Booty 2011: Riding Through Hell, and I'm OK With That

The word for this years Booty was “sweltering.” The forecasted highs for Friday and Saturday were 99 and 98; definitely temperatures worth amending your goals for. And I had a lofty goal of 300 miles. But I also have a hard head - not always a good combination.

My Friday prep for Booty couldn’t have gone more perfectly. I slept in until 5:30am, got up, had a huge blueberry pancake breakfast and laid back down at 10am for a short nap. Then I loaded up my car with my camping gear which I had gotten together the night before and my cooler which I had packed to the gills with heat-beating supplies - frozen water bottles, frozen wash cloths and towels, Smuckers Uncrustables, pasta salad, watermelon and as much ice as I could fit. Oh, I also put my chamois cream in there (try it, you’ll like it).

Jill and I met up with my camping buddies, Steve and Jen, and we all headed to Bootyville to set up camp. Holy shit it was hot doing that; just a small sample of what was to come. After camp set up, we hit The Flying Biscuit for a late lunch. My selection of Pasta and Egg Scramble with Creamy Dreamy Grits left me feeling confident for having a full tank of energy to help get me through the night...or at least until the Midnight Pizza Party!

With belly full, I headed home with Jill for a couple hours relaxation and hydration prior to the start of the event. We cranked the AC down in the house and I had a full hour nap before heading back out to Bootyville. My whole day had gone so perfect, which was so different from in the past. Normally, I’m so jacked that I can barely eat or nap. This year I had no problem with either. Maybe after 7 years of doing this thing, I’ve finally learned the proper prep?

Back at camp, with nary a slight breeze for a bit of relief, we yearned for the start of the ride - but first, a team picture (with Bob Roll), a few announcements from the cancer community and ride organizers, and 30 minutes of lining up 1200 riders. Dripping with sweat already, having done nothing so far, I was anxious to feel the cooling breeze that my bike would provide for me.

As a participant of one of the Top Fundraising Teams, my teammates and I were given the privilege of lining up behind the cancer survivors to lead out the parade lap. It’s both a humbling and uplifting experience to be in such a position. On my way to the start line, I ran in to one of my friends, Kellie, whose bike was decorated with a tractor, stuffed cow, alligator, and several different types of flowers. Her Grandfather, a farmer, had died of cancer among many others of her family and as she told me the stories represented by each object I remember thinking, “Wow, this family has seen enough of this disease. This is simply not fair.” At the start line she handed me a can of hot pink hairspray - breast cancer runs in her family - so, I sprayed my platinum hair pink in a very small effort to show my support.

The first few laps of Booty is an absolute surreal experience. Crowds line the streets with signs and sound making devices screaming their lungs out for you. The homes along the Booty Loop are lined with one yard party after another - people, neighbors, sharing in this unique event. PA systems blare out not just music, but words of encouragement. Just before the right turn onto Hopedale Road, which is re-named Alpe d’Hopedale for Booty, there is a resident with a mic that just talks constantly...for hours. He calls it “Heckle Hill,” but he’s only “heckling” at the beginning while you still have energy and are smiling. By Saturday morning, he’s giving you the news headlines that you may have missed since you were on your bike all night. Then, by Saturday afternoon, he really starts in on the encouragement because he knows that this is about the 75th time you’ve climbed this hill.

Sometime during the second hour or so, I gave a quick glance behind me and found myself looking into the eyes of, none-other-than, Bob Roll, who many cyclists recognize as the voice of pro-cycling. He is a former pro who competed on the European circuit during the 80’s and 90's including the Tour de France. I was a little stunned to see him there, so I let him come around me and then decided I’d sit on his wheel for a while. Well, a while turned into about an hour. After a couple of laps I finally decided to spark up a conversation with him. He was very gracious to everyone who wanted to talk to him. He had lots of people yelling for him on the side of the road. Within a few short minutes, he and I had solved the world’s problems and figured that beer and cycling go perfect together. Thank God we’re not running things, eh?

After I attacked and dropped Bob Roll, I continued to ride until midnight, only having stopped to rehydrate and to have a couple of short conversations with friends. All of my food intake on the bike was Uncrustables, Clif Blocks and gels. I felt really good. Full of energy. Had a good average of 16.8 - remember that includes the parade start. My legs were great. No soreness in my body...yet.

