Saturday was the Moonshine ride in Dawsonville. It was 62 miles of ascending and descending... no flats... at all. It was far and away the hardest physical undertaking that I have ever attempted: Hours upon hours of climbing followed by teeth-clenching downhills.
The ride started at 9:00. Once I got about 10 miles in and settled into the fact that there was no way I was going to hold a consistent pace in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, I was scooting along pretty well. I rode with my Dad (The Entertainer), Kunkle (The Enforcer), and Derrick (The Encourager). The first rest stop was at the 20-mile mark in Amicalola State Park. (Yes, I said mountains.) I joined in on some praise and worship with a church that was meeting under a pavilion, while Derrick tightened his cleat and my Dad and Kunkle had a tangerine.
The next 15 miles was the most enjoyable part of the ride. The hills rolled a little more. The scenery was gorgeous. Off of every country road, you could see auburn, gold, and burnt orange trees for miles. The company was great too. We laughed and joked and Derrick scared some dogs away.
After 35 miles, we entered Pickens County and took a 5-minute break at the second rest stop. Bananas for all and then back on the bikes.
45 miles and two atrocious climbs later, my body was aching all over. My shoulders were sore, my quads were cramping, my abs were stinging. I also had to use the restroom and I could not do so as conveniently as the three guys with me. At the top of a monstrous climb, we happened upon a little country store. I hopped off my bike and stumbled inside. "Do you have a restroom," I managed to say?
The gal behind the counter opened her eyes wide. "Normally, no." Then she smiled, "But for you: Yes." I was indescribably thankful.
I limped back out to my bike and waiting entourage. We pedaled on. And on. And on.
At 51 miles, we came to the final rest stop. I hobbled to the table and forced down another banana and a bottle of Gatorade. Only 11 miles left.
It was the most grueling hour of my athletic life. I didn't have the energy to take off my leg warmers, but I was burning up. I just pushed them down around my calves. Each climb took every bit of mental and physical energy that I had left. Kunkle, (with legs of Steel), would come back after powering up a huge hill to spur me on. ("Just keep making little circles. You can do it.") Dad, would call back and make a silly joke to take my mind off the pain And Derrick, although he got yelled at and possibly cussed at, didn't leave me behind.
With five miles left to go, I burst into tears. I didn't want anyone to know that I was crying, so I kept wiping my nose and sniffing like I had gotten a cold. I don't think the act worked very well. My body was shaking as I sobbed and made little circles with my feet. My Dad looked back with under a mile and said that he could see the school. I stopped crying and put everything that I had into the last 600 meters.
Five and a half hours after I started, I pulled back into Dawsonville Middle School with my crew.
Winston Churchill said that success is moving from failure to failure without any loss of enthusiasm.
Derrick says success is leaving it all on the road.
By either definition, Saturday was a good day for me.
The ride started at 9:00. Once I got about 10 miles in and settled into the fact that there was no way I was going to hold a consistent pace in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, I was scooting along pretty well. I rode with my Dad (The Entertainer), Kunkle (The Enforcer), and Derrick (The Encourager). The first rest stop was at the 20-mile mark in Amicalola State Park. (Yes, I said mountains.) I joined in on some praise and worship with a church that was meeting under a pavilion, while Derrick tightened his cleat and my Dad and Kunkle had a tangerine.
The next 15 miles was the most enjoyable part of the ride. The hills rolled a little more. The scenery was gorgeous. Off of every country road, you could see auburn, gold, and burnt orange trees for miles. The company was great too. We laughed and joked and Derrick scared some dogs away.
After 35 miles, we entered Pickens County and took a 5-minute break at the second rest stop. Bananas for all and then back on the bikes.
45 miles and two atrocious climbs later, my body was aching all over. My shoulders were sore, my quads were cramping, my abs were stinging. I also had to use the restroom and I could not do so as conveniently as the three guys with me. At the top of a monstrous climb, we happened upon a little country store. I hopped off my bike and stumbled inside. "Do you have a restroom," I managed to say?
The gal behind the counter opened her eyes wide. "Normally, no." Then she smiled, "But for you: Yes." I was indescribably thankful.
I limped back out to my bike and waiting entourage. We pedaled on. And on. And on.
At 51 miles, we came to the final rest stop. I hobbled to the table and forced down another banana and a bottle of Gatorade. Only 11 miles left.
It was the most grueling hour of my athletic life. I didn't have the energy to take off my leg warmers, but I was burning up. I just pushed them down around my calves. Each climb took every bit of mental and physical energy that I had left. Kunkle, (with legs of Steel), would come back after powering up a huge hill to spur me on. ("Just keep making little circles. You can do it.") Dad, would call back and make a silly joke to take my mind off the pain And Derrick, although he got yelled at and possibly cussed at, didn't leave me behind.
With five miles left to go, I burst into tears. I didn't want anyone to know that I was crying, so I kept wiping my nose and sniffing like I had gotten a cold. I don't think the act worked very well. My body was shaking as I sobbed and made little circles with my feet. My Dad looked back with under a mile and said that he could see the school. I stopped crying and put everything that I had into the last 600 meters.
Five and a half hours after I started, I pulled back into Dawsonville Middle School with my crew.
Winston Churchill said that success is moving from failure to failure without any loss of enthusiasm.
Derrick says success is leaving it all on the road.
By either definition, Saturday was a good day for me.