Big, big Mousilauke ride

Well, my knee felt well enough on Thursday to hit the trails. So, I went riding with an undergrad, Dak. The kid is crazy. He has am F29 and a 29 inch wheel mated up to a poor little Specialized epic. The thing is RAKED. Anyway, we had a great ride on more of the secret trails except that Dak managed to: 1) Rip his brake caliper out of the post mount on his beautiful new fork because he used too short of a bolt. 2) Break a chain. 3) Break a front derailleur. The best part is that he managed to continue riding crazy stuff with only a rear brake. An IMBA puppy died at every dirt-spraying turn. The kid needs a new bike like whoa. I suffered no ill effects of riding on the bad knee.

On Friday, I went out for a post dinner singlespeed pain fest. After riding a bit more conservatively the day before, I was jamming the tunes and ripping the trails. We're talking dirt sprayin', ain't no jokin' fun.

Those two wonderful rides somehow added up to the obvious conclusion: Saturday was meant for big ride. And I mean big. So, after pounding the food in the morning and packing even more into my jersey pockets, the Serotta and I headed off for the famous Mt. Mousilauke Ravine Lodge in the white mtns. I managed to keep my pace under control at the beginning and keep my eating up. After I had already gone ~35 miles and still wasn't to Warren, I started to realize that this was basically going to be a century ride and that it was certainly going to be epic. Much of the ride to Warren was actually on dirt too. I have to say that I've never seen so much beauty in New England in a single day. Between the beautiful blue skies, the amazing wildflowers, the mountain lakes, and the scenic vistas, I nearly shed a tear. My state of perpetual suffering might have contributed to that as well. Yesterday firmly planted in my mind that I just might be able to be happy here in New England.

By the time I made it to Warren, I'd drank two liters of Nuun electrolyte solution and eaten two peanut butter sandwiches, two pita/hummus sandwiches, and some pineapple. I stopped off to fill up on water, grab a giant snickers bar and some wheat thins, take a couple of electrolyte pills, and start the climb. The climb up the pass wasn't too too bad. At one point my medial quads started cramping, but ultimately worked themselves out. The top of the pass was a welcome site, though I knew I had almost another 50 miles and more climbing to get home. I stopped in Warren again to hit the head, get a turkey sub, and get a little rest. I spoke with another rider there too. By that point, my fatigue could even be felt on my eyelids.

And so I headed off, wondering if I would indeed make it home. Slow and steady, slow and steady. My medial quads cramped again on the climb back towards Orford, but again were able to come back. Around mile 75, despite crushing headwinds, my hunger and fatigue magically disappeared. I attribute a switch to fatty acid metabolism when my body said, "enough!" After calling Begem and Kolene from Orford to tell them that I wasn't dead, I began the last 20 home. Not that they were easy, but I still had a little kick left in the legs. I was able to sprint up rollers on River Road in the big ring, not an expected result.

After all was said and done...6.5 hours of actual ride time, 96 miles, almost 5000 ft of climbing, 4700 calories burned, and clear reassurance that the Prouty will be no problem. This was a solo ride, with lots of dirt, lots of climbing, and lots of food/gear carried. The Prouty is the exact opposite in almost every way. I project that yesterday's ride would be the equivalent of at least 120 flat, pavement, drafting, Prouty miles.

So there you have it, talk about a catharsis. It was all I could do to stand to make dinner.