Time Travel at its Finest

The dial of the time machine finally stops spinning at 2015. Your Humble Narrator and his friend Sam find themselves back in the American Diabetes Association's Tour de Cure. 500 A.D. seems like a long time ago. But it was also last week. For this was the Fourth Century.

Suddenly, the year was 1972. That's right, before the Internet, cell phones, personal computers, or even color TV (at least at my house). The class of 12, 13 and the occasional 14-year old boys gathered in their ridiculous junior high gym "uniforms." They were also wearing ORIGINAL Chuck Taylor Converse All Stars, Black and White, hi and lo-top. Because that's all there was. And you laid out a lot of hard-earned cash to get them through the school discount, for $7.50. But that is another story for another day.

The occasion was the third and final day of Track and Field. Just as the Olympics has its 100-meters, so junior high school has its premier event, the 50-yard dash. You knew who the fastest guys were. When your turn came you wondered what time you could post. Neither the fastest nor the slowest, and when it was over you went to the sideline to watch the next heat.

No one expected great things from Mark, except Mark himself. He SHOT out of the blocks and at the 15-yard mark we all knew, that this was going to be something special indeed. We stood agape as he extended the lead over the fastest boys. It was a miracle.

But by 30 yards, the upper half of Mark was running faster than the lower half. The treadmill had gone berserk. He desperately tried to make his legs catch up, but the ground came up to meet him. In the face. As he was carted off the field with a broken arm, we all knew we had witnessed something.

What we had witnessed was an epic fail before there were such things. That first bitch-slap from life that reminds us to not get ahead of ourselves. We all get it sooner or later. And for the rest of the year we would laugh when we would see the cast, remembering the cosmic slapstick we had watched unfold. But somehow there was respect too. Because in his mind, and for about 5 seconds, he was the fastest guy out there that day.

1972 was a long time ago. But the Fourth Century had a way of reminding me. It also reminded me why I only rode 88 miles last year.

We've been over this before. The relentless pedaling. The hills. Keep pedaling. Avoid Whining. 4 months ago, Sam didn't even have a bike. This day, he helped push Your Humble Narrator through the hills. But not before I found my own version of the 50-yard dash. We made it to the half-way mark in 3 1/2 hours. We made it back in 5. But we made it back.

Somewhere along the way, I became free again. The metal was made ready for the hand of the Maker. And that's why you ride. Or run the 50-yard dash.

Thanks Sam. And thanks to the generous sponsors. And ADA, and the volunteers along the way. Until next year my friends, live in the moment.

Epic Metric

Epilogue - June 1 2014.

Once again Your Humble Narrator participated in the American Diabetes Association's Tour de Cure.

Regular readers will recall the post-event narratives of the past 3 years: There was 2013's "108 Miles of Solitude". 2012's "2nd Century" and 2011's "Ride of the Century".

But the team failed to form this year. As a solo rider I questioned whether it was going to happen. And then. At about 8 weeks out, fellow 2011 and 2012 team rider Cerasela contacted me to get some training rides in and join her team. So with 2 weeks before the ride, the calls went out. And generous donors responded to the tune of over $1,400 in support of a cure for diabetes.

Cerasela was ready for the complete 108 mile ride. YHN was committed to only the Metric Century. However, the beautiful weather and team spirit called for something more epic. So the game-day decision was made to split the difference and ride the "Century Short-Cut Route", 88 miles, through the rural and rolling Virginia countryside.

The 2-member Ride For Health team rolled out at 7 AM. Cerasela hailed her signature, the musical "Pass-ing Left" along the route to Trail's End in Purcellville. She has explained to me it is the modulation of tone (lo-hi-lo) that makes it so effective. Somewhere southwest of there, the team separated and rode together in spirit only. You have to ride at your own pace.

At the shortcut checkpoint, there was only gratitude to turn east along a new route. I had sufficient recall of the route's southernmost 20 miles through Rectortown to last a lifetime. Much of the shortcut's ride experience was the same, but I was glad to bypass the "Beware: Extremely Steep Hill Ahead" section this year.

Somewhere around mile 50 an oasis appeared in the middle of nowhere. At an intersection of 2 gravel roads in the middle of a field, 2 cases of bottled water stood warming in the sun. If it weren't for the fact they were in the shoulder next to a route marker, one would have thought they just fell off a truck. But we were all grateful for the water, warm or otherwise.

As explained previously, it is at this point - about 3 hours in - that one needs to find the zen of the ride, because there is still another 3 hours + to go. Stop looking at the odometer! Stop looking at the clock! Keep Pedaling! Mercifully, it occurs. You lift up your head as you return into Purcellville. A sea of roofs once again on the outskirts of town. Civilization?

AND THEN. As I am casually looking around the neighborhood to continue my intentional distraction I traverse the Pothole from Hell, Purcellville's own Darvaza Gas Crater. I was amazed that I wasn't swallowed whole. Instead I received the most bone-jarring pothole hit of my career. OK, maybe I was just sensitive at 68 miles, but every time I see a pothole now I think of that one. And every time I hit one, I think "IDIOT! PAY ATTENTION!"

Glad I was able to ride, glad it was over, and glad it's only once a year. But hey it's not too late! They are sponsoring a 50-mile ride through DC in September! There are also 13 and 33 mile routes. If interested - here's the link.

Thanks once again to all who donated! Thanks to the sponsors, and thanks especially to FreshBikes, who attempted to fix my failed front shifter at mile 70. Visit them in the Mosaic District.