MS TOUR 2016- Gary Gauthier
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2016 MS Tour,,, Oct 8 ,,, Hammond to McComb, overnight then
back .. 75 miles each way, gruesome hills, moderate north east wind 8 to 10, no
rain in sight, perfect riding weather, usual perfect support from the MS Staff,
exceptional support from volunteers, raising money for MS research and victim
support. I'm fortunate, my supporters donate, support me morally, spiritually, mentally,
and a few do some voodoo stuff we deny or don’t discuss. Checked out myself and bike over and
over, oiled chain, tires pumped, brakes tight, derailleurs smooth, chain quiet, brushed
teeth, eye drops, clean ears, tight shoelaces, ready, ready, ready. The
starting line, 700 or so riders, all excited, anxious, raring to go , starting in groups , I was the 5th or 6th group for the top 100
individual fundraisers from last year, I was Mr. 100, Mr. 99 to my right,
5 or 6 others mixed in , Mr. 99, "Patrick Williams", we trade
amenities. The announcer righteously reminds us what we're there for, then
moment of silence and some memorial words for Brian Guerra, a local friend to
everyone, rider and tech mortally taken during a tour in a horrendous
accident, The Star Spangled Banner , all standing erect and proud,
8 am , we're off, new route takes us further east before north,
no problem, wind is north 8 to 10, seems more brisk, pedal harder, many
starters over exert at the beginning,
I'm like the Tortoise in ,verses the hare, , slow but sure, pick my
pace, hold it , don't get carried away by the excited, overzealous,
reactionaries, I'm passed up by many, repeatedly hearing ," on your
left" over and over, no problem, by 5 miles many have passed me , at
the 10 mile rest stop most are stopped enjoying the snacks, drinks and port a
potties, , because of my training , stamina, and willingness to achieve,
I ignore rest stop 1 and pass 2/3 of the riders, it’s then I'm deeply
aware this year I'm following the rule of , no headphones, a crippling dilemma, no Hendrix, no Zeppelin, no Stevie
Ray Vaughn, no Three Doors Down, no Green Day, no Alleman Bros, no
Monster Magnets, having to rely only on imagination and internal humming,
debilitating, but overcomable, must prevail regardless of handicaps , for me
no music is a handicap. I meet up with Patrick
about 15 mile point , we decide to ride together and support each other, we
exchanged life stories before the first big
hill , you know the one at the fork in the road by the rural grocery/gas
station, the hill that puts you in the
lowest gear you have , you cadence high as possible, anything
but stop, a regrettable shame
looms over you if you stop to walk over a hill peak, it’s on the McComb news
that night, consequently if necessary, your last breath , last calorie, last muscle twitch to get over the top without the
semblance of effort. cycling ego, a necessary
hindrance. Stop 2 Patrick and I reunite,
we learn I’m missing an esophagus and he’s missing a foot of alimentary canal
from the other end, both fortunate to be riding 150 miles, this is Patrick’s 16th
MS tour and my 11th, Patrick lost his wife to MS, he’s riding with a
bigger purpose, showed me that he does
that, keeping up with him brought me to the extremes of my ability, and his knack
of overcoming his disadvantage without even a whimper earned my eternal
respect.. There’s hero’s all round us if you stop to listen. The terrain was
usual, familiar, with a few changes in route, rest stops at the usual places,
Patrick and I chit chat a lot since there’s no headphones. In conviction, sincerity, determination,
intestinal fortitude, we’re on the same
playing field, each rest stop, its candies, cookies, protein bars, bananas,
oranges, pickle juice, and clean plastic
bathrooms, with cheering volunteers
making us feel like we’re in the Tour De France, in our minds we are. Stop 3 is right before lunch, we skip it , go
right for lunch , but , lunch is barricaded by hills, hills , and more hills,
gaining in height as we climb northbound in elevation , we Orleanians are
not accustomed to; nosebleeds , dizziness, visions , and gust of artic air, our only
height experience is from overpasses, some high like the Lapalco Bridge on Intercostal,
the Rigolets Bridge on 90, Bayou St John Bridge, and others I can’t mention
because some are off limits to bikes. Lunch for me is a turkey wrap, a protein
bar, cookies , port a potty visit and off we go , Patrick and I head down the
road to the next hill, as we get closer
to McComb the hills increase in number and size. Crossing the Tchefuncte River
one of several times , I mention
to Patrick, “Smell that”, “can you smell that”, “I know that stench”, its
impossible to not notice that familiar
stench, a rancid, sour, wild moldy smell, yes,
a Big Foot , not disbelief nor
confusion, just another Big Foot strolling along the bank swinging big arms ,
loping , glancing left and right , crossing the bridge we try to get a picture
, sometimes yes,, sometimes no , either way it’s a memorable event,, not as
legendary as a Chubracabra, but notable. Caught
a snap, continue like “not a big deal”, Patrick , astounded, says, “ wow,, you
mean their real”, my reply, :” sure ,, when you ride with me , anything ‘s
possible”. Rider crowds are thin at this
point, everyone has found their pace and
rhythm , being more concerned about a good finish than that familiar burning in
the thighs, the aching in the feet, the pain in the ass cheeks, you trudge
on sometime mindless, focused, looking
for the finish line. Although the
scenery is beautiful, woodlands, fields, ponds, blacktop, road kill, dairy
farms, cattle, horses, an occasional chasing, barking dog, many rivers, the
main view of a focused rider is between the ends of the handlebars, making
circles with the legs, battling for every mile.. Crossing I -55 , the signal that the park is near, 10 miles or so to go, Patrick is checking our
time, “we’re doing great”, he informs me, “ day one,, uphill, north wind,
estimate little over 6 hours at finish”, we rolling, faster and faster, as we near the
park , no need to save energy,
pumping thighs like pistons on a diesel engine, gripping and pulling the bars for that extra torque,
making circles, making circles, making circles, on my hybrid , its
what gets you to 20 miles an hour.
Suddenly , there’s the sign,
“Percy Quinn Park”, “1000 yards”,
a beacon at the edge of the roaring sea, “let’s bring these ships to shore” , I
yell to Patrick. Making the turn into
the Park engages the roller coaster, speed bumps, short fast hills, shady tree
laden, fast, fast, fast, hang on fast, around the golf course, then up hill to
the huge red balloon over the road signaling the finish line.. The cheering crowd, smiling on lookers,
clapping well-wisher’s, MS Patients waiting to thank you for supporting them,
us trying to thank them for supporting us. Patrick and I shake and vow to reunite
tomorrow, he joins his family, I meet up with Marie. It’s hard to stop after a
dynamic finish, walking to the truck I
want to keep riding, eternally, high as a kite, endorphins run amuck, feeling like Armstrong, Hincappie ,
Hamilton or Lemond, just don’t want to lose
that feeling, can’t I go through the rest of life feeling like this?, well,
can’t I ?, I’m trying. I’ve heard a lot of conversations, someone says , “yes,,
I know what you mean”, this is one of
those cases, unless you live it you can’t possibly know the feeling, it’s like
no other, setting a big goal,
accomplishing it, killing it, riding your mighty stallion across the battlefield in
victory, your sword held high, , patting your steed , looking over your
accomplishment with a gaze that see’s
far and deep into your own soul , it’s what makes cyclist who they are.
I’m often asked, “Gary, how do you ride 100 miles in one day”, my reply
is always, “I don’t, I ride one mile 100 times”.
Day 2 Sunday..
Marie drops me off at the entrance of the Park, check out
the bike, all’s good, ride the roller coaster to the starting line, breakfast
is still going on , I grab some eggs, grits, yogurt, getting in line I’m
drenched in anticipation, eagerness , euphoria. Meet up with Patrick, he’s
riding with his team this morning, good luck, be safe, we take off in groups,
the roller coaster out the park is too narrow for us to leave at once, even in
groups its harrowing , wall to wall riders
, some 15 miles an hour some 30 miles an hour all up and down with the hills,
speed bumps add to the intrigue. It’s cooler than yesterday, the wind has
settled , general grade is downhill, the hills are still there but we deal with
them in the morning when we’re fresh, once out the park the sunshine warms
things up , I brought a little speaker that hangs around my neck, cranked it up
, “3 Door’s Down” , “Kryptonite”, gave me a little extra motivation, then some morning time Beatles,
the riders are extra congenial on Sunday morning, many have went home,
others are exhausted, those of us remaining are glad to have survived
Saturday. The supporting motorcyclist
(volunteers) keep us on track, my friend Brian is the one on the white Honda
that’s bigger than an Opel Kadet we had once, next song “Billy Vera”, “ You
Can’t Go Home”,great music, many
motorcyclist policemen also accompany us, they direct traffic at intersections,
if you need help , you pat the top of your head, they’re with you in no time.
