Drove over to NW Connecticut to ride the 74-mile version of the
Tour of the Litchfield Hills. An interesting and generally positive experience, though as is often the case in such athletic endeavors, it would have been much more positive had the legs had some zip. But, for whatever reason, they certainly didn't.
I guess the contributing factors were lots of hills, a warm sunny day (it doesn't have to get really hot for my stomach to have trouble processing fluids), old age. And not sure if my pace in the early (and very hilly miles) was too quick; didn't seem like it was, but maybe.
Anyway, by the aid station at 27 miles I had done well over half the climb and was reasonably optimistic. The climb in the mid-30 was a struggle, but even then I thought, just one more real up, mid-50s to low 60s, then flat or down to the end, can't be too bad. But it was just survival mode, lower and lower gears, slower and slower, just try not to fall over or get run over.
And I suppose this ended well, no one had to peel me off the pavement, or shoot me off for an IV, or drive me home. Such things have certainly been done in the past. Maybe I'm getting smarter? :-)
Assuming the legs recover, the only lasting damage was to my shiny bike, and it was pretty trivial. Leaned it against a signpost at an aid station, but it slipped, and suddenly there was a nice scratch on the top tube. Now normally I would pay no attention to such things, but I have been trying to maintain the bike properly (a new experience for me). So I suppose I need to go find a little bright red paint.
By the way, this was a ride, and not a race, but that didn't seem to keep lots of folks from going very fast. I got passed many times, the feeling being that it was as if I was standing still.
Of course, I also passed a lot of folks and my recollection is that all of them actually were standing still (or at least off their bikes). See, I don't like to spend a lot of time at aid stations, whereas for most folks that just seems to be one of the ride's attractions.