Last Never Felt More Like First

I'm afraid of heights. Just the thought of looking out the window of a tall building makes my hands start to sweat. But what fills me with complete and total dread is having to drive over an insanely high overpass. Unfortunately, I have to endure this at least 3 or 4 times every Spring as I travel throughout Texas with the Way South Speech and Debate Team. Any member that has ever driven with me knows that if I yell out "Sing!", it means we are approaching one of those pieces of spaghetti that has been strewn across a great city like Houston or Dallas, and I must maneuver my half ton Suburban over it. Thankfully they all know that to break out in song helps me keep my mind off of the fact that a gust of wind could come up and blow me off.

But this blog isn't about me driving over an incredibly high overpass. No, this is about riding my bike over the second tallest bridge in Texas, and continuing on for 65 miles. This is called "Conquering the Coast".

This is my fourth year at attempting "Conquer the Coast". There are two groups to join...The 25 mile ride, and the 65 mile ride. For the first three years I rode in the 25 mile ride, always afraid of the 65 because it started out with having to cross the Corpus Christi Harbor Bridge. The bridge was built in 1956-1959. It's 620 feet sprawls across the Port of Corpus Christi, and it looms above us at 243 feet. To partake in the 65 mile ride, one must start the ride at the base of the bridge, quickly climb it, then continue on around the Bay of Corpus Christi for 65 miles. This was my year to try.

The ride took place this last Saturday. I was not to endure this alone. My 65 year old father was attempting the 65 for the first time this year, and my more mature than 14 years son was also at my side. The morning started in the dark, wee hours around 5:00 a.m. Sleep had come and gone all night as I spent most of my time envisioning what the ride over the bridge would be like. I gave up on rest, and began to go through the motions that would start one of the most memorable days of my life.

Most prep work had been done the night before. My son, Holden, and I had gathered our helmets, gloves, water bottles, etc. We had laid out our jerseys and fastened our numbers to them. Now it was time to actually load our biking paraphernalia and bikes and start our day. I was filled with so much fear, I had to concentrate on every move I made, making sure I didn't forget some obvious element of the ride such as my shoes. We moved through the early morning, barely making a sound so as not to wake the rest of the family. I prepared oatmeal that was barely touched by our nervous stomachs. Only a couple of teaspoons of yogurt made its way through my digestive system.

It was time to go. My husband was up to see us off. We were loaded up, and there was no reason to stay at home. Believe me, I tried to think of one. We took off in the dark. My very calm and cool 14 year old decided we needed some pumping up as he quickly found some rap or pop or rhythm and blues sort of music that had a beat to carry us along Ocean Drive. This is from a child that doesn't make much noise. And when he does, you want to listen. I have no idea what the lyrics were to the song we were listening to, and I don't even know if I really want to know. All I know is that my son's voice would chime in every once in awhile on cue with, "Swing!" It was the only clue I had that this very quiet, calm, cool, and collected child was engaged with conquering the day ahead.

As we drove along the deserted main thoroughfare of the coastal road, more and more vehicles joined the procession down town. Most with bikes on bike racks, strapped to the back, the roof, or tucked away in the backseat of an SUV like ours. If any more excitement could grow in me, it did then. We continued in the dark, and as we neared our final destination, I noticed the bridge was hidden by the early morning haze and lack of light. "Oh if only it would remain dark," I prayed. The thought of not actually being able to see what lay ahead of me brought me some comfort.

We arrived at Whataburger Field parking lot. It was near 7:00 a.m, and the race would start in 30 minutes. There were at least 400 vehicles there and the number was growing by the minute. We found a spot and began going through the motions that all riders take before an event. The sounds were soft as riders talked of the weather and the upcoming race. Air hissed here and there as tires were readied. The light grew as the sun made it's appearance. Riders mounted their bikes and made quiet circles around the parking lot to warm their muscles for the day to come. We could put this off no longer...It was time to find the starting line.

