Don Bike's his age (in miles) (again)

Saturday Don biked his age, riding 83 miles from Byron Center to Sand Lake and back. This was our third ride of the week; I hadn't been on a bike since the PALM.

The first ride I did with Vic and Don left from Byron Center. There was flooding and construction, so we stopped riding it. When it was rebuilt last year, Vic realized that the Byron Center trail could be connected to the Comstock Park trail and we would have an 82 mile ride -- and that his big brother was 82. So Don rode his age last year. Once you start a tradition you have to keep it up, so this year we rode 83 miles.

Saturday was a great day because we knew it would take all day, and none of us had other plans. The weather was fantastic with tolerable humidity and very mild temperatures.



(Above left -- Don's PALM shirt is so old it is undated; right -- Vic cleans his hands after our initial rest stop at mile 1. Consider these pictures "Before").

We started a little late because of me. I had several things keeping me from leaving on time, but most frustrating was a lost glove. I have had a dreadful time leaving the house lately, even though I wake up with plenty of time to get ready. I borrowed Susie's gloves and we were off to Byron Center.

Kent Trails does a wonderful job putting together a useful mixture of street and trail riding. Even with the great pavement and well-marked routes, Don managed to take a spill that scared us at mile 10. He survived with a small amount of road rash, some grass stains to his jersey, and a sprained thumb. I put a band-aid on his leg, but none of the scratches were serious.

(Above you can barely see my Eagle Scout First Aid skills at work)

At the end of that trail segment we passed the Wyoming water plant, then ended up on the street in the middle of a bike race. It reminded me a little of a scene in Mary Poppins, except there were no Penguins and we did not win the Darby.

As we made our way through Grand Rapids to the next trail head, I was amazed at the complete disregard some cyclists have for traffic signals. I'm not mentioning any names because I don't want to jeopardize Vic's Pilot License.

When we got to Rockford there was a street fair going on. We rode up to the main street on the trail and stopped. Vic hurried through before a parade passed. I was stuck behind it. It turned out to be a small drum line who turned onto the trail and past the street fair. Instead of stopping and enjoying the moment, or riding 50 feet to the right and taking an alternate street, I hurried past the drummers on the path to catch up with Vic. After getting away from the crowd, I felt like such an... well let's use the word "cad". Don made a more graceful choice by taking the alternate street.



(Above, the bike trail through Rockford, usually one of my favorite spots)

I think it was the sudden change from quiet biking on a trail to a sudden crowd of teenagers with drums that discombobulated us.

Vic and I talked about a variety of topics on the way up. Most importantly, his success at solving phone bills for a client of his, where they will save thousands every month. We also discussed some of my work, and how I'm going to try to minimize the amount of red ink from my New Orleans bike ride.

Even though I was starving, and the best eating plan would have been to stop in Rockford on the way up and the way back -- spacing our eating to every thirty miles or so -- we pushed through to Sand Lake, where there were Gigantic Cinnamon Rolls waiting for me. Vic tried to get in my head "maybe they stop serving them after breakfast... maybe they won't have them today". It didn't work: I had faith.



(My raison de vélo, with extra raisons)



(Our breakfast)

Once we'd had some food and iced tea, we could look at Don's thumb and sympathize. He said it affected his braking, so I suggested he bike slowly enough that he wouldn't need that brake.

On the return we were much more considerate through Rockford. Lest you think we starved all the way home, we managed to survive by stopping by Wendy's for a frosty.

We took a small diversion to add an extra mile to the route. Don's computer showed 41.6 at the half way mark, but Vic's showed 41 even. Mine was right in the middle at 41.3, but Vic wanted to be sure his brother suffered -- I mean enjoyed -- every mile of his age so we went a half mile down a new path, then back. On the way back we passed mile 71, and Vic stopped us to celebrate his age with some grape juice.



("After" -- all smiles)

The best thing about this day was not having to hurry -- or worry. Don's been very strong lately, and Vic and I were certain he could do it. And he did -- all 83.85 miles.