160 Miles (To Tupelo and Back)

About a week ago, on Saturday, May 8, I set out on my bike with the hope of completing what, by my standards, would be an epic ride. I had two main goals in mind: to push myself beyond my comfort zone and to incite some extra interest in the upcoming Ride:Well Tour.

I had actually been harboring the idea of a big mileage day in preparation for Ride:Well for months. My original plan had been to ride from Florence, AL (where I live) to Nashville, TN (where Blood:Water Mission’s central office is located). And my projected date was Saturday, May 1 -- the day that we now remember for the Great Nashville Flood. Needless to say, the weather complicated the original plan a bit. Granted, if I had gone through with the ride it would almost certainly have allowed me to achieve the goals I mentioned above; but there’s a good chance it would have cost me one of my additional, underlying goals: that of remaining alive at least until this summer.

So, as is often the case in life, the plan changed...

I ended up altering my whole vision for the day. Since Nashville had its hands tied, I decided to ride South instead -- to Tupelo, MS. This also appealed to me because, since Tupelo is about the half the distance of a trip to Nashville, it would mean I could (theoretically) complete a round trip and not inconvenience anyone by asking them to pick me up at the end.

A few nights before the ride, I sent out a facebook message to several hundred people who had previously expressed interest in Ride:Well. (Since I don’t typically like to let the whole social media world know exactly where I will be on the front end of things, I did not mention where my ride was going to take place. I simply shared that, in an attempt to incite some extra interest in the Tour, I’d be trying my best to break my personal best of 112 miles in one day...)

Literally within 5 minutes after I sent the message, Matt Cooper, a friend from the UNA Triathlon Club, sent me a text message: “Just saw your update about your ride this weekend. Where are you planning to ride?” I told him my idea, and apparently it met with his approval. His response: “Not bad. Want some company?” In truth, the answer to his question was both No and Yes. I typically relish the time I spend out on the bike alone and was looking forward to doing the ride by myself, but deep down I knew there were multiple really good reasons why I should take him up on his generous offer. My reply: “Haha. Possibly. I still haven’t got the details ironed out, but I’ll keep you posted tomorrow...”

I’m going to pause here to comment on a recurring theme in my life. Although most people do not realize it, I am an EXTREMELY introverted person. There are nature and nurture reasons for this, but I’ll save those for another day. For now I just want to say that, though I need a certain amount of alone time to re-charge my batteries, I have learned (and am continually learning) that I also NEED people around me. I too often use my introversion as an excuse to be a hermit, and I am working on giving more place in my life to spending time with others -- before they give up on bothering with me, and before I become relatively unreachable. Coincidentally, this is one of the main things I hope to work on as I spend this coming summer with my Ride:Well teammates.

At any rate, I made the right decision this time; on Saturday morning Matt and I set out together...

But before I go on, I'd like to back up to the wee hours before the ride. I received some timely encouragement that I want to share...

I got up at about 4:30 a.m. to have a big breakfast and make some last second preparations for the ride, and, while I was eating, I received a direct twitter message from “Iron” Mike Barrow, who cycled with the first ever Ride:Well Tour back in 2008. He knew about my planned ride and, being up super early for work, he was thoughtful enough to wish me luck and give me some encouragement: “rock it out...one time...Alabama style.” If that doesn't motivate you, I don't know what will. He also recommended that I pack an “emergency” snickers bar, which, he said, was one of Don Miller's tricks during the 08 Tour. Good advice that proved to be helpful later on!

Okay, now fast forward to 6:00 a.m., when we finally hit the road. We set out from the University of North Alabama, and in less than 20 miles we were on the Natchez Trace, where we would remain for a looong time.

We spent the first several hours doing a lot of talking, and I learned quite a bit. Matt is currently training for his first Half-Ironman triathlon, and he has literally read the Triathlete’s Training Bible from cover to cover at least twice. (It is a bulky book... and yes, that is the actual title). I ended up employing a lot of his advice about calorie intake during the ride.

The first half of the ride went relatively well, though we were so tired by the last stretch that there was a noticeable lull in our conversation. In fact, a few miles outside of Tupelo we came to a rest stop that is supposedly the burial place of a number of unknown Confederate soldiers. For the briefest of seconds, it crossed my mind that someone could just bury us there too.



But we trudged on...

Just in time for lunch, with 85 miles under our belts, we made it to our worthy destination -- a Chic-fil-A just inside the Tupelo city limits. While there, Matt’s knee was bothering him so much that he wisely decided not cycle back to Florence. Instead, he had his roommate drive down to get him. (I later found out that he put in the extra miles to complete a century for the day. Kudos to him for pushing through the pain!)

