Ramblings of the STP (complete with poems) ~ rather long

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William Higley, Sr.

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STP 2004


Another year another STP. Let's see great weather, tasty food, no mechanical
problems, just me and 7,999 like-minded idiots on the road. As they say, it
just doesn't get any better than this.


At the starting line we wait,

Like thoroughbreds at the gate.

We listen for the starting bell,

It rings, we're off like bats from hell.


Well maybe like middle aged pudgy bats, that want to put on a good show of
it. Anyway, the first day is going quite nicely. I have an opportunity to
talk with a few other recumbists ( a term I use for those of us that are
civilized enough to ride recumbent bikes). At the first rest stop I
determine that I will try and stop at most of the rest stops during the day.
I'm curious what that will do for my times. I know it will get hot as the
day wears on, so I want to remain properly hydrated and fueled.


Like finely tuned machines are we,

We need good food and drink.

Lest we become lethargic,

And our efforts start to stink.


We have been warned, the vandals and visigoths have once again tacked the
route. Caution is the word of the day as you pass through Roy. I spotted
several tacks mixed in with the gravel in one stretch of road, but manage to
pass safely through. Having by this time noted the etiquette of several of
my fellow riders, I can see how we might not be warmly received by all.


Some riders sit too long methinks,

Upon their pea sized brain.

It causes mental spasms,

And is a source of pain.


But so much for the mental pygmies among us. The lunch stop on day one is
upon me. I bump into some acquaintances from past adventures. I told my
dentist and her husband (the County M.E.) that I would be the middle-aged,
overweight guy with a white beard. Apparently the description worked. Norm
spotted me at the lunch stop, so I chatted with him and his wife Patti for a
bit. They were hoping to get in around 150 miles the first day.


My lunch consumed, I'm feeling fresh,

I'm on the road again.

Another seventy miles to go,

Before my day is done.

(Cut me some slack, it kinda rhymes)






So here I go. I'm back in the saddle again. Opportunities present themselves
for me to chat with many more riders. We talk about bicycles, weather, food,
or wherever the conversation leads us. I am always amazed at how friendly so
many of the riders are. They are almost always offering to help people that
are having problems. It gives a person hope about humanity (well at least
the bicycling community anyway).

I'm on the road, no strangers here,

Just friends I've not yet met.

I'm quite impressed by most I meet,

Good Times! Let's not forget.


Well by now I am closing in on the 100-mile mark and I have had a few
problems with cramping up. I guess I haven't quite been as faithful with the
hydration as I had intended. I stop off at Centralia, have some more water,
an orange cream ice-cream confectionary goodie, rest up for about ten
minutes and I am back at it. Next stop is Chehalis about another 8 miles up
the road. My legs are getting a little more insistent about cramping up so I
give them a five minute break and a tall drink. I push on and then stop at
about mile 115. I'm sitting at the bottom of a fairly long incline and my
legs are really cramping up.


I'm stuck here at the toe of slope,

My temperature starts to rise.

I'd really like to push on,

Damn that knotting in my thighs.


Well after a several minutes pass the knotting lets up and I make it to the
top of the hill. I have another three or four miles to go, but I feel like I
just hit a wall. The down-hills are my friends the up-hills my mortal
enemies (or is that enemas). The Giant egg at Winlock is in sight. I've made
my goal of day one. 121 miles more or less.


The joys of cycling through the day,

Have started to wear thin.

In just 12 hours from now,

My new day will begin.


But why worry about tomorrow, the evening is young, I'm hot and stinky,
there are several beers to consume, a dinner to eat, and a Grande Margarita
with my name etched in the frost. Perhaps by now the more astute observers
among you will have determined I will enjoy not being on the bike for a
while.


Anyway all the things above, sleep, jump out of bed when the alarm goes off
(sounds like a wild animal just got caught in a trap), eat breakfast, load
bike, check out, zip back down to Winlock, and start day two. Things are
moving along so well I don't stop for about twenty miles. I figure I have
about another ten to go for second day lunch stop. Talk to a few folks and
find out it is only another six miles up the road. About twenty minutes
later I'm stopping for lunch. I had the chance to open up on some of the
hills. I showed some restraint and kept it around 40 mph on the hills in
this area.


The downhill course it calls to me,

It sets my spirit free.

At 40 I just love the bike,

Yahoo, yippee, whee.


I have had my fill of food and water at the lunch stop. I am now heading for
the bridge at Longview and come across a sight that makes me wish I had not
partaken so fully of the mornings offerings.

For those of you who are not completely familiar with cycling there are
several types of shorts. There are those that have the panels built in and
there are those that are plain shorts. You buy cycling underwear separately.
The underwear consists of padding and a support material (quite thin and
gauzy). Well one of the more comfortable cyclists decided to wear the
undergarment only. It had the appearance of a padded cross bound by a thin
layer of gauze. It left little to the imagination. You are left to guess
what effect it had on the mind of a person that has such a tender grasp of
reality as it is. Needless to say I made no effort to draft behind (that's a
joke son) this cyclist.


The total lack of modesty,

The clothes that people wear.

I wonder what on earth they think,

This leads me to despair.



Longview, the bridge across the mighty river, the wait, the ride across with
several hundred

people.