This is where I must try to describe the child that rides with me. Holden is the forth of our five children. He survived a near death beginning in this world. We give God all the glory for allowing our son to survive those days and stay with us. God made him a "fighter" which was noted by doctors and nurses alike. But this is the quietest fighter you've ever seen. Like a mighty ship, heavy with oil and riches, gliding into port is Holden. Something powerful pushes this enormous vehicle through the water. But barely a soul is in sight to give us a clue as to it's power. This is Holden. He is strong. He is determined. And have I mentioned quiet? I feel safe and encouraged when I'm with him.

The two of us head toward the mob of more than 500 riders that now form the mass that will "Conquer the Coast". We eagerly look for my dad, Holden's Grandpa. At the last moment we find him in a comfortable spot in the middle. We edge in with him and wait. One of the many gifts I received that day was the bright and happy face of my longtime childhood friend, Nina. She was perched on her bike next to my dad. After hugs and words of encouragement, a voice over a load speaker interrupts our reunion. Some brief instructions, a prayer, and the National Anthem. All of a sudden I realize...This is a sporting event, and I'm one of the athletes. This was a rare but exhilarating feeling. Before I could ponder it, I eagerly search the onlookers for my biggest fans...my husband, Don, and our 9 year old Nate. There was no sign of them yet. How you yearn to see the ones you love at a time like this. Then, with just moments before the start, I see them. The eagerness and happiness on their faces matches mine. A few snapshots, and the ride begins.

The beginning of a bike race is calm. Good natured words float throughout, the sound of clips snapping riders to their peddles ripples through the mass, and a quiet community of riders begin their day. I found myself nestled among people I know and care about...my father, my son, my friend,Nina, and my good friend from church, Barb, with her 14 year old Daniel. Nervous chatter, some instructions about gears, and before I know it, the entryway to the bridge.

All of a sudden, I'm attempting the very thing I have feared the most every September for the last five years. More time and prayer has gone into these motions that I was now making except for maybe childbirth. It was far quieter and calmer than I had ever imagined. My father and Nina were immediately gone, Barb and her son were ahead of me, and the mighty, silent Holden was by my side. "Mom, your leaning forward. You need to down shift." How comforted I felt with him there. Oh please don't leave me, I thought. Then again, "Mom, down shift." I wasn't tired, and I wasn't scared. Then, "Mom, I gotta go." And Holden was off. I was alone. But I was fine. There were hundreds of riders around me. All of us just wanted to climb up and make it to the top.

After awhile I needed more oxygen. The climbing got harder, and all the things I had planned on praying on that bridge were far behind me. All I could pray was, "Jesus, please put your hand on my back and push." I prayed that over and over until finally...I was there. The top of the bridge! And this woman behind me said, "Thank you Jesus!" and I answered out loud, "Amen".
Dare I look over? Dare I glance at the beauty around me? Should I look at anything other than the broken white stripe I had been staring at the whole way up? For a fraction of a second I glance to the right. What beauty! The sun rising over the Corpus Christi Bay! Only a moment to comprehend my surroundings, then immediately I am dealing with the task of going down.

Now, it doesn't take a genius to realize that going down will take a fraction of the time as going up. But the challenge for a rider like me is to make sure it doesn't happen too fast! Riders whizzed by me going many miles an hour. I glided, braked, glided, braked, until I felt safe enough to let her fly! Before I knew it, the bridge was behind me. I grinned like an idiot. I had done it. I had ridden my bike over the Harbor Bridge! The first of my two goals for the day was neatly tucked away in my pocket and I was off to grab the next. But before I could think too much about it, there were my fans, in a fire engine red suburban honking on my behalf...Don and Nate. What joy.

To share the next five hours would bore the best of biking enthusiasts, but was filled with more blessings than this writer deserves. Each water stop was an oasis. The riders were friendly. The south Texas scenery was appealing. The weather stellar. 30 miles into the race, and goal number two was reached. I walked my bike onto a ferry that would cross a channel to Port Aransas, Texas. The halfway mark. I had made my goal. But I felt too good to stop. There was race left in my legs. I wanted to keep going. Then a nice Conquer the Coast official approached me.

