The STP
Friday - Cassandra: What a weekend we had doing the STP! The action started on Friday evening as we took care of final preparations for the ride. Mom and Rich met me at my house after work. We quickly came up with a game plan for the evening. First thing first, we had to put our gear together so it could be dropped off at the start line. This was very important because it meant we could bike to the start line in the morning without our heavy bags and without dragging the guys along to what we thought would be a very chaotic and traffic-heavy scene. I already had the camping bag packed with our tent and sleeping pads and sleeping bags. My personal items were in a neat little pile, ready to be added to mom’s clothing and toiletry bag. After we integrated everything, it was up to mom and Rich to drop the bags off while I started dinner.
Carol: What Cassandra didn’t mention was that she thought I had packed too much. All I had, though, was a pair of PJ’s, clean socks, and my capri riding shorts in case it cooled down. Oh, my makeup and maybe one or two other things.
Rich and I headed down to the start line to drop our bags off. I thought it would be really busy but it wasn’t. In fact, if it wasn’t for the car in front of us I’m not sure we would have been positive we were using the correct entrance.
Cassandra: Once mom and Rich got back, we sat down to a nice meal of vegetarian spaghetti and talked about our expectations for the next day. I knew that mom was a little nervous. I didn’t think I was nervous, just excited, but I must have been more nervous than I thought because I was grouchy and a little bit bossy. It wasn’t so apparent during dinner, but it was during our preparations. Everything got on my nerves, it seemed. Especially mom. I felt bad and I knew it wasn’t her fault (I did apologize!) but it was what it was. At dinner, mom drank a beer with Rich but I turned down any and all alcohol (even a glass of chocolate wine!); I ride my best when I don’t drink at all.
Carol: Cassandra was right when she wrote she was grouchy. I kept thinking to myself ... this was her idea ... why is she grumpy with me? I could have said no to this whole adventure. I have learned through the years, though, to just wait it out. Usually there is an apology at some time.
Cassandra: After dinner we continued on with our to-do list, taking our bikes outside and cleaning them from top to bottom and then washing and oiling the chains. We pumped up our tires, knowing the importance of keeping our tires fully inflated. They say under-inflated tires are the #1 most preventable cause of flat tires, and neither one of us wanted to spend our time on the STP on the side of the road doing repairs.
It was starting to get late by the time we finished cleaning our bikes and setting them up for the next morning. We hurried up, wanting to have enough time for a good night’s sleep. We had done enough training rides on too little sleep to know that it didn’t make for the best ride, and we wanted all of the conditions to be in our favor. I double-checked my pile of gear for the morning and then headed over to Safeway with Dennis to pick up a packet of Benadryl. I wanted to guarantee myself a good night’s sleep, even if it meant taking a little pink pill. Little did I know, that Benadryl would come in handy later on for much more than a restful night’s sleep.
Carol: It took me a little bit of extra time to settle in for the night. I went over my day pack and then sat down to write my blog entry for the night.
Saturday - Cassandra: The alarm went off at 5:00 am and I bounced out of bed. Even though I hadn’t gotten quite as much sleep as I had hoped, quantity wise, the Benadryl had helped me with quality. We were supposed to meet mom and Rich over at my cottage at 5:15 am, so I immediately headed to the bathroom to start layering on my sunscreen and putting on my biking gear. A little after 5:25 am, we headed over. As soon as we got there, Rich started making us a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. It was funny to see someone else cooking in my little kitchen. I was really happy he was cooking, though, because I don’t know how I would have gotten ready in time to make it out the door at 6:00 am if I had had to cook and do the other preparations. We ate standing up, in between putting our bib numbers on our matching jerseys and readying our bike packs. I wish I could say my grumpiness had run its course the night before, but it hadn’t. I really tried to keep it in check, but mom still noticed.
Carol: I, too, slept well and like Cassandra I was so ready to get my biking clothes on and head out the door. It was even difficult to take the time to eat breakfast.
Cassandra: At 6:05 am we headed out the door with our bikes. I glanced over at mom and saw her fanny pack was on backwards, which lightened the mood considerably. The cushioned area that was supposed to sit next to her skin was facing out towards us, and the pockets of the fanny pack were sitting towards her back. We had to take a minute, after laughing and taking her picture, for her to straighten everything out. After posing for a few pictures with our bikes, we were officially on our way. We walked our bikes up the hill on Harrison and then hopped on to ride when we got up to 23rd. It was mainly downhill the whole way to the starting line, but we felt like overachievers, adding even more miles to the 204 we were hoping to accomplish within the next 2 days.
