One Down, 49 to Go

When you do something for the first time, whether it's giving a speech in front of a group of people, or going for your first job interview, or bicycling across Maine, you enter the activity with an awkward mix of trepidation over treading into unknown territory, and a confidence borne of naivete concerning just what it is you are really about to face. This was certainly how I felt as my girlfriend, Denise, and I embarked on the "Trek Across Maine," a three-day, 170 mile bicycle trip to benefit the American Lung Association.

The feeling of trepidation was compounded by the fact that our bikes were sitting in Indiana until about two weeks before the event. While seemingly everyone else was participating in 30-50 mile training rides for weeks, or even months, prior to the Trek, we were merely trying to maintain some semblance of physical fitness. While we both run to keep in shape, that activity, too, had been curtailed due to a variety of circumstances, not the least of which was trying to fit all of this in while building a new house and planning and completing a move. A persistent knee injury also had me wondering if I would be able to complete a single day, much less the full 170 miles.

As it worked out, I had exactly one "training" ride, and it was merely about 10 miles. Hilly miles, but only 10 of them nonetheless. The primary thing I came away from that training ride with was a healthy respect for Mother Nature and an understanding that even though the calendar said "June," one could still be downright freezing after riding into a stiff, cold wind. We had what seemed like an unusually cool spring, and after my training ride, gloves, a hat, and a fleece pullover where on the top of my packing list for the Trek.

They say that if you don't like the weather in Maine, wait a minute (I've come to find that they say that in a lot of places, but people like to think things are special here, so we'll go with it), and that was certainly the case on our bike ride. The hat, gloves, and fleece turned out to be unnecessary luggage filler. On Friday, the first day of the ride, the temperature climbed to the mid 80s. On Saturday, depending on which bank temperature sign you believed, it was even hotter, reaching either 88 or 92 degrees. Sunday brought some much needed relief, with temperatures comfortably in the low 70s and much lower humidity.

Day 1

The Trek is billed as "Sunday River to the Sea," which they felt was clever enough to secure the phrase as a registered trademark. Sunday River, aside from being an actual river, is also the name of a ski resort in the western Maine town of Bethel (actually, I believe it is in Newry, but Bethel is the closest identifiable "big" town). And it was here, at the out-of-season resort, that the Trek began. The day before, we had registered for the Trek and turned in our pledge money (I collected a total of $615 - thanks very much to all of you who donated!), so we were ready to ride the first thing in the morning.

We were riding mountain bikes, and were somewhat concerned that we might be the only ones doing so. We were relieved to find that not everyone was a hardcore, spandex-spouting, touring bike Speed Racer-type cyclist. We were in it for the fun and exercise, and it was good to see that a lot of people felt the same way.

In keeping with the spirit of the non-competitive nature of the event, the start was staggered, with about 50 cyclists taking off about every 10 minutes or so . There were about 1600 cyclists participating in the event, and none of the roads on the route were closed to automobile traffic, so it was imperative that people were spread out a bit. When we finally reached our "starting group," I noted that the time was 7:40 a.m. Well, okay, I must admit that we cheated a little. We were tired of waiting at the starting line, so when we were told that we would be the first in the next group of cyclists to go, we just sort of sneaked in with the row in front of us.

Mercifully, the first two and a half miles were all downhill. A great way to start out a marathon bike ride.

And so we headed out of Sunday River on our way towards Farmington. The first day was the longest of the whole trip - we had 68 miles ahead of us before our butts could dismount their rather uncomfortable perch. And seeing as how this stretch would take us through the western mountains, we expected some rather challenging cycling.

Probably the most wonderful thing about the Trek was that it was incredibly well organized. They positioned rest stops every fifteen miles or so where weary or soon-to-be-weary riders could get as much water, juice, or sports drinks as necessary, along with fruit, bagels, granola bars, and on and on and on. If I had any designs on losing weight from all this riding, that notion quickly evaporated after experiencing the first rest stop. The challenge would be to not overeat, rather tjhan dealing with not getting enough to eat.

And porta-potties. Each rest stop had a most welcome row of porta-potties where one could get rid of all those fluids they acquired at the previous rest stop. And while this was the one place where one was sure to encounter a line, the lines went quickly and those in line were highly civilized about the whole affair.

As the miles accumulated and Farmington grew nearer, a pleasant reality set in. This Trek thing really wasn't that difficult. The most I had ever ridden before was 50 miles in a day in the "Hilly Hundred," in Indiana. As the name implies, that was quite hilly and had me pretty warn out by the end. As I passed the 50 mile mark in the Trek Across Maine, I marveled at how good I felt. Another 18 miles would be no problem. And although there certainly were hills on this ride, they seemed to be more spread out and gradual, and, therefore, more manageable, than the hills in Indiana. The scenery was beautiful, the company pleasant, and the rest stops refreshing. Any reservations I had had about participating in this even had dissipated. I couldn't imagine too many other ways that I would rather be spending a beautiful June day.

