A Midsummer Night's Dream

Last night I dreamt I was at my grandparents' old house in Asheville, only it was a split level, and I was fighting off bandits. More on that later . . .

But first, about last weekend's big event, and one of the two biggest riding events of the year for me, the 24 Hours of Booty. My goal was to ride 500 kilometers, or 310 miles. Last year I had the same goal and fell just short with 298 miles. I figured I'd be able to get it this year with no problem, seeing as I lost time last year running late at the start, then taking 20-30 minutes later in the evening to carry stuff from my car to the tent, wasting an hour or two Saturday morning trying in vain to sleep, 15 minutes to a flat tire Saturday afternoon, and having to stop 20 minutes before 7 because of flooding on the course. This year I was determined to get there early, be set up and ready to ride at 7, and beat 500 k with strength to spare. It didn't happen. Here's why.

I was running late again. I'm always running late. I didn't get good sleep last week, averaging about 5 hours per night from Sunday through Thursday nights, mostly due to my own negligence. When I heard the high Saturday was supposed to be 99 degrees, I pretty much abandoned my goal of 500 k; I remembered how I felt last year by late Saturday, and realized that to combine that with less sleep and more heat, not to mention my relative lack of fitness compared to last year, would be unwise. Thursday night I was getting my bike ready and ran into problems with my rear wheel, which is the bane of my cycling existence. I had to work half the day Friday, then made the mistake of trying to catch a nap afterwards when I should've just gone up to Charlotte. I finally got to the course about quarter to seven, and didn't bother riding the first few laps, but registered, got dressed, and got rolling at 7:30. I was so visibly stressed when leaving the shop in Rock Hill that my co-worker John gave me the good advice to just go have fun. He was right, and that was my mindset Friday night. I had to take two more trips to the car to get sleeping bag and a backpack, which took about ten minutes each. When I ran into Matt from the team from Hope Community Church, I decided to take him up on his invitation to join them for a drink at midnight. It was good to hang out with them, and when I started back riding at about 2 am, I thought I might still meet my goal. I was 100k in. I rode for 45 minutes or so and had a flat, and that's when the wheels started to come off. I decided to stop for the night, and changed wheels to my backup set rather than bothering finding the puncture. Then I couldn't fall asleep until almost 4, and when I woke up before 7, I was a total zombie. I ate breakfast and started out, but never felt energetic all morning. By lunch I was delirious. It wasn't pretty. I took an extra hour to avoid the midday sun, and continued on.

At this point I was at about 150 miles, and 310 was impossible. I couldn't decide what mileage goal to shoot for, but was determined to ride until the course closed at 7. It always helps me to have a number of some significance to shoot for. My heart rate was steadily dropping, very similar to the feeling during the Assault on Mt. Mitchell; I just couldn't try hard. It wasn't there. About 4 or 5, water and powerade and Accelerade became quite unappealing. I remember a few moments of lucidity, when I passed riders whose number said "Survivor" or "Riding in memory of my husband". "Wow," I thought, "they've really been through a world of pain I know nothing about." I said a prayer for them and tried to speak some encouragement as I passed. Then there were a few passing me, as well as this guy:

Paul Neal. Cyclist extraordinaire. He's ridden one of these from Rock Hill to Myrtle Beach.

I thought of aiming to get more miles than fundraising dollars, or to double up the high temperature, and I thought to stop when I reached 333.3 kilometers and I was 12 hours and 12 minutes into riding. It sounded nice and biblical and complete, no? But I kept going until seven pm, by which point I was thoroughly cooked, and had to lie down on the ground for a good 15 minutes after finishing. I wound up with 353 kilometers, or 219 miles, in 13 hours a few seconds of riding. By that point my avg heart rate had also dropped to 130, and when I got home and uploaded the data, I'd placed 13th on the "Col de Hopedale". Hmm. I suppose if I'm going to make a point of it when the numbers seem significant in a positive way, to be consistent I should do the same when they're not so "favorable," huh? Not that I put any stock in the number 13 as a sign of bad luck; I think there's a difference between symbolism and superstition, but it's a good reminder not to drift that way in my growing fascination with the symbolic quality of things. In addition, the whole experience of frustration surrounding this ride was a good reminder of the sense of futility faced by those who suffer with cancer, which is what the ride is all about. Sometimes our ground is thorny, and we can't make sense of it, which brings me to the next part of this post, which was supposed to be the main part, but will have to be abbreviated now.

My experience with the booty ride was representative of much of my experience riding the roads of York County and of my entire summer in many ways. It has often felt like I'm riding with my brakes rubbing, or my way is overgrown with thorns . . .