Carol: When we reached the top of the hill Cassandra took off. I had a hard time keeping up with her because the road has some pretty incredible pot holes that could throw you off your bike in a heart beat. Since Cassandra was used to this stretch of road she knew where they all were but I had only ridden it once so I was tentative to say the least. The cool thing was that Dennis and Rich surprised us and rode down beside us and took our pictures. I felt like I was on tour.
Cassandra: As we neared the stadium, we noticed that there weren’t as many cars as we thought there would be. We had imagined an absolute parking lot on Montlake Blvd., but traffic looked barely heavier than it would normally be at 6 am on a weekend. We half-wished the guys were with us to see us off, but knew that we would see them just a little ways down the course. We got in the big line of people at the start line and waited for our turn. They were sending people off in 10-minute intervals, with the countdown to each release of bikers announced by a man on a microphone. I’d been hoping for loud, energizing music, but there was none. There were just lots of bikers and the guy on the loudspeaker.
Finally, at 6:35 am, we were off. We pedaled down Montlake and took a right on Pacific. We got our early introduction to group-riding as people called out for debris in the roadway. Someone had already lost their bike pump. Over the next two days we would see arm warmers, riding gloves, and lots of water bottles in the road.
We were riding alongside of an overweight woman with a veil on and a “Just Married” sign taped to the back of her bike when we saw Rich and Dennis waiting for us. They were standing under a large construction sign at the intersection of 23rd and Boyer, near where Nate’s family lives. They photographed us as we approached and snapped some more pictures of us on our bikes after we stopped to chat with them. We saw the bride ride by with her groom, who was wearing a tuxedo hat and had a matching “Just Married” sign taped to the back of his bike.
The ride felt like it officially started after we jumped back on our bikes and waved goodbye to Rich and Dennis. We had no more stops to make or people to visit with before Portland, not counting the rest areas. We were on our own, alongside 11,500 bikers.
It was fun to wind through the familiar neighborhoods of Seattle: the University District, Montlake, Madison. Our first mini-stop was at Seward Park. We pulled over so I could take off my arm warmers. Mom had to use the bathroom. We were still sitting on the side of the road when we witnessed our first crash of the STP. A girl tried to slow down and hop off her bike but forgot she was clipped in and fell to the ground in front of a bunch of people. It must have been embarrassing, but at least she wasn’t hurt.
Mom had a senior moment when we were standing in line for the port-a-potties. She couldn’t find her expensive Smith riding glasses. After looking everywhere, she retraced her steps and found the glasses on the ground near the road. She had set them on her bike seat and then moved her bike, oblivious to the fact that they were there. She was very lucky someone didn’t pick them up and walk away with them. One of the bikers we met had seen the glasses on the grass and almost done just that.
Carol: I have to say this was not my only “senior moment” during the weekend but it could have been a very costly one. I was so happy when I did find my glasses. I have interchangeable lenses so I always wear my glasses for protection from flying dust and debris.
Cassandra: After our potty break we had our first big hill, but it was only about a block long before smoothing out to a more manageable grade. We pedaled on through the Rainier neighborhood, on our way to the first official rest stop in Kent.
We had heard that the REI-sponsored rest stop in Kent was “legendary,” and honestly wondered if it was just marketing hype. Although it was the first official stop of the STP and we had little idea of what the other rest stops would be like, it did impress us and we immediately agreed that it was “legendary.” As we approached the REI corporate headquarters, we were greeted by people on the side of the road cheering us on. They had on matching shirts and were waving us toward the entrance, swinging signs and shouting encouragement. Soon, we heard 80’s music being blasted from giant speakers and saw tons and tons of makeshift bike racks and port-a-potties. After hanging our bikes up on the racks by the seat, something we had never done before, we wandered towards all the food. There were people walking around with platters of food: 1/2 bananas, mini bagels and cream cheese. There were also tables set up with additional food: protein drinks from Odwalla and protein bars. We refilled our water bottles at the Nuun tent and tried to take everything in: the thousands of bikers milling around, the busy bike repair tents sponsored by different bike shops, and the bike part supplier giving away CO2 cartridges. I wanted to stay and listen to the music, but we got back on the road after downing our chocolate protein milk and eating some bagels. The road seemed so quiet compared to REI.
