bikelovejones

The day dawned cool and damp. Because of the tighter ride schedule today, I was worried when my body began to “produce” (that is, when I needed to use the bathroom multiple times) a lot before breakfast. I begged my body to calm down and let me have a reasonably early start out of camp. Finally, things settled down and I was able to leave by 7 am. The sky was overcast and we could see fog on the tops of the hills we would eventually ride over. I opted to wear a wool jersey as my outermost layer, and kept it on until almost lunch time.



The hills outside Mount Vernon were shrouded in fog for most of the way to the first rest stop. I reveled in the damp and cold, feeling like I was home and on an early fall commute. I listened for the sound of early-morning birds looking for breakfast and enjoyed the dull colors of the foggy morning landscape, all light greens and tans now that many of the hayfields had been mowed and the hay gathered into giant rolls. Stronger riders passed me one by one, shivering in their lightweight summer riding garb because the damp of the fog went through the fabric like milk through cheese cloth. Although I was wearing a lycra jersey, I was also wearing a sleeveless mesh undershirt, lycra-blend shorts and knee warmers. The wool jersey provided a great outer layer that wicked everything away before it could soak through to my skin. As long as I kept moving I was comfortable.



I also turned on my rear taillight for safety; the fog was thick enough in spots that visibility was reduced to less than fifty yards. Riders coming up from behind told me they could see my light from quite a distance back, and they appreciated it. So did a couple of early-morning drivers, who gave me thumbs-up and pointed to my taillight. That first segment was the best part of my riding day by far.



I got to the first rest stop, planning to keep it short and efficient. We were being held to a much tighter time schedule and our ride would have to end by 3pm for logistical reasons. I suspected I’d have to be swept up near the end but wanted to cover as much distance as I could in the meantime. I found the porta-potty, grabbed some snacks for my handlebar bag, refilled my water bottles and was off – until the third pedalstroke down. My knee resounded with a loud POP! and I nearly fell over from the pain that seared over and alongside my kneecap. Several people nearby also heard the pop and looked on in horror and worry. A medical volunteer came over and suggested I sit a little longer. She got me a bag of ice and there went my hopes for a short rest stop. In fact, there went my hopes for lots of riding. Ten minutes later, she came back and felt my knee, I flinched in pain, and she strongly suggested I sag to the next rest stop. I did so, hanging out with two sisters who turned out to be lots of fun. We talked throughout my ride with them, and sang along to wacky pop songs from the 70’s and 80’s.

At rest stop 2, I got out to try out my knee and refill the ice bag. As soon as I stepped from the van my knee popped again, though not as loudly this time. Another medical volunteer (who’d been contacted by the woman at the last rest stop) asked me if this was my second knee-pop today. I nodded. She told me, “if it pops again you should call it a day and not risk greater injury to your knee.” I was sagged to the lunch stop, handed a bag of ice and directed to a chair. Someone else handed me a tuna salad sandwich and I wolfed it down, along with cookies and a huge bottle of water.

After lunch, my knee still hurt but the ice and a healthy application of Bio-Freeze had dulled the pain enough to let me ride again. I enjoyed this part of the ride, much of if through wooded rollers and along a car-free path called the Centennial Trail. Lots of leafy green summer scenery, the odd barn here and there, and a few houses spread out over great distances lined the trail on one side, and the highway ran along the other side.



I made it to rest stop 4, a small park alongside the Snohomish River, where I iced my knee and gobbled up pretty much anything in sight. I was rubbing my knee quite hard and looking at my watch: it was about 1:15 and we had to be done for the day by 3pm. I didn’t know if I’d make it the whole way by bike. I decided to strategically sag part of the way to the last rest stop, and shoot for one more big hill before hanging it up. I was let off about five miles from the rest stop, took in the big hill, and at the top of that hill my knee popped the third time. It hurt like hell and I hobbled my bike into the last rest stop of the day’s route.

A medical volunteer who’d been waiting for me came over and saw the lone tear that streaked down my cheek.
She looked at me. “Your knee popped again, didn’t it?”
I nodded. It hurt too much to lie now.
“Was that the third time today?”
I smiled and shrugged. “Well, that could be our little secret,” I whispered.
The medic shook her head. “Nope. Sorry, dear, I think you’re done for the day.”

