Our small caravan rolled out of Orangeburg shortly before 4 PM on October 24, 2011. My emotions at the moment were a mix of excitement and resignation. I was excited because I knew I was starting out on my last leg. I was resigned to facing whatever new challenge would come my way. It was not a matter of if something would happen, it was just when would it happen.

I-95 ahead... it's all downhill from here!

One thing I noticed immediately is that I had finally reached the “flat roads for as far as I could see” portion of the ride. Actually, if you notice the elevation profile below you will see that starting in Orangeburg the “EKG” flat lines. The route now starts a very gradual and consistent descent to the coast.

The elevation profile from Greenville to Charleston

It was hard to keep from overdoing it at this point. I settled in a rhythm that was moving along at an average speed of 22 mph. The terrain combined with a nice tailwind was moving me down the road! I reached Interstate 95 in fifty minutes.

I passed beneath the overpass and kept pushing to hold my average. My plan was to make as much time as I could in this first hour and then ease up a little to cover the last three hours. Somewhere around the second hour I would make a stop to catch my breath and then finish up the last two hours as best I could.

Yes, we did see a few Harleys

Out of curiosity, I flipped my computer screen over to see the wattage I had averaged over the hour since leaving Orangeburg. I saw the number “209″ and smiled. All of those hours training with Jim Cunningham were paying off. How many times did he send me out there for hours to average 210 watts? Now here I was over 8 hours into the 2011 Ride for Mike and I was naturally slipping into my training.

At 183 miles in we had reached Harleyville. I remembered the town from my planning because of its interesting name. It was one of the towns I referenced when I was raising $20 per mile.

The fund raising was going well by this point. I had hoped that some folks would get excited about the actual day of the ride and be willing to give toward the cause. At first, I was a little discouraged. During the first four hours, I believe one or maybe two pledges came in.

I think people were just waiting until I reached the harder sections! By the time I reached Harleyville, we were starting to get notified of multiple gifts. Annette would contact me on the radio when someone tweeted or made a pledge. Whether it was a $20 pledge or a $1000 pledge, it was like getting a shot in the arm.

I always wanted to know who it was who gave. Sometimes I would ride for a bit feeling perplexed because I didn’t recognize the name. At other times, I’d get downright emotional with my eyes misting up as I heard the name of someone who had already supported me in so many ways. Needless to say, if you gave during my ride, you played a bigger role in my success than you might imagine. Truly, it was OUR success — not just mine.

Taking a breather with two hours to go

Speaking of the radio. You may have noticed it in some of the pictures. You can see it hanging on the left side of my helmet in the photo above. It is a simple multi-channel two-way radio. I tried to find an ear piece that would work with it, but was never successful. It was by accident that I found this efficient location for it.

I had been keeping it in my pocket or trying to hang in on my jersey. However, it was awkward talking into it and depending on where it was on my jersey, it could be hard to hear. During the Family Fun Ride while trying to make an adjustment to my jersey, I tried to find a place to temporarily place the radio. I then thought to hang it on my helmet strap. I ended up leaving it there because it made it very easy to hear Annette and because it was so light, I didn’t really notice it. The only downside is that it looked funny!

I can't say enough about the wonderful support I received

We rolled blissfully along. Several times when traffic allowed, Eddie would come around a allow me to draft. We were not able to do it as much during this section because there was more traffic. The closer we got to Charleston the more traffic became an issue.

Another issue was my feet. My legs were feeling pretty good at about 10 hours in. However, my right toes were cramping something awful. This often happens to me toward the end of a very long ride. The problem here is that I wasn’t at the end! I still had up to two hours to go and the pain was increasing.

Finally, I pulled over because I couldn’t take it anymore. I sat on the back of the car while Annette started to massage my foot. It was feeling somewhat better when Eddie came over. “Let me do it,” he said. “Eddie, you don’t want to massage my foot!” I replied. “No, really, I do it for Melissa all the time.” He insisted that Annette move over and let him take over. WOW! He worked that cramp right out. I heard joints and ligaments popping and before long the pain was gone.

I can’t say enough wonderful things about Annette and Eddie. They completely served me the whole time. I was starting to feel selfish and spoiled by the time we reached the outskirts of Charleston. They protected me, feed me and cheered me all the way.

As we rode along we moved out of less populated areas into — not really towns — but areas with more residences. You could tell that you were coming up on a more populace area of the state. At the same time, I could never see any signs that would let me know where we were. Several times I pushed the radio button to ask, “Exactly where are we?” I was trying to get a reference for where we were in relation to Charleston as the light began to fade.

Fade it did! We were moving around Summerville through the small town of Knightsville. At this point we were about 205 miles into the ride. Traffic was heavy due to the fact that we were rolling in toward the end of rush hour.

