Bike MS 2010



BikingLasVegas.com Team Bike MS 2010

Sometimes when I ride my bike, I enjoy all the scenery and embrace the wonderful weather that propels me along as part of the rhythm of riding, taking me into a zone that insulates me from the stresses of life. At other times, I have no choice but to embrace the pain and exhaustion of going on, and concentrate on nothing more than finishing. During one of those moments with only finishing in mind, I came upon Alex and stopped for a brief rest.

“You just take the next exit to Bunkerville, and it’s all down hill from there,” Alex said as I leaned wearily on my handle bars wondering where the last rest stop was and if the suffering would ever end. I was alone and hadn’t seen the rest of my team for more than an hour since I had pulled away from them as we climbed out of Overton. It’s November 13, 2010, Day One of Bike MS 2010, and I had “only” 12 miles to go before reaching the finish line and completing the first 100 miles of 200 miles in two days. It had been non-stop 20 plus miles per hour headwinds all day, a sharp contrast to my euphoric first experience with Bike MS the previous year.




Early on Day 1
(Photo by Don Laczi)

 Alex is one of the strongest cyclists I know, and this year he did SAG (support and gear) instead of riding. He’s the guy who mapped out a bike ride called Seven Peaks, which encompasses all the mountain summits around the Las Vegas area, including Mt. Charleston, Red Rock and Mt. Potosi. He hit six of those summits all in one day, and was alone on the last mountain when it got too dark to ride without lights and support. Only then did he turn back, just short of his insane goal. I should have known that Alex’s perception of “downhill” would have been very different from mine, but I wanted to think the rest of my ride was easy, so I gladly absorbed his words. My mind said, “Good. You’re done.” It told my body, “Hey you don’t have to work anymore.”

After about a mile, I came upon the favorite rest stop of the ride, sponsored by Cheetah’s, a strip club. There, I sat down while four women massaged my neck, legs and arms. One of them declared, “Yea, you’re almost there,” reinforcing my delusion that I had no work left to do. I set out toward Bunkerville, a new portion of the ride that was not part of the route in past years.

The wind blew out of the east, and I coasted downhill, heading almost southwest, happy to have the wind almost at my back for the first time all day. But wait, I’m heading away from Mesquite where the finish line is. And if I’m going downhill already, won’t I have to climb back up? The road finally turned east just as a hill began. The wind hit me in the face again, as it had been doing all day. Okay, just this one hill and it’s over. I put my head down and pushed my way up the hill. At the top, the road dipped down again, and I could see another hill in the distance. Oh! One more! I couldn’t coast down because of the wind, and I stood up to climb this next hill, only to be greeted by even more hills. All Downhill?!

I approached a couple other guys I’d seen intermittently throughout the day. I had drafted behind them earlier, but I couldn’t keep up with their speed. Now, they were burned out. I passed them on the hills just as a guy on a support motorcycle appeared, heading in the opposite direction. “Just make a left at the stoplight,” he said to me. Ah, almost there. I climbed still another hill, expecting to see the stoplight. No. More hills. What stoplight was he talking about?

I came upon another member of my BikingLasVegas.com team. There were approximately 32 people riding on my team, and I didn’t know all of them. This guy remembered me from a team meeting, and had the added advantage of seeing my name on my back. I was wearing a special number with my name on it because I had been in the top ten of fundraisers last year. I noticed he had one, too, making us both members of the yellow bib number club. This was Dr. Benjamin Rodriguez, plastic surgeon and strong fundraiser for Bike MS. He started a conversation as though he was trying to keep me from thinking about all the hills. I realized that he had already finished the ride, and had ridden back out to find the rest of the team. He had found only me.

The conversation did help distract me as we rode in together. An announcer at The Oasis finish line in Mesquite announced “Number 52” as I rode in. I realized he was announcing my finishing place: 52 out of approximately 150 doing the whole 100 miles. There were 217 total riders when you count those doing a shorter route that included a shuttle ride part way. Not bad. I only wanted to finish, and did not care about my ranking, but it did give me a smile to know I did so well. Still, we had 100 miles more to go tomorrow. I thought about those deceptive hills and the headwind. This could be analogous to the ups and downs of having MS. You think you might be in for an easy stretch, but it’s another hill instead. As cyclists, we have no right to complain.

Finishing Day 1

Riding two hundred miles in two days on a bike: what does that have to do with fighting the crippling disease Multiple Sclerosis? Well, I’m a person who wants meaning in everything. It’s not enough for me to ride to improve my health. If I can add one more ounce of meaning, I’ll always do it. The moment I heard about this annual event run by the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, I was sure that Bike MS was one of the reasons I started riding, even though I hadn’t heard of it when I took out my fat-seated, knobby-tired hybrid bike and “Forest Gumped” my way west on a twelve mile adventure that would change my life. On that day in April 2009, I discovered an endless network of pathways that I never knew existed, bike lanes and life lines that revealed a new future for me.

Bike MS made sense and gave me a reason to work harder. My wife, Colleen, was diagnosed with MS in 1994. She woke up one morning almost completely blind in her left eye. After she was misdiagnosed many times, the blindness eventually led to the discovery that she had MS. The blindness went away, but the MS never will. It attacks in various ways, and the symptoms are roughly used as predictors of the future severity of other symptoms to come. In Colleen’s case, the form of MS that first presents with blindness is one of the “best” forms to have. Yes, her potential of going blind was an indication that she might have one of the least aggressive forms of MS. Well, if that’s the “best” form of MS, then how much worse could the other forms of MS be?

MS is a disease that causes a break-down of the myelin sheaths around the nerves in the brain. When these nerve coverings are destroyed by MS, the effects on the person can manifest in many ways. Because the loss of myelin causes the nerves not to function properly, the body’s “electrical system” short circuits. This can mean the person with MS can experience loss of feeling, pain, loss of muscle control, impaired thinking and memory, and numerous other debilitating symptoms the may come and go or progressively worsen. In the world of MS, Colleen has been “lucky” thus far. When she has an exacerbation, she usually experiences general fatigue, numbness, and burning sensations in her legs, which is difficult to deal with, but could be worse. The shots she takes three times a week are designed to slow the progression of the disease and lessen the severity of the symptoms. Whether it’s from the shots or the nature of her form of MS, Colleen is much better off than many who have MS. Some are completely wheelchair bound, completely blind, or worse.

The National MS Society does more than work for a cure. It also provides assistance to those with MS. That assistance comes in the form of providing medicine, scooters, in-home ramps, and much more. NMSS is an organization that makes a difference in the lives of people with MS and their families and friends. Bike MS is an annual event that takes place in many cities throughout the U.S. In southern Nevada, the Bike MS ride starts at the Las Vegas Speedway, heads out along I-15, winds through the Valley of Fire, up through Overton, back along I-15 and into Mesquite. In 2010, for the 25th anniversary of Bike MS, the route was changed to go through Bunkerville before heading into Mesquite. For those of us who rode in previous years, this change was much more difficult than we expected.

Back to my question: what does riding 200 miles on a bike in two days have to do with fighting MS? The simple answer is that the ride is a way to bring awareness to MS and an opportunity to raise funds for the National MS Society. But in addition to that, the ride symbolizes the difficult struggle people with MS must endure. There are flaws in this symbolism in that cyclists can quit riding whenever they want. People with MS can not quit MS. Cyclists have the luxury of battling obstacles while knowing they have a chance eventually to reach the glorious finish line. People with MS do not have such a rewarding finish. But even with the flaws in the symbolism, the ride demonstrates that we are fighting for each other and fighting against MS. Those with MS who participate by volunteering at rest stops or cheering for us at the finish line know we are fighting for them, and I think our physical and mental struggle on bikes shows them they are not alone. So, it is with these thoughts in mind that I attacked the ride as though I were attacking MS itself.

I trained for it. It became a numbers game. How many miles a week? How many days to train? How many hours to finish a ride? During my first 600 days of serious riding, when I started recording my rides with a bike computer, I rode more than 6,000 miles. That even number of 6,000 miles turned over unceremoniously some time during Day One of Bike MS 2010. I rode with the number 6 on my back, representing my ranking in fundraising for 2009. It is a great honor to know that so many people donated to NMSS in support of my ride that I came in 6th on my first fundraising effort. Having done so well in fundraising matters much more than my placement at the finish of the ride, but I still had to ride a good ride for this effort to feel complete.

One of the big changes for me from 2009 to 2010 was my bike. I rode last year until Bike MS with my old steel bike, much heavier than newer bikes and much more difficult for shifting gears. That initial training on a heavy bike led to my feeling almost weightless when I rode a carbon fiber Trek just for Bike MS 2009. Riding that new technology showed me how much more I could do with a better bike. For that reason, I got a new Trek in March 2010, and it allowed me to accomplish rides I’d never considered before.

