And no, I'm not (really) talking about your own dreams of cat-6, just-shaved-my-legs, bought-a-power-meter, blew-my-retirement-nest-egg cycling glory...I'm talking about charity rides, and post-racing season in the mid-South is really charity ride season, with a whole host of events coming off as the summer heat
But let me plug my new personal favorite, the Tour d'Attala Cycling Club's Little Mountain Ride--along with the top ten reasons why I'd do it again:
- Local Hospitality: A few days before the ride, we saw notices posted up on our local cycling group discussion board inviting us to come on down and check out the ride. So, knowing that hey, 70 miles was about right for what I wanted to do that time of year, I registered, forced Davis to split gas once again, checked the air in my tires, and got ready to head down to Kosciusko, MS, a small town at the geographical center of the state of Mississippi named after (but not really pronounced like) the eighteenth-century Polish hero who brought his expertise in anti-Russian insurgency to North America, serving as a conduit for foreign aid to the rambunctious anti-royalist colonists we sometimes refer to as the Founding Fathers.
- Pre-Ride Pasta: Once Davis and I made the quick trek down I-55 and over to "Kosy," as the locals call it, we found local rider, club energizer, and all-around great guy Claude, who was pre-gaming with a few visitors from Chattanooga (who says you can't rehab a torn quad by riding 70 miles?!?). From there, we followed his lead over to Miss Donna's house, where we found a terrific spread of home-cooked pasta, bread, wine, and more insanely good brownies (note to self: take extreme care with the espresso brownies!) and cookies than I care to acknowledge.
- Pre-Ride Camaraderie: It turns out we weren't the only ones with the right idea, and we soon found ourselves enjoying the company of riders from across the mid-south. There's nothing like a charity ride to bring together people who have ridiculously big racks on their cars, who like spandex, and who just generally love bikes. We shut down the joint and took Donna up on her generous offer of a place to stay for the night. It's not often that you see that kind of giving spirit, but I'd wager that it's not all that unusual amongst this group of people.
- The Trace: Silky smooth pavement, good sightlines, gentle but challenging hills, low traffic on a weekend morning, and all that with pleasant, peaceful scenery. And the occasional deer bolting in front of the lead vehicle, but hey...that could happen anywhere. All's well that ends well.
- Rain--what Rain?!?: It drizzled just a little on us as the ride was starting, and turned into a full-blown pour by the time we hit the end of the first hour, but that didn't seem to deter too many people. A rider near me remarked that he would have loved his glasses, but honestly, it wasn't much better with than without. I had to lower my glasses and look over the top in an effort to block the roostertail of the rider in front while avoiding the fog- and splash-induced visibility problems.
- Oops--I thought this was a Ride!: And at first, indeed, it looked like it would be. The front end of the group set a leisurely pace, and the shorter-distance riders would fall back on the hills and come charging back to the front on the downhills. But somewhere at the end of the first hour, it became apparent that someone had some fitness to maintain. A few riders tried to push the pace in what sort of looked like attacks, but this was a charity ride, so--no, they couldn't be. And most of the surgers would just sort of drift back to the pack. Eventually, however, the pace became serious enough that the guys on tri bikes (more than a few, and were definitely making me feel a little alarmed, especially with my wrist still delicate) had some trouble covering the surges. Tired of the occasional sketchiness, I tried to cheerlead for a higher pace and even once tried to just make a move, but found myself with just one rider in tow. Finally, people seemed to remember that there were in fact polka-dotted "KOM" jerseys for the first ten riders to the halfway point (the ride's eponymous Little Mountain) and three riders associated with Jackson's Bike Crossing started laying down a decisive tempo. A small bunch got away from the main group, and Davis bridged up, and for the next ten miles or so, we got some nice practice working in a fast-paced "break" of sorts. Once the split had been established, a quick count revealed seven of us, and no chasers close, so knowing that we all had jerseys, we moderated the pace and pulled together for a while.
- Little Mountain: Before the actual little mountain, there is a rise I'm pretty sure the local riders refer to as the "Holy Ghost." I don't know why, precisely, but I can tell you that when Dave and his fellow Bike Crossing riders decided to lay down a strong tempo on the rise, it meant immediately, no questions asked, just like that, we went from seven to four. The Ghost had claimed a few more victims. Coming into the final climb, Little Mountain, we eased into the park, and I let the two big guys take a courtesy pull. As the pavement turned upward, I pulled around, and another rider from Natchez followed. Awesome, I thought, no more rain roostertails in my field of view. The road wound upward, twisting sensuously upward. I kept the tempo up, and a glance confirmed that the two big guys were gone; and the last rider, Scott (who may or may not have been tuning up for his recent good day at the LAMBRA road race championships) hung on my shoulder.
- The Jersey: I let Scott around, thinking that the pace was still high enough that I might benefit from a draft. As we neared the top of the climb--there was no "finish line" per se, just some timers and cheerleaders as the road leveled out--I tried halfheartedly to move up on Scott's right, but he edged me over toward the edge of the pavement. I must not have been too hard to hear coming, gasping like a beached whale. And when I dropped around to his left and tried again, it was a tad too late, and no sense doing anything dangerous in the rain, anyway. I had my jersey. Soon after, we saw our other breakmates hauling up the hill, with Davis fifth, and Austin, another Oxford rider, snagging a jersey as well.
- Post-Ride Festivities: The rest of the ride was just as nice--the front group kept the pace high, giving us a nice solid 3-hour workout (and keeping the core body temperature out of the hypothermia danger zone). Upon our return, we cleaned up at the house and rolled back down to the start/finish to gobble cold-cut sandwiches,chocolate milk, and other assorted goodies.
- I don't know who won, but I'm pretty sure Cancer Lost. Add to that the fact that this was a first-year event, and I'm even more impressed with the snag-free, fun, and generally polished execution. So, even if your once-larger-than-life heroes were secretly on the juice all along, you can still be someone's life-affirming fundraising hero as you indulge your way-too-expensive, self-centered, hypercompetitive cycling self...