On the map, it looked as though the area where we would be riding would not have heavy traffic. Once again, planning the route from a distance was proving problematic. Traffic was heavy in both directions.

As we made a left turn onto Ashley River Road I heard an “angry horn” blow behind us. The natives were getting restless. I don’t really mind traffic too much, but angry and frustrated drivers scare me. Combine them with growing darkness and I was starting to get nervous.

I wasn’t as nervous as Annette. She was the one following in the car and slowing the traffic. She was aware of the traffic and would work to let cars through as often as possible. The problem was that in some places the shoulder wouldn’t allow it. At the same time, as it grew darker she was less interested in exposing me to the traffic.

“We’ve got to get more lights on you,” she radioed. “Pull over and let’s get more lights on the back.” We pulled over on the side of the road and moved my warning light from the front of the bike to the rear. I then put on my helmet light for the front illumination. It was now I rued the depleted battery from earlier in the day.

Then we saw a sheriff’s car pull up. At first I thought he might be pulling over to offer us assistance. However, I remembered the horn from earlier and also other instances I have had in the past with coastal area law enforcement.

Sure enough he was stopping to find out what we were up to because they had received a complaint about us. As he approached us, he had a look on his face like we were crazy. However, as soon as Annette explained to him what we were doing and how far I had ridden, he softened.

“Well, I can’t tell you to stop,” he told us. “But I do need to tell you that we have received complaints. It’s not the bicycle,” he went on to explain. “It is the car.” I told the officer thank you for his concern and we would have Annette go around me at the sign of any traffic. Then I blurted out, “We’ll probably stop at the town line.”

Little did I know that the “Charleston Town Limit” sign would pop up only about 5 minutes later. I saw the sign and kept going. It was just too early to pull over. At the same time, the darkness started to swallow me up. Annette would come around me to let traffic by. The cars would come around and I would be left with only the lights on the bike.

We were now moving down a portion of 61 with a canopy of trees above it. The moon was a sliver — but I couldn’t even see that. The helmet light was giving me some warning of what might be ahead, but I could not see anything around me. There were no street lights. There were few residences in this historic plantation area and what structures there were were away from the road.

I pulled my phone out of my jersey pocket to take a look at the distance recorded on my Cyclemeter. 217 miles had been covered by this point. I had committed to 220. Maybe wisdom was the better part of valor and it was time to call it. I radioed Annette, “Honey, I’m going to call it a 220 miles.” I could hear the relief in her voice, “I think that is a good idea.”

Over those last three miles the traffic picked up once again as we started to move into a more residential area. The lighting improved, but that was offset by the rough road and heavier traffic around us. Then we ticked past 220 and we pulled over in front of a hair salon.

Tired and nervous, I called it a night

True, it wasn’t a triumphal entry to the gates of the MUSC Children’s Hospital, but as Mike McCaskill told me, “If anyone complains about it, just tell them to go ride 220 miles!” Even as I sit and type this, I don’t second guess my decision. We did what we set out to accomplish. Hundreds of people were reminded of the life of Mike and over $12,000 was raised in his memory to help little Rebekah Grace Ellis.

Really, THAT is what the ride was all about.

I rolled into Saluda feeling pretty pumped. The fueling plan was working — other than my short lapse with hydration — and I was ready to take the next step in that plan. After a short rest of thirty minutes, it would be time to start the second leg of the 2011 Ride for Mike.

We averaged 19.7 mph between Greenville and Saluda. In just under 4 hours we were stopping at a Subway/gas station to eat a sandwich and rest a bit. The plan was to eat and prep for the next leg and get back on the bike.

Dave and Mary McQuaid met us there. We approached them and I asked Dave how he was feeling. I knew he had been sick since last Tuesday. Several times I told him he did not have to help me, but he insisted on being there to pull me for at least one hour.

Leaving Saluda for Orangeburg with Dave in the lead

So, ten minutes ahead of schedule we pulled off for the second leg between Saluda and Orangeburg. This would be a section I had never ridden before. Having driven I-26 in this general area, I knew that the terrain could be undulating. Still, I figured that it would have to start flattening out once we neared Orangeburg.

My hope was that Dave would give me some good help for the first hour and during the hilly sections, I would grunt through the middle hours, and then have a easier go of it during the last hour as I neared Orangeburg. Eddie wouldn’t be with us during the part of the ride, so I couldn’t count on any drafting help.

Thank you, David McQuaid!

We set off. Dave moved to the front and started to pull me along at a pace of around 18 mph. Because we were only covering 66 miles on this leg, I had figured that we could average under 17 mph and make in four hours. Now as we rolled along, I wondered about that. I was off with my calculations on the first leg. At the same time, I figured we would easily exceed the necessary average with Dave’s help.

