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power with a hundred names

The day ended how it began: with my bike hurtling through the darkness, my belly warm with espresso, my fingers icy from the wind, and Geddy Lee singing to me from my iPod.

It's a dream for the waking
It's a flower touched by flame
It's a gift for the giving
It's a power with a hundred names

Lots of timely songs played through my headphones today, but the most perfect match for the day’s mood - my little theme song for the ride - would have to be “Out of the Cradle” from Rush’s “Vapor Trails” album. When those words came flooding in, I thought of you guys—my supporters. It’s not exaggerating too much to say that I could feel a bunch of invisible legs spinning the pedals along with me. Power with a hundred names indeed.

more photos at my photoblog

Rewind

So, I hopped out of bed at 5:30-ish, fed the beasts, slurped down a double shot of espresso, and headed out the door. Wouldn’t ya know it—my train chose today to show up early and disappear without me. Rather than wait half an hour for the next one, I hopped back on the bike and rode the three or so miles to the starting line on the Nike campus. In the 42-degree pre-dawn quiet, the wind numbed my fingers and made my skin nice and pink.

Starting line

They divided all 3,500 of us up into 11 lanes: multiple groups each of 10-, 40-, 70-, and 100-milers, plus assorted VIPs, tandems, and hand-powered bikes. I was in lane 9, the “fast” 40-milers. After the national anthem and some encouraging words from Lance, we cooled our already chilly heels while lanes 1 through 8 oozed onto the roadway. The announcers kept it interesting for us: “Ya know, if you guys take the early turnoff, you can forget about this 40-mile stuff and be back in an hour and a half for a latte!” No chance, bub. My donors kicked in for 40 miles, and 40 miles they’re going to get.

Streets of Beaverton

Close to the Nike campus, we all got a lane to ourselves. We needed it, too—it was tough to ride two-by-two when there are just so darn many of us. As the crowd thinned, we depended less and less on orange cones, and more and more on just the regular bike lanes and highway shoulders.

The first rest stop was quite lively. I wolfed down a peanut butter sandwich, scarfed a banana, refilled my bottle with lime-flavored sweat, and hopped back on the road.

Washington County

I found my stride and stuck with it. It was pretty easy to pass people on the uphills: not because of über-studliness on my part (well, not entirely), but because a lot of folks don’t gear down early enough and waste a lot of energy sitting in the saddle, creaking hopelessly away at the unresponsive pedals.

The sun started working its magic on the hills. It filled them with golden light and provided us riders a little warmth against the cool breeze. The miles fell away, and the tunes kept pushing your narrator down the road.

Home stretch

A couple of miles after the third and final rest stop (around mile 33), my energy started to flag a little. The final banana churned heavily in my stomach. The hills of West Union seemed less rolling and more hostile. At one point, I even had to drop down into the granny gear and crawl up a particularly steep spot at 7 MPH (and yet, I was still passing people!).

Once I crossed NW 185th Avenue, though, I was back onto ground I’d ridden before. That comforting sense of familiarity, plus the swift guitar attack of Cub’s “New York City,” gave me an energy boost. After I had felt so alone on the hills, I was now in the company of fellow riders and cheering spectators. The last few miles dropped into place, and next thing I knew, I was scooting across the finish line and into the bike parking lot. It was a nice little three-hour tour: an average of 15 MPH and change, not counting rest stops.

Party

They actually had massage tables set up for us. Ten minutes of being kneaded and twisted like a pretzel, and my quads and hams were ready to amble over to the beer garden. I sipped at a Shiner Kölsch, and watched Lance Armstrong and Eddy Merckx on the stage.

The party was good, decompressing fun. We all sprawled across Nike’s roomy sports field, listened to live music, rehydrated, refueled, and compared stories. It was really heartening to see all the riders who crossed the finish line with the telltale “Survivor” tags on their clothing.

Aftermath

Today was a big day for charity. While we the riders were pedaling through the hills, thousands of Portlanders were walking downtown to raise awareness for the Cascade AIDS Project. And then in the evening, blues musicians took the stage at Waterfront Park downtown to raise money for Katrina victims. I was able to attend the latter, and it was a perfect way to end the day. The folks downtown were so politely curious about the Lance ride, too (I was still in my sweaty, LiveStrong-emblazoned bike togs).

So I headed home the way I’d set out in the morning: cold, tired, and excited.

And the best part of the whole thing was that you guys helped raise 1.3 million dollars for cancer survivors. Way to go!