Dear Lord, grant thee your humble servant, one small favor. Please do not
make me cross the bridge behind the cheeky one. Amen.

I survived the crossing with little incident and made it into Oregon. Being
bunched up again it takes a while to spread out the riders. About ten miles
past the bridge I stop at another rest area. It is here that I overhear one
of the great philosopher-cyclists spew forth words of wisdom about the
crossing at Longview. What he tells us, is unfettered genius. He has
determined that the biggest cause of accidents is other cyclists. What he
does shows great clarity of thought. Simply fight your way to the head of
the pack and you can avoid all the other morons that are fighting their way
to the head of the pack. Accidents are thus avoided. Perhaps he was stuck
behind SEE-THROUGH-UNDERWEAR MAN and his brain was voided of all cohesive
thought.


I decided it was time to move on with my life and hit the road. So much to
ponder, my brain it does wander. Up ahead is my final planned food stop of
the day. Temperatures are climbing and the thought of cold fresh fruit
sounds very good. I load up on watermelon, a few other fruits and a
sandwich. I still have about 27 miles to go and am looking forward to the
finish line. I set off determined to pretty much push through to the finish
line.


I'm feeling quite strong as the miles go by. I make a brief stop to call my
wife and let her know I am about three miles out, and then continue on. One
last steep hill in town gives me a bit of grief, but I manage to make it on
up. I am about a quarter mile from the finish line and another light turns
red. Well I stop along with several others and we are waiting for the light.
One plucky dumb-ass fights his way to the head of the line, zips out when
the light turns green, fails to clip in and then falls in front of us. I
show great restraint when I choose not to run over his head repeatedly.


The bronzed and chiseled cyclist,

No mere mortal he.

He struts on through the huddled mass,

Yearning to be free.


The light turns green, his chance is now,

He breaks free from the mass.

It's such a shame, he's not too bright,

He falls upon his ass.


The shrinkage of his ego,

As he lay there in the street,

Oh how the mighty has fallen,

And lays Prostrate at our feet.


At this point I am feeling quite good about myself. I have endured physical
suffering, seen horrid sights, listened to the ramblings of lunatics, and
fought down the temptation to smite those who so richly deserve being smote.
I cross the finish line with a big old grin on my face. I averaged my best
speed, had no accidents or mechanical problems, had pleasant weather and
loved it.


What will next year bring??


And now the abridged version:

Start at Seattle.

Peddle, peddle, peddle.

Stop at Portland.

I was afraid if I had this up front no one would have read any further.


Thanks for all the support in my cycling madness.


William Higley, Sr.

Vision R-50

RANS Rocket
 
William Higley, Sr. wrote:

> ...
> But so much for the mental pygmies among us. The lunch stop on day one is
> upon me. I bump into some acquaintances from past adventures. I told my
> dentist and her husband (the County M.E.) that I would be the middle-aged,
> overweight guy with a white beard. Apparently the description worked....


This describes the average US recumbent rider. ;)

> I survived the crossing with little incident and made it into Oregon. Being
> bunched up again it takes a while to spread out the riders. About ten miles
> past the bridge I stop at another rest area. It is here that I overhear one
> of the great philosopher-cyclists spew forth words of wisdom about the
> crossing at Longview. What he tells us, is unfettered genius. He has
> determined that the biggest cause of accidents is other cyclists. What he
> does shows great clarity of thought. Simply fight your way to the head of
> the pack and you can avoid all the other morons that are fighting their way
> to the head of the pack. Accidents are thus avoided....


This tactic worked for Lance and the Posties on the Waterloo - Wasquehal
stage.

> And now the abridged version:
>
> Start at Seattle.
>
> Peddle, peddle, peddle....


Should not this be, "Pedal, pedal, pedal"?

--
Tom Sherman – Quad City Area
 
"Tom Sherman" <[email protected]> wrote in message
news:[email protected]...
> William Higley, Sr. wrote:
>
> > ...
> > But so much for the mental pygmies among us. The lunch stop on day one

is
> > upon me. I bump into some acquaintances from past adventures. I told my
> > dentist and her husband (the County M.E.) that I would be the

middle-aged,
> > overweight guy with a white beard. Apparently the description worked....

>
> This describes the average US recumbent rider. ;)
>
> > I survived the crossing with little incident and made it into Oregon.

Being
> > bunched up again it takes a while to spread out the riders. About ten

miles
> > past the bridge I stop at another rest area. It is here that I overhear

one
> > of the great philosopher-cyclists spew forth words of wisdom about the
> > crossing at Longview. What he tells us, is unfettered genius. He has
> > determined that the biggest cause of accidents is other cyclists. What

he
> > does shows great clarity of thought. Simply fight your way to the head

of
> > the pack and you can avoid all the other morons that are fighting their

way
> > to the head of the pack. Accidents are thus avoided....

>
> This tactic worked for Lance and the Posties on the Waterloo - Wasquehal
> stage.
>
> > And now the abridged version:
> >
> > Start at Seattle.
> >
> > Peddle, peddle, peddle....

>
> Should not this be, "Pedal, pedal, pedal"?
>
> --
> Tom Sherman – Quad City Area
>


I'll have my publisher get right on that. I'm glad you made it through to
the end.

William Higley, Sr.
Vision R-50
RANS Rocket
 

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