Morning again and another day of pedaling.
Shower, pack the gear, say a prayer because today, especially, I'll need all the help I can get.
I did awaken once at 12:45, it's strange how time warps when you're at the brink of exhaustion, I was sure it was near 5am. Awake again at 3:30 am, hungry because at dinner last night, I couldn't swallow more than a splat of steamed mushy 'vegetablahs', a bit of salad and half a dry chicken breast with fake BBQ flavor at the dinner, then one Sam Adams and most of a guilty pleasure mocha mousse thingy... wait, Guilty? No, at that point I needed every calorie I could force down.
So, I'm hungry now and I know the drill, there will be no breakfast for me and no more sleep if I can't quiet the grumblings. I make a double strength protein shake in water in my bottle, drink half and go back to sleep. 4:45 alarm. Finish the shake, clean and refill both bottles with fresh water and an envelope of Emergen-C Lite with MSM, my answer to sports drinks.
I hoist my gear and walk my bike out, turn in my key, hand off my packs at the truck and carouse the breakfast table. The usual milk, cereal, bagels, muffins, PBJ, bananas, apples, plums, not for me, then success... cantaloupe, yum, solids! Eating is such a challenge for me on rides. It's almost amazing how far you can go on little to no fuel and baffling how well my body still conserves it's more than ample reserves. Sometimes I wonder how much stronger I would or be if I could eat the typical fare. Or, would it drag me down even more? It certainly has an effect on me when, like with the pickles and gatorade, it's trying to climb up my throat.
I roll at 5:55am alone. It starts with a bunch of climbing, not my strong point, but this is supposed to be the real challenge of a day. The thought crosses my mind that I can walk the hills, and the voices start discussing the point at which I'll bail until I remind myself that I haven't walked a hill yet and I shut the voices out like a slamming door. You let those voices and doubts creep in and they can worm their way into your muscles and suck out every bit of energy.
The whole ride is a strange beast, a bit like a dance. This dance is like that of streetlights on the windshield seen as a child in the back seat of the car. There's the constant soft whoosh of the road and the wind punctuated with the touch of the approaching street light on the glass. It reaches out and softly connects. While the light is with you, it is a comrade, a friend with a heartfelt connection on this lonely road. As it steps off the back of the car it wishes you well and even gives you a little push.
Similarly, there are times when you ride with someone and chat and make friends on such a deep level because you're in this awesome fight together. You talk about your reason for being here, about the people you're carrying all these miles, about those names that are in your heart and written on your back. Then, there are so many long roads alone. But that's not a bad thing, it gives time to think and reflect, to overcome self limitations, to plan for tomorrow and it makes meeting with the next cyclist and hearing their story even more of a pleasure.
I rode through such beautiful forested roads with inviting streams and cool canopies overhead that made me wish I had my mountain bike to explore them. I appreciated the view from the road though, because I could take in the entire picture rather than being focused on the small things like making the next turn and avoiding slamming into trees. Then, a whoosh overhead as a huge spotted hawk chased by a small blackbird crossed the road almost close enough to touch. Breathtaking. It also reminded me of a similar route the day before when a small crow played with me for most of a mile as he rode just ahead of me along the thin line of sky where the canopy almost touched as it reached across the road. I smiled to think it held the spirit of another soul visiting to encourage me on.
Today, I am surprised. I have ridden over 200 miles and I still have energy. I haven't felt overburdened by the climbs or the lack of rest stop fuel. My homemade goo is certainly doing it's job through this entire weekend since I haven't touched the Hammer gels I bought for emergencies. And I haven't hit that syrupy point today when it's all a slow, sticky effort.