I frequently rode up mountains such as Mt. Potosi and Mt. Charleston, and took on long rides such as doing two loops of the River Mountain Trail at Lake Mead for 70 miles. My first century of 2010 was the Tour de Fire at Lake Mead, which I rode alone. My next century started with a group, but quickly broke up, and I wound up alone doing two loops of Red Rock (very difficult even once) along with one Mt. Potosi climb, up and over and back. After that, I did 108 miles solo out to Pahrump, up north, and almost around to Indian Springs before I couldn’t ride any longer that day. A few weeks later, I went to Arizona and did a charity century ride in Flagstaff. It was hot and very difficult, and I rode much of this alone, too. Between all these rides, I did shorter rides or more difficult mountain climbs, along with specific interval training as well as group rides.

The core of my riding came every Tuesday and Thursday night when I rode with BikingLasVegas.com members, and many Saturdays when we did “challenge rides” as a group. Our night rides, to stay out of the summer sun, became faster and more difficult as the summer wore on. Often I would add extra miles to these rides and get in 40+ miles on a night. My summer culminated with The Tour of Utah Ultimate Challenge, a ride that is aptly named.

The Tour of Utah Ultimate Challenge is a preview of the most difficult stage of one of the most challenging professional cycling stage races in America, and opened to riders outside the professional circuit. It is 100 miles with 11,000 feet of climbing. It starts in Park City and finishes in Snowbird. Except for a few miles in the middle, I rode this solo, too. With all the climbing, I was going too slowly to draft, anyway. My only goal was to finish within the allotted time of nine and a half hours.

It is absolutely the most beautiful ride I’ve ever been on, with amazing countryside and dazzling mountain forests. But it was (and still is) the ultimate challenge I’ve had on a bike. Imagine training for a ride, having the right bike, the right fitness level, and perfect weather, but seriously questioning the need to finish, with only two miles to go. Yes, that is what I did. The final climb up to Snowbird was so steep, I could barely keep riding, and I had to stop multiple times to rest. I seriously considered having Colleen pick me up and take me to the top. But I did not quit. I finished with fifteen minutes to spare, and I even had the determination to keep riding past the finish line until I completed three tenths of a mile more to get exactly 100 miles for the ride. I immediately told myself I would never do this ride again, but I changed my mind less than an hour later. Now, I look forward to improving my completion time next year. Such is the bug of cycling.

To provide a little perspective: the professional cyclist who won that stage of the race a few days later finished in four and a half hours, compared to my nine and a quarter hours. I have lots of room to improve even though I will never cut my time in half.

Bike MS 2010 was a new challenge for me in that I had never ridden two century rides on consecutive days. In 2009, we rode 167 miles in two days. Organizers changed the route for this 25th Anniversary Ride so we would return the way we came and have the opportunity to ride 200 miles in two days. After the headwind of the first day, most of us were exhausted, and I did not know if I would have the energy I needed for 100 more miles.

Colleen, Steve and Athena before setting out on Day 2

On the morning of the second day, we ate at the Elk’s Lodge. I saw very few of my team mates there, and of those, only a couple were planning to ride at all. The core group I trained with was still not at the lodge when I finished breakfast, so I got everything ready to ride and headed out solo. I was hoping the wind would be the same as the first day so that we would have a tailwind as we re-traced the route, but that was too much to hope for. The wind shifted to blowing from the north, creating a heavy cross-wind. I tackled the rolling hills and just kept going. We had rest stops every 10 or 15 miles, and I skipped the first and third before heading into Valley of Fire. By then, I had decided to keep the whole ride solo. I would not draft from anyone for even a minute. I got the idea from another team mate, Jorge, who had declared that to be his goal. I saw him along the way and carefully passed him without drafting.

As I approached Valley of Fire, I questioned my decision. In fact, I even questioned my ability to reach the lunch stop in the park. Throughout all the riding, I kept eating and eating: power/electrolyte gel, oranges, potatoes, energy bars and energy beans, fig bars and other things available at the rest stops. Even so, I didn’t eat enough. I was dizzy and winding down like a child’s spinning top. I wasn’t thinking about calories at the time, but if I had, I could have figured the numbers and understood that I just wasn’t eating nearly as many calories as I was burning. Each day, I was burning between 5,000 and 6,000 calories just on the ride, and another 2,000 for still being alive. At that rate, you just can’t replenish all those calories quickly enough. It’s a simple concept, really, but all I knew was that I was dizzy. I was sure I couldn’t stand if I got off my bike, so I just kept pedaling, riding amidst the amazing red rock formations of the Valley of Fire landscape. Finally, I saw Colleen and my daughter, Athena, at the lunch stop. I waddled my way to a table, sat down, and ate one of the best sandwiches I’ve ever eaten. It saved me.

I was relieved to find that the dizziness subsided and must have come from lack of food. It’s surprising that I still needed so much more, considering my conscious effort to eat so much. After the ride the day before, I had eaten three sandwiches and a protein drink before going to dinner two hours later, where I ate two huge portions of pasta and a piece of pie.



Gina, Lisa, Lynetta and Paul at Valley of Fire

I re-filled my little bottles with energy gu along with filling an extra bottle with endurance drink when I saw Roger, a team mate I rode with for much of Day Two the previous year. He was ready to head out again, and we were both glad to have each other’s company. The last of my team came in just then, only seven or so, and the ride organizer said that they were the last on the route. I was surprised at this because I thought I was among the earliest to leave. There were dozens of people still at the lodge when I had left, and not one had passed me. What were they doing? Along the route, I had only seen a few riders. How could we be last?

Roger and I set out together. I stayed in front for a while before he offered to “take a pull.” I told him I didn’t want to draft because I was going for a solo ride. I had no problem, however, letting him ride behind me as much as he wanted. When we rode together in 2009, he really had made a difference in helping me finish strong. He had also provided an inner-tub when I had gotten a flat tire and hadn’t had the right replacement tube.


Roger and Steve leaving Valley of Fire

 Now, we had to climb out of Valley of Fire, which required that we climb for eight miles before tackling the steepest hill of the whole two days, a short but intimidating switchback just outside the entrance to the park. We made it there together and grunted and groaned our way onto the last upturn, spitting out lots of swear words that I’m sure are still lying all over the road, ready to be resurrected by the next cyclist to struggle up the hill. Panting, and with our heart rates racing, we sputtered in to the next rest stop.

A few more people came in behind us as we headed out again. We immediately hit a very short but uncomfortable hill before starting our downhill ride to I-15. I switched to my aero bars, which allow me to get into a more aero dynamic and comfortable position in which I rest my elbows on the main bars while holding the aero bars that extend forward over the front wheel. With my light bike, good bearings, proper gearing and aero position, I can really fly down the hills. In just a few minutes I “dropped” Roger. I hadn’t wanted to do that, but I really needed to stay with my own rhythm on this ride. As the road turned more northward, I hit the headwind and pushed on to the next rest stop.



With Athena in the Wind, Day 2

 I waited there for the rest of the team to arrive, including Roger, before I pushed westward on I-15, finally with a tailwind. The tailwind and my matching speed left the wind noise almost silent for that last climb to apex where we would leave I-15 behind. That was also the last rest stop. As the core of my team, along with a couple other riders caught up to me, I pushed off to complete the last stretch down to the speedway alone, just ten miles or so.


The Last Stretch


This happened to be the same weekend as the air show at Nellis Air Force Base, which is very close to the speedway. They were only allowing parking at the speedway and were bussing spectators to the base. Parts of Las Vegas Boulevard were closed because of this as I approached the speedway completely alone. On the boulevard, I navigated around two police cars in the middle of the road and up to a group of turning busses, where I was told to turn with the busses, then head toward the entrance tunnel to the speedway. That was the tunnel we had ridden through to start our ride less than 32 hours earlier, just after doing one lap around the speedway. We had exited as a long group of 217 riders, and now I was coming in solo.



200 Miles

I saw a couple familiar faces along with Athena, but I felt as though I had missed a party. The few people who were there cheered and rang bells, but as I passed through the gate, the finish line area was empty. Colleen greeted me with a hug and put a medal around my neck. I headed straight to our van to shed my cycling stuff so I could go eat one of the stale, cold hamburgers that awaited us. The rest of the riders, including what was left of my team, came in soon after.



BLV Team at Finish

Wow, I thought. How had everyone finished so soon before us? It would be a few days before I discovered the explanation for this. It was not what I had expected.

I was shocked to discover that more than 90% of the cyclists doing the ride did not finish. They either did not ride the second day, got SAG’d to the top of hills, rode a shorter route, or took a huge shortcut along I-15, skipping the early rolling hills of Bunkerville and bypassing Valley of Fire completely. That was the explanation! With only a couple exceptions, in the end, we were not the last ones to finish, we were the ONLY ones to finish, meaning that only 13 of us actually completed the full 200 miles. Wow!



The Best Hug
(Thank you, Athena Patchin for most of the pictures).