The volunteers at rest stops encourage you, help you , make you feel special,
when really they are special. It’s a giant team working together for a
common good. About 3 miles out,began
to get
loose from yesterday, knees oil up , ankles bending , ass cheeks settling in position, have a good
pace out the gate, passing up riders,
feeling like a stallion, looking
like a Shetland pony, chit chatting and listening to music, nothing better.
What’s on ? “Born to be Wild”
Steppenwolf, motivator, especially if
your imaging in your mind Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper on their hogs in “Easy
Rider “with Steppenwolf soundtracking ,
wow , just added 3 miles an hour to my speed, it starts in the head and works
down to thighs, it’s called trickle down cycling. I’ve shaken off the cold,
feeling good, going for the first rest stop, hungry, push, push, push, riders
in bigger groups this morning, not spread out YET, talked to some riders from
St Francisville, they have hills, I have overpasses, riders move there just
for hills, a beautiful place, some local friends go there to train. Hills come
early but have less impact , we’re fresh, hungry, the smell of home floods our
nostrils and fills our thighs with blood , work the apex one crank at a time,
down the backside in a rush hoping to
not be met by a loose rock , pot hole ,
debris, bicycle parts, road kill, just want a smooth fast decent only to
prepare for the next hill a mile ahead,
its waiting for you , big cocky smile on its face, daring you to
conquer, begging you to fail, warning of the last 10 yards when your 5 miles an
hour, standing up, pulling on the bars with all your weight , its saying no ,
you’re thinking yes.. I stop at the first rest stop, quick refill, cookies,
trail mix, plastic bathroom, onward. Out the gate its’ “Sunrise”, “Uriah
Heap”,, appropriate, driving, music is
such a motivator, entering each ear , crashing in the middle brain, rushing to
each nerve , filling the entire body with enthusiasm , energy, more than is actually
there, what’s the word for that?, MOTIVATION.
The black top heats up, the thighs tighten, knees whimper, wrist ache,
breathing elevates, heart rate rises, solution? Pedal faster. Fighting a few more hills , passing familiar
dairy farms, unmistakable odor, no, more of a cow dung stink, general grade is
downhill and noticeable on flat stretches, faster, faster, faster, now playing,
“Twilight Zone” ,”Golden Earring”, what a burning, driving piece of music, “Am
I slipping into the twilight zone, this is a madhouse”, yes indeed. Feeling pretty good about now. Approaching
stop 3, top of a small hill, all the
bike shops take a rest stop and will fix or adjust your bike, you only pay for
parts, volunteers , the guys at East
Bank Cyclery take care of me regularly,
they’re rooting for me to hit that 50,000 on my Trek, I’m at 48,900, Jonathan,
Eric and Will, Eric is working Stop 3,
says things aren’t too busy, a few flats, a few derailleur adjustments, nice
visit , nice guy, I take his picture and away we go, looking for lunch again.
