it's not who you beat, it's who you help
"hey, how many other Filipinos are on this ride?"
"Two, or so I've heard."
"Then I must be the other one."
I looked over my shoulder somewhere on the road between Loudeac and Tinteniac, and saw this guy on a silver Seven Axiom riding along. I briefly glanced at his frame number, but it wasn't the one that I was hunting for. Earlier that week, I had been told that another Filipino was registered for PBP and was quietly keeping my eye out for his frame number, but my quarry continued to elude me. My new companion's number didn't match, but I was still glad for his company, and he must have divined my nationality by the patch that silentq had sewed onto my saddlebag. I yelled back, "well, actually, you'd make three. What's your name? Mine's Cris."
His name was Eddie and he lived in Greenwich, CT. He talked like a New Yorker talks but ate like a Filipino which was to say heartily on both counts. He shouted over my shoulder with the sort of grand boisterousness that I really needed to hear on this ride, and while I'd normally find that sort of chutzpah a little tacky, in these circumstances it was charming.
"See that pack up ahead, Cris? Their pace seems pretty sweet."
"Yeah, you can almost set a watch by the tempo on their legs."
"Yeah, you know, nothing gonzo, nothing aggro. Nice even speed to get us to the next control. You can catch them can't you? Can't you?"
With that, I tucked in and started to pedal hard to close the gap between us and that pack, as Eddie kept pace behind me, holding on to my wheel until we entered their slipstream and I eased off, he said, "nice pull, Cris. Thanks a lot."
We cruised like that for the next few kilometres as we swapped stories about riding in the Northeast. Then, as we entered the village of Quedillac and passed a small coffee stand, Eddie said that he'd be stopping and I decided to drop off and wait as well. It was almost 11:45 and according to the official stats, the Tinteniac control would begin to close in almost half an hour, but I had until 1pm to get there. We couldn't dawdle, so refortified with more croissants and coffee, I started another pull, but had to back off as Eddie yelled out, "ease up, Cris. I'm an old man. Don't kill me before Paris."
The guy looked like he was my age, but it turned out he was over 40, and when I said that he could've fooled me, Eddie replied that he may have had the face of an angel, but he had the legs of a crone. Specfically, his left knee was giving him problems and the brace that he was wearing wasn't giving the support that it used to.
Early in July, I started having knee problems after finishing my 600 and if there was one thing that I was dreading on this ride, it would be a resurfacing of those symptoms. I knew that if I started to get the same symptoms anywhere before Mortagne-Au-Perche, I would be done, because I would be reduced to pedaling one legged up the hills of Rambouillet, and that would destroy me. Fortunately, a few hours at a shop and a new pair of orthotics in my shoes seemed to have removed the knee pain, but I was still wary about it how it would sometimes come back if I took the wrong step in the wrong pair of shoes.
I packed a compression bandage in my first aid kit in case the pain came back, and hoped to use it to be able to ride to the next control or a pharmacy in such a scenario. However, I didn't need it ... yet. I told Eddie that he should probably get checked out at the medical station in Tinteniac, and as we crested another hill, he said that he might not get to Tinteniac. I asked him if he's taken any anti-inflammatories and he said that he's been popping ibuprofen like it's candy, but his body seems to be ignoring it now. So, after a significant pause, "hey, I got this compression bandage in my kit."
A part of my mind thought that it was crazy to give away this safety net, but that was overruled by another part that didn't want to see Eddie abandon. So, we pulled over and I fished out the bandage and showed him how to wrap it around his leg. As we paused by the roadside, another rider in a Seattle Randonneurs shirt came up to us and asked if we were part of the 90 hour riders.
"Yes," I said, "though we started in the third wave at 10:10."
"Why are you stopped? Are you quitting? You realize that it's 12:15 now and Tinteniac will be closing already?"
"We have an extra 45 minutes because of our third start."
"Do you think you can cover 8 miles in 45 minutes?"
"Of course, and they've also extended the closing time by two hours because of weather."
"Really?"
"Really. So, frickin' allez already. It's not over until the control tells you it's over."
We finished wrapping Eddie's knee and got back on the road. Later, as we passed the village of La Baussaine, I spotted the green cross of a pharmacy sign and pointed it out to him. I told them that I had to keep on going because my New England friends were probably waiting for me and I didn't want to hold them up, but I wished Eddie luck on the ride forward and wished the best for his knee.
I arrived in Tinteniac a little after 1pm, and if the authorities had not given us the two hour grace period, I would've been eliminated on that ride, but I like to think that they did that to reward those of us who stopped to help someone and share a little grace of our own.
