Chris, Joby and I rode out to the ferry terminal on Saturday morning. I was in a happy denial about how much energy I had used to complete the last 300k, and I was prepared for another. Chris had a new set of tires, and I had a new set of fenders. At the very least, we were pretty sure that those wouldn’t be an issue this time around.

Another rider mentioned wanting to make the midnight ferry back in to Seattle. I figured that was a reasonable goal to achieve. Our last ride took a pretty mind blowing 19 hours and 20 minutes. We were second to last in, despite riding pretty strong all day.

The ferry ride over to Bremerton seemed to last a lifetime. I mentioned that I had looked at a weather radar of the area online earlier in the morning. There were some clouds, but nothing active over the hood canal. The sun was even threatening to come out. Everything was looking pretty solid.

It took all of 5 miles for the rain to start. It was never dumping on us, but it was always there and steady. We hooked on to a pace line at the front and were holding a very nice 20mph tempo without much effort.

I got to chat a bit with a man who flew out from Kentucky just to ride in the rain with our group. He seemed a little under prepared equipment wise… no fenders, light race style rain jacket, and not much that would hold any real tools. He was very nice though, and asked plenty of questions.

At some point into the pace, I lost the wheel on a slow downgrade. Joby was behind me, and we just couldn’t seem to catch back up. It was probably only a mile per hour difference, but they were slowly slipping away. Any attempts to catch up only wore me out. Joby and I accepted that fact and decided to keep our (miniature) group together.

Somewhere along SR-3, we noticed a pretty large convenience store. We stopped and I tanked a soda and ate some of the food I was carrying. It was nice to have a chance to shake off the rain for a minute.

The next control was about 20 miles out, and there was plenty of scenery to look at. A large fellow with a goatee decided it was in everyones best interest if he sold confederate flags roadside out of the back of his pickup. This was the first of many rebel flag sightings actually. Joby threatened to stop. I think he had his eye on a nice folding chair. It is comfortable and offends the neighbors.

By the time we reached the first control, we noticed the initial group leaving already. They probably had about 10 minutes on us by that point. I ate a banana and bought some extra food. I still felt pretty good, but not as strong as I’ve been on previous rides.

At some point after this, I started to feel… off. I would take a drink of water and I would burp up the flavor shortly after. Everything I tried to eat ended up doing the same thing. Ever since chemo, my stomach has been a little picky. Sometimes the wrong combination of food will make me queasy. It always starts the same, I burp things up until I can’t handle it anymore. I throw up, and everything feels better. I wanted nothing more than to not throw up. I barely eat enough calories on a ride like this as it is. The last thing I wanted to do is lose a bunch of nutrition.

In hindsight, I would have stopped and made myself throw up. The next 80 miles were filled with a wicked headwind all the way up highway 101 along the hood canal. I couldn’t eat or drink without feeling sick. I made myself do it anyways, but not nearly enough. Joby and I stopped so I could get a sandwich at a Subway, but it really didn’t help much. My whole body was shutting down from a lack of nutrition. I had to set tiny goals for myself.

“If I can just keep a 14mph pace…”

“If I can just keep a 12mph pace…”

“If I’m able to do 10mph for the next 6 hours, we can make the 10:30 ferry…”

It seemed like most of the hills were on the second half of the ride, but I am pretty sure it was just my body yelling at me. Joby hung back with me and paced himself. It frustrated me to see him a little ways ahead, losing time just because of me. I tried to get him to leave me behind and ride his own ride. He stuck it out with me. We ended up with an unspoken agreement to let him ride at his own pace, then wait a little longer at points for me to catch up.

Walker pass and the descent that followed were just beautiful, but I wasn’t able to fully appreciate it. The only goal on my mind was to make it to Quilcene (the second control at about mile 150). Finishing the ride wasn’t even a given at that point. I just wanted to make it off of Highway 101. It was a long and tiring slog.

Quilcene held much needed Gatorade (I’m not that picky out in the middle of nowhere) and snacks. It was also very close to the beautiful Hood Canal Bridge. I’ve been over it once before with some SIR members previously, and I was looking forward to it again. You don’t feel like you should be on it with a bike. There is high traffic, plenty of grating, and high winds. It is a thrill though. Most importantly, it means that you are damn close to the finish. 30 miles is something I can do in my sleep (and I’ve been pretty close at times…).

It would only figure that SIR managed to find the hilliest, darkest back roads possible around Port Gamble. The sun finally went down, and I was pretty dissapointed with the quality of my headlight. It has been bright and beautiful in the past. As it turns out, there was mud caked on it from a lack of mud flaps and fenders earlier in the rain. I wasn’t in a strong enough mental state to figure all of that out, so I just keep riding with a semi-dim beam ahead of me.

There was a terrible feeling climb up Port Gamble Road that I found myself alone on. There was a surprising amount of traffic, complete with high beams flashing at me to move or get off the narrow road. My computer died on me, so I was short a mileage readout. Not I huge deal. I have my cue sheet and a helmet mounted light. Even delirious, I am pretty good at judging my distance. Then my helmet light went out. I kind of whimpered to myself. It was about as close to being scared out there that I’ve ever been. I honestly considered calling Jane just for some support. Everything felt like shit. I was so close to the finish, and it was falling apart for me.

All I could do was keep turning my cranks.

Joby was at the corner on mile 180. I breathed a little sigh of relief, and asked Joby if he would keep at my pace for the remainder of the ride. He seemed happy to help. I seemed to pull some strength from deep down inside, because we rode at a pretty brisk pace from there on out.

We got to the hotel at 10:30 exactly, missing that ferry. Neither of us cared though, there was pizza, beer and a comfortable bed to lay out on at the finish. I fielded a phone call from Jane and she offered to pick us up at the terminal. Joby cracked a large smile (the first in a long time) at the thought of not having to get back on his bicycle seat for the night. We were able to cool down before the midnight ferry pulled us back in to the city.

Thanks again to everyone who organized and supported this ride. Painful or not, it is always a beautiful experience.