I had done what I had set out to do. Most of our team had done it, too. Our sponsors had contributed generously. The event was a success! BikingLasVegas.com raised more than $27,000 for NMSS, making us the number one team. The event raised almost $115,000. And of all the individuals and teams that rode and finished, only 13 of us rode the full 200 miles, nine of those from our team, a team just in its second year of existence. How’s that for riding a good ride? I could not ask for more . . . until next year.

The Las Vegas Gambler's Classic 2009 MS Bike Ride, One Cyclist's Narrative

As the sun rises across the desert and brushes its orange breath across our cold faces, we mount our bikes and teeter our way through the loose dirt and gravel outside the Las Vegas Speedway, heading for our once-around the race track. It’s November 7, 2009. The air is dead still. More than 200 riders are here to participate in the 2009 MS Ride going from the speedway to Mesquite, Nevada and back. Some will only go part way. Some will finish the first day and go home. A few will leave in ambulances. Others will embrace the two days with no other thoughts on their minds than doing every mile. I’m in the latter group, so much so, that I’m surprised to hear not everyone intends to finish. I’m not judging their abilities; it just never occurred to me to do anything but the whole ride. Some cyclists don’t even ride around the track. I wonder why.

One of the reasons I’m riding is for my wife, Colleen. What I remember as the first time I met her is that I was sitting in a pool with my friend Randy after a hard bike ride through Red Rock, west of Las Vegas, Nevada. We had been training for a two day, 100 mile charity ride coming up in Arizona. Colleen tells me I have my timeline disjointed, but it makes my next point sound better and gives a tidy circular flow to my narrative. (Cyclists like circles). I remember meeting Colleen in conjunction with bike riding and raising money for charity. Now, 22 years later, I am on a bike again, but this time the charity relates directly to Colleen because the charity is the National Multiple Sclerosis Society, and Colleen has MS. For reasons I can’t remember, I quit bike riding not long after that Arizona ride. I kept my bike on the wall in all of our apartments until we bought our first house. In April 2009, I started riding again.

Colleen discovered she had MS after she lost her vision in one eye in 1997. That is one of the things MS can do. The vision eventually returned, but the MS has not gone away. Sometimes it stays hidden, and sometimes it affects everything she does. She takes multiple shots every week in an attempt to keep it a bay. When I heard about the 167 mile MS Ride (referred to as the MS 150 because of old routes from years gone by) I knew my cycling had a bigger purpose than just me.

I joined a team founded around a website designed to bring cyclists together. The team and the website are called BikingLasVegas.com. As I set out on this long anticipated ride, I think about all the people who contributed to the MS Society because of the ride. I am one of the top three fund-raisers, and our team has raised more than $20,000 because of this event, making us the number one fund-raising team. From one point of view, we have already achieved our success even without riding. But that is not my point of view.

A ride such as this is a physical and mental challenge, and it provides a chance to make a statement . . . a statement to myself, to the world, to this insane disease . . . all of the above. I focused on and trained for these two days during the hot summer months, and as people contributed to my efforts through donations to the MS Society as well as encouragement and positive thoughts to me directly, my ride grew into something that was no longer mine alone. As I will pedal out there on the road, everyone who supported me will be there too, in ways I can not foresee. This is something I have not anticipated or imagined. All the physical and mental explanations can not account for the energy and strength available to me on this ride. Yes, preparation and technology will contribute to my success, but they will not be enough to explain how well I ride during these two amazing days.

We yelp and yowl as we ride through the tunnel into the speedway. We’re on our way! The empty seats around the track are multi-colored and give the illusion that a crowd is watching us. Maybe there is a crowd watching us. We line up at the start line, leaning on our right feet into the incline of the track. I look around to find other members of my team scattered in little groups, wearing their blue and green BikingLasVegas.com jerseys. We push off slowly and come to the first turn. That’s when I understand why some people didn’t want to ride on the track. It slopes up sideways to what seems to be at least three stories high at a 45 degree angle. I’m in the middle with riders above me and below. It is a strange place to be riding a bike, angled so steeply into the road just to stay up straight, but I’m thrilled to be here. Still, this would not be a good place to crash (not that any place would be good for a crash).

 

We come around the last turn, and I see Colleen and my 11-year-old daughter Athena standing by our van which is parked next to the track. Wow! They just drove right in! I wave as we pass and Athena takes pictures with a camera I taught her to use just last night.

As we finish our lap and exit through the gates of the speedway, I hear the distinctive scrape-slap sound of someone crashing behind me. I can’t turn to look because we’re clustered too close together, and I don’t want to cause another crash. We ride onto Las Vegas Boulevard North and start spreading out as each rider finds his or her own pace. I hear a skiiidddd crack sound, as another cyclist hits the pavement. I can’t look back now, either. Looking behind while riding is an acquired skill I haven’t mastered yet, at least not enough to do it with lots of other cyclists around me.

On my old, steel bike, I have trouble keeping up with young and fast riders. On good days, I can keep up for a while, and my best performance has been a 16 mile per hour average through 30 miles, but my typical average is less than 15 mph. When I took up cycling this year, I also read lots of books on the subject. One expert noted that when a rider reaches a productive cadence in which he’s maintaining a consistent rate of speed and a reasonable heart rate, the added effort needed to increase and maintain the speed one mile per hour faster requires disproportionately more energy than it does to stay at the same pace. In other words, the extra one mile per hour may require so much more energy expenditure that it might not be worth the effort and could actually be counter-productive. So for me to increase my average speed significantly on two long rides back to back, something special would have to happen. That’s exactly what does happen: something special. I will average 17.6 mph the first day and 18 mph the second day.

One of the most renowned cyclists in history, Lance Armstrong, wrote a book entitled It’s Not about the Bike. That title became a source of mild debate and a topic of conversation in the cycling community. One of the reasons Lance chose that title was because he was writing about his “journey back to life” after defeating testicular cancer. Another reason was that he wanted to make the point that riding is more about the fortitude of the rider than the technology of the bike. The reality is that nothing in this world is either one thing or another. We all are a little of everything, and the results of our actions have many causes. Numerous factors contribute to my ability to ride well. One of those factors is the bike.

Yesterday, I arranged to use a top-of-the-line Trek bike, a Madone 5.9 from McGhie’s bike shop. I transferred my bike computer, pedals, seat and bags to this ultra-light, extremely aerodynamic, high performance “Porsche” of the bike world. It weighs less than half what my steel bike weighs. Everything about it makes sense, especially the available gears. My own bike, as someone pointed out to me, was likely designed and built in the 80s for flat racing. Its gears were meant for speed on ideal, flat courses, not for climbing mountains. (I didn’t know this when I used that bike to climb Mt. Charleston, one of the most challenging bike rides in the U.S). In riding the Trek, I am eliminating the handicap of my old, heavy, inefficient bike and using the technology most of the other riders are using. In this case, it is about the bike.

Another little piece of technology I needed cost much less. I wear glasses, and when I ride, they protect my eyes a little but not enough. As the weather got cooler, I found that my eyes got dry very quickly during rides. On one windy ride, my right eye got so dry that my vision stayed hazy for a few hours after the ride. It’s uncomfortable and dangerous. New, prescription cycling glasses that curve around to protect my eyes properly cost a few hundred dollars. Instead, I chose to hit the swap meet. I found some cheap fit-over sunglasses for ten bucks. They make me look like a senior citizen vacationing in Florida or maybe some kind of bug from outer space, but they do the job. Without them, dry eyes would be a big problem and a dangerous hindrance on this ride. Thus, I have no “coolness” credibility except for the bike I ride, which probably confuses a lot of people. If I were on my own steel bike, the wannabe-pro cyclists would ignore me as though I were just another rock in the desert.

We head north-east on Las Vegas Boulevard North, and under I 15 to reach our first small climb. The M.C. of the event rides in a van along with us and parks ahead of us periodically to cheer us on. From inside the van, he blasts energetic music through large speakers, keeping the van doors open so the music escapes freely. “Good job. Good job. Keep it going,” he announces. Our ride support group includes six to eight three-wheeled motorcycles, each with two riders; a support and gear (SAG) van with a mechanic; a vehicle with medical supplies; a couple other support cars; and at least one Nevada Highway Patrol officer in a car. BikingLasVegas.com also has its own SAG as a team member rides along in his van with his wife. In addition, there are ten rest stops along the route, each with volunteers providing water, snacks and other nourishment. The most talked-about rest stop, staffed by women from a sponsoring strip club, includes massages.

Our route will take us around past Apex, up to the Great Basin Highway, onto I 15, through Valley of Fire State Park, north through Overton and Logandale, back onto I 15, and north/east to Mesquite, Nevada, approximately 98.5 miles. The return tomorrow will take us directly back to the speedway along I 15, approximately 69 miles. I don’t think about all this. For me, it’s one curve or one hill at a time. Our first hill gets my legs going. I am immediately pleased to find I’m climbing strong, keeping up with the type of riders who would usually “drop” me. The hill is no problem. Maybe I should slow down, I think. Am I pushing too hard? My heart rate is fine, not even 140 beats per minute.

