Okay, Kiddies, Story Time!
No doubt you've been burning with desire to know how the FedEx Rock-N-Roll MS-150 bicycle Ride went. Well, sit back and take a break because this ain't no short tale.
You'll have to excuse the southern accent, when I'm with a bunch of southerners from all over it just comes right out. I'll lose it in a day or two, but for right now, bear with me.
We drove down to Memphis, TN, on Friday night and met most of our group at the Rock-n-roll Days Inn not but two blocks away from Graceland itself. Elvis pictures and memorabilia were glued everywhere, we even had a big picture of him hanging over our bed. The pool was shaped like a guitar and everything. We ate at a place called the Rendevouz and I've never tasted BBQ quite like it. After walking up and down Beal St., we settled in for a night of rest and woke up at 5am the next morning.
This being my first ride, I didn't quite know what to expect. The organization of the Tennessee MS Society was impeccable. Check-in was smooth as silk, we were in and out in less than 10 minutes. There was a designated area for dropping off our luggage, plenty of port-a-potty's, stands to get food and drink before the ride began, and more. We went back to our car and prepared for the ride. I was number 437, hubby was 438. We had to tape a number to our backs, our bikes, and our luggage. After pumping up the tires, filling up with energy bars and Gu, stretching, and making sure everything was locked on the car, we headed towards the start line.
As more and more riders gathered around us I started to get nervous. So many of the riders were in such great shape (I looked!). The DJ started to count down to the beginning of the race. BANG! The starting gun went off and a sea of legs and wheels started rolling out onto the street. A group of local high school cheerleaders cheered us on as we left. Hubby and I stayed close together for the first few miles, then the herd started to thin.
I didn't want to push myself to hard too early, so I stayed at a nice 12 mph until we got out of the city. Then we reached a few hills and my average dropped a bit, to say, oh, 7 mph. Each time I would crest a hill I found another hill waiting for me. Son of a bitch, I thought, another damn hill. Then another one. So it went. Up, up, up, top of the hill. Fuck, another hill! Down, down, down, up, up, up, shit! Another hill!
So it went for the first ten miles until I got to the first rest stop. There were crazy fools standing in the street with signs and pom-poms cheering us on. They had a buffet of food waiting and not just water, but Gatoraide as well. I felt like a tired, red-faced, foul-tempered queen.
So it went for the next twenty miles. Then thirty. Then forty. At the forty mile stop lunch was being served. By now the sun had come out and I was done. I felt pretty good at my reception by the rest of the team ('cuz you know they all got there waaaay before I did). They were proud of me and I have to say, I was pretty proud of myself. I ate a sandwich with my husband, then climbed into the back of a S.A.G. truck and waited.
There is a certain satisfaction about riding in a moving vehicle and passing your team mates while they huff and puff up a hill.
At stop 6 my ride got a call to wait for another S.A.G. truck, there was an injured rider looking for a ride to the casino. We wait. Finally the truck comes and low and behold, who's in it but my husband!
Shit.
Baby hurt his knee again around the 55 mile mark. For those of you who don't know his history, about five years ago he had his knee broken for him during a co-ed softball game. He now has a metal plate and six screws holding his knee together. I was not happy to see him at all. We piled into the truck and rode the last 15 miles to the casino together. Me a nervous wreck and him a quivering mass of pain. Quite a pair....
I did not know that Tunaca, Mississippi was such a gambling hub. Our casino was called the Gold Strike and it was huge. Standing about 40 stories tall, it looked like something that could have been found in Vegas. We arrived to more screams and hoots. We thanked our drivers and limped to the very back of the casino's parking garage to drop off our bikes. We found our luggage in the huge heap by the entrance and waited in line to check-in. There were about 600 riders in all and no one spent more than twenty minutes in line. Damn fine organization.
It has never felt so good to take a shower. After we cleaned up, I made sure Baby had everything he needed and set out to explore the hotel. It was classy and modern and big. I went to the bar and ordered a beer. When the bartender gave it to me, I handed her a five. She returned with five ones.
"Wait, I gave you a five." I say.
"Yes, beer is on the house," she replied.
My day got a whole lot better.
We ate dinner and attended the little program the MS society put on that evening. Honey lost $40 at the tables. The whole time he's telling me to watch my beer intake as we were riding the next day.
"Uh-huh. 'Nother beer, please."
"Baby, you'll be dehydrated tomorrow."
"Yup. 'Nothing beer, please."
At 6:30am the alarm went off and the first words I heard were, "I'm not riding today."
Color me shocked.
We got up and decided to go have some breakfast before finding an organizer and getting a ride back to Memphis. We saw some of our team there and broke the news to them. I decided to leave hubby at the table and find us a ride.
Thus the downward spiral began.
I found an organizer outside by the check-out station and told her our problem. She said she could get me a ride right away. "Are your things ready to go?" she asked.
"No," I say.
"Well, hurry up and come right back here, we don't have much time."
