Patsy’s Pantry (as President Eric dubbed it) was open for business this year, and the customers, they came a’runnin’. But first, there was the small matter of a ride to work up an appetite.
Jim
and I arrived around
Dave
and the other “hosses” lined up at the start,
ready for a friendly race through the 64.4 mile course. We
lesser mortals fell in behind them. It
was great to come out of the first turn with so many TBC jerseys in evidence,
but that togetherness didn’t last long. Jim
left to join the “pack” and hang with them for a while, while Butch, Roland,
and I joined a small group of about seven that included a rider from the
Roland
and I pedaled hard towards
We
rolled into
At last! A lead and a tailwind. I zoomed along at 22 mph, with the view all to myself. Looking back, however, I saw the Mystery Yellow Jersey closing fast. He drafted on me for a ways, then passed. It was Rick Hensley! Off he went again, taking his “station” 200 yards ahead, and I followed him through the next turn and onto the first rough roads of the ride, and the first small hills.
We
passed the ranches and chicken farms, until, over one hill and turn, we
viewed heaven: the 22 mile
rest stop on 4715. And who
else should we spy there but the rest of the TBC crew: “Super
Dave” Williams, Galen,
Super Dave led the way, and I followed him and his riding partner, hanging with them for a few miles. The rest of the crew were a few hundred yards back, and so I thought I was doing pretty well—until we made a turn and Dave and friend left me in the proverbial dust, and the “peloton” of the other TBC members whooshed by me, all down on their aero bars and off to catch Dave. Oh, well. Back to the end of the line for me.
Luckily, I kept them in my sights, so I didn’t fall too far behind, but I credit the rough roads for that more than any great persistence on my part. Then, there was a flagger at a tricky fork in the road, and the pack went with the 64 mile route, leaving me all alone on the 45 mile road. However, it was a lovely road with green trees and wildflowers, and no traffic at all. I passed one or two 12 milers (I guessed), some walking, and made some good time. “Gee, this is going great!” I thought.
I
turned on to 3150, and before long came upon yet another rest stop—and
the Gang! Seems our routes
had met up once again. Gary Lesniewski
had a photo to commemorate the occasion, and we all signed our names to
the big board they had there.
This rest stop was at around 30 miles, and the remainder of the route (for me) was into the wind, so this is where the suffering began—and I was all alone. Up some hills, chased by dogs, and wondering if I was irretrievably lost, as the signs and arrows and flaggers seem to have disappeared. Adding to the confusion were the appearance of red and blue arrows pointing back the way I’d come, and other riders coming from the opposite direction. At the intersection of 4240, I pulled up at a stop sign and dragged out the wet rag that was once my map to check. Pulling up behind me, James Hughes likewise questioned where we were, but we figured we were heading in the right direction and so pressed on. The land was looking familiar: same trailer houses, same dogs (thankfully, tired now), same chicken farms. (Bo rules!!)
At last, at last, we turned onto 1735 and the college came into view. I struggled to keep James in view while we turned up the drive and past the orange cones. Up ahead, I saw a TBC jersey standing in the road, camera in hand, and my first thoughts were distinctly uncharitable: “Jim’s already done 64 miles, and he’s had time to get his camera? Grrrrrrrrr!!!” When I passed him by, I commented, “You stink!” as I went on to the truck where I could at last stop.
Jim soon ambled up, telling me, “You did good. I’ve only been here 25 minutes.” It turns out he’d dropped out of the pack after ten miles and continued on with the 45 mile route, as we’d originally planned. That made me feel better. But even as we spoke, we saw some TBC jerseys turning into the drive and hustled back to take pics. Sure enough, it was Dave Starrett and the hosses, looking for all the world like they’d just done a 25 mile Sunday morning ride, when they’d just completed 64 miles in a little more than three hours. (As I said, we ordinary mortals are in a different category….)
Jim forced me to keep walking (the meanie!) and we went out back to find the free burgers. I really just wanted some salty potato chips, but the smell of charcoal-broiled burgers was too tempting, so we split a burger, figuring it might be a while before we got to Patsy’s, so we could handle it. Then when I stopped by on the way back to visit the “facilities,” Jim checked the table and found we’d won door prizes: he, a jar of fragrant skin cream (“I hope it’s fruity!” he crooned), and I a picture frame. Feeling “special,” we returned to the parking lot—only to see that Dave had won a prize and so had Tyler Simpson. That’s cool—we were all “special.”
And
now, for the REAL raison d’être for the Mt. Pleasant Ride: PATSY’S
PANTRY!! We followed Dave’s
directions and soon found the neat little house with the flag and flowers. Inside,
we met Patsy and the small crew already gathered for the feast (and a
The “first shift” made way for the second—Roland, Butch, Roger and Frances, Bob Hebb and Tyler Simpson, and eventually, Galen and Eric. Jim got out the camera (or rather, I fetched it for him from the truck as he was too full to move far or fast) and took some photos. That done, we felt reluctantly that we had to leave soon before we fell comatose from so much riding and so much good food. We thanked Patsy and Dave and Sue for their hospitality, and pulled out for home—already planning the trip for next year!!