The Great Pumpkin Ride 2012

I am an idiot.

I apparently have no more willpower or capacity for independent action than a lemming or a farmyard chicken in the rain.  Peer pressure has had its way with me once again.

My last bike ride of the season was Saturday:  The Great Pumpkin Ride.  You may recall how much I gushed about this ride last year, principally thanks to the pumpkin pie they served at every rest stop.  The pumpkin pie was just as good this year.  I however, was not.

Making an overly-perky face before the ride.  If only I'd know what an idiot I was going to be, I wouldn't have looked so chipper!

I ambitiously registered a couple of months ago to ride the 72-mile course, knowing when I did that I'd probably only ride the 48-mile course.  This hasn't been a banner year for me where cycling is concerned, and I hadn't been on my bike since the Oxford loop ride a few weeks ago.  The smart thing would have been to do the shorter route--a nice, easy 48 miles over mostly-flat, country terrain.  I knew I could do it without undue aches or pains and still be home in time for dinner.

 
Oh fickle self!  If only I'd had the strength of character to stick with my plan!  But no.  When I heard that everyone else in my cycling group planned to do the full 72 miles, I caved and decided to ride that distance too.  I've done a couple of 65-mile rides this summer,  I reasoned.  It's only a few more miles.  Eat an extra Lara bar and you'll be fine.    

Part of the spread at the first rest stop.  Those are pieces of pumpkin-chocolate-chip bread.

So, at the turn off point at mile 22, when the 48-ers went straight and the 72-ers turned right, I foolishly turned right.  I was riding with a couple of nice people I'd just met from the group and was enjoying the conversation and company.  We were keeping up a good pace, I felt strong, the weather was fine, and I didn't want to give that up and ride alone on the 48-mile route.

Halloween lawn ornaments waving to us.  We passed several houses with these blow-up decorations, including a few that were also this elaborate.

Everything was great until about mile 42 or 45, when my legs decided they were done.  I still had an inordinate number of miles to go until the next rest stop (whose bright idea was it to leave 30 miles between rest stops two and three?!) but my legs were yelling at me in protest.  My heart heard them and started a protest of its own.  In short, my body was having no more of this ride.

Gradually, I fell behind the group I was riding with.  For about 10 miles, they were still in sight on the horizon.  And then they weren't.  I was officially alone on the road with my screaming legs.  Brilliant idea to do the long route so I could ride with the group, wasn't it?

Impromptu stop at this quaint country store, shortly before I fell behind.

I caught up with my friends at the last rest stop, at mile 60ish, but they had already been there awhile and left before I was ready to go.  So after a rest and some snacks, I reluctantly got back on the saddle and set out for the final stretch, moaning the whole way.  

It was a rough 12 miles to the finish line (alone!). I had to maintain a constant stream-of-consciousness pep talk to keep myself going, especially for the last five miles.  I swear, if the support vehicle had stopped by me at mile 67 (or 68-71), I would have gotten in and felt no shame at quitting so close to the end of the ride.  

But that's the thing with cycling (or running or anything involving an outdoor distance):  there's no way back to your starting/ending point except the power of your own body.  You are forced to go the full distance because the only alternative is to end up huddled in a ditch by the side of the road, fending off the wild animals who want to eat you.

So I kept riding.

And I crossed the finish line by myself to no fanfare whatsoever (everyone else had already headed off to the pub for a post-ride beverage and meal).  Then I pulled myself along to my car parked a few blocks away and somehow managed to stow my bike and my gear, change clothes, and drive to Five Guys for a much-needed cheeseburger.

My final odometer reading.

Although I was miserable for most of the ride, it did have its merits.  The weather was perfect for cycling, the scenery was scenic, the company (while it lasted) was delightful, and the pumpkin pie was, once again, simply heavenly.  This was also the longest distance I've ever ridden (well, other than one very poorly-thought-out ride in which I rode 89 miles to impress a boy I liked; you see a theme emerging with my riding choices, no doubt), which is pretty awesome.  I'm pretty sure I also burned enough calories to eat whatever I want until Wednesday, at least, which is, let's be honest, half the point of cycling.  

My cycling goals for next year include growing enough of a spine to be able to make more reasonable, non-peer-pressure choices and, of course, enjoying more pumpkin pie.  Wish me luck!