#60: Battle of the Bird

Chatsworth Lake

25 July 2020

Statler had an 80-mile ride listed. It started at the head of the Union Transportation Trail on Sharon Station Road. From my house that was 13-something miles. I could easily stretch the ride into a century. Tom, in far more words, said, "Oh hell no," and set a route bound for Perkasie, PA, instead.

So the Slugs split up for the day. Ricky and Bob had registered for the 80-miler, Ricky planning on a century from his house. Jim, Pete, Jack H, and Mighty Mike opted for the hills. I promised a Battle of the Bird.

When I have a choice between 15 extra minutes of sleep or a leisurely breakfast, sleep always wins. After an extra round of PT to make sure my back would behave, I had to hustle to get out of the house in time.

I'd put new tires on earlier in the week, the first time with the new wheels. The rim-tire combination wasn't the worst I'd ever had to deal with. The dropouts are old-school and tetchy. It's not a good idea to hammer for the first 13 miles of a hundred-mile ride, but hammer I did, because I wasn't sure if my rear wheel would stay seated and I wanted to make sure there would be time to stop and fuss with it.

I was riding in dense fog at 71 degrees. By mile 10 I was soaking wet and looking over the top of my glasses to see where I was going, narrowly missing several potholes. I got to the lot in time. Waldorf wasn't quite ready anyhow.

First things first. I unpacked my phone. "Hey, can you guys give me the finger?"

Statler didn't know the backstory but he played along.

I sent the pictures to Tom with the caption, "Good morning!" His ride wasn't set to start until 8:30.

Statler said the fog would burn off soon. I got some pictures before it did.

I needn't have rushed. We didn't start at 8:00. As we pushed off the fog dissipated.

We went east, through the rollers around the southern side of the Assunpink and south towards New Egypt. I was grateful that Statler had put the hills in early. "South Jersey mountains,"  he calls them.

The ride was listed as C+. It was going to be hot and humid; it was a good pace for the weather. I've done more centuries than I can count with Statler and Waldorf. They have more speed and staying power than I do. Ricky is no different. And Bob's idea of a day off is to go for a run. I didn't pay attention to the pace. I try not to look at my computer when I'm doing a century.

We got a little spread out on Red Valley Road. After we regrouped I let everyone get ahead while I took in the scenery.

Hawkin Road is that long, straight one that slowly rises north to south. It's the kind of road I just want to get over with. We got a little spread out there, regrouping on the other side of Route 537. Waldorf mocked me for taking pictures of New Jersey corn.

Then we were on Route 539. There's enough of a shoulder that riding is safe. Still, there's traffic, even if it's not as much as there would have been in normal times. I was happy to see the end of it when we turned into the Wawa where Routes 539 and 70 meet. We shared a gallon of water.

Checking my phone for Tom's retort, I found his reply: "Right back at you."  Jim was posing for this one, a double-bird-flip.

"Mike says hi," he added.

I can read my phone through the plastic bags it's buried in; I didn't bother digging it out for pictures. I figured I could find a more scenic place to double down on the middle digits.

We turned southwest and then west on Pasadena Road, deep in the Pinelands. We passed a tree that Statler and I were sure must have been struck by lightning: the bark had been stripped down one side. Every so often  we would ride through the scent of Clethra alnifolia (sweet pepperbush) flowers.

I was riding up front with Statler. Ricky and Tom pulled ahead. Statler held back to ride with Waldorf. I stayed in the middle. I could tell that I was getting dehydrated, despite drinking regularly from my electrolyte-filled bottles. I hadn't eaten much at the first rest stop, 38 miles in for me. I could tell that I was sweating more than I was drinking.

Again we got spread out. I had time to fetch my phone and get some more fingers. I'd send them to Tom when we got to Nixon's in Tabernacle.

"You guys are too fast," Waldorf said. He turned right onto Route 72, heading for home. Immediately, Ricky, Bob, and I felt guilty. Statler assured us that we hadn't done anything wrong. Wadorf knew what was coming and just wasn't feeling it.

Statler set the pace as we continued west. It didn't feel like C+ but we were fine with whatever it was. 

Chatsworth Lake came into view and we had to stop to gawp.

