Sunday’s post on the MS 150 didn’t do justice to all the little occurrences that happen during such a big event. Here, in no particular order, are some of the things that I saw:
By far, the coolest celebration of the ride was in the small town of Fayetteville (pop. 291). It seemed everyone turned out to cheer on the riders. Lots of loud music blaring from big speakers, and a bubble machine on almost every corner! Lots of places didn’t notice we were there, but Fayetteville really came through.
Saturday night in La Grange, I was walking through the fairgrounds looking at all the tents and people when I saw someone I thought I recognized. I took a chance. “Excuse me, is your name Ramon?” I asked.
He looked at me. “Yes,” he said.
His eyes widened and he did a double take. “I know you!” he exclaimed.
We laughed and shook hands. Ramon is a regular reader and sometimes commenter on Bike Noob. I remembered running his picture with a guest post he did a year ago. Funny how these things just happen.
After sleeping poorly Friday night, I was concerned I wouldn’t have much energy for a 100-mile ride Saturday. I needn’t have worried. From the time we left Houston until crossing the line in La Grange, I had plenty of go power. Even late in the ride, I turned on the gas a time or two to pick up the pace. Same thing happened last year. And after only a couple hours’ sleep Saturday night, I did it again on Sunday. Adrenaline? Conditioning? (Not conditioning.)
My cot in the team tent Saturday night was next to a woman named Laurie. We met near the finish line Sunday and exchanged pleasantries about the ride. Talk turned to all the snoring in our tent the night before.
“We had a meeting to decide what to do about it,” she said.
“A meeting?” I replied. “It must have been during the little time I was asleep.”
“It was me, and ___, and a couple others. We couldn’t take it anymore.”
“What did you decide to do?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she answered.
As I refilled my water bottles at one rest stop, I thanked a volunteer for being there. He thanked me instead. “You’re doing the hard work,” he said. I don’t think I agree with that.
Sunday, climbing up yet another long hill, I called out the usual warning to a slow biker: “On your left.” He puffed hard, mashed his pedals, and shot me a sideways glance. “On your left?” he gasped. “Going UPHILL???”