Yesterday, in Waxahachie, Texas, I did my 11th bike rally of the year and my 457th overall. It was my eighth aerobic activity in 10 days (not counting the softball game I played Monday). I ran six times (either 2.0 or 3.1 miles) and rode my bike twice. The temperature in North Texas has been very high, though not unseasonably so. It was 100º Fahrenheit Tuesday, 101º Wednesday, 100º Thursday, and 98º Friday. The forecast for yesterday was 100º.
I've been doing the Cow Creek Country Classic since 1990. I missed three editions during the past 20 years: one because I was on vacation Out West, one because I was doing a weeklong bike tour (Pedal the Peaks) in New Mexico, and one because of back pain. I always enjoy this rally. I have wonderful memories of riding with my friends Joe and Denise (on their tandem) and of suffering mightily in the heat and humidity. The countryside is beautiful, with rolling hills, cultivated fields, pastures, wooded areas, small towns, and quaint country roads.
A year ago, I rode 100 miles with Joe. I hadn't done the long course in many years, so it was fun to do it again. I averaged 17.35 miles per hour. This year, Joe told me that he didn't want to ride 100 miles. If I were going to do it, therefore, I would be on my own for about half of it. The turn-off for the 77-mile course comes at about the 50-mile mark. I prepared for 100 miles, but gave myself permission (ha!) to ride 77 if I weren't feeling well at the turn-off. I made sure that Joe knew my plan, so that he could think about the longer distance as we rode. I wanted him to know that he was welcome to ride with me, but I didn't want to pester him. Perhaps he would cowboy up. This is, after all, the man who got me into marathon running.
It was already warm at the 7:30 start. I lined up with Joe, Phil, and Julius. I told them as we rolled out that I would be back at that point in seven hours: "six hours of riding and one hour of resting." As it turned out, I wasn't far off the mark. But I get ahead of myself. About 45 minutes into the ride, Julius flatted. Ordinarily, I would stop to help him (indeed, I have done as much many times over the years), but he insisted that we go on without him. Since it was going to be a long, hot day, and since Julius wasn't going to ride even 77 miles (in all likelihood), we kept going. I hope he got his tube replaced and had a safe, pleasant ride.
I can't believe how good I felt. I told Joe later that I don't recall ever feeling as good—as strong—on a bike. "It's as though I'm taking performance-enhancing drugs, but obviously I'm not." There were times when I simply rode away from people. I wasn't trying to drop them; they just couldn't stay on my wheel. I wasn't laboring at all. Even the rolling hills didn't bother me.
I stopped for the first time at about 35 miles. Joe and Phil, with our new friend Harold, came up shortly. I had been out of water for a few miles, which is dangerous on a day such as this, so I was glad to stop. I ate a PowerBar, guzzled pickle juice, and ate half a banana. After about 10 minutes, the four of us rolled off, having thanked the rest-stop volunteers "for coming out." This rest stop, by the way, was situated on the side of a narrow country road. When we stopped, we laid our bikes in the grass along the side of the road. This is what is meant by the expression "middle of nowhere."
I reached the turn-off point (in Milford) ahead of everyone else. I wanted to say goodbye to the others before striking out on my own. I also wanted to give Joe a chance to ride with me. By this time, it was scorching hot. I walked to a nearby tree to urinate. A female cyclist rounded the corner, spotted me, and yelled, "I'm not looking! I'm not looking!" It was funny. A few minutes later, Joe and Phil arrived. Harold was behind them. We chatted for a few seconds and shook hands. I told them that I would "talk" to them by e-mail.
I rode the final 45 or 50 miles alone, some of it with music. First, I rode south into Mertens (pronounced mer-TENS), where I stopped for water and pickle juice and chatted with the elderly rest-stop workers; then I rode east into Frost (the same as a week earlier, in the Italy rally); then I rode north into Italy (the same as a week earlier); and then I continued north to Waxahachie. Just as in distance running, you have low points during bike rides. I felt fine until Frost. When I turned northward toward Italy, I began to feel the heat and the effort. My legs began to weaken and my spirits dropped. It was so hot that you could hear the crickets complaining. It was like riding through hell, but worse.
