Norman Conquest - When Bob first mentioned this ride to me, I thought I would Google it to see the details, after all, that is what I do these days, I Google things. I fired up the trusty computer and typed in "Norman Conquest" I kept getting article after article about the conquest of England in 1066, until finally I came upon the site for the ride. To my surprise, it was a somewhat hilly course according to the map and after some quick research I discovered the temps were supposed to be in the mid 90s. I was excited about the ride and it looked to be a pretty good challenge for me. The day before the ride, Bob called me and arranged to pick me up at my house at 6:45. He arrived and off we went in the Honda element aka. the rolling toaster. upon arriving at the J.D. Mcarthy Children's Center for the start, I was surprised by the crowd, it was much larger than I expected there were actually several hundred people there for the ride. Bob and I went in to the building to register, I paid my money and turned around when suddenly someone was in my face not 2 inches from me. I was confronted by Dorthy, yes, that right, Stanley's ex stalker who I firmly believe skulked across the room to pop up in my face and quickly say "Have you talked to Stan lately, How's Stan?, Are any of the other guys here?". I did my best to brush her off like a mud spot on a clean t-shirt and after several attempts finally succeeded. Bob and I went outside to get our gear together and wait for the start of the race. At about 7:15 AM they had everyone squeeze under the carport for the start. As you can imagine it was a tight squeeze and I was having visions of the real Norman Conquest, the army tense before the first charge, the sweat and anticipation in the air. The quiet right before the storm. Then suddenly I was having a different thought about the charge, I was imagining the lead horse going down and taking the entire army with it. We endured the speech by the OU kicker and finally got underway a bit later than we were supposed to, thankfully without incident.
The first 15 miles or so of the 66 mile course were really crowded and I did nothing but mumble and curse about the mob of people much to Bob's distaste. I think at one point he considered knocking me off my bike when I was almost run down by a passing cyclist and said "I would rather ride a hundred in the desert by myself with no water than see another person on a freakin bicycle here". Just like the battle for England there was fighting and jostling and hills, damn there were hills. The only thing you could say with any consistency on this course is that after you topped the hill, there was another waiting just beyond it. About mile 20 or so while still in a tight pack and heading south toward lake Thunderbird, we came upon some traffic and an escapee from the Norman Mental Hospital. The crazy lady was driving in a red Nissan pickup and screaming out the window "Find a Road with a F*&%ing Shoulder you Bastards". Suddenly and without warning, she pulled sharply off the road and screeched to a stop in a cloud of dust. Like the invading Normans on the isle of England, she came storming out of her truck in a fury, assaulting a cyclist. Screaming at him and getting in his face. The scene was about to turn bloody.
Bob and I pedaled slowly by watching the battle unfold before us like grisly spectators. Within minutes we were past the scene and moving along the road, when suddenly, the little red truck came flying by the driver letting all the cyclists know her displeasure with our presence by dangling the universal finger of friendliness from the window and screaming past at breakneck speed on the wrong side of the road. Once again further up the road we past a scene where the truck had stopped and confronted another cyclist. Bob decided it was time to call in reinforcements as to repel these damn insurgents and whipped out his trusty cell phone to call 911. Just then the lady jumped in her truck, peeled out, crossed into the bar ditch on the other side of the road and rolled off down the highway in a cloud aof dried grass and dust. So off we pedaled, I was thinking about how eerily similar that was to the way Otis crewed for us and suddenly could not wait for the mother road to be here.
