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I expected to suffer. And I can "doom and gloom" with the best of them. I play movies of crashes in my head, and I'm always the star. I can't help myself. And yet.
I arrived at Kirkwood on Thursday evening to acclimate. 8700 feet! I was supposed to be there by the afternoon, but I puttered, and then I took 580 West up into Marin, when the directions actually had me going 580 East through Livermore. Screwed by autopilot yet again. I was told later that I shouldn't think of Tahoe as "north" but rather "east, oh and by the way, north." Noted for future trips.
My room was serene and quiet, and after losing the key between the front desk and the room, getting another key at the front desk, finding the original key in the pocket where I'd placed it so I wouldn't have to search for it, and hauling my bike, gear, cooler of food, and clothes up to the 3rd floor (oh my god the thin air!), I went to the rec center and soaked in the hot tub to loosen up my back/arm and catch my breath. I'd brought a bottle of Gatorade with me (altitude + hot tub = dehydration), but I'd forgotten to close the bottle top. It spilled all over my phone, which now randomly flashes the message, "enhancement not supported."
Marty called and he was coming in late. We met up the next morning, and hiked to the top of Kirkwood (Acclimate, acclimate! I know. It takes 2 weeks. But the psychological factors must not be underrated). It was a beautiful hike; wildflowers everywhere, and cool to see the same ski trails I'd snowboarded , now deserted and green. We were on the very run where I'd yelled to the chair lift guy, "PLEASE COULD YOU SLOW DOWN THE LIFT" so that I could dismount without falling off my board and onto my tailbone again. And he did. And I did, for the first time. And he'd given me a thumbs up.
Now, we stood at the top of a motionless chair lift and pondered life. Marty closed his eyes for a moment and meditated in the silence. I threw blades of grass at his head. Om.
I didn't really throw blades of grass at his head. But wouldn't that be funny?
Then we went to the expo and I got so much swag that I had to bum a plastic bag off a volunteer to carry it all. I love swag. Even really lame swag. We also registered for the ride there, and then went to Markleeville for lunch, where we ran into Kathryn, who was waiting for the tow truck to take her back to the top of Ebbetts pass where Bobby was waiting by their truck, which had died after they'd strayed off the beaten path looking for rocks. We had fun chatting and reapplying sunscreen and flexing our biceps until the tow truck arrived.
Marty and I decided not to join the group for dinner in Gardnerville, because it's an hour away from Kirkwood, and that's time that should be spent getting everything ready for the next day's adventure. Plus, I wanted to be asleep by 8, because I'd be getting up at 2:45, to be at the start and on my bike by 4:30, where we were meeting Tracy, who I'd convinced to do the ride at the last minute (you get in by lottery only, but there are always tickets to be found on craigslist), and who had resolved to do so despite catching some sort of stomach bug on Thursday (hard core!). So we ate at Kirkwood and set about preparing for the ride. Tires were pumped, bikes and bags were packed, and all I had to do was wake up, dress, eat and go.
Pasta at Bub's. In bed by 8. Awake an hour later. Huge party of what sounded like a gazillion people in the next room. Argh. Went over there twice to ask them to please shut up, but after the second time, I was furious and wired. I'd gotten this 3rd floor room with no elevator because it was supposed to be quiet! The entire rest of the complex was blanketed in darkness. Even the pub was quiet. Why me?! Et cetera.
After 3 hours of sleep total, my alarm woke me. I thought about blasting the TV for the neighbors. What's worse than a shrill I Love Lucy when you're trying to sleep? But I just couldn't. I had my coffee and tried to eat my oatmeal but it was disgusting at that hour so I only managed about half. Marty called to be sure I was awake. I slathered on the sunscreen (weird to do in the dark), donned my plastic shopping bags (I'd created plastic thermal underwear for warmth - thanks for the tip Anthony!!!), and then suited (kitted?) up. We met at our cars, and caravanned to Turtle Rock. There were quite a few vehicles on the same schedule, so it took longer than we expected and we were about 5 minutes late meeting Tracy, but when we rode up to the start, she was there! In the 2 minutes it took to ride to the start, my headlight had died (I hadn't used it in a year, and should have replaced the batteries). And it turned out that Tracy's taillight was out. So we rode with Marty in front, Tracy behind (for visibility ahead), and me last (for visibility behind). It was really scary, because the ride starts on a descent, and it was pitch black and I couldn't see shit. We floated down the hill and I prayed for no potholes. I have to say, I was toasty warm in my plastic underwear. Periodic roll call kept us together until it started getting light, which coincided with the beginning of the first climb (front side of Monitor pass). I balled up my plastic underwear and stuck it in my back jersey pocket.
We lost Marty immediately. He was going strong and there was no reason to hold him back. Then Tracy pulled me for a while, until she wanted to speed up and grab a wheel to get out of the wind. I decided to hang back, because I was feeling the altitude and didn't want to blow it early. I was making sure to keep my heart rate at ME for the most part, and I stopped to shove something in my mouth every hour on the way up. Eventually, I grabbed a nice slow-moving wheel and stayed there for the remainder of the climb. Slowwheel's buddy, fatcyclist.com, grabbed mine, and this is how it went for a while. They bantered, and I remained silent, conserving my energy, until slowwheel asked where I was from and then fatcyclist.com said, "you've got a skeeter on your leg." "Oh" said I. Fatcyclist.com started coming around me, I thought to pass, and suddenly, bam. He hurled his fist into my calf. I almost went down. He examined his fist and said, "yup - full of blood." Meanwhile, I was pondering the possibility of crashing out of the Death Ride on my first climb (going about 4.5 mph). This struck me as hilarious. It may have partly been the altitude. I would keep running into fatcyclist.com throughout the ride. he would say stuff like, "I knew I'd run into you again, Pigtails!" It's so weird to keep getting passed over and over by the same people, that you didn't realize you'd passed again.
