IronMatron

Yesterday Andy took off work so we could ride together. I've been lonely on my long rides, and I was looking forward to company in a big way. I also knew that with Andy there I could draft some, and so I could likely go longer than I usually do. We decided on 125. I've never gone that far. I wanted to see what would happen.

We had planned to go west and then south, enter Connecticut, cut over to Rhode Island, and then head north and east to come home. It wasn't going to be a fast day. We just wanted to explore new road and get in some miles. What could be better?

I should have known.

Andy and I have a checkered past in terms of riding together. Last year we took a day to go to central MA and circumnavigate the Quabbin Reservoir.  Within two hours Andy had gotten two flats and we were out of 700 tubes. We then got separated. I got lost in some neighborhood on top of a mountain. It was scorching hot (even though it was mid-April), and I was alone and had run out of fluid.  Meanwhile, Andy developed a raging fever and could barely ride he was so dizzy and sick,  and then, as he tried to make it back to the car, he blew out his rear tire. When I found him he was walking his bike--still 20 miles away from the car.

Yeah. That ride didn't go so well.

So maybe I should've guessed that the day wouldn't be a perfect one. But how could things go so terribly wrong two years in a row? (enter ominous music.)

The plan was that I would pull for the majority of the day. Andy hasn't ridden a ton in the last few months, and I have, and I wanted us to be able to complete the ride together. I knew he would be on fire for the first few hours, but I didn't want him to crash and burn when we were in say, Rhode Island. I'm so fit and all, there would be no way that I would crash and burn. Not me.

We started off. I was grouchy. My legs felt like lead. Andy was antsy. He was fired up and ready to go.  I was pulling. Andy was so close to my back wheel that he'd occasionally have to slip up next to me so he wouldn't clip it. He was like a little boy so eager he couldn't contain himself. Conversely, I was feeling positively arthritic, and as you might imagine, I wanted to fucking kill him.

I muttered, "I knew it."
He muttered back, "Okay, Cranky. Feeling a little bitchy are we?"

This was less than five minutes into the ride. It was going to be A GREAT DAY.

This continued for some time. I was going slowly. Andy was trying to hold back.  As I pulled I could feel his energy sucking the life out of me drop by drop. He was like a viper, and I was being drained of my life force. Finally I asked him to PLEASE PLEASE just go ahead of me. Just go. Go and wait for me at that Dunkin Donuts at the corner of 140 and 135. Just go. 

He'd had enough of my inner bitch and my excruciating pace. He took off. As he rode into the distance I fantasized about shooting him with a BB gun in his little, energetic ass.

When I got the Dunkin Donuts a half hour later he was no where to be seen. 
In all fairness I didn't look very hard. I slowed, didn't see his bike, and I assumed he had just kept going. So I went on. 


You need to understand something about Andy. If I told him to wait for me at Dunkin Donuts, he would wait there until the next day if he had to. Because he's like that. He does what he says he's going to do.
It's me that doesn't. 
Think I wasn't really really feeling bitchy?
Think again.

Twenty minutes later I stopped and called him. Where are you? I asked an irritated voice.
Where the fuck do you think I am? he retorted. 


I waited for him to catch up. As I waited, I felt very sorry for myself. I was slow. I was tired. Andy, who was not in shape at all, was kicking my ass. I was feeling petty and mean.  It was cold. It was windy. I could feel a cramp coming on, signaling that my period's arrival was a step beyond imminent. But most of all--I knew, I knew very well--that there was no way I was going to ride for 125 miles today. And that made me want to cry. 


Andy arrived. He didn't tell me I was evil. He just said, "You know if I said I'd be at Dunkin Donuts, I would be at Dunkin Donuts."  A little tear welled up in my eye. 
We rode on. 
And then he flatted.

You know how in the first moments after you flat you still think everything's okay? It's only when you start the process of changing the tire that you realize the situation might be dicey. If you fuck up changing it, you only have one extra tube and one extra co2 cartridge, after all. Because I ride 650s and Andy rides 700s it's not like we can share tubes, either. 


The problem turned out not to be the tube, and not to be the co2. The problem was in the head that delivered the co2. It blew up when Andy begin to fill the tire. I mean it--it literally blew up. Little pieces of metal went flying and everything. So I gave him my head. But on mine, the red button that releases the co2 was jammed shut. Why? Who knows. Too many hours unused and on the road? He tried to use it anyway. Co2 #2 -- gone. 
I had two more cartridges, but it didn't matter. We had no way of getting the co2 into the tube.


We used the iPhone to find a bike shop. There was one in South Grafton about 5 miles away, and I took off, leaving Andy shivering on the side of the road. The wind had come up big time and it really was cold. 


After a lot of stopping and rechecking the iPhone for directions, I found the little shop. The guy there was practically giddy that he had a customer. He was helpful. More than helpful. Do you want some coffee to warm up? Do you need to borrow my truck? (He really offered this... I kid you not. People are very trusting and nice, I find, when you get way outside of the city and into those old mill towns.) I assured him I was okay. I just needed a few tubes, a few heads, a few cartridges, and I'd be on my way. Do you want a donut? I have some donuts.... Do you need me to ride my truck behind you? Do you want a Pop-Tart? I have some Pop-Tarts....


It took awhile to get out of there.


By the time I got back to Andy he was basically an ice cube, chattering and shivering under a tree. The wind swirled around him in angry gusts. He frowned as he showed me how the wind had knocked his TT bike to the ground, giving it its first little nick. He shook as he changed the flat. And then finally, we were on our way.


But instead of moving more toward the west, we turned east to go home. 


We stopped at that Dunkin Donuts, so Andy could get a warm drink to warm him up, and so I could sulk and complain about how tired I was. While there I cried. 
I sucked. sob sob. I would never ride well at CDA. I was so slow, my bike split at IMFL 70.3 would be pathetic--an embarrassment. etc. etc. etc. 
Andy's eyes took on a faintly glazed look as he nodded at me. Yes, Mary. No, Mary. You'll be fine, Mary. We just need to get home, Mary. 


The wind on the way home was, in a word, brutal. Usually I have little conversations with the wind, who I simply can't help but personify. Oh, you're being fickle today, huh? Feeling a little capricious today, Miss Wind, are we? Words like fickle or capricious didn't cover it today, though. The wind was being downright pissy and mean. It was no lady. It was like a linebacker drunk at a keg party. It was like Stallone in Rambo. It was like Zeus on Coke. It fucking sucked. I got pushed and swatted, pulled back, knocked around. I was like a toy in that wind. 


We arrived home having done 80 miles. Andy got the kids as I sat comatose and depressed on the couch. He made the kids' lunches for the next day. (ummm. that NEVER happens.) He went to Landry's Bike Shop, and came home with a new bike shirt for me--a Pearl Izumi in powder blue with big pockets in the back. He got us burritos from Chipotle and after we put the kids to bed, he put on a DVR'd episode of House. 

I know I didn't deserve any of that. 
Meanwhile, Jen gave me the you need to recover talk. Usually I fight that talk, but not this time. 
Mandatory two days off. Why does that always feel like a punishment? 
Luckily, I feel better already, and I know, I just KNOW I'll be singing the FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT song in just a few short days. 
Right?