Civil War Century 2018

Several days of very hot and humid weather, not untypical for Northern Virginia, were succeeded by the day of rain and wind; Saturday - the day of the ride.  It was hard to read the weather forecast on Friday, as hourly reports for several key places on the route (e.g., Thurmond, Sharpsburg, and Gettysburg) were constantly updated, switching between no rain and some rain; but definitely becoming rosier as the time progressed.  Yet, the thunderstorm that rolled in on Friday evening greatly diminished the excitement, as it was becoming increasingly unlikely I will be riding the following day.

The night passed by; very quiet.  The roadway appeared fairly dry; the updated weather forecast was mild and almost completely devoid of the potential for the rain.  After promising to my wife that I will turn back should the rain start, I departed.  A short, but intense, deluge on my way to Thurmond, further questioned my sanity.  Yet, somehow, the atmosphere brightened after pulling into a grassy parking lot and seeing dozens of other bicyclists unpacking and braving the morning chill.  To ride or not to ride?  

Registered, this time in less than a minute, unlike last year’s almost half an hour, and returned to my car.  To ride or not to ride?  At the moment it appeared that the clouds would hold releasing no rain.  Some folks were departing.  Still dark.  With mixed feelings walked the bike to the road, still battling with myself whether to ride or not.  The problem is that I did not see a good way for returning having once departed.  Well, alea iacta est!  I departed.

Worrying about the rain made me worry less about the first climb, which passed relatively quickly and unevenly.  The first climb down, however, translated the sensation of chill into trembling and bike shaking.  Had to slow down substantially on those long climb downs.  (This impression, i.e., easier to climb up the mountain, than climb down, persisted for the rest of the ride.)  Some mist started after the first rest stop and the roadway that was largely dry, turned to be completely wet.  Then, before reaching the second rest stop at Mt. Aetna, the rain started in earnest.  No place to hide from it.  The rest stop was fine, but could not stay there forever, i.e., longer than 15 minutes.  Continued.  Amazingly, wasn’t even thinking of the incoming three-mile of continuous Raven Rock and Ritchie Road climb.  All I could think of was how to get some warmth and stay safe.  From the bottom of the climb, and through the clouds of the pouring rain, I could see my predicament – the top of the mountain range, where this climb ends.  The climb was not easy and the falling rain helped a lot by cooling down my muscles.

The third stop at Fairfield looked great, even under the circumstances.  Yet, this time relatively few bicyclists were there.  Normally, the place would be bustling with life; with the bicyclists exchanging their tales following conquering of the three arduous climbs in a short succession.  And, the rain was pouring, this time supported by the NE wind, which was making us shiver.  I doubt I am going to forget easily the skinny lady dressed only in a sleeveless top and shorts, and nothing else.  She was freezing!  

Departed soon after realizing that staying there for another few minutes would make me solid frozen (in my mind, at least).  What a pain!  To my horror, I soon realized that I am shaking like the leaf on the wind.  I could hardly control my bicycle, even on the flat road.  Started to beg for some climb up (knowing that one was approaching), to make me work hard and get warm.  I can hardly remember ever being so happy running up a hill.  It helped.  Amazingly, though, while some of us were freezing, some bicyclists appeared entirely immune to the situation.  They would zoom in a high speed down the hill unbothered by the rain, cold, or anything else.  It must be that they were on some sort of bicyclist antifreeze, as there could be no other explanation.  

Riding through the Gettysburg battlefield, and all those monuments, and silent guns, gave me a special feeling of exclusivity.  I mean, how many people (besides us already on the road), would be crazy enough to ride under that weather!  The mild climb down toward the bottom of Little Round Top, was very beautiful.  The alley, with its two rows of mature trees, with almost no traffic, appeared so dignified and peaceful.  Loved that moment.

Skipped the last rest stop at Barlow.  Did not want to risk another bout of cooling down and shivering.  At some point, the rain slowed down, before completely stopping.  It did not rain in Thurmond when I got there, thought the place was muddy.  Shoveled a sandwich and departed, but not before noticing my fellow bicyclists seating and noticeably shivering.  Never saw that many adult people shivering at the same time.

Turned on the heat in my car on the highest setting and departed.  Yet, continued to shiver for more than 15 more miles.  The images, mostly still, were rolling in my head.  All those long stretches of the road, the mountain creeks swollen with water; the local boys sporting their trucks at wild speeds (perhaps to show us, the city sissies, what real machos they are); all these images were rolling and rolling.  All those 166 km (103 miles) and 2050 m (~ 7000 feet) of climbing.       

For Nebojsa