Reaching the Great Basin Highway and going under I 15, we discover the first rest stop. Already! I’m not stopping. I turn left onto the entrance to I 15, passing Colleen and Athena, who are both taking pictures of me. They volunteered to work at the lunch stop in Logandale and at another stop tomorrow. They have plenty of time to drive there in our van. I wave and head up the entrance ramp. A few others skip the stop, too. Now, it’s time for single-file riding only. Right away the air feels cooler. I think how terrible it would be to ride here in the summer. Right now, in November, I’m glad for the cool weather, and I’m happy to be wearing long sleeves and knee warmers as we pick up speed going downhill. I’m also thankful for the complete lack of wind. Everything feels perfect, and I’m sure the wind will leave us alone for these two days.

A cyclist with a green and white jersey pushes in front of me, and another jumps in front of him. They had been drafting behind me, and now seem to be offering to pull. We trade positions for a while, each of us taking a turn in the front. While at the back, I notice that the second guy has fresh dirt across his shoulder and his jersey seems to have road rash. Maybe this is one of the riders who fell earlier. The road levels and then starts going up. We pass more riders. Still feeling strong, I pull in front as the hill gets steeper. By now, I sense there are a few other riders trying to stay on our line. I push hard up the hill. A blue van passes us, and I hear, “Whooooo.” I realize Athena is yelling out the window of the van. “That’s my kid,” I say to Green & White, who is behind me. “And you’re pulling this whole line up the hill,” he replies. I smile.

At the top of the hill, I try to look behind me. Only Green & White and Road Rash are there. “Where did everyone go?” I ask. “I don’t know,” Green & White says. We dropped them. The three of us continue riding together. When cooperating in a paceline, the most efficient way to ride is close to each other single file so as to take advantage of the draft. Six to ten riders can make a really strong paceline that can generate more speed with less energy usage than single riders or smaller pacelines. We are just three, but it’s better than two or one. When trading places, the front rider should pull aside, signaling that he is dropping back to let the next rider lead. Road Rash does this the opposite way. He decides when he is going to pull and rides up from the back. It’s not the worst way to do things when there are only three riders, but it still wastes energy. In riding up to pass, he has to push harder, using more energy. In falling back to let someone else lead, he could conserve energy. I don’t plan on staying with him too long, so I go along with his backward technique. He sneers at Green & White and me when we don’t read his mind and jump up front after a while. No wonder he had road rash, I think. We stay together until the next rest stop which is across the road from the Moapa Paiute truck stop. It’s crowded, and I immediately lose track of my two companions.

I recognize a couple of my team mates in their blue and green BikingLasVegas.com jerseys. Colleen is there too, and fills one of my water bottles with a specially formulated nutrient powder for long rides. I shed my long-sleeve shirt, knowing it will be too hot later. I wait a while as the rest of my team arrives. We pull out together, 17 in all, forming a double paceline on the road to Valley of Fire State Park. It lasts for a few miles, us talking and really enjoying the ride, before two guys pull away up front and most of the rest fall back behind.

It’s getting steeper. I start pushing to reach the front two and turn up a short hill just as a cloud of dust whips up at the top. As if in slow motion, a wheel pokes out of the top of the dust cloud, then another wheel, and another. I realize the wheels belong to the same bike, and someone is tumbling and crashing. The dust obscures the road and the top of the hill. I pedal harder to reach the top and see one of my team mates turning around to come back in the dissipating dust. We reach the crashed rider at the same time. The guy is sitting in the dirt looking at his bleeding hand. He’s wearing a jersey with a building company name on it. “I just took my eye off the road for a second,” he says. A highway patrolman pulls up, already talking on the radio, calling for assistance. The rider doesn’t seem seriously hurt, but his bike wheels are twisted. I learn later that his name is Steve, and this little crash won’t stop him from riding tomorrow.

The other BLV guy and I decide the situation is being handled okay, and we start off again. Just a little more climbing before we drop down to the entrance to Valley of Fire. The drop is very steep and the road switches back once before turning straight and reaching the toll booth. Two of the motorcycles are there, and I stop to use the restroom, knowing the portable outhouses at the rest stops will have lines of people waiting outside them. When I come out, I see most of my team has passed me and is quickly dropping into the park. I pull out to catch them, but I’m not worried about falling behind because I know the next rest stop is close.

Valley of Fire is amazing, especially in November. With temperatures in the low 70s, I can ignore the reference to heat in the Valley of Fire name and take fire to mean the infinite shades of red in the rocks. The rock formations are so wild in structure and stylish in color that they appear to be designed like works of art rather than formed randomly by forces of nature. The ride is calming and peaceful until the excitement builds as we arrive at the next rest stop. The volunteers cheer and ring bells when we come in, enthusiastically stepping out to hold our bikes or bring us snacks. This is the most beautiful rest area along the route. It sits in front of the rock formations known as The Seven Sisters. They stand like maids of honor in a royal court. Could these be the earthly kin to the Seven Sisters we see at night in the star cluster known as the Pleiades?

I wait a while for my team to continue, but the time just stretches on. I don’t do well staying too long at rest stops. I need to keep my rhythm, so I head out alone. I’m still enjoying the peace of this alien landscape. At the last steep hill before leaving the park, I stand and push hard. A photographer takes my picture close to the top. On the other side, I drop quickly down the hill until it levels off. At the park exit, I turn north onto Northshore Road heading away from Lake Mead. This will take me into the farming communities of Overton and Logandale.

I look back and see a string of riders with blue and green jerseys. A paceline of 10 or so riders from my team is catching me. I slow down because I know they’ll catch me anyway, and I want to join them. They ride up to me, and I become the lead rider for a while. Most of us have been riding together for months, practicing for this moment. We rode 30 to 40 miles almost every Tuesday and Thursday night throughout the summer, and even put together a class on paceline techniques and etiquette so we would know how to ride in a paceline properly.

We work together like a finely tuned machine, calling out when we see obstacles in the road, and signaling when altering our course. We become like a bicycle cog rotating counter-clockwise as we trade pulling duties at the front. After a few minutes, I move left out of the lead position and signal with my elbow for everyone to pass. As I fall back, my team mates greet me: “Hi, Steve . . . nice Pull . . . Thanks for the pull.” That’s how we do it. We communicate with each other, and we become like a single multi-headed rider . . . that is until someone stops paying attention. But that doesn’t happen until later. For now, we’re a winged serpent flying along the road, devouring solo cyclists and gaining speed.

We drop into the valley and start the gentile climb back to I 15. Our next stop is the lunch stop in Logandale, 65 miles into our journey. We all push hard, each only staying in front for a few minutes before rotating back. I recognize the familiar jersey of Green & White ahead, and tell him to jump on as we pass. He seems worn out, and the paceline will help him. I only offered because I had ridden with him earlier and seen that he was a safe rider. I would not have invited Road Rash to join, however. Green & White jumps on and becomes part of the monster.

The feeling of being part of something that is greater than just a group of individual riders, stronger than the sum of its parts, is so special I will crave it when the ride is over. We maintain speeds perhaps 40 percent faster than we could achieve alone. We leave everyone in our wake. I’m only a little tired when we reach the rest stop. Stopping seems more like a strategy than a necessity. Only Green & White seems tired. “I’m worn out,” he says. That’s the last I’ll see of him.

After a while, a second paceline of BikingLasVegas.com people rides in. We eat the chicken and rice served by volunteers. Colleen and Athena are there handing out the meals. I was not planning on eating solid food during the ride because it can actually slow me down while my body digests it. My plan was to stick to my powder mixes only, but I decide to eat the lunch anyway. As it turns out, the lunch does well for me.

With one person dropped behind after having two tire punctures (and another blow-out to come later) we let John, our SAG driver, go back to get him while the rest of us on the team start the climb to I 15. This is one of the steepest parts of the ride, rising 800 feet of elevation over 10 miles. It doesn’t sound like much, but some of the grades are really steep. Usually when I climb hills I just maintain a steady pace, satisfied to reach the top whenever I can. Today is different. First I try to help a couple team members up the grade by offering my wheel so they can draft, but there is very little draft on this steep hill. As the front guys pull away, I find myself chasing them. This leaves the others behind. I pass one rider and catch up to the guy in front as we turn onto I 15 for more climbing. At the top of the last hill, the other guy stops to let the team catch up or to rest himself. I look back enough to see an empty road. They’re nowhere in sight. I’m worried about bonking and coming in behind everyone else at the end, so I keep going, thinking they’ll catch me by the next rest stop.

