On August 20, I did the One Day Ride Across Michigan (knows as ODRAM), a 146 mile ride that raises money for the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. The ride starts at Meinert Park, northwest of Montague, and finishes at Bay City State Park. It's a smaller challenge than riding across the country, but a bigger challenge than riding across Portage. "And what was it like?" you're probably not asking, but I've got an Editor's Letter to write and this is as good a topic as any to write about. So, here's what it was like and just be thankful I'm not writing about what it's like to lube my bicycle chain. That will just have to wait until next month.
Friday, 3:35 P.M.: After taking the afternoon off from work and warming up for the ride by mowing my lawn, I left my house for the drive to the Super 8 Motel in Whitehall. I figured that I could get through Grand Rapids before rush hour.
Friday, 3:40 P.M.: I stopped my car and checked to make sure that I had remembered my cycling shoes. I had. Stopping my car almost immediately after the start of a cycling trip to make sure I've remembered everything is a tradition of mine; a tradition worth continuing, unfortunately. I've learned that when going on a trip, I'm capable of forgetting almost anything. For example, a few years ago, I drove to northeast Ohio to visit my older brother and his family for Christmas. The next day, the weather was unseasonably warm for a Christmas Eve and I decided to take my bike out of my car and go for a ride. It was then that I discovered that I had forgotten to bring my front wheel. Santa didn't bring me a new wheel, let alone a new mind, for Christmas and I didn't do much riding over the holidays.
Friday, 5:20 P.M.: I made it through rush hour unscathed and arrived at the Super 8. The motel has 3 stories. I got a room on the third floor. Walking up stairs with a bike builds character.
Friday, 7:00 P.M.: I drove to the end of White Lake and walked on the White Lake pier. I noticed that, while people were jumping off the pier, no one was riding a bicycle off the pier. Finally, an item for my cycling bucket list!
Friday, 8:00 P.M.: Nothing like walking on a pier to work up an appetite for Lake Michigan seafood, so I had chicken jambalaya for dinner.
Friday, 10:00 P.M.: Lights out. There was nothing good on TV, anyway.
Saturday, 5:20 A.M.: Lights on. Time to eat a motel buffet breakfast. Hey, it's free.
Saturday, 6:00 A.M.: Walking down the stairs with a bike doesn't build character, just suspense. Will I stumble, drop my bike, and crack the frame again? Whaley 1, Stairs 0, this time, but the contest continues.
Saturday, 6:15 A.M.: One English muffin, one bagel, and one peach yogurt later, I left the motel and drove 10 miles to the start of the ride.
Saturday, 6:40 A.M.: I picked up my rider packet, including my ride number. This was the second ride number that I had received in 2011; the first was at the Fisk Knob Time Trial. When a saw my ride number, a chill ran up and down my spine. It was the same number that I had received at the time trial! Not only that, it was also the street number of the building where I work!! Obviously, cosmic forces that I didn't understand were at work, as well. Or it could have been a coincidence, whatever. For the record, the number was 161; indicating that I must be the leader of Team 16 and that Team 16 needs better riders.
Saturday, 7:10 A.M.: I started the ride.
Saturday, 7:11 A.M.: I was 0.2% done with the ride and thinking positively.
Saturday, 8:55 A.M.: After 27 miles, I rode through Fremont, the biggest town on the route and the town where Gerber's was founded. I thought about stopping for some strained carrots GU, but I decided to ride on to Morley, the next town on the route.
Saturday, 10:35 A.M.: I arrived at Morley, 55 miles into the ride, and stopped for Gatorade, a nutri-grain bar, and combos; the type of fine dining that I always enjoy while riding a bicycle. While riding out of town, I talked with a first time ODRAM rider and assured him that we had already finished the hillier portion of the ride, a few miles before a series of rollers that continued for most of the next 20 miles. Now I'm considering a post-retirement career as a Dentist Office Greeter, assuring patients that they won't feel a thing.
Saturday, approximately 11:30 A.M.: Riding on Jefferson Road east of Morley, I felt a strange feeling of déjà vu. And then I realized, "I'm riding on Buckhorn Road!" Yes, the across-the-road pavement cracks just kept coming and I just kept ca-thunking. It was as if a little piece of St. Joseph County cycling hell had transported itself to Mecosta County, just for me.
Saturday, 12:30 P.M.: I arrived at the lunch stop located in a church building a couple miles east of Blanchard after 81 miles of riding. I had a turkey sandwich, grapes, and hot chicken soup. The soup probably would have been better if the temperature outside had been 15 degrees cooler and I should be careful about what I wish for. When I went outside to continue my ride, I was greeted by a light rain.
