18 Hours on the Farm

Marisa Peacock
8.25.05

I think I have that gene, similar to the one that makes men think that they can hold down mattresses on car roofs with one hand. It would easily explain why I accepted my teammate’s invitation last week to participate in 18 Hours on the Farm—an eighteen-hour mountain bike ride in Goochland, Virginia. Sure I’d be apart of a four-person team! Sure, I own a functional mountain bike! Yet, it’s not like I ride enough to classify myself as technical rider. Despite this, I found myself saying, “Yeah, I can do this. It will be fun.” I was half right. It was fun. In that perverted way, like beating yourself up in a parking lot is fun.

Ninety degrees and 100 percent humidity later, my teammate, Don and his two buddies Taylor and Keith, and I set up camp at the boy scouts retreat and recreation center. We decided on the lap order in which we would ride; I was riding second. Three guys and a girl, the pseudo name to which we would be referred from then on (not to be confused with three mules and an ass or three experienced and one beginner, other monikers assumed by our competitors) began our adventure at four o’clock. And what an adventure it was.

Don finished his first lap in little over fifty minutes or so, leaving me with enough time to contemplate my mattress gene, but too little time to plan my escape from the farm. At five o’clock, I was triumphantly passed the sacred bracelet and set off on the fire road—strong emphasis on the word fire, as the sun’s rays seemed to bore down with a vengeance. I held my own, but let myself be overtaken by a number of riders (this little fact was later concealed when the guys would be talking about how many riders they passed on their laps). I kept a steady pace, tackling the hills well, but taking the time to walk/run/carry/throw my bike down the scary down hills and log towers. As I neared the last hill before the finish line, I was greeted by Don, who inquired at length, and with no small amount of concern, about my ride. Did I get a flat? Have a mechanical? After realizing there was nothing to explain my apparent tardiness on the trail, we sort of shrugged and I continued on. Despite my seemingly long lap, I finished my first lap in about eighty minutes, on par with what other females were riding.

While I happily accepted my time, Taylor to whom I passed the magic bracelet, seemed less than amused. He finished his first lap in forty-five minutes

Don rode his next lap around eight o’clock, finishing an hour later and thus forcing me out on the darkened course. I forgot the little adapter part that would have mounted my bike light to my helmet, so I rode with my light strapped firmly to my handlebars. While waiting in the exchange area for Don to finish his lap, I asked a fellow competitor if riding on the trails at night was scary. I was expecting a friendly reply and words of encouragement along the lines of, “No, it’s not bad at all out there, you’ll do fine!” Instead, he was brutally honest. “Yeah, it’s really scary out there. You can’t see much.” Gee, thanks.

However, with both headlight and moonlight, there was enough light provided to make riding comfortably and hardly scary at all. It wasn’t the darkness that was taxing, it was that it was Saturday night and I was alone crashing my way through the trails. In an effort to spare the toads and other wildlife that were playing on the trails, I allowed many a tree to catch my fall, as well as some rocks, and the occasional bush. By the end of my seemingly never-ending lap, I joined up with a few other lost souls and commiserated in our frustration, exhaustion and desire to just finish already. About two hours after I started, I finished. Again, Taylor was not pleased. I, on the other hand, reveled in my survival and went to take inventory of my legs and other necessary body parts.

We fell apart during the night. Taylor suffered from extreme heat exhaustion during his second lap and couldn’t settle his resting heart rate below 120. As he took time to recover, Don started and finished his third lap. It was nearing one in the morning and it was up to me to carry the now three-person team to glory—unfortunately, for them I decided against it. In a state of mutual exhaustion, Don, Taylor and I took a brief hiatus from our ride and slept. During our slumber, Keith, the madman that he is, rode a few more laps. By morning, Keith and Don had each completed four laps, while Taylor and I each had ridden two. Taylor decided around seven-thirty that he’d ride one more lap. Crap! If Heat Exhaustion Man was going to ride another lap, that would mean I’d have to ride another lap. Stupid mattress gene!

So, at eight-thirty in the morning I set out on the last lap of the day/race. I felt rested, but mentally I was unfocused, resulting in less than stellar riding. I became cautious and timid in my riding, not wanting to risk anything---as I was driving myself home! At one point, I found my bike crashing into a tree, propelling me forward and slamming my bike seat HARD into my right butt cheek. It knocked the wind, what little there was left, out of me. I yelped alone in the woods until I courageously got back on my bike and rode on until I hit another tree and banged my shin. Thankfully, the pain in my shin was enough to distract me from my sore bottom.

Soon enough (but ironically not soon enough) I finished the lap and I quietly celebrated my victory. Amazingly, Three guys and a girl finished fourth, beating the pants off of Enjoy the view! I can’t say I was a strong asset to the team, except for lending my chromosomes to our team name, but I had fun. In that perverted way, of course!

Happy trails!