Thursday morning started early to make an unofficial breakfast at Cristina's - well worth the early wakeup call to begin the day with this crew. The food was great and the company was even better.
We all hopped in our respective cars and rolled caravan-style into Lost River State Park, our home for the next 4 days. I had packed like I was staying in a third world country - every bit of cycling clothing I could even pretend might be useful, layers ranging from sunny and 70degrees to the arctic and shoes for every occasion. Ok, I only brought 3 pair of shoes but, still, that was like a different pair for each night.
I changed into my cycling gear and high-tailed it down to the base of the camp. It was pretty chilly so I chose my tights and my favorite thermal jacket with appropriate base layering. As we waited for the final group to descend from the cabins, we learned that camp started with a casualty ... on the way down from the cabin, Kent's head-tube broke, throwing him into the woods and rendering the bike useless. Thankfully, he was physically ok and happened to have his spare bike (who brings a spare bike to camp?!? bravo for the foresight!)
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| The Cabin next to ours - they're actually pretty awesome inside |
Assured that he was ok, the rest of us got rolling. Let me state up front that I knew from previous rides that I. HATE. DOVE. HOLLOW. It sounds all peaceful and stuff but it's pure hell - crappy surface, wheel-eating potholes and random patches of pea-gravel that doesn't announce itself the way a polite, peaceful road would. Anyway, this crew was ready to go and our warm up was hanging on to wheels for dear life through that minefield. A few miles into it, I noticed that I had lost my girls so I sat up to check on everyone. Once I reconnected with them, Luis comes flying by (having checked on Kent before rolling out) so I hopped on his wheel. He's trying to catch the main group and I figured - I'll take that ride. It's cold and we are not going slow - between my eyes tearing up and the shadows, I didn't see the road turn into pebble-gravel as I took a sweeping left turn. Less than 5miles into the camp, I slid out in a pretty grand fashion.
As we bike racers tend to do, I hopped up immediately and took inventory, wasting no time to get back on and pedal. I was hurt but not injured so I intended to use the adrenaline to catch back up with the group. My plan was thwarted when another teammate stood at the top of a small descent, telling me to slow down. I slowly crested the hill to see a melee - a random sheet of ice had taken down several guys, some of whom were still on the ground.
Damage report for day 1 - at least three broken bikes (maybe four?), two dislocated fingers (turns out one was broken), some bruised ribs (again, turns out one was broken), a bunch of bumps and bruises and half my arse left on the pavement. What a start to this weekend!!
After a death-march of a ride in the wind, the next task was to treat the wounded - that would be me. Bike was ok but I had some road rash in places that required assistance. Gwenn went in search of bandages and sent Claudette over with her recently-replenished first aid kit. While we have had the pleasure of riding and/or hanging out a time or two this winter, I'm certain she never thought she'd have to help bandage my arse. Bless you, Claudette - you are super-awesome-cool - and I thought that before you had a look at my bum.
What's the best way to finish off a day like this? A team dinner. The chance to tell stories, eat good food you didn't have to cook and generally enjoy each other's company - happy that we made it through the calamity? or just happy to be there to share the adventure? All of the above if you ask me. The glass of wine Jeff poured for me helped my overall disposition - of that I am certain.
Of course some of us chose a different way to celebrate our survival. To each their own, right?






