The interaction between riders is casual, light, fun. I hear Mark and Jonathon talking ahead of me, apparently continuing a conversation that had probably begun much earlier in the ride, maybe in Nevada. Ray’s jabbering with Sam, Sam’s giving me the occasional correction. The pace is brisk, no doubt, and I’m actually not slowing the group down. Jonathan asks how I’m doing and I tell him that as long as I’m able to answer his questions that I’m okay. “When I stop talking, I’ll be too busy breathing,” I tell him. Jonathon says, “It’s when I’m not breathing that I worry about. Like in the Rockies.”

Mark pulls the team for much of the first part of the ride. With the tailwinds helping us along—“This is the easiest century I’ve ever ridden,” Sam says later, crediting the tailwinds—Mark keeps a good pace without quickly tiring out. As Mark finally falls back and Jonathan moves to draft the group from the lead, I hesitantly (but with all the confidence I can muster) tell Jonathan that I’d be willing to lead when it’s my turn. “Just don’t give me a hill to climb,” I request. I should have known something was up when Jonathan didn’t respond.

Earlier in the day, I drove along this route in my car to try to get a feel for what I was getting myself into. Alone in the car I thought the stretch seemed a long one to ride on a bike, almost intimidatingly so for someone who’s spent all post-college years mastering the art of a non-physical, sedentary lifestyle. This stretch had more hills than I had anticipated by looking at MapQuest. In the car, I’d mark the miles in my head using the Imperial Valley Odometer I developed as a kid—“okay, this is El Centro to Imperial (three miles); the rest of the ride is Imperial to the other side of Brawley (12 miles)”—and I have to admit I was starting to doubt if I could really do the ride with a team of real riders who had ridden 700 miles to get here.

Assumption, IL, to Findlay, IL; A Whole 16 Miles

But here I was. We’re more than halfway between the equivalent of El-Centro-to-Brawley when Jonathan peels off from the lead and gives me drafting duties. “Whoa, here goes,” I think. In front of me, a nice long downhill, some flatland, and a very un-nice long uphill. That's the biggest hill on this stretch, I remember from my earlier scouting. I remind myself that after we get up the hill that we’ll have roughly an El-Centro-to-Imperial distance to Findlay, where we’ll meet up with Shift 2 for the handoff. As we easily descend the downhill, I’m trying to figure out how to peel off the lead before the uphill begins without looking like too much of a whimp. The real riders give me votes of confidence as I draft them through the downhill and flatland at fun speeds, though, so I decide to take a crack at the uphill. When the climb begins, our 24-25 mph pace becomes 19-20 mph, but I’m still doing okay. About halfway up the hill I realize there’s no more answering questions as my breathing is taking priority over talking. Still maintaining about 20 mph, my legs are feeling heavy and wobbly at the same time. Sam says, comfortingly, “Tony, don’t worry … we all struggle through these.” Knowing I can’t keep up the pace and fearing that I’ll slow the team down too much, I decide about three-quarters of the way up the hill to peel off the lead. As I fall back, the real riders give me “attaboy”s and “way-to-go”s as they pass me. These guys are like that.

By the time we’re over the hill Jonathan, Mark, and Ray are about 25 yards ahead with Sam falling back with me. Sam kindly drafts for me at a leisurely 20 mph pace so I can catch my breath before we pick it up again. By the time we hit Findlay and roll in for the handoff, we’re about a 30 seconds behind the other three, which is much less of a drag than the 20-30 minutes Sam had feared my participation would create. So while I wasn’t able to get the team up the entire hill, I didn’t bring the team to a complete halt, either. I have that going for me.

Mark and Tony, After the Day 7 Ride

I made it, a full hour's ride with a team of real riders. To a man, Shift 1 seemed very cool about having me along. Instead of making feel like the amateur rider I am, they welcomed me into their group for the equivalent of eight-marathon-strides and made the experience a good one. Once off our bikes at the middle school parking lot in Findlay, the team put the bikes on the van, enjoyed a beverage, posed for pictures, chatted up Shift 2—who had just arrived from a hospital visit—and handed them the flag. Shift 2 then took off from Findlay to carry the flag to the next destination and to Shift 3, who this morning passed the flag back to our Shift 1 at the Indiana-Ohio border. This pace will continue for two more days.

After our bike ride yesterday, Sam rode with me in the car from Findlay, freeing up a little space in the van for the other riders for a short while. We fueled up in Findlay, went to a bar-b-que thrown by ride organizers in Charlseton, IL, then drove to Indianapolis. Sam and I talked during the ride about his experiences so far—“It’s amazing what your body can do when ask it. I’ve ridden the equivalent of seven centuries in seven days.”—and he downloaded pictures to my computer. Sam explained that after a typical day’s ride he’ll take a quick nap in the van, write his day's journal entry for the blog, and make at least a couple phone calls before rolling into their hotel. At the hotel, assuming the Internet connection is good, he'll send me his journal entry and some pictures for the blog, quickly check his e-mail, and get as much sleep as he can.

After 16 miles on a bike and a slew of miles in the car, I was totally exhausted when I got home near Chicago at 11:00 last night. One day, 16 miles by bike, hundreds of miles by car, and I was wiped. Unlike Shift 1 of Team Will, though, I woke up in my own bed this morning and didn’t get back up on my bike. If yesterday was indeed an easy ride, I wish for nothing but tailwinds for Team Will for the remainder of the ride. All thanks to Shift 1 for letting me get a glimpse into their Herculean experience.