"Two, or so I've heard."
"Then I must be the other one."
I looked over my shoulder somewhere on the road between Loudeac and Tinteniac, and saw this guy on a silver Seven Axiom riding along. I briefly glanced at his frame number, but it wasn't the one that I was hunting for. Earlier that week, I had been told that another Filipino was registered for PBP and was quietly keeping my eye out for his frame number, but my quarry continued to elude me. My new companion's number didn't match, but I was still glad for his company, and he must have divined my nationality by the patch that silentq had sewed onto my saddlebag. I yelled back, "well, actually, you'd make three. What's your name? Mine's Cris."
His name was Eddie and he lived in Greenwich, CT. He talked like a New Yorker talks but ate like a Filipino which was to say heartily on both counts. He shouted over my shoulder with the sort of grand boisterousness that I really needed to hear on this ride, and while I'd normally find that sort of chutzpah a little tacky, in these circumstances it was charming.
"See that pack up ahead, Cris? Their pace seems pretty sweet."
"Yeah, you can almost set a watch by the tempo on their legs."
"Yeah, you know, nothing gonzo, nothing aggro. Nice even speed to get us to the next control. You can catch them can't you? Can't you?"
With that, I tucked in and started to pedal hard to close the gap between us and that pack, as Eddie kept pace behind me, holding on to my wheel until we entered their slipstream and I eased off, he said, "nice pull, Cris. Thanks a lot."
We cruised like that for the next few kilometres as we swapped stories about riding in the Northeast. Then, as we entered the village of Quedillac and passed a small coffee stand, Eddie said that he'd be stopping and I decided to drop off and wait as well. It was almost 11:45 and according to the official stats, the Tinteniac control would begin to close in almost half an hour, but I had until 1pm to get there. We couldn't dawdle, so refortified with more croissants and coffee, I started another pull, but had to back off as Eddie yelled out, "ease up, Cris. I'm an old man. Don't kill me before Paris."
The guy looked like he was my age, but it turned out he was over 40, and when I said that he could've fooled me, Eddie replied that he may have had the face of an angel, but he had the legs of a crone. Specfically, his left knee was giving him problems and the brace that he was wearing wasn't giving the support that it used to.
Early in July, I started having knee problems after finishing my 600 and if there was one thing that I was dreading on this ride, it would be a resurfacing of those symptoms. I knew that if I started to get the same symptoms anywhere before Mortagne-Au-Perche, I would be done, because I would be reduced to pedaling one legged up the hills of Rambouillet, and that would destroy me. Fortunately, a few hours at a shop and a new pair of orthotics in my shoes seemed to have removed the knee pain, but I was still wary about it how it would sometimes come back if I took the wrong step in the wrong pair of shoes.
I packed a compression bandage in my first aid kit in case the pain came back, and hoped to use it to be able to ride to the next control or a pharmacy in such a scenario. However, I didn't need it ... yet. I told Eddie that he should probably get checked out at the medical station in Tinteniac, and as we crested another hill, he said that he might not get to Tinteniac. I asked him if he's taken any anti-inflammatories and he said that he's been popping ibuprofen like it's candy, but his body seems to be ignoring it now. So, after a significant pause, "hey, I got this compression bandage in my kit."
A part of my mind thought that it was crazy to give away this safety net, but that was overruled by another part that didn't want to see Eddie abandon. So, we pulled over and I fished out the bandage and showed him how to wrap it around his leg. As we paused by the roadside, another rider in a Seattle Randonneurs shirt came up to us and asked if we were part of the 90 hour riders.
"Yes," I said, "though we started in the third wave at 10:10."
"Why are you stopped? Are you quitting? You realize that it's 12:15 now and Tinteniac will be closing already?"
"We have an extra 45 minutes because of our third start."
"Do you think you can cover 8 miles in 45 minutes?"
"Of course, and they've also extended the closing time by two hours because of weather."
"Really?"
"Really. So, frickin' allez already. It's not over until the control tells you it's over."
We finished wrapping Eddie's knee and got back on the road. Later, as we passed the village of La Baussaine, I spotted the green cross of a pharmacy sign and pointed it out to him. I told them that I had to keep on going because my New England friends were probably waiting for me and I didn't want to hold them up, but I wished Eddie luck on the ride forward and wished the best for his knee.
I arrived in Tinteniac a little after 1pm, and if the authorities had not given us the two hour grace period, I would've been eliminated on that ride, but I like to think that they did that to reward those of us who stopped to help someone and share a little grace of our own.