At the last rest stop of the day, anticipation of the "baked potatoes" was on everyone's mind. Apparently it had become tradition to give the riders a baked potato, with choice of toppings, at the end of the ride. After about 55 miles of riding, the appeal of fruit and granola bars grew thin, and we were certainly ready for some "real" food. "Baked potato" was all we needed to hear to motivate us to pedal those last 13 miles.

And, yes, the baked potato lived up to its billing. Had they not limited us to one apiece, I'm sure we would have sampled at least three.

It was nice to know what 68 miles felt like. And it was nice to know that with each subsequent day, there would be fewer miles to pedal. It was also very nice to see that we had made the smart decision to stay in a hotel in Farmington for the night. Basically, trekkers are given three lodging options - camping out, sleeping on a cot in the fieldhouse at the local university, or finding one's own accommodations in a local hotel. Denise insisted on the hotel option and, in retrospect, I think it was a very good decision to make. Had I done the Trek alone, I would have been camping, but after beating up your body on a bike all day, I'm sure sleeping on the hard ground would have been less than satisfying.
In keeping with the superb organization of the event, they provided a secure place to store our bikes and provided shuttle service to and from local motels. Dinner was at the cafeteria at U Maine Farmington, and the food was plentiful and quite good. We limited ourselves to a few beers afterwards and headed back to the motel for a well-deserved nights rest. Tomorrow, we would shoot for a 6 a.m. start - late night partying was out of the question.

Day 2

Five a.m. and out of bed. Our butts are a little sore, but other than that the body seems to be holding up well. It is already 69 degrees and promises to get much warmer as the day progresses. Hard to fathom that just a few days ago my hands were turning blue from the cold.

We bid the motel adieu and board the shuttle back to the university. More than one person noted the rather unusual scenario whereby the motel sported a "No Vacancy" sign, yet the parking lot was empty. Only the lounge chairs covered with bicycle shorts and shirts set out for drying gave any indication that the seemingly abandoned motel was, in fact, full of life.

Breakfast. Eggs, sausage, hash browns, pancakes, bagels, fruit, fruit, and more fruit. None of us were starving.

We did manage to get on our way at about 6:20 a.m. Today's destination was Colby College in Waterville, 55 miles away. Our goal was to get there before noon to avoid as much heat as possible. As we would soon discover, however, it was impossible to avoid the heat on this day.

Getting back on the bike reminded me a bit of what it's like to jump into the cold ocean on a hot day. You look forward to the relief provided by the cool waters, but you have to coax yourself into getting past the initial shock of jumping in. We knew that every mile we peddled was one mile closer to Colby, but getting on the bike knowing that you had to peddle another 55 miles took quite a bit of fortitude.

Officially, people were supposed to start on this second day anytime between 7 and 10 a.m. It's safe to say, however, that the majority of the Trekkers left before 7 a.m. Support, in the form of rest stops and support vehicles, did not begin before 7, but we managed to time things so that it would be after 7 by the time we reached the first rest stop.

It would be difficult to categorize any particular portion of the Trek as more difficult than another in terms of the terrain. Although the western mountains did have the elevation, the "ups and downs" were generally gradual. There was probably one major hill climb on each of the three days, and more than a few Trekkers walked their bikes during this stretch, but both Denise an I felt the terrain was easier than what we had encountered in southern Indiana. There was just more of it on this outing.

Fluids were most welcome at the first rest stop. By the second rest stop, temperatures had climbed well into the 80s with humidity near 100 percent. My T-shirt was soaked by this point and I decided to ride without it despite the potential for severe sunburn. I was too busy packing hats and gloves to even think about sunblock. And although they did provide sunblock and lotions at the rest stops, it was often the case that the bottles were emptied almost as soon as they were put out. Nonetheless, I could no longer stand wearing a sweat-drenched T-shirt. From that point on, I become known as "the topless guy."

I had never been to Colby College, but a steeple from one of the buildings on campus rises high above the city of Waterville, so it is easy to pick out as you drive by. About 48 miles into today's ride, the steeple came into sight. That was the good news. The bad news was that the reason it is so visible is because the college sits on the top of a hill. "Uphill" is not something you want to hear when you are hot, sweaty, and tired. But you just keep peddling. When at last I found myself on the entrance road to the college, I passed a group from the Corning team (many riders were part of corporate teams), and someone called out, "hey, there's topless guy." One would think that in a group of 1600 riders riding in 90 degree weather, more than one of us would have taken his shirt off. But, apparently not.

The holy grail at the end of the ride today was Pizza Hut pizza. The sign said "two slices per rider please." Let it be known that I cheated - I had sweated off far more than two slices of pizza that day, and this topless guy needed replenishing.

Colby College is a private college that is often listed as one of the most expensive in the country. The facilities would bear that out - the buildings and grounds were immaculate. Certainly different from the state university I attended.

