“Never, never, never give up.”

“Never, never, never give up.” (Winston Churchill, October 29, 1941, when he visited Harrow School) “I never DNF.” (Me, right after finishing the 2014 Black Fly Challenge)

This race was a challenge right from the beginning. I don’t know what I was thinking when I volunteered to coordinate getting 14 racers to and home from a 40 mile point to point race. After weeks of random affirmation of interest, periodic solicitations for car pooling, and sporadic offers of shuttling service, I decided to look after number uno through cinco first. A backup plan, soon to be the primary plan, was set. Me, Jen, Jon, Rob and Andrew were going to race come hell or high water.

High water was a real concern. Jon and I had ridden the course the previous week. It rained three of the five days following, and the Black Fly Challenge course transverses the Moose River Plains Wild Forest, the "plains" of the Moose and Red Rivers. Hell was also a real threat. ‘Black fly challenge’ is not just a catchy phrase; black flies exist by the billions between Mother’s day and Father’s day and the plains of the Moose and Red Rivers, a zone of grass and herbaceous vegetation is the breeding ground of the black fly who’s main source of nourishment is the blood of mammals.

Jen and I had a plan to ride as a team. The plan was based on the premise that we would both be successful riding the length of the course without mishap; false premise. Fifteen miles into hell my bike ate its own derailleur. Jen was on her own – and doing quite well I might add. I’m pretty sure I was more company than actual help. Now I was chum for the black flies – so I thought. Turns out the black flies weren't the issue. Leaving my chain brake in the car was the issue. Seven hundred and eighty-nine riders started the race. Six hundred were now destined to pass me as I began my endless trek with a shouldered bike, its derailleur hanging like entrails of the slain.

Most were well intentioned; Need a tube? You okay? Anything I can do to help? Sucks to be you were the words I kept hearing over and over as I plodded along. Then just as surprisingly as the derailleur disintegration, I heard magic words – Want to use my chain brake? Doug, from near Syracuse, is a frequent rider of the Black fly Challenge. Lucky for me Doug gets his thrills helping the less fortunate, a Good Samaritan with a chain brake, and our meeting was not a moment too soon for the sag wagon cometh. Back on my bike and back in the battle, I waved off the wagon of the defeated.

Doug and I hadn't given much thought to gear ratios as we reconfigured my drive train. Though I had just spent the last half hour walking and been passed by countless riders, I felt I had a race to win. The speed at which the NASCAR like conversion of my bike was accomplished was totally undone by the gear ratio selected. I spent the next 20-plus miles riding bipolar style; alternating between a frantic spin and a Sammy Sanchez speed tuck. I didn’t have the sense to wait for Doug and try it again.

The race ended in a thousand foot, single file, traffic cone and spectator lined parade. My frantic spin drew encouragement from the crowd. “You can do it! You’re almost there! Just a little farther!” At the end of the parade next to the timing chip receiver stood Jennifer. Jennifer had had a spectacular race. So did I; I didn’t DNF.