And 48 more = 166.5 miles

Biking in the rain isn't one of my favorite things, but sometimes you just have to suck it up and pedal on.

For the first time in my 3 years of Trekking I got wet. Really wet. Soaked through to the skin. It was raining lightly when we left Colby this morning and it got steadier and harder as we rolled along. The only time we got any relief was for about the last 5 miles into Belfast, but by that time 12 suns could have burst into flame in the sky and it wouldn't have mattered. There would be no drying out until the biking clothes came off.

We headed out around 7:30 and the fieldhouse at Colby was nearly empty of bikes. Apparently a lot of people were up and out extremely early in an attempt to beat the rain. It worked for some of them. One man we talked to at the finish line said he started at 5:30 am, finished at 10 and didn't get wet at all. If only we would have thought of that.

We were almost off the Colby campus when Gail figured out what had caused her butt so much grief on Saturday. Her seat had slipped about 3 inches down the post and she was pedalling with her knees in her handlebars. So we turned around and headed back in search of a mechanic who could help make the pain in her tushie go away. (At least this whole ordeal will make a great Trek story for the rest of time, since she bought new shorts, diaper rash cream and Chamois Butt-er to avoid further chaffing. But yes, she may be scarred for life.)

With that little problem solved we started pedaling toward the tiny patch of sun in the sky ahead. But about 5 miles in we looked around and realized there were no more light patches in the sky at all. So we cranked, trying to get this leg of the ride over with as quicky as possible. We stopped only once, at Rest Stop 1, for a pee break and a water refill. In weather like we had you can't stop for too long because even 5 minutes off the bike can lock up your quads.

The worst thing about riding in the rain isn't that you don't have one dry spot on your body. The worst part is the rain itself. It hurts. When you're zipping down a hill at 35 mph and the rain's at your faces it feels like continuous pin pricks. But better that than to lose momentum and then have to expend more energy than needed getting yourself up the ensuing incline. And yes, there's always an incline.

Riding in the rain is pretty dangerous, too. Brakes don't work as well, people who wear glasses have trouble seeing, people who don't wear glasses have even more trouble seeing, the roads are slick and you're constantly being hit in the face with water that's either coming off the cars (and 18-wheelers) going by or the rider in front of you. That's why I was so surprised to see how many people actually finished. Yes, the support trucks were filled with the bikes of people who sagged out, but so many pushed on to the finish. Even plenty of parents with kids on the backs of their tandems rode on, though the kids just put their heads down and didn't pedal at all. Aaaah, what a great way to spend Father's Day with your dad.

(BTW, I hear the weather forecast for next year calls for perfectly sunny skies all three days so sign up now at ALA-ME so you can ride.)

There were plenty of people lining the streets of Belfast and at the finish line to cheer on the kids and the parents and all of the soaked and miserable riders. We grabbed our medals, snapped a couple quick pics and headed for the luggage tent. The only thing on my mind was a hot shower and some dry clothes. Oh yeah, and food.

First one, then the other, and then we hit the road towards home on Rte. 1, searching for a spot to get a bite and wrap up the weekend. We found the perfect place in Waldoboro, where, just as we were finishing our meals, a customer came in from the outside deck with a cat at her heels. The cat didn't even hesitate as it strolled in, jumped up onto a bar stool, sat down and propped his front paws up on the bar.

Yup, Mr. Cat a beer sure does sound good. It's been a long weekend.