When's the last time you were utterly drained physically? A few years ago, some friends asked if we wanted to join them in the Civil War Century, a 100 mile bike ride through Gettysburg National Park and the surrounding towns. Not a trivial undertaking, the website for the Civil War Century stated plainly this should not be your first century ride and you'd better train for it. We decided with the training time available, the Half-Century ride (51 miles) would be more manageable. We rode all summer, hitting most of the trails between Annapolis and DC, building up our endurance and trying to find our natural cadence.
The morning of the event, we drove into Thurmont, PA, the ride's start and finish point. Bikers had invaded the small town. A large field was converted into a parking lot and 1600 riders were all unloading their bikes and prepping their kit. At the designated time, we started out. Conditions were perfect. The sun was shining, it was cool, and there was almost no humidity. It didn't last.
First came the hills. These climbs were longer and steeper than what we'd ridden back home. Next, the wind picked up and the skies darkened. Shortly after leaving the rest stop at the halfway point, the sky opened up, soaking us immediately. The wind was so strong, it blew the rain sideways (we learned later that several tornados were sighted along the route). Fortunately, we made it to one of the covered bridges along the course and took shelter waiting for the storm to pass.
We eventually rode into the battlefield. Everything was quiet and peaceful then, and it was a hard realization that 149 years ago, some of the greatest carnage of the war was taking place a stone's throw from us.
Finally we were approaching Thurmont and the end of the ride, dodging storm debris and downed power lines on the road. Looking at our cue sheets that gave us turn by turn instructions, we expected the finish line to be right around the corner, but the course kept going. And going.
By this time, fatigue had really set in and Andrea was pissed. "Where's the @%$#^ finish line!? There's supposed to be a %$#@&%* finish line and it's supposed to be right here!! Don't tell me the @#^$^* finish line is going to be here and then move it!!"
Her tirade was a sight to behold. Shocked townies who were standing along the racecourse quickly covered their children's ears and scurried away. Doors and shutters were closed, curtains were hastily drawn, and lights turned out. I made the mistake of laughing. "Why are you @^$%#* laughing?! This is not ^@#%*% funny, Wayne!!" Luckily she was too tired to hurl her water bottle at me.
We eventually did find the finish line. It turns out the missing directions were on the back of our cue sheets. By this time, endorphins had kicked in and we were both able to laugh about it. Utterly drained, we showered and found the nearest buffet to refuel. While we've not done that ride since, I'm looking to complete a century at some point. But that's another post.
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