As we rode along, further south, we talked about how fun the ride was so far. It didn’t feel like work. It didn’t feel like exercise. It was just fun. The fun was in people-watching, having one or two-sentence conversations with the other bikers, looking at the different jerseys, and just chatting. We rode together but in single file most of the time. And we definitely obeyed the rules of bike etiquette, although it became apparent quickly that not everyone felt the need to, especially the pace lines of organized bike groups. But more on them later. We had excellent bike manners, signaling our passing with “on the left,” using hand signals when turning, moving to the very right of the road when cars were approaching, and signaling changes in the surface of the road. “Bump!” was shouted, along with “Hole!” and “Tracks!” Although we verbally signaled for rail road tracks, the hand signal was also given. It’s one of my favorites because it looks so funny. Basically, you wave your right hand behind your butt like you are trying to clear away a stinky toot. It never fails to make me giggle. We were fastidious about using good manners on the STP and we got a bit of a reputation for it. During that first day, Mom overheard someone saying, “I like those Speedy girls. They always call, ‘on your left!’”
Carol: What Cassandra didn’t mention was that people were calling us the “speedy girls” because our matching pink and white jerseys had “Speedy Bike Club” written on the back. It was kind of funny how many people asked us what city our bike club was from. We had bought the jerseys at REI but it wasn’t until the end of the day that I saw someone else wearing the same one as we had.
Cassandra: It was difficult to go fast with so many other riders around and so many stop-lights. When we were within city limits, it seemed like we had to stop every few blocks to wait for another light. The bikers would all get bunched up, and then we’d have to struggle to pass the same people all over again. We really enjoyed getting out into the country, where the scenery was much prettier and there weren’t as many traffic lights. We found some small towns that we liked: Roy, Yelm, and Centralia. I think I will always remember the police officer from Yelm repeating over and over, “Thanks for coming to Yelm! Thanks for coming to Yelm!”
Up until we reached Yelm, the weather hadn’t been as predicted. The forecast had called for a beautiful, sunny weekend with highs in the upper 70’s. Friday night we were treated to thunder and on Saturday we rode under a very grey and slightly cool sky. Until Yelm, that is, when the sun finally stared to peek through the clouds. At that point, we got on a 14-mile paved trail headed to Tenimo. It was, by far, my favorite part of the ride. We rode amidst flowers and beautiful trees and clearing blue sky. I was in bicycle heaven. I really wished that the trail would never end, that we could take it all the way to Portland. But in Tenimo, the trail dumped us out onto the roads once more.
Carol: For me, the trail was not my favorite; the farm land shortly after we left REI was my favorite. That was in part because it was that time in the morning when the birds and animals were up and busy getting food and not very many people were out yet.
Cassandra: Once we were off of the paved trail, time started to slow a bit. Our last rest-stop for the day was around mile 80, which seemed like it would never come. Mom kept saying, “Do you think we missed it? Do you think we missed the rest stop?” to which I would reply, “It’s probably just a little bit further. We couldn’t have missed it.” We were both kind of ready to be done with our bikes for the day. It wasn’t that we were in a ton of pain. Mom had started to have some IT band pain, but stretching seemed to help. And I had started to get hot spots on my feet from being forced into a different knee alignment, but I was doing my best to just spread my toes and take the pressure off the outside edge. I think we just started to get a little bored.
Carol: The last ten miles, it seemed like we would never reach the end. It was similar to the feeling of waiting for Christmas morning to come when you’re a child, or like the movie, ‘Groundhog Day.’ The landscape was pretty, as we were riding through farm land again, but it just seemed to stretch on forever and ever.
Cassandra: Slowly, we made our way to Centralia. We biked almost completely through town before making one last turn and spotting a big banner strung between two college buildings. There was a mister for us to ride through, which we both did. And then, we were getting off our bikes and wheeling them towards a bike corral. People had already started pitching their tents; it looked like one big tent city. We found a space for our tent near the bike corral and bag drop, and mom stayed there while I grabbed our bags.
Carol: Everywhere we looked there were tents ... it was like a sea of many different colors. When we started walking around, though, we realized just how close the tents were and how many people had just passed out on the grass or a blanket.
Cassandra: Both of us wanted to just sit down and relax for a bit, but first we had to set up the tent. We leaned our bikes against the bike corral fence as we unpacked the camping bag. We managed to set up the tent in record time, leaving the rain fly off because they weren’t calling for rain. And then we blew up our air mattresses and threw them into the tent along with our sleeping bags. After grabbing our shower things and locking our bikes, we were off to get clean.
Carol: By the time we got off our bikes my right IT band was so sore I couldn’t bend my knee. I kept wondering, ‘how am I going to ride another 104 miles tomorrow?’ The only other thought I had was that we had worked too long and hard on our training not to finish.