Hill stature is diminishing, speed is increasing ,nothing to save for, full
throttle, thighs on fire now, knees crying, ass cheeks sore, forearms ache,
pedal faster. Lunch, day 2, another
turkey wrap, yum, 35 miles to go , rejoice in some mini Oreo’s, plastic bathroom, leave lunch on the
downhill, nice, start off with some “38 Special” , “If I’d been the one”. A
couple miles out the lunch stop, I’m mindlessly pumping down the road, there
are markers painted on the road telling
you when to turn, if you’re not paying attention you can miss one and have to
backtrack if a motorcyclist sees you and catches you, if not, find an alternate route to rejoin the race,
my endorphins are raging, I miss one, felt something amiss, I stopped to get my
bearings, dismounted, checked my compass, gaze into the woods to see a figure
aside a pine tree, must investigate, closer , closer, closer, yes, it’s a wolf,
I’m drawn to its’ power, majesty, wildness, closer yet, it’s 6 feet tall, 220
pounds, long snout, snarly teeth, he’s dressed in a traditional blue pin stripe
Zoot Suit, long double chain to the left knee , pork pie hat
with 12 inch feather, Matte black and white spectator shoes, the wide
lapels gave him a broad physique, the baggy pants added length to his
legs, I looked up in disbelief as he
formed words with the end of his snout using
flexible lips to coherently say, “‘good afternoon” , “are we lost”, “uh yes”,
I reply, he twirled the gold chain with finger like paws, turned his head to
the left presenting me a profile that said , “yes, I’m all that . With an almost British accent , perfect
Queens English he says with confidence and arrogance, “ turn around, you missed
a turn”, stumbling back to the road, I glance back to see if he’s chasing me ,
no woods , only a large field, compass
still in my hand, my god I thought, I’ve just been in a Tex Avery Cartoon, or
was it the turkey wrap, racing back I cross a 25 foot long convertible , lets
get out of here before Mighty Mouse flys down to save me . I hear someone
yelling behind me , “Gary stop”, Gary stop”, realizing I hadn’t turned around yet, shaking my head, luckily I heard it , It was
Patrick, I had missed a turn, I did a quick 360 and joined him, didn’t mention
my lapse of reality , we’re going in
together. Patrick has set a pace I could keep only with maximum effort, that’s
what I wanted , maximum effort, Next rest stop was quick, pickle juice,
cookies, plastic bathroom, we take off like rockets homing in on a finish, Patrick lets me know we’re on a pace for just
over 5 hours, unimaginable for me , he’s bringing out the best I have, I’m
inspired and determined to keep up , we amble through Hammond, railroad tracks,
stop lights, keeping up speed , smelling home plate , visions of the finish,
faster and faster, the “behind us “ is just a memory, all is in front of
us, speaker playing , as usual an
appropriate tune, “Alvin Lee and Ten Years After”, “I’m Coming Home”, Woodstock
Version. Hard driving, fast clicking,
motivating. The Final Turn on to the
Boulevard, the finish line visible, 100
yards away, we're pumping all we have left, it’s less than 5 ½ hours, my best time
ever, we turn into the finish area, the announce calls us out, we’ve just conquered
the known world, at least in our minds and that’s all that matters. Patrick’s family waiting to congratulate him,
my wife, 2 children , 4 grandchildren all cheering me across the finish, I wish
the world could know this feeling, no drugs made to replicate this , now you know why cyclist cycle.
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| The Picture... |
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| Uphill Action |
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| Trike Rider.. |
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| Sunrise |
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| Tangi River , spot of last years Big Foot Sighting. |
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| Morning Start |
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| Trying to keep up , |
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| Saturday morning Lineup , |
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| Ready to go |
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| My Section,,, 5th group, |
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| Final Checkout... |
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| Time to line up , |
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| Patrick and I through the woods. |
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| Another Hill |
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| down Hill, |
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| Up Hill |
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| Up Hill |
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| Patrick and I climbing Godzilla |
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| Lunch Time,, |
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| Must have the Green Lantern Ring.. |
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| Climb Climb Climb | |
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| Rest Stop. |
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| Rest stop parking |
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| Trike Guy.. |
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| Patrick on the go |
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| Country Swimming Pool |
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| Finish Line Sunday. |
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| Part of my cheering squad.. |
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| My cheering squad. |
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| Here I come to the finish.. |
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| The Finish Line |
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| My friend and bike tech Eric of East Bank Cyclery,,, |
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| Sunday Morning , cold start. |
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| Sunday morning , warming up , |
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| Sunday morning |
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| Coming out the park Sunday morning |
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| Sunday morning line up ,,after great breakfast. |
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| more Sunday morning waiting to start. |
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| Its colder than it looks |
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| Oh, just another Big Foot Sighting.. |
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Patrick raring to go ,,
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