Applying Lotion
Grave in La Grange
It began on a sour note. Two different stadii were used as starting points. The first one outside of town (the one we wanted) was inadequately signed on I–10. So we stopped and asked someone how to get to the one we wanted. The idiot directed us to the wrong one. At the wrong stadium noone we found could tell us how to get to the stadium we wanted without the caveat “I think… maybe.” Eventually I jut took matters into my own hands and drove off trusting in my cartographic instincts and common sense encapsulation of the little we had been able to gather pissing off my traveling companion who wanted to gather more information. This meant we arrived late and had to rush through pre–ride activities which included adequate sun–screen application giving me a (slight) burn that first day of our ride.
Once underway I realized people don't bike the way they should. One nice thing about biking is that it is not driving, but when there are as many bikes around when biking as there are cars when driving, I might as well be driving again. I kept getting caught behind slow bikers unable to get left to pass because of the other 10,000 cyclists on the road. So I spent my time falling behind and catching up… getting separated and only sometimes being able to find the others in my group in a timely manner.
The first day's ride ended with my riding alone past my 100th mile into La Grange and the grave of my third great grandfather collapsing there in frustration to wallow in reflections of all that had been going badly that day and more generally my life and the lives of those whom I love. At the overnight camp I went non–stop, moving luggage and bike back and forth around the camp, eating supper, and showering. Finally back at my small strip of space I unrolled my bedroll in pitch blackness slowly so I wouldn't accidentally kneel on anyone and fell asleep between my only partially unfolded bedding.
Rock Creek Park from Conn Ave
Rock Creek Park Topography
The second day's ride was better but brought my biggest deflation. My group took the longer more difficult route through Buescher State Park. Used to the hills of Rock Creek and the Potomac River valley and strengthened by the stop and go nature of city biking, I was able to excell as we biked through the hilly park to our lunch break. At or near the front of the group (as far as I could tell as we intentionally held together for only parts of this day), I arrived at the lunch stop. After eating, drinking, filling my water bottle, and emptying my bladder, I still had not seen anyone in my group. After still more waiting I remembered that the Continental Airlines Cycling Team (with which my group had associated ourselves) has a separate lunch tent. So I walked around looking for it. Having no success, I began asking around and finally learned that the team tents were at a different site. By the time I found my way there I was very much the last to arrive totally unable to shine in my masterful handling of Buescher's hills.
One last irritation befell before that day was over, but I did not learn of it until I had returned to Maryland. At the finish line we hopped without much delay on the bus to return to Houston. By doing so we missed the supper which had been arranged there for the cyclists hosted by… Hooters. [I can hear the guys at work groaning over this calamity.]