Cassandra: If only getting clean had been a simple process! Instead, we had to pay $5 and then wait in line in a very stuffy and humid college locker room while we waited our turn. As we waited, I read all of the sex offender announcements that covered the bulletin board where we were standing. It wasn’t the best reading material, but it had to suffice. It wasn’t like we had packed books with us. The line inched along as we got sweatier and sweatier. I thought I had been gross when we arrived in Centralia, but the shower area was like an incubator for sweat and stink. Finally, I took off all of my clothes and stood in line in my towel.
Mom and I had an interesting moment when we realized that we weren’t guaranteed showers next to each other, which was a problem because we had packed only one set of toiletries. So, I took the body wash and left her with the shampoo and conditioner. That body wash became an everything wash, for my hair and my skin. I didn’t mind. As soon as I was standing in the warm water, getting clean, the world started to look a lot brighter. It felt so great to wash off all of the grime, the road film.
After our showers we moved to the bathroom, which wasn’t so humid. There, we washed our faces and reapplied sunscreen. I was still hot, even though the area where we were standing was ten times less humid than the shower area. So, I decided to walk around in my black sports bra until I could cool down. I figured I was an athlete; I had earned the right to walk around like a jock.
After showering, the next thing we needed to tackle was eating. We headed over to the food area, which had several food tents operated by organizations doing fundraisers. We picked all-you-can-eat spaghetti and each ended up with heaps of noodles covered in red sauce, 2 small slices of bread, and 3 baby carrots. The price was decent at $6 a plate. Neither of us had seconds of pasta but when we went back for more bread they were out. So much for all-you-can-eat. Mom cleared her plate and I almost cleared mine, but we were both making eyes at an ice cream stand across the way. It seemed like the best dessert we could ask for, and we had earned it, so each of us got a chocolate dipped ice cream bar.
Carol: I have to say that our dinner was so good. I don’t think I’ve ever had spaghetti taste so good in my life. Of course, after eating protein bars and sports food all day any real food would taste wonderful.
Cassandra: We took our bars and wandered back to the massage tables. Mom wanted someone to work on her IT band and a massage really sounded good, so we both signed up for 30-minutes from the Washington Sports Massage Team. I was still eating my ice cream, so they took mom back to a table first. Several minutes later, once I had finished my ice cream, it was my turn. Mom really liked the massage she got, but I wasn’t crazy about mine. It was okay, but I didn’t think the woman worked enough on my problem areas, which were mainly on the outside of my right thigh and my right buttock. Part of it was that she just couldn’t press hard enough to make a difference. I must have a high pain tolerance, because it felt like she was barely kneading my muscles at times.
Mom and I finished our massages at the same time and headed out to finish our bike errands for the night only to find out that everything had been closed down. The Nuun tent was gone so we couldn’t refill our water bottles and the bike repair was gone, too. So much for pumping up our tires. We would just have to hope that both tents were open in the morning.
At this point, it was still light out. We decided to part ways for a bit. I wanted to get in a walk (it’s one of my favorite things to do after biking) and mom needed to charge her cell phone, so while she headed to a campus building I hit the town. I walked south first, and then doubled back north, finally finding a very cute downtown area. As I walked, I glanced into the windows and reflected on our day. We had done well, I thought. We had kept a good pace and even passed people on several of the hills. The big hill that everyone talks and worries about hadn’t been that big of a hill to us; our training had prepared us well. I was looking forward to the next day, to our big finish. All of a sudden, I realized how tired I was and headed back towards the college.
Carol: While Cassandra was walking in town I sat and charged my cell phone and also made a few calls. I knew I hadn’t gotten a full charge but I thought it would be good enough, so when Cassandra came back I pulled the plug so we could go to bed.
Cassandra: As the light grew dimmer, mom and I brushed our teeth at the tent. We used my water bottle to squirt water onto our toothbrushes, which didn’t work so well. Every time I would try just a little squirt, it would fly and hit mom.
Carol: At this time we were both starting to laugh pretty hard. Every time she squirted the water she would squirt me ... not my toothbrush.
Cassandra: Finally, we perfected our system and got the toothbrushes wet. We were already in our pajamas (we were just going to wear what we wore around the college), so all that was left was to find a potty before we crawled into the tent. The port-a-potties were already out of toilet paper, so we used a girls bathroom in one of the buildings. And then it was time to crawl into our sleeping bags, take a Benadryl (or a muscle relaxer, in mom’s case), and make our notes for the day. I put in ear plugs to drown out the noise of people walking by our tent and making conversation. Although most people had gone to bed long before us (boring!), there were still some people wandering about. But with the earplugs, all was quiet and I quickly fell asleep.