I race upstairs to an empty room and start flinging our belongings into our suitcases. I don't care who's stuff ended up where, as long as I could still zip the lid on when I was done. Just as I'm finished packing and starting to panic, hubby comes in.
"Hurrywedon'thavemuchtime,gotride,here'syourbaglet'sgo." I scream. We race downstairs and wait for a ride to show up. Honey looks at me and says, "Did you get my pillow?"
Shit.
Back upstairs, run down the hallway, grab the pillow, run back to the elevator, then back to my wounded man just as Jenny, a S.A.G. driver, is telling him that she'll take us in with the first rider. "C'mon," she says, "We haven't got much time. Where are your bikes?"
Shit.
So I run aaaaaaaaall the way to the back of the freaking garage to get our bikes, knock over two others in the process, put those back up, wrestled with ours again and finally managed to get them out of the garage. Jenny grabs one and we run to the pick-up truck. I toss mine in just as she's stepping on the gas and away we go.
Let me just set the scene up for you. Average sized pick-up truck. Two coolers, two suitcases (not ours), to bikes, and two people crammed into the back. I had a seat the size of a postage stamp to sit on. We put the bikes in with their nasty-ass chains facing us, we're pacing the lead rider at 25 mph, the sun is blazing hot and we have 75 miles to go before salvation.
Four hours later we come into Graceland's parking lot hot, sweaty, and looking like dalmations from the bike grease. I want to choke the cheerleaders hooting at us, I want to slap the lead biker for not going faster, and I really, really want to feel my ass again. Four hours on a ridged seat does nothing for spinal alignment. We should have ridden in the FedEx truck with the luggage.
To make things worse, I forgot to sun screen the part in my hair, so I have a blazing hot burn down the middle of the head. Can't wait for that to start peeling.
The volunteers had all kinds of goodies for us to take with us. We took them and ran.
Today I can count the bruises and scrapes I received from that gruesome truck ride without remorse. I had a good time. The organization alone made this trip a pleasant experience, but there was so much more to it than that. Complete strangers treated us like family. The enthusiasm for what we were doing never wavered. At every stop people with MS were there to thank us personally for our time and donations. They gave me a face to think about when I asked myself, "Why am I doing this?" The outpouring of love was humbling. I only rode 40 miles out of 150, but I was made to feel like I had ridden 300.
I look forward to doing this again next year. We went to our doctor and Baby has to take it easy for the next two weeks and take some pills, but he'll be fine. He just has to be careful and not push himself too hard. That means I'll have to go riding without him.
Next year I'll be hill ready. Next year Baby will take longer breaks. And instead of raising almost $350, next year I want to raise $1,000.
The end.
You'll have to excuse the southern accent, when I'm with a bunch of southerners from all over it just comes right out. I'll lose it in a day or two, but for right now, bear with me.
We drove down to Memphis, TN, on Friday night and met most of our group at the Rock-n-roll Days Inn not but two blocks away from Graceland itself. Elvis pictures and memorabilia were glued everywhere, we even had a big picture of him hanging over our bed. The pool was shaped like a guitar and everything. We ate at a place called the Rendevouz and I've never tasted BBQ quite like it. After walking up and down Beal St., we settled in for a night of rest and woke up at 5am the next morning.
This being my first ride, I didn't quite know what to expect. The organization of the Tennessee MS Society was impeccable. Check-in was smooth as silk, we were in and out in less than 10 minutes. There was a designated area for dropping off our luggage, plenty of port-a-potty's, stands to get food and drink before the ride began, and more. We went back to our car and prepared for the ride. I was number 437, hubby was 438. We had to tape a number to our backs, our bikes, and our luggage. After pumping up the tires, filling up with energy bars and Gu, stretching, and making sure everything was locked on the car, we headed towards the start line.
As more and more riders gathered around us I started to get nervous. So many of the riders were in such great shape (I looked!). The DJ started to count down to the beginning of the race. BANG! The starting gun went off and a sea of legs and wheels started rolling out onto the street. A group of local high school cheerleaders cheered us on as we left. Hubby and I stayed close together for the first few miles, then the herd started to thin.
I didn't want to push myself to hard too early, so I stayed at a nice 12 mph until we got out of the city. Then we reached a few hills and my average dropped a bit, to say, oh, 7 mph. Each time I would crest a hill I found another hill waiting for me. Son of a bitch, I thought, another damn hill. Then another one. So it went. Up, up, up, top of the hill. Fuck, another hill! Down, down, down, up, up, up, shit! Another hill!
So it went for the first ten miles until I got to the first rest stop. There were crazy fools standing in the street with signs and pom-poms cheering us on. They had a buffet of food waiting and not just water, but Gatoraide as well. I felt like a tired, red-faced, foul-tempered queen.
So it went for the next twenty miles. Then thirty. Then forty. At the forty mile stop lunch was being served. By now the sun had come out and I was done. I felt pretty good at my reception by the rest of the team ('cuz you know they all got there waaaay before I did). They were proud of me and I have to say, I was pretty proud of myself. I ate a sandwich with my husband, then climbed into the back of a S.A.G. truck and waited.