I didn’t argue, though I felt greatly disappointed that I could not finish the ride under my own power. I knew that I didn’t want to risk a more serious injury, but I still heard that tiny voice in the back of my mind that screamed, “Weakling! You’re WEAK! Get back on your bike, you WIMP!”

I stood up, flexed the knee gently and felt the sting of pain shoot over the top of my kneecap. Fine. I might be weak, but I was also in pain. There was no point in riding any more, and I let the sweep driver load my bike onto the van and carry me to the end of the ride. I rode in the back and iced my knee the whole way, watching other riders suffer the last hills and get cheered on. I wanted to be on my bike, being cheered on through the hills. I knew that if not for my damned knee, I COULD suffer the hills and get over them.

(sorry this pic's sideways. I still don't know how to fix this problem, in my computer or at my blog)



We arrived at Edmonds High School, and were herded into a holding area where everyone would gather before being escorted into Frances Anderson Park as a group. I was handed a finisher’s t-shirt and told to put it on and wait. It was 3 pm exactly. I sat on the lawn icing my knee and waiting. We waited until around 3:15, by which time the last riders had arrived and changed into their t-shirts. Then we got on our bikes – me too, I wasn’t skipping this part! – and followed an Edmonds police motorcycle escort through town on a 2-mile, mostly downhill cruise into the park.



The downhill ride was exhilarating and restorative after a day of disappointment and struggle. We were waved through three very busy intersections by police officers who smiled and shouted congratulations. We waved and shouted back our thanks. I arrived at the park as happy as everyone else. There were gathered a small group of family and friends who’d come to see the finish of the ride. The final twenty yards of the ride was through two columns of crew members, also clad in finisher’s shirts, who applauded each one of us as we rode through the “tunnel” they’d created. The two mechanics slapped my hands as I passed and yelled “hey, Old School!”, and I smiled.

And that was that. It was over. There were speeches, of course, and then a barbecue where we wolfed down more hot dogs and baked beans and salad (again with the baked beans and salad! Who planned this menu? Insane.) and exchanged addresses and hugged each other goodbye as riders began to go their separate ways.

(the intrepid Nurse Tim and me at the end - phew!)



I waited around and eventually got a ride back to the hotel where I’d spend the night.
I hung out that evening with Judy and some of the other folks who’d helped organize and crew the ride. We got beers and snacks at a nearby restaurant (I’d eaten dinner already and was full as well as tired), and laughed and joked until the sun set into the harbor and the sky glowed orange and purple. Then it was back to the hotel and time for bed.

Total distance ridden, day three: 30.4 miles.

*************

The next morning, I was all set to catch a train back to Portland. I got up early, had breakfast in the hotel, loaded up by bike and rode the three blocks to the Amtrak station.
There I was told that all train service to Portland had been suspended because the rail cars had been pulled for safety inspection and repair. If I wanted to take the city bus to Seattle and box my bike there, I MIGHT make the Seattle train. I had an hour before it left Seattle. I began to panic. I stepped away from the window, grabbed the Yellow Pages and called Greyhound. The earliest bus they could put me and my bike on would not be until Tuesday at 4 pm. I could go by myself today but would have to leave my bike behind an extra day, there was no room. And I’d have to break the bike down much further to take it on a bus than on the train. I didn’t bring that many tools. I was upset and tired and panicky, in a strange town. The GYGIG staff were either all asleep, or gone home already. Desperate, I called Sweetie at home in Portland. It was 8am. I told her what had happened, and asked what she thought I ought to do. I didn’t really have the money for a second night at the hotel, and I really wanted to get home. Finally, she said, “Okay. I will eat some breakfast, leave the house by nine and come get you. I’ll be there in around three hours.”
I didn’t want her to do that – she’d already driven me up on Thursday for the ride – and I knew she’d be exhausted from a second trip. But she said, “well, what else can we do here? You don’t really have any other workable options. I’m only three hours away and I can come for you, so that’s what we’ll do.”