It wasn’t perfect sleep but it was pretty good. At one point mom and I both woke up because a street light was shining directly onto our faces. We closed the tent windows. Some time later, I felt wind ripping around us, pulling the tent this way and that. Around 1:00 am, mom had to use the bathroom. I woke up and went with her and we walked in the dark, winding our way around tents and sleeping people passed out on blankets under the stars.
At 4:00 am, we woke up to the sound of people packing up their tents and getting on their bikes. Their voices seemed loud in the dark, and I found my ear plugs where they had fallen out in the night. We both tried our best to sleep until 5:00 am.
Carol: I still can’t believe people would get up at 4:00 am to start riding unless they were really slow and wanted to make it to the finish line at a decent hour ... or maybe they were jocks wanting to show off how early they finished to their friends. I just thought I would perform a lot better if I slept a little longer.
Sunday - Cassandra: At 5:00 am, the alarm went off. It felt chilly out and I just wanted to curl up in my sleeping bag, but we got up and started packing everything away. The sleeping bags were rolled up, the air mattresses decompressed. And finally the tent came down and was rolled up into its blue bag. We had already changed into our biking clothes in the tent, and put on warmer layers against the cold. Everything was pretty well under control, but I still felt disorganized. After dropping our bags off, we headed to the girls bathroom to pee and brush our teeth. Once there, I remembered that I had packed my toiletry bag, so I didn’t have anything. No sunscreen, no toothbrush, no makeup. No nothing. So, after peeing I headed back, retrieved my bag, and had to wait in line for the sink all over again.
Carol: Everywhere we went there were lines and more lines of people. I found all the people and waiting in lines at times irritating.
Cassandra: There were people lined up for breakfast in the college cafeteria, but mom and I were more interested in getting on the road. We each ate a protein bar and drank some water, then headed for our bikes. There was no sign of the Nuun tent or the bike maintenance tent, so we got on the road at 6:01 am with very little water and somewhat under-inflated tires. We didn’t worry too much about it, though, because we knew we could always stop at the first rest stop for both things.
I didn’t expect to be pain free that second morning, but I still was surprised to ease my way onto my seat and feel the sharpness where my sit-bones were hurting. The first mile, I really felt my bum, especially because I had to keep getting on and off my bike. First, I forgot to put on my mirror, then I had to stop because I had forgotten two or three other little things. Mom said, “You’re killing me!” every time we stopped. Finally, I felt like I was situated and we started riding. The sky was grey and it was cold out again, which didn’t help my mood. As we biked along the fields and cows and went up a series of medium-sized hills, all I could think about was, “This is not fun! This is work!” It didn’t help that there were stands along the route offering free hot coffee. All I wanted to do was get off my bike and go have a hot cup of coffee with some french vanilla creamer. But I knew what it would do to my stomach, and mom wasn’t tempted at all by the coffee, so on we rode. I really wasn’t a happy camper. It wasn’t until we stopped on the side of the road and ate some caffeine energy chews and part of a bar, several miles in, that I finally started to feel better. I think I had just needed the extra food. The breakfast we ate hadn’t been sufficient.
Carol: For me the second morning wasn’t that bad. I didn’t feel like I really hurt anywhere yet ... even my IT band felt better than I expected.
Cassandra: At our first pull-off point, we chatted with a man who looked to be in his mid-50’s. He was obese and sweating, but I was impressed that he was doing as well as he was. I was surprised by many of the obese people on the STP. I had thought it would only be attempted by really fit people, and that we would only see skinny bikers. But on the road we saw people of all sizes and shapes. And some of them were fast. In fact, we ended up playing hopscotch with one lady who was really large. All we saw was the back of her as she pedaled past us occasionally. I got quite a view of the back of her knees, which had lumps of fat hanging off of them. I couldn’t believe she was passing us, but she did it several times. I was quite impressed.
Feeling better from the food and stretching, we pedaled on. It seemed like there was an endless number of hills. I couldn’t understand why everyone had talked about Saturday and “the big hill,” and no one mentioned the fact that Sunday had even more hills. At each one, we would hear someone in the crowd say, “I think that was the last one,” but of course it never was. It was just a day of many hills.
Carol: I have to agree with Cassandra on this comment. So much is made of the hill on the first day, yet, I found the second day to be much more trying when it came to hills. They just seemed to go on forever.