Bob and I labored on through the hills tackling one after the next just as the Norman Invaders swept through England conquering town after town. The sun was rising and suddenly the heat was becoming a factor, it was beating down reminding us that there was much course left to ride today. Still we kept on pedaling around lake Thunderbird and headed back to the North. We stopped first a little past what we thought to be the halfway mark and replenished our supplies. Even with modern GPS navigation systems the concept of exact distance stills seems to elude us here in Oklahoma. Let me explain, the flier stated the ride was 66 miles yet at the beginning of the race they told us it was 62 and still many participants seemed to be of the impression it was 68 miles. I find this lack of understanding somewhat disturbing. As we pull out of the rest stop the people manning it tell us the course flattens out a bit from there on it. They lied! The hills kept coming steeper and longer and the day was wearing on getting hotter and hotter as we rode conquering hill after hill until finally it seemed we were almost there. About a mile form the last aid station and with what we thought was about 3 1/2 miles to go, a rider in front of us went down. The heat had overtaken him and he collapsed. Another rider and I stopped to help him and wait for a sag medic. All is not glory in war it seems even when victory is so close at hand.
I decided this would be an opportune time to take a break and wait for Bob as he was behind me somewhere at this point. We would finish this as we started it and have a great afternoon knowing we had conquered this damn course. We had made the last aid stop on the route, I had stopped to ask for a beer and was handed water to my dismay. You do not give a conqueror about to ride a victory lap 3 miles to the finish water. What the hell were these people thinking. As Bob and I get back on our bikes to head to the finish, the aid station workers said almost there only 8 miles or so to go??????? I looked at Bob 8 miles? He looked at his GPS "that can't be right. Well, I guess it's not 62". We kept pedaling. Now it is important to note that after another hour or so we finally came to a residential area which we were told at the beginning of the race we would see. "Be careful in the residential area at the end of the course there are several speed humps followed by a short area of construction." Thank God I thought, the end of the course, we finally made it these damn insurgent hills were finally all slaughtered, soon the heat would be washed away by the air conditioner in the car and the day would be mine to drink to my victory.
As we hit the residential section, I got a surge of adrenaline and began charging through the streets, any minute now I would round a corner and end up in the back entrance of the J.D. McCarthy Children's Center and back at the car. But something was wrong, the streets kept coming, then suddenly I popped out onto a main road with some serious construction. With no end in sight, I decided to pave the way for Bob who was now just hanging on behind me and surged forward, this had to be the end. I moved through the construction like a wraith through the trees dodging cars and workers and signs. The route turned this way and that then dumped me onto another main road with a long slow incline. I looked behind me, Bob was no where to be seen at this point and there was no turning back, the traffic behind me was just too heavy. All I could do was keep advancing like the Normans of old. I drove my steed on, turn after turn of the crank, ignoring the aching in my legs and the heat burning my neck, concentrating on my cadence and my rhythm as I moved through the streets. Finally I saw it, the finish line, as seems fitting it was at the top of a hill and into the wind, this course would not let up, if you were going to be victorious and conquer this course you were going to have to fight to the bitter end. Up the hill I charged racing toward the light at the top of the hill, turned left, then into the center and back to the car.
I laid my bike on the grass, walked to the shade and collapsed waiting for Bob to come in, after all he was not far behind me. The minutes began to tick by, one, 10, 12. Where the hell was Bob he was not that far back. I called, voice mail. I took in a deep breath, repeated "You never leave a Man Behind" in my head and walked over to my bike. As I was heading back out my phone rang. "Bob, where are you are you okay? " the reply came quickly "Where is the F%$#ing finish line? I am at Robinson and Powell" "To your left I said. When you reach Robinson Turn Left the finish is on your Left." Click. I waited, wanting to go back out, but knowing that would be a mistake. He had to be right here, I would see him any minute. I watched my watch, after 5 min I was getting ready to head out again and my phone rang again. "Where the hell am I am, now I am at the corner of Robinson and Carter does that sound familiar." "No" I replied and was about to ask the one or two stragglers left, when suddenly a sag cam by and found Bob. They gave him directions he had pedaled past the finish and got in a little something extra today. After a few minutes more, Bob came rolling in and I rode with him from the entrance to the car. Just like the invaders of old, we had conquered our prize and were headed home exhausted to lick our wounds, savor our victory and prepare to battle another course on another day.
