Author: Richard

Training company boss by day. Poet and a whole heap of other things by night. Plus the son of a mother who was killed in a care home while living with dementia.

ABB Day 15 – Chickasha to McAlester (with a little break in the middle)

Ray is still cycling alongside us so a lot of contemplative silence on today’s ride. Black ribbon has been tied to our bikes which we’ll keep with us until the end and release into the Atlantic (although given Ray’s penchant for brightly-coloured cycle wear it should probably have been yellow ribbon).

On paper today’s ride – at 143 miles – was supposed to be the longest and, combined with 5,100 feet of climbing, one of the toughest. The “signature ride” as tour leader, Mike Munk had described it the evening before at the regular briefing meeting.  But in practice it turned into a slightly less challenging 119 miles because we had to be bussed around a collapsed bridge.

A clear sign of how exhausted we are is that pretty much everyone fell asleep in the back of the support vehicle within a few minutes of climbing aboard. And now a sirloin steak, mashed potato and steamed broccoli later (not to mention the world’s hugest chocolate pudding) I can barely summon the energy to write this.

We’ve fallen into a cycle (if you’ll forgive the tired pun): ride, eat, sleep, ride, eat, sleep…A trip like this is very self indulgent. Cycling to the exclusion of almost everything else. And now, at only 8.30pm, I’m ready for the third part of the routine. Tomorrow we ride from McAlester to Fort Smith and then a rest day beckons. A massage might be in order I think.

ABB Day 14 – Elk City to Chickasha

One of our riders, Ray Rickard from Carson City, Nevada, died last night in his sleep. From a heart attack we suspect. Peacefully we hope. And after a day of happy cycling we know (because he told us).

Ray Rickard at the Oklahoma state line yesterday
Ray Rickard at the Oklahoma state line yesterday.

What can I say about a man I met for the first time at the start line in California just a fortnight ago? My knowledge of him is necessarily scratchy, built up of breathy conversations on the open road and chats over dinner. A couple of things stand out. Firstly that he loved his wife. I know this because each day he would pause to take pictures of the wildflowers he saw along the way and every evening send them to her. He showed me one such image he was particularly proud of – blue sky, orange mesa and purple flower heads. We’d taken virtually the same picture.

Say it with flowers...Ray sent a "bunch" to his wife at the end of each day
Say it with flowers…Ray sent a “bunch” to his wife at the end of each day.

Secondly that he was a retired psychologist with the prison service. We talked about this as we cleaned our bikes – me with a perfunctory wipe over with the proverbial oily rag, Ray with much more care and concern. He was a meticulous man who wanted his wheels to turn smoothly. I like to think the work he did with people who fell into the US criminal justice system will have had a similar effect –  smoothed their journey through life.

Life is like a bicycle. Carrying us not from Pacific to Atlantic coasts but on a fantastical journey from cradle to grave. We know that like all good rides it’s going to come to an end. Just not exactly when. Last night the big wheel stopped turning for Ray. We’ll miss him terribly. Already do. His bright orange/yellow cycling gear and upright but efficient stance made him stand out on the road ahead (and he often was ahead). We’re going keep riding to the end in his memory. Today we passed the half way point with heavy hearts.  Tomorrow we have our longest slog – 143 miles from Chickasha to Mcalester. He’ll be with us every inch of the way.

Half way with heavy hearts
Half way with heavy hearts.

 

Day 12 – Dalhart to Pampa

I’ll get the light and fluffy stuff out of the way first. That’s light and fluffy as in cream-covered sponge cake. Chatting on the open road, as you do, the good people at America by Bike learned that Rose was missing today’s graduation ceremony at Sydney University. So they arranged a graduation cake big enough to slice twenty or so ways so we all got a mouthful or two at the end of our ride from Dalhart to Pampa. Thanks to Mike, Karen, Barbara and, in particular, Jim for such a touching gesture. He’s one hell of a mechanic fixing bikes AND cakes.

