything and everything. Its just great getting to see them all, especially considering I haven’t seen Austin in more than a year, Wendy in a couple of years, Josie since she was a few weeks old, and the last time I saw Jeff I was getting married. It has been much, much too long.

Soon though, the sun continues his eternal struggle to cross the sky and reminds me I must continue my own struggle. So with good byes and promises to see them later that night, I convince myself to stumble into the saddle and go forth yet again. With a pleasant tailwind encouraging my ride, the 114 miles this day consisted of are soon behind me. My legs are still feeling fresh, the knees are pain free, and even the bike seems hungry for more; but they will have to wait for tomorrow’s morning call to begin again. I am surprised when Gary tells me that we did more than 3,000 feet of climbing over today’s course; I feel much too fresh for that fact to ring true. I knew the course today felt more volatile in the rises and dips, but it didn’t feel like 3,000 feet of ascending. In fact, reflecting back on it, I can only remember one climb that was worthy of remembrance; and that only because I botched my attack. After missing a turn (this seems to be becoming habit) I dove around a corner and confronted a beast of a hill guarding my way forward. No worries, I’d slain bigger of his kin. Cranking into it, I soon found myself out of the seat and pounding hard to keep my bike moving. Gary soon yelled out that the hill was a ghastly 18 percent grade, and it was at that time that I realized I was in my big ring up front. Usually, when you climb steep hills, you switch into your smaller ring as it eases the pressure on your legs and allows a better cadence with less pain. I, in my anxiety to slay the beast, failed to switch to the bottom ring and now that I was more than half way up, I had too much torque on the chain to try and slip into the ring I needed. Like so many other times on this ride, I found myself with only one option; pedal on. And that is what I did, ignoring the searing pain in my thighs, I found a slow, hard rhythm and pushed my way to the summit. At the top, sore but alive, I could only laugh at my feat and my own stupidity. Ahh, life on the bike.

That night a feast is brought to my door, literally. Wendy, Jeff, Austin and Josie hand deliver supper to Gary, Larry and I; man are we spoiled! After nearly 5 weeks of dining out, a home cooked meal is a blessing heaven sent. After sampling a local brew suggested by Jeff (I had to re sample it, just to make sure I got the taste right) we ate the wonderful fare and relaxed in each other’s company. Its amazing how much we take for granted, or what we are missing out on, until it is presented to us again. It was truly wonderful getting to see family on this whirlwind of a trip. Thank you Austin, Josie, Jeff, and Wendy! I appreciate you guys taking time out of your lives to drive to Warren, and for bringing supper and the great company. I wish I could see you guys more, but right now I’m just grateful for the couple hours I got to spend in your lives today. Take care, all of you.