The first day of riding on Cycle Oregon came blearily into my consciousness as the other six of them would: with a the sound of tent zippers. Just one in the distance at first. Then another; then two more; then ten more. Then, like a swarm of giant, angry bees, thousands of tent zippers were hurling themselves open as the reality of morning kicked me in the teeth. I stuck my arm out of my sleeping bag to grab for my watch and the cold of high-desert morning air instantly bored its way to my bones. My fingers numbly fumbled around on the floor of my tent and came to a stop on the leather band of my Fossil watch and I turned my head so I could see the dial: 5:47 AM. Too awake to fall back asleep and too cold to leave the loving embrace of my -20° sleeping bag, I laid my head back down on my makeshift pillow of a sweatshirt and a bath towel and stared at the red ceiling of my tent and listened to the increasing intensity of the morning's activities. People were talking now, and I could hear the sounds of the baggage-hauling ATVs in the distance.
After a while, my anxiousness for the ride got the best of me and I sat up. The insulation of my down sleeping bag slid away and exposed my shirtless torso to the cold air and an unintended, "fuck it's cold!" escaped my lips as my skin seemed to tighten on contact with the below-freezing morning air. The steam from my breath hung in the tent like cigar smoke as I hurriedly dug through my bag to find my riding gear for the day, my legs still wrapped in protest in my sleeping bag. The next eight seconds were my impression of what Superman does in a telephone booth... In a blur of limbs and spandex, I emerged from my down cocoon in shorts, jersey, arm warmers, leg warmers, socks and gloves, ready to face the cold light of day. I packed up my sleeping bag, thermarest and other incidentals into my huge Adidas duffel bag and emerged from my tent.
I walked over and brushed my teeth at one of the many potable water stations around camp. I packed my toiletries bag into the duffel, made one final check of my riding gear and bid adieu to my things, as I would not see them until my arrival 68 miles later in La Pine that afternoon. Mesmerized by the efficiency of the logistics of supporting 2,500 people camping and bike riding, I made my way towards the food tents to find something hot and caffeinated to drink. I passed the Nossa Familia Coffee truck, which had far too long of a line of frozen, blue campers eager for a hot cup of coffee. Instead, I opted to obtain my morning fix in a large, inviting lodge-like building that housed the Sisters Athletic Club. Outside a sign read, "Come get your coffee here and get out of the cold." The sign's simple logic appealed to me and I entered the log structure, passing a thermometer on the outside which read "29°F". The door closed gently behind me and the blood in my ears, toes and fingers returned as the humid warmth of the athletic club percolated through me. A pretty gal in front of a barista machine smiled as I placed my order for a 16oz mocha with an extra shot. After getting my coffee, I lingered a bit in the warmth of the athletic club and then exited back to the cold. The thermometer on the door now read "33°F".
Breakfast was a blasé affair of powdered eggs, crispy bacon, oatmeal and some type of rolled up pancake that I dared not eat. I sat by myself and ate in silence nursing my hot, heavenly mocha, still wowed by the hum and efficency of all that was going on around me. The air grew steadily warmer as I finished up and decided to walk back towards the RV and see what the crew was up to. I passed the line of vans from the Bike Gallery and said hello to a busy James, who works at my neighborhood store and does a lot of work on my bikes.
Back at the RV, the crew was stirring, pumping tires, drinking coffee and gingerly stretching out cold muscles. I had only ever ridden with Lon and Sally, but everyone looked fast, and I was intimidated. Luckily, Lon and Sally were going to ride with Tucker and Derek in tow on tag-a-longs, so I would at least be spared their pace for day 1. Everyone else spoke about riding with Lon in hushed tones, so I knew he was probably still the fastest of the bunch. We assembled, filled our water bottles and said our good byes to Frank and Carol, Helgard and Karl and Zed (the RV drivers) and joined the throng of riders heading out towards Highway 97 and the first leg of Cycle Oregon.
We had a good group, this was evident from the first half-mile. Everyone was joking and laughing and still going nice and hard. Roland jumped out in front, and the someone muttered, "there he goes..." and the chase began, but didn't last long -- he just wanted to get the blood pumping. I jumped up with the front group, eager to have a pull while my legs were fresh, knowing I was a bit of an unknown, I wanted to show that I was more than happy to do some work for the group. We were pacing around 20-22 mph and still laughing and feeling great. Majestic mountains framed our panorama and the beauty of our terrain begain to sink into the Aussies, and phrases like, "have a look at that!" and "beautiful, mate!" began to permate the chatter in our peloton.
