Seagull Century '98 (100-mile ride)

Finally the weather turns cold, grey and nasty. You may wonder at my relief, but after about three weeks of unrelenting sunny weather in the 70s, it's nice to feel like it's okay to sit around and watch TV and not get up till noon.
For the past couple weeks my housemates and I have been cycling religiously, getting up at 8am on saturdays to go train and generally punishing ourselves. Well, yesterday was the big event. The Seagull Century happened and we individually and collectively kicked some serious butt. Since the ride started at sunup (or before) and was a few hours away, we spent the night in a hotel in Seaford, DE, and rose at 4:15 am to eat a hurried breakfast (even the fast food places were closed at that hour), pack, throw the bikes on the car, and head out.
We arrived at SSU in the dark and stumbled around. The temperature was in the mid-40's and the prospect of wearing just a thin layer of spandex wasn't too appealing. Finally Jamie and Melisa donned windbreakers while I opted for a turtleneck under my jersey. Even so, I at least was seriously concerned over hypothermia for the first hour or so.
We set out at 7am sharp down through the tunnel from in front of the Magg Athletic Center and out into the countryside. A thin mass of cyclists stretched out as far as the eye could see. The sun was just barely rising as we passed mile 3 and beautiful (if chilly) ground fog could be seen rising from the pastures and ponds. Simply gorgeous. Simply, bonechillingly frigid.
Team Juniper cycled together with a couple from Richmond, VA, while the sun finished it's early morning routine and things started to vaguely warm. The terrain on the Eastern Shore is completely flat which is a novelty to me. We were able to establish a speed and keep with it mile after mile. Quite a pleasurable sensation. The leg-burning of the constant hill-and-dale cycling is replaced by arm fatigue and saddle soreness from the unvaried terrain. I see why aerobars were invented. Just by varying your posture, a certain degree of releif is bestowed. By the first rest stop at 8:30, we'd covered 22 miles and were feeling fine. I was finally warm and the influx of fig newtons, bananas, and gatorade was most welcome fuel for the engine powering my legs.
With 6000 cyclists participating in an event, you quickly see the different populations of cyclists. There were the casual punters slow either because of equipment, age, or laid-back, we've-got-all-day attitude. There were the earnest amatuers with who zipped along at 15-20 mph, a range which we fell into. Then there were populations of serious cyclestuds who, often in matching jerseys, would bomb along in tight pace lines at speeds in excess of anything rational. I would soon learn that this highest caste has several sub-divisions. Occasionally you would see people in a separate class entirely, the Weird Bikelike Things category, and I'm not talking about normal bicycles with the strange, composite frames or odd attachments like aerobars (which were pretty much normal). Tandems were fairly frequently seen, usually with some married couple aboard. There was even one triple bike with a father and his two sons aboard. Recumbent bikes, both singles and tandems, of all shapes were seen with their pilots looking comfortable and litterally laid-back. But the weirdest of all were the five or six recumbents encased in aeroshells. These are all hand built home jobs where a "standard" 'bent is encased in a pod-like shell of spandex, plastic or fiberglass. They are surpassingly strange looking, hellishly efficient (read "fast"), and never fail to attract attention.
During the second leg, we cycled through pleasent forest and occasional chicken farms. After starting as a triple, we quickly assembled a pace line which hussled along at a stead 19mph. Jamie and I alternated leads for a while until we had picked up around two dozen people. This is another new phenomenon to me. In hills, pacelines are harder to form given the varied speeds and level of exertion. But in the flat, especially with a headwind such as we were developing, they are a real treat. The person in front does all the work breaking the wind. The followers all suck in one behind the next and draft in the leader's wake. Amazing really the benefits. As the leader tires, one of the followers takes up the pace. It requires concentration, a good sense of what the pace you should be following is, confidence in the competence of your fellow linemates, and the courage to put your front tire less than a foot in back of the fellow in front of you. While you effortlessly bomb along the disadvantage is that you spend less time seeing the sights and more time seeing the spandex-clad rear of the person in front of you. A compromise to be sure.
From mile 30 or so through the second rest stop at mile 44, our pace line was a force to be reckoned with. After switching out of warm clothing and refueling, Team Juniper continued on as a triple into a growing headwind pushing the next 18 miles to Assategue. At about the half-way mark, our different inherent cycling speeds became apparent. While all of us are in fine shape and trained pretty extensively together, we have different styles and different equipment. I pulled away hoping to push to the island and get a long break before meeting up with the rest of the Team.
Soon thereafter, a miscellaneous group of four riders formed up into a paceline which bombed along at 23mph for probably 10 miles all the way over the bridge and onto the island. Roadsurfing, wow! So exhilarating. The time was 10:45.
On the island, the SSU people had set up a large tent with huge piles of delectable sweet breads, fruit, gatorade, and more goodies than I could possibly eat (though I made a valiant attempt). Melisa arrived 45 minutes later--longer than I had hoped to wait--and told me that Jamie had suffered a catastrophic blowout and was sitting at the side of the road immobile. We summoned SAG support. Since I fealt there wasn't a whole lot I could do and besides, I'd been itching to leave for at least half an hour, we arranged to meet at the finish and I departed.
The "seventh inning stretch" of the ride was definitely the ride back west. There was a light tailwind and I kept my pace up around 20mph. A few miles in I met up with a fellow by the name of Larry from Towson and we alternately kicked each other's butts for probably 20 miles. I would start a lead at 18mph and slowly creap up to 22 or more. Then he would take over and the same thing would happen. He finally lost me at the fourth rest stop where I stopped for some really killer cherry pie, ice cream and live music. The stop was full of people gnoshing pie and sitting by the beautiful pond in the sun.
18 miles to go! I was definitely feeling the miles by about mile 90. Nevertheless, when passed by a 10-man bomber line, I gave chase and, with every ounce of remaining strength just barely caught them. This was a psycho paceline with a speed somewhere above 24mph. Once I was nestled into the back slot, it was OK, but the slightest decelleration on my part necessitated a leg and lung-killing pull to get back in. After a mile or two I could no longer take it and dropped out.
Limping the last ten miles into town, I zipped through the tunnel and up the ramp to be greated by dozens of clapping, cheering people and cameras and music and balloons. Yes, I know they were cheering equally hard for everybody (in fact I did my part in that department), but boy it was heartening for that final few yards. The time had just hit 1:50pm. Elapsed time: 6:50. Rolling time: 5:23. Total distance: 101.8 miles. Average rolling speed 18.8mph. All personal bests.
Melisa arrived at 2:30 in extremely high spirits, even for her. We waited at the tunnel for another two hours for Jamie to arrive. It took a while, but when he did, he mosied in accompanying three attractive (and apparently single) women whom he had been chatting up. A double triumph!
We exuberantly snapped photos, exchanged high-fives all-round and hit the showers. An expensive, high-quality, high-calorie meal was inhaled followed a few hours of driving later by a large quantity of liquor and body care products. After 22 hours of awakeness and high exertion, we dragged into bed somewhat the worse for wear. While I can't speak for my team-mates, if I'd slept any more soundly, I would have been dead.

Wheee! What a day!

The Wilderness Journal

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