Day 1: Portsmouth, New Hampshire to Worcester, Massachusetts. 95 miles*, 3944 feet of elevation

Years ago, my father-in-law would take my brother-in-law and me golfing.  On one of the more difficult holes, a nasty 420-yard par 4, there was a stream that ran through the fairway about 225 yards out.  My father-in-law, no longer possessing a powerful drive, would lay up -- hitting a 190-210 yard shot in front of the stream, play his second shot over the stream to get close to the green, chip onto the green and, at worst, make a bogie 5 on that par 4.  My brother-in-law and I?  Ah, youth.  We'd hit the shit out of our drives.  Grip it and rip it!  About three times in ten, we'd clear the stream.  Two times in ten, we'd hit a poor drive and be short of the stream.  The other five drives?  In the water.  My father-in-law would look at us and say we were idiots.  Why take the chance on the 3 in 10 times that we'd clear the stream when the safe bet was to anticipate making a bogie on the hole, potentially parring it if we made a good chip shot?  Take the 5. Live to fight another day.  Don't totally screw up your game over one bad hole.

Today, I heard the voice of my father-in-law in my head.

Let me set up the day for you.  This is considered one of the three hardest days on this East Coast ride (and, after hearing from the head mechanic tonight at route wrap, it's actually the hardest first day of any ride that America By Bike offers).  A long day, made longer by constant headwinds and an ever increasing set of climbs as the day wore on. Basically a torturous way to get started on this ride.

What's wrong with this picture?  See any signs for "Welcome to Massachusetts?"  No!  Helluva way to great guests!

After wondering why there was no sign, no chalk marker in the middle of the road to announce our arrival into Massachusetts, I asked a passing cyclist if there was some signage down the road.  "Nope, but there's a stone marker a ways back."  Sure enough, buried in the brush was this stone marker from the 1800's, a surveyor's marker identifying the border between New Hampshire and Massachusetts.

The thunderstorms from last night left the air thick with humidity this morning and the streets filled with puddles and standing water.  At 6:45 am, after we had loaded all our bags and posed for a series of group photos, we took off in 70 degree, 95% humidity weather.  It only got worse from there.

I think the rains brought frogs like this out into the street overnight.  But this morning's sun and heat left this guy stranded. After riding by him, I doubled back to see if he'd move.  I didn't.  So I "coaxed" him to the nearby grasses and shade.
Kind of an intervention.  

Two hours into our ride, everyone was soaking wet from the humidity and the sweat pouring out of us.  Between the early morning coolness in the air and the cooling breezes shade through the tree-lined streets we rode through this morning, I doubt most of us thought twice about ensuring they were hydrating properly.  But, as the morning wore on, the sun was soon overhead and no longer hidden by the trees.  The humidity remained high and the temperatures rapidly rose into the 90's.

At the first SAG stop, there were already signs that this day would be trouble.  No longer shaded by the trees, the sun and heat were now pounding down on us.  The road surface baking us.  And our glasses were still fogging up from all that humidity!

At around the 46-mile mark, Michelle called it a day.  Her knees were bothering her but, even if she kept on riding, it was the weather that had taken its toll on her.  Frankly, I wasn't feeling much better.  We stopped and waited for the SAG van as it loaded Michelle's bike on the roof rack.  She was so apologetic and feeling guilty that she was leaving me to ride alone the rest of the ride.

As it turned out, I wasn't alone.  I soon caught up to Dave and Rollie, who had ridden by us as we were getting Michelle sorted out.  Rollie wasn't feeling great either.  He said he was laboring to make it through the ride and was now wondering if he should continue.  After passing those two guys on a long hill, I soon caught up with Sue and Sara.  Both from Colorado and alums of many ABB rides, although they've never met before, they welcomed me to join them.  All five of us soon stopped for lunch in Lowell, Massachusetts.  By the time we stopped, the temperature had climbed up to 98 degrees and the street temperature on many of the bike computers ranged from 101-105 degrees.

Capital of the American Industrial Revolution, this was the only picture I took in Lowell.  Not the Canals or other famous buildings.  I was too drained to even think about much photography today.

After lunch, the heat, the humidity, the headwinds, the sun all kicked in.  To a person, we were all fatigued.  True, some did better and were probably hydrating at a better clip than the rest of us.  But I could best describe the day as brutal.

After trying to slow down to help Sue and Sara as I paced them towards the second SAG stop, I realized that I wasn't going to make the full 95 miles.  I was spent.  I felt like I had nothing left in my tanks.  My legs were still strong for the climbs but my body just had nothing left to give.  About two miles from the SAG stop at 71 miles, I actually started to wonder if I could do those last two miles.  That's the time when mistakes are made, when your mind gets fuzzy and you can't concentrate.  But knowing that I had made the decision not to put myself in danger, I pushed on to keep focus for that last bit.

There's an expression used on this and every other long-distance ride:  EFI.  It stands for "Every Fuckin' Inch!"  Riders are so driven to complete their day's rides.  Take ever turn.  Make every hill climb.  Don't walk a bike when you can ride a bike.  Flooded roads. No problem.  We can ride the extra ten miles of the detour.  Seventeen percent grade on that hill.  No problem.  We can hammer up it.

When I was riding both the Mississippi and Cross Country Rides, I had a mission in mind.  I had  goals that I set for myself.  I trained like mad to ensure that I could climb the Rockies, the Sierra Madres, the Wasatch Mountains.  I could do the rollers in Missouri.  And I could survive the heat of Kansas, Missouri, Louisiana and Mississippi.

All of that changed with this ride.  There was no purpose, other than joining a friend.  There was no mission.  No "I have to complete riding all the way to Florida."  I wasn't even doing that, as I had to bail in South Carolina to go to work in London the following week.  And there certainly was not enough training, either for the heat or for the mountain climbs.

So, as I heard my father-in-law's voice in my head, I realized that he was right.  Why take the chance on doing something stupid just to prove a point and complete a ride?  Why potentially injure myself when there are 15 more days of riding?  Why suffer from major sunburns when I've already applied SPF 70 three times and my knees and forearms are still burnt?  Enough was enough.

It hurt making that decision to stop at the 71-mile mark.  I'm not a quitter.  I'm not comfortable leaving things hanging.  Yet I soon became at peace with myself.  I wasn't out to prove anything.  I had already completed my missions of riding across the country (both ways).  So this was just what it was...a fun ride with friends.  I could live with that.

Tomorrow is no picnic either.  Nearly 3800 feet of climbing over a 64-mile day into Windsor Locks, Connecticut.  But those climbs are actually only for the first 44 miles.  The last 20 are fairly flat.  So all that climbing in just the morning.  Ye gads!  And, as I'm writing this, a line of thunderstorms are rolling through Worcester.  Not sure what the roads will look like in the morning, but the forecast is for temperatures in the high-80's.  A bit of relief, I guess.

Oh, one last note.  Tonight at route wrap, I found out I wasn't alone in stopping before the end of the ride.  Only three of the 21 riders completed the 95 miles.  Everyone else bailed at points along the way.  Even those riders who are far more experienced than I were left feeling the same way...total exhaustion and nothing left in the tank to complete the day's ride.  Small comfort.  But it gives you an idea of just how challenging today's ride was.

Let's hope tomorrow is a brighter day.