I hung out in downtown Edmonds at a restaurant we’d eaten at on Thursday, and peaople-watched and read the newspaper. Occasionally I’d stretch my legs by riding my bike in a loop around the downtown area, and return to the bench outside the restaurant. (I also went inside and bought coffee and a muffin so they’d be nicer to me.) I expected Sweetie to show up in four hours because of all the road construction, but apparently they hadn’t sarted that yet. She pulled up around 12:15 and I was so happy to see her and so in love with her and her goodness that I gave her a huge hug. She was in good spirits too. We ate lunch at the restaurant (by the way, eat at Chanterelle’s in Edmonds. Nice folks, really great menu. End of shameless plug.) and Sweetie drove us home.

Post ride notes:

1. Total mileage ridden: 141 out of 210 possible miles. Admittedly less than I’d hoped for. If my knee had not been in issue I believe I could have ridden at least 180 or more and still made all the time cutoffs. Can I resolve the knee thing? I don't know. Can I get faster? Perhaps some, though probably I'll never ride as fast as a road racer.

2. Time constraints. I understand the need for time limits on a charity ride with over 60 riders. Streets can only be monitored for so many hours before your support staff get completely wiped out from the effort, and no one should have to ride these things after dark. Still, the time limits on the last day seemed rather intense, and wth the hills there’s no guarantee that I would have finished the nearly 70-mile distance even if my knee was behaving better. I’m sure that this tight time limit on Day 3 was for logistical reasons beyond the scope and control of the ride organizers, but it does shut out the slowest riders.

3. Food. All of it was tasty, appealing in appearance and appropriately wholesome, but I was frankly surprised at how much of it I could not eat. Especially at dinner. At least at lunch I could pick out the lettuce and tomatoes and still eat a pretty darned good sandwich (day 1' s lunch was GREAT); but when the only source of vegetables at dinner was a leafy green salad, I was out of luck. So were a number of my fellow riders. I totally appreciate how hard meal planning is for any group event. Planning meals for a ride where many of the participants have IBD is something else altogether. IBD is different for every person who has it, and some of my fellow Crohn’s patients could eat anything they wanted. But for the rest of us, corn on the cob and baked beans were a little hard on the system. On the positive side, this ride is only in its third year and already lots of logistical things have been SO dialed in it’s like the ride has been around for a decade or more. I can expect that things will only improve each year.

4. The psychology of sagging: When the event provides sag vehicles, it is sometimes hard to resist temptation and just toss the bike on and bag it. I felt pretty good about resisting temptation, using the sag vehicle only when I really needed to. I’m sorry I needed it at all, and this may be the result of two different things: a) the brevet rides I did this year, which I think instilled a stronger sense of self-sufficiency in me; and b) the lifelong mental struggle between wondering if I’m truly lazy, character deficient, or whatever, or if it’s just Crohn’s disease making me feel tired and weak at a given moment. I’m not used to thinking like a sick person, but the reality is that I have this thing that won’t go away, and some days it makes me want to just sit down and rest, even if I haven’t been exerting myself on a superhuman level. So on the days when the effort feels superhuman, I can’t totally trust myself and my perceptions of tiredness versus laziness. This struggle is ongoing and varies from day to day. And for me, it’s actually the hardest part of living with the disease, harder by far than the physical realities of meds, multiple bathroom trips and foods I have to avoid.

5. There is no way I could have done any of this – the training, the fundraising or the actual ride – without support and love from family, friends and colleagues, and especially from my partner. Having supportive people around you is THE single most important thing you can do to live better with any chronic illness. Living with Crohn’s disease in isolation would kill me a whole lot sooner than living with it in community. So I have to say thank you to my community, both local and virtual. Without you, this ride – and the very blessed life I lead -- would have been impossible.

I hope to get a final fundraising total by late August. Donations are apparently still coming in at the GYGIG office. Keep sending them in if you want, but at some point they'll go to the general fund and stop being credited to my 2007 rider number (which is okay by me -- Donate away!). I learned at the closing ceremonies that the three rides this year raised in excess of half a million dollars (insert multiple exclamation points here!!!!) and the lion’s share of that will help to fund research grants to find a cure for IBD. So even if I didn’t make my riding mileage goal I did help make something much larger possible. And so did all of you, by sponsoring me.

Will I do this ride again next year? I’d like to say no. I’d like to say they’ve found a cure for Crohn’s and colitis and that’s that. But if they don’t, then I’d like to come back and do it again. That’s all I can tell you right now.

Thanks again for following along with my great big bicycle adventure. I hope there will be many more to come.