I'm not saying it was easy. I battled knee pain most of the day that I was really scared would knock me out of it. The butt balm was never enough, my hands were numb, my feet edged on cramping, there was a pull in my right achillie's... but somehow, I was still stronger. We did 6500 feet of climbing on the day we were most apt to fall apart and I did better than ever. I kept waiting for the Berkshires and the hill the described as a 'walker'. I found some tough ones, but not the big one. It was hot and I was slimy and sweaty like a slug. I'd long since gotten over the idea of feeling fresh and clean and searched out sprinklers to stand in and poured ice water through my helmet and down my back every chance I got. I was filling up with water at rest stops and sag vehicles in between. I was slathering on the butt balm thick whenever I could find it but it was never enough. Once you start to bleed, healing doesn't come overnight. And I was on the endless search for salt. I ate most of a snack bag of plain chips since it was the only source(no that wasn't good at staying down either) at the next stop I ate just the salt from a bag of pretzels and threw out the rest.
Refill, rinse, repeat.
I see fewer and fewer cyclists on the roads and smaller groups at the rest stops. SAG vehicles slow and ring cowbells as they pass and watch for the thumbs up before riding off. More SAG cars are passing carrying two and three bikes on each. Each bike means a rider who couldn't continue for one reason or another. And I'm still in it. At 250 miles, I saw a green sign... Welcome to New York... the tears burned in my eyes.
It was one of the most beautiful sights I had ever seen. I made it to new York. I made it to New York!!! Dear God, I may actually finish this thing. I took a picture with my cell phone and tried to keep from crying as I thought of Eric and how he'd give anything to have the chance to ride a bike again, to experience the thrill of sailing downhill and the struggle and accomplishment of climbing up a hill. I thought of the people who have lost their battle to this disease and the people who are still fighting. I thanked God that I had been fortunate enough to meet Eric and for his support when I was crazy enough to start cycling and to start it with a 100 mile fundraiser for MS.
I most appreciated Eric because I took strength from his battle with ALS to wage war with my MS and stop it from holding me down. Though I did this ride for Eric to, in a small way, thank him for the simple thing he did that changed my life. His unfailing good cheer and encouraging words helped me stop worrying when I would be debilitated and just learn to love and appreciate the life and gifts I had. I did this ride for ALS, but I am certainly the lucky one and the one who has taken the most benefit from all this. Since beginning cycling, I have never been healthier. I have more strength and stamina and fewer MS symptoms than anytime since my diagnosis 21 years ago. And... I've had more fun than I can shake a stick at.
Thanks to all of you who have donated to this great cause(contact me if you still want to donate) and many thanks to my family again for allowing me to do this crazy stunt, to accomplish the impossible.
Last year, I said I would start leading rides to encourage more people to get out there with me and now, I have three scheduled rides every week for people of differing abilities. We're out there all the time and would love to have you join us. This year consider joining Sandie's Chain Gang and let's ride for MS in September. Just ask, I'll get you the details. Remember, I was a couch potato and trained for it in 3 1/2 weeks, I know I can get you ready too!
I almost forgot!!
The hill that everyone was telling me was a walker, the climb that had up to a 22.2% grade was lined with cheering crowds that screamed so loud it hurt my ears, they wrote in the road with different colored chalk, section by section all the way up the hill, "You can do it", "You are almost there", "Keep pushing", "You've got it now", "You did it!!" and "You're Badass!"....
I climbed the entire thing.
That's right, I am BADASS!!!!
for the geeks: http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/6309966
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Tri-State Trek: Day Three
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Tri-State Trek 270 miles of pain for very good reason.
The drive to Boston.
We hit some maddening traffic coming in.
Hartford, they don't just pave the road, they close the road down to one lane then hold all the cars back till the pavement cools.
The moon was taken from one of those unreal realistic paintings where the lines of gold and white cross in front of it as if it were painted by horizontal brushstrokes.
Meanwhile, the kids bickered in the car. And why do I want to drive them to Florida? At this point, I really don't even want to be in Florida with them or anyplace else if you know what I mean.
Day 1 completed. Woo hoo!!!!
Rough start. 3 1/4 hrs sleep.