I set out for the return home and, before too long, I ran into a little problem. At mile 108 (just a few miles short of my personal best) I managed to get a flat tire. So, with the Pharr Mounds in the background (the “most important archaeological site in Northeast Mississippi”), I began trying to patch it.



Though I can change a tire, I’d never patched one, and my attempt to do so was utterly pathetic. I got back on the road and the air immediately went back out. All I could do was try again...

But then, amazingly, I heard a voice. “What’s wrong there? Having some problems?” Though it was a beautiful day, I had literally only seen a handful of cyclists all day, so I was more than a little surprised to see a man on a tour bike pulling up to me as I turned around. It was a Massachusetts man who said he’d spent a lot of his life touring different parts of the county. I didn’t even have to ask for his help. He quickly got to work, patching my tire and even oiling my chain, all the while cussing like a sailor and making fun of people who go on tours with support vehicles (i.e. the Ride:Well Tour -- haha). I could not have been more grateful to him. As he got back on his bike he finally introduced himself, simply as “Bernie.”

One of my friends would later suggest that he may have been an angel. While I’m not going to completely rule it out, I kind of doubt it. But, to borrow a phrase from Mr. Abraham Lincoln, I was certainly the beneficiary of the “better angels” of Bernie’s nature that day. I am always amazed when people come through with simple, unprovoked acts of goodness. It gives me hope.

Though I was happy to be back on the road, the flat took away a valuable chunk of daylight, so I knew I had to pick up the pace if I was to beat the darkness back home. (I had no lights or reflective clothing with me.) This was problematic since the route back to Florence has 50% more ascent than the trip to Tupelo, not to mention the fact that the winds were steadily picking up as afternoon was giving way to the evening...

I pushed pretty hard until I made it to the sole gas station along the route (in Tishomingo) at mile 126. Here I took a quick second to acknowledge that I had broken my old personal record. I also took Iron Mike’s advice and ate a snickers bar; maybe it was just a placebo effect, but, oh, it helped.

It was was at this point that I started having to draw on some inner strength that I didn’t know I had. The combination of my increased cadence and the increasing headwinds was beginning to take a toll on my lungs, and my breathing soon began sounding like something you’d hear in a sit-com lamaze class.

With the sun setting, I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my iPhone, and -- awkwardly with my sweaty hands -- I consulted the “Daylight” App to see how much time I had left. After some quick calculating in my head, I realized I’d have to forego any more stops and average at least 18 miles per hour if there was any chance of making it back. Let’s face it; that wasn’t feasible for me after all the riding I’d already done.

About this time, Matt and his roommate pulled up beside me in an SUV. I was already at about 135 miles or so, and it was a ready-made chance for a ride back home. But, as if someone else were doing the speaking, I heard myself call out to them, “I’m feeling okay. I’m going to by-pass the last stop and try to go strait home.” And so they left.

After what seemed an eternity, I made it to what would have been the last scheduled stop (at the intersection of the Trace and the 19 mile stretch back home), but I didn’t even allow myself to glance at it as I passed. Within minutes the sun started dropping below the trees, and I finally accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to make it in time. So, still pedaling, I once again pulled out the iPhone, this time to call my dad. When he answered I explained the situation to him, and he didn’t even hesitate: “Where are you? I’ll be right there.”

Here’s a man with a million and four things to do at any given time, and, even with his Saturday night being interrupted, I didn’t hear so much as a sigh of frustration at my request. He acted as if he had nothing else more pressing to do than come rescue me at the end of my harebrained adventure. This pretty much sums up the way it’s been with him my whole life, and it’s one of the reasons he will always be my hero.

I ended up getting in just over 160 miles for the day... about 10 miles short of getting back to UNA. Not counting breaks, I had been on the bike for right at 10 1/2 hours.

By the time my dad dropped me off at my house, my adrenaline had faded and fatigue had begun to take its hold. As I ate a giant bowl of cereal (the quickest thing available), I somehow managed to reply to all the text messages that concerned friends had sent to be sure I was safe. By the time I finished, I found myself laying on the couch “just for a second” before showering. It ended up being a long second, and I woke up at about 5:30 the next morning. Disgusting, yes, but true all-the-same.

I apologize for writing so much about this one ride. I typically try to state things briefly, but I wanted to remember a lot of this, so I figured I might as well share it.

Thanks for your interest in my shenanigans!