Then it was my turn to pull. We were a little bit into the wind and my legs felt great, so I went for it. I wanted to push kinda hard, but easy enough that I could sustain it for a while, so I bumped the pace to around 24 and pulled for around 5 miles until we came to a stop sign, where Keith and Chris took over. Comments like "Great pull, Big Dave!", and "Nice work!" as I faded into the back of the line made me feel like a productive part of the crew, and helped to get me comfortable in a group I had only met the day before. We ran hard all the way to the first ODS stop, which was about 25 miles in. I was pretty buzzed by the whole atmosphere and totally stoked to not be completely out of my element.
After leaving the ODS stop, we ran into some friends of the crew, and one particularly speedy 6'4" gent name Alex, or the "A Train" as he would thereafter be known. We jumped on with him and hammered like mad for 8 or 9 miles to lunch, which was in Bend. Roland, Chris, Keith and I arrived at lunch as the first part of a splintered group, having dropped the Aussies and some of the other folks on the last couple of climbs. I was hungry and quickly disposed of my roast beef sandwich and chips as we sat on the lawn under the late-morning sun and regrouped. We were at lunch for 45 minutes or so, and I was still feeling 
good, if not a little bit sunburned, having forgotten to grease up before leaving. We finished up lunch, and a couple of us remarked that Lon and Sally had not yet arrived, but figured they were just taking it easy on Tucker and Derek in the tag-a-longs.
As we were mounting up, Roland sped off, and I sprinted up to go with him, thinking that the rest of the group was surely close behind, when actually they were not. Roland and I rode on and chatted keeping a strong but leisurely pace through Bend and eventually onto Highway 97, all the while pulling away from the group. 97 had some unsettling traffic as we whizzed passed group after group. Roland kept remarking that we should slow down and wait for the others. And we would... for about 15 pedal strokes, then we would pick up the pace even faster than before. 97 got dicier as we ran in and out of rumble strips, passed recumbents and dodging the occasional maniacal 4x4, hell bent on scaring the shit out of cyclists. After several close calls and some not-so-fun time on the rumble strips, we turned off of 97 into Sun River. The pavement was smooth, the wind was at our backs and the grade was pointing slightly downhill, so we hit the gas and flew on towards the last ODS stop of the day, just before which we hooked up with the group and Zed, who had ridden the opposite direction from La Pine after having driven the RV that morning.
With a full crew and a tail wind, we cranked on from the ODS towards La Pine. The group had swollen a bit with some strangers and some friends, and the quickened pace was causing some folks to drop off as we got closer and closer to La Pine. I ended up at the front and hit the gas, anxious to drink a beer and enjoy the spectacle of my first day on Cycle Oregon. I kept glancing back and there were still folks on my wheel, so I kept pushing and pushing and eventually came upon the Finish Line sign, only to realize the folks on my wheel were not my crew and I just just given two dudes a free pull into La Pine.
One of the great things about Cycle Oregon is that at every finish line they have cold chocolate milk, which is one of the most fantastic things you can put in your face after a long, hot ride. I did quaff. I made my way to the tents and found mine... 215, then I did shower. Feeling good, but tired from the ride, I found my way over to the RV and sat my ass in a lawn chair and the beer fairy placed a cold bottle of Mirror Pond into my hand and I poured it into my eagerly waiting face. The crew trickled in and we drank beer and ate chips and crakers and talked shit about the day. I was happy to be among peers, and glad I wasn't the slow man in the group.
Just as I thought the day was as close to perfect as possible, we got the news about Tucker... 10 miles into the ride, his tag-a-long had sheared just above the handle bars and he had a 20 MPH wipe out right onto his face. Luckily there had been an ER doc two bikes behind them, and an ambulance nearby and they were able to get him to an oral surgeon in short order and save his front teeth, which had loosened significantly. When they arrived at camp, my heart froze to see the poor guy's face and I could not help but think about how awful that must have been for all of them, but him especially. It's hard not to imagine your own kid's face in that situation. However, he was in good spirits and was happy to have everyone calling him a "tough guy" and running to fetch him ice cream. After a dinner of pepperoni pizza and wine (the dinner lines for the regular dinner were too long and we were too hungry), we all retired to the ring of lawn chairs around the RV and I drunkenly played some tunes on my trusty acoustic guitar to a very kind and appreciative audience. Besides the ever-present beer soaked calls for me to play Stairway to Heaven or Freebird, it was a lot of fun, and I went to bed feeling very happy to have landed in the middle of such a great group of people.
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