October 18, 1987

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Bill (in blue) and Mike arrive for lunch in Grand Island
At 182 miles ridden, we tease Lee on riding only 10.
Bill uses heat rub in attempt to fix his knees.
Ahhh...come on Bill...just one little peanut, please?>>>
Bill's knees fail and Mike finishes 300 miles.
HERE I COME TO SAVE THE DAY!!!>>>

One, two, three, four, Sha-la-la-la-la-la, live for today>>>
Michael Paul was convicted on three counts of bad fashion and sentenced to ten years with a Sheep>>> By the 200-mile point, I knew we had a serious problem. Lee, one of the support crew, rode 20 miles with us. The three of us accelerated from a stop, and with little effort I rode away from both of them like they were standing still. Bill was weak and now he was slowing me down. Thirty miles later his knees gave out, and he gave up the fight.

I felt very sorry for Bill, who had done all the work for

this ride, and very worried for myself- I had no light and didn't know the way back. The crew had to make a decision to either pack it up and go home, or stay with me to see if I could finish. Bill chose the later, and I am eternally grateful to him. He sat in the back of the opened van and threw peanuts at me, encouraged me, and even did a 30-second wheel change when I flatted. By the last 20 miles I was so energized I pulled in front of the van and tried to lose it. I was flying. I completed 300 miles in 22 hours, 25 minutes (including hours of stops and delays), and when I rode into the mall parking lot, guess who was there to greet me? The cop...you can hear his gruff voice on the last video congratulating me. He also shot the group photo, and there was much rejoicing. Karen Gulledge later wrote to me,”I knew you'd make it Mikey... you're so damn stubborn". She was funny.

The press never acknowledged my finish, and never acknowledged the three guys who selflessly followed us around for a day in a van. I saw first-hand, the bias of the press. Bill was very gracious, and it must have driven him nuts because, although I was terrified of failure throughout the entire ride, I made light of the whole thing, being a little bit too silly. I used this tactic to relieve stress. We were like a bunch of kids anyway. Bill raised $1500 for his charity.

I went to work the next morning, beaming with pride, thankful that Jesus Christ hadn't let me screw up, and my boss, Fitz, insisted I take off the rest of the day to recuperate. I went straight home, fixed my flat tire, and rode another 40 miles in the hills. My ankles were a little sore. I continued riding that week until the weather forced me to stop, and covered 412 miles in four days. It later became apparent that Bill didn't ride hills like I did, and in early 1987 my knees took a lot of abuse from riding on "suicide hill" or whatever the club called that course. I often had sore knees, but it made them strong. The week before the 300-miler, after Bill phoned to say we'd postponed it because of snow, I used all my energy to do a 40-mile killer ride in heavy wind, setting a personal best of 1 hour, 53 minutes, and hurting myself so much that I couldn't sit for the first hour I was home. But I hardly rode at all after that, and the video shows I used smaller gears on our adventure, a great way to say your knees on long rides. Of course there is just plain genetics, and perhaps I was more blessed that day
day. Bill would be blessed days later when his wife gave birth to their first human.
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