So the front side of Monitor was otherwise uneventful, and after thanking slowwheel for pulling me to the top, I, staying true to my goal of not stopping at the tops of the passes, kept going over the summit and plunged down the back side. My computer registered 47.3 mph on the way down, which was good for me (you make up all your time on the descents, but I find them scary). When I stopped at the bottom, Tracy was there; we re-filled, grabbed bars and headed up the back side for pass #2 of 5 together. Himgan and some other Touchstoners blasted by us, accelerating up Monitor and looking fresh as daisies. Tracy herself was looking incredibly strong, and it was clear she was hanging back for me (there was a photo opportunity near the top), which was very nice of her.
And this is where the funniest part of the ride happened. There was a guy on the side of the road, fixing a flat. Tracy was up ahead a little bit, and there was a guy right in front of me, who said to the guy on the shoulder, "do you have everything you need?" which is what is always said by one cyclist who passes another on the shoulder when it appears they're having mechanical problems. Unwritten rule. Most people are well-prepared, and can say "yes." It's also an unwritten (and sometimes written, like on an organized ride) rule that you carry spare tubes, etc. with you. But this guy said, "uh, no, actually I don't." And the guy in front of me goes, "Oh. Well...I don't have anything. Sorry." And he kept going. Can a guy's back look sheepish? Because this guy's sure did. Since I’ve started cycling, I’ve always contemplated this scenario. It happened on the Death Ride!
So Shoulderguy needed a new tube, a C02 cartridge, and a C02 cartridge inflater, because his spare tube stem had broken off in his inflater! I had all 3. But then someone more experienced stopped too; I didn’t feel I had much time to spare, so I was happy to let him take over, and I took off after Tracy. We got our photo taken together climbing to the top, and headed over and down the front side. I passed by the infamous Pink Lady! And two passes in the bag. I saw Tracy briefly at the base of Ebbetts (the start of pass #3), but I told her to move on, and that was basically the last I saw of her. Remarkable really, given the stomach bug she’d caught on Thursday, that she was throwing it down. As opposed to up, I mean.
Well, I hate Ebbetts. It's the highest of all the peaks, so you get the thinnest air. And you have to hug the steepest part of the switchbacks on the right, what with the riders hurtling down the left side of the twisty, narrow road at 50 mph. View, shmiew. I’ll take Monitor over Ebbetts any day. But there I was. I decided to go slowly and steadily, and to try to keep my heart rate in medium endurance range. That, and the “Rolling Bones” riders toting the skeleton behind me, singing badly to their cheesy, loud, piped-in music, kept me going. The wildfire haze also kept most of the heat out, which was nice. I reached the top, declined a Red Vine (they always have Red Vines at the top of Ebbetts, but sadly I’m a Twizzlers gal), picked up my 3rd pass sticker, and headed down the back side. I heard Marty yell “LAURAAAAAA!” He was summiting the back side of Ebbetts, a full pass ahead of me, and man, was I envious. Further down, a blurry Tracy (was she smiling while climbing up that damn hill?! I really have to pop some Tums next time I do this, if I ever repeat it). And finally, I was at the bottom. My back was smarting on these descents. I simply couldn’t get any relief. Andrea was there (she was just ahead of me on most of the ride), and so was Melissa. They headed out as I re-filled my bottles and barely remembered to eat. This was where I started feeling broken down. For some reason, I thought I was way too close to the cut-off times, and that I’d never make it. Yet, there was nothing to do but move on, so I did. I was bonking and had to stop halfway up to eat some Fig Newtons. They did the trick, though, and I gained some speed and energy, and started feeling more optimistic. Suddenly I was at the top again, well short of the time I thought it would take (I think the descent just felt so endless that I thought the climb back up would be longer than it was). 4th pass down, and now, to lunch! Tried not to think about the fact that I still had 50 miles or so to go.
Saw Andrea, Melissa, and Bobby at lunch, but I didn’t dawdle. Bobby said we were fine, time-wise, but for some reason I wasn’t buying it. Plus, lunch was cold cuts. Yuck. I was back on my bike within 15 minutes, and latched onto every wheel I could on those rollers toward Turtle Rock (my god, the wind!), and finally into Woodfords rest stop. I was really dragging now, but so was the guy with whom I’d been trading pulls (Yeah, like I’d end a clause with a preposition. Please!), so it all worked out. We headed out of Woodfords together (I’d confirmed that we were at least 1.5 hours ahead of cutoff times, and would easily make it) and drafted to Pickets (itself a 7% grade – not fun), where, at about mile 100, I told my drafting buddy to move on because I needed a real rest. I sat, and gave myself a desperately-needed foot massage while watching storm clouds roll in. Now that I was stationary, I was cold. I started to shiver. Andrea showed up (weird - didn’t even know I’d passed her?), asked if I thought she’d regret stopping her ride here (Answer: You do not turn back from Pickets. Only 9 miles to the top of the 5th pass!), and laughed at the sight of me donning my plastic thermal underwear.
“Laura, what are you doing?”
“I’m freezing.”
“But, we’re going up (points up for emphasis).”
“But it’s going to rain (looks at storm clouds for emphasis).”
“It’s totