Joanne, Jody, Mary, Stuart, Gary, Steve, Joel . . . waiting for Ken, Jay, and Al
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Nightmare Ride Lancaster County, Pennsylvania Saturday, August 13, 2005 Prelude (Blame it on the beer.) This was, easily, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Way back, at a Memorial Day weekend picnic hosted by Vincent and Jody, and spurred on by a beer or three, I tossed out the idea of participating in the Nightmare Ride. It’s a 177 mile bike ride around the perimeter of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, with an option to do an additional 26 miles to get in a double century. The elevation profile on the web site advertises 11,150 total feet of climbing for the 177 mile regular route. There was a surprising amount of interest from the others on the patio. The months leading up to the August 13 event date saw still more sign on. There was some good natured banter with those on the fence, and some barbs tossed in the direction of those who declined right from the beginning. Some late recruiting and a plea with the event director to let in a couple of late entrants brought our number to 13. That’s a nice good-luck amount. But let me digress a bit with a little more background. This was the 11th year for the Nightmare Ride. I remember, a couple of years ago, doing one of my long rides in preparation for Ironman Lake Placid. I was not aware of the Nightmare Ride and I came up on a couple of guys working on a hill. I thought I was hot stuff about 60 miles into my 80 mile ride and I asked them how far they were going. When they said 177 miles, and it was called the Nightmare Ride, I quietly made the next available right turn and slunk home with my tail between my legs. I looked it up on the Internet and kept it in the back of my mind. The late-June event date didn’t really fit into my schedule. But, this year, it was moved to the middle of August. And that brought on my beer-influenced query to my friends and acquaintances. Since we’re all basically triathletes, we tossed out the idea of running after the 200 miles of biking. (I think all the guys immediately figured we’d be good for the 200 mile option while the gals were more realistic and weren’t committing to anything.) Sonny further challenged us by promising a beer for each mile we ran. To quote him exactly, “You guys are so full of crap . . . I'll buy each of you a beer for every mile you run after riding 200 miles.” In the days leading up to the event, we knew we were going to ride 200 miles and then run, come hell or high water, at least one mile. Little did we know the day would be beyond hellish. By event morning, our group was ten: Jody, Mary, Joanne, Stuart, Gary, Jay, Ken, Al, Joel, and me. Vincent had signed up for the event, but he got a bad case of common sense a couple days beforehand and couldn’t shake it. Jesse never actually entered due to injury. And Mary Beth was on our little email list, but she started with an earlier group. Ken was always trying to count to 11 when we were regrouping to restart after a break. We had to remind him that Mary Beth didn’t start with us. |
Joanne, Jody, Mary, Stuart, Gary, Steve, Joel . . . waiting for Ken, Jay, and Al |
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There were four scheduled departure times, 4 am, 4:30 am, 5 am, and 5:30 am. We wanted to start at 4:30 am, but Ken, Jay, and Al were late getting to the start area and it took them a bit of time to get ready. The rest of us just stood and sweated in the darkness, recognizing that it was going to be a hot day. There was a good deal of give and take chatter with Mike, the event director. I haven’t seen the “official” results so I don’t know if our “race time” started at 4:30 am when we said were going to leave, but it was no big deal one way or the other since we weren’t “racing” and we really didn’t care about a time. Finally everybody was signed in and lit up and we got rolling at 4:55 am. (The great majority of the riders left at the 4 am start time. Anybody competing in either the PBAA Sanctioned World Record Competition or the UMCA John Marin Challenge Points Competition, i.e. anybody serious about the day, had to leave at 5:30 am.)
