The start of the ride is only about 10 miles from my driveway, so I got up at my usual 5:20, took my time getting ready, and still arrived at 6:45. Plenty of time to get a good parking spot, pick up my ride number, and watch for people I know to arrive. Speaking of which, it's interesting to me to see how many more recumbent riders there are each year. In 2006, when I first started riding my recumbent, I knew pretty nearly all of the other recumbent riders I saw on the charity ride circuit. Now, they – we – seem to be popping up everywhere, and I no longer know everyone.
Richard, another of the RBENT gang, was parked just across the aisle from me, and we spent some time socializing. I had made plans to start out the ride with Jason and The Stradas, but they didn't get there as early as I did and had to park at a secondary location. Fifteen minutes before the start of the ride, cars were still streaming in. The organizers announced that it was not looking good for an 8:00 start, because we couldn't go until all the cars were off the road and parked. I thought that this delay might allow me to find my group, but it didn't work out that way and I started on my own.
It was sunny as we headed out, but the sky started to look dark and ominous about 10 miles into the route (see the route map, if you want to play along at home). As I passed the second break point at Valdasta (≅ 17 mi.), it was pretty dark. I thought about stopping to remove my sunglasses and turn on my blinky taillight but didn't. The pack hadn't yet thinned much, and I didn't want to have to stop and merge again. I think it was somewhere between the second and third break points that I crossed paths with RCarlino and got to visit with him for a couple miles before we got separated in some rolling hills.
By the third break point (≅ 28 mi.), it was so dark that some riders who had headlights were switching them on. Headlights, for Pete's sake! But I was averaging over 17 mph and feeling good, so I didn't stop.
A couple miles later, at around Blue Ridge, the first fat raindrops began plopping on and around us. And then the sky opened up. Within a minute, we were straining to see in the dark, through sheets of rain and steamy, droplet-covered glasses. Most riders slowed; others (the usual suspects) insisted on whipping by and then cutting back in front to spray huge rooster tails in our faces. Meanwhile, the more sensible of us did our best to stay upright and watched for cracks and debris that might be obscured by the water. And at least one of us wished he'd stopped to remove his sunglasses and turn on his blinky taillight.
As I approached Climax, I was soaking wet and shivering.** The temperature had dropped significantly, and the sleeveless jersey I'd worn in anticipation of stifling heat no longer seemed like a good idea. The water that filled my shoes was running out the heels, into my socks, and down my legs. My seat pad was full of the dirty water being thrown up by the rear wheel and through the mesh of the seat. It squished audibly as I moved. As the cool air moved across the saturated chamois in my shorts, I was reminded of George Costanza's protest: “I was in the pool! I was in the pool!”
This time, I pulled in to the rest stop. At around 35 miles out and after battling the rain for nearly 10 miles, I was ready for some pickle juice and a rest. I ran into Nelson (another RBENT buddy) and felt envy as I noted that he had fenders fitted to his Bacchetta Corsa. Meanwhile, I listened as a 30-something man pleaded with the driver of one of the supply trucks to give him a ride back to the start. The driver explained that he couldn't oblige, because it was a safety issue; but there was a look in his eyes that suggested he might be more afraid of a stampede, should he say ‘yes’.
With the rain still hammering down in sheets, I got back on my bike and carefully pulled out of the rest stop. With the thunder rumbling in the distance, I kept thinking of something I'd heard from some meteorologist or another: “Just because you don't see the lightning doesn't mean you're safe. If you can hear the thunder, you're within range to be struck.” Nice.
And then the rain stopped. A couple miles later, the sun came out. I spotted a familiar mostly-pink bike and a Liquigas jersey ahead, and rode up to wait for a break in the riders' conversation so I could say hello to Allez and Lance NotStrong. After a couple minutes – about the same time as Allez and Lance figured out who I was – I heard Jason and The Stradas calling to me from behind, and we rode on together to complete the route.
Per the Collin Classic web site, one of the annual challenges for the organizers is to find new roads for the ride. Every year, Collin County repaves more of the smooth country roads with filling-loosening large-aggregate chip seal, so “Bikin' Mike” Keel and his helpers should be applauded for their efforts. There was some chip seal, but with the exception of one short medium-rough stretch, it was smooth, smooth, smooth. The chicken soft tacos after the ride were tasty, and there were enough for everyone. I don't really need another ride t-shirt, but considering that I was still very damp from being rained on, I was grateful to have the one that came in my ride packet. It was nice to have something dry to change into before going into the air-conditioned high school to eat.
Despite the seeming chaos before the start, this 17th Collin Classic was as well organized as any of the five I've been a part of. Every year, the organizers listen to the feedback they get from the participants, and the effort they put into addressing complaints is a big part of what makes this one of the premier rides in the area, year after year.
Summary
Distance: 53.52 milesTotal time: 3 hours, 8 minutes
Average speed: 17.5 mph
Average/maximum heart rate: 162/188 bpm
* Because of the level of her spinal cord injury, Turtle doesn't sweat from her upper sternum down.
** I know who you are, and you can just stop it. Break point four was at the town of Climax, TX.
