Charity bike rides are the great equalizer, the distilled essence of
what Ze French referred to as “égalité” during the Revolution. See, Marie Antoinette didn’t lose her head
for nothing, and my nine hour completion time accords me the same perks as
Riders who did it in five, the only difference being that they’ve been enjoying
all the Goodies since I was laboring back around, oh, Belville.
Everything else falls into place as I sit outside the tent and watch
the happy cyclists come in. The weather
has been perfect all day for riding, and now it is perfect for just sitting on
a metal folding chair and kicking back with a mixed group of folks: Riders
whose labors for the day are finally over, Volunteers whose labors for the day
are just beginning. After a while I mosey
over and claim my luggage, then hop on a bus to take a shower at the Middle
School. This turns out to be a good
decision, as I learn on my return that the huge portable showers at the
fairgrounds had a one hour wait, and had run out of hot water, at least for the
men.
Not that hot water is that big a deal.
For years, a bunch of us would bathe in some primitive cold showers set
up at one end of a large pavilion otherwise reserved for livestock. Granted, you bathed in your bike shorts, but
it was amazingly refreshing, and there was no wait. They got rid of those a few years’ back
though, so we’re all relegated to a line sometime during the weekend. Small price to pay though: I’m told that very
basic motel rooms in LaGrange are going for $270 per night.
I head back to the team tent and make my umpteenth attempt to call or
text Sharon. Curiously, her text
messages get through, but mine won’t go out, so she starts to worry. And, I’m running out of juice. On a table at the end of the tent is the cell
phone charging station promised in one of our e-mails. I’m not sure what caused me to believe that
they would also be providing the cables, but I did, so I was out of luck on
that count, and had to rely on the kindness of a stranger who let me use her
cable once she was done. I checked in at
the massage tent and booked the last slot they had for the day. The Massage Lady also let me use her phone to
text Sharon, since AT&T was apparently working intermittently, whereas
Verizon was not. I moved over to the
buffet and had an inhumanly large plate of fajitas; a half hour later I was on
the table getting a massage.
Now, the thing you should know is that the Masseuses at the MS150
consider themselves not so much massagers as they are physical therapists, so
the massage is not your typical resort style rub-down. The first ten minutes they rub everything, even your hands, which feels amazingly good, then do more PT in the second half of the session. Your muscles are stretched and your joints
are flexed and you will enjoy it, Meat.
My Masseuse was a cheerful gal in her mid-twenties, amazingly strong and
offended by the inflexibility of my left hip and knee. She went to work, moving both legs through a
range of motion and trying to get the left side to approximate the right. About the third time she
pressed my left thigh into my chest, I actually had to Tap Out; probably not
the first time a customer has been a weenie, but certainly a first for me. I got a stern lecture to work on the
flexibility in my knee and hip or they were never going to get better, and
rolled off the table feeling wonderfully better than when I had come in.
I paid the head lady and thanked her “for the massage and the message, ha ha ha!”,
but got nothing but a blank stare. “You
know, massage on table, message on phone.....nothing?” This time I got a smile along with the blank stare. I skulked away.
After a day of bike riding, a shower, massage, dinner and a few drinks,
it’s impossible not to feel at peace with the world; and it’s also impossible
not to feel the siren-like call of your bed for a nap, the problem being that
the nap might stretch to Lights Out (10pm).
Still, that was entirely more of an option because, being on the
Mattress Firm team, we all did in fact have a mattress of our very own to sleep
on. By this point it’s almost 8pm, so I pull
the sheet over me and read with a headlamp.
That doesn’t last long, as the temperature drops steadily until it is
around 50 degrees just before lights out.
I zip the legs onto my bike pants around 9:30pm, bundle up and call it a night, but not before putting on something called a
Breathe Right “Advanced” Nasal Strip. I
do this for the sake of my tent-mates, being an inveterate snorer: Epic, even. Livestock have been birthed prematurely
because of my snoring.
All The Comforts Of Home
The problem with the “Advanced” nasal strip is size: it is roughly as
big as a full grown Monarch butterfly, and much the same shape. This is supposed to go across the bridge of
your nose? No matter, it’s what I’ve
got, so on it goes. The lights go dim at
9:40 and out at 10pm. They’ve already
turned off all the generators, and there is literally not a human sound to be
heard, nor that of a machine. Thank god
for the mattress, that was the only consolation to what turned out to be a
humid cold night, and I was regretting not bringing a winter cap. Didn’t matter; I slept. The leg cramps got me on schedule, but I was
actually able to walk them off in short order.
I fell back asleep almost immediately, and stayed that way, content to
leave any further distractions to happen, or not, as they would.
The night on the whole was a good one, and I didn’t snore.
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