When the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., I felt a touch nauseated, figured I was dehydrated from the wine, slammed some water. A large Diet Coke at the 24-hour McDonalds and the big mistake: a sausage biscuit. Normally I can handle a glob of grease like that but for some reason, Sunday, it was the kiss of metric death.
I arrived at Dawes Park in Evanston at 6:15, navigating my way through several hundred of my bicycling compatriots to meet some Chainlinkers. Was great to meet some of the folks I’ve corresponded with on the message board. I’d said I was going to do the 62-mile route; a Chainlinker named David said he would join me.
|My biking buddy David.|
Note: David rode his bike from his home in Oak Park to the start point in Evanston. Then he planned to ride the 62 mile route, then ride on back to the home town of Ernest Hemingway. Crazy noble bicycle hero.
|For the most part, the|
pavement markings were
excellent. I missed a few.
At the first refreshment stop, at the 18-mile mark, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to make the whole 62 miles. I was horrendously nauseated and a bit shaky, but there were too many people around to make a good puking an option. (Yes, I am an introvert.) I allowed to David that I would prefer to to the 50-mile route -- frankly I was considering turning around and heading back along the way we came. David expressed sympathy and didn’t press me. He took the 62-mile spur and I took the 50-mile route.
|The bike path along Sheridan Road. A delight.|
I found out later that he’d hit a pothole or something and crashed, knocking himself out but (not surprisingly) managing to bike back home to Oak Park. I feel bad that I wasn’t there to assist for his hour of need. On the other hand, I don’t know what I would have been able to do except call 911. And then puke.
I hope David (a) recovers from his accident, and (b) doesn’t consider me a lightweight and will ride with me again.
Somewhere along the way after the first rest stop, I started to feel better. In fact, I started to feel hungry. Not having eaten a bite at the rest stop, I nibbled the Clif bar I had stashed in my trunk bag.
|A glimpse of Lake Michigan somewhere in Wilmette.|
A swig of Gatorade and I was on my way for the downhill run. Lots of twists and turns on this ride; I spent a lot of time consulting my cue sheet. But just before noon, I found myself back at Dawes Park, in Evanston.
Cyclemeter (the iPhone app I use to track my bicycle miles) had been giving me fits during the ride, telling me that GPS coverage had dropped out for various points for so many minutes. David had been having the same problem; I tried shutting off “Location Services” for everything but Cyclemeter, and that seemed to work. Too late, though, since the GPS had dropped out for more than a half-hour, and probably more.
The Baha'i Temple in Evanston.
“The doors will be open to all sects —
no differentiation; and by God’s help
this temple will prove to be to the body
of human society what the soul is to the
body of man.”
A long ride home back to Naperville, listening to a relatively boring game ‘twixt the Chicago Bears and St. Louis Rams (might as well have been listening to a Scrabble match). Next year, I am so doing the full 100 miles again.
- 30 -