Cassandra: Finally, we made it to a mini-stop. We stopped only briefly and continued on to the next mini-stop. There was quite a line for the port-a-potties, so I just decided to hold it until later. We did get some good snacks from a local service club of some sort. They had bananas and sandwiches and even boiled potatoes. I thought the potatoes were an ingenious biking snack! Just down the road, we pulled over and pumped up our tires, which had retained a surprising amount of air. I pumped mom’s tires up while she waited in a long line for a port-a-potty. It was difficult for me to balance both bikes at once, and at one point they almost fell over. I was glad when she came back to take back her bike.
It wasn’t very much further down the road when I saw a wooded area and told mom that I needed to pee. I hadn’t wanted to wait in those long port-a-potty lines, and I preferred peeing in the woods anyways, so I thought pulling over was my best option. I had peed along side of the road several times in the past two days. I handed my bike to mom and walked across the gravel to a place that I thought wouldn’t be too conspicuous. I tromped through some tall weeds and finally squatted.
As I waited to pee, I felt a prick in my left thigh, up high near my bum. I thought I had sat on a prickly weed, somehow, so I tried to brush the thing away. But there wasn’t a weed there. And then suddenly there was a lot of pain. I was peeing and trying to brush whatever was on me away, and then I felt pain in several places. I looked down and saw a wasp and freaked out.
I stopped peeing, started shouting, and ran out of the woods with my bike shorts around my knees, trying to pull them up while I ran so that no one would see me naked. Everything was hurting so bad and I was scared, so I started bawling as I ran toward mom. “They bit me! They bit me!” I screamed as I ran toward her. I could barely hear her say, “What bit you? What was it?” “Bees!” was all I could say.
It felt like fire was spreading around my legs. The original area was hurting the most, and as I looked down I saw that the wasp had been trapped in my bike shorts and was continuing to bite me. I rolled my shorts up and the wasp fell out.
I don’t remember mom putting the bikes down or the medic pulling over from the crowd of bikers going by. All I remember is crying really hard and hurting really bad. Two Goldwings pulled over as my bites started to turn red and puffy, swelling up and looking like giant welts.
No one knew quite what to do with me. We waited to see if I would have problems breathing, or if my throat would close up, but it never did. It’s funny how things work sometimes. Just a couple of weeks before, on my bike trip with Lisa, I had come up with an idea to intentionally get stung near a hospital so I could finally determine whether or not I was allergic to bees. I got what I had wished for, it seemed. As the swelling continued but the shock wore off, I finally stopped crying so hard. I took two Benadryl while the medic, Nathaniel, taped an ice-pack onto my ankle. There were suggestions all around. Mom, who was in pretty severe IT-band pain at that point, wanted to stop riding. The Goldwing guys thought she might have the right idea, but they couldn’t transport me anywhere. Unless we called an ambulance, I would have to ride to the next rest stop. Nathaniel thought I was probably in the clear, but that I should get looked at by the medics at the next first aid tent to be sure. I didn’t know what the right answer was, but I did know one thing. I wasn’t going to let 9 wasp bites ruin the STP. I was going to finish. I was dead-set against quitting.
Carol: The first scream out of Cassandra’s mouth was not too alarming to me. I actually thought ... huh, she must have seen a gardner snake. It was the second and third screams that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I couldn’t imagine what would cause her to carry on like that, however, when she ran out of the woods with her biking shorts around her knees I had a pretty good idea it was bees of some kind. That just made me feel helpless. I knew that I couldn’t go to her aid if there were any bees following her because I’m deathly allergic to certain bee stings. So all I could do was wait for her to come to me.
Cassandra: The adrenaline rush I got from the bites really helped as I hopped on my bike and we continued on to the next rest stop. We had about 6 miles to go. I flew up the hills without really feeling them. The bites hurt, but it was manageable. Mom, I could tell, was continuing to have IT-band pain. She needed to ride slowly at times, and I tried to keep us together.
When we finally pulled into the next rest stop, it started to rain. I had to take off the ice pack because it was dripping water into my now very wet shoe. We hobbled over to the first aid table only to see that it wasn’t staffed. We waited for someone to show up, but no one ever did. Mom tried to call Aunt Karen for medical advice, but she was in church so all we got was her voicemail. We saw our biker friend from earlier in the day, who was talking to his wife on the phone. He walked over and said she was a dermatologist, if we would like to talk to a doctor. She mentioned that the Benadryl might make it tough to ride because of drowsiness, but she didn’t think that continuing the ride would worsen the bites.