Protein shake for bfast. Confusion at check-in, Got out of the gate DEAD FREAKIN' LAST!! Seriously. They were packing up the port-a-pottys. Missed first turn by 2 miles. Back tracked. And caught a couple dozen people.
With the lack of sleep, F-ed up start and only running on a 3-carb protein shake, I bonked(again) from 20-40 miles. And it was HOT out!!! Really hot.
Oh yea, my month old Garmin. Lost it. So I can't really prove that I rode 100 miles today.(but then I can also lie about how well I did) That sucks. (My family found it in the car and delivered it tonight on their way home from day in Boston-Yea!!!) Miles of real crappy roads in Mass. Jersey, you don't have much to complain about. Sweet rollers through Connecticut. More Ct. tomorrow. Then UGH the Berkshires! I've been hearing such miserable things about the last day of the ride that it would scare me to death except that I've resolved to just get in there and do my best. Tomorrow, they say, is the best and easiest day of the tour.
One of my MTB pals suggested that pickle juice is good and that I should drink it. Well, the half sour deli dills tasted fantastic, but they refused to stay down. They churned in my stomach and made me feel quite ill for nearly 20 miles until I hit the next rest stop. Finally and greatfully, they made a fast exit at the base of a tree at the next rest stop.
Ya know, on long hard rides, I've found I can only eat tuna salad with no bread, no fruit xcept melon and my homemade goo, but the pickles sounded so good!
It was so hot it zapped all my energy for most of the day until lunch. Then, I poured ice water down my back and over my shoulders and chest. It hurt SO good. Got my power back and was ready to rip up the course, but the guy that stuck with me through my bonk(a self-appointed guardian) bonked big time and I just couldn't leave him to die on the side of the road. I was hoping he'd give it up at the rest stop, but he kept pushing and finished as I pulled him for 50 some miles.
Definitely not my best time on a century, not my worst either, but since I didn't spend it all today. I'll put that Garmin to use tomorrow.
Day 2 Nothing easy about it.
Yes there were a bunch of nice downhill runs early on, and I forgot to set the Garmin until I was about ten miles into the course. Rest stop 1. I needed more water and Dear God!, I don't care what else they are a bit disorganized about because they had special water bottles Filled with butt balm at every rest stop. AMEN!!! It was their most requested item :-)
When I had the chance to go online, I had looked at my road bike club's posts for the day and saw that rides were being cancelled in anticipation of extreme heat. HA!!! whimps(underbreath) I'm off to a 100 mile day and the trip to the coffeeshop is just too uncomfortable for these guys? Let me tell you about uncomfortable....
Rest stop two. I've gone the last ten miles in excruciating pain as my middle and second toes feel like they are being crushed in vise grips while they are curled under and cramping. It sends a shock through my toe around the metatarsal joint and halfway up my calf. It's so bad I can't enjoy the downhills at all. The only reason I climb is so I can blast down. People that ride with me know this well. In fact, my LBS owner who I ride with on our Saturday shop rides calls me "Downhill Demon" :-) So with these screaming feet, I hobble into the stop in agony, explain to the medic what is happening and tell her I need to support my metatarsal arch to alleviate the pressure. She looks at me and says "We don't do that kind of stuff. You need to take some advil and stop riding for the day." WTF? I signed up for 270 miles of pain and she thinks I'm quitting at mile 140 over less than a broken leg? Ha!! So I crammed a wad of gauze under the sockliner of each shoe to alleviate the pressure. It helped a while and I got off the bike and massaged the foot a couple times when it got really bad.
Wow some wicked big hills in the middle of the day. I crest one to a group of cheering supporters and ask for water, It's supposed to be around 97 degrees and I'm out of water. She fill my water bottle and offers Gatorade too. At first, I hesitate, then think "What the hell! If I can't afford a few drops of sugar after all this riding!!!
