Two Wheel Blogs

Route: Covered Bridge route, southwest of St. Louis
Time: 3:10
Miles: 51.25
Pace: 16.3 mph

I'm a flatlander. I'll admit it. To date, the routes I've ridden with any regularity include

• the Madison County trail system
• the county roads in and around Madison County
• the flats outside of St. Charles MO

The two times I've taken my bike on a road trip, I rode the Wobegon Trail in central Minnesota and the Great River Road Trail in Moline, Illinois -- not exactly areas known for their challenging elevations. So today's ride, my first on the Covered Bridge route, was also my first time riding hills of any consequence -- the operative word being "consequence."

Boz

I've been trying to ride with Boz all summer, but it hasn't worked out. The Monday night rides either didn't fit with his training schedule, or one of us had a conflict and couldn't make it. Boz has been a very important figure in my development as a cyclist. He has encouraged me, shared his experience and his gear with me, and allowed me to hang off his back tire on several occasions. Mostly though, he's been a role model in his commitment to what it is he's doing. He leads by example. He's been a good friend and a mentor. Though still a beginner, I wouldn't be the rider I am today without his support. So I was excited to finally get the chance to ride with him today.

Scott

And with Scott Thompson. A couple of years ago, when I was first started riding, Craig and Scott would come over to Edwardsville to ride the brevet series. Since they took off just down the street from my house, I would ride out with them for as long as I could, then return home and go about my day. On a couple of occasions, I would ride back out to meet them on their return, then ride back into town with them. Scott's a good guy and a great rider for long distances. He never seems to tire. I remember on one occasion riding out with them as they took off on some hellaciously long ride (the 400k, I believe), and then riding back out to meet them. They had been riding, literally, all day, and yet you'd never know it to look at Scott. His pace -- stronger than mine -- was steady, even. I marveled at him.

The Riders

For today's ride, we met up at a Starbuck's off I-44. It looked like it would be just the three of us, but as we were about to set off, Dennis and his 15-year-old son, Tyler, rolled up. Then, as the five of us were about to head out, another rider, Kent, rode up on his bike. I don't know where he lives, but he biked to the start of our 51-miler. Along the way, we were joined by another rider, Robert. So we were seven. Everyone except me, I believe, had ridden this route before.

The Route

The route is a "lollipop." You ride out in a straight line (the stick), then make a big loop that rejoins the stick and returns you to the start. In terms of elevation, the ride starts out flat, then after a little climbing, you pretty much ride straight down the side of hill into the valley below. You then enjoy some flats with an occasional roll as you cross the valley floor, before climbing back up out of the valley and taking the flats back home. In all, 51 miles with, I'm told, 4,200 feet of climbing. (Boz has all the stats.)

It soon became apparent that Kent and Robert were the "hosses" in this herd. As we started the descent towards the valley floor on Franks Road, they took full advantage of the downhill and let the speed carry them. "They're about to get into a pi**ing contest," Boz told me, before dropping back to check on the riders behind us. (Throughout the ride, Boz acted as "sweerper," dropping back to pick up whoever the rear rider was and bringing him back to the pack.) "Then I've got a front row seat," I said, as I could see the two of them ahead of me. I had no desire to catch them, but I wanted them to remain in sight.

Keith, Meet Franks. Franks, Keith.

By this point, the angle of descent has sharpened. And it's not a straight descent, either. The road twists to one side and then the other. I am now going faster than I ever have before, watching the riders ahead of me all the while. As I round a curve, I feel my bike start to slide sideways. It was still early in the morning, around 7:00 a.m., and the road surface was slightly damp from the morning dew. Also, it occurred to me, I was travelling at a high rate of speed. I had the sudden and wholly unpleasant sensation that I was no longer in control of the bike. I immediately applied pressure to the brakes, in an attempt to slow down and bring the bike back under control. But as with a car skidding on an icy surface, this merely redirected my skid.

Many thoughts went through my mind in an instant. The first of these was that riding off the road headfirst into the trees and brush would probably be the worst thing that could happen. I forget what the second thought was because, as soon I processed the first one, I assume my instincts took over. I have never had to ditch a bike before, but I've seen how motorcycle riders do it, laying the cycle down sideways on the pavement and skidding on their hip to minimize injury. Whether by accident or design, that is what I did. I skidded to a stop on my right hip, the bike sprawled across me, and my water bottles rolling for the ditch.

I quickly determined I was all right -- scraped up, sure, but otherwise unharmed. I was lucky. It could have been much, much worse. And, in reflecting on it, I learned a very basic mathematical lesson:

Speed + Inexperience = SPLAT!

I was inexperienced with handling a bike at that speed, and I paid the price for it. Fortunately, in this case, the price was not very high. Just a pair of bibs that I'll never be able to wear again, thanks to the holes I ripped in the flanks. (I also had a nasty strawberry on my right hip, and for the rest of the ride, no one wanted to ride behind me. Can't blame them. No one wants to look at THAT.)

