Morning Glory Ride trip report

This past weekend I made a trip to Cincinnati for the annual Morning Glory Ride, that is held by the Sierra Club. The trip was far more fun and fulfilling than I ever would have imagined. The Morning Glory Ride was fantastic. It sounds pretty simple: Just a 25-mile ride through the downtown streets in the early-morning hours. But it was so much more than that.

I woke up Sunday morning shortly before 3 a.m. and was out the door by 3:15. The ride didn't start until 4:30, but I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to get there. I decided to ride my bike to the start, rather than load it up in the truck, drive over, hunt for a parking space, etc. And even though I was less than two miles away, I wasn't at all confident in my ability to find my way to the start by the Purple People Bridge. As it turned out, I had no trouble at all and arrived an hour early.

Funny thing: On my way out of the hotel, there was a drunk chick sitting on the curb outside. As I walked by pushing my bike, wearing my helmet, she took one look at me and, rather loudly, exclaimed, "You mean to tell me you're seriously going to go ride your bike at 3 in the morning!" After only four hours of sleep, I wasn't in any state of mind to offer any witty comeback, and just muttered something the Morning Glory Ride starting at 4:30. "Well, good luck with that, then," she replied, and away I went.

At the ride, as we lined up, the race organizer blared at us through a bullhorn, reminding us that Cincinnati cops would be at every street corner, operating the traffic lights, and that we had to follow all the same rules as cars and stop for every red light and stop sign. The a cop, who seemed like he might have been the chief or something, grabbed the bullhorn and went over the same spiel. Having been sufficiently warned, I was prepared to follow every letter of the law. And then, before I knew it, we were released out onto Pete Rose Way. We rode a block to Broadway, turned into town and then encountered our first red light and aforementioned police officer on the corner. I started to let off the pedals, but then watched as the entire group blew through the intersection without even slowing down. So much for the rules!

It was somewhere at this point that I realized I hadn't turned on my headlight. I pushed the button and nothing happened. Back before the race, when I got off my bike to get a drink from a water fountain, my bike fell over and the headlight fell off and came apart. After scrambling in the dark to find the batteries, bulb and other pieces, I put it back together, turned it on to make sure it worked (it did) and put it back on my bike. Now, however, it had stopped working completely, and I was forced to go the entire ride with no light. For the most part, I stuck around behind other riders and had no problems.

Back to the ride. Before I knew it, we were on Columbia Parkway. OH ... MY ... GOD! It was exhilarating! Imagine riding a bike 20-to-30 mph down a six-lane highway in the middle of the night. No cars, just you and about a thousand other cyclists. No sound but the whiz of a thousand bicycle chains spinning in the night, punctuated by the occasional clunk of changing gears. It was breathtaking, and by far the most enjoyable part of the ride. But after five miles, it was time to turn off of Columbia and head into town.

The day before, I had driven the route to get a preview. The thing that struck me most was ... Cincinnati is on a freaking hill! Once you turn onto Delta Ave., it seems like the ride is uphill the whole way. The same for Erie, the same for Madison. I was filled with dread, because although I'm getting better, the hills around home can give me trouble. Heck, gradual inclines kick my butt some days. I began imagining myself finishing dead last, perhaps several hours behind.

As it turned out, my worries were for naught. I don't know if it was the thrill of the ride, or if the hills in Cincy just seem bigger because of all the buildings around, but I had absolutely no trouble. I had begun the ride about one-third of the way from the front of the pack, and as time went on, I found myself passing more and more riders. Pretty soon, I was near the front, and felt like I could just soar on past everyone in front of me. I couldn't, of course. Instead, I had to stay on the tail of a couple in front of me (they had lights), but even then, I found myself sometimes applying the brakes GOING UPHILL to keep from zipping on past them and into the darkness.

We wound our way through the city streets and, before I knew it, I was riding across the Taylor Southgate Bridge, into Kentucky, for what was supposed to be the final 10 miles of the 25-mile ride. We turned onto Route 8 and made our way through Newport and Covington and on up the hill to Ludlow and Bromley. It was at this point that I seemed to be finding extra energy just as everybody else was tiring out, and I began passing everybody. There were a couple of guys who were obviously in a completely different league that everybody else, and they were about five miles ahead of me, but at one point I was all alone at the front of the main pack. A little later, on another hill, a couple of guys caught up to me, but we stuck together, each one taking turns leading the other two.

This was a huge boost to my confidence as a cyclist. Having been worried that I might be one of the last to finish, I now found myself among the leaders. And it was at this point that things took a turn.

You remember that Charlie Brown cartoon where he's running a race around a track and suddenly finds himself in the lead? He closes his eyes and begins thinking, "I can't believe it! I'm winning! I'm actually going to win!" But because his eyes are closed, he misses the turn in the track and runs straight out of the stadium and loses the race. Yeah, it was something like that.

As I said, I was riding with two other guys, and I just assumed they knew the route better than me. I had driven what I thought was the route the day before, but they changed it at the last minute, so instead of turning into Devou Park, we were to ride out Route 8, turn around and come back the way we came. I didn't know where the turnaround was, but I assumed the other two guys did.

But after awhile, as the sun began coming up and I could see my odometer again, it became evident that we missed the turn, because I was already into mile 29 of my 25-mile ride, and hadn't even begun heading back! I mentioned this to the other guys, but they kept going when I turned around to head back. For all I know, they could be in Tennessee by now.

All the way back, I cursed my stupidity, and the bad vibe I was feeling made every mile harder than the last. All I was worried about was getting back in time to get some of the breakfast they had planned for us, since I was running on empty after four hours of sleep and a 3 a.m. breakfast consisting of a Power Bar and half a Pepsi. But I did make it back for breakfast and celebrated my ride by completely blowing my diet with eggs, bacon, sausage, some sort of cheesy hash browns and, just to relieve some guilt, a banana. My only complaint with the entire ride would have to be that we could only get one four-ounce serving of orange juice with our meal. It would seem that they would provide a lot of fluids after such a ride, but oh well.

But despite the route hiccup, which was really my own fault, and the lack of sufficient breakfast beverages, I can't really complain about the ride. In fact, I'll probably make plans to attend every year from now on.

One other highlight of the weekend, though, was Saturday night's dinner at Pompilio's. This is a local Italian restaurant at the corner of 8th and Washington, in Newport. Think Olive Garden, but half the price, twice the portion size and much, much fresher and tastier. I had the Chicken and Cheese Tortellini San Luci with a side of meatballs and thought I was going to die of sheer bliss after the first bite. I stuffed myself and still could only finish half of my plate. My wife had the scallops and linguine, but similarly had to bail on the linguine halfway through just to have room for the scallops. My oldest son tried the Italian sampler, which included lasagna, eggplant parmigiana, Italian sausage and meatball, and though he is an extremely picky eater, he ate most of everything. My youngest had the kid's spaghetti and meatball (yes, singular) and couldn't have been happier, except perhaps when I gave him one of the meatballs I had ordered on the side. At the end of the night, our bill was only $56, which for the amount and quality of food we received, I thought was a bargain. The menu is vast and I look forward to making many more trips in the future to sample more of it. Pompilio's will definitely be on the agenda for every trip to Cincinnati from now on.