Repetitive Stress

Marty had been kind enough to invite me out for some epic Death Ride prep a few Saturdays back, but I'd already signed up for Pescadero on that day. So when he suggested Mt. Diablo hill repeats for this past Saturday, exactly 2 weeks before the ride, I jumped at the chance. He's a seasoned distance cyclist (about a million successful Death Rides, Terrible Twos, Paris Brest Parises, etc.), so I knew this was all part of his finely tuned scientific training plan.

A couple riders passed us, going up the Walnut Creek side the first time, and after glancing at Marty's Death Ride 2001 jersey (which did not match his 2000 headband), one of them asked him if he was going to earn the jersey again this year. Marty said "naaah" with faux nonchalance (parlez vous francais?), and then asked them if they were training for it. They said that they were, and that this was their last big training ride before the big event. So Marty asked with faux nonchalance when the actual ride was, and they said it was on the 12th. And then, as they continued upwards and out of earshot, Marty looked at me with a freaked out expression and said, "Wow. That's soon." And that's how I found out Marty's nonchalance hadn't been entirely faux; rather, it was born of ignorance (naiveté?).

Merde.

So much for scientific. Actually, the whole exchange was a bit bizarre, on a couple different levels, because (a) the ride was 2 whole weeks away and even I know that only an idiot would taper that early; and (b) Marty had made a room reservation for the weekend of the ride as recently as the 19th, and he'd emailed me immediately thereafter, urging me to do the same before things filled up. So it couldn't have snuck up on him. But Marty also just had dental surgery, and teeth are connected to all sorts of important things that you wouldn't think they're connected to. Like bloodstreams to vital organs. This is why people with unexplainable maladies sometimes get asked, "have you had any dental work lately?" by medical diagnosticians. Could be a clot on the pons. Or an artificial tooth implant that had traveled through a larger artery and landed precariously on his parietal lobe. Or is memory associated with the temporal lobe? I forget. Whatever! Poor Marty.

Tracy joined us as well. She's not doing the Death Ride, but she's training for this year's Black Sheep Adventure! She was waiting for us at the wrong church, but she and Marty saw each other as we drove by around 9:35 (only 5 minutes late, even though I'd gotten lost twice driving the 2 miles from my house to Marty's!), so we got ourselves together at a very leisurely pace, and finally took off together (probably around 10:15?). We'd all decided to ignore the health advisory to stay indoors (1400 wildfires burning in the Bay Area, and counting).

Of the three of us, I definitely suffered most. The first time up was fine, but the descent was painful (not a good sign - it's important to be able to recover on a Death Ride descent; they're loooong). When I got back on my bike after the ranger station the second time up, things got exponentially harder, and hotter (a temperature inversion; Tracy had noticed, and was explaining how a temperature inversion works, but I was having trouble focusing, so please don't quiz me). The steep grade at the tippy top sucked. I bought a coke at the museum shop/lookout, and the ranger congratulated me. But I told her congratulations were not yet in order; we had to do it again. So we descended back into Danville. The descent felt endless. The final climb was OK at first, because I was moving pretty slowly, but my back was throbbing by the time I'd made it to the ranger's station. While stopped there (about 2/3 of the way up from the Danville side) I had tried to convince Marty to commit to 4 climbs total, because I felt I needed to know that I could. He was having none of it. He said we should do it three times, build on that over the next week of training, then rest. What he said made sense, though he could have been talking out of his toothy cerebellum or something. Anyway, when I glanced at my watch it was nearly 4pm and we still had about an hour to the top by Tracy's estimate. At the top, the parking lot was deserted, and it was hot. None of us had brought sunscreen with us, and I'd only remembered to slather my face in the car before we left, not my body. It was 5:05. The shop had closed while we were chatting at the water fountain, so no coke. Ah well. Back to Walnut Creek! I glanced at the horizon several times on that last descent, willing the valley to come closer, and eventually it arrived and I found Marty's car, 70 miles, 11,400 feet of climbing, and close to 8 hours after I'd left it. Marty drove us in a couple circles looking for Jamba Juice, which, when we ultimately found it, had morphed into a different smoothie establishment. Tracy and I wanted savory anyway (we'd been devouring Gu and Clif bars all day), so we left Marty to his smoothie and went next door to the burrito joint. Hit the spot. Once sated, we headed home, and after a shower, I headed to Jessnmel's to watch billions of Arrested Development (recently discovered, and perhaps the funniest show ever!!!) episodes while stretching on my yoga mat in their living room. Ahhhhh.

Hobbled over to Eden for a bike re-fit on Sunday. Rick swapped out my stem yet again for one with a steeper angle, assured me it didn't look ridiculous and that it was safe, and adjusted the seat and handlebars, all for more upright positioning. he also mentioned that my choice of Death Ride gearing was a bit surprising. Ack. Well, I don't have a triple, and that part's not changing....