San Felasco- A tiresome end to a tiresome saga

The weather was warm and lovely. The course was fast and fun for the most part. My bike was working. My legs were working. And yet…

Minutes away from the lunch station I crossed paths with every single person that I knew in the event as they all departed lunch in happy little packs of three to six. No matter I thought to myself, a quick lunch, a second wind- then run them down like the dogs they are. I slurped down some soup and crammed three pb & j’s in my face as I sat down to stretch out the hams. All around me spandex-wrapped honkies brayed and chortled at a variety of inside jokes. Snippets of heart monitor comparisons, something about a little Van Morrison in the I-pod. Was this me? Were these my people? In a horrifying realization I determined that yes, I did in fact belong here. I checked the time. 12:40 P:M. Plenty of time to turn it around and hump the last 24 miles out, and yet…

I found myself focusing with tunnel vision on a red arrow that said “bail”. “BAIL, BAIL, BAIL, BAIL” echoed in my brain. I pictured myself napping in the sun. I followed the red signs.
Four miles later, in a trance of indifference, I loaded my truck and rolled out- a clean break from the 50 and all the harassment that accompanied its arrival. Over. Now there would be new harrassment. I think change is nice.

As I arrived back at the pole barn, Ma Ingalls was loading up to drive the covered wagon to Fort Ocala to do some trading and I found myself strolling the aisles of BED, BATH, & BEYOND shopping for bundles of cinnamon pinecones, plastic re-usable ice cubes, and “massaging implements”.

There are so many excuses that there is really no challenge in using them. The too long ride the day before. The endless hours in the car, the plane, the restaurants, the bad hotel beds, important family commitments and amazing life events, you see? I could do this all day.

Bailing is easy, and I suppose that is why people do it. See you there next year!

Send in the harpies-


8 Responses to San Felasco- A tiresome end to a tiresome saga

  1. Was bailing on San Felasco somehow less honorable than Momma bailing at the ticket counter bound for Paris for the simple reason that I did not want to go? Are we shooting for A+ in attendance here? 😉

  2. What? the race was LAST week, I was totally going to go and ride that thing!
    Oh well, at least I didn’t bail halfway through.

  3. You’ve been foreshadowing anticipated failure for awhile now; no surprise the denouement is more Jay McInerney than James Fennimore Cooper. I felt fine bailing at lunch last year after early cramps, but I didn’t have to run the gauntlet at the pole barn. Maybe a road event next time? April brings the 2-day double metric century in April at the TOSRV.

  4. You live to ride another day, and you’ll ride hard and long until either there’s nothing left or your enemies are ground to dust, but on this day, you bailed. It was a momentary loss of faith coupled with a downhill path to the parking lot, pure and simple.

    You don’t know what you had or what might have happened or how you might have felt or been inspired or what groove you might have found or who you might have found to latch onto, chase for 24 miles, and pass at the end. You might have hated every pedal stroke, and vowed by the end to NEVER enter another organized ride again. You bailed, so you never get to know.

  5. Did I need titanium? Shaved legs? A secret Red Bull? I will never know. TOSRV sounds good to me.

    The Angry Monk retreats to sharpen his knives.