Section 1 (56 Miles – Hey, that’s only a half-Ironman bike ride.) There were problems right from the get-go. Ken had some kind of difficulty with one of his water bottles so we got a bit disjointed. We ended up stopping to re-gather at Renate’s car. (The race director had asked Renate, as a support vehicle, to drive to the first big downhill and shine her car lights on the road to give us a little extra light. That was a nice idea, but it didn’t work with just one car). A couple of miles later, we’re in Marietta. It’s dark. We have no real idea where we’re going. We can’t see any marks on the road. I pull out my cue sheet to try and get some bearing. It was in my Bento Box along with a couple of containers of electrolyte pills. I hit a bump. Because I had just pulled my cue sheet out of the Bento Box, it was open. My pill containers eject and plop on the road. Fifteen minutes into a long, hot day I know I’m going to need them, so I circle back to pick them up. Stuart holds back to ride with me. The group heads on. And misses the next turn. Fortunately, they recognized it immediately (coming to a stop sign helped) and Stuart and I caught them and we were soon pointed in the right direction. Things were smoother for a while after this. We were able to recognize the big orange N’s painted on the road, along with orange arrows and we were proceeding merrily along. At about 17 miles, there’s a left turn off a fairly steep downhill, on less than smooth roads. I’m relatively certain half of us would have missed the turn anyway, but we were distracted by a small group of Nightmare participants (recognizable by the bright yellow jerseys we were issued) just past the intersection. One guy was on the phone and another guy was collecting a bike. The third guy was in the grass on the side of the road with a bit of blood running from his lip. This didn’t look good. Fortunately, Stuart is an orthopedic surgeon, and he started checking the guy out. It was interesting to see the calm, professional manner in which he went about things. The rest of us are standing around trying to figure out where we are. The guy on the phone is trying to give directions to the 911 operator, but, although we knew the intersection, none us knew what “town” we were in. The crashee mostly just seemed to be shaken up, a bit of road rash and in some state of shock, but no broken bones nor anything major. The rest of us were anxious to get going; there really wasn’t anything we could do. But, we recognized the things Stuart was doing and quietly waited until it was ok for him to leave. Just as we were starting back out, a local police cruiser arrived and, very shortly after that, an ambulance went past. (I thought I heard after the ride that the guy ended up rejoining at the first food stop at the 56 mile mark. Don’t know if that’s true or not.) It ended up being about a 15 minute break. You know it’s going to be a hot day when you can stare at this big bright orange ball rising into the sky. You know that as soon as it burns off the haze, it’s going to start burning on you. And it’s still going to remain at 100% humidity. Things are peaceful enough after that. We make it to the first water stop at 27.6 miles (by the way, the mileage numbers I’m using are from the cue sheets) and Renate is there along with the volunteers and other personal support vehicles and crews. We had numbers magic-marked onto our left calf when we signed in and the volunteer manning the water station asked for those when we arrived. None of us were totally certain of our numbers and anything written on our calf had slimed away with the humidity and sweat so, mostly, we just guessed. I think I was number 33, for what it’s worth. We hand our lights to Renate. Refill water bottles, count to 11 and subtract Mary Beth, head back onto the road. (I wasn’t going to mention this, but Gary told me to go ahead and include it. Renate captured it pretty well with her camera. It looks like Gary clipped in ok with his right foot and then missed with his left. He got off-balance and ended up on his back with his bike in the air. All the water in his aero-bottle ended up on him. It was entertaining. We tried to reassure Gary that all of us had done something similar in our careers, and that he shouldn’t beat himself up over it. As they say, nothing hurt but your pride.) |
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Then it was on to the second water stop at 45.5 miles. We rode across the Muddy Run Dam which was entertaining and twisted and turned and made it just a bit from the Maryland border. Heck, we rode on something called “Mason Dixon Road”. The water stop was just a solo van giving out water. Along with Renate, of course. She had already recognized the value of cold water and had stopped for the first of many times at a convenience store for water and ice. It was a relatively quick stop for us and we were off in search of food.
