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“PMC 2005: Saturday Afternoon, MMA, More Lunch, Massage, Traffic”

From: Seth Dillingham In Response To: 4999  PMC 2005: Day One, Sturbridge to Bourne
Date Posted: Saturday, August 13, 2005 3:37:42 PM Replies: 2
Enclosures: None.

Saturday Afternoon, August 6, 2005

What's the first thing you do after arriving at the Mass Maritime Academy in Bourne, after 113 miles on the bike (not counting the two miles from the hotel to the start)? Sign up for a massage!

I was in line at about 1:20, but my massage was scheduled for 2:45 on table 22. That left plenty of time to go back up to the gym, find my bag, take a shower, and grab some more lunch with some of 'the crew'.

Lunch #2

While I waited for my massage, I ate. A BBQ chick sandwich, a grilled burger, a bowl of Legal Seafoods clam chowder, and whatever else I could find that looked tasty. At that point, almost everything looked tasty.

I sat with Steve, Two Tone, Mark, and Andy. Steve was fifteen people behind me in the line, but he got an appointment fifteen minutes before mine!


22 was the magic number. The massage tent had at least sixty massage tables, and every massage lasts fifteen minutes. Table 22, though, had two girls giving massages! One was still in training, but was about to take the test for her license so she wasn't "new."

"Any areas in particular that you'd like us to concentrate on?" the tall, muscular girl asked. I don't know her name, but I'll call her Helga. She was pretty, not scarily muscular, but she looked strong. She looked like she should have a German accent (but didn't). She looked like she could hurt me (and she did!).

"Standard fare, I guess. Quads, calves, lower back, traps."

So, I laid down on my stomach, and they went to work. Helga was out to hurt me. After 200+ miles in two days, my calves were stiff like steel cords, and her first order of business was to beat them back into submission. More than once her thumbs hurt enough to make me raise my head and wince a little. People on other tables were watching me (probably because there were two people working my table), and a few of them chuckled as I whimpered. (The pain only lasted a couple seconds, and was totally worth it.)

Finished with the calves, she bent my knee, bringing my ankle to the back of my leg. No reaction, that didn't hurt at all. She was trying to stretch the quads. (The other girl was concentrating on my lower back.)

Put the angke down again, put one hand in the fold behind the knee, and bring the ankle back again. Still no reaction. "Darn," she said, "that muscles arleady limbered up."

"Darn?" I thought. Maybe she really is out to hurt me...

Helga worked a little on my hamstrings, and then started on my butt! The she paused and asked, "mind if I work on your glutes?" "Whatever," I replied. My "glutes" were fine, though, and a deep-tissue massage doesn't do anything for saddle sores.


Helga worked on my quads. The other girl didn't know what to do at first, so she just stood there. Helga told her to work on my traps. She didn't seem to want to work up there now that I was facing her, but she managed.

"Now this is going to hurt. We're going to try to stretch your calves and hamstrings, ok?" Uh oh. She grabbed my right leg, and told me to keep the left leg flat. She rested my ankle, then my knee, on her shoulder, and pushed forward. Yeah, that hurt. "Now point your toes. Now flex your ankle. That hurts? Good! Do it again!"

Same with the other leg, but it was even tighter so my right knee came up off the table without her noticing. When I didn't wince, I think she wanted to smack me. :-) She looked around, saw what happened, and asked the other girl to hold my leg down. "Yeah, ok, now it hurts!" "Good!"

I'm not making this up.

Time was almost up. "We're going to stretch you out one more time."

Helga grabbed my ankles. The other girl grabbed my wrists. They both leaned back, not thinking about how long I am (head and feet hanging off the tables already). Both landed on people at other tables. The girl at my wrists actually sat on the back of the head of the person at the next table, and Helga landed on someone's feet. Both blushing, they tried it again, this time the other girl held my elbows and I held hers.

That worked. Stuff popped and stretched all over the place.

Finally, Helga did something I've never seen before. She asked me to sit up, and then put one hand on each of my shoulders and pushed down with all of her strength. "Shrug your shoulders." I shrugged my shoulders.

"Your too tall!" Apparently I wasn't supposed to be able to shrug them with her holding them down like that.

She climbed up on the table, and then basically onto my back, holding herself up off the table with her hands on my shoulders and her arms locked against her sides.

