Dropped...

I went riding with the Lawrence Bicycle Club this morning. Their Muffin Ride sounded like a lot of fun when I read about it on their website.

The Lawrence Bicycle Club's most popular ride. A 35 mile ride good for all levels of experience and speed, the route goes to Lone Star Lake, where the riders stop to "regroup" all participants. Returns to Lawrence for breakfast at a local restaurant. This is a beautifully scenic ride that members never grow tired of repeating. Successfully integrates beginning riders and faster riders who can "hammer" the first leg. Mixed Pace - Multiple groups of different speeds from moderate to fast, 15-20 mph.Beautiful, I thought. A group ride I can hang with.

So I set out early this morning, arriving at 31st & Louisiana with time to spare. I talked with a few riders before the ride rolled out. Everyone I talked with said it would be fast. We'll see, I thought. I'm stronger than you think.

Just after 8:00am, the sound of shoes clicking in filled Broken Arrow Park. Around 36 riders cruised down the drive and out onto Louisiana headed south. The strong headwind was a bit painful, but not unbearable sitting fourth or fifth wheel. The guys up front were doing the hard work.

We rode about a mile south then turned west up a slight incline before plunging down a steep hill. Across the highway, the leaders - I was still with them - slowed up to let the pack regroup.

For the next several miles, the pace was fast, but not unbearable. I took a turn at the front then dropped back. I latched on the the tail of the train and slowly worked back to the head of the group. I was about fourth wheel when the leaders accelerated. I tried to latch back on, but there was no way. Several riders whizzed past. I tried to grab someone's wheel. No dice. I watched with tears in my eyes as my ride south faded into the distance. (I'm being a bit melodramatic here. I didn't really cry.)

No man's land is not a fun place to be. My average speed which had been in the high 18s, started dropping fast. I crept up hills. Three guys caught me from behind and I slipped in just off the last guy's wheel. That lasted for less than five minutes. I couldn't hold their pace and dropped again. Did I mention no man's land is not fun?

Well, I made it to Lone Star Lake, the turn around for the ride. I leaned my bike up against the fence and drank from my remaining bottle and from a conveniently close water fountain. I poured a little water over my head and talked with one of the guys who'd warned me the group was fast. I wasn't laughing now. My heart was not glad. I was bushed.

After a not-nearly-long-enough recovery, the group rolled out again. The wind was at our back now which brought a measure of joy, but the pace quickened right out of the gate. I felt okay, but knew I wasn't going to stay with the lead pack. That's when this big guy in a Sunflower Bike Shop jersey rode past me and invited me to take a slightly longer, but easy route back. I thought about it for the next few ticks of my odometer and decided as he and another guy pulled a lefty when everyone else turned right down the hill that I was going the easier route.

Let me tell you, easier is a relative term. There were a ton more hills on this long easy way home. I got dropped by my buddies on nearly every uphill, but caught them when my nearly 200 pounds pulled me down the other side. I hit 45.5mph on the last major drop, a personal best in the top speed category. Yippee!

The rest of the ride home was a blur. We located my second water bottle, the one I'd dropped when I was at the back of the train on the way back. My big friend stopped and picked it up and handed it off to me. I was grateful. More Gatorade!

I made it back to 31st & Louisiana, talked briefly with another rider who was there and then started back to Eudora. No breakfast. The group was long gone and I was spent. I rode slowly up hills, coasted down the other side and pedaled only hard enough to maintain balance. My average dropped a tenth or two. I didn't care.

As I approached Eudora from the west, I prayed that God would give me strength enough to climb the hill into town. I knew I didn't have it in me. He came through. I climbed at about 10mph, but I made it.

Then I turned south. The wind hit me with brute force. I could hardly keep moving. I wobbled back and forth at times. I was fading fast. When I rode through the last stop sign before the highway overpass, my spirit was broken by a powerful gust. I couldn't ride any further. I turned left into the Kwik Shop and clicked out. I picked up my Trek and leaned it against the wall before dropping to the sidewalk near the pay phone.

I had $10 with me, but no quarters. So I just rested in the shade, breathing heavily. When I was sure I wasn't going to recover sufficiently to make it the remaining one or two miles back home, I begged a call off a exiting customer. I spoke briefly with my mom and asked her to send out the cavalry. I needed a ride home.

I hung up and thanked my benefactor as I handed back his cell. "No problem," he said. Then he asked, "Can I get you something to drink? It's not a problem." I thanked him and ordered a cold lemon-lime Gatorade. Less than a minute later, I had cool refreshing liquid. "God bless you," I said as he handed the quart bottle to me. I meant it too!

A short time later and my dad's van rounded the corner. He rolled to a stop in front of me. He and my brother helped me load my bike and gear in the back then we drove home. I drank the whole bottle before we made it there. A quick check of my cyclocomputer revealed the truth: 67.27 miles total at an average speed of 18.2mph. Not bad. Not bad at all.

I'm glad I rode the Muffin Ride, but I learned a valuable lesson. When someone says, "It's fast," trust them and hang out with the riders at the back. You'll get a much more enjoyable ride and have energy to make it home alive!