On a more serious note I don’t want any of you ever again saying what Rose and I are doing is amazing. What Ron and Barry are doing is amazing and puts our efforts into the Texas shade. Ron is seventy six years old and gets in before us pretty much every single day.  Less than six months ago he was being treated for cancer. The chemo sapped his strength, he says. But it clearly hasn’t sapped his endurance. We call him “Iron” Ron because he’s competed in no fewer than 17 Hawaiian Ironman triathlons. He’ll be doing a half Ironman in August. Never too old is his motto. I have decided to do this event again or a similar distance in my 77th year as a tribute to the man.

And now a bit about Barry. Barry is doing the event for charity to raise money and awareness of those, like him, who are living with haemophilia (a disorder that stops the blood clotting which, on the face of it, isn’t too good if you fall of your bike). He also has the HIV virus because he was given contaminated blood products. This is his second trans-American ride in two years proving there should be no excuses for the rest of us.

As Dylan Thomas put it: “Do not go gentle into that good night but rage rage against the dying of the light.”

 

Day 11 – Tucamcari, New Mexico to Dalhart, Texas

Not many pics today because today was mostly about wind. An energy sapping headwind. A wind of about 30mph. A wind gusting to nearly twice that. A wind full of red Texas dust. A wind that told your legs you’d cycled 190 miles not just 95. A wind that made taking pictures a chore. A wind constantly slapping your face and screaming in your ears “why are you doing this?”

But that said a wind that at the end of the day put even more colour in our weather beaten cheeks and made us all shake one another’s hands and say “job well done.” We slept soundly. We slept quietly satisfied. We slept knowing that it we managed this day then there was a good chance we might reach the Atlantic coast in a fortnight.

Day 9 – Albuquerque to Las Vegas (no not that one)!

Another day curtailed by dangerously strong cross winds that threatened to dump us on the black top at any moment. Managed to ride 114 miles before Mike Munk (tour leader) called a halt. One of the two Kiwi riders, Symon, took a heavy fall after getting his front wheel caught in a cattle grid and was taken to hospital to clean up his face and shoulder.  Pictures of the battered and bruised All Black front row tomorrow! His helmet looks like a bite’s been taken out of it. Probs saved his life.  Always wear one –  you never know when you’re going to need it.

By the way we’re in the New Mexico Las Vegas not the Nevada one. Good job we realised before Sandy had booked Rose and I tickets to see Olivia Newton John in concert. Could’ve been an expensive taxi ride!

Talking of taxis…the old town here is the backdrop for the TV series Longmire (even though it’s set in Wyoming – go figure) so Rose wanted a look around. Only one problem: our hotel is some way out and there are no taxis (and don’t say why didn’t you ride in). So the hotel manager, Barbie, ran us into town in her bright green car she calls Roy. And when we’d eaten at Dicks she and Roy drove all the way back into town to pick us up again. Proper American hospitality. Thanks Barbie. And Roy.

Day 7 – Gallup to Albuquerque (almost)!

A funny kind of feeling on arrival here in Albuquerque. Elation that the first seven days of riding are behind us and that the first rest day is ahead of us. Sadness that we were unable to ride the whole way from Gallup to Albuquerque. We had to be trucked the first few miles past some shoulder on Interstate 40 that was unrideable because of it’s poor state of repair. And we missed two sections – both compulsory, one in the middle of the day and one at the end – because violent crosswinds made riding too dangerous. The purist in me is niggled. The pragmatist in me says it was a good call to abandon the ride for the day before the weather worsened. And now, from the comfort of our hotel room, it’s fair to say it’s blowing a hooley outside and no sane cyclist should be out on the roads or they’d end up like the poor old rattlesnake in the picture above.

Sadness also that a couple of riders are leaving us here having signed up to do only part of the trip. It’s amazing how quickly “family” ties develop on the road forged in the crucible of physical and mental exertion. Thanks for the ride guys and safe trips home.