Events: The 2019 Rapha Festive 500 Day Seven
Ride Distance: 21 Miles/ 77 Miles Remain
(2020) Day Seven of the eight-day Rapha Festive 500 challenge was one I will remember for quite some time. A full day of riding was needed to maintain the slow-and-steady approach. What occurred was the spirit of the Festive 500. Be as flexible as possible.
To be a northeastern American cyclist, one borders on obsession with weather. Cross-referencing multiple weather forecasts, day seven looked positively dismal. It would be slightly above freezing and driving rain for the entire day. If ever there came a point to retire from the Festive 500, today was the day. Slinging back the curtains after rolling out of bed only confirmed the weather forecasts: There were standing puddles in the backyard. Breakfast was spent staring out the window. Post-breakfast was spent staring out the window. Weather apps and websites were consulted. Rain will start in 22 minutes (it was steady rain outside at that moment). A break in the rain around noon (it was 12:30 and had been raining since last night). None of the forecasts could be trusted.
The Rapha Festive 500, a challenge to ride 500 kilometers (310 miles) from December 24 to 31st is a lot of love, cycling, and luck. It was this day that the Missus took over for motivation and encouraged your muse to ride. It would be wet. It would be cold. It would be drawing the final mileage downward. To have ninety-six miles remaining on day eight was not a good prospect. With immense reluctance, and having dug an old rain cape out of the storage bin, I opened the garage and didn’t bother to curse. It would do no good. I had love, I had cycling, now I needed luck. What were the chances it would instantly stop?
The first mile was predictable. Cold water rushed into the kit. As quickly as I realized I forgot my Ass-Saver, I dismissed it. If I turned around now, I would continue straight into the house and quit. The rain deflected off the Aeroshell. Descents were the worst. Stinging rain bounced off the exposed parts of the face. Cold wind found its way into kit. The flapping rain cape mimicked the sound of an approaching car, leading me to constantly look over my shoulder. On this day there would be next-to-no cars. Not even motorists wanted to be out of doors. Enticing wafts of fireplaces coming from ancient farmhouses felt like home.
What was not predictable were the following miles. It was cold. It was wet. Both were unrelenting. Despite all the discomfort on paper, I found myself grinning amongst the road spray. On any other day of the Festive 500 I saw several other cyclists, but not today. I was the only one out and each mile became entertaining. Even the Garmin stopped making noises for sake of absurdity. Instead of pointing it home to call the whole thing quits, I circled around to pick up more miles. I was drenched by this point; what harm was I doing by going out longer? I finally turned for home after picking up a couple of miles. I no longer worried about the Festive roundel, I would have accepted a Flandrian honorable mention solely for this day out.
Post ride was a bit more involved. The bike was parked where it formed a sizeable puddle. I resigned to remaining on the door mat and shucking each piece of saturated clothing off. It looked like half-a-gallon of water pooled at my feet. Shoes were continuous drips. Socks sounded like sponges. The fleece-lined bibs took longer to peel off, adding to the cascading water off my body. Eventually it was piled high and taken directly to the washer to be dealt with. Coffee was started and the apres ride shower was just as hot as the coffee. That whole ride felt like imagination. Finally the bike was wiped down and lubed for a chance ride - and a Festive finish - on day eight.
To have quit on this day would have been expected. To have ridden in cold driving rain only happened during events when there was no choice. It may have appeared lunacy to roll out for a casual bike ride in those conditions but there I was rolling the miles away. The Festive 500 has been kept alive not just for today, but for one more day henceforth. I had love, and I had cycling. The luck came from making it myself with loving encouragement from the Missus. This Festive 500 does not end here.