Next stop, lunch. Stick with what works... tuna salad and cantaloupe a couple chips for the salt. Back on the road. I start feeling a tad sick. It's 98 degrees. We're on pavement. I'm sweating buckets. I'm running a tad faster than a toad and it feels like I swallowed one. Then, Bwaap!! I lost it over my shoulder at 16 mph. Cool! Wow, that helped a bunch. Gatorade... Why did I drink the Gatorade? That happened a few more times, almost every 5 miles for 20+ miles. A few more stops for the feet. A lovely cruise along the bay, then WHAM!! we land in downtown New Haven. At first it seems great, then out of the blue an old beatup Jeep with a 30 something chick inside tries to take me out and run me into the curb. Congrats New Haven, 200 miles of competent drivers and the first total maniacal idiot I meet is in your city. Aren't you proud?
for the geeks: http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/6308751
Lewis Morris
Lewis Morris
I had gone on a pre-ride on the Sunday before the race, riding with a large group of people who really knew what they were doing. They basically left me in the dust. Evan was good enough to stick with me though.
I had met Evan earlier in the month and had a chance to ride with him briefly before the skies had opened up on us. He had a self-converted Cannondale single-speed MTB and had been wanting to try a Full Suspension bike so we traded bikes for most of the ride. Evan's bike was slightly smaller than mine and was very easy to handle. Riding with one gear was just fine. I didn't have to choose which gear to get in, didn't grind gears or drop the chain. It was simpler and instantly comfortable and that let me concentrate on just riding and handling the bike while Evan played with the FS bounce and 21 speeds.
Today, we stayed on our own bikes and toured the race course, occasionally running into other people from the big group. It was an enjoyable day, a nice ride. When we finished, we stood in the parking lot and chatted for a while.
Evan was toying with the idea of entering the race the following week, while I was definitely not. I "raced" every Saturday morning on the road chasing the shop team on their A ride. I wouldn't have anything left in me to race in the woods on Sunday, besides, I had just started riding a MTB anyway and racing is for people who are skilled, experienced and fast.
Then we spoke a bit with Jim as he was leaving from the group ride. Jim is unique with his distinct facial hair, ear pegs, tattoos and assorted piercings, all of which belie his mild, kind and generous manner. He asked if we were racing. Evan was unsure about his work schedule and I said emphatically, "No". I had no business racing a bike I couldn't quite handle, in a sport I had just started, on legs that would be surely tired. Jim insisted that I'd have a great time anyway and that I could do it 'even though'.
A suggestion is a dangerous thing. Just like last August when the idea of attempting a century gnawed at my brain for a week until I caved in and did it, so chewed Jim's words, "You can do it." By Friday, I had made my decision.
Sunday morning I woke early, had some eggs and oatmeal(the breakfast of champions, I had heard) suited up and off I went to the park. I registered, paid and rode up a bit on the beginning of the course and back to a bit of the end. Then it was time to line up. This was all new. Though I've always been inwardly competitive, I had never been in an organized race before and no organized sports since Soft Ball in the fourth grade. But training myself over the last year had taught me a few things about pushing myself beyond my limits, so the adrenaline rush was ready to kick in. In the back of my head, I heard words from Chris at the shop who had said, "Find the first or second person off the front of the pack and don't loose them."
We were amassed with my age group in the rear and there were a bunch of people ahead of us. They seemed to separate the men a bit better, but our group included all the beginner children and women. And, they were sending all thirty some of us out at the same time. There was no way of knowing who was who and who I was really racing against. I looked around and noticed lots of skinny people, all skinny people. Some time early in grammar school I got used to being one of the fat people in a crowd and I learned then not to let it set my standard. But when everyone else is fit, it can change your perception a bit. A sigh. Oh, well. I'll catch 'em on the downhills.
The whistle blew and we were off. A rough start in the back of the pack where wobbly riders knocked into each other and into me and nearly threw me off the bike. Then, off again, I found a hole and passed a few riders before heading into the bend down the path and through the stream where I got stuck in a virtual log jam of bikes. Right! Damn, knocked out of it already.