We headed into a school building so mom could stretch her IT-band. She was at the breaking point and tearing up when she asked me to come help her stand up. She couldn’t get up by herself. We sat in the building on chairs as I changed my socks and we talked about what to do. I didn’t want to quit, but mom was in so much pain. She didn’t want to do permanent damage, and I didn’t want to push her. At the same time, I was extremely disappointed, thinking that the two other options we had didn’t include her crossing the finish line. Either she and Rich could support me as I rode on, or I could withdraw with her. It was the low point of our ride. Mom actually called Rich and put him on alert to pick her up. Things were not looking good.
Carol: This for me was the lowest point of the ride. Every step I took I felt like bone was grinding against bone. I had had IT issues in the past many years ago and I knew it would not get better soon. When we finally decided to continue our ride I had to change up the way I mounted my bike because I couldn’t lift my right leg up over my bike, I also had to use my left leg as my power source unless we were climbing a hill. At times I had tears running down my face and I was doing Lamaze breathing. Even though I was in so much pain all I could think of was how I didn’t want to let Cassandra down (or myself).
Cassandra: Mom decided that, if anything, she would have Rich pick her up from our lunch stop, which was only a few miles down the road. We got on our bikes, but mom almost couldn’t pedal because of the pain. At one point she was pedaling with only her left foot, the right leg dangling over the side of her bike like an afterthought. I told her that if she couldn’t ride with both legs, she shouldn’t be riding at all. She needed to call Rich. I don’t know how, but she found the strength to put both legs on the bike and pedal. The IT-band warmed up slowly, and by the time we reached lunch she was committed to trying to go a little further, and maybe even all the way.
Carol: Cassandra’s actual words were, “If you can’t ride with both feet on your peddles you shouldn’t be riding,” and I have to say she sounded quite snotty when she said it.
Cassandra: We came up with a new strategy: stay on the bike as much as possible. It seemed that whenever we got off the bike, the muscle seized up, and then it took a good amount of time and pain to get warmed up again. We hurried through the port-a-potty line and the lunch line and were back on the road in record time. They were closing down the lunch tent as we passed through, and we noticed that the time we had spent on the side of the road, with my bite and then mom’s pain, had put us way behind the pace we had ridden the day before. We were now with the stragglers, it seemed. It didn’t matter how long it took us to finish, though, as long as we were going to make it to that finish line.
As we continued to bike, my bites continued to hurt. At another aid station, I took some tylenol for the pain, but it felt like I was being stung over and over, even though the trauma of the wasps was supposed to be finished. It was like they had injected me with fire water that ignited my legs and my ankle at regular intervals. Mom had to get off the bike and stretch a couple of times as we rode on, and those times were the most painful for me. For some reason, my bites hurt a lot worse when I was standing still.
The only real problem with riding with the stragglers was that it became a lot harder to determine the right way to go on the course. Whereas on Saturday we had just followed the crowd, on Sunday we ended up having to watch the road for course markings, little arrows and signs that were painted onto the road. At one point, just before we hit the bridge going into Oregon, I was convinced we were lost. But eventually we saw some other bikers ahead of us and then the big group waiting to cross the bridge.
The bridge crossing into Oregon was pretty exciting. The Goldwing Club escorted us bikers across in stages, stopping traffic and letting us ride together. I was careful to go slow, especially when warned that there were bumps that could easily knock the water bottles off your bike. I certainly didn’t want that to happen. As we biked up and up, and then onto the main part of the bridge, I took pictures. I never wanted to forget our first STP together.
Carol: Who in their right mind would take pictures on a section that is notorious for crashes? I’m riding along thinking, “Cassandra, are you nuts?”
Cassandra: It was just after we got into Oregon that we picked up another biker in our group, a random homeless man headed for California. He had everything he owned packed onto his bike and like the Pied Piper of Hamlin, he felt the calling to join us. I think he must have been drawn in by the promise of free food. I saw him at the last food stop, excitedly gobbling everything he could find. No one turned him away, even though it was quite obvious that he wasn’t one of us. Aside from the random homeless man, I don’t recall seeing any other unregistered bikers riding the STP.
The ride through Oregon was particularly challenging for me, and not just because of my wasp bites. A lot of the route was along busy highways, and the scenery was drab. The sky was grey, there wasn’t much to look at beside concrete and speeding cars, and it didn’t feel all that fun. I really was just ready to be done biking. I was so excited to make it to the final rest stop. We ate a bunch of snacks, took some pictures, and then it was time to hit the road for the final 29 miles. We made sure Rich and Aunt Karen knew where we were so they would have a good idea about when we would cross the finish line.
