live cold, more like!
I didn’t have high hopes for the LiveStrong ride this year. Things just seemed so chaotic at headquarters. No repeat of last year’s successful group training. Donations credited to the wrong account. Websites down for entire weekends. No schedules available until practically the day of. Vital information posted only in PDF (and broken PDF, at that!).
So I was getting bummed on the whole concept. Things started to pick up a little, though, when Lynn and I stopped by Nike headquarters the day before the ride to waddle over and pick up my rider packet.
Registration day, a scant eighteen hours before the ride, was one of those beautifully gloomy autumn mornings where you can’t wait to get those farmer’s market veggies home, throw the squash in the oven, and burrow under a blanket with a gallon of coffee. We dawdled happily at the LiveStrong village, though, picking up freebies and trying our hand at remote-controlling surgical robots. Let me just say, this brain surgery stuff ain’t exactly rocket science.
Anyway, the fun activities and nasty sports drink samples began to lift my spirits, as did the enthusiasm of the cheerful volunteer who rang a cowbell when I signed in. (You only get a cowbell if you raise more than $500, so: thank you, donors!)
The staff informed us that they had actually cancelled the 100-mile ride due to low temperatures and high winds. This was great news for me—not because of the cancellation (I was only signed up for the 70-mile route anyway), but because I knew I’d be in my element. Cold, rain, and wind are my constant companions during my morning commute, so the LiveStrong ride would be just like going to work. (If work were 70 miles away instead of 4, that is.)
That night, I pinned my rider number to my warmest cycling jacket (thanks, Dad!), laid out my wool tights and socks, and tracked down my fuzzy gloves ($4—thanks, REI!). I filled my water bottle with Nasty Sports Drink™ and got my arse to bed.
The alarm nagged me awake, and I needed no prompting to start wriggling into my cold riding gear: it was chilly even in the house! I took my sweet time eating something appropriately breakfasty, and did my final pre-flight check. Here we go!
At the starting line, I found my assigned spot, drank some tea (thank you, corporate coffee chain!), and found my co-worker Lynne-with-an-E, who once again took on marshall duties with her riding partner Jason on Clifford the big red tandem.
As chaotic as the pre-season was, the ride day was beautifully organized. Lance knew to keep the speeches short, since we were already cold and wet. We poured out of the gates with minimal fuss. This year, I reined in my typical starting-block enthusiasm to set a decidedly moderate pace. That rare bit of restraint saved my bacon later on.
It rained on us pretty much the whole time. Sometimes it was just drizzle, and sometimes it was like a blanket on our shoulders. I felt smugly (and snugly) overprepared, with my wool underwear and space-age fabrics—not to mention Shiki’s beautiful and practical fenders (thanks, Lynne-with-an-E!). There were a lot of folks who were stronger riders than I, but who were encumbered by hastily-assembled ponchos ballooning out behind them like parachutes. I confess that I got a little satisfaction passing shaved-calf badasses riding $3000 rigs with my humble little 20-year-old bike that cost a tenth of that price. I passed Lance, too, but he was going the other way, so it’s not exactly like I passed him passed him.
Here’s where the LiveStrong organizers once again made up for the slapdash off season with greatness on the day of: someone must’ve gone to the grocery store the night before the ride and bought out their entire stock of Pacific brand tomato and roasted red pepper soup. At nearly every rest stop, they had a Coleman stove heating up delicious tomato-y goodness as quickly as volunteers could crack open the cartons and pour it in. I called home to Lynn-without-an-E to check in: I was happier than a pig in poop, I told her. Nasty weather, exertion, hot soup, what more can a Scorpio ask for?
I got back in the saddle and resumed blazing my wet trail through Washington County, encountering occasional pirates. This year, the hills were much less of a challenge than two years ago when I rode half the distance. Having a road bike makes all the difference!
Finally, the streets of Beaverton guided me back to Nike-land (thanks, Mindy, for cheering!). The finish line seemed practically deserted. No matter. I valet-ed my bike and went to get some precious, precious coffee. My wife and my father-in-law caught up with me at the massage tables—which were plentiful and in a nice, quiet corner, so kudos again, staff!
We found the beer and goodies, and I refueled while we all caught up on one another’s days. We found the announcer guy from last year’s marriage proposal, and showed him the, erm, obvious evidence that the marriage was proceeding at a brisk pace. We also found Lynne-with-an-E and her cycling gang. Everyone swapped stories as we finished our meals and grabbed coffees for the road.
The next morning, I got onto my much heavier winter commuting rig, attached a trailer full of sixty pounds of rambunctiousness, and pedaled the kiddo to school. And it don’t stop….