#26: First Century of the Season, Giraffe Style

The 55-mile rest stop, as seen from the ground as I stretch

my back.  The three pairs of legs on the right belong

to Ron, Jeff, and Mighty Mike.

15 May 2011

The idea was Jeff's.  

Back in March he put forth the plan to ride the Rotary Club of Burlington's "Rotary 100" in mid-May.  I replied with a hesitant yes.  

We've had a rough spring.  So many of our weekends have been rained out that it hasn't been easy to rack up the miles.  Before I do a century I like to have at least one 80-mile ride under my belt.  This time I had two metrics and a handful of hilly fifty-somethings.


And Kermit, my century machine,  was hurting my back.  I wasn't sure at first.  All spring I'd been alternating between Kermit, with his old-school racing geometry, and Miss Piggy, with her fashionable down-sloping top tube.  When I did the hills with Miss Piggy, I felt fine.  When I took Kermit, I'd be sore, even in the flats of Burlington County.  

The last straw was a Monday evening ride in the Sourlands with Cheryl.  Pushing big gears to keep up with her and one other rider, I stayed with them on the climbs.  But the last nine miles, which were downhill or flat, when I was stretched out over the bars, hurt like hell.  I couldn't sit up straight to stretch and hold the bars at the same time, either.  The next day, in spin class at the gym, I did everything I could think of to reproduce the pain.  I pushed big gears.  I pedaled at a high cadence.  I stretched my hamstrings with my leg up on the handlebars.  I even touched my toes, my palms flat on the floor, my legs straight.  Nothing.  It was Kermit, plain and simple.  Damn it.  My perfect bike was no longer perfect.

I called my trusted mechanics at Hart's Cyclery.  Oscar suggested a handful of measurements, and I found the problem.  When I measured the height of the handlebars from the floor, Miss Piggy had Kermit beat by almost two inches.

Like a cyclists superhero, Ross swung into action.  Within two days Kermit had a new stem, matching Miss Piggy's geometry everywhere that counts.  But boy, does Kermit look weird.  Like a giraffe.

Meanwhile, Jeff and I were trying to sucker some other Hill Slugs into riding the century with us. I snagged Ron, a convert from Cranbury who joined the Slugs last fall. Mighty Mike, looking to jump-start his slow season, said yes a few days before the ride.

Friday evening, Ross called me to ask how the new stem was working out. Now that's a good mechanic! I told him I'd let him know after tomorrow's century.

Yesterday, as we gathered under cool and cloudy skies at 8 in the morning, none of the four of us was feeling particularly confident about making it through 100 miles.

For the first couple of minutes, Kermit felt weird. But that was only for a couple of minutes. The route wasn't entirely flat. We zigged and zagged through little hills and rollers on Hill Road, Province Line, and all that shady stuff north of New Egypt. I could feel the difference going up the hills; where before it took effort, now it felt the same as riding Miss Piggy. Well, not quite. Kermit is a good deal heavier.

At the 25 and 55 mile rest stops I stretched my back on the ground. I applied another dose of topical NSAIDs as my doctor suggested I do. Only twice did I ask the group to stop for a minute so I could relieve my seizing lower back muscles. It felt like writer's cramp. As soon as I stopped and stood, the pain went away and didn't return for another 40 miles. Keeping my disc in place wasn't the adventure, though.

We were all still worried that we'd bonk like the rider we passed after the second rest stop who was walking his bike and contemplating calling for a ride home.

But, instead of hitting the wall at 70 miles, we hit a Wawa at 65. 35 miles and caffeine: perfect together.

We were headed south towards the Pinelands. The sky was that foreboding metallic gray that's never good news. First there were just a few drops that were easily ignored. When Mike started in with "Singing in the Rain," though, I knew we were in for a typical Hill Slugs adventure. I chimed in with Clapton's "Let it Rain" and Traffic's "Rainmaker." Mike said his toes were full of water. Spreading out to keep things safe, our paceline was just about useless. By the time we pulled into the 80-mile rest stop, we were wet and filthy.

Standing under the tent as the rain slowed, I called Ross to tell him that he'd worked magic with Kermit's stem. I relayed a message to him from Jeff: "He's wearing your Hart's Cyclery jersey," I said.

Ross replied, "Tell him I love him."

"Ross loves you."

The rain stopped. Cold now, we started our paceline again. Ron found some energy somewhere and pulled us for a long time. Jeff and Mike were getting tired. I was fine from the waist up, making every effort to keep my posture perfect while my spine had other ideas.

We'd just about warmed up and dried off before the rain began again. This time, it was real rain. My cue sheet hung from its clip like a leftover piece of papier mache. The good news was that we only had a few miles to go. I took the lead as Jeff said, "Bring us in, Laura!"

"Why me?" I whined, for no particular reason.

There were half a dozen cars in the parking lot when we got there. Four of them were ours. Just as we were ready to leave, the last two century riders pulled in. Down in the athletic field, a tent with lunch was ready. I mopped my face with my wet bandanna, put Kermit in the car, changed into my Rotary 100 t-shirt, said my goodbyes, and drove home.

Next to the driveway, a white iris had bloomed for the first time in the many years since I'd planted it. Thanks, Heidi, for fixing our garden!