There is a certain satisfaction about riding in a moving vehicle and passing your team mates while they huff and puff up a hill.
At stop 6 my ride got a call to wait for another S.A.G. truck, there was an injured rider looking for a ride to the casino. We wait. Finally the truck comes and low and behold, who's in it but my husband!
Shit.
Baby hurt his knee again around the 55 mile mark. For those of you who don't know his history, about five years ago he had his knee broken for him during a co-ed softball game. He now has a metal plate and six screws holding his knee together. I was not happy to see him at all. We piled into the truck and rode the last 15 miles to the casino together. Me a nervous wreck and him a quivering mass of pain. Quite a pair....
I did not know that Tunaca, Mississippi was such a gambling hub. Our casino was called the Gold Strike and it was huge. Standing about 40 stories tall, it looked like something that could have been found in Vegas. We arrived to more screams and hoots. We thanked our drivers and limped to the very back of the casino's parking garage to drop off our bikes. We found our luggage in the huge heap by the entrance and waited in line to check-in. There were about 600 riders in all and no one spent more than twenty minutes in line. Damn fine organization.
It has never felt so good to take a shower. After we cleaned up, I made sure Baby had everything he needed and set out to explore the hotel. It was classy and modern and big. I went to the bar and ordered a beer. When the bartender gave it to me, I handed her a five. She returned with five ones.
"Wait, I gave you a five." I say.
"Yes, beer is on the house," she replied.
My day got a whole lot better.
We ate dinner and attended the little program the MS society put on that evening. Honey lost $40 at the tables. The whole time he's telling me to watch my beer intake as we were riding the next day.
"Uh-huh. 'Nother beer, please."
"Baby, you'll be dehydrated tomorrow."
"Yup. 'Nothing beer, please."
At 6:30am the alarm went off and the first words I heard were, "I'm not riding today."
Color me shocked.
We got up and decided to go have some breakfast before finding an organizer and getting a ride back to Memphis. We saw some of our team there and broke the news to them. I decided to leave hubby at the table and find us a ride.
Thus the downward spiral began.
I found an organizer outside by the check-out station and told her our problem. She said she could get me a ride right away. "Are your things ready to go?" she asked.
"No," I say.
"Well, hurry up and come right back here, we don't have much time."
I race upstairs to an empty room and start flinging our belongings into our suitcases. I don't care who's stuff ended up where, as long as I could still zip the lid on when I was done. Just as I'm finished packing and starting to panic, hubby comes in.
"Hurrywedon'thavemuchtime,gotride,here'syourbaglet'sgo." I scream. We race downstairs and wait for a ride to show up. Honey looks at me and says, "Did you get my pillow?"
Shit.
Back upstairs, run down the hallway, grab the pillow, run back to the elevator, then back to my wounded man just as Jenny, a S.A.G. driver, is telling him that she'll take us in with the first rider. "C'mon," she says, "We haven't got much time. Where are your bikes?"
Shit.
So I run aaaaaaaaall the way to the back of the freaking garage to get our bikes, knock over two others in the process, put those back up, wrestled with ours again and finally managed to get them out of the garage. Jenny grabs one and we run to the pick-up truck. I toss mine in just as she's stepping on the gas and away we go.
Let me just set the scene up for you. Average sized pick-up truck. Two coolers, two suitcases (not ours), to bikes, and two people crammed into the back. I had a seat the size of a postage stamp to sit on. We put the bikes in with their nasty-ass chains facing us, we're pacing the lead rider at 25 mph, the sun is blazing hot and we have 75 miles to go before salvation.
Four hours later we come into Graceland's parking lot hot, sweaty, and looking like dalmations from the bike grease. I want to choke the cheerleaders hooting at us, I want to slap the lead biker for not going faster, and I really, really want to feel my ass again. Four hours on a ridged seat does nothing for spinal alignment. We should have ridden in the FedEx truck with the luggage.
To make things worse, I forgot to sun screen the part in my hair, so I have a blazing hot burn down the middle of the head. Can't wait for that to start peeling.
The volunteers had all kinds of goodies for us to take with us. We took them and ran.
Today I can count the bruises and scrapes I received from that gruesome truck ride without remorse. I had a good time. The organization alone made this trip a pleasant experience, but there was so much more to it than that. Complete strangers treated us like family. The enthusiasm for what we were doing never wavered. At every stop people with MS were there to thank us personally for our time and donations. They gave me a face to think about when I asked myself, "Why am I doing this?" The outpouring of love was humbling. I only rode 40 miles out of 150, but I was made to feel like I had ridden 300.
I look forward to doing this again next year. We went to our doctor and Baby has to take it easy for the next two weeks and take some pills, but he'll be fine. He just has to be careful and not push himself too hard. That means I'll have to go riding without him.
Next year I'll be hill ready. Next year Baby will take longer breaks. And instead of raising almost $350, next year I want to raise $1,000.
The end.
posted by Barbarian02003 | Tuesday, September 20, 2005
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