Come Ride Along: 104 Miles with Oaks and Me

It is early, still dark even, and as I ease my feet onto the floor and hobble towards my teenage son Oakley’s room to wake him, I am at once excited and trepidatious. Today, we intend to bicycle over 100 miles on the Maine Lighthouse Ride. We have never ridden this far, and I am aware that it could go one of many ways, all equally plausible: We could have a mechanical failure and not complete it; I don’t even have a tube or pump with me. I had no time to collect one. We could not be up for the challenge physically because I have barely ridden this summer. Oakley or I could melt down with anxiety and pent-up frustration. Or we could reach our goal and feel like the team that we both desire to be.

This summer has been hard, and my relationship with Oakley has been taxed, so when he agreed to do this ride with me I was surprised. Perhaps he knows how badly we need it.

However, it is one thing to agree in advance and another to agree when your mother is hovering over you at zero-dark-thirty and telling you that now is the time.

I wiggle his toes, “Okay Oaks, time to hit it.”

“Yup, let’s do this.” he groans, and slides out from under the covers.

The Start

Of course we are late to the start. We often are late to things because of the constraints of the ferry getting off Peaks Island. No matter. We see a group of 50 or so cyclists revving their leg muscles, and we join the pack. Most of the participants seem to be middle-aged men, but there are a smattering of women here and there. No teenagers though.

After just a moment the group moves out and begins riding in unison along the East Coast Green Way in South Portland. Neither Oakley nor I have ever ridden in a pack like this, and we grin at each other, taken up in the camaraderie and the energy of the group. Everyone starts slowly, chatting with each other and taking the time to warm up. The sun has risen, and a golden light colors the coast. It looks like the perfect day.

Mile One through 16

We start off strong and confident. The pace is easy and as one mile turns to five the pack opens up. We see a friend riding, and he introduces Oakley and me to his fellow riders. “This is Oakley and Leah. They just opened up a bike shop this summer, and last year they rode across the country.” I can visibly see Oakley’s shoulders broaden, and I feel pride welling up inside me. It is good to feel this, after our mother-son summer battles. Several miles later Oakley turns to me and says with no self-consciousness that he loves this. The truth beams from his eyes.

“This is so fun! I have never done this with people before. They are all so nice!” He rides slightly ahead of me, gesturing with his hands wherever there is some gravel in the road, or a sewer grate to avoid or when the group is stopping. How nice it is to be led by him. How nice it is to have him warn me about hazards instead of the other way around. A refreshing change. Looks like we are going to have a great day.

Mile 17 though 35

Our first rest stop. Hot-diggity. Here are all the snacks Oakley can imagine. Of course, before we left this morning we had eggs and cheese on hardy bagels, but that was nearly two hours ago, eons in Oakley’s time frame. There are peanut-butter sandwiches, Cheetos, Twizzlers, energy bars, oranges and pretzels. “Have at it, Oaks.” and he does.

Bellied full, we are off again. Now the group has really spread out, and we ride alone. It doesn’t take long before we realize that this is a mistake. I had thought the route would be well marked. I had thought there would be lots of people, but suddenly I see that I am very wrong. I take one wrong turn, backtrack and take another. “Mom! You are kidding me.” I see Oakley’s hackles go up.

“Give me a minute.” Furiously, I try to download the GPS map of the route that had been emailed to me days ago, the one that I had brazenly ignored, sure that it would be obvious, but I can’t make it work.

“Mom, you always do this! I was psyched for this ride, and you are going to ruin it.” Oakley’s words are not kind, but he has a point. We have been in this position many times. I don’t plan well, he gets angry. I get flustered, we get lost. It is the oldest story in our book. Luckily, this time I wind our way back to the course after a mere three-mile goose chase, and we see a group cycling away. “Mom, I feel zoomy! I am going to stay with them! Meet you at the next rest stop!” I give my blessing, happy that he is no longer angry and he is off; the whole group is. I pedal furiously behind, trying desperately not to lose sight of them.

But I do. It is not long before I am alone on the road, stopping again and again to consult the map on my phone and try to coordinate it with my phone’s GPS. I am hopelessly lost and know only to head south and find the rest stop that is near some railroad tracks. After some time, Oakley texts me. “Where are you? Call Pops!” I bristle at this suggestion. Soon, we figure out together that we can use an app on our phone to keep track of each other to guide me to him. “You’re almost here mom, and if you decide you need to quit, just know that I am not going to. I am having a really good time.”

When I finally make it to the rest area, the group of volunteers manning the snacks is chuckling. “You’re the mom,” they say and shake their heads. I guess he broadcast loud and clear what a nincompoop I am.

