On Sunday, Fred, his friend Nick, and I rode 37 miles on Long Beach Island. Our goal was to average 20mph for the ride. The advantage is that LBI is perfectly flat. The challenge is the multitude of stop signs and traffic lights that pull your average down. Fred was pulling for the majority of the ride. Maybe 60% of the time. Nick was probably doing 30% of the work and I did the best I could to pull about 10% of the time. The interesting part of that ride happened at about mile 30. We were on a 3 mile stretch of road, heading north. The road didn’t have any stop signs and had a bike lane. I was pulling at the front at, what I thought was, a respectable 22mph. Fred rolled around me and started picking up the pace. 23, 24, then 25 miles an hour. I’m keeping pace but I’m at my limit. Fred ramps it up to 26mph and I’m hanging on for everything I’m worth. I yell up to Fred that I won’t be able to hold his wheel at 26mph for very long. I hang in there for about 30 seconds and I start to drop off. A gap opens up between Fred and me. It grows wider. My heart is willing but my legs just can’t keep the pace. Nick sees the gap widening and comes around me to give me a draft to sit in. Nick pulls me along at 24mph and the gap between us and Fred continues to get bigger. Fred is a pedaling machine and becomes an ever smaller dot on our horizon. Eventually Fred is out of sight (on a perfectly straight road). When Nick and I finally catch up, he tells us he was feeling good and wanted to stretch his legs. He rode most of the 3 miles at 27mph. Holy crackers!
On Monday Fred and I roll out at 6:40am. We head north up the island towards Nick’s house. Fred and I agree that we don’t feel as good as the day before so we’re not going to try to hammer out a 20mph average again this morning. That notion lasts less than 5 minutes, as Fred notes that there appears to be no wind on the island at all. A rarity. Fred doesn’t want to waste the perfect conditions on an easier pace. So off he goes and off I go after him. Around 8 miles up the road we see Nick rolling along with another group of riders. “Arrrr!”. We hail him with a pirate greeting to let him know we’re coming through, and Nick jumps on the back. Off we go hammer and tongs (again). I’m feeling tired and we’re not even 30 minutes into the ride. Fast forward to mile 40. We’re heading back north towards Nick’s house and I’m starting to let gaps open between myself and Fred and Nick. Small gaps at first but then they get bigger. I’m exhausted and my back is letting me know that it thinks this ride should be over. Nick turns off at his street in Barnegat and now Fred and I have a 7 mile ride back to the house in Surf City. Fred’s been pulling for the last 10 miles but he knows I’m in no shape to pull so he stays ahead of me and jacks up our speed to 23mph. Fred is the Ivan Drago of cycling. I imagine him saying “I must break you”. I push into the pedals and think to myself, “Hang on for 7 more miles. Just to see if I can do it.” My back is on fire at this point but I refuse to give in. I alternate standing out of the saddle and getting into the drops to try to alleviate some of the back pain. It’s not working. I could sit up and soft pedal home but that would be giving up and I’m curious to know just how far I can push myself before I break. Fred keeps looking back. The surprised look on his face lets me know he figured he’d have dropped me by now. Seven miles doesn’t sound like much. Especially when the road is completely flat and straight. But seven miles can seem like an eternity when you’re at your limit and in pain. For the first time ever on a road bike, I feel like I’m in the zone. My world goes silent except for the sound of my breathing which I note is surprisingly regular and normal. My legs feel fine too. My back is killing me but I’m blocking out the pain and focusing on my breathing. I think to myself, “This is amazing!” I roll along at 23mph behind Fred all the way home. Ivan Drago doesn’t break me. I live to ride another day.
That may have been my best ride yet.
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