First the road drops, and then I’m on a long, slow incline that seems almost flat. There’s more gravel on the road here than there was in all of the previous miles. Our riding lane is the breakdown lane of the highway, just inside the grooved portion of the road that is designed to cause noise if a vehicle drives on it. There is plenty room for us, even though cars are only a few feet away as they pass. The highway disappears straight into the distance. Traffic is light. The only rider I can see stands out as a little yellow dot. I make it my goal to catch up. Slowly, the yellow dot forms into a person with pigtails. The yellow shirt is a jersey representing a dental office. I recognize the rider. She has ridden with us many times, and we passed her earlier on the way into Overton. Apparently, she only took a short lunch break. “Hello,” I say as I pass her and slow down so she can take my wheel. She matches my pace but doesn’t stay very close. We reach the next rest stop soon after that.

I stop only to get my bearings and look back to see if anyone is catching up. The rest stop is a turn-out. I notice a rider who passed the exit lane and is not stopping. It’s Jim, and I would like to ride with him, but he’s got a pretty good jump on me. I head out with Dental Girl, both of us planning to work together. Jim is long gone. I do see a tiny dot of a rider, and we start pushing to catch him. It gives us purpose. As the dot gets bigger, I see it’s not Jim. We pass this rider and aim for the next dot. Dental Girl is having trouble staying with me, so I tell her I’m going to catch Jim and slow down for her to catch us. “Damn, it took me a half hour to catch you,” I say as I ride up on Jim. I move in front so he can draft, and we slow down to let Dental Girl catch up. Pretty soon, however, they’re falling behind me.

A paving machine is working in the road ahead. I look for a path to follow and there is none. The work area goes from some cones, which are directly on the edge of the traffic lane, and the dirt and gravel that drops away from the road on the right. The paver is out by the cones. I don’t have any way around but straight on the highway travel lane. I glance back to see a line of big rigs, just as one of the 18 wheelers passes me. I see about three feet of space between the truck and the cones as he passes. That’s my lane now. I push as hard as I can to get around the paver and back into the breakdown lane. I slip by just before the next truck. That may have been crazy, but I certainly wasn’t going to stop and walk around through the desert on my shoe clips. Where are the support vehicles? I wonder. Why didn’t someone do something about this?

I keep going to the last rest stop, the one sponsored by a strip club. My plan is to wait for everyone here. Dental Girl comes in without Jim. He had a puncture and told her to keep going, she tells me. My neck is tight from leaning on the handle bars, so I accept the offer of a massage. I sit in a chair letting a woman try to loosen my neck muscles. It doesn’t help much, but I’m glad to sit down. Eventually, most of my team arrives. We know it’s not much farther now, only a little more than 10 miles, most of it downhill or flat. We head out slowly together, wanting to finish as a team. The gravel on the road is really heavy, even dangerous. I wonder why it wasn’t swept as promised. That was supposed to be part of the ride preparation by the organizers. We’ll just have to deal with it.

Things are going great. Still no wind. The temperature is a perfect 79 degrees. As we approach Mesquite, we can see our destination, the Oasis Resort. I’m riding third from the back, thinking that I will ride a few more miles past the finish line so I can reach another century mark (we’ve got to have our even numbers). This will only be 98.5 miles today if I don’t ride a little farther, and I feel as though I can go for 20 more. I really can’t believe how easy this has been. What a perfect ride! We exit the highway and move to the inside of a line of four-foot tall traffic cones that run along the edge of the travel lane. In our tight paceline, we’re going 22 miles per hour down into town.

Suddenly, I hear someone up front yell “Cone!” just as I swerve to avoid a cone that is right in my path and yell “Cone!” myself. Immediately, I hear the crash and slide as Lisa hits the cone. I know she is right behind me, and Gina is behind her. Two riders up front don’t now what has happened and are gone before I’m done braking. The rest turn around. Lisa is hunched over in the road, her bike off to the side. Gina, who managed to ride off into the dirt and not crash, gets off her bike and crouches over Lisa, holding her shoulders. Don gets down onto the road, too, and they help Lisa lie down. She’s conscious and groaning. The flesh around her right elbow is torn open deeply. Blood drips onto the asphalt. Her right leg is bleeding, too. Our SAG van pulls ahead and stops. A highway patrolman stops. A three-wheeler stops. “Do you want to go to the hospital?” someone asks Lisa, as if she could make that decision. “Is it bad?” Lisa asks. Everyone looks again. Someone says, “You need an ambulance.” Lisa curls over onto her left side as someone puts a helmet down for her to rest her head. Paul takes off his shirt, and Gina holds it on Lisa’s elbow.

The ambulance eventually arrives and takes Lisa to the hospital. The rest of us ride to the Oasis, a little numbed. People cheer and ring bells as we ride in, and it seems wrong to me. They don’t know what just happened. This is supposed to be our grand moment, but we just ride into the parking lot and stop. Everyone is staying at the Oasis except me. Colleen, Athena and I are staying with friends who have a house in Mesquite. Colleen and Athena are still not back from the lunch rest stop, so I sit on the curb as everyone else goes to find their rooms. I visit Lisa a few hours later at the hospital and find that she will be fine and has received multiple stitches on her arm. No riding tomorrow, but otherwise she’ll be okay. It’s a shame this happened to her. She’s the team captain.

In the morning, I decide to skip the official breakfast so I can get more sleep. Instead, I eat a fast-food sandwich, something I feel I should not do. I need to eat something before the ride, however. It’s colder today, maybe in the low 50s, but I choose not to wear my leg warmers. We’re supposed to ride out at 7:45 a.m., but some cyclists have already left when I arrive at the Oasis at 7:30. A lot of the team is there. Three of them want to leave immediately, and I follow. Why wait? It’s not a race, but the sooner we leave the sooner we get done. I’m concerned how well I will do riding another long ride so soon after yesterday’s 98.5 miles. I’ve never done this before. Usually, I would be sleeping in and doing very little the day after a long ride. The three of us go out with a scattering of other riders who ride alone or belong to other teams. There’s no cooperation yet this morning.

The others are slow to get moving. I try to work with them to start the climb. It will be nothing but uphill for 10 miles. I get in front and quickly reach 19 miles per hour. I look back and see they are falling behind, so I slow down again. One of them says, “I think maybe 14 would be just the right pace.” Two couples on tandem bikes pass us. I try to stay slow, but my bike feels like it wants to leap out from under me and shoot up the hill. I start to ride my own pace and get back up to 19 mph without feeling it. Climbing a hill at 19 mph! Crazy! 19 mph is fast for me on flat roads, much less a steep hill. What can I do other than go along with what’s happening? I feel so strong; I just have to take advantage of it. I leave my team mates behind.

The sun rises to my left as I cross a bridge and it casts my shadow down into the ravine. Cool picture, I think, but it’s not a picture. It’s me. This is why I ride! I’m alive!

I can see other riders, each struggling alone as we climb. I pass the two couples on tandem bikes. I pass two more riders, then approach a third, who is wearing a building company jersey. Is he the one who I saw crash yesterday? “How ya doin’?” I say as I pass. “Ugh,” he replies. We’re coming to the top of the hill, and the M.C. is playing Eye of the Tiger. My place in front is brief as Building Company Guy passes me. Just after the top is the first rest stop. Colleen and Athena are there, so I exit and wave at them, but don’t stop.

I’m out alone now, and the desert expands all around me, surrounded by mountains in the distance. The road is quiet and insignificant. No traffic. No riders in sight. I’m really alone. Little wisps of white clouds adorn the deep blue sky. The colors all around, intense blue and purple, make the rocks and dust look so harmless and welcoming. How could this desert ever be hostile? It’s like a leisurely day on a crystal lake. Nothing could go wrong. I know this smile from the wilderness is only a mask for danger, but the beauty could not be more intense or inviting. I’ve been through here hundreds of times in a car, but I’ve never really seen it until now. I feel this moment the way I had only imagined through someone else. This is what poets and philosophers write about, and their words mean nothing compared to being here right now.

I’m still moving fast, almost flying. I don’t feel the effort. How is this happening? The training? The planning? The conditioning? The thoughts and wishes of everyone who supported me? The bike? Certainly all of it. Amazing.

Three cyclists pass me. The first is a large guy wearing a beverage restaurant jersey, followed by a guy wearing a blue and white jersey. Third is Building Company Guy again. He points behind him as he passes, signaling me to join the paceline. I accept. He pulls to the front, and I wait for the rotation. Nothing happens. We pick up speed. Finally, he drops back again, falling in line behind me. Our speed drops as Beverage Restaurant can’t hold the pace. Now I think we’ll start a rotation, but Building Company Guy jumps up again and takes the lead. As we approach the next rest stop, he asks if we’re stopping. I see the other two want to pull off. “I’ll go with you,” I say, and take the lead. “I’ll try to keep your pace,” I tell him. “That’s okay,” he replies. “I’m really tired.” Blue and White exits, but Beverage Restaurant goes with us.