Mile 36 through 52

Well, there is no choice. I can’t ride on my own because I don’t know the way, so I will simply keep up. I look at the group Oakley has buddied up to and inwardly groan. They are mostly in their 30’s and all have high-tech, ultra-light bikes. I have my beloved steel touring bike complete with racks. It is a hefty girl. Even Oakley is riding a fancy bike these days. His touring bike was stolen a few weeks ago and a neighbor, who was unbelievably generous, and knew how important biking is to Oaks, gave him a hand-built Rob Stowe bicycle. It weighs a dime and is smooth as ice to ride. Nevermind, I will find a way.

We enter one of the most beautiful sections of the ride. The road goes right along the coast, and we are treated to beaches, lighthouses and boat landings on one side and lavish homes on the other. I have to work hard and several times Oaks circles back to make sure I see a turn that I am liable to miss and he warns me, “Mom, you have to keep up. We have to stay with these guys. They are really cool.”

I feel for these people who have taken us on like poor lost puppies. There is Matt, an incredibly tall man with long wavy hair, halfway down his back, a handlebar mustache, and a bike shirt unzipped to his navel, to allow the breeze to cool his sweaty chest hair. He laughs like a barking seal, full of gusto. There is Zack, a sweet, soft-spoken soul. He has bleached blond hair, several earrings and an easy, gentle, manner. He doesn’t even breathe heavily. Then Emily, who basically holds us all together. She has ridden across the country, averaging 100 miles a day. There isn’t an ounce of fat on her. And Tom, a kind, inquisitive man who asks Oakley millions of questions and allows him to brag incessantly. Tom is 70 and has ridden several century rides. I don’t want to hold them back, but I need them, so I try even harder.

Mile 53 to 70

Now I am tired. When we get to the next rest stop, I channel Oakley. I am starving. Not just belly-empty starving, but chemically-altered starving. I look at the food, not as tasty treats but as chemicals components that hold the key to making my body work. I need salt. Cheetos and a cup of pickle juice. I need caffeine. An energy bar that has the caffeine equivalent to 1 1/2 cups of coffee. I need sugar. Twizzlers and peanut putter and jelly. I am incredibly thirsty, and slug back a full water bottle and refill it with gatorade.

Oakley is still smiling, but he whispers under his breath to me that now he is getting tired. “Thank God,” I think to myself. There is a kink in my neck that descends from my skull down between my shoulder blades. I wander around stretching it out and nodding like a bobble-head. Other bikers are starting to seem weary too. I hear people asking each other about upcoming hills and how many hours we still have left.

Mile 71 to 92

We are back in our home turf now, approaching the return to South Portland. I feel myself entering machine mode, and it allows me to cycle faster. My breath comes out regular and hard, something akin to Lamaze breathing. I let myself become absorbed in it. What is it I love about this? Why is it so fun, even when is feels like there is a knife in my back, my knees are aching, and my butt muscles roar? Perhaps it is because it is reminiscent of riding a horse as fast as one can through the open country side, hearing the roar of the wind and passing by beautiful land, feeling power and absorbing the beauty of the world all in one go. I feel this now. This connection to the life inside and out, and my legs spin.

Tom rides up beside me. “I would have never found our way if it weren’t for those orange arrows. They were great.”

“What arrows?” Was he hallucinating?

“The ones on the street that showed our route.” He sees my blank expression. “You saw the arrows, right?”

“No, I never saw any arrows! Are you kidding me?” I look down and there one is as we sail around a bend. Clear as day. I can’t believe it.

“You were late to the start weren’t you? They told us all about them. How did you think we knew where to go?

Mile 93 to 102

I leave the last rest stop early and head out on my own. I can follow the orange arrows now! I know that they will catch me, but I want a head start. I know we are going to make it. I know Oakley and I will make it. We have this. He is proud and I am proud. My heart swells. I think of everything we have learned in one day:

1. We are still a team. No matter what life throws at us, we have this.
2. I make my life more challenging by throwing caution to the wind and not paying attention to details, but setting off half-assed has created some great adventures.
3. It is time for Oakley to start pointing hazards out to me. He can see them now, even when I don’t show him.
4. We need a pack to find our way. Today it was this motley crew, but long term it is our friends and family who will show us the way when we get lost.
5. Growing stronger and facing challenges hurts, and that is okay.
6. I am a nincompoop. I admit it. I am making this up as I go. But, what a life.

The Finish

And so we finish. The whole crew. Of course they catch me and sail on by. When we reach the end we see that we are some of the last riders, and I had thought we were so speedy! There are a few people cheering and ringing cow bells and a few boxed dinners for us to take as we depart, but for the most part the organizers were closing up shop.

Tom shares that this was his first time riding a century since a recent stroke and heart surgery just eight months ago. Zack shares that the batteries to his electronic shifters had died at the beginning of the race, and he had ridden he whole thing in one gear. A larger woman came in all alone riding just behind us wearing a lopsided backpack and covered in white sunscreen. We are all in our own race. Oakley and I are nothing special, just incredibly lucky.