At midnight me, Steve and Jen met back up for the Midnight Pizza Party. I had planned this as one of my bigger breaks cuz I knew I needed to stay topped off with food. At this point, my body was still accepting food. What I didn’t realize at the time was that by morning, my body would not be so receptive.

Back on the road at 12:45, I was feeling great. I was closing in on 100 miles and was getting anxious about hitting 130. It was at the 130 mile mark the last time I went for 300 that my body shut down on me. The pain shooting through every joint from my finger tips to my neck and down my back is still memorable to this day. And it happened almost instantly. I still am not sure how I survived another 170 miles after that other than pure inspiration. So, I was nervous about hitting that point. Regardless, I pressed on and hit 130 feeling surprisingly good.

Sometime around 4am or so, I friend of mine came flying past and he had about 7 guys on his wheel. I sprinted to catch up with them and hung in for a lap, but Andy is a very strong cyclist and I knew I couldn’t keep that effort up given my 300 mile goal, so I backed off and went my own pace. About a half hour later, he lapped me, still with a bunch of guys on his wheel. I didn’t even try to get on this time, but it turned out, I didn’t have to. Andy gave up pulling those guys around and came back to find me. He asked how I was doing and then instructed me to get on his wheel; that he would go my pace and help me around the Loop.

In case you’re not a cyclist, let me try to explain how much easier it is to ride when you can draft off of someone...it’s infinitely easier. I was putting in less effort, but going about 4mph faster by having Andy there. And because I know him and know how good a cyclist he is, I know I can trust him to get me around the Loop safely. Believe me, not everyone is like that. I had a dude nearly put me into a barrier just a few laps after I left Bob Roll (who, btw, is also a trustworthy wheel to follow...very steady). So, all I had to worry about was watching his rear wheel and staying there.

Andy set a perfect pace for me for nearly 3 hours. It’s because of him that by the time I stopped for breakfast, I had 178 miles, which is about 12 more than I would have had by myself. I know that doesn’t seem like a lot, but in perspective he saved me an extra 45 minutes of riding. Also in perspective, the last time I did 300, by breakfast I only had 155. Andy was a huge help. I am still very grateful to him.

It was at breakfast that my stomach quit accepting food. There were scrambled eggs, whole wheat rolls, fruit, oatmeal, bacon and sausage. None of it was appetizing for me. And I couldn’t rely on just cycling food. I still needed real sustenance to get me through the last 122. I forced down what I could before getting nauseous and then had some pasta salad. I knew I needed to eat, but the heat was beginning it’s attack. The thought of food had me dry-heaving.

I’ll tell you what. The sun comes up fast. Just before breakfast, the sky had barely started to lighten and then, within minutes, the sun is up and it’s 1000 degrees.

Back on the bike. A short time after breakfast, I ran across another familiar face, Christina, who I had seen the night before as well. But, this time she played Sherpa to me much like Andy had earlier. Like Andy, Christina is a seasoned cyclist who you can trust to just follow. And follow I did. For about 2 hours. Then we took a short break and rode for another 30 minutes or so. At this point, the fatigue was starting to settle into my legs. The hills were quite bothersome and my lack of food intake was about to threaten my whole day. I was at 251 miles when I cracked. 50 to go. An easy training ride on a typical day for me. But, the heating of the day happened very quickly and although I hydrated well, I could not seem to get any real food into my stomach and cycling food was not cutting it. Then, out of nowhere, my heart broke and I forgot about food and water entirely.

A few months ago Jill surprised me with a 2011 Booty Charm necklace; a limited edition that was designed by Donald Haack Jewelers for this event and sold for donations. With my jersey unzipped trying to stay cool, I could see the charm dancing around my neck each time I climbed a hill. Until it wasn’t there. I looked down and only saw 2 parts of a broken chain; the charm gone. Under normal circumstances, this would only mean we’d go purchase another one, but after no sleep and 250 miles, it became a huge emotional loss and all of the air left my lungs briefly. I rode straight to Bootyville where Donald Haack had a booth set up. I began explaining to them in a very disjointed manner what had occurred. I couldn’t quite get it out properly. I was trying to explain its importance to me but I was aware I was sounding like a fool. The more I tried to not sound ridiculous, the more confused they looked. I finally just said, “I don’t supposed you’d consider replacing it for me?”