I push as hard as I can as we pass the rest stop and notice a paceline of nine guys wearing the same jerseys Beverage Restaurant wears. They are getting back on the highway after the stop. Building Company Guy jumps back in front of me and says, “I’m going to bridge the gap.” I throw some extra power into my cadence, shift to a higher gear, and push to stay with him. If we can get in their line, our ride will be faster and more efficient. We have thirty yards to bridge, which is significant, but I’m not getting dropped!

Quicker than I expect, we reach the line. Building Company Guy takes us right into the middle as a couple guys on the line fall back. Beverage Restaurant, who stayed with us, pulls in front of me. I relax a little inside the draft, but these guys are going fast. We all have numbers pinned to our jerseys. Our names are written below our numbers. I look ahead and see that Building Company Guy is named Steve, and Beverage Restaurant is also named Steve. How many Steves does it take to bridge thirty yards to reach Team Beverage Restaurant? Three.

Our speed increases to 24 miles per hour plus. I hang on as best I can enough to acknowledge to myself that I was here. We’re really flying! For the first time on this ride, I’m starting to feel as though I’m pushing too hard. I stay with them for a little longer, almost until the next rest stop. I doubt they will stop, and I don’t see a reason to push myself into the red, so I signal that I’m moving over and pull out of the line. Right at that moment, we’re overtaking a lone rider who I recognize as a member of my team even though he’s not wearing the jersey. (Neither am I for that matter because it’s under my blue long-sleeve shirt that I still don’t want to take off because of the cool weather). He’s wearing an orange long-sleeve shirt. I have never ridden with him before, and only met him once. “I couldn’t keep up with them any longer,” I tell him. “Yea,” he says, as though he’s familiar with their team.

We take the next rest stop exit. This is the one where Colleen and Athena are working. I stop next to Colleen as the BLV guy rides up to meet his wife who has been driving a car and stopping at each rest stop for him. As Colleen holds my bike, I walk over and ask if he would like to cooperate on the ride. He says, “Yes, two are better than one.” We head out up the hill, and we re-introduce ourselves. His name is Roger, and this is his 13th year on this MS Ride. “It’s my first”, I tell him.

We’re working our way to Moapa Valley, but first we need to finish our climb. We trade the lead back and forth, eventually cresting the hill and dropping steeply into the valley. The road is covered with gravel. I wonder why it was not swept for us as promised by the organizers. Instead of enjoying the descent, we have to brake a lot and dodge rocks. It’s dangerous, especially with the water drains that extend into our lane along the fence on the elevated parts of the highway. The drains are marked with white paint around them, but we can see that hitting one of these dips would be disastrous.

Climbing again, we pass two other riders. With none of us saying anything, they jump on behind us, another bit of cooperation among strangers. These guys rotate up from the back, too. Maybe it’s backwards week. Maybe they just want to show they’re willing to work. We stick together until the next rest stop when we all nod to each other to acknowledge our successful work. The other two riders get off their bikes as Roger and I ride on. We keep going until the next rest stop where we pull off, and I’m happy to find a portable toilet. A volunteer holds my bike while I re-situate myself and fill my nutrient bottle with protein powder. That and a honey-like gel are my main sources of nutrients these two days.

I squirt some of the gel into my mouth, and we ride on. The finish is only 16 miles away. The bridge portions of the highway leave less room to ride, and we have to be more careful. The two of us stay single-file anyway. Traffic is getting heavy with lots of big rigs passing us. Their wakes hit us in the backs for a push, and then curl around to hit us in the face each time a truck passes. It’s noisy and rough. Our escort Highway Patrol car that I have not seen until now turns on sirens and pulls a u-turn, accelerating and heading back the other way. I don’t know why.

This part of the ride is clearly the worst of all. Out here on the highway with gravel scattered around and 18 wheelers swishing by, it’s noisy, tedious and dangerous. The exhaust from the trucks caps off the unpleasantness. We just keep riding. I’m looking forward to the final exit. My rear is finally getting tired of the seat. I stand more frequently to ease the pressure. I tell Roger, “My butt’s getting tired of this.”

Suddenly, I feel as though I’m riding in mud. Tire puncture! I was beginning to think I was immune to this. Now, I have a problem. I kept my bike seat pouch from my own bike and put it on this bike. The tube inside will not fit the Trek. I realized this the night before we left when it was too late to do anything. I tell this to Roger who pulls out a tube from his pouch which is the right size. As we’re dealing with this situation, we are pulled to the right of our lane at the edge of the gravel. One of the trikes pulls behind us to see if we’re okay. The Highway Patrol car pulls in, too. The officer gets out after parking right in the middle of the riding lane, walks over to me and says, “I need to have you move out of the lane. I don’t want anything bad to happen like what happened to those other two riders,” begging the question.

I look back and see some cyclists approaching. They really don’t have anywhere to ride because of the Highway Patrol car parked in the lane. He signals for them to ride to the right of his car, which they do, just barely. I’m not the one blocking the lane, I think, but I move into the dirt anyway. I just want to get going again. “What happened?” I ask the patrolman. He tells us that an 18 wheeler crossed into the lane where two cyclists were riding side by side, and blew one into the other. The truck did not hit them, but it caused them to crash. They both had to be taken to a hospital in an ambulance. Days later, I will find out that they are alive. One was not hurt too badly, and the other had broken bones. One bike was repairable, and the other was broken in half. Yes, this is the bad part of the ride.

The tandem couples pass us. Damn! I thought I was long past them. More riders pass, too. I find the cause of the puncture. It’s a tiny piece of wire from a steel belted tire. It’s hard to pull out of my bike tire, but I get it out using some pliers the guy with the motorcycle has. I get the new tube in, and Roger uses his pump to fill my tire. Finally, we’re back on the road going downhill. We catch up to a guy I’ve ridden with many times. He’s unique because he is even less cool than me. He always wears a regular green t-shirt and tan shorts, no special cycling gear. Even more significant, he rides a “fixie.” That’s a fixed gear bike without brakes. He has no gears to shift, and must hold the pedals in place to stop. Right now, he’s spinning like a cook whipping eggs. As we pass, I say to him, “You’re a better man than I am.” I really don’t know how anyone could ride a bike like that on a ride like this. I have a lot of respect for him. What could he do with an advance road bike?

Now, all I want is to get off I 15. We exit at Apex and stop at the last rest stop. Roger goes over to talk to his wife, and I eat a power bar I picked up at the previous stop. We don’t want to hang around here when we’re so close, so we leave quickly.

Off the highway, it’s peaceful again, and we enjoy the ride. We can even ride side-by-side and talk a little. Roger tells me he’s never ridden with anyone in all his 13 years of doing this ride. We managed to stick together for half the day’s distance. I’m glad I was able to ride with him, especially because he had the tube I needed, but also because his company was enjoyable. Our pace worked well for both of us. We cross under I 15 and find ourselves on the home stretch. After climbing a short hill, we ride over to discover the entire Las Vegas Valley below us. The road shoots down toward the Las Vegas Speedway. Roger rides in front, and I let the gap widen as I stretch and relax. We’re almost coasting in. I see Colleen alone at the entrance taking pictures, and I hear the bells at the finish but can’t see anyone until we turn right through the gate. The M.C. is there playing music from his van, and a few others cheer and ring bells. Tables are set up off to the left, and a small number of cyclists sit, eating.

I had not thought of the finish line before now. I had only focused on each riding moment, with a definite idea that I would finish. I see a woman in a wheel chair put a medallion over Roger’s head. I ride in that direction, assuming that is what I’m supposed to do. To my great pleasure, I see Athena step up with my medallion on an orange ribbon. She proudly puts it over my head. What a great feeling! What a great accomplishment! It’s such a pleasure to be part of this. It’s such a great feeling to know I could do it. Colleen comes over and congratulates me.

I shake Roger’s hand and thank him for the assistance and company. I only see a few other members of my team. It’s a while before the rest come in. Roger is gone before we get the team together for a picture. I wonder what they went through as we greet each other and pat ourselves on the back. Two thirds of our team was fortunate enough to complete both days. Overall, approximately half of those who started yesterday made it to the finish today. Best of all, I hear the entire event raised more than $100,000 for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.

For me, this was my best ride ever and one of the greatest experiences of my life. Today I spent 3 hours 48 minutes on the bike for 68.5 miles, an 18 mile per hour average. Yesterday I spent 5 hours 37 minutes on the bike for 98.5 miles, a 17.6 mile per hour average. Those are the numbers I get to keep. They are mine to keep forever. In fact, I can keep everything I experienced and everything I did on this ride except the bike, which has to go back tomorrow. I don’t want these two days to be the only time I have an experience like this, and I love my steel bike, but if today is only the beginning of my life in cycling, it’s time to start saving for a new bike. I can’t look back now. There’s a lot more riding to do.