We untangled ourselves and started back into it, well behind the pack. Then we hit the hill. How quickly it stole my breath and burned my legs! I reminded myself that I was in it for the experience, that I didn't have any expectations of myself(though that was clearly a lie) and that it was okay to be worn the day after a 2 hr hammerfest. I ignored the voices of self-doubt and pushed on. I walked tiredly up the hills and got back on where I could. I jockeyed with a 12 yr old for position. I let her pass me on the hills as she was definitely faster there, and when I caught back up, I'd have to sit in behind her and wait for her to yield when she saw a good place to move to the side.
In one tight area, I clipped a tree and stayed upright even though I hit hard enough to snap off my plastic end cap and take a piece of bark in the bar end as a souvenir. I rode over slippery roots that threatened to toss me off the bike. They even troubled my young friend as she slid to the side and hit two trees one on either end of her handlebars. I was close behind and had to break and dab my foot down on a gnarly mass of twisted, exposed, slippery roots. It nearly did me in.
The girl insisted that she was fine and that her bike was undamaged. Fortunately, she was going very slow when she hit the trees, or she'd be hurt for sure. Shortly, the trail turned more downhill and I was off. That's when I started to have a little more fun.
I twisted and turned as the trail did, I climbed more of the inclines and reminded myself that I can sometimes climb better than I think I'm capable of. I seemed to get stronger as the route twisted and became like a roller coaster. I went down one hill that was rippin' fast and if it were on the road, I'd have milked it for everything it was worth. But, in the woods, I have a healthy respect for the trees and for their desire to not be hammered by metal, helmets and flesh. Admittedly, I used the brakes some.
When the trail tossed me onto a wider, open, gravel path, I knew it was close to the end. I took the rest of the speed from the last incline and pumped it up with some more juice to pass a few cheering cyclists on their pre-ride and pushed up past the scoring booth where the last incline snatched a bit of energy back from me.
How did I do?
Fantastic! I came in without a big crash. I finished the race and to my surprise, I managed to come in fourth, nearly 20 minutes ahead of fifth. Not bad for an "old bird".
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Way back in February
My second trip to Allaire did nothing to squelch my desire to mountian bike. In fact, it made me even more interested.
Now, to find a bike. I shopped and shopped, trying to find an adequate rig within a minimal budget. I had connections with reps from two manufacturers and got so close to a dream bike at 1/3 of it's retail that I could smell it. But, like the shimmering cool blue lake in the middle of the desert, it wasn't really there when I jumped at it.
Major disappointment.
Then I came across a possibility in a used bike. A couple years old. Well used but not destroyed. The size... pretty darned close. Could it work? When I discussed it with the original owner, he, being about four inches taller than me doubted it would fit me. Undaunted, I had to see it. I guess he thought I was shorter, cause when I got out of the car, he seemed surprised and said it just might fit me.
I tested the bike on the road and it felt okay. Size seemed fair, but it did have a bunch of bounce. I decided to give it a shot and wrote my check with the agreement that if my shop guys thought it was too big, I could bring it back.
Cool!
Then, I got slammed with a second bout of the flu, this the 3 days of ache and ill stomach variety. So my son comes home from school, announces that the neighbor's dog that he walks after school is missing and he's gonna search for it. What?!! I get out of my bed, out of my jammies to go chase a fool kid who just ran off in the pouring rain on a freezing cold day on a scooter. Aches and all, I take one step out my front door and both feet fly over my head and I land straight across my tailbone on the edge of the step topper. Laying on my front path in a puddle on a sheet of ice, I'm amazed that I'm not dead, cause if I had hit my head instead of my butt, I would be. Well, it just added to the misery of the flu, back in bed I went. And I cried.
The injury and the weather kept me off bikes for 7 long weeks.