Everything was going to plan. Before I knew it, we had finished the first hour and a quarter. We reached I-20 with Dave pulling me along — sometimes at 25 mph. Now I was going to lose him. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping that he would find that the ride made him feel better and that he was ready to pull me some more. As it was, I had to say goodbye and turn the bike toward Orangeburg.

Saying goodbye to a good friend and a good wheel

Things started to go south from there. Out on my own, the sometimes gently undulating hills started to seem like mountains! It was getting hard to hold a rhythm. I could coast down some of the hills, but then I would just have to climb up the next one. My legs were starting to tire. I was nearing the longest time I had ever ridden a bicycle.

I was coming down one of the downhills when I looked ahead and saw the longest climb of the leg. It was in an open field. I could see it winding up toward crest off in the distance. I groaned to myself and started to climb.

Nearing the top, the sound of Annette’s voice came over the radio. “Ummm, I think we made a wrong turn,” she said. “We are on 178, but we were supposed to turn off back there. We can keep going to Pelion or go back. The Pelion direction is much longer.” After climbing that hill, I thought seriously about just staying on 178 and taking the long way round.

As it turns out, that would have been a good idea! We turned around and I had to climb up the other side of the valley. “If we turn left up here,” Annette informed me, “we can get over to the road you meant to be on.” So, we turned and started off looking for the next turn. I had my Garmin pointing out to me the street names ahead. There it was: Charles Town Road.

I looked to my left to find a hard-packed dirt road. “Is this the one we are supposed to turn on?” I asked. “Oh, this can’t be right,” Annette replied. “Well, is there another road we can take that will get us to the original route?” I pleaded. “This IS the original route!” came the answer.

I remembered at that point that I had planned for a dirt road at this point. It would cut off the distance that 178 covered going through Pelion. I had looked at satellite images of the road and it appeared to be well groomed. Looking at it now, I felt confident that I would be able to make it. The road was so well groomed it was close to asphalt.

We turned on it and started along. I was starting to get my equilibrium back. This wasn’t so bad. It was a nice change of pace. Sure, we had lost some time with the wrong turn and now I had to work a little harder to keep a good speed, but we were back on track and enjoying a short cut.

Notice the spurs coming off the original route

Then we hit the sand. Gravel I can take, but sand that reaches up and grabs your tires trying to pull you to the ground is hard to manage. My front wheel would roll over a section of road and then the weight of my bike would send the rear wheel crunching through a thin crust. The sand would suck in my rear wheel and I would fight to hold the bike upright.

Stubbornly, I tried to keep going. I could do it, but the going was very slow. Finally, Annette convinced me to put the bike on the rack and allow her to take me to the next junction. That was Hwy. 302. I stayed in the car as we made the short connection to the next road we were to take.

Thankfully, this one was paved. We unloaded the bike and away I went. The road was pretty rough, but at least it wasn’t dirt! Things were still hilly at this point, but I really wasn’t thinking about that at the time.

Then not long down the road I heard Annette’s voice again. “I’m sorry, but I think we missed a turn.” I’ll admit that I was feeling a little exasperated this time. I only had so many miles in these legs. I didn’t want to use them all up backtracking!

The point is that we were following 178 for most of the time to Orangeburg. It was easy to get lulled into following the well paved road and miss the points where I had planned for us to cut some corners. This was another one of those instances.

We went back and I was relieved to find that the road we were going to turn onto was paved. This one was rough like all the other roads we had gone on, but at least it wasn’t sand… or so I thought.

After crossing 321 we faced yet another dirt road. I forged ahead. Once again the road started out fairly packed. However, I finally reached a point near the end of the road where I simply could not continue. It wasn’t a matter of making slow time. It was simply that I was so buried in the silty sand that I could not turn my pedals.

This time, rather than losing time putting the bike back on the rack, I just sat on the back of the car holding my bicycle as Annette rescued me from my poor route choice. I had to chuckle to myself that even Annette’s navigation mistakes were better choices than my planned directions!

Escaping the sand pits outside Orangeburg, SC

FINALLY, we were out of the sand. Annette looked ahead and told me there would be no more turns off of 178. We could be assured that we were through this mess. Quickly, I bounced back and was ready to go again. We could still make it to Orangeburg in close to four hours.

We made a right turn onto 178. As we rode along, I started thinking… “This is strange. If we made a shortcut to cut off a curve of 178, how could we be going in this direction without having crossed over 178 already?” I also noticed that the wind was now to my face. However, I put it out of my mind just glad to be back on 178.

“Ummmm, Jonathan,” I heard over the radio. “We’re going the wrong way on 178.” Well, there was my answer. We pulled over and once again I got in the car. I figured I had ridden out to this point, I could ride the car back to where I made the wrong turn.

