The official count was 1,009 riders in the gravel road charity ride yesterday. No other way of saying it ...that is a whopping amount of bikes.
To prevent a massive crush start, each rider had been given a choice of time slots for their distance with the 213 80 mile riders heading out first in spaced groups of 15 beginning at 7:30am. The 317 60 mile division followed, and once all those riders were on the road, then the 479 40 miles then took their place at the start line. The orderly waves of riders collecting at the start during their assigned time slot waiting patiently to be moved forward, then being released to start their ride, continuing until 10:30am. It was all very well planned and executed. Minimal chaos, maximum anticipation.
The check-in line when I arrived. There was an equal number of riders waiting behind me.
Still, over a thousand cyclists on the wandering network of now protected centuries old gravel roads that were little changed from the 1800s and still bore hoofprints of horses, albeit those equines now being treasured and pampered pets rather than beasts of burden or necessary transportation, was still a lot of bikes.
And there I was, in the thick of it, heading off with the 8:50am group in the 60 mile division. Of those 1,009 riders only a quarter of that number were women, and only 2 in my age group. The oldest was a mere 2 years older than me, and the other was my age. We were definately the unicorns of that ride. The rest of the ladies were all younger, some by only a few years, most by decades.
I'd already had a nice warm-up to start, riding the 4.5 miles from home to the ride site. I'd decided to forgo transporting my bike to the ride knowing that, even in the spacious field set aside for parking, that space was going to be tight. Plus I liked having the freedom to be able to cut my ride short at any time since the first 40 miles were in two loops on the gravel roads with my farm as the epicentre. That fit right into my plans since I had decided with the forecast afternoon heat hitting 90°, and the extreme dust that would be kicked up on the roads thanks to a severe lack of rain for weeks, that 40 miles would be more agreeable that day.
Even with the small packs of riders being spaced out at the start of the ride it didn't take long before the up and down terrain at the start sorted those riders out with a firm hand and no quarter. The stronger younger riders took off up the rolling and twisting gravel roads with amazing strength, a thin plumb of dust being kicked up by their spinning wheels. The rest followed suit, speeding on the downslopes in hopes of gaining enough momentum for the often steep upslopes. It was like morning rush hour traffic with bikes rather than cars. Thankfully the gravel roads are only lightly trafficked with motor vehicles even on a daily basis, and it seemed that most drivers, forewarned of the event, had wisely shied away from driving the roads that morning and opting for alternative routes rather than face an onslaught of endless bicycles.
A quiet, lazy herd taking advantage of the shade while they watched, in languid amusement, as the hordes of cyclists passed by.
Among the bikes on the dusty roads there was a lot of jockeying for position as the undulating terrain slowed or sped up the riders according to their strengths. I was glad not to be among the 80 mile riders. Those guys were beasts. Highly focused and not at all hesitate about leaving one another in the dust. The 60 mile riders were cut from the same cloth, but maybe a touch less intense. It had been stressed at the start that the ride was not a race, but that didn't lessen the competitive atmosphere of many of the cyclists heightened by the narrowness and unpolished wanderings of the gravel roads. Be out front and ride at the speed you like, or be stuck behind and ride only as fast as the slowpoke pack ahead of you, and choke on the dust. Wasn't hard to figure out where most riders wanted to be.
I opted to take advantage of my bike's ability to tackle the uphills with speed, race the downslopes, and then relax on the levels. Still, I was moving a lot faster than I ever ride when I'm alone, just being swept along by those around me. I no longer "apologize" for passing anymore. I used to, in the past, when ebikes were less well known and a lady powering up a hilI zooming past more capable riders on less helpful bikes was met with wide eyes and sometime a suprised muttered comment or two. Now, ebikes have come into their own, and are viewed more with curiosity than distain. I did have one rider, that I had passed on a hill but who regained his place on the following flat, compliment my bike. "That's a very fast bike", he said when he caught back up to me. I smiled back at him, and agreed. "Quiet, too" he added, the admiration apparent in his voice. I pointed out the carbon belt drive and told him I was "a local" who rode these gravel roads close to every day, and that I hated cleaning chains. He laughed, agreed, and then snuggled in to draft behind me (I think I was doing about 20mph at the time) and we exchanged pleasantries until we came to another hill where I promptly left him behind.
