MS150 Chronicles 2009, Pt II

SUNDAY - The Convoy To LaGrange

The bad weather is officially past, and the ride for Sunday is On! Very early on Sunday, Sharon and I meet Shawn at Tully Stadium to hook up with a double handful of Continental riders and one friend, Stuart Muirhead. Shawn had a utility trailer and a big Dodge Ram Diesel truck to haul the trailer and some Riders, and we had the Dodge Minivan. Everybody showed up by 5:15 a.m. as requested, and zeroed in on the Trailer in the near-dark parking lot of Tully. Quick introductions all around, we loaded up around 5:20, and were ready to go by 5:30.

We were slowed down by a few last-minute trips to the Port-O-Pottie, but I am happy to report that the last person to do it was not a woman, thus smashing another cherished preconception about Women, Car Trips and what my wife refers to as "The Necessary". So here's a tip of the old Bike Helmet to you, Jerry from Continental, for not only being the last to go, but taking longer than anybody else.

On a related topic, what is it with Women and potty stops? Is it just me, or are they in and out faster than any man these days? I contemplate the logistics of the whole proposition. For a man it's simple: 1) walk in to rest room, 2) step up to a Google of wall-mounted urinals, 3) unzip, 4) take care of business, 5) do that little dance, 6) zip back up, and 7) leave. If it's an outdoor event, you can actually dispense with steps two, five and seven.

For women, the drill is a little more complicated: 1) get in line at the Rest Room, 2) wait for one of the two stalls typically available in any restaurant, concert or other entertainment venue (occupancy 100 to 5000), 3) step in to stall, 4) undress, 5) clean toilet seat, 6) put down paper liner (in the fancier joints), 7) sit, 8) take care of business, 9) use toilet paper, 10) re-dress, 11) wash hands, 12) dry hands, and 13) leave.

There's something going on here, boys, that we don't understand, but we need to find out. Either the women are eliminating some steps, or the laws of space/time as we understand them no longer apply. My personal theory is that they're using the sinks, cowboy-style, but I have no means to verify this, having long since abandoned incursions into the Ladies Room under any pretense.

Anyway, the ten of us were Westbound on I-10 by 5:45 a.m., the only all-American convoy on the road. The migration from Houston to LaGrange was a sight to behold, as 75% of Houston's bike racks and what seemed 50% of its SUVs all made the trek in the pre-dawn of Sunday morning. Our modest convoy of one Pickup with trailer and Minivan appeared to be the only vehicles on the road that contained more than two bikes or two Riders. As wave upon wave of bike-laden SUVs passed our little group, I couldn't help but wonder if all of those folks missed the memo about meeting at Tully so as to carpool to LaGrange; or perhaps, two people and two bikes per vehicle constitutes carpooling for your typical MS150er. These are Cyclists after all, folks who regularly and happily strap their bikes onto their vehicles and drive them 180 miles (round trip) so as to ride their bikes for 35 miles in order to get in some exercise. In the interest of Full Disclosure, I am one of those people.

Makes me wonder what kind of trouble we would be in with Al Gore was he to find out. Fortunately, there's no Controlling Legal Authority, so I'm pretty sure we're off the hook.

We arrive at LaGrange around 7:30. Within minutes we've unloaded the bikes, packed our kits and are ready to go. I take out my bandana from my Peddle Partner buddy, Deven Woldd, and put it on. As any MS-150er will tell you, this is the single piece of magic you need to complete the Ride, particularly when your training, nutrition and, ahem, BMI (Body Mass Index) are not all that you had hoped they would be by the day of the Ride.

One last stop at the Port-O-John and we're off. This time, I'm the last one to go. Of course, I fall back on a bogus chivalry to cover my tracks. Within minutes, we reach the Continental staging area. Continental has a huge mobile kitchen going, serving breakfast tacos, bananas, cereal and a bunch of other stuff to anyone and everyone who is hungry, including, ironically, a guy who claims he works for Southwest Airlines. Having volunteered this information, I'm half expecting the Volunteers to give him a package of peanuts, but no, he gets a breakfast taco, too. Way to go, Continental. I start looking for somebody in an official capacity, because a cop at Tully Stadium had asked me to deliver a Rider's envelope to the Exxon tent in LaGrange.

I spot a traffic cop and ask him for directions to the Exxon staging area. He tells me "head down this side street for three blocks; it's right there next to the High School". I head down the street, and after three blocks, the only thing "there" is the middle of a neighborhood. I go up two more blocks and find a trailer park. I work back and go in every direction from the nearest intersection, but nothing, only more neighborhood. I ask sundry riders and neighbors, and none of them know where the High School is. In desperation, I call the name on the envelope and Kyle answers. He asks what intersection I'm at, I tell him, and he says he'll be right there. A few minutes later another rider pulls up, and I ask him where the High School is. He says "about two blocks that way", which puts the school about 90 degrees and three blocks removed from where the traffic cop said it was. Kyle pulls up in his pickup, I hand him the envelope, we exchange pleasantries, shake hands, wish each other good luck, and then we're both off racing to the Start.

This leaves me thinking: did the cop just not know where the High School was, or was he gigging me? Cops will do that sometimes.

Anyway, I hustle back to the Start line with minutes to spare. I put up the cell phone and adjust my brakes. I'm feeling a little underpowered despite a breakfast taco, a piece of banana nut bread the size of a WNBA basketball and a quart of coffee, so I pull out one of the Goos (raspberry) that had been in my cupboard. It's a little suspect, so I squeeze a little bit out and check it out before I eat it. The look is a little weird. I don't recall Goo being cloudy, so I sniff it. It doesn't have any discernable smell. That's funny. I suddenly realize that Goo doesn't have any smell. So much for that Tell. I eat it anyway. It tastes funny, so I throw out the other three packets except for the Chocolate one, on the theory that nothing can go wrong with Chocolate.

For those of you who have followed my little riffs over the years, you may have noticed that Goo and Butt'r have been recurring themes. Now granted, they're inanimate objects (except during application or consumption), but I find them funny, and so, I inflict them on you. Deal with it.

I throw out a little prayer to keep the wind at my back, seeing as how the weatherman was predicting winds out of the Northwest - roughly the direction we were to travel - and I hadn't done any wind training this year. Of course, I didn't do any hill or distance training either, so I wasn't quite sure I was in a position to request any Divine Intervention, what with The Big Guy's admonition about Him helping those who help themselves and all. One last adjustment to The Bandana Of Power so it is perfectly symmetrical, and I'm ready.

Finally, the announcements are over, and just that quickly, we're off! It's a great moment, and I never cease to be amazed that thousands of amateur bike riders can all take off under such cozy circumstances without a single casualty. I've never seen so much as a single rider fall at the Start, much less several go down in some kind of chain reaction. That's a credit to the Organizers, the Police and the Riders. I run out of time to appreciate the whole production as we are on our way, and I'm trying not to be the first person I observe to fall down and have a bunch of Riders roll over him. We make our first turn once we get out of town, and hit the wind which will be in our faces for the rest of the day.

That's all I'm going to say about the Wind until the end.

Next up: The Ride