And that was at 55.8 miles. I skarfed down a couple of peanut butter and jelly half sandwiches. Grabbed a Snickers energy bar for later (didn’t even come close to wanting to eat it, ever). Got a fresh, cold perpetuem/hammer gel bottle from Renate. Filled up a water bottle with Gatorade. Counted to 11 and subtracted Mary Beth. And we were off. Renate got pictures as we were leaving then we had to hold up – for something or other – before heading off. (I think the volunteer lady counted up the people who had checked in and said there were only 12 other people that hadn’t arrived. As I mentioned, the great majority of people left at the 4 am time which ended up being about 4:15 am. And anybody competing in the event as a “competition” of some kind had to leave at the 5:30 am departure time. Those guys were interesting. They’d just pull into a stop, fill up their bottles and leave. I actually only saw that happen at the first water stop. They were long gone by later stops. I’ll be curious to see what their riding times were for the day.) Section 2 (66.5 Miles – Or was that 66.6 miles seeing how hot it was.) |
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 Leaving the first food stop in Octorara Jay & Steve . . . Jody, Mary, Joanne, & Stuart . . . Al & Joel . . . Ken (Gary is already up the hill.) |
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It was probably right around 9 am at this point, and it was already sauna-like. Pretty much the entire ride after the first food stop turned into a water station to water station to food station type of thing. And repeat. At some point on the ride to the 71.6 mile water stop, we lost Ken and Al. We were at the water stop for a couple of minutes when Ken pulled in and said that Al was in trouble with cramps. Ken asked Renate to hang around to give Al the option of retiring for the day. We were down to nine little riders. About half an hour after that, we started riding on roads that I regularly ride on my Lancaster County loop. (Normally, I go through the intersection of Blank and Plank roads. It’s one of my all-time favorites. Ken, also known as MapQuestBoy because of his infatuation with everything mapical, knows of the intersection. I asked if we should make a slight detour. He replied, seriously, that it wasn’t on the course. I had to tell him I was joking. I’m still not sure if he recognizes that.) And shortly thereafter we started riding on the section that Stuart, Jody, and I (along with Katie, another friend with more brains than we had since she was resting comfortably on this day) tested the Saturday before the event (in much cooler conditions, I might add). Somewhere in this section, our group really started disintegrating. There are a couple of steep climbs on Churchtown Road and Jody, Joel, Stuart, and Gary fell off the back somewhere. We were pretty much down to five (Mary, Joanne, Ken, Jay, and me) at the water stop at the 85.3 mile mark. Everybody is going through lots of water. Renate had started buying Gatorade, since there wasn’t any at the intermittent water stations, and that was very helpful. Joanne and I took a Motrin and everybody was taking lots of electrolytes. There were four or five riders sitting in chairs in the shade. It didn’t look like they were in any hurry to get back on their bikes. We made it back on the road without getting sucked into the chairs. Renate was going to hang around for the rest of our group. She walked across the street to the Sunoco station and there were Stuart, Joel, and Jody (we had stopped here last week and Jody and Stuart thought this was the actual water station.) (I got this next bit from a phone conversation the next day with Jody. There’s a point, at Churchtown Road and Beaver Dam Road, where Jody can make a right and be about 45 minutes from home. She waited here for Stuart, recognizing that she was not going to make it to the end. Joel came up first and said he wasn’t going to make it either and was going to call his wife. They agreed that the next water stop, at Rte. 322, would be a good spot to be picked up. Stuart was non-committal about ending early, but was leaning towards plugging along to finish. Either way, they were going to ride to the next water stop.) Joel had had enough. He called his wife and she was on her way to pick him up. Jody tossed in the towel here, as well. Renate recognized Al as he was making the turn and called out to him. He decided to take the ride back to the start. Stuart decided to shoulder on alone. (Gary lives right near this point and he called it a day and went home. I also spoke with Gary the next day and found out that he had missed a turn and decided to at that point that he was done. Renate was concerned when she didn’t see him and called him and found that out. Jody had previously called to try and find him.) So, our original group of ten was now down to a pack of five and Stuart. (On this day, there was absolutely no shame in pulling out at any point in time. It was a brutal day with temps in the mid- to high-90’s and an equal amount of humidity. No shade and relentless hills. It was not a day for any intelligent person to be out and about.) At this point there’s not much to do but ride. So we ride. Ken, Jay, and I lose Mary and Joanne in the hills. (Mary is one of the best descenders I’ve seen, to the point where we were calling her “Downhill Mary”, but she didn’t have as much power on the climbs.) Ken and Jay would usually get a little gap on me on the downhills and the rare flats, but I could catch up and then Jay and I would lead the uphills. There was an “unofficial” water station at the 99 mile mark. Basically, a family set up a tent with jugs of water on their front lawn. They had two things that made it perfect. Orange quarters that Ken, Jay, and I inhaled. ( We got to the point of wondering if maybe we should save some for later riders.) And they also had a hose that we doused ourselves with. (I think we pulled out of this spot before Mary and Joanne arrived.) A couple of things from this section of the day. Right after leaving the “unofficial” aid station there’s a healthy downhill section. Ken’s wife, Cathy, and his kids were planning on meeting him at the Adamstown food stop. We were running late and Cathy wanted to check in. Ken doesn’t own a cell phone, afraid of technology, I guess, so he gave her Jay’s number. Cathy called while Jay was barreling down the hill at 35 mph. Why he answered, I don’t know, but he did. And told her we were less than 30 minutes away. Later, I remember looking at my odometer when it read about 106 miles. And I mentioned to Ken and Jay that any other time I’d ridden this far during a race, I had to follow it up with a marathon. Today I didn’t have a marathon, but the plan was still to do the 200 mile option and follow that up with a two mile run. Just because.