Once I reached Italy, I felt better. I made my way to the rest stop in Forreston, where I sat in a lawn chair under a tree for about 10 minutes. The southerly breeze felt great. There were 20 or so other cyclists milling about, some talking on cellphones. Everyone looked fried. Finally, determined to get through this thing, I hit the road. There was an out-and-back segment that is designed to give riders 100 miles for the day. I thought about skipping it and riding straight into Waxahachie, which would have given me about 92 miles. It was tempting, believe me. But I resisted the temptation, as I almost always do. I knew that I would feel guilty later for taking a shortcut, and I hate feeling guilty. I did the out-and-back segment.
I made one more stop with just a few miles to go. It was short. I filled one of my bottles with cold water, ate a PowerBar Gel, and told the rest-stop volunteers that a sag wagon needed to be sent back on the course for a man I had passed. He was walking his bike. He said he was cramping and couldn't pedal. Minutes later, I finished, with 98.5 miles. Obviously, I'm not going to settle for that, so I rode back on the course for nearly a mile to reach the century mark. A year ago, I had 98.8 miles for the same course. My new cycling computer must be different from my old one. I'm pretty sure the new one is accurate, because I measured the front wheel in my garage recently and programmed the computer with the circumference.
The parking lots were almost empty by the time I finished. I doubt that many riders did the long course, as I did, though some may have planned to. My car was so hot inside that I couldn't stand it. I jumped in, started the engine, and turned on the air conditioner full blast. A couple of minutes later, it was cool enough to get into. I wrote down the data from my computer, packed up the bike, wiped myself down, and headed for home, 37 miles away. I stopped along the way for Taco Bell burritos. When I got home, it was 101º on my thermometer (in the shade). I walked Shelbie on the school grounds, gave her the five soft tacos I bought her, put things away, and showered. Believe it or not, I needed no nap. I did tire early in the evening, however. I went to bed shortly after 10:00, my Texas Rangers having lost their game against the San Diego Padres. I slept well, as you can imagine.
Sorry to bore you with all these details! I enjoy writing and thought that some of you, especially the nonathletes, might wonder what a bike rally is like. Statistically, I averaged 17.19 miles per hour for 98.5 miles. (Elapsed time = 5:43:45.) What's funny about this is that, a week ago, in Italy, I averaged 17.19 miles per hour for 63.0 miles. Talk about consistent! My maximum heart rate yesterday was 154, the same as a week ago. My average heart rate was 127, the same as a week ago. It's as though I did the same ride, but with 35.5 extra miles. By the way, if you multiply my average heart rate by the number of minutes I rode (343.75), you get 43,656.25 heartbeats. My ticker got a workout yesterday!
I set a record for calories burned on a single bike ride: 3,533. I ate two PowerBars and two PowerBar Gels during the ride, plus a banana and a cookie (or two). I must have drunk three gallons of water during the ride. (Yes, the verb is inflected drink/drank/drunk.) My maximum speed for the day was 33.5 miles per hour, which I'm sure I reached on the descent of Mountain Peak. Here are my hourly splits:
Hour 1: 18.2 miles
Hour 2: 18.2 miles
Hour 3: 16.8 miles
Hour 4: 17.7 miles
Hour 5: 15.5 miles
Hour 6: 16.59 miles
Actually, the final figure ("16.59") is the average speed for the final 43:45 of the ride. The fifth hour (15.5 miles) included the stretch between Frost and Italy, when I began to tire. You can see that I picked up the pace afterward, though not by much. One thing I can't complain about is the wind. The average wind speed for the day was only 4.6 miles per hour. The top speed was 12. The official high temperature for the day, at DFW Airport, was 103º. In case you're wondering, I had a ball. I can't imagine anything that would have been more enjoyable than what I did yesterday. Was it hard? You betcha. That's why it was enjoyable.
Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D. 