Cynical "Wrong Turn" Tyrant
Or, "The Century Bike Ride That Never Happened." Or, "How to Get Lost on a Bike in North Texas." Or, "How the Heck am I Back at my Jeep Already?" Or, "Heartbreak at the Hundred." So many catchy titles to pick from. One disappointing event.

Let me break down my anger and disappointment for you, before I get to the details of my attempted weekend bike adventure:
Cost to enter event: $18.00
Cost of equipment, etc. to train for event: $1,000.00 +
Cost of tank of gas to get to event: $23.00
Value of good signs and a good map to clearly mark the way for cyclists attempting to ride 100 miles in the wilderness of North Texas: PRICELESS

I had been talking about this ride, my first century ever, to many people for many months. I'd trained hard for about four months. I'd sacrificed a lot of time and hard earned money to do this thing right. Many people were very excited for me. Some friends even came to see me off. There was much excitement. I was ready for this. I was nervous, but I was determined to make it and enjoy the ride. I was soon on my way towards 100 miles on a bike, lost in a sea of spandex-clad cyclists.

All went well for the first leg of the ride. It was a bit crowded until we were able to spread out. I stuck with a group until mile 20, at which point I decided to stop at the second scheduled rest stop. I was taking pictures. I was smiling. I was having a great time.

But, it was downhill from there. And I don't mean in the good way where I could coast down a hill for the rest of the ride. I mean the quality of the ride took a massive dive. Between mile 20 and mile 30, they sent us down the Road of Eternal Bumps and Wind. This road should be blown up and completely re-paved from scratch. Riding through a rock quarry would have been a smoother ride. The combination of the wind blowing directly against me, plus the world's bumpiest road, made this stretch of 10 miles absolutely miserable. It went on forever. My whole bike and my entire body shook from the uneven pavement. This slowed me down quite a bit. Whoever paved this road (if you can call it paved at all) should be shot. This road should not have been included on the route for this ride. I'm seriously surprised my bike and I came out of it still intact.

I skipped the next rest stop and was rewarded with flat pavement and much less wind for the next leg of the ride, mile 30-40. I made up some time here. I felt good again. And I almost forgave the event for the previous bumpiness. Almost.

The next rest stop came up quickly around a curve (still on a busy rural highway). I intended to stop here, but couldn't. Why? Because the Boy Scouts were apparently sponsoring this rest stop, and they were lined up along the side of the road, screaming at passing cyclists that "This Gatorade will quench your thirst!", then literally throwing cups of Gatorade, and bananas out for the bikers to grab coming around a curve. Um, does this make sense to anybody? The point of a rest stop is to stop and rest. Not to dodge incoming food and drink projectiles. When navigating around a curve, downhill, it is not feasable to reach out and grab a cup of drink, or a banana. At 20 miles an hour, you'd better hope I don't grab whatever is in your hand because your hand is likely coming with me. Plus, the Scouts were out in the road, banana shrapnel and empty cups strewn about, making it hazardous to navigate around the debris. They did have a table on the other side of the highway, but there was no way to make it over there once I saw it. Curse the Boy Scouts. Their eagerness to shove bananas at me made me miss my scheduled stop.

So, on with miles 40-50. I was sure I could make it to the next rest stop without having stopped at the Boy Scout stop. I made it to mile 50, and crossed over the highway (not sure about the logic of placing these rest stops on the opposite side of rural highways from the side where we were biking) to the rest stop. I still felt really good. My knee was in pain, but the rest of me felt good. And I was halfway finished! Woo-diddily-Hoo!

You are almost halfway finished reading this 'brief' recap, by the way.

At this 50 mile stop, a kindly automobile passerby expressed some thoughts that I'd had during the first 50 miles. He stopped his car in the road across from our stop, and promptly yelled at us that we were endangering ourselves, and the cars on the road by doing what we were doing. Thank you, kind sir! My thoughts exactly! Throughout the ride, most of it took place on narrow shoulders along rural highways. This left very little room between the bikers and the passing cars and large trucks flying by at high speeds. The shoulders were often full of debris, much like the Shredded Tire Shrapnel stretch of highway between miles 30-40, during which I had to pay close attention and maneuver through a mine field of shredded tires along the shoulder of the highway. Of course, this man yelling at us didn't help us feel better about risking our lives for this ride. But he was right. There was a severe lack of traffic control from the beginning of the ride. Cyclists must obey all traffic laws and safety practices. But still, you can bet you'd never catch me on any of these roads on my own, had I not been participating in this event. Anyone would be crazy to be out on these roads on a bike. Yep, one more strike against this whole bizarre event. A few orange cones scattered throughout 100 miles does not a safe riding environment make.

Then as I munched on a banana at the stop, I heard some people wondering if the 100milers had made it this far, yet. Hmmmm. I didn't say anything, but I began to wonder what that meant. Obviously I had made it that far. But did that mean I was riding faster and better than I thought I was, and faster than the majority of the other 100 milers? Or, did it mean that my biggest fear had come true: I'd made a wrong turn somewhere and missed part of my route? I was beginning to be suspicious. Something wasn't adding up.