“Oh, honey. Of course we would.” New chain. New charm. New resolve.

At this point, Jill had finished her volunteer work and was sitting at camp. I was having to take more breaks now because of heat and fatigue. When Christina left me, my average speed had gone up to 17.8. Within a couple hours it plummeted to 16.3. Each time I stopped, Jill had iced wash cloths and towels for my head, neck, arms, legs and chest. I’d eat as many bites of pasta salad as I could without throwing up and drink extra water then head back out. Oh, but the miles came so slowly, I might as well have been riding backwards. And the heat index was up to 104.

With about 30 to go, I was able to eat half a black bean burger. I was looking at about 2 more hours to reach my goal. I headed back out on the bike.

I rode about 3 laps. And to be honest, this is where it all gets a little fuzzy. As long as I was on the bike and had a wheel to focus on in front of me, I was ok. But, every time I stopped for water, I got very dizzy and the heat and humidity engulfed me. I went through that process a number of times before I found myself self sitting under a tree blacking out with a horrible headache. Head between my knees, I said out loud, “Enough.” The point of this ride is to keep people out of the hospital and I had already heard two instances of emergency vehicles that afternoon. I poured ice cold water over my head and went to my car 5 miles short of my goal.

Jill had already broken down my camp, loaded it in her car and headed to Moe’s to pick up burritos and queso.

After what felt like an eternity, I finally made it home. I left the bike on the car, barreled through the door and laid on the floor in the middle of the living room with my dog, who was (as usual) extremely happy to see me. Jill arrived shortly after with food and by the magic of being home and in the AC, my appetite returned.

Then I slept for 12 hours.

It’s Sunday afternoon now and already it’s all a blur. The important thing is that we raised 1.25 million dollars for cancer charities. The important thing is remembering why we do this. The important thing is that as I sit here sharing a glass of champagne with my wife, dog asleep at my feet making little doggy dreaming sounds, just as the sticker on my laptop says...Life is Good.

Indeed.

Booty Time: F--- Cancer

Fuck Cancer.

There, I said it. Think of me what you will for dropping the f-bomb. Sorry if your kids were watching.

Sorry if you’re appalled that there is a word available to me in the English language that allows me to express exactly how I feel about this piece of shit disease...and that I used it.

Actually, no. I don’t apologize.

Say it with me.
Fuck Cancer! It feels really good, doesn’t it?

Scream it at the top of your lungs.

FUCK CANCER!

Wow! You’ve been wanting to do that for a while now, haven’t you?

That’s okay. This is a judgement-free zone.

When I look back, I think it would’ve been nice to stand next to her while she was in that bed...while she was wasting away; hairless, colorless...lifeless...and, if only for a few seconds, to tip-toe to that hospital window, disregard my parents words, and allow all that anger and resentment to fly out of my mouth, out of my pores, out of that window, with a cathartic bellowing of those two words.

But, one of those words was forbidden to me back then.

Cancer stole my Grandmother when I was 12. I’ve been telling this story for many years now trying to find a way to heal. Trying to beat the crap out of cancer. But, curiously, the most important thing I’ve learned over all these years is that my story is not so different from yours.

You taught me that last year.

Last year, I asked you to submit to me the names of your loved ones who had battled cancer; victorious or not. I wanted to take them with me on the 24 Hours of Booty, pinned to my jersey, as a piggyback...as an honor to their fight...because this disease is so much bigger than me.

You blew me away last year. I’m not understating that. I learned so much about you and your loved ones. I connected with you the likes of which I never thought possible. The stories you told me. The hurt. The triumph. You shared it all with me. I was equally humbled and empowered...for me it was amazing, but more importantly, I hope your willingness to share helped you because cancer sucks.

I don’t know how to top what you did for me. I’ve thought about it for almost a year. I’ve contemplated how to return the favor to you. I want to inspire you the same way you inspired me. But, how?

By riding further than I ever have in 24 hours.

301 miles within a 24 hour period is not a claim a lot of cyclists can make. I did it 2 years ago and I remember the hurt all too clearly. I thought I’d have forgotten it by now. Unfortunately, I have the video, which I barely remember making, to remind me:

On that day, I took myself to a place that was far beyond the reach of what most humans will allow themselves to experience by choice; a place that completely broke me both physically and emotionally; a place that changed me for the good...and I’m going there again.