It was nice to sit a bit and chat. Cathy was entertaining. I made some comment about having to peel my own orange because my sherpa was out getting me more Coke. Cathy was ready to grab it out of my hands, but I wouldn’t let her. Then I asked if anybody had an extra napkin and she was about to jump up and go get one until I took one from Mary. Meanwhile, Ken’s boys are conquering the world or something on their Gameboys. Finally, it’s time to leave. Restock fuel and water on the bikes. While Ken, Jay, and I were posing for a few pictures, Mary and Joanne hit the road. Then we were off. Less than a hundred miles to go. Renate was going to hang around until Stuart made it in. She mentioned that he arrived about 20 minutes after we left. She then kept him company until he was ready to return to the battle. Stuart is one of the strongest people, mentally, we know and Renate said that once he had his mind set on continuing she knew he was going to finish. (I heard later that so many people dropped at this station that the race director had to scramble to find a way to get them back to the start. Renate said that somebody was able to procure a bus and that’s how they all got back.)
| The VFW was as far as we had gone during our test ride of the weekend before, so it would all be new to me. And looming ahead, at about the 116 mark, was the biggest, baddest hill on the course. Swamp Church Road. It was billed as a half mile or so climb at 18%. Enough to send shivers up the spines of us mortal riders. (I still wonder what kind of church is on “Swamp Church” road. And what kind of swamp can be at the top of this kind of hill.) The three of us are pedaling along and we come to a stop sign and there don’t appear to be any orange markings on the road. I pull out the cue sheet and we’re supposed to make a right turn off Black Horse Road onto Rte. 897. Well, the street sign has some weird name and we’re hoping we don’t have to ride back up this hill on an oil and chipped road because we missed a turn. A truck goes by, and apparently they know what’s going on because when we yell “Is this 897” they’re already nodding their heads and pointing us forward. So we head onward, to our impending demise on Swamp Church Road. A couple more turns and then we’re on it. Swamp Church Road. When we get there, it’s flat and peaceful. We come around a bend and a collective “Holy Sh!t” reverberates. Off in the distance a little bit, the road goes straight up to the sky. There’s a group of ten or so riders ahead. We figure Mary and Joanne are in that bunch. Ken, Jay, and I catch the group and start riding past. I think all three of us asked Joanne, as we rode by, “Where’s Mary?” I think if she had to tell one more person, “She’s up ahead” she would have used some extra words. Then we see a lone rider up in the distance start to climb this monster. She gets maybe a quarter of the way up and it’s over. She’s walking. Jay and I are next on the hill, leading the pack. I tell Jay we have to at least ride past Mary before we start walking. I mention that it’s just steady up the hill. And we ride. You can’t see the top of the hill, the road bends to the left. I mention to Jay that I’m redlining. I vaguely remember seeing my heart rate in the mid-170’s (pretty much max for me on the bike). Mostly I’m seeing stars. I have no idea what’s happening behind me. I’m a little behind Jay. I’m wobbling, but still going forward. Man, this hurts. At least it’s shady. We make the bend. More uphill. And then we see a car pulled over on the left. There’s a couple there. A guy in biker costume that’s not part of the race (he’s going to help his friend in for the rest of the ride), and his wife. Jay asks if this is the top and we’re grateful to hear a “yes”. I tell Jay that we’ll stop and wait for Ken. It couldn’t have been long, I’m going to guess less than a minute. The guy there has done the event before and he says the worst of the day is over. I’ll believe that when my heart stops hammering and I can breathe somewhat normally. That takes awhile. Soon enough we see Ken’s blue helmet poke it’s head up. He’s followed by two other guys. As far as I know, out of this little group of 15 or so riders, everybody else walked the hill. Absolutely no shame in that. It was the toughest climb I’ve ever done. After taking a couple more minutes to regroup, we headed off for the water stop about six miles distant. Somewhere in this stretch I commented