"Don't you feel self-conscious wearing those tight Lycra shorts?" came the question as we slumbered through our scheduled stop at 3:30 Easter morning. We gazed at the questioner, with his oversize black pants, black extra baggy shirt, swirling tattoos, body piercings, and an incredibly bright red Mohawk haircut. Somehow through our sleep-deprived senses that seemed like an unusual question coming from that person. We were 215 miles and 20 hours into our 2005 flèche and had stopped for a rest when the question came. We muttered something about preferring Lycra to body hardware and returned to our blessed half-hour nap.

Two anciennes, Dave Buzzee and Bill McMurray, with one novocienne (Dave Miller) comprised the Ohio Flèchetones Team. Our plan was to ride 250 miles from Madison in northwest Florida to Clermont, near the central part of the state, during our Easter flèche. For the event Bill had composed a special "Ohio Flèche Ditty" with which he entertained us during the ride. We suggested that he not sing at the end-of-ride breakfast. It turned out that he thought Flèchetones was our singing group, while Dave Miller had suggested the name referring to our winter-white skin color. Hmmm.

The ride started auspiciously. We spied a pig scooting toward us just a half mile after the start. I cried out, "Warthog Up!" I knew that it wasn't really a warthog, but how often does a cyclist have the opportunity to make a call like that? To me the pig was a good omen, one that foretold a ride favored by luck. That would have been 800 yards before the sand started. Yes, our crack flèche team leader and route planner sent us on four miles of wet sand road right at the start. Things had to get better. They did - within an hour the rain began and washed most of the sand off our bikes. Then it really rained. And then it really rained. At one point the rain was so heavy that I couldn't see Dave M. just five feet ahead of me, and he couldn't see the road ten feet ahead of him. The headwind was 20 mph with gusts from the side stronger than that. Dave M. swears that he was bruised by the rain - I suspect it was nothing so dramatic, just a little hail. Things had to get better.

They did. The rains stopped as we entered our second control in Watermelon Glade, 84 miles into the ride. The rain resumed shortly after the next control, at the Alachua "Smokesalot-R-Us Truck Stop and Mustard Greens Emporium". However by the Bronson control at 139 miles, the rain had petered out and the head wind nearly stopped. A snack there consisted of an egg salad sandwich from the cooler, only three days past the expiration date. Oh, well, let's just live on the edge. Down it went.

By 9 p.m. and 173 miles we were in Dunellon, not a control but a perfect place for a sit-down dinner. Mexican it was, a fine and fiery meal washed down by some cerveza and followed by a nap at the table. We lingered as the wait staff cleaned around us, then left when the lights went out. Too late we discovered the detached restroom. It included an anteroom equipped with a foosball game table and wall-to-wall industrial carpet, which would have been perfect for napping. A real sleep began to sound very appealing. However one doesn't find many suitable places in rural Florida on Saturday night, even on Easter weekend.

The full moon rose, we rode on and entered the Withlacoochee rail-trail. The trail provided heavenly riding, with moonlight filtering through the leaves onto the surface. Of course no traffic, no potholes, and to riders from Ohio, noticeably no frost heaves in the pavement. At Inverness (191 miles) we left the trail to search out our fifth control at an all-night drug store. We entered at 11:50 p.m. to find one clerk and two customers. However, a dozen or more locals followed us into the store (is nothing else open in Inverness on Easter eve?) and kept the buoyant clerk very busy while we waited for a store stamp. Following the sleepy randonneur's creed, we grabbed another brief nap while squatting on a display base, then awakened to note that other randonneurs are shameless in public places: Dave M. sprawled against an Easter card display, legs spread out into the aisle, Bill lounged and tried to doze on the bottled water display.

Then back to the trail, moonlight filtering through the canopy, dappling the trail and leaving it beautiful to see but treacherous to ride near the pavement's edge. The big excitement came when we very unexpectedly rode upon a small group of locals enjoying the night air - in lounge chairs in the middle of the trail. We left the trail after 29.5 miles of wonderful night riding.

Again not an official control, but in Bushnell (215 miles) we found an all-night shop, sipped half of a soda, and took a sleep break in the bright yellow lunch booth under the gaze of the black-wearing punkers with incredible red Mohawk haircuts. As we left, per prearrangement we called the regional police dispatcher to request that an officer meet us in Mascotte for the 22-hour control. This dispatcher had not gotten the message and told us to call after we got there (!). What happened to the arrangement we had made earlier in the week? What if the officer had another call, or was in the wrong part of the county when we needed a witness? Ah well, we rode on.

The next stretch was not so pleasant. We nearly missed a turn - our vision was becoming cloudy, and our legs rued their lack of conditioning and the rolling hills. Twenty hours of riding in wet clothes was becoming tedious. However, Dave M. continued to drive the train at a very constant pace and cadence. I marveled at his consistency. Even when he stood to relieve the pressure from his saddle he kept driving us on. Early in the ride, in the worst of the rain, I had thanked him for his generous draft and lead-dog willingness to pull through the storm. Now I thanked him for his steady pace and tenacity. This was his first-ever ride of more than 200 miles but he rode like a veteran.

Mascotte was the sixth and final on-course control at 232 miles and 4:10 a.m. We didn't call the police but found an all-night shop to serve as the control. This was a very quick stop by our standards, only 20 minutes. Mascotte, on the periphery of major Florida tourist and retirement centers, has much new road construction, housing developments, and road diversions. Dawn broke as we threaded our way out of town, leaving us to discover that Cherry Lake Road wasn't called that at our end. Poor Dave M. rode an extra mile up hill to confirm that there was not another turn in sight so we took the CR 766. This did prove to be Cherry Lake Road. Lesson learned: with three riders, at least one must take an occasional look at the mileage on the cyclocomputer.

The final leg of the flèche featured looong hills north of Claremont, lots of brisk south winds blowing whitecaps as it whistled across scenic Lake Mineola, and lovely houses along the lake shore road. On the home stretch now, we enjoyed a very scenic lakeshore drive in Claremont. We soon saw the target of the flèche: the Holiday Inn Express and Denny's Restaurant in Claremont. Our finishing time was 7:07 a.m., three minutes ahead of schedule and five minutes after the other team arrived. At breakfast we exchanged tales of fearless riding, of flat tires, and of the weather, and agreed to consider riding again next year. When we left the restaurant after breakfast, the sky was, of course, a cloudless and peerless blue.

UMCA Year-Rounder Challenge

Preparing for and riding centuries