The goal this year is to exceed 301 miles. And I’m taking your personal messages with me. This year, with your donation, write a personal message about how cancer has affected you.

Lost someone close to you? Let them know they are not forgotten.

Know someone fighting cancer right now? Write some words of encouragement.

Know a survivor? Tell them how they’ve inspired you.

Are you a survivor? Send others a message of hope.

Write whatever you want to whomever you want. I’ll have all the messages posted at my campsite during the event.

So, how do you add a message? When you make a donation online, you will see a box for a Personal Message. Write whatever you want in that box. Not donating online? Email, Facebook or a restaurant napkin are fine, too. In any case, I will send you an email confirming I have received your message. Here’s the link to my fundraising page:

http://www.24hoursofbooty.org/site/TR/Bike/General?px=1002716&pg=personal&fr_id=1150

Thank you for your donation.

Fuck Cancer. Cancer sucks. Booty doesn’t.

Jodi

Women in Cycling: Liberate Me, Baby!

“Many a girl has come to her ruin through a spin on a country road.” – Charlotte Smith, 1896.

Charlotte Smith was a feminist with concerns. Her concern was of the new found freedom that women felt by being on a bicycle. Freed of the heavy, uncomfortable dresses and able to feel the wind on her skin, women could ride as far as their legs would take them. This was a freedom they had never experienced before; a freedom depicted repeatedly in the advertising posters of the day.

Smith feared that this freedom was leading women to ride off on escapades of sin. What a Debbie Downer, eh? The freedom afforded by their bikes allowed them to “mingle” easier with the opposite sex sending them coasting straight down the dirt path of immorality. “The bicycle is the devil’s advance agent morally and physically in thousands of instances,” she once wrote.

You may be thinking, "Oh, c'mon. How can a feminist speak so horribly about a device so liberating?"

Well, Smith’s view on the bicycle is actually the perfect parallel for the complicated feelings within the Women’s Suffrage Movement in the United States. The movement for Suffrage (women’s right to vote and run for office) began in 1848 and by the 1890’s was a very divisive social topic. Many people did not feel it was a woman’s place to interfere in the affairs of the State, including many women. Some women were fine with their current roles. Some wanted to vote, but still felt their place was in the home. Some felt they deserved the exact same rights as men, which was a very extreme view to have. Let’s not forget, women had only just started putting pants on for the first time (thanks to the bicycle)!

Despite Charlotte Smith’s feeling that bicycles were “indecent and vulgar,” she was a central figure in the feminist movement. She fought for women’s rights in the workplace, edited two women’s magazines, lobbied and pushed for women to get into business, and was known to knock a guy over the head with her umbrella if she caught him mistreating a lady. So, I can only fault her so much.

To be fair, Smith’s remarks probably held some truth to them. In the late 1800’s, the lives of young women were looked after very closely and their interaction with the opposite sex was strictly guarded. They were not afforded much independence at all and they rarely left the home by themselves.

Oh, thank God for the bicycle, right?

Thanks to the bicycle, women were finding a way to explore the world for themselves and, for that matter, explore themselves. Courtships changed as women started experimenting with relationships outside of their strict households. This was the very beginning of women taking charge of their own sexuality!

Oh, thank God for the bicycle, right?

The religious community was in a haze of confusion on what to do. Some churches sided with Charlotte Smith’s view that the bicycle was a downward spiral of sin and loudly denounced the use of the vehicle by women. Others were concerned that their congregations were shrinking as more and more people chose riding their bikes on Sundays instead of worshiping. In fact, several pastors took their services out of the church and onto the bicycle, meeting the cyclists on their own turf. It was the perfect compromise!

Oh, thank God for the bicycle…(seriously, God, I’d personally like to thank you for the bicycle. Amen.)

So, the general concern in the anti-women-on-bicycle movement was that, given her newfound independence, women’s role in society would change completely and permanently. And you know what? They were right.

Oh, thank God for the bicycle!

Women in Cycling: Get Me Out of This Dress!

