Going full knucklehead on an unexpected century ride

This is what happens when you jump unprepared and already tired for a grueling activity

Jerry Painter tries to recover at the top of Strawberry Hill north of Preston, Idaho about three-fourths of the way into a 100-mile ride. (Photo courtesy of Paula Simerly)

I was staggering like a skid row drunk after having just finished 100 miles with 6,100 feet of uphill bike riding last Friday. I was making my way to a vault toilet to change out of my salty wet clothes when a large black bee/wasp decided it didn’t like me.

It was zooming around my head like the planes dive bombing King Kong as he clung to the top of the Empire State Building. I quickly got into the toilet and shut the door. But the bee was waiting for me when I stepped out and wham! It stung me on the back of my head. Ouch.

It was a giant exclamation point (!) to the end of a challenging day.

The first thing I need to establish with this story is that I’m a knucklehead.

My knuckleheadism often causes me pain, embarrassment, extra money or all three at the same time. I comfort myself with the notion that sort of like other people you might bump into, I’m humanish too and, like other humanish folk, I’m prone to silly errors.

When I was invited to go on this bike ride from Preston, Idaho (land of Napoleon Dynamite) to the top of a hill past Montpelier, Idaho by my friend Paula, all I heard was 50 miles. “I can do 50 miles, no problem,” I thought. What I didn’t hear was 50 miles one way, then turn around and ride back.

I have several reasons (excuses) for not being prepared to ride 100 miles in a day. Although I’ve done it four times already this year, on those occasions, I had prepared my fitness. Unfortunately in the past few weeks I’d been backpacking (at least 100 miles or so) and neglected my biking fitness.

It’s a well known fact that when you reach my age it only takes a few days to get out of shape and weeks of brutal sweating and grunting to get back into shape. (Here’s where you might ask: How old is this wrinkly fossil? Answer: Older than dirt.)

So I jumped into the car with Paula — who by the way has been pounding her pedals all summer to get into shape for the upcoming Logan-to-Jackson bike race (more than 200 miles) — and she told me the day’s ride would be 100 miles and 6,000 feet of elevation gain. I gulped. “Guess I shouldn’t have ridden up Sunnyside Hill yesterday,” I said sheepishly.

Five other cyclists met with us in Preston and we began riding up the hill commonly called Strawberry Hill. I hung with Paula and a young, hot shot rider until the second false summit and told myself I was going to blow up my legs if I didn’t set an easier pace.

We started down the other side of the hill and were almost immediately stopped by a man in a bright yellow shirt holding a stop sign. There was an accident just around the next bend. Traffic was backing up and the word was the wait would be at least a half hour. Apparently a farm truck and trailer took the steep, sharp turn too fast and lost his load. Traffic was backing up in both directions.

We waited and my legs stiffened up like fence posts. After nearly an hour of waiting I suggested we see if we could walk around the accident. We rode past the other waiting cars ahead of us and put on our most friendly smiles for the guy with the stop sign. I think it helped that there were three sweet ladies in our group. He talked with someone through his walkie-talkie and he let us go. When we got to the accident, men with big machines were trying to put a giant spool of irrigation pipe back onto a trailer. The truck pulling the trailer was lying on its side like roadkill. Glass coated the pavement. We rolled carefully past.

We zipped down the hill into Montpelier and stopped at the Maverick station for snacks. I ate a bag of sliced dill pickles and a cookie.

At this point we had ridden about 43 miles. Next we rode to the top of a hill, about 8 more miles toward the community of Geneva. The hill is commonly called Geneva Hill by the Logan-to-Jackson racers.

This hill wasn’t too long or steep, but I had a feeling of dread since my legs were pooped and we had just reached the halfway point.

Paula and I rode back to Montpelier on the return leg of our ride and stopped again at the Maverick station for more snacks, while two others continued riding to Afton, Wyoming. They were supported by sag wagons. Others in the group turned around at the top of Strawberry Hill. This time I drank a Coke and ate a poppyseed muffin at the Maverick station. “This will either reenergize me or make me sick,” I told Paula.

Paula Simerly relaxes at the top of Strawberry Hill about three-fourths of the way into a 100-mile ride last week. Paula is training to ride the Logan-to-Jackson race, a 200+ mile distance, in September. (Photo by Jerry Painter)

Paula and I took our time climbing to the top of Strawberry Hill from the opposite side. I set a slow, manageable pace and watched Paula disappear ahead of me. Partway up the hill, my stomach began saying mean things to me. When I joined Paula at the top of the hill, I downed a Blackberry Gu.

I confessed to her that after I pedaled up Sunnyside Hill the day before, I went to the climbing gym and did endurance workout climbs with several repeats. It was another knuckle headed move before a big ride.

Thankfully the combination of the Gu and 15 miles of mostly downhill, saw my stomach pains disappear and I found myself taking plenty of turns pulling Paula back to our start. My body found a tiny bit of recovery.

Looking back, I hope the experience taught me to better learn the specifics about upcoming events, prepare better and dodge a little quicker from dive-bombing bees. I still have the itchy lump on the back of my head to prove that I’m a knucklehead.