"Congratulations! You've made it halfway!" What a nice young man I thought. "Would you like a ride into Corpus?" Now why would he ask such a thing I wondered? He explained his job was to give a lift to those who didn't want to tackle "the toughest 18 miles in Texas" that lay just ahead. After assuring me that it wasn't "cheating", he lifted my bike into the back of his truck, and we were off with the understanding that he would drop me off just past the Kennedy Causeway. (Another terribly high bridge, but with steeper sides, and not nearly the side rails necessary to keep a poor biker safe from a strong gust of wind!)

Moments after the retreat into his truck, a voice cracked over his walkie talkie. "Did you get that lady in green?" "Yea, I got her. She's in the truck with me. Now the last person is a man with a white shirt and glasses." Last person? Last person? "Was I the last person?" I asked. "Yea," he replied.

A wave of emotions came over me. I had just bagged the two biggest goals I've had in a long while and now this. But my bubble refused to pop. O.K., I was last, but I'm not done. And only after a few seconds, we were caught up with the pack. Well, I wasn't that far behind, I thought. We were slowly cruising down the 18 miles between Port Aransas and Padre Island. And there they were...my son, Holden, fighting along. Barb and her son. My childhood friend, Nina. And my dad! But there were more...friends from the gym, my children's' pediatrician, another friend from church! Oh I longed to be among them. I wanted to conquer as much as they did. But I knew my limits, and there wouldn't be many more miles left in my legs.

15 miles from Corpus, I ask to be dropped off. I mounted my bike, and I was riding again. Happy to be moving again I reached for water. To my disappointment, my water bottle had emptied while on it's side in the truck. I knew the next water stop was five miles away. Then the cramps started. Oh no. Too long in an air conditioned vehicle. My muscles had cooled too much. This is where I had to push, to try to do what might be harder than what I really could do. But I kept on. And one by one, the riders passed me. Silently at first, they passed me by. Then, I heard words. "Good job!" "Almost there!" "Keep going!" and the best, "I think I can, I think I can." Had someone sprayed the word "underdog" on the back of my shirt!? But I really didn't mind. We were just a bunch of bike riders trying to do a hard thing.

I got to the last water stop, walked off the cramps, and saw my dad! He had ridden 55 miles and was almost done! We shared some Gatorade, rode together for awhile, then he was off. I kept expecting Holden to pass me. But no Holden.

The last 10 miles was the slowest and hardest. I was tired. And fewer and fewer people were passing me. Was it possible that I could be last twice in one day for the very same race? I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to finish. Still no Holden. Was he O.K?

Three miles left...more blessings. Curlews in Cole Park, (my favorite bird), a praise and worship group on the lawn of First Methodist Church, the energy of Bayfest, and finally, those guys pulling stereo speakers behind their bikes came up from behind me. Prince encouraged us with "Let's get Crazy" and I took him up on it and kicked it into high gear. I chased those guys and their music the rest of the way in. Then I realized like I always do at the end of a race, "It's over. Oh no." I almost don't want the race to end.

I flew across the finish line, scanning the onlookers for my fans. No Holden, no dad, no Don, no Nate. Even the parking lot that had been teaming with bikers 6 hours earlier was nearly empty. It was O.K. I had just finished Conquer the Coast. I didn't even care that the photographer hadn't taken my picture and asked me to ride through the finish line again. I was catching my breath under the Harbor Bridge that had taken it earlier that morning, and I had conquered! All I really wanted to know right then was, "Where is Holden."

It didn't take long to find my dad. He had finished moments before. I was so happy for him! We both wheeled our bikes to the finish line and waited for my son. It seemed like a long time, but only minutes passed and there he was! We cheered and whooped as he crossed the line! He had done it! The whole 65! I was so proud.

It was hard to keep from asking him a hundred questions. But I could tell he just wanted to catch his breath. Our fans, Don and Nate, showed up, and before we knew it, it was time to load the bikes and go.

The ride home was surreal. We were tired, a little sunburned, and happy. I kept looking at Holden, trying to read him. And finally he uttered, "I did it. I rode 65 miles."

We've talked of the ride many times since Saturday. About meeting goals, setting new ones. (I met mine by the way in case you didn't get it: Crossing the Harbor Bridge, and making it halfway. I exceeded goal number two by 15 miles!)

And I've developed a new strategy of driving myself through those spaghetti bowls of causeways over Texas...I'll pretend I'm on my bike.