Back in Black: 2016 Dairy Roubaix

Back in black I hit the sack
I've been too long I'm glad to be back
Yes I am
Let loose from the noose
That's kept me hanging about
I keep looking at the sky cause it's gettin' me high
Forget the hearse cause I'll never die
I got nine lives cat's eyes
Using every one of them and runnin' wild

-AC/DC

Moments before the start of the 2016 Dairy Roubaix
photo by Glenn Gernert

Being "back" came in two strong forms this past weekend. First, there was a brief thought in my cycling circle that my favorite bike event, Dairy Roubaix, would no longer be. Second, when it was officially in the books, I didn't think I'd have what it would take to get through it.

I often think of the quote from Toby Depaw, previous owner of North Central Cyclery and event organizer, "All good events should have a shelf life". I believe in this full heartedly, but any time I think about this for Dairy Roubaix, I begin to get a bit weepy. You see Stew and Michelle Schilling have been doing such an amazing job with this for so many years—making hundreds of cyclists smile from ear to ear while riding their bikes up endless gravel hills—that I couldn't handle the thought of it disappearing. Neither could they I guess since instead of chucking the event, they passed it off to another couple, Pete and Alycann Taylor who own Bluedog Cycles in Viroqua.

Now first you have to understand how detail oriented and what perfectionists the Schillings are. They make all of their events run so smoothly, you'd think very little work went into them. Wrong. They put so much into all of them you "think" this way even if it just about kills them. This is one of the reasons they needed a little breather. Knowing this, you can imagine it wouldn't be easy to find anyone up to par to carry their torch. Thankfully, they knew just where to look, and that was Vernon Trails/Bluedog Cycles. You see Pete and Alycann run a bike shop, build mountain bike trails, lead adult and kid mountain bike camps and run advocacy programs. When you're used to juggling that many things, adding a weekend gravel event isn't easy, but you sort of know what to expect. 

From a participant's viewpoint, the event was flawless. They even ordered up sun, light winds and temps nearing 80! Oh sure it was hard for me not to see Stew and Michelle there for the whole weekend (they were there the first night and through the morning of the ride), but almost instantly, Pete and Alycann felt like family and I was so unbelievably excited to hear they were already planning on doing it again next year.

Now, to get back to the actual event. For the first time since my inaugural gravel ride, I stood on the starting line cursing myself and fretting over if I could make it through. I knew I had done less training this spring than any other in almost ten years. More than half the rides I did complete, I found myself gimping it back home exhausted and in pain. I HATE going into events unprepared and that's exactly where I thought I was. Because of this mindset, I made a vow to ride any pace I wanted (alone or with friends) and take as many rests as I needed.

Come to find out, a little bit of sun and warmth can be ridiculously healing for both mind and body. Five miles into the ride and I thought "Huh, I'm not feeling that bad". Ten miles into the ride and I thought "Where the hell is this energy coming from?". Twenty miles into the ride and I thought "Oh shit, there's no way I can keep this pace...I'm going to crash and burn if I try." But I didn't crash and burn. I did, however, get a flat which a great friend helped me fix in a flash to get me back up moving in about five minutes. And although I kept looking down at my tires for fear of having another flat, I didn't get one. I rode the last ten or so miles essentially alone. Pushing when I could, letting up on the throttle when the energy bar and whiskey shot I had fifteen miles back started coming up. I put my head down for the long climb up Co.Rd. C (a climb I usually like) and pushed hard back through Wyalusing park. 

Sandy Hollow Road

Although I didn't have much in me left when I finished the cross course, I also didn't feel terrible either. I felt relieved, and honestly a bit shocked by what I had just accomplished. Here's the funny thing. By no means is the 54 mile course "hard" compared to other rides I've done. Essentially, it would be something I'd go out and do almost every weekend if I lived near it. What had been hard was breaking the barriers in my mind. In essence, it was a full circle. The first time I completed Dairy Roubaix I was a nervous wreck beforehand since it was my first gravel ride. Only after being on the course for about ten miles did I allow myself to relax and have fun. After that first ride, I didn't care at all where I finished in the group—I was just so happy to have finished...with friends. And this is exactly how I felt Saturday. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, that can beat being on two wheels on beautiful terrain, and when the ride is over, sitting in the grass with great folks enjoying cold beer. For 36 hours, I allowed myself to forget all of my stress, worries and checklists, but more importantly, I allowed myself to heal and come back into the cycling community. 