We were going to stay at a motel in Waterville, but about a week before the Trek, we got a call from a Trek volunteer informing us that the motel where we had booked our reservations was closed for renovations and they hadn't bothered to tell anybody. To avoid a slew of homeless Trekkers, the organizers arranged to have an extra dorm at Colby opened to accommodate all those who had made reservations at the motel. So, for one night, we got to re-live our college years (albeit in a more cushy setting, and with air conditioning!). The only unfortunate thing about this whole experience was that they expected you to bring your own bed linens and we didn't. So we slept on whatever non-sweat-soaked clothes we could cobble together.

A few hours after we finished up our ride, a thunderstorm rolled through the area. There were only a few riders still out, and they got soaked of course, but the storm did manage to sweep away the humidity and hot temperatures. Sunday was looking a lot more promising, weather-wise.

The rest of the afternoon consisted of still more food, a few beers, a trip into town to the LL Bean outlet, and early to bed. At dinner time, it was tradition to give the riders a "casualty" report. With over 1,600 riders, there are sure to be a few mishaps. A couple of broken collar bones, a few cases of dehydration, and more than a few instances of "road rash" (a euphemistic term for taking a spill and exchanging your skin for gravel) pretty much summed up the injuries. Not bad for such a large undertaking.

The organizers held a dance that supposedly lasted until 11 p.m. We couldn't quite figure out who would have the energy to stay up for the dance and ride again tomorrow, but apparently there are those who do. Guess we'll need a little more practice at these things.

Day 3

What a difference a day makes. Unlike the day before, it is a very comfortable 55 degrees to start out. But, before we began the ride, we had to have breakfast, of course. Oatmeal, scrambled eggs, waffles, sausage, fruit, bagels, muffins, and on and on. I'm getting pretty tired of eating by this point, so I bypass a big breakfast.

The anticipation of finishing up the ride seems to resonate throughout the campus. We manage to get off and riding at a little after 6 a.m. By now, the "routine" has become routine - it's as if we expect to knock off a 50 mile ride each morning. Today's ride is the shortest of the three days at 47.6 miles.

The first rest stop is welcome, but since the temperature and humidity is so much more obliging than the day before, it seems as the only real purpose of the stop is to go the bathroom. We really haven't worked up a thirst, and we certainly haven't worked up an appetite.

The scenery on day three is pretty, but since most of the ride follows Route 3, a familiar route from Augusta to Belfast, there is none of the sense of discovery that the Trek presented on the first two days. Once again, there is no shortage of hills (this ain't Iowa, after all), and it seems that there is a lot more walking being done up the hills on this, the third day, than there was at the start. But for all of you who contributed to my ride, make no mistake - I was not one of the ones walking their bikes up the hills - I rode the entire course.

There were only three rest stops on this day, and a sure sign that we were either in shape or in "the groove" was that by the time we got to the third one, we didn't even want to stop. Nature called, however, so we did make a brief visit but moved on without any food or drink. While there, I overheard a woman complain that it was coming to an end too soon. On a beautiful day like today, I had to agree.

As we passed the "Belfast" sign at the city limits, a quiet contentment came over me. We weren't quite yet at the finish (the finish was the "sea" and that was a good five miles or so away), but it was now very apparent that we were going to complete the 170 mile journey that seemed so far away just a few days ago.

Belfast rises up from the bay rather sharply, so the ride in was a delightful downhill coast through the historic downtown. Police officers stopped traffic for us, a few people here and there clapped and shouted encouragement, and the sparkling blue sea came into view. As we rounded a corner and headed for the Steamboat Landing oceanfront park, spectators (mostly those who had come to pick up riders) lined either side of the road and cheered us in. At the finish, volunteers handed us a medal to signify that we had, at last, completed our journey. It was only 10:30 a.m., so not only had we completed the Trek, but we would have the bulk of the beautiful day to relax and reflect on our accomplishment.

Of course, the organizers could not resist one last opportunity to feed us. A roast turkey dinner and a live band were planned for the afternoon. Denise was all for getting cleaned up before the afternoon's festivities, so after stopping to take a few pictures, we hopped back on our bikes and took the five mile ride back to our house. When at last we made it home, I stopped to get the mail from the mailbox and then headed down the driveway. With one had on the handlebars and the other clutching three days worth of mail, I picked up speed going down the winding, gravel driveway. After 175 miles of flawless riding, I managed to lose control and wipe out in my own driveway, acquiring my own sampling of "road rash."

Thanks again to all of you who contributed to the American Lung Association of Maine on my behalf. The following are a few statistics compiled by the organizers:

Number of cyclists: 1,600+
Amount contributed to the ALAM: over $1 million
Baked potatoes consumed: 2,500
Gallons of spring water: 4,000
Peanut butter crackers: 21,600
Granola bars: 12,000
Bananas: 15,000
Pizza: 8,000 slices
Ice: 4,800 pounds
Fig bars: 30,000
Fresh fruit: 20,000 pieces
Servings of ice cream: 3,500
Bagels and muffins: 6,000
Trail mix: 250 pounds