An Epic Labor Day Weekend (Part 2): The Giro di Tedd

It all started so innocently...

I got an email last week from my friend and fellow P3C3 rider, Tedd. In it he said that he would be leading an 80 miler with some good climbing from Furman starting at 6AM this Labor Day to supplement our training schedule for the Ride to Austin. Sounded like a good idea. Not only did I need some climbing and a nice long ride, but the early start would have us doing some riding in the dark (with headlights and taillights, for the safety minded of you out there), and I needed to get some miles in that way as well, as my team will likely be pulling a night shift on the way to Austin. All appeared on the up and up. Little did I know that I would be putting myself into the hands of an evil, maniacal genius.

A note on Tedd

Many of Tedd's friends know him to be a good, upstanding, church-going member of society. He is a loving husband and a doting father to these two lovely ladies:

Tedd is also an Ironman. Which should have been the first red flag.

Friends, I can unequivocally inform you that all those good things about Tedd mentioned above are merely a front, or, perhaps, the machinations of somebody trying to make a last ditch effort to get in the good graces of the man upstairs. Tedd is, without doubt, an evil madman, and possibly a genius.

Seriously, look at this guy.  Is that the smile of a benevolent family man?. No, dear reader. We are dealing with somebody who likes pain, digs suffering, seeks out new and horrible means of bodily punishment, and brings others along for the ride.

Fortunately, I have the same kind of tastes, so let the suffering begin!

(Note: I have it from good sources that Tedd wears a helmet not to protect his fragile dome while riding, but in fact to hide the horns that are peeking out of his hairline.)

Early wakeup call

I'm a self-professed morning person, but even I have my limits. If you're riding 80 miles, you gotta fuel up at least two hours beforehand. The ride started at 6AM. I'll let you do the math as to when I had to drag my carcass out of bed. Suffice it to say, we made it in time to Furman, but we were less than happy.

These things, however, soon passed, and we were on our way in the cool pre-dawn, our headlights showing us the way, and foxes taking the chance to dart out in front of our wheels in case the pot of rocket fuel coffee we drank beforehand didn't quite get us going.

Soon, the sun was rising, and we were in the beautiful part of northern Greenville County, watching as the sun painted the eastern horizon pink and gave us some lovely vistas. I was still trying to wake up, though:

All in all, however, things were going pretty well. Everybody was communicating bumps in the road, working together to keep the pace solid,  chitchatting, and generally having a lovely time.

We even got a bonus potty stop at La Bastide, which the perceptive of you will remember is where our good friend and YNHPF co-founder Josh is the breakfast chef. Things were looking pretty good, if we do say so ourselves.

As a super-duper added bonus, we got some tasty mid-ride NOMs straight out of the kitchen. Bacon and cheese breakfast scone anybody? Yes, please!!!

(Pause for NOMification of breakfast scone)

Things, friends, were just plain hunky-dory.

It was at this point, in hindsight, that I now realized that I had been lulled (by the aforementioned evil genius) into a false sense of security. From here on out, the road began to turn up, and there was much work to be done.

At this juncture, we at Yummy NOMs would like to take the opportunity to thank Nathan, a newer addition to our ride group, for pulling me up the climbs. Nathan is a very cordial gent, a musician and a good climber. I know, because I spent the rest of the day pretty much holding on to his wheel for dear life. As such, this was mostly my view from here on out.

I am told that Nathan is both attractive and smiles a lot. I wouldn't know, as this is all I have ever seen of him. I can attest to his lovely backside, however, especially when complemented with his old school Slipstream kit. Thanks Nathan. I couldn't have done it without you.

Back to the ride

So, up, up, up we went. And up some more over the watershed into North Carolina. I'm sure it was all lovely, but I was too busy sucking on Nathan's wheel (see above). We then settled into some rollers and smaller climbs, punctuated by some fun twisty descents, and were generally having a good time.

Then we turned left on Green River Road (or something like that)...

...and saw this sign:

For those of you wondering at home, that facial expression is the universal sign for: WTF?!!!!