I also realized that other riders were coming up from behind, and I needed to clear the road to avoid causing them to crash. So I got my bike out of the way, then scrambled for my water bottles. As I did, the others came through and quickly noted my situation. Boz stopped to make sure I was fit to ride. I mounted up and assured him I could continue. As you'd expect, my mishap was the subject of conversation and good-natured ribbing ("Hey, is that a Swiss bib?" or "Cover up, this is a family ride.") throughout the morning. I didn't care. I was just happy to be able to ride away from it.

And I learned from it, too. For the rest of the ride, I was acutely aware of watching my speed on the downhills. I was hyper-sensitive to the road surface and camber, the curves, everything. At the start, I was an innocent. Experience is the teacher. I learned the lesson the hard way, but I learned it.

The Flats

Once we reached the valley floor, the road flattened out -- at least compared to what we'd just come down. After awhile, the land began to undulate again, and we would pump up the climbs and roll down the other side. It was up-and-down enough to keep your interest, to keep you from getting too comfortable in the saddle, but nothing severe. No, the severe climbing was still ahead.

We finally came to the covered bridge, for which the route is named. It is not an active bridge, but rather set off in a state park. It occurred to me that we had just ridden all this way to see the covered bridge. "It looks like a barn without doors," offered Kent, and we all accepted that as the summary statement on the experience.

Climbing Out

Once you've seen the bridge, the easy part of the ride is over. Until now, it had been either all downhill or a little rolly or mostly flat. From now on, it was going to be uphill for a long ways. (Boz has the stats.) There's a series of three or four climbs, depending on how you count them, each different from the previous.

The first was "Disappointment Hill." It gets its name because, while not particularly steep, it just seems to go on forever. And it plays this game with you that, each time you think "Surely, this has to be the summit," you'll round a bend and see more incline ahead of you. Hence, you experience many such disappointments on your way up. It was a long, hard slog, and each of us took it at his own pace. Kent and Robert were like mountain goats, born to climb. The rest of us ... well, we did the best we could.

The next climb was shorter, but steeper, a real battle that had me standing in the pedals most of the way, a necessity just to keep forward momentun. The next climb ... I forget. By this point, I was pretty much climbed out. I had done enough "up" and was ready for some "down" or, at least, some "level." Suffice it to say, I spent more time and energy going uphill in this one ride than in the rest of my riding career combined. For a flatlander, this was a brutal indoctrination to the world of eleveation, a cruel hazing.

But I enjoyed it. It felt great to push myself in ways I've never been pushed before. Riding a flat century or trying to PR on the Belk Park Loop are unique physical challenges, but neither one compares to -- or prepares you for -- climbing 4,200 feet of vertical.

The Return

After the last of the climbs was behind us, we were now riding along the valley rim -- at least, as near as I could tell. And the road returned to its undulating nature, rising and falling, twisting and turning, playing with us like a kitten plays with a ball of yarn.

Kent and Robert took off, as they were able to, and rode back to where Robert had joined us. Robert went home, but Kent doubled back to finish the ride with us. As we completed the "pop" part of the lollipop, heading back to rejoin the stick, we were rewarded for our efforts with some serious downhill. Not Franks Road serious, but still, serious enough. Still feeling the sting of my scrapes, I carried as much speed as I felt I could safely handle (read "control") into the downhills. And I used the brake to avoid getting carried away -- by an ambulance! Kent, Craig, and Dennis were up ahead of me, and I would have liked to be up there with them, but today, discretion was indeed the best part of valor.

Once back on the "stick," it was a flat run back to the Starbuck's parking lot. I thoroughly enjoyed the ride -- and look forward to riding it again -- but I was ready to get back to my car so I could clean my scrapes and begin the process of healing.

Moral of the Story

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger" is an oft-repeated adage. I've said it myself on more than one occasion. And occasionally, it's a true statement. But sometimes, what doesn't kill us can injure us, possibly severely. As I've said, I was fortunate to be able to ride away from today's accident with nothing worse than some nasty scrapes and a ruined set of bibs. Maybe "blessed" would be a better word. (Craig, Kent, Dennis, and Tyler all ride for a Christian cycling team, so maybe I was the beneficiary of some "grace by association.")

Until today -- except for one self-inflicted act of stupidity on my comfort bike -- my riding career has been injury-free. Today, I lost that streak. I'm glad. It was time for me to learn an important lesson. Having now learned it, I hope never to require a refresher. I hope to be a better, smarter rider, one better able to control his speed and one more alert to potential dangers.

And I can't wait to put this newfound wisdom to use on another run on the Covered Bridge route. The ride was supremely challenging, and the scenery, simply magnificent. In a word, epic.