The ride to Amherst was planned to take place on a Saturday in late July. Maps were studied, pacing plans were argued, and food choices were considered. I felt kind of like a general preparing his troops for battle. Except, I was the only soldier! I did a couple of 50 mile rides a few weekends before the big day and they left me totally punch drunk by the end. Still, my anticipation for the big day did not flag.

That Saturday we woke to a clear sky that promised a hot and humid day. We filled our bottles with water, and I took sandwich bags filled with Oreo cookies and Goldfish crackers to eat along the way. Mike and I had decided to start with a rather pedestrian pace (a wise decision). We left the house, and proceeded to ride west on State Route 9. We rode through the Brookfields (quintessential New England towns) and into Ware. Ware is an old factory town built along the river that runs through it. While the factories remain, large brick buildings with tall smokestacks, the jobs left long ago. The only people who remain are rednecks who think Marlboro gear is a fashion statement. Needless to say, as we rolled through town we got some odd looks. There are some large hills going out of Ware, and they definitely tested our mettle. I weaved and bobbed and struggled to make it to the top. Mercifully, the hills are only about a mile long. As you get out of Ware you enter the Quabbin Reservoir, which is used by all those thirsty Bostonians 80 miles to the east. The road became quieter with only the whirring of bikes and the songs of birds to fill our ears. The road goes through a forest which keeps it shady and cool. We didn’t talk much; I think we were both steeling ourselves for all the riding that still lay ahead. As you leave the Quabbin you enter the Connecticut River Valley where Amherst is located. Amherst is near the river, so the last few miles are all gradually downhill.

We arrived in Amherst around lunchtime. We sat under a shady tree in the Common with our backs to Amherst College. We had some water and our Oreos. I actually don’t remember feeling all that bad, more hot than anything else. We talked about the weather, what we had seen along the way, how our legs were feeling, and other mundane things. I think we were too tired to have any real deep conversations. Finally, we turned around and started back on Route 9 for the return trip home.

I’ll spare you the details, but it was a hard ride the rest of the way. We both blew up a number of times. It seemed like when one of us felt bad the other felt okay, and vice versa. Who ever was feeling good tried to coax the other onward. It was a long slog but eventually we did make it. The first thing I did when I got home was retreat to our cool, musty cellar and have a cold can of Coke.

I still do this ride from time to time when I am home. Funny thing, it never gets boring or old. Actually, I still look forward to doing it. I now affectionately refer to it as the Spencer-Amherst-Spencer ride in homage to a much easier race that happens in Belgium every April. I often like to do this ride when I am getting a little sick of bike racing or riding. It reminds me why I started riding in the first place; for the challenge and adventure.

To be Continued: View From the Bottom The College Years

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