I wanted to go ahead and post this before I head out for Cycle North Carolina but due to a technical glitch it is out today–I’m slowly trying to get caught up re-posting my original thoughts about the randonneuring I did in 2003. So this was the 400k . . .
June 2003-What’s amazing to me is that each ride, in its own way, is a completely fresh and new experience. This is true of training rides as well as events; I’ve learned that I’m much happier if I try to leave my expectations and preconceived notions at home, and just let each mile flow beneath my wheels in whatever way it will. The 400k, on May 24th, did just that-it flowed. It felt as if I just rolled through the whole day (and I do mean WHOLE day-all 23 hours of it!) and kept pedaling and got into my zone and pedaled some more. It was a much less eventful ride than the prior two brevets, and that was a fantastic feeling.
We followed the same basic route, extending it out into the Uwharrie Mountains–don’t ever let anyone tell you they aren’t real mountains! I saw a nice sustained 40 mph on the cyclometer on one descent-the first time I’ve ever gone quite that fast-and got a huge kick out of it. The pure joy of having gone that fast got me up over the next ascent; granted, they’re small mountains, but mountains they are. Thank goodness for my granny gear…
The only other little bump in my day was a minor bout with hives-on my lips. Apparently, something was blooming that really didn’t like me-my friend James looked at me once when I took off my glasses and laughed. He said we could tell people I’d been in a prize fight. Apparently I was a bit swollen and bloodshot. Frankly, I couldn’t have cared less. Just keep pedaling . . .
Night finally fell, and I worked really hard at screwing up my courage and convincing myself to be brave. Surprisingly, it worked pretty well. I didn’t quite enjoy the darkness, but it was much less intimidating than it had been before. First off, there was no lightning-that helped a lot. I had spent a huge part of the three weeks between the two rides psyching myself up for the darkness. I had also fine-tuned the positioning of headlights, and had added a little light on my helmet. The helmet light was life-changing! Now, when I hear a rustling in the bushes on my right, I turn my head very quickly and I can often actually see the little eyes staring back at me. I know that sounds creepy, but I’d rather be able to see them and know I’m flying on past, rather than just hear noises in the impenetrable dark.
So the night just rolled on by. James and I find that we need to stop a bit more frequently at night, for just a few minutes each time. We stop at pretty much every little closed-for-the-night country store or gas station that we come across-most places leave outside lights on at night. The light is comforting, somehow. Five minutes of light, a quick bite to eat, a little chit-chat- it makes us feel more normal, less disconnected from reality.
We think we may have scared the daylights out of one poor soul-about 1 AM or so, I was just spinning along, when all of a sudden there was a man standing right on the edge of the road smoking a cigarette. I suppose we snuck up on him, silently pedaling, with our strange lights glowing like something from outer space. I could’ve reached out and touched him. I’m not sure who was more startled-our profanity was about equally matched. It rattled me for a minute, but you start getting punch-drunk at that time of night, and eventually it struck us as hysterically funny-I nearly fell off the bike laughing at the thought of the story he must have told over breakfast Sunday morning.
There was one very distressing moment an hour or two later when we were fairly certain we had been shot at-gunshots over your head in the middle of the night in rural Chatham County really get your attention. We were riding alone, having lost track of 4 or 5 other riders when we left the last control ahead of them. We started hearing what sounded like sitar music playing very loudly in the woods, and loud voices. Bear in mind, this was the middle of NOWHERE, at about 3 in the morning. We were perplexed. We rounded a curve, and could see lots of bright colored lights strung up in a clearing, and sensed, rather than saw clearly, people moving about. We passed a great big pick-up truck parked on the side of the road, and within seconds two shots rang out. James pulled up next to me wondering what the @#$%!! that was, but I wasn’t interested in hanging around to find out. We just pedaled hard until we got to a well-lit parking lot on a different road, then stopped to regroup. We decided to believe that it was just a coincidence-someone was having a party and shot off a few rounds in the back yard. Sometimes you just have to turn the brain off and keep pedaling . . .
It misted for a couple of hours (remember that rain we weren’t supposed to have Memorial Day weekend?), then the bottom just fell out about an hour before we finished. I’m not sure that I’ve ever been quite so wet, but amazingly, it didn’t bother me all that much. I read somewhere that once you hit two hundred miles, it’s just a numbers game. The misery doesn’t necessarily keep increasing at the same rate after that point-you just keep going. That’s kind of what happened-I felt like I really held steady in the last few hours, and just kept pedaling. I didn’t much want food at the stops, but I was able to keep my sports drink going down while we were moving, so I felt okay.
We finished at 5 AM. It was a bit disorienting, and driving was a challenge after that long on the bike, but I was surprised at how elated I felt. I told James, as I got into my car to leave, that what we had just done was inconceivable to me. I’ve never been in the habit of staying up all night, even in my long-lost youth, so to do so on a bicycle–I’m pretty proud of this one!