“Let me tell you what I think of Bicycling. I think it has done more to emancipate women than anything else in the world. I stand and rejoice every time I see a woman ride by on a wheel.”
- Susan B. Anthony, February 2, 1896

I read that quote for the first time recently. I instantly attached myself to it. After all, as a woman who loves the freeing feeling of being on a bike, I knew exactly what Susan B. Anthony was talking about.

Or did I?

The bicycle was brought to America in 1876 by Colonel Albert Augustus Pope. At that time, bikes had huge wheels in the front and teeny tiny wheels in the back. The bigger the front wheel, the faster the bike. In fact, they went so fast, that most horses couldn’t keep up with them. And since you didn’t have to feed a bike, the “high wheelers” became a much more economical form of transportation than horses. The bicycle was an instant success.

The high wheelers, though, were highly dangerous. They were difficult to mount and the front wheels were so big that hitting any sort of rut in the poorly maintained, horse destroyed roads would send the rider crashing down to Earth. It was during this time that the League of American Wheelmen (L.A.W.) fought for road improvements. Road improvements that would pave the way for the invention of the automobile.

Rather quickly, a new iteration of the bike dawned – the type that we all know and love to this day – with 2 wheels of the same size and a chain that drives the rear wheel. This bike became known as the “safety” because…well, it was safer. Popularity of the safety soared. Hundreds of manufacturers popped up almost overnight as bikes were selling by the hundreds of thousands by 1896. And at $50 - $150 each, it was driving millions of dollars into the American economy.

But enough about the general awesomeness of the bicycle, how did this silly little thing emancipate women?

Think back to what you know about life for women in the late 1800’s. Firstly, women only wore dresses. Huge Victorian dresses. Huge Victorian dresses that oftentimes couldn’t fit through doorways! Women were strapped tightly into corsets - a garment that was not only painful to wear, but was extremely detrimental to internal organs and made it hard for women to breathe. Secondly, women stayed in the home and didn’t wander very far. Lastly, they were discouraged from exercise – it was thought to be bad for them; bad for their reproductive organs.

Enter the bicycle.

The popularity of the bicycle could not be denied. The craze exploded like a cargo ship of Mentos sinking into a sea of Diet Coke. And women got into it. They really got into it. However, it didn’t take long to realize that trying to pilot a bicycle dressed in “proper” women’s clothing was nearly impossible.

Almost immediately, women started tossing their dresses aside in favor of more appropriate cycling clothing. Corsets were the first to go – if she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t ride. And that was a huge deal back then. The use of a corset defined the curves of a women’s body and gave a visual definition of gender roles during that time. Refusing to wear them caused a great uproar especially among men and church groups who feared the blurring of those roles would lead to the infringement of man’s domain.

The concern of gender roles would only increase as women’s riding fashion continued to change. Once free of the corset, the dresses got smaller. Woman finally got tired of trying to ride in a long dress altogether and began opting for a garment called “Bloomers”. Emily Bloomer had developed the shorter skirt with flowing trousers underneath in the 1850’s. But, they caused such an outrage (the thought of a woman wearing any sort of pants was completely unimaginable …only men wore pants; it defined him), that they didn’t really catch on…until the bike came along.

Bloomers became the most useful bike riding garment, but were still not an acceptable form of women’s fashion off the bike. Off the bike, women were still expected to be in their dresses which caused problems of its own. One New York [state] school board banned female school teachers from riding a bike to work to prevent them from showing up in bloomers. “If we do not stop them now they will want to be in style with the New York [City] women and wear bloomers. Then how would our schoolrooms look with the lady teachers parading about among young boys and girls wearing bloomers…We are determined to stop our teachers in time, before they go that far,” said one trustee to the New York Times .

Funny thing is, for all the controversy they caused, the bloomers popularity was short-lived. Although functional, the lady cyclists actually found them ugly and started rejecting them in favor of shorter skirts. Now women were showing their legs. Pictures of women wearing pants (GASP!) even started showing up in advertising and on cigar boxes; the first gender-benders of the New World! American Society was aghast at the impropriety that the bicycle had begun; aghast that women were demanding proper riding clothing…aghast that women were demanding anything at all.

It was the mid 1890’s and women were spiraling out of control at the hands of the bike. In a few short years, the entire image of a woman had changed. But, the emancipation went beyond just clothing. Women were experiencing a freedom they had never known before.

And not all feminists were happy about it. Up next, the anti-cyclist women's movement.