19 The way of ha sluggard is like a hedge of ithorns,

but the path of the upright is ja level highway. (Proverbs 15:19)

5 uThorns and snares are in the way of the crooked;

whoever vguards his soul will keep far from them. (Proverbs 22:5)

Am I encountering all of these obstacles because I've been sluggish or crooked? I've had to search my heart. Surely both of these tendencies are present in me and still at work, and I've been considering the moral and spiritual value of hard work in a new way. Even its redeeming value, in connection with the idea from Psalm 104:30 "When you isend forth your Spirit,3 they are created, and you jrenew the face of the ground." in relation to the curse of Genesis 3:17-19 and what I think is its resolution in the giving of the Spirit to dwell in the children of God (Galatians 3:13-14; Romans 8:19-23). Think about it: when did God send forth His Spirit? When does he? Where? On whom? etc. See Galatians 3:1-5, Romans 8:1-17.

Another thought that's been looming in my mind is the theory that when we see the shortcomings of others, especially when they bother us to the point of judgment or anger, the purpose of our being made aware of them is not to judge or correct them, but because we're guilty of the same or a similar fault ourselves, and we need it brought to our attention. I suggest this because of Jesus' teaching on judgment:

r“Judge not, that you be not judged. 2 sFor with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and twith the measure you use it will be measured to you. 3 Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but udo not notice the log that is in your own eye? 4 Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? 5 You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye. (Matthew 7:1-5)

Why does Jesus seem to take for granted that judgers are always guilty of that for which they judge? How does He know I have a log in my eye? Maybe I'm doing fine and just want to help a brother out . . . or maybe not. I think Edwards was on to this when he wrote . . .

Resolved, to act, in all respects, both speaking and doing, as if nobody had been so vile as I, and as if I had committed the same sins, or had the same infirmities or failings as others; and that I will let the knowledge of their failings promote nothing but shame in myself, and prove only an occasion of my confessing my own sins and misery to God. (Jonathan Edwards, resolution 8)

The other reason I think it's true is that it's been true for me as often as I've tested it in the past three months. Every time I am aware of a particular grievance I have with someone, I realize almost immediately, if I'm willing to consider my ways, that I am treating someone else in a similar way, and am offending more than I'm being offended. Try it out and see if it's true for you.

Into this context of thought came a dream last night in which I was guarding my grandparents' old house (which was also the scene of many happy memories from my childhood, and the source of the most meaningful treasures in my current house) from bandits who wanted to come in and rob us. When they showed up in force, I went out to talk to them face-to-face, (perhaps a remnant of a confrontation I had with a customer at the shop Tuesday?), and they started throwing rocks at me, to which I replied by inviting them into the house. On the porch I told them why I was letting them in: because Jesus had treated me the same way when all I had for him was hostility. They came in and I told them where they could and couldn't go, and when I found them going into the attic a few minutes later, I was livid and drove them out in fury. When I came to, I tried to make sense of it, but couldn't understand it. What did it mean that Reuben and a friend of his were helping me take care of my grandparents house? Or that my parents were inside reading newspapers when I came in with the horde of bandits? Odd. Then I read this:

30 hI passed by the field of a sluggard,

by the vineyard of a man ilacking sense,

31 and behold, it was all overgrown with thorns;

the ground was covered with nettles,

and its stone jwall was broken down.

32 Then I saw and kconsidered it;

I looked and received instruction.

33 lA little sleep, a little slumber,

a little folding of the hands to rest,

34 and poverty will come upon you like a robber,

and want like an armed man.

All three streams of thought converged: the connection of laziness and thorny disorder; "receiving instruction" from someone else's failure; and the armed robber of poverty ready to pounce on the sluggard. I needed to hear that.

I'm a sluggard because everything's got to be perfect and I'm never ready to go, and so often I just need to let it go and move on. Sing it for us Ryan:

Back in the Saddle, Rolling through the hood, and the Heidelberg Catechism

I've been back on the bike this week. Not as much as I wanted, but am trying with a little success to get up early in the morning to ride. Probably won't happen tomorrow. John Croom and I took a ride through the 'hood today. Last weekend I met Ryan Thomas, a Rock Hill police officer, at Paul's wedding, and he told me some places not to ride. I responded by asking if I had to ride there, when the best time would be. Yeah, I'm determined. He said Sunday morning or afternoon. I intended to get down there in the morning solo, but it didn't happen, so John and I rolled through late this afternoon. We didn't get much excitement other than a few odd looks. The whole time I had the lines

"man I do this for the blocks in tha Hood

the rock's in tha hood
Jesus Chist, Cornestone
gettin' props in tha hood
folks think we crazed and delirious
cilqued up 40 deep
all saved, all serious"
from Lecrae's "Souled Out" going through my head. Folks probably thought we were a little crazed and delirious, even if we were only cliqued up 2 deep. Here's more:

In hindsight I wish I'd taken some more time to rest and reflect today. It was a pretty intense weekend with a very serious accident on yesterday's morning ride. We're all praying and hoping Noreen will have a full and speedy recovery: http://rockhillbicycleclub.com/forum/comments.php?DiscussionID=3265&page=1#Item_23 Things like this make me stop and think more about what I'm doing and the risks involved, but only some. I'm aware every time I hit the road that something dreadful could happen to me. It really helps the prayer life, honestly. The first question and answer of the Heidelberg Catechism have been increasingly the cry of my heart as I head out into hostile streets each day.

