Dressed for Arrest (Not!)

About the 21-22 September 2018 ride to Ocean City and back:

It started innocently enough.  I've been chasing a RUSA Cup for years (100k,
200K, 300K, 400K, 600K, 1000K, 1200K, and fleche, all in the US), but haven't
yet gotten them all in the required 2-year period. After riding DC Rand's Blue
Ridge to Bay 1200K  this year (the toughest on the list), I was only missing
the 100K (easy enough) and 1000K (had one once, but it "expired"), so I signed
up for the Bicycle for Life 1000K in North Carolina. Not having ridden more
than 200K since June, I had to throw in a longer ride 2 weeks prior for
training.  I decided to do what I did for my last 1000K back in 2014, ride to
Ocean City and Back on Earl's 200K routes - 400K total, and 400K RUSA credit.

Margaret, Clint, and Earl joined in, and we met near the Eastern Shore end of the Bay
Bridge Friday morning. Pre ride discussions included Earl saying to expect headwinds
both out and back (you've got to be kidding), predictions of finishing times
(2-4AM), and how you should try to eat normal food during a ride -
that once you need goo you are in a downward spiral).  All later proved to be
prescient.

We shoved off at 7AM under leaden skies, riding the usual Chester/Grasonville
route through puddles that were actually very high tide (the
spray from Earl's rear wheel tasted salty).  Once into Queenstown I finally
saw that mythical beast, the always-mentioned-when-we-pass
through-but-I've-never-seen-it white squirrel, along with two black ones.

We reminisced about past SPP Ocean City rides as we passed the spot where we
used to stop to phone in the breakfast order to Dave's Place in Ridgley, and
made a bottle stop in Denton.  Just before stopping Clint and I discussed how I'd
like to test ride his new solid tires and he'd like to test ride my new
Infinity saddle, so we departed Denton riding each other's bikes wearing each
other's shoes.  Clint commented how, up to that point, he and his bike had
been "monomagmous".  I realized that most of us are.  Only once in the last 30
years or so had anyone else ridden my bike - Christine, for a test ride.
Clint's tires didn't feel any different than conventional ones, but the
unfamiliarity of his bike, especially his saddle and saddle height, drove me
nuts and I had to get back on my own bike after less than 10 miles.

The skies cleared, the predicted headwinds appeared on cue, we got a reprieve
from the headwinds on the 10-mile northbound stretch in Delaware that made
this a 200K route, and we rode on to our lunch stop at Subway in Milton.
Rolling out of the parking lot to get into traffic at a red light, I heard a
woman yell "Mom?  Mom!"  It was Margaret's daughter and her family in a car, a
chance encounter on their return from the beach.  Figure the odds.

One discussion that was not prescient was about Lighthouse Road, that 4-mile
stretch that drops you onto the main drag in Ocean City. Someone warned about how much tire-damaging debris there was along that stretch, which made me realize I'd
flatted twice there - once so close to the finish that I just rode it in on
the rim.  But no flats this ride.

After the obligatory picture on the beach we started the trip back a little
after 5PM.  Ride endorphins caused "Haitian Divorce" by Steely Dan to play in
my head all day in sync with my pedaling cadence, and it continued to play the
rest of the ride.  At some point it was "who has a joke" time, but the best
any one of us could come up with was "What are the two things heavy coffee
drinkers do?  Number one and number two!"  We pulled into Irish Eyes in Milton
for dinner at dusk.  I was still in sunglasses, if it had been 10 minutes
later I would have stopped to get into regular glasses.  We all wanted to get
pitchers of water to fill our bottles, but they would only bring us individual
glasses, which they refilled a couple times.  Recognizing we were 95 miles
from the finish, with nothing open at night along our route, I wanted to fill
both my 24 oz bottles and 3 liter Camelbak, but only got the bottles plus a little in the
Camelbak. It was night when we finished dinner, and warm, so Margaret didn't
want to wear her reflective vest.  I lent her the reflective/mesh stuff I have
on my Camelbak, as I have done on a 300K last year.

After leaving Milton my legs felt dead.  Also, the predicted wind shift
happened, giving us a headwind for the return trip as well.  I started
pounding crackers to fuel the machine, and drinking water.  I felt really strong during the
day, but it seemed each of us had our "moment" and the rest of the ride would
be mine.  I wished I had put Gatorade powder in my bottles for something
sugary.  At one point Earl said "I'm fantasizing about taking a nap on the
front porch of that fruit stand in Bridgeville", and I cast the second vote
for that.  If you have ever been dog tired on a ride, you'd appreciate how
good that 20 minute visit to dreamland feels and how much fresher you feel
when you get up.  The porch was brightly lit, so I used my Camelbak strap as
an eyeshade.

Refreshed, we got back on the road and arrived in Denton, 50 miles since
dinner.  My bottles were empty, I'd been sucking on my Camelbak, and we still
had 45 miles to go.  I needed water, but incredibly the other riders had used
as little as half a bottle so far. It was 1AM, and nothing was open. Not even
the Irish Pub we thought would SURELY be open until 2.  Even the fire house
was locked up and unresponsive.  That's when I devised a plan to find a water
faucet on the outside of some business. Businesses were all closed, so the
risk was minimal (doing that at a house would get us noticed, maybe shot!).
The others looked elsewhere, but since I've never seen a working faucet on the
front of a business I went down alleys looking at the sides and backs.  On
only my second alley I hit pay dirt, filling my bottles with water and
Gatorade powder (finally, sugar!). I saw the others ride down the street past
me, so I called them into the alley and they filled up as well.  Nothing
between us and home now except 45 miles, right?

While crossing that bridge departing Denton I sensed a car following us.  Just
as I thought a Dentonian might have "seen something, said something", blue and
red lights came on behind me, while another car passed our group with its
lights on and stopped in front, corralling us on the bridge. Perhaps it was
the lighting on my bike, or on my helmet, or when I called out to the others.
Or maybe the back of the business was a residence, or the building next door
was.  Anyway, it was time to face the music, and it was because of me.  While
a cop talked to Clint at the front,  his supervisor came to me from the car in
the rear and told me a citizen reported people on bikes riding in and out of
alleyways.  I explained my need for water and the distances involved, and he
broke out in a big smile.  "Well, you all are dressed like bikers, so I guess
I believe you".  Better yet, we were in matching SPP jerseys - do burglars
coordinate their clothing? We exchanged pleasantries and parted company.

The rest of the ride was uneventful.  At some point Margaret set a personal
best - longest ride she had ever done. Although on multiple occasions Earl
commented on how out-of-shape he was, he seemed the strongest late in the
ride.  I was the anchor, the guy everyone else adjusted speed for so that I
didn't get more than a hundred yards behind.  We arrived at our cars just
after 4AM. I got home, showered, and went to bed.

When I first saw Christine, later that morning, she led off with "So,
how's my jailbird?"  Sensational news travels fast.

Jack