Next was the stretch that Waldorf had known about: a ten-mile expanse of open road and cracked blacktop.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

I wasn't tired so much as hungry and thirsty. I found myself taking the occasional break to coast. That's not like me. I'm a steady pedaler. I knew we weren't so far from our next stop, so I didn't skimp on the water. I was coming up on 60 miles, feeling close to hitting the psychological wall I usually hit at 70.

We got to Nixon's before I hit the wall. We shared another gallon of water. I'm too slow at getting my gloves off and my mask on to get to the register first. I totally freeloaded on the water today.

I sent off the two middle fingers from Pasadena, and added one more:

Not long after, Tom responded: "We are done. Hope you are having a good ride."

"30 to go," I answered.

By now it was just plain hot. The thought of 30 more miles didn't bother me at all. We'd have something less than 20 to Allentown for a water break, and then I'd peel off for the final 13. Statler planned another stop before then, in Pemberton, because he wanted a sandwich at the Wawa. That was fine with me. More water wouldn't hurt.

Somewhere between Tabernacle and Pemberton we came across three longhorn cows. I got them from their good sides. The back end of the one on the left looked as if she'd been lolling around in mud.

At the Wawa I bought a bag of sweet potato chips for the carbs and salt. I ate the second half of the PB&J I'd packed in the morning. I could easily have eaten the whole bag of chips, 400-something calories. I didn't. I did freeload on water once more.

We were on Old York Road, around mile 85, when two things happened: I hit a bump that sent one of my water bottles flying; and I felt a cramp in my right leg coming on. Bob had waited for me and wondered what took me so long. I explained that I had used the opportunity to down some Shot Bloks after retrieving my bottle. 

"Did that stop the cramp?"

"No cramp yet. I'm trying to stay ahead of it."

I did slow down a little, hoping it would help me recover. We'd be in Allentown in a few minutes anyway.  Statler and Ricky went around the back of Heavenly Havens Creamery, where people waited in line at a window. I followed. "Do they have lemonade?" Ricky asked. I hadn't been thinking about lemonade. Now I was. I peered at the menu from a safe distance behind the person being served.

"They don't have lemonade."  We both headed to Woody's, where Bob was already there, ordering a sandwich.

What I wanted was a big, plastic cup full of homemade lemonade. What we got was in bottles. It was good enough. We sat outside at a little table under an umbrella. Statler came over, no ice cream either.

"I have a present for you," Bob said as he sat down. He opened the box his sandwich came in.  "Pickles!"

Ricky would have his hundred miles easily. Now Bob and Statler wanted a hundred too. Statler plotted a route in his head that would get them there. 

I turned onto Church Street and then on East Manor Way. If I'd taken Gordon it would have been prettier, but I didn't want to tempt fate. My right leg was feeling strange. There was a knot forming low on my left inside quad. If I were careful I could keep the cramp at bay.

This was perplexing. I'd made sure to drink a lot yesterday. I'd kept electrolytes in my water bottles today. I made sure to drink. But I hadn't been able to take in more than I was sweating out. I could smell myself. That's a bad sign right there. Chalk it up to age, I guess. I need to maybe stop doing hundred-mile rides when the temperature is a few degrees shy of a hundred.

I kept a steady pace, in the big ring, because it felt the most comfortable. On Gordon Road I could feel a cramp coming on, and it was spreading to my right calf now. I repositioned my leg slightly, just a small wiggle, and that did the trick.

I was on Meadowbrook Road, at mile 97, when I decided to experiment with coasting and spinning in the small ring. Bad idea. My right leg began to seize, from the quad on down. I stopped, clipped out, and took a drink.

I started up again in a higher gear and lower cadence. I've always been a masher, not a spinner. Serves me right for trying.

Going through the park, I downshifted on the rollers, which sent my leg to seizing again. Once more I stopped, shook my leg out, and drank. I had about five miles to go.

I got home with 102 miles. And lordy, did I stink.

After a few hours the knot in my leg was still there. It felt as if I'd pulled a muscle. Two years ago, which is the last time I cramped on a century, the pain was in the same place. 

I emailed Jim to tell him I wouldn't be on his ride tomorrow. "My legs aren't working," I said.

Later at night I saw the moon through the trees and grabbed my new tripod. There was too much haze, though, and the moon was setting behind the leaves. I didn't get the picture I was after, but I got something.

As for the Battle of the Bird, I think Team Century won.