Life in the First Century

I look down the bike path to make sure it’s clear, clip my right shoe onto the pedal, crank it forward, clip the left in and ease into the bike lane. Taking a deep breath, I guide my bike past a water pipe cover while I move to the sweet spot on my saddle. My padded bike shorts help in seat comfort, but I need to keep my “seat bones” directly on the back of the saddle for the best results. The wrong angle can cause unintended consequences. Now, I adjust my grip on the handle bars, being careful to keep my elbows bent, and settle in for my first century ride.

We get hung up on round numbers, especially multiples of 4 and 5. If a bomb in a movie is set to go off, how much time does the hero have to stop it? It’s always 24 or 48 hours, never 13.8 hours. 24 hours means something because that’s how long it takes Earth to rotate once on its axis; it’s a day. If Earth turned more slowly, would movie characters have more time to prevent bombs from exploding? In cycling, the magic number is 100. In the U.S., the big goal is 100 miles, or a century. But, for those who want to reach 100 sooner, kilometers are the unit of measure to use. 100 kilometers is only 62 miles. In that case, cyclists will say they’ve done a metric century. We always aim for the round numbers, and there are lots of ways to reach those goals.

When I first started thinking about “doing a century” I imagined it to be one long bike ride far away from home. It was as if that century ride were something out in space somewhere, waiting for me to ride into it. As long as I imagined the ride “out there” I would never find it. After almost six months of improving my cycling skills and endurance, I realized I could look at this another way. Why did 100 miles have to cover one long distance? Why not ride a shorter distance multiple times? In answer to my own question, I realized right where I could go to do laps.

One of my favorite places to ride is at The Lakes in Las Vegas, Nevada. It is one of the first places in Las Vegas where people built a lake in the desert and put houses around it. Four roads curve and merge to circumscribe this little man-made piece of paradise: Lake North Drive, Lake East Drive, Lake South Drive and Crystal Water Way. Following this route as a circuit, I discovered it was slightly more than 1.6 miles around. If I could ride this path 62 times, I would reach 100 miles, the big century. But wouldn’t that be boring? As it turns out, it won’t be boring at all.

Although the idea is not original, it is reasonable to think of our lives as a circle. We start out helpless with someone taking care of us, and unless we crash too hard, many of us end up the same way, right back where we started, helpless with someone taking care of us. The seasons circle around, repeating their cycles as we go to school, grow up and start careers or get jobs. Many of us have children, and they do the same things, often with lots of broken spokes along the way. Time is not a straight line; it is a turning bicycle wheel, and life is what we experience as we ride. My little first century could be an allegory for my life.

My previous long rides all had been out and back or maybe looping back, but never short loops over and over. I had even done two metric centuries (actually 70 miles each) but I had not celebrated those as magic round numbers. I just saw them as my longest rides to-date, part of my training for a future century.

On Saturday October 8th, 2009, at 8:08 a.m., at age 44, I set out on my first Lake Drives loop with the purpose of riding 100 miles for the first time. This is also the location of a weekly criterion bike race that I had watched many times during the summer, and after which I had ridden with a group on weekly night rides to avoid the heat. Now, with fall finally here, I wonder why they stopped racing. This is the weather I had been waiting for during the hellish summer months: 64 degrees and no wind. What a beautiful morning!

I had parked my van in a parking lot next to a small park overlooking the lake. Inside the van: a cooler with my needed supplies along with ice packs. I had brought extra water, extra energy gel, electrolyte replacement powder and protein powder for continued performance. My plan is to carry one water bottle and one bottle with electrolyte mix. Whenever necessary, I can pull over and access my cooler. I will avoid solid food until I finish, and I have not eaten breakfast. This is my plan, based on my own research and numerous nutrition test-runs when I had tried eating differently before and during rides. Maybe I have made this ride more of a procedure than an adventure.

I take it easy with the first lap, just getting a feel for the road and warming up. Lots of people are out on the walking paths opposite the clearly-marked bike path which runs on the inside portion of the road with the lake at the hub, hidden behind buildings and fences. I head up Lake Drive South, going clockwise on my circuit, and come to a traffic circle, or round-about. I turn right onto Crystal Water Way, the lake to my right behind houses, and a 25-foot high embankment on my left, covered with a nicely manicured lawn and topped with more houses, obviously built to overlook the lake which is out of my view right now. Part-way up the embankment people jog and walk along the curvy path 10 feet above the road, many with dogs. Shadows reach across from the two-story houses on my right. I’m happy with my decision to ride here on this day; everything feels right.

At the first access gate to the lake, I notice a bald man opening a large box. I keep riding to the first stop sign, which I pass without stopping because it is a three-way stop, and the bike path does not cross the main traffic lane. The road keeps going uphill, as it does three quarters of the way on this loop. Here I get my second view of the lake. There are only four clear views of the lake on this path. I come to another stop sign. Now, I have to turn right as the road heads downhill past another lake view, a couple small restaurants, and a little neighborhood market. I drop faster to the last stop sign, and I don’t stop here, either, because the bike path bypasses the stop sign. Quickly, the road goes uphill again, curving back to my departure point. This is the steepest uphill portion of the loop, and I strive to stay faster than 14 miles per hour here, although I won’t always succeed today.

Shortly after taking up cycling six months before this, I went exploring on my 1987 Univega, 12-speed road bike, the same one I’m using for my first century. I had wormed my way west of home, turned on Starboard Drive, and slipped onto the shady bike path of Lake Drive East, thinking hey, this is perfect. I cranked along as the path grew steeper, and suddenly I got swallowed by a swishing cluster of cyclists going more than twice my speed. Without knowing in advance, I was in the middle of a race. It was a surreal feeling, but I decided to put my head down and stay on the path. The other cyclists, maybe thirty of them, disappeared around the curve, and I kept cranking. At the top of the hill, spectators glared at me, as I was obviously out of place. Nothing new; I’m always out of place.

Now, I complete my first lap right where I had received glares the first time I rode on this path. This time, no one is there to take notice. I hit the red button on my bike computer to mark the lap. I’m really focused on the numbers. This ride will be a test of technique, nutritional balance, mental determination, and physical performance. One of the best ways to measure this is with my Polar bike computer. Through a wireless band I wear on my chest, the computer measures my heart rate. Through other wireless nodes and sensors on the computer, the Polar computer measures cadence (turning of the pedals), speed, distance, altitude (thus the profile of my path) and temperature. I want to mark all my laps so I can compare them later. Will I improve through the ride or will I wear down?

The irony of this ride is that I hate repetition. Not much is worse to me than hearing a group of people sing the beginning of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall, and knowing I’ll have to hear all those numbers as they sing down to one bottle remaining, then start over. I hate experiencing pointless repetition that produces empty results. With that song, I know 79 will be followed by 78, so I don’t need (or want) to hear it. But in the case of these repeating bicycle laps, I immediately discover they are not tedious because they are not the same. As I think about my laps and all the numbers I’m tracking, I also realize there is a lot going on around me. It reminds me of one of the most profound lyrics I’ve ever heard. It was written by George Harrison: “Life goes on within you and without you.”

I look straight up and see the third quarter moon against the deep blue sky. No clouds. Along this high end of the loop I see a woman wearing a tight white shirt and short green skirt on the walking path above the road. She’s far enough away that I can not see details. I think, this kind of view could keep me occupied all day. She’s walking a dog, but I don’t notice anything about the dog. The bald man with a box has now pulled out plastic pumpkins. I turn down onto the downhill and see the “homeless” woman who makes her home around here somewhere. I had seen her before, and was wondering where she was earlier. She is rearranging her personal affects. She stores everything on a shopping cart, and right now, she’s doing something with a blue plastic kiddie pool. Coming around again, I see that the woman with the green skirt is down in the bike path. I have to move into the road to pass her, and I realize my imagination had been better than reality. I’d rather look at her dog, which I see now is a small, black terrier.

On Crystal Water Way, with this gradual incline, I have my opportunity to make adjustments to my riding position. I stand and pedal for a bit, just to stretch my legs and relieve the seat pressure for a short time. I also need to keep changing my grip on the handle bars to keep my hands from getting numb. It happens quickly. I shake them out and try a slightly different grip along the curve of the bars. I remind myself to relax my shoulders, too. Without these little adjustments along the way, I could get very uncomfortable and find myself unable to relieve the tension or numbness easily. I use only four gears over this whole loop: fourth and fifth on the steeper uphill portion; sixth on the gentler inclines, and twelfth on the downhill. I shift into these gears in approximately the same places each time.

As a cyclist pointed out to me on one of my first rides, I have “knee knockers.” That means my gear shift levers are on the angled tube just about where my knees move up and down. Newer bikes incorporate the shifting levers into the brake levers on the handle bars. I don’t know that luxury. My bike is also older than most I see on the rides, and it is also relatively heavy. Along Crystal Water Way, I push to go faster, shifting the right knee knocker up into sixth gear until I turn downhill. As I gain speed, I shift to the big ring, into twelfth gear, until the road curves up again. On this steeper incline, I shift back down into fifth or fourth until I pass the parking lot and mark my lap.