At about 15 miles all three routes pass by my driveway. I took a quick detour up my driveway for a quick break, then back on the road again. I knew a 1 mile shortcut that cut off 6 miles, and reasoning that I'd already tacked on an extra 9 miles riding to and from the start, I didn't feel at all bad about shortchanging the route. By then the rising heat, the dust, and a vaguely complaining right knee unaccustomed to the fast speed for the first 15 miles had firmed my decision to simply do the 40 miles and forgo the 60. I didn't want to compromise my knee on those rough, hard roads. Besides, this was home turf for me, so the views were all familiar friends. Nothing new to see.
All three distances were treated to the infamous grade level creek crossing at the 35 miles. The extreme drought of the past month had reduced the creek to a manageable several inches in depth if you walked on the high swales spanning the width of the creek. The ride photographer always planted himself at the crossing to take phenomenal shots of cyclists navigating the creek, some bravely, some foolishly, riding through the water, others carefully walking, many portaging their bikes on their shoulders. I had driven down to the creek the day before, ruler in hand, to walk across and measure the depth. Keeping to the swales the average depth was 6", the maximum depth 10". I could walk my bike across and keep the motor completely dry, just having to lift and carry the front end a few feet to bypass the deeper pockets of water. I could pack my shoes in my panniers and wear beach sandals to walk through the cold water, swapping out on the other side.
It was a good plan, easily accomplished, had it not been for a sudden influx of 10 or more riders racing in and up to the creek bank just as I was getting ready to cross. I was surrounded by multiple people splashing through the water making it impossible to see where the underwater swales were located. I gave it my best guess, judging blind but correctly, only lifting my bike when I felt the water deepening around my legs. I don't know if the photographer was there (I didn't see him) but once on the other side I stopped to take photos of the cyclists behind me crossing the creek. The crush of riders exiting the creek and starting up the road didn't leave me a place to swap out of my sandals into my shoes, so I just climbed on my bike and set off with the rest.
The climb up to the main roads was a prodigious one, not for the faint of heart. This road is rarely used anymore except by horse riders, and rarely touched by the county department of transportation. It was still passable, but challenging. I had changed my battery at home, knowing this climb was in front of me and wanting a full battery for the turbo function alone. I kept one ear on the very soft whine of my motor as we turboed up that road, my worry that the motor may have taken on water diminishing as we climbed. The motor was fine, and we now were on the way to the finish.
At about that point my knee decided it was fine and stopped nagging me just as I became aware that my right shoulder had taken up the aching chorus. Not sure (but I do think) it was from the stress of the start and the first couple of miles in that crush of cycles that I was riding with a lot of shoulder and neck tension, made only worse by the jarring conditions of the road. Several times I had to rise out of the seat and let the bike take the brunt of a less-then-ideal road surface that was teeth rattling, the vibrations radiating up my poor arms as I held onto the handlebar grips, my bike jumping and bounding under me over the ruts and washboards. Once the bike traffic eased and I could sit up, relax, and smile, did I release my muscles.
But the damage was already done, it appeared, and beyond 40 miles there was no way my shoulders would endure much more. The end of the 40 mile route swept back to the start where a table filled with completion awards was set up for the returning riders to collect their swag before making their way to the parking lot to load their bikes for the journey home.
For me, it was another 4.5 miles riding my bike back home, passing incoming riders and exchanging waves and smiles. I pulled into driveway and hopped off the bike, drenched in sweat from head to toe. The heat had risen by then into the high 80s (Fahrenheit) and the humidity was ramping up as well. I had a choice at that point - jump into a nice cold shower, or take a dip in the pool. I'll let you guess which one I chose. (BTW - the pool water temp was a very refreshing, rather chilly 72°(f))
The Gazelle performed flawlessly the entire ride. I was super pleased with it, as well as myself for benefiting from all the leg strength training the prior months. The bike and I both made a great team.
Back to the pleasure rides from home now, my gravel roads back to being quiet and peaceful...until the next big gravel road ride this fall on our local roads. Then we enjoy the entertaining madness and crush of cyclists all over again.
As I write this, the rain, much anticipated and desperately needed, is moving in.