Written by Larry Elgart

MS 50 – What’s So Special?

I’ve been asked to write about my MS 50 mile ride experience. (I should have thought twice before about jesting about my failure to make the MS VSI album).  I’ve had some experience riding a mountain bike for 20 or so miles at a time, but had never been on a longer distance organized ride, so I’ll welcome the opportunity to reflect. 

How can I describe my experience at the MS 50?  Based upon Sharon and Jim’s reflections of their experience riding the MS 25, and Scott’s reflections on the MS 170, you may think that the MS 50 is not quite as exciting—and you would be right!  After all, the MS 25 is full of riders who have not been on a bike very often, so naturally its full of first-time thrills and interesting experiences that normally present themselves in a newbie’s first distance ride.  And of course, how can the MS 50 be nearly as gratifying as riding the length of the Jersey Shore, as performed by the MS 170 crew.

Nevertheless, I’ll try to describe the event in a few words, and hopefully, my experience will encourage some of those who did the MS 25 this year to attempt the MS 50 next year, if opting out of the MS 170 (including you, Sharon—it’s time for the 50 next year, ok?). 

Pre-ride Events.  A few months before the ride, after signing up for the MS 170, for whatever reason (too many excuses), I failed to properly train as required, and I found myself three weeks before the ride, in really bad shape, wondering if I would be able to participate as a rider at all.  I kept dodging Mike and Jose in the pathways at the home office because I knew that they would be asking me how my riding was going and whether I would join them for a training ride. When one of them would corner me during the last few weeks before the ride, I would regretfully mention that I doubt I would be ready for the 170, and they would respond with something like “Don’t worry, Anthony did it last year without getting on a bike before the ride…”  If you know or have seen Anthony, you’ll know that the guy is built like an Olympian, and would have probably made the cut for a Caribbean bobsled team, or something like that.  Bad analogy guys… (Missed you on the ride, this year, Anthony!  You probably could have convinced me in the end to do it.)   

Two weeks before the ride, I rode a bit on the mountain bike and realized that if I got my hands on a lighter bike and some real cycling shorts, there’s a decent chance I could finish the MS 50, but I wasn’t sure.  A week before the ride, I purchased a road bike, real cycling shoes, heavy padded cycling shorts, and started my formal training. I experienced my two required embarrassing “at-a-standstill” falls on the clipless pedals during the week, and I was ready.

I made it to the starting point pretty much at the end of the pack and was informed by some good VSI volunteers that most of the VSI MS 50 riders had left, but I might be able to catch them.  I didn’t really catch any VSI people that day, but that was ok.  I rode solo and gained experience for it.  I hadn’t slept much the night before, so the Starbucks coffee at the registration area was appreciated. 

The atmosphere at the start point was great, with riders from all walks of life.  I was a still concerned with my ability to finish the ride, but gained some comfort from the many young people with shirts that said “Physical Therapy”.  There were maybe 30 or more of them.  I thought to myself, “Wow, this event is really prepared for physical mishaps”.  I later found out that they were a riding team of physical therapy students…I suddenly pictured myself laying on the side of the road as 30 physical therapy students used me as a CPR dummy (I know how anxious students are to get real world experience).  Bad mental picture...

When I started the ride I felt pretty good.  I was riding alone, but making conversation along the way.  My riding pace was faster than some, slower than others, but oddly, I felt like I kept passing the same people (like an episode of Twilight Zone).  The scenery through neighborhoods and along the beach was beautiful.  The Harley guides were great as they guided everyone and cheered us on.  About 7 miles into the ride, I regretted the decision before the start of the ride to guzzle the Starbucks coffee.  My bladder was pounding and I had to ask riders where the next rest stop was (which was pretty embarrassing only 7 miles into a 50 mile ride).  I pictured myself being forced to relieve myself on the side of the road, and that would be the photograph making it into the local paper or the MS brochure of what not to do along the ride.  Another bad mental picture…

The first rest stop was at 10 miles, I made it to the port-a-potty in time, and everybody was smiling and happy to eat chips, oranges and those special Nonnie biscotti cookies that were at every rest stop.  I lived on those babies during the ride.

After the first rest stop, the next ten miles were filled with sites that made me wishing I had a camera to record the event.  There were two weddings on the beach (with much of the wedding crowd staring at the cyclists wondering what was going on), wild kites, and other typical beach sites.  One memorable highlight of this stretch was a really cool goose (or some other big water fowl) sitting on a wood fence along the ride which appeared to be volunteering for MS as he squawked at the riders. (Did anyone see that goose?  I’m not making this up.)

As the mileage piled on toward the second half of the ride, I found myself lingering a little longer at the rest stops than I had planned, and realized that the riders were now spaced out farther.  Without a pack to follow, the directions were difficult.  I was solo again.  There were a couple of times when I missed the five inch MS arrow markings, and probably added a couple of miles to the ride as a result.  A number of times, I didn’t know what road I was on, so the route directions (without a picture map) were useless to me.  The later miles of the course doubled back down some of the same roads, and without packs of cyclists around, I really had to question whether I was on course.  Eventually, there would always be a bike or two which would come along and I would be able to confirm that I was going in the right direction. 

The day seemed to pass by fast, and before I knew it I was at a 37-mile rest stop, starting to get a little tired and sore.  I figured that since there is only 12 or so miles left, the rest of the ride would be an easy cruise to the finish.  Of course, I was wrong.  Overconfident, I pushed my pedals too hard, the wind picked up big time, and it felt like most of this last leg was heading directly into the strong wind. (Was the wind ever at our backs?) My right knee was feeling really sore, which is a problem I’ve had in past shorter rides.  I started pedaling mostly with my left leg to compensate, and wondered if I would be able to finish.

Luckily, the last few miles shifted back to a tolerable breeze, and I headed toward the finish with some college student riders on squeaky fat-tired mountain bikes.  I was impressed with them.  They probably rode the equivalent of 100 miles or more on a tuned-up oiled bike.  

As we crossed the balloon arch, some funny guys with long horns blew a victory tune.  The ride was over, and I felt great that I finished.  I was happy that I didn’t see any major calamities along the way.  Of course, at that moment, I ran into Dave Fitton who told me that he couldn’t finish the course because of three flats around mile 47.  Forget it, Dave, that’s more than finishing. 

To my pleasant surprise, the ride turned out to be challenging, exciting, and gratifying every minute.  More importantly, it was for a great cause, and definitely wet my appetite for longer rides in the future.  The MS organization and Vitamin Shoppe did a great job and made a smooth ride out of what seems like an impossible event to pull off.  I’m now hooked on cycling, and want to ride in more charity rides, maybe join the VSI “pros” on the MS 150 New York in the fall.  Anyone for a lunch ride?