Dogridge
June 23, 2002,
Stillhouse
Hollow Reservoir,
Dana Peak
Park, near Killeen, Texas
600-meter
swim-19-mile bike-5k run
The water was very clear and
appeared very deep. With practice swimming done, I got in my swim wave to begin
the race. In the wave just ahead of
mine, a swimmer panicked. His thrashing
about and calling out frantically got all of our nerves on edge. He was pulled from the water with no apparent
harm done, other than setting a negative tone for the rest of us about to begin
our swim in that clear, deep water. I swallowed hard when the volunteer said
“next,” and motioned for us to wade into the water.
This event was done on a mountain bike, also, but this time it was a steel frame
Stumpjumper that was about fourteen years old.
It was painted primer-gray, which we affectionately called it “Ole
Gray.” It was far too small for me, but
somehow, it worked well anyway. I was
just proud to have any bike to do the bike leg with. “Ole Gray” was not just any bike. There were
no flat areas in this event, and “Ole Gray did well on those climbs. The chain came off once (I wasn’t that good
at the shifting thing just yet). Lots of
folks passed me as I was trying to get the chain back on “Ole Gray.” But once rolling again, we started catching
people. Some looked around when they
heard me coming with my mountain bike wheels and knobby tires roaring on the
pavement. I was doing well until I came
to that bad hill, for which the event was named: Dog Ridge Hill. There is a big water tower on the top of the
hill with “Dog Ridge” painted on it.
As noted before, I didn’t
have a lot of gearing experience then, and the hill caught me in the wrong gear
at the wrong time. The hill was so steep
that I was afraid of falling over from going so slowly. The hill pretty much owned me. At that point, I got off and pushed the bike
up the hill. Surprisingly, pushing my
bike, I passed some folks still trying to stay up on their bikes.
Finally, I reached the crest,
got back on “Ole Gray” and, after a couple of turns, entered a long, steep
downhill. Those mountain bike tires were
roaring loudly coming down “Dog Ridge.” I
was soaring and roaring. Looking down at
my bike computer, I saw that I had topped out at fifty-two miles an hour! I have never reached that speed since on road
bikes or any other bike. It is hard to believe
that my personal best top speed on a bike was done as a novice cyclist on a
fourteen-year-old mountain bike, several sizes too small. But it had to be the scariest ride I have
ever been on. On that descent, I caught
several people that I was afraid I would hit.
The idea of turning my front wheel even a small amount at that speed was
a scary proposition. My tactic was to take
a line that would get me by the slower riders and hope and pray they held their
line and didn’t veer in my path. I must
say it was exhilarating. However, I knew I did not want to do that screaming downhill “Dog Ridge”
experience with my hair on fire, again, anytime soon.
On the last part of the
course, the adrenaline rush from that downhill had me and “Ole Gray” rocking and a rolling, turning heads as riders looked to see what that roaring thing was that just passed them. I
caught a young man who was riding a nice tri-bike and tried to pass him as we
went up a hill. He would have none of
that and sped up. On the next hill, I
came at him again. He tried his best to
speed up and keep me from passing, but this time, “Ole Gray” and I were too
much for him. As I went by the tri-bike
rider, I am sure he could see my age from the body marking on the back of my
calf. Even if he couldn’t see my age, he
could certainly see his young self, and his high-dollar tri-bike were being
passed by an old man on an undersized, ancient, steel frame, roaring,
knobby-tired, mountain-bike. As I pulled
away from him, despite his best efforts, I heard him shout.
“sh----t”!
I would bet that man trained a lot harder for his next event.
The run was not that great,
but I got through it. The course ran the
park roads and the campers there were good support and encouragement. Late in the run, I found myself gaining on a
guy that I could see was in my age group.
There were not many in my geriatric group, and I did not want to be last
in it. So, I pushed up the pace a little
and passed him with just a few hundred yards to go. Near the finish line, I pushed extra hard,
right up to my edge, not knowing if this guy was going to make a race of it for
last place. It seemed like several
minutes later before that man came walking in, totally spent. All that gut-wrenching effort went into
beating a guy who was probably walking all the way in. At least I was not last in my age group
however that came about.
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