I assured myself that, clearly, this MUST be a mistake. Not only would the brilliant people at the NC Department of Transportation not be so obtuse as to plop a gravel stretch of road in the middle of a perfectly good country lane, but also, surely, my good, benevolent friend Tedd would NOT lead us into such sketchy conditions... Right? Bueller?

As it turns out, it was I who was mistaken. This is what we rode. For the next 4 miles. Uphill. On carbon ROAD BIKES.

(for the non-cycling readers out there, road frames are designed to be as stiff as possible, thereby maximizing their efficiency on paved road. The down side is that you feel every minor bump and crack in your, well, everywhere.)

The immortal Ricky Bobby described our next 4 miles best when he said "Hang on, Baby Jesus, this is gonna get BUMPY!!!!"

Yet, here is where Tedd's evil genius really manifested itself. Taking a road bike on terrain like this is nothing less than pure lunacy. That being said, I loved it. It was my favorite part of the ride! What's wrong with me, you ask? Well, I guess I've gone over to the dark side. Kinda like pulling for the Yankees or Clemson. I didn't want to do it, but once I did, it was sooooo much fun. I jumped out ahead of the group and finished the gravel stretch solo.

On the other side, I replaced my fillings back in my teeth and snapped my ridemates as they exited their own gravel birth canal of pain. Needless to say, not all were thrilled, but I was. I was reminded of all the stories of the old Grand Tours that I had heard about, with Fausto Coppi and the like racing unsupported on gravel roads over alpine passes. This PALES in comparison to that, but it was quite a feeling. The Giro d'Italia still goes over gravel sometimes (even Lance made a point to train on gravel roads in Colorado this spring during his Giro prep)., which is why I decided to name this ride the Giro di Tedd, in honor of its creator. All this was going through my mind as I watched my ride mates come cursing out of the trail, covered in grime. I saw it as a badge of honor... They didn't agree.

(no zealot like a convert, right?) 

That pic of Tedd above was taken right at the exit of the gravel section. I submit to you that anybody that can laugh like that after that type of a challenge is truly a maniac. Since I was laughing too, I guess that means it takes one to know one. 

Oh, and did I mention that we were barely halfway through our ride? 

Hats off to Firemen Everywhere

Shortly thereafter, thank goodness, Tedd's wife and kids met us at a local fire station, where we refilled water bottles, shook out the kinks, and, thanks to these guys, managed to wash our bikes off. Quite possibly, the best sag stop ever. Thanks to the anonymous volunteer fire fighters for helping us out!

After, that, it was a leisurely jaunt up the back side of Caesar's Head  (surprisingly easy. No, really) with the big pay off of the long descent to the bottom.  With Tedd's wife and kids providing SAG, we leisurely knocked off the rolling route back to Furman with minimal fuss. When I clicked out, the trip distance on the bike computer said around 74 miles, which makes Tedd not only an evil genius, but a liar (he said it'd be 80). However, we all agreed that the gravel stretch should count as double, so that got us to 78, which was close enough for government work. PHEW!!!

On "Epic"

"Epic" is a term that is bandied about entirely too often in cycling circles, to the point that it has seemed to lose some of its meaning. An Epic ride is one that should leave you gutted, panting, thankful to be done, thrilled you did it, and excited for the next one all at the same time. Now, that term gets used so liberally that it's been diluted to the point where when a buddy says they went on an Epic ride, they may have been talking about Tuesday nights at Donaldson, for all you know.


That being said, I'll leave it to Tedd to justify the Epic-ness of this ride. On his Facebook page, he posted the following:

"EPIC - very imposing or impressive; surpassing the ordinary (especially in size or scale) - AS IN TODAY'S RIDE - 78 miles/ 6228 ft of climbing/4 miles of gravel/ 6ix brave souls....All in all - EPIC" 

I couldn't agree more, Tedd. Any road ride in the summer sun  that leaves my legs so filthy that I look like I just went slogging through the mud on my mountain bike has to be an Epic.

Hats off to Tedd (and Happy Birthday!), the newly anointed Master of All Things Epic here at Yummy NOMs. 


Fausto Coppi would be proud. I had a blast, and I can't wait for the next installment of the Giro di Tedd!!!

NOM!!!!!!