In the Dark of the Night

I needed to do some overnight training blocks, and some big miles training blocks. So, on July 7th, I left the homestead after 10 pm. My starts were delayed multiple times throughout the week: bike trouble, knee trouble, more bike trouble that I brought onto myself. I had been awake since 8 am. I was already tired, but I knew I needed to get the hours in when it would be hard.

The air was a heavy, black curtain. It hung around my lights in inky blackness. My nerves were up - this was the first overnight riding I have done in over a year. I was talking my hyper-awareness down, singing along with Maggie Rogers, Sarah Jarosz and Aurora, any of the music that was chill and lent to a meditative flow.

The miles ticked by - it was just me and the heat lightning. Night riding is always slower, it's just what it is. I was working the kinks out of my light gear, and getting used to that tunnel vision feeling that comes with the night. As I left the sleepy town of Covington, a northern wind cut through the fat humidity. Looking at the radar, I wasn't sure I wasn't going to get hit with a massive storm, but I kept moving along the darkened groads of Lydia's 300k gravel route. Somehow, I managed to thread through three separate storm cells over the course of my ride.

I saw: herds and herds of deer. A clutch of tiny Killdeer chicks with their mum. Possum spirit animals. Racoon families. Amish farms. Tiny towns, tucked asleep.  A fancy skunk that kung-fu chopped at a passing truck - and I wasn't entirely sure he wasn't going to spray his fug, either! A police officer pulling up next to me at 3 am because he "thought I was an Amish kid on a scooter."

I reached Rockville and found an overhang to the high school would be the perfect place for a cat nap. 100 miles down, awake for 24-hours. After giving a groundskeeper a heart attack, I pedaled over to the Casey's gas station to restock supplies. A little girl asked me if that was my bike, and her little sister promptly told me that it was very dirty. I agreed, and pointed to the dust-turned-mud that caked my legs. 

Have I told you how much I love salty meat from gas stations? I do! Much more than I like canned coffee - God, how shite is that? But with some caffeine and nutrition in my gut, I set off for more miles. Admittedly, the memories here are a blur. The groads were awesome - Lydia really did us a service by stringing them together into routes. "I need to buy her a beer," I said. As I finally made the southern most turn and started to head north, my knee with its nagging ache, gave me the middle finger. In a state of sleepless frustration, I called the route quits around mile 156 in Veedersburg. 

 

I had been awake for 33 hours, traveled 156 miles over 13 hours, mostly in the dark, and needed a minute to reset, mentally and physically. I sucked down a Coke Slushy at Burger King while I waited for N., basically pouting and questioning my existence. 

While I was pretty down on myself, I also knew that going into sleep deprivation already sleep deprived is a form of torture. I knew that night riding was something I needed to get used to doing again. I knew that I would need to address my knee pain, immediately. And I knew that, while I felt like a complete loser, this practice of preparation was on a whole new level, beyond what I had ever done for Race Across the West, even. 

So, yeah, I suck, I said as I ugly cried into my french fries, but at least I'm getting it out of the way now?

There is something so beautiful about watching the sun rise through the clouds of a storm cell that never actually hits you. There's something otherworldly about being part of the night creatures who go about their wanders without questioning your presence. There's a peace that settles into your heart, even when the usual pains grind away at your soul.