Denial. Perhaps's New Order's most underrated song. The last song on Movement so perfectly describes my ride.
"Here I am in a house full of doors but no exits. In a light that is grey like a stain on window. All of this, such a gift from a painful companion."
Usually I ride with hippies. Strong riders but never out to set speed records. Instead we aim toward bars or secluded places like cemetaries to enjoy cannibis. But hippies grow up, move, marry bitches that restrict play time. Few Spouses tolerate a bike ride that ends at 1 am on a weeknight. So I ride with Sam. Sam is getting back in shape. I am training for a 500 week long bike ride that I do every year. This event is known as Ragbrai--Register's Annual Great Bike ride Accross Iowa. Merely desire saddle time and breaking my legs in for this.
We milked the Sun out of every last drop of light. Bad planning on part. Brillant red sky visible through the trees as God pulled its sunny breast away was reward in itself. But soon it was dark, deadly dark.
The plan was good just the timing flawed. Meet at Sam's house. Drive to Martinsdale. Intercept his brother while riding north. Complete the 17 mile trail and then go through Water Works Park and circle Gray's Lake. Return to Martinsdale. Not really an epic ride, perhaps 40 miles total, but a bit ambitious because of the 630 pm meeting time. SPDs clicked at 7 pm.
Joe started in Norwalk and met us just outside Martinsdale. Damn good timing. Do not let his grey hair and MTB fool you, he set a 20 mph pace. As usual the first thing to hurt is my lungs. Last week I thought it was because that I failed to breathe through my nose. I was prepared this time and disciplined myself to breathe through my nose as much as possible. But the air tubes burned early anyway. This never happens when I ride alone. The extra demand for O2 ripping through my lungs. Prospects of a long ride. Sam would wear himself out before it was over but I have never ridden with Joe before. In effort to slow him down I initiated conversation. Joe is training for Ragbrai and marathons. The latter meant resistance to pain. He was going to give us a run for our money.
We averaged 15.5 to Orlandos but it still took us an hour and a half with one stop at the 5 mile bench. "Gray's Lake?" No, it was 830 pm. Sunset scheduled for about 845 pm. 17 miles back to the truck with two fallen trees to avoid. It will be dark soon. We each downed a quart of Gaterade at Casey's, hit the kybo and left. Four miles later Joe leaves us. He decides to take a county road to his vehicle parked in Norwalk. Not that I cried at his parting but I knew I could relax the pace a bit to keep my energy reserves. Sam will tucker out soon. But soon it will be dark.
I knew it would get dark. I left $300 worth of lights at home because my previous rides with Sam never required lights. I did have flashers and a overpriced Trek blue/white strobe light on my handlebars. This light could illuminate the trail at low speeds but we were not riding slow enough. The sky was red inbetween the trees. Clouds were also building threatening rain. My fear was rabbits. those little bastards crossing the trail at random. I can ride in the dark quite well but cannot run over little fury things at speed on 700C wheels. Little did I realize that insects would be the real enemy.
Somewhere north of Cumming, IA it hit. As the sun went down the bugs came out. Small damn swarms that you would run into little a cloud. But one bastard entered my mouth and landed on back of my throat. I gag easily, puke at nothing. But at 21 mph this is dangerous. No matter how much I drank from my bottle the bug remained imbedded on my throat. Coughing and hacking ensued followed by my typical death rattle vomitting. But being the maroon I am I did not get off the bike to deal with this in a rational manner. We had a chance to raise average speed and by God's grace we would do it.
Another thing about insects on bike trails, the darker it gets the bigger the bug. Several big ass bugs would collide with me face almost giving me whiplash. No warning, just a slap or thump. Always near the mouth.
Somehow I slowly recovered but a new fear was creeping over my mind. The tree. Just south of where the trail washed out and was destroyed by Spring floods was a large tree blocking the trail. We had to ride around it on the shoulder. But judging the ever increasing darkness it would be pitch black by the time we reached it. South of the wash out. The wash out only took out two feet of the east side of the trail. this place is marked with red cones. The county recently filled the holes with gravel which eliminated 4 foot ruts and possible broken bones and face plants should one wander a bit too close. That would be my check point. Slow down at the cones until the tree was cleared.
By now it was totally dark. experience has taught me that grey is trail and black is tree. During Winter white is trail and black is tree. Although I could make out the trail the black tar of repairs and dark areas of water on the surface messed with my mind. I tried to keep in the middle but shoulders where hard to define. And when a canopy of trees engulfed us there was little to do but pray and assume the proper line was chosen. And that damn tree laughing at me. Sooner or later I would find it. preferably on safe terms.
Sam had a light but his energy was fading. And whenever he would get close the light turned my overwieght body into a huge black shadow. I kepted the pace up. The cones marking the washed out section soon were spotted. but the tree was not. I dropped out of big ring in anticipation. Whenever the canopy cleared lightening in the distance flashed. Great. I'll be laying in the weeds with broken bones while being eaten alive by insects while Sam gets help. In the dark. A few intersections flew by, no tree. Maybe some group of bikers stopped and removed the bastard. We should have tried. More lightening.
Finally I spot the fallen green giant. Too large for removal without tools. Back to big ring, focus on the middle of the trail.
I stopped by the 2 mile marker. Sam was a few minutes behind. Just enough time for a final piss. He who gets there first enjoys a longer recovery. Just two more intersections and a nice sprint into Martinsdale. All I wanted was a shower. We were almost home. Fookin' average speed never changed, 15.5 mph. Should have kepted it in big ring at the cones.
"It's just something I know. The answer's not there. It comes and it goes, it frightens me."--Denial, New Order, 1981