Saturday, approximately 1:30 P.M.: The rain soon stopped, but it started lightly raining again after about 95 miles of riding. While riding on the 20 plus mile stretch of Blanchard Road through Isabella County, I realized that I had a rather nice/not-so-nice tailwind. Nice, because it was a tailwind, of course. Not-so-nice, because the sky to the west was dark and the clouds were gaining on me.
Saturday, 2:05 P.M.: After turning south off of Blanchard Road (which was now called Shepherd Road, after crossing into Midland County), I got to admire the deep, rich, black southwest sky, illuminated by bright flashes of lightning. The bolts hitting the ground were particularly illuminating. I began to look for a comfortable drainage ditch in which to crouch, when in the distance by the side of the road where we were to turn east, I noticed what appeared to be an abandoned barn. The door was open (because there was no actual door), and I let myself in.
Saturday, 2:20 P.M.: Sheets of rain, punctuated by loud thunder, and grass-flattening wind provided visual and aural entertainment for the next 20 minutes. During this time, I began to think that I might not be very safe from the lightning after all, since this was the tallest structure in the immediate area, and because I was sitting next to a rusty metal tiller. I began thinking pleasant thoughts, such as "If lightning strikes the barn and the barn collapses on me, I wonder how many weeks it will be before they find my body." I could imagine the newspaper headlines, "Cyclist Disappears while Riding across State." Maybe I could be the topic of a Dateline Mystery TV show and if I wasn't about 50 years too old, I could also appear on milk cartons. I'd become famous! And then I thought that, yes, I could become famous, but for what? For being a victim of bad luck? I could have spent my time finding a cure for hot foot and become famous for doing something productive, but, no, I spent my time riding my bicycle instead. Rain seldom cheers me up.
Saturday, 2:45 P.M.: Realizing that I wasn't going to become posthumously famous just yet, I began the last 42 miles of the ride, while thinking about potential cures for hot foot, in a vain attempt to enjoy the best of both worlds. Soon, I stopped thinking and just rode. After about a half hour's worth of steady rain in the now low 60s temperature (way to go "High 70s with Isolated Thunderstorms" weathermen!), it finally stopped.
Saturday, 4:30 P.M.: I took a brief break in Auburn after 132 miles for water and more combos. I just can't get enough of that crunchy pizza-like pretzel taste.
Saturday, 5:25 P.M.: I arrived at Bay City State Park, looking forward to a shower and then some cheeseburgers at the post-ride barbeque. One of the Race Directors had some pictures of the 2010 ODRAM to look through and he told me to take any that I liked. I took the following lunch stop picture of Tim Stewart, John Olbrot, and me, anyway.
I think it's safe to say that none of us are particularly photogenic here. Of the three, Tim probably comes out looking the best, although there is that homicidal gleam in his eye that could involve a future rendezvous between his bicycle tires and chipmunks that happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I appear to be nauseated by the thought of the upcoming carnage and have turned as pale as a ghost, although there is always the possibility that I applied my sunscreen with a trowel that morning. And apparently at some point in the past, John joined the witness protection program, and is reacting to his cover being blown.
Saturday, 7:40 P.M: After two cheeseburgers, potato chips, and a peach, but no combos, washed down with a couple cans of Mountain Dew, I boarded the bus to take us back to the start of the ride. The bus left at 8:00, but made a beer run for some of my fellow cyclists at 8:05. Given, among other reasons, the fact that I had a 115 mile drive home, I had already opted for stimulants instead; taking another can of Mountain Dew from the post-ride barbeque to be consumed during the drive. I found that there was no comfortable position to sleep and so I got very little of it.
Saturday, 11:30 P.M.: The bus arrived at Meinert Park and the trailer with our bikes was already there. Ten minutes later, I was driving home and I noticed a partial moon rising. ("Don't drive home tonight. Some drunk will take your life. There's a partial moon on the rise.") I watched my fellow drivers closely and amused myself by pretending to be a contestant in an imaginary game show, "Sleepy or Soused?" ("A driver moves his right wheels over the dotted line and into the right lane, cuts in front of you, then quickly moves to the left lane again, because the driver in front of him is driving too slowly. Let's ask our contestant, is he Sleepy… or Soused?" "He must be soused." "That's Right!" "A driver slows down to less than 55 mph each time he approaches a curve. Is he Sleepy… or Soused?" "Oh, he's definitely soused." "Correct, again!" "Hey, wait a minute, that's me!")
Sunday, 1:35 A.M.: I arrived home, leaving my bike in my car. I had more important things to do than to unload my car, such as sleep. Maybe I'll write about sleeping in next month's Pedal Press.
Rick Whaley, KBC Newsletter Editor