1. Q. What is your only comfort in life and death?
A. That I, with body and soul, both in life and death, am not my own, but belong unto my faithful Savior Jesus Christ; who with his precious blood has fully satisfied for all my sins, and delivered me from all the power of the devil; and so preserves me that without the will of my heavenly Father not a hair can fall from my head; yea, that all things must be subservient to my salvation, wherefore by his Holy Spirit he also assures me of eternal life, and makes me heartily willing and ready, henceforth, to live unto him.

Without the will of my heavenly father not a hair can fall from my head. Those cars can't touch me unless God lets them, and that to serve my salvation and everlasting joy. I believe this because God has said it, and because it really does correspond to my experience. I've seen His deliverances on the road and in the circumstances of my life. I can't explain how I've been spared and guided any better way.

I've found some new routes and thus ridden some new roads in getting to and from the new house. After we came back to more familiar roads, we met up with Jenny and Alik and headed out by the mall. Here's the latest ride in a view of Rock Hill:

And how the whole county is looking:

I've got to get on the ball. I need to get my 24 Hours of Booty fundraising site up too. Late to sleep now though. Good night.

Assault on Mt. Mitchell: 10K and a year of calories

I rode the Assault on Mt. Mitchell for the first time today. An almost unbelievable riding experience. So much I could write about, but since it's late, for now, just a few interesting statistics.

First, I stayed with the lead group for about 63 kilometers or 39 miles, during which I averaged 41.1 kph, or 25.5 mph. Given that I've never maintained such an average even on a 10 mile time trial, it was quite a rush and a pleasant surprise. When I'd looked at the ride info beforehand and saw the ETAs of the lead group at the various rest stops along the route, based on a 25 mph average speed, I was sure I wouldn't hang in with them more than 10 miles or so. What I didn't count on was the enormous draft that is created by 100+ riders moving at that pace, and the adrenaline and excitement that came from realizing I could in fact hang in a group like that. "I guess this is what it feels like to ride a stage of the Tour de France," I thought. Only thing is that often the average speeds among top level pros in big events are 30+ for the first hour or two, with constant changes of pace, until a breakaway sticks. I can't imagine doing that and more day after day after day.

During that hour and a half, my heart rate averaged 166 bpm. Most rides of that duration that I do are around 150, and I've never had one over 160. I was thrilled that I was hanging in, but also terrified every time I looked down to see my heart rate in the 170s. "I can't last at this level; I'm gonna crack hard soon" I kept thinking. I did lose contact when the route got a little hilly, but I settled into a group that I rode with from mile 39 to mile 74.

Interestingly, just as I came off the back, I noticed Spencer Gaddy stopped to relieve himself on the side of the road. A minute later, he flew by me to the front of the group that had developed off the back of the leaders. He drove the pace with us for a minute or two, and then when the road tilted up a little more, he left us. Since the leaders were still out of sight, I thought he had a long road of hard chasing to get back to them, and I didn't envy him much. When I got back to Marion afterwards, and looked at the results page, in 1st place was Spencer Gaddy, 5:00:36. WOW. I guess his chase went well . . .

Robert, Charles, and I shared stories about the ride for a good 45 minutes afterwards. That's always one of the most enjoyable parts of these events, hearing what your friends went through. They both finished well ahead of me, and had the privilege of riding up the big climbs with the frontrunners. Robert finished 13th overall, in 5:24, and Charles 37th, in 5:37. I finished in 6:13 and change, which was better than the 6:30 I was shooting for, so I was quite pleased. Especially considering how much the first 40 miles took out of me. Anyways, as we talked numbers, the subject of calories came up, and though I didn't display it on the Garmin as I rode, I guessed I'd burned 7-8000, since I often do 5-6000 on 70-80 mile rides. When I pulled it up, I found to my surprise that I'd actually burned 10,365. While it's probably a little off due to its inability to factor in the draft I was riding in, it's probably not that far off. I've never ridden so hard in my life. It was a good day's work on the bike. Here are the other figures from Garmin connect: