The inclement weather the past couple of days relegated me to working in the garage, so I decided to “tune up” my bicycle for the spring. I replaced the tubes, tire, and brake pads last year, so all I needed to do was lube the chain and make a few minor adjustments. In truth, I do this more out of habit than necessity. These days, I probably ride that bike 50 miles over the course of a year. It wasn’t always that way. During my past couple of years in Ohio and my first few years in North Carolina, cycling was my primary exercise. I easily logged 40 or 50 miles per week during the warmer months.
In my early Carolina days, my office was in a nifty building on U.S. 74 near Matthews called The Quorum. The back door of The Quorum opened onto a set of stairs that led down to McAlpine Creek Greenway, and a couple of us would bring our bikes and ride for an hour or so after work. At some point that summer, we decided to enter the Breakaway to the Beach fundraiser for multiple sclerosis. It was a 150-mile ride from Rockingham to Myrtle Beach over two days. I owned an inexpensive mountain bike back then, and it was in no way up to the challenge, so I invested in the Trek Multi-Track 730 I still own and ride. The Multi-Track is a hybrid, part road bike, part mountain bike and, as it turned out, not perfectly well-suited to either.
Preparing for a 150-mile ride requires some serious time in the saddle, and in addition to our evening rides after work, I would go out on Saturdays and Sundays for 20-30 miles on the backroads around my house. A week before the Breakaway, I was riding on Hwy. 115 through Mooresville, caught my front tire on a railroad crossing and took a nasty spill. My helmet protected my head and my gloves, for the most part, my hands, but I banged up my knee and ripped a good bit of flesh off my forearm. I recall sitting in the tub nursing my wounds and wondering whether I would be able to ride the following weekend. The knee was stiff for a couple of days but ultimately didn’t give me any trouble during the event.
The first day of the Breakaway was beautiful for September; clear, slightly cool, no wind. I rode the 80 miles to the overnight rest area near Florence, free and easy. Many of the riders chose to stay in tents, but my little group got a cheap hotel room. Good decision. I was grateful for a hot shower and a soft mattress.
Day two dawned cloudy, which was fine initially, but then the temperature and humidity started to rise, and by the lunch stop, it was in the low 90s. I got a little dehydrated, and the last 30 miles into a stout onshore wind was a slog of headache, nausea, and frequent bathroom stops. As we crossed the finish line at North Myrtle Beach High School, the marching band was playing and there were representatives of the National MS Society handing out medals on bright red, white and blue ribbons as we rode by. I’m not embarrassed to say I broke down crying. It was one of the most emotional experiences of my life.
We had the opportunity to shower and grab something to eat before boarding the bus back to Rockingham, and I started to feel a little bit better. It was on that 2-and-a-half hour bus ride back to my car that I finally grasped just how far a ride it had been. Now and then, I have to challenge myself in this way. Fifteen years after the Breakaway, at the age of 50, I entered a 28-mile-in-one-day wilderness hike for children’s cancer, which about killed me. I have an even more audacious idea percolating in the back of my head for a kayak trip across Lake Erie to celebrate my 60th birthday. Please, someone, talk me out of that!
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