Carol: I, too, was very challenged once we crossed into Oregon. It seemed like on the sections that looked like they were going downhill, my speed was slower than when I would actually ride uphill. It was a freak-of-nature thing.
Cassandra: If I thought the previous several miles through Oregon had been a drag, it was nothing compared to the last 29 miles. We had more highway riding to do, and I was bored. I think that was the biggest thing. Because we were now near the back of the pack, there weren’t as many bicyclists around us; the people watching was greatly diminished. We continued to get compliments on our matching “Mother-Daughter” jerseys, though, which was fun. I did a mental inventory as we rode. The hot spots on my feet were actually doing pretty well; I had been stretching my feet out throughout the day. My bum was okay, my bites were still hurting. Overall, I was physically in pretty good shape. I was just suffering a bit of mental exhaustion.
We had one more bridge to cross before we got into Portland, and one that was over we pedaled the city streets. Mom kept asking how much longer we had. She was in a lot of pain again and we had to stop several times so she could stretch. Both of us were really ready to be done riding. It seemed like the city streets of Portland would never end.
And then, finally, we rode by some people who cheered us on and told us we were almost to the finish line. It took a little more pedaling, and then we were there. I saw Aunt Karen first, reaching out to give us a high-five. Mom and I were trying to ride as close together as possible. It had been our goal to finish along side of each other, at the same time, but as the path narrowed I had to pull in front. I hit Aunt Karen’s hand with my own and then heard the announcer tell us to keep going. There was a whole finishing lane, complete with people standing on each side, cheering for us. I felt victorious, like a real champ. It didn’t matter that the finish line was almost closed for the day, that we were some of the last bikers in. It was 6:30 pm and the finish line was only open until 7:00 pm. I didn’t care about anything other than the fact that we had made it. Someone put a patch necklace around my neck and I whooped. We did it!
Carol: Unlike Cassandra, I couldn’t high-five Karen. I was afraid at that point that if I didn’t keep both hands on my bike I’d fall off.
Cassandra: As mom and I pulled our bikes to the side of the finish row, out of the way, our people came and met us. We were so lucky to have them there: Rich, Uncle Mike, Joanie, Aunt Karen, Uncle Dan, Sara and Jacob. Our finishing felt even more special because we had people there to share it with us. Our day already felt complete, even though the beer, hot tubbing, and hamburgers, were yet to come.
Afterward - Cassandra: Reflecting on the 2012 STP, I am so proud of mom and myself. We could have quit when we were in so much pain, when our goal wasn’t fun anymore but was work. We could have easily used our injuries as an excuse to leave the discomfort of riding and no one would have blamed us. Everyone would have understood. But after working so hard for all of these months, we couldn’t do it. We pushed through the pain with help and encouragement from each other. I really don’t think we could have pushed on to the finish had either one of us been alone. But together, we did it.
Mom said at the finish line that she would never do the STP again. However, as of late July, she is reconsidering. I think I will give it a while before I try bringing up another Mother-Daughter STP.
About 6 days after my initial wasp bites, they swelled up and turned red in a big delayed reaction. I was diagnosed with cellulitis in my ankle and was put on antibiotics and steroids. As of early August, things are finally healing.
Carol: I remember back to the first STP I rode with dad and I wish we had documented our training and journey like Cassandra and I have. I have found through the years that time has faded the details but not the memories. My goal for that journey was to process a divorce. This ride was so very different from that one. This ride was a celebration of the wonderful relationship I have with my daughter and an opportunity to give her the same gift that dad gave me by saying “yes” and allowing us to experience a very special bond of a big commitment. Being older for this ride I was extra diligent in my training so I wouldn’t slow Cassandra down.
When we finished the ride I swore I would never ride the STP again, however, I may do it one more time. If I do, though, I am going to read this very carefully before I say yes.
It has been a little over a month since the ride. I have not been on my bike as much as I’d like, as I am still having IT band issues. I did buy a compression band which has helped. So far I’ve ridden out to Ferndale and back and have cycled on my trainer about once a week. Once I catch up on the projects that were put off during training I hope to start riding a lot more. I have found that I really like the peaceful morning rides when the dew is still wet on the leaves and most people are sleeping.
NOTE TO SELF: If you think about riding this again the training commitment is about 25 to 30 hours a week for at least five months!
