Limitations

“A man has got to know his limitations.”  Dirty Harry

Well, today mine was forty two miles.

It was a beautiful ride, with heavy overcast, cool, gentle breezes favoring the first half of the course, and a route that took you through some of the prettiest farm country roads in Texas and Oklahoma.

The race started at the brand new Hilton Garden Inn Sports Center on Grayson Ave. in Denison. Or maybe Sherman. It’s right on the dividing line.

I stayed with a group of riders for the first leg of the race, mostly north through Texas farms to Eisenhower road, where the first rest stop was. I drank some Gatorade and stretched my legs for a couple of minutes, and then got back on the road.

Now the group was gone, and I was with just four or five riders until we got to the south end of the Denison Dam. I found out that the real dedicated racers don’t bother with the rest stops—they are looking at 100, 80, 65 or so miles, and they don’t have time to waste. 

At the top of the dam, the routes diverged, with the short circuit people (37 miles) turning south back to the hotel, and those of us hoping to ride fifty miles or further turning north to cross the dam and ride to our next rest stop at Cartwright, where the route turns east. I drank another Gatorade there and watched the rest take off ahead. I was alone now, bringing up the rear.

I remember being the leader of the pack once upon  a time. That was about thirty years ago. Now I’m “Tail-end Charlie”. Even with a good racing bike, the best I’ve ever ridden, I just can’t keep up with the younger guys (and gals) anymore. My old legs are in good shape for their age, but they’re not so young anymore. 

After a long ride east, I got to the rest stop at Achille, I don’t remember anything that stuck out except how far it was away. No big hills to grind up or sail down. Just mile after mile of nice little farms on both sides of the road, with a short break in the middle, which was the town of Colbert.

Around here they pronounce that “Call Burt”.

At the rest stop in Achille (Pronuonced AT-chi-lee) I found I was not the last one after all—a bunch of the long distance people turned the wrong way at Colbert and rode ten or so miles north before they figured out their mistake. They had turned around and were now twenty miles behind me, and closing fast.

I stopped for a couple of minutes at Achille, used the bathroom for the first time, and drank another Gatorade. A couple miles past Achille I turned south on the Peanut Trail headed for the new bridge across the Red River at Carpenter’s Bluff. I love this area of Oklahoma for it’s rolling hills, groves of dense trees and the antique tractor shows they have here. 

There is one stretch of road that has so many big trees on both sides of the road it feels like a tunnel. A nice dark, cool tunnel, with a down hill slope going into the tunnel and a steep climb up out of the tunnel. At the rest stop at Carpenter’s Bluff I found the lost group behind me was just arriving at the rest stop at Achille ten miles behind me.

They had run out of cups at the rest stop where I was, so I took a bottle of icy water, drank it and ate half a banana, went to the porto-potty there. and got on my way again. At seventy five years old, water in means water out pretty soon.

After crossing the river I started having trouble. I never realized how steep the highway is leaving the river headed west to Denison. I found myself down in the low gears grinding up the hills, which are deceptive. They don’t look that steep. I stopped once, got off the bike and checked to make sure I wasn’t riding on a flat tire, and I lifted each wheel and spun it by hand to make sure I didn’t have a brake dragging.

At the top of a long uphill stretch, right on the outskirts of Denison, I pulled over and was resting on the handlebars panting. Up from behind me came the formerly lost riders. The first one in the bunch stopped and asked if I was having trouble, and told her I was just tired. She offered me water and a cookie. I took the cookie, but turned down the water, since I didn’t have place to put the bottle. I see the next accessory for this bike now. All the long distance riders have two water bottle holders on their bikes, minimum.

I slowly limped into downtown Denison, with my legs feeling like rubber. The only push on the pedals was the weight of my legs, I think. Of course, I was focussing on chest pain which really wasn’t there. I hurt all over, but legs most of all. I stopped at the rest stop in Denison, where I was greeted with cowbells and shouts to stop. 

I pulled over and stood there a second until one of the volunteers came over and offered to take the bike while I went over and chugged a V8, then sipped some pickle juice, and then a small can of Coke. Nothing made me feel better, so I decided that the smart thing to do would be to stop here and ask for a ride back to the hotel where we started, and where my car was parked.

I really hated to quit. but as I said at the start, a man has got to know his limitations. I found mine.

I got back to the house in Durant, Oklahoma, (say Dew-rant) and took a long, hot shower, which did more to revive me than all that Gatorade and stuff.

Strangely, my sweaty shirt smelled like something died. I haven’t smelled like that since I was a testosterone overloaded teenager many years ago. Usually my shirts are sweaty, but just wringing wet, not stinky.

I’m hoping this isn’t an omen of impending demise. 

I just lost my wife of forty nine years a month ago. It was the last piece of her to leave. 

I lost my wife who rode bikes with me about five years ago. I lost the wife who could drive by herself and not get lost about four years ago. I lost my square dance partner maybe three years ago. She could still do a mean two step up to about a year ago. My wife who could feed herself left about six months ago. 

I have been in mourning for years, and it hasn’t stopped yet. Maybe the smell is just grief. Can you smell grief? Is that possible? Time will tell.

Here I am, wishing my life away, hurrying time to get past the grief. What else can I do?