AAN day 35 - Fond du Lac, WI --> Manitowoc, WI

Across America North - day 35 - Fond du Lac, WI --> Manitowoc, WI

Today was easier than any riding day of last month but not as easy as expected. There was a headwind of 6-8 mph gusting to 16 mph but that was manageable in a group.

The riders fall into well defined groups. First, there is the A-team of about 5 fast riders. They've been together since the beginning although the discipline of the paceline was getting old after a couple thousand miles. One of that group decided to relax and do a little sightseeing, which was impossible in a paceline. I started seeing him on the road instead of only before the day's ride and after. Another one decided to go off on his own, which in his case meant faster than the fast group.

The largest group is the middle group. There are subgroups but I usually don't ride with them and infer their existence from conversations at dinner.

There is also a group on the trailing edge of the support window with a big gap between them and the middle group. Their nickname, assigned by one of the ABB staff, is the backpack. ABB keeps three of its staff on bicycles one of whom is "the sweep". That person's job is the bring up the rear so that the support window has a clear boundary. My nickname for the sweep is the grim sweeper.

In the large gap between the middle group and the backpack is where I find myself for almost all of my time on the road. I've ridden at least a thousand miles with no one in sight either in front or behind. It's just me and the wind and the hills. There have been times when I've been in a group or somewhat in contact with one. At the first hill, however, I get dropped with numbing regularity and reliability. Successive hills magnify the distance and soon they're out of sight. My most fervent desire is to lose the luggage that causes this problem. Once in a while, through some accident of timing, I get ahead of one of these subgroups. When I'm passed, always going uphill, I try to join it if I can maintain contact at the top of the hill but am reminded that the groups formed a long time ago and that new members need not apply. Rather than intrude, the thing to do is to retire to the rear. I was invited to join one of these subgroups, one at the front of the middle group, but I'm simply too slow and can't keep up.

I've been puzzled by some of the data that I collect.  I look down at my nifty Garmin computer and note that my heart rate is remarkably low.  My legs may ache and say ouch but my heart is in easy cruising mode.  Even on hills when I'm going pretty hard, it's below 100/min.  My daily average heart rate is in the 90s on most days and occasionally in the 80s.  Even when I'm knocking myself out, it stays below 115.   Hey, did someone slip some beta-blockers into my food?  When I rode in Denver, my average heart rate on an average training ride was about 120.  A drop of 20-30/min must be significant, eh?  What could that significance be?

Tomorrow is the day that we cross Lake Michigan on a 4-hour ferry ride. The song that comes to mind on the road is this one. For those of a certain age, just reading the lyrics ought to conjure the music.

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of a fateful trip
That started from this tropic port
Aboard this tiny ship.

The mate was a mighty sailing man,
The skipper brave and sure.
Five passengers set sail that day
For a three hour tour. A three hour tour...

The weather started getting rough.
The tiny ship was tossed.
If not for the courage of the fearless crew,
The minnow would be lost. The minnow would be lost.

The ship's aground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle
With Gilligan,
The Skipper, too,
The millionaire and his wife,
The movie star,
The professor and Mary Ann,
Here on Gilligan's Isle.
[...]

I look at the map that's set up in the lobby of each hotel with a line across the country tracing our route. It's becoming a significant line, a large fraction of the country is covered.