Circling around and then back up the hill, I find that the few people who were here on the last lap have become dozens of slow-moving zombies scattered along both sides of the road, wearing shorts, tee shirts, sandals, running shoes, ball caps, floppy hats, sweats, and other casual or sloppy attire. Some appear to be wearing pajamas. For a moment, they all seem to have no purpose and no direction, and I’m heading into this bunch of zombies right out of a movie. I know they won’t catch me at their slow, stupid pace, but they may present a danger anyway. As I get closer, they become individuals, and the zombie illusion disappears.

Two women walk in the middle of the bike path, and their little dog limps along behind them. I tell them their dog is limping and they say they know. I reach the lap point again and realize I have not been hitting the lap button every time. I have nothing else to do but pedal and hit that button, but I forgot, anyway. I’ll have to go into the software when I’m done and mark the laps I forgot to mark. After one more lap, I stop at my van to clear the numbness in my feet, hands and other inappropriate places. I’ve pedaled for an hour, done nine laps, and I feel good. The temperature is up to 73 degrees. Two Asian women get out of their car next to my van. One looks at me and says, “Nice day for a ride.” I reply, “Yes, it’s beautiful,” as I slide back onto my seat.

On the path, I see that the bald man has pulled out more Halloween decorations and has been joined by a couple more guys. Down the hill, the cart woman has apparently put the kiddie pool onto the cart and covered the whole vehicle with two brown and yellow bed spreads. She’s setting up a lawn chair facing west with a view of the big lakeside homes, and the purple and red mountains of the Spring Mountain range. She has blonde hair, maybe a wig?

I keep at it this way, lap after lap, passing yellow desert flowers, fences, gates, pine trees, tennis courts, and lots of people out walking. Vehicle traffic is light. I see an average of four or five cars in the road every lap. I pass the lake at my high point, maybe eight feet above the water level, and at the low point possibly fifteen feet below the lake. Sometimes I smell the musty, wet odor of the lake water, and sometimes it’s the wet rotten egg stench of sewer that invades my nose. I come to expect certain areas with the sewer odor, and I exhale just before I pass the sewer grates. Round and round. The Cart Lady has moved to face the road. Is her hair gray? She is wearing big, 70s-style sunglasses and is writing on a little notepad. Is it the next great American novel or gibberish?

I think about milestones. First 25 miles. I’ve made it to Twenty-five. Good. Just do that three more times. I’m squirting energy gel in my mouth at least twice an hour. I keep it in the pocket at the back of my jersey. During my second stop at two hours, I had filled my electrolyte bottle with a different formula that included some protein. At 19 minutes past three hours in the saddle, I reach 50 miles exactly, right by my van, so I take my third break. I’m not tired or longing for breaks, but strategically I know I need to stop so I can stretch and re-fill my gel and energy drink. I want to maintain a steady pace. I’m still averaging 15 miles per hour, and more importantly, I’m keeping my heart rate below 150 beats per minute. I do not want to push too hard (178 beats per minute), and I don’t want to take it too easy, either (135 beats per minute). I am happy with my progress. The next milestone I’m working toward is 70 miles. Everything after that will be my longest ride ever.

I pass the same left-over clumps of cut grass spilled out of a lawn maintenance truck. They are so small they wouldn’t be noticed by anyone other than a guy on a bike passing them dozens of times. Now it seems Cart Lady is writing on a napkin and her hair is blonde with black stripes. I know where all the sewer and water covers are in the road so I can avoid them. A man wearing a floppy brown hat walks a beautiful long-haired dog that has the shape and size of a Saint Bernard. I ask what type of dog it is, and he says something I can’t understand, so I say, “what kind?” and the man replies, “Yes.”

Now Cart Lady appears to be drawing something, not writing, and she’s holding a piece of plastic, not a notebook or napkin. She is wearing a sweater with wide, horizontal tan and black stripes, and she’s either very fat or has things tucked under the sweater. How many times do you have to look at someone before you really see that person?

An elderly man carrying a tote bag in each hand struggles up the walking path. I keep pushing. Cart Lady still hides behind her glasses. I ask her, “What’s your name,” as I pass. She only smiles, but seems not to see me. Has she noticed a guy in a yellow shirt riding a turquoise bicycle past her every 6 or 7 minutes for the last few hours? The elderly man with the tote bags is now in the bike path. I swing around him. The Halloween decorations are becoming elaborate at that first gate. Four or five men have installed pumpkins across the lawn, ghosts in the trees, spider webs all over the gate, and I can hear haunted house noises coming from the guard shack.

I keep tabbing through the menus on my bike computer, checking speed and mileage, and doing my math to figure out how many more laps I have remaining. I’m careful to watch the Polar as I near 70 miles. I want to know when it happens. I had done 30 to 40 miles many times, 50 miles a few times, and 70 miles twice. All of this together brings me close to 1,500 miles cycling, but going past 70 miles on one ride would be new. When it finally rolls over, nothing special happens. I just keep going.

Just as I assign myself two more laps before my next rest break, I see my daughter leaning out the window of our burgundy Camry, taking a picture of me. My wife Colleen has brought my daughter Athena, her friend Monet and Monet’s mother Mackie to check on me. They stop at the park, and I go for one more lap before stopping, too. It is 86 degrees now, and I’ve gone 78.4 miles in 4 hours and 47 minutes. It is good to see them and know they are sharing in my progress. They tell me they are going to get my mom and her two dogs and come back to the park. I head out again, knowing it’s not far now.

My shoulders are tight, but everything else is fine. My legs are not tired because I am not hammering through this. My hands are not numb because I keep them loose. My feet are okay except for some numbness in my toes, but I’m used to my toes being numb on most rides. This is not one of the more strenuous things I’ve done, as I expected it might be. My planning and training has made a difference. I keep squirting the gel and periodically drinking the electrolyte/protein mix. These things are keeping my energy up. I am looking forward to having a real meal, though.

Coming up along the embankment I hear the unmistakable sounds of someone vomiting. I look up to see a shirtless guy with tattoos on his arms leaning over the fence of one of the houses above the embankment. He wipes his mouth. I imagine he got drunk last night, and I think how I’m the one who might deserve to throw up except that I feel great. My shoulders are tight, and I’m numb in some places, but I’m comfortable for a guy who has been riding a bike for more than five hours. Cart Lady has moved again, and she’s facing the traffic entering the loop. She waves at each car as if to direct traffic. Lap after lap, I keep going, shifting in my seat to keep from getting too sore, and changing my grips on the handle bars from up to down to sideways to the brake covers. Very few people are out this late in the afternoon. I am mostly alone, except for Cart Lady and a few cars.

I start thinking of one last break, but I don’t need anything, and I just want to finish now. Colleen and the others arrive with my mom and her dogs. They set out for a walk. Colleen takes pictures of me as I pass. For the benefit of my daughter’s education, I yell, “Seven more miles to go; one point six miles per lap; how many more laps?” On the next pass, I hear “Three.” I respond, “No, four.”

With two laps to go, everyone is back at the park. I hold up two fingers and keep going. Back around again, Cart Lady is at the bottom of the hill next to the stop sign. I have to ride out into the traffic lane to pass her. She’s just sitting in her chair looking up the road. I’m still not sure she’s noticed me. A chubby guy in a white shirt coasts down the hill on his bike, coming from the opposite direction. He flips around in front of me and hammers up the hill. Does he think we’re racing? I wonder. He has no idea what I’ve just done. I reach the top of the hill as he turns again and coasts back down.

I hold up one finger for the benefit of my crew as I pass the park. I’m just counting now. Past the traffic circle, the guys are admiring their Halloween decorations. Once more past Cart Lady and up the hill. Cart lady is now pushing the cart up the hill, too. I think of racers as they sprint to the finish and hold up their hands. I approach my finish line. I don’t sprint, but I hold up my hands and yell, “100 miles.” My support team cheers. I keep going and complete one more lap before I stop. 101.9 miles in 7 hours 40 minutes, with 6 hours 51 minutes of that time spent on the bike. I averaged 14.9 miles per hour and did 63 laps. I even kept my heart rate below 150 and managed to average a lower rate toward the end than I did at the start. I methodically wash my face, fill a bottle with protein powder, put my bike in the van, and sit down on the grass with the women in my life. My mom’s dogs rush over to smell me, something Colleen and Athena wisely do not do.

In very un-dramatic fashion I have accomplished something I would have thought impossible a year before. But who wants drama all the time? I also have my round number, except it is not really round because I went farther and finished with 1.9 extra miles. What do I do with them? This is not the end of anything, either. I will do more laps, and year after year I will gather more centuries. I am better than I was six months ago, and I have a widening comfort zone of cycling endurance and speed. This was only one part of a bigger loop that I have yet to conceive, I tell myself. Yea, but that was my first century!