Small, yellow signs posted along the way were supposed to help you stay with the route length of your choice, coinciding with the map. In theory, the map and signs should all work together, clearly directing you on your desired path, be it the short routes, or the longer 100k or 100m routes. However, I'd long since discovered that the map was impossible to match up to the route, or the rest stops. I'd realized long ago that I had no idea where I was in relation to the map. The signs were very small, and many of them had blown over and couldn't be seen while passing by. Plus, they were not exactly clear on which ride length they pertained to. I'd decided the best way to not get lost out here in Area 51 was to keep bikers in sight in front of me, and follow the signs as best I could.

I continued on my way from mile 50. I soon noticed a sign that pointed the 100 milers in a different direction than the 100k group. I took a right and promptly found myself squarely in the middle of nowhere, without another biker to be seen for miles. I'd thought I was pretty much smack in the middle of nowhere before I took this turn. But now I was quite embedded in the very core of nowhere. Cows, hay, and fields surrounded me. But no other intelligent life could be seen or heard. It was eerily quiet.

I began talking to myself. And cows as I passed them. They didn't have much to say in return. And I'm pretty sure I saw a few of them pointing and laughing at me. I'm sure they knew what was up, while I still did not have a clue where I was or where I was going. All alone. This didn't feel good.

I was worried. At this point I figured I was the last of the 100 milers, and that was one thing I wanted to avoid. Then, I began to wonder if I was even in the right place at all. It didn't make sense that I saw absolutely no other people on bikes. Just when I was about to pick a new home from the variety of shabby farm houses scattered in the fields around me, I finally saw another little yellow sign. I followed it to yet another little yellow sign, and suddenly found myself hooking up with another group coming from another direction. Phew! I'm okay. And now heading the right way, for sure.

Well, mostly.

Somehow I was now leading a small pack of people that I'd left when I took the turn to the right for the 100milers. So it was up to me to follow the signs, now being in the lead of this small group. The next major turn came up unexpectedly, and led us again across several lanes of highway traffic. I swear, much of this ride was a dangerous gauntlet of traffic and road debris! The guy behind me said he would have missed that turn if he hadn't been watching me. Great! I don't want to be the leader. I have no idea where I am!

We were soon riding on residential streets. This seemed strange to me, since my odometer told me I had about 40 miles left to go to complete my 100 miles, and residential streets usually signifies getting closer to the finish line. The people behind me were now in front of me, still in the pack. I really began to worry that something wasn't quite right. The people in this pack were there for the 100k, not the 100m. 100k is about 62 miles. So if I'm now riding with them and they are only doing 62 miles, something ain't quite right.

We came around a corner and there before me was . . . my Jeep. This was the first time I had ever not been happy to see my beloved Jeep. There it was, in the parking lot. At the start/finish line. What the??!?!???!!! I still had 35 more miles to go!!! I'm not finished, yet!!!

Apparently, I was, in fact, finished.

I was furious! What had happened? How did I get back here so soon? I rode around the parking lot on my bike, trying to figure out what to do. Can I go back? No, the course isn't marked from here to go backwards. That would be more dangerous than riding it the 'safe' way they'd set up for us. Could I start over, then turn around? No, they'd cleared the early streets of traffic control and signs, and I wouldn't be able to remember how to get back. How many laps around the parking lot would equal 35 miles??? I did not want to admit defeat. I felt good. I was still ready to finish the remaining 35 miles to equal my century. I could not believe I would not be able to meet my goal.

I finally accepted that I was finished. I rode over to the Jeep and looked at my odometer. 65 miles. No more, no less. True, 65 is a lot, and a great accomplishment. But I had come there to ride 100 miles, and there were 35 more miles out there waiting for me. What a disappointment. All the hype, and I didn't make it.

I've looked at the map intensely, obsessively since Saturday morning, and I still cannot figure out where I missed a turn. I've retraced the route I took in my head, trying to match it to the map, and something just does not add up. I did hear a few others talking in the parking lot after the ride. The same thing happened to them. I felt a little better knowing I wasn't the only one who was directionally challenged. But not a lot better. I'd really wanted to do this thing. Had I been injured or physically unable to finish, that would be understandable. Poor directions? Unacceptable.

So, the Tyrant failed. But not because I couldn't do it. I feel confident I would have made it. It is infuriating, extremely disappointing, and definitely heart-breaking that I could not meet my goal due to the incompetence of others. What a let down. These event organizers are going to get an earful about it. Via email.

But, at least it makes for a good story. Leave it to the Tyrant to keep things interesting.

C.T.

PS: Thanks, my bloggers, for your well-wishes. I'll have to try it again sometime soon. And not disappoint.

PPS: Go MAVS!!!!!

PPPS: This is a really long post because whether 100 miles or 65 miles, I rode a long time and therefore deserve to re-tell the tale in great detail. And I still left out a few things . . .