Let me see now. Yes it’s coming back to me. It seems like it was only yesterday. The blood sweat and gear. 1250 bicycle riders all in the same parking lot.
I am walking across a wet field in mountain bike shoes in order to get in line for the port a John. Wondering if I could possibly compete with the likes of those I saw pulling into the parking lot. Overhearing members of bicycle teams discussing their strategy.
I had gotten up around 3:30 AM, consumed one Super blender shake and a whole handful of vitamin supplements, ritualistically listened to Wilson Picket`s song Knock on Wood and taken a hot shower. The plan was to meet Johnny Acorn for a ride up to the race start in his fixed gear Toyota .
We would get some good coffee at a Dunk n Donut when we got to the top of the mountain. It had to be dumped out.
Very much out of my element I felt a little bit anxious as I signed up with a photo I. D. and signed a waiver. The all steel ,leather saddled, fixed geared bicycle with
SPD pedals and flat handlebars which I had leaned against the wall as I entered the
sign up area had been gently tossed into the bushes and in its place rested a new top of the line carbon fiber
Cervelo. - there’s nothing like a little bit of unexpected seasoning on an already full bowl of motivation to leave it all out there .
Way too many bicycle riders stood straddling their trusty steeds somewhere near the starting line as a Saturday Night Live skit unfolded for the ten minutes or so leading up to departure. A few big raindrops splattered around me and I almost hoped the skies would open up and thin the crowd out. Some riders already had MP 3 players running with earphones in place. They missed out on the sound track from Star Wars. After something resembling the Star Spangled Banner was butchered the start was official. For some time after this climactic event hundreds of competitors from 32 different states duck walked their straddled machines of bladed spoke and carbon derailleur while the theme song from Rocky inspired all those who had passed on using earplugs. – The feeling of a new recruit getting off the bus for basic training kicked in about then as I also noticed that NO one else of the gazillion riders had on a backpack.
Well except for say 8 or 9 hours of hills that about covers the Blood Sweat and Gear.
Lots of comments from other riders about - oh wow "single speed ". Some of those seemed to be actually respectful and appreciative rather than the perfunctory utterances offered in awkward moments during contact with the handicapped.
A few comments I enjoy having heard include a man on his cell phone trying to climb Snake Mountain (before having to push and walk). "Honey this really
isn’t a good time to talk". Another at the start of Meat Camp Rd. was from a lady to her guy. Both were in small rings of their front triple and very red faced she simple said to him, " Babe I`m not liking this".
Lots of memories to blend into one as more time goes by - including a fella with the "right " kind of bike sitting on a guard rail after around 80 miles changing his 4
th flat with 20c tires that no doubt were used to make him go faster. At least he found a shady spot.
The need for liquid and lots of it at the rest break up ahead - passing on the spring water that trickled down that
holler and after guzzling some of the off color sport drink ,finding out it was made with that same "natural"source (
hopefully after critters had been screened out).
Rotten bananas and Oreo Cookies, bottles of Vitamin Water that were just the bottles filled with green tea someone had made.
Some of the very nicest folks in the world directing traffic,raising spirits at rest stops,etc.
And one of the best aspects of the day - to fit into and live a day in those hills! Some of the finest topography and landscape to be found. Found while allowing oneself to be measured in a sense during an athletic event - part of a large group but also
separate from it (just the way I love it). - Oh yea ! did I mention the smell of freshly cut hay and cow poop and and and - - - ?
Our coast is well-guarded. No ne'er-do-wells will make it through Oregon Inlet. The inlet is the only passage to the interior sounds of the central coast. The inlet seperates Bodie and Hatteras Islands and is known as an extremely dangerous inlet with constantly shifting channels that have stymied the local fishing industry, tourists, and pirates for centuries. 
My bro Brad is a former Coast Guardsman and was stationed at Oregon Inlet. The station is pictured above.
Heading south on the bridge over Oregon Inlet, with the Pamlico Sound to the right. The bridge is the OBX equivalent of a mountain pass. 
Almost to the turnaround point on Hatteras Island, Pea Island Wildlife Refuge. The dunes on the left separate NC 12 from the Atlantic, while the Pamlico Sound is just beyond the vegetation on the right. NC 12 is the only highway on Hatteras Island and carries heavy tourist traffic. Although a popular destination for coastal cyclo-tourists, the lack of a bike lane or shoulder gives an indication of the quality of the ride. We had several pucker moments. And while the region is flat, the wind is constant, and almost 2 hours of our ride was into a steady 10-15 mph wind.
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