to Ken and Jay that my legs felt absolutely terrific. Then I mentioned that I thought I had killed every nerve in them on that climb. We blew past the water station at Cocalico Church, basically a guy and a gal and a van with water, and had to U-turn back. Pouring ice cold water over our heads. Man, what a treat. The volunteers mentioned that there wasn’t a whole lot between this point and the third food stop, mostly rollers, but that it was wide open so there wasn’t much shade. At this point in the day, even the shady spots seemed to be in the high-90’s. Mary and then Joanne pulled in and we left together. This was the only stop that we didn’t connect with Renate. I mentioned to the volunteers that when a silver Jeep pulled in to please let the driver know that we were here and gone. Section 3 (55 Miles – Piece of cake, warm, gooey, melted cake that is.) Ken, Jay, and I soon dropped the girls. We were working up this moderate hill (ah, how our sense of perception about hills had changed since Swamp Church) and were directed by orange arrows on the road to make a right turn. It was a very steep hairpin turn onto a very chewed up road. (We found out later that Joanne had turned around before making this turn and had gone back to the water station. She’d had enough. Her day was about 130 miles. I made sure to tell her afterwards, when we were all hanging around at the finish, that nothing in Kona in October would even come close to what she had done today. I think that made her feel better about her upcoming Ironman in Hawaii.) We made a left hand turn off that chewed up road, about 1.5 miles worth of that stuff, and I vaguely remember being aware of Mary behind us. So, in addition to “Downhill Mary” she earned “Mountain Bike Mary” for aggressively riding that patch. There was no sign of Joanne and we hoped that she had made it ok. Not realizing that she was back at the aid station where she had hooked up with Renate. (Speaking of which, Renate made it to the aid station and saw Joanne. The volunteers told her our group had already been there and was gone. And then Joanne mentioned that she had come back and was done. Renate didn’t want to miss us again at the next stop, so she gave the volunteers a cold Mt. Dew to give to Stuart when he arrived. She and Joanne loaded up Joanne’s bike and then they were off to the third food stop at the Tree Top Golf Club. We got word later that every guy that pulled into the water stop was asked if he was Stuart. When Stuart actually arrived and said, yes, he was Stuart, he was handed a cold Mt. Dew. It would have been nice to have seen the look on his face.) We had separated a little from Mary and we passed a SAG wagon on the side of the road. They mentioned that the food stop was about six miles distant. That seemed long. (This was probably the worst section of riding, as far as heat and fuel went. Missing Renate at the Cocalico Church stop meant I didn’t get the can of Coke or the Gatorade I was hoping for. I still had half a bottle of perpetuem/hammer gel and half a bottle of Gatorade as well as two bottles of water. And I think I went through pretty much all of it on the twenty mile stretch to the golf club.) But, as we made a right turn, we saw a sign that said the golf course was 3.5 miles away. Much better than the six miles we were told. On this stretch Renate went driving by and Joanne waved and yelled from the passenger seat, so at least we knew she was ok.
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 Jay first this time, then Ken, followed by Steve, and, soon thereafter, Mary at the final water stop.
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Once again, Renate was waiting for us at the water station with cold Coke and just about anything else we’d need. She had gotten a phone call from Stuart while she was at the golf club and he was helping a rider that had been overwhelmed with the heat. Stuart waited until a SAG wagon arrived and then resumed riding with the father of the guy who was picked up. (Stuart and the guy’s father ended up finishing the ride together.) So, Renate and Joanne just left another cold Mt. Dew at the food stop for Stuart and then headed to the final aid station. Tim, Mary’s husband, was also there. He had gone out fishing while we were riding and had no luck at all. Mostly he just sat in his boat and sweated. And probably swore at the stupid fish.
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