We left Atlanta with two cars, seven bicycles, six riders, and - - unfortunately - - five bicycle helmets. 10 minutes into the ride yours truly realized I forgot my brain bucket and we had to drive back home and pick it up before our journey legitimately started. For anybody who lives in Atlanta, we had to drive down interstate 85, across 285 and back up 75 in the dead of Atlanta rush hour. For a group of speed junkies, this was not the best planning. The crawling traffic was complimented by 100-degree temperature and stifling humidity. We were 10 miles and one hour into our journey when everyone started thinking about dinner.


After two hours of traffic we finally got into the open road, heading towards Tennessee. Our route to Iowa took us through Georgia, Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, and then to Iowa. The mid-point was just outside St. Louis. Along the way, we sloshed through driving rains, which my cycling coach knew was the only way my bike was gonna get a wash.

I was riding with a group of very health-conscious and highly trained athletes. Accordingly, my dinner, which I deemed best-of-breed among our group, consisted of a Wendy’s burger, a milkshake, three cokes, a big bag of gummy bears, and a bigger bag of chocolate malt balls. “Just be glad you’re not sleeping in the same room with me tonight”, I said to Pat, my co-pilot. “I am sleeping in the same room with you tonight”, Pat lamented.

The rush hour traffic and the driving rain slowed us down, so we didn’t get to our mid-point until around two in the morning. Nashville is an exciting town at two in the morning. Nashville, Illinois is not. The next morning I asked three locals who were enjoying the excitement of the Best Western lobby, how the town got its name. “Never thought about it”, was their same response. “What’s the population of Nashville?” was my next question. “Where, there’s me”, I got as a studied response. No more questions.

With very little prodding, I convinced three of the passengers to wake up at 6 in the morning to do an early morning ride. The other two members of our entourage wisely selected to sleep in and enjoy breakfast. Ralph, my cycling coach, started the ride at a blistering pace. Three hours of sleep and a tummy full of gummies is not the recommended precursor to a blistering bike sprint. Then it got worse. Ralph hates getting passed when he’s on a bike. That’s OK, but he hates not only when other bikes pass him, but also when cars and truck pass. A big 18-wheeler blew by us two minutes into our ride, so Ralph swerves behind the truck to catch its draft – at 36 MPH! This, like Ralph, is nuts. Not only was the pace unbearable, but drafting a truck can be like chasing a parked car if you’re not careful.

Fortunately, Ralph has eyes in the back of his head, which were required to see that he left the rest of us in his dust. He let loose on the throttle and we settled into a “whose bright idea was this !@#$% ride?” pace.

Going north on the main strip through Nashville, we turned east and went through New Minden (hate to see Old Minden), population 250. From New Minden, we approached the outskirts of Irvington, a bedroom community of New Minden, and turned back to complete our 25 mile “pre-ride” ride. Corn fields, cool weather and the sweet smells of pig effluvia delighted our sense. Actually, the fact that we weren’t dodging the traffic and obscenities of Atlanta was a welcomed relief. However, the vacation ended because for the last four miles, someone in our group had the dopey idea to take turns doing half-mile pulls at the front of the group at maximum effort. Last night’s gummy bears, and this morning’s Fruit Loops and glazed donuts were dangerously close to coming back up when our first ride – thankfully – ended.

25.2 miles; 25.616 MPH; 0 crashes; 0 flats