Never Quite Enough: August 2010

We've recently completed some home upgrades, a new tile floor in our entry way, and more significantly, a wood floor installation/revamp in our kitchen and dining room.

All home renovations create upheaval, and in this case, the wood floor project required that we stay out of half of our house for three days or so. We had to move all the furniture out of the area, and eat in the living room. We also fashioned a sort of plank bridge to have access to our bedroom.

One of the flooring contractors told Kris that he installed floors in an elderly woman's house in the Wausau area. He told her that, because the sealant needs to dry, she wouldn't be able to get to her bedroom for a night or two.

"That's OK," replied the woman, who he described as being in her 80s. "I can sleep in my recliner. It's very comfortable."

"Oh, good," the contractor said. "And, you won't be able to get to the bathroom, either."

"Oh, that's no problem," the woman cheerily answered. "I'll use the back yard. I'm an old farm girl."

Oh, sure, if you want to look at the results, my first bicycle race, the 90-mile "Race the Lake," wasn't a stellar success.

I placed 893 out of 1,158 finishers, 774 out of 924 Individual Male Bike Race finishers. I finished the ride around Lake Winnebago in 5 hours, 12 minutes and 13.6 seconds, giving me a 17.007 mph average pace.

Really, that ain't very good.

But I loved it, for so many reasons.

First off, I rode it with my cousin-in-law John. John is a half dozen years younger than me, and an Ironman triathlete. He rides a high-end Trek time-trial bike he bought from e-Bay. He asked if I wanted to ride the Fond du Lac race a few months ago, and I thought it was a great idea.

John is a quiet guy, and frankly, I haven't gotten to know him very well throughout the years. So I thought this would be a great chance to learn a bit more about him, and I was right. He is low key, noncompetitive but a tough, stubborn and steady rider. We rode the first 45 miles together at a fairly moderate pace. I'm not exactly sure how fast, because my speedo was on the fritz; it was damp, and it doesn't work in moist conditions. (It started working later.)

At mile 45, there is a pretty decent hill, but before that, a rest stop. I wanted to get some food and water, John wanted to ride the hill right away. We agreed that John would take off, and I'd catch him either at the top, or at a next rest stop. So I pounded a banana and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and took off after him.

Over the next two and half hours, I went through a variety of emotions (none of them despair, however. That's pretty good for me) and states of generalized pain. I rode with a team of riders from Menasha, I helped pull a woman in pink sleeveless jersey for a few miles, I rode with an older guy on a hot Trek; and paced with the Menesha riders again. I crossed the finish line in a ball of pain that's hard to describe.

In many ways, it was a perfect race, because I believe I went as hard and fast as I could have on that particular day.

All along the way, I was looking for John. He was wearing an orangish/reddish sleeveless jersey, I'd see someone with a such a top off in the distance and I'd work hard to catch that rider, only to be disappointed in the end. I kept thinking, "Man, John is really going."

Turns out that John, after we split, turned back to the rest stop because his rear tire seemed soft. We must have missed each other, because I was ahead of him the whole time, never knowing what happened to him. Oh, well.

Meanwhile, here are some other notable highlights of the race:

*** There was a kid, maybe 16, 17 years old, who jumped in the race without registering. He stole food at the rest stops. He rode without a helmet on a cheapo mountain bike, wearing clunky sneakers and employing an erratic pace. As much as he annoyed me, what with stealing food that I helped pay for and all, I kind of admired him for his gutsy quest. The last I saw him was at mile 43, bobbing and weaving, trying to hold a 16 mph pace.

*** The Menesha team -- This was group of five riders, I think, four men and one woman. They rode a steady tempo in a draft line. John and I rode with them early on in the race, but we passed them. John doesn't like riding in a group, and I wanted to stick with him. Besides, we rode away from them. I went to the front of their group, with the idea of pulling for a while, but then I'd look back and they'd be back 200 yards or so. But they rode by us at the first rest stop, and I thought I'd never see them again. Wrong. Later in the race, we'd swap positions. I'd ride with them for a little while, then pass them. Finally, at my last rest stop, they rode by me as I was picking out some cookies.

I thought, I'm getting on their train. I rode with them from mile 75 to 80, about, then left them behind on a hill, and then a long downhill toward the end of the race. The same guy led them out the whole race; I didn't seem them sharing the workload at all. When I asked him if he was pulling the whole race, he gave me a brusque "No!" Maybe he misunderstood what I meant, but overall they weren't very friendly. Maybe they thought I was leeching off their pace, but every time I took the lead, they would back away. Weird. They became my rivals. I'm glad I beat them.

*** The woman in the pink jersey. I thought she was John from a distance, and when I caught her, she looked tired. "How are you doing?" I asked. "I'm beat," she said. "Don't worry, you'll make it."

I kept riding, and then looked back, and there she was, riding in my draft. "I hope you don't mind," she said. "No problem," I said. "I'm just making sure you're on."

I pulled for a few miles, and could feel the energy slowly draining from my legs. I caught a couple of big guys riding side by side, about 16 mph. I told her I was going to rest a while behind them. I felt the energy return to my legs, and pulled around them, and she went with me. A bit later, I looked back, and she was gone. I hope she did OK.

*** During the second half of the race, I passed a lot of people. I think I was passed myself only once, maybe twice. That's because I started in the last wave, because I wasn't sure how it would go. Because of that, I never could find a group of riders to help push the pace. The closest was the Menasha group, and they were a tad too slow. Next year, I want to move up a wave or two, and hopefully can find a group that can push the pace at 20 to 22 mph throughout the race. Of course, I'll be in better shape then, too.