Now we were heading in the right direction. Still, I was surprised to find that the roads continued to be over rolling terrain. Granted, I could tell the hills were more shallow, but every bit of climbing was unwelcome. I was looking for some good old flat ground for as far as I could see.

So, it was almost a surprise when we finally pulled into Orangeburg. Then I got a double surprise when I pulled up at the Substation II where I planned to stop for another sandwich.  My mom and my sister Suzanne pulled up! They had come down I-95 from North Carolina just to see me arrive.

My mom and sister surprised me in Orangeburg!

Having them there, coupled with the realization that I now only had one leg to go immediately made me forget the struggles of the last four and a half hours. The 66 mile leg had turned into a 76 mile one. Still, the sign outside the restaurant read, “Charleston 75.”

I could do this! I was going to make it, but the adventure certainly wasn’t over. I didn’t leave Orangeburg until nearly 4 PM. The sun would set just before 7 PM. More excitement awaited us.

4:30 came too soon on Monday morning. However, it was with a good deal of understated excitement that I rolled out of bed and cranked up the coffee maker. Today was going to be a BIG day. Months of planning and training would culminate with a solo ride from Greenville to Charleston. At the end of the ride would be the opportunity to be a blessing to a beautiful family.

Once again the McCaskills showed their support by showing up at 5:30 to follow us out to the GHS Children’s Hospital entrance. As we drove toward the location, I thought of Mike McCurdy and John Davidson who had planned to help me out of Greenville — that is until Mike got hit by a car while riding his bicycle last Wednesday! Of course, I didn’t want to think too much about that!

We pulled up and started getting set up. Then I heard a voice from a nearby car. It was Eddie Helton. For some reason, I had completely forgotten that he planned to come along to take photos of the ride. Yes, he was planning to follow us for the whole 12 to 14 hours it would take to get us there. Before the day was over, I learned to appreciate a lot more than his photography skills!

At the start of the 2011 Ride for Mike

I started out trying to be very careful with my pacing. Without too much effort I was matching my plan for 18 mph. Because it was early in the morning the traffic lights were mostly green. However, by the time I got out of Greenville, I was under the pace I desired.

The other issue was that I was dressed with Saturday in mind. On that day I nearly froze on the 2011 Ride for Mike Family Fun Ride. Not wanting to face that, I had dressed pretty warmly. Well, by the time I reached Mauldin I was starting to feel a little fatigued because of the heat. I decided to ditch the warm jacket.

Now it was time to just settle in. There isn’t a lot to comment on other than the fact that the sunrise was beautiful. I knew the route from having ridden it several times before. My lighting system was showing me the way as the darkness slowly faded. All was right with the world!

Heading off into the sunrise

Just as the sun began to rise to the point where I could see the road ahead of me, the two lights mounted to my handlebars went out. Well, that battery didn’t last very long! It didn’t bother me that I didn’t have a light at that moment. I could see just fine. The concern that began to creep into my mind was the fact that I wouldn’t have the light when I reached Charleston and its traffic.

Not far out of Saluda, Eddie came around me and started to slow. I knew he was indicating that he would be willing to motorpace me for a time. At first I thought to myself that doing so would be “cheating.” However, then I started to think back to all the people who had helped me get to this point. I could not be here alone. Not only would this be an opportunity to receive some help along the way, it would also be an opportunity to give Eddie the pleasure of helping.

That is one thing I have learned through all of this. It is said, “It is more blessed to give that to receive.” It could also be said that for some of us it is easier to give than to receive. It is most likely pride that causes us to think we “must do it on our own.” However, doing so robs us of some incredible blessings!

Somewhere between Greenville and Saluda

So, I pulled up to Eddie’s bumper and away we went! Once I looked down at my computer to see we were doing 40 mph. I wasn’t there for many miles, but by the time I backed away from him I was averaging over 19 mph.

As it turns out his help was a good thing. We rolled away from GHS just a few minutes late. At the same time, I must have misjudged the distance. The bottom line was that even coming into Saluda with a 19 mph average, we were just 5 minutes ahead of schedule. Had I averaged 18 mph as I had planned, we would be behind.

So, the first leg of the journey was complete. The key for me by that point was that I was fueling myself according to plan. There was one stretch where I could tell I wasn’t hydrating as well as I could, but I quickly recognized it and focused on slowly getting the liquids in. It was also helpful to be able to spin the lactate acid out of my legs when I was drafting behind Eddie.

Pray hard. Ride hard. Trust God

I knew that the next leg from Saluda to Orangeburg was going to be a tough one. Eddie was going to have to leave us during this stretch, but Dave McQuaid would be there to help me along the first hour. It was what happened after he left us that will forever stick in my mind.