"Now, shrug your shoulders again." I shrugged my shoulders again, lifting her a few more inches off the table.

"I give up," she said, and then the buzzer sounded to mark the end of this round of massages.

That was the best massage I've ever had (and I told them so). If they had been given a little more room to work, and another fifteen minutes, they probably could have turned me to jelly. Long live the PMC massage!

More Lunch!

After the massage I went back to the food tent to hang out with whoever I could find. I'd asked Corinne to pick me up between 6 and 7, so there was still a long time to wait.

Jim Boyko, Chris Rawsen, and Dave Schlageter had all come in during the massage, and were eating some dinner. I grabbed two more small bowls of chowder, and sat down with them. They weren't scheduled for massages until after 5:00! Chris was the lucky one, at least he was on table 22.

They all had a good ride today. Chris got a flat just a few miles from the start, but nobody got sick or overheated, and no accidents. In fact, that goes for everybody I know at the PMC. It was a good day.

Come and Get Me!

I followed Steve up to his dorm room so I could borrow his phone to call Corinne. I didn't feel like waiting another three hours! We were all tired, and I just wanted to get some sleep. (Steve really needed a nap, too. He looked like he was asleep on his feet.)

Corinne was at the hotel in Hyannis, just twenty miles away. When I called, she had just turned out the light for her nap, but without complaint she got out of bed again to come get me. This girl almost makes the weekend too easy for me. "The traffic is really bad, so it's going to take awhile," she said. I told her I'd be waiting for her in 45 minutes, at 5 pm in the parking lot.

Traffic wasn't just bad, it was stopped. Gridlocked. She didn't show up until a little after 6! Almost two hours to go just over twenty miles.

Some Knucklehead

While I waited for Corinne, I sat on a grassy, shaded hill in front of the gym, and chatted with another rider, while he waited for a cab (also stuck in gridlock) to take him over the Bourne Bridge. He talked on his cell phone a lot, and was actually fairly obnoxious. At one point I heard him say, "Did you notice how I just cut you off, and told you how I'd like this to be done? That's because I don't care what you think."

He was a marketer, talking to an employee in Stamford, CT. He really said that.

Between phone calls he'd chat with me a little, and tried to talk me into driving him over the Bourne Bridge. After that first call I wasn't real interested.

He made another call, this time to a friend or family member or something. He bragged a lot about how strong he felt, how sore he wasn't, and how fast he'd ridden. "It was 112 miles, and I averaged sixteen miles per hour! Not too many guys here can say that. No, really, sixteen miles an hour. ... No, I'm not kidding."

Then he went on about the weekend, describing everything, especially the "emotional side" of the event.

When he got off the phone, he aske how many years I've ridden in the PMC. "Three," I said, then added, "and this is your first."

"How'd you know that?"

"Because in your first year, you tell that story to all of your friends and family and everyone else who will listen. After the first year, nobody wants to hear the whole story all over again." (No, the irony of this statement is not wasted on me, dear reader.)

He smiled. I guess he wasn't all that bad, but I still didn't like the way he'd talked to his employee, nor how he'd bragged about his super speed. "How was your ride today?" he asked.

"It was good, but a little slower than last year, because the group I rode in with was all tired."

"What was your speed?"

"Just 19.5 mph. Yesterday I rode in from West Stockbridge, the NY line, with some friends. It was really hot and humid. It took a lot out of us, so I didn't average 20 today like I'd planned."

I'm sorry, but I just couldn't help myself! I didn't say anything mean or dishonest, and I'm glad he chose to ride and brag about it. Maybe he had just picked the wrong moment to show his mean side.

Still, I think he was glad that his cab showed up a few minutes later.

(Our conversation would have gone differently if he hadn't spoken that way to his employee. None of my business, of course, but he was sitting right next to me and he wasn't being quiet at all.)

Sleep Gooooood

Corinne showed up in another twenty minutes. Traffic had been so bad that she taught herself to knit while sitting in traffic. Seriously! She said she only learned one type of stitch, but still... that's cool!

After that, I don't remember much. I drove back to the hotel, traffic wasn't nearly as bad as when she was driving in to get me. Corinne went back out to get me some pasta for dinner from TGI Fridays, and I went to sleep fairly early.

The alarm was set for 3:30 am.

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