Post ride refueling with friends
photo by John Driscoll

So many thanks go out to Stew and Michelle for starting this whole thing, Pete and Alycann for picking up the torch, all of the volunteers working hard behind the scenes and all of my friends who helped me through some really dark hours. 

Alright...who pissed off the wind gods?

If you've lived on either coast, you most likely know about sneaker waves. Those little troll waves you can almost hear mocking you as they blast your body the moment you avert your eyes from the ocean. It doesn't matter at all if it's low or high tide. They always have a way of finding you and blindsiding you.

We here, in the middle of "land lock" except for the great lakes, have only one thing similar to compare this phenomena to...sneaker wind gusts. Oh yes, I may have just coined that term and I'm sticking to it. Today, on my ride back from downtown (heading west), I was treated to a couple of these comical freaks of nature. One moment I'm pushing into 25 mph headwinds (sucky but I knew what I was in for), the next moment I see several students stop dead in the middle of the bike lane and I think "WTF?! Are they all pulling out their smart phones at the same time?" And then it hit. Bam! One second I was moving, the next moment, no matter how much I pushed on the pedals, I was at a complete standstill. I started laughing in that sick, demented way that makes others wonder "Is she right in the head?" It was so punishing and yet so damn funny at the same time. That sneaker wind held me in place for what seemed like minutes—even though is was more likely 30 seconds. Soon after, another one hit and almost blew me into traffic on my left. Then another almost blew me into a bus on my right. Those weren't as funny as I gave my handles the death grip and had to brake just to stay out of harms way.

Four miles later and the laughter wore off. I was tired, felt beat up and thought "that's it...I'm going to move someplace with dead, stale air". This entire spring has been full of wind and each year I'm amazed that WI could get any windier...until I remember what climate change does. The trouble is I like living here...but this wind is killing me slowly.

Until I find "utopia" with driftless like climbing and no wind, I guess I'll just have to tough it out. But folks, PLEASE stop saying wind is a good training tool because I think you're all just poking the monster!

Will ride for goats

When I feel like my list of chores will never end, and I have no business heading out on two wheels until I pack and move another box, there is one thing that will force me out no matter the weather or stress level. Yep, that's right, it's kidding season again. And thankfully, there is a beautiful 55 mile ride covering not one, but two friend's farms.

Over the years, these farms have served as a pilgrimage of sorts. Most of my cycling friends have a) either begged me to bring them out to see the goats or b) have been tricked into going out even if they aren't animal lovers. Most have held the squirmy little buggers, some have made the mistake in letting them suckle fingers after the goats had begun teething (that mistake is usually only made once...unless you're me when the mistake is made each year). Some of my friends are more interested in the cats,dogs,chickens,sheep and donkey--and I completely respect them for that.

Taty's first visit to Dreamfarm

I might look more comfortable on the farm than on my bike

Dan's first kid experience

Nathan loved it, even though he looked like he didn't

It's the alien eyes that get me every time

Laura fell in love with all the farm critters

I've never met anyone who loves goats as much as I do until Jonnymac

This year's bunch--48 hours old

Friday was my first trip out to the farms this year. The two groupings of kids were one week old and 48 hours old. Because they grow so fast, it's a pleasant reminder to live in the present and be a bit hedonistic. If I had waited another week for this ride--which my brain was telling me to do as I looked over my list of errands--I would have missed so much.

Today I'll make another ride out there. My list can wait a few hours. So if you're trying to reach me this morning, know I'll be blissed out holding the kids, breathing in the farm air heavy with scents of wet hay, manure, corn and wood (something I will always be in love with) and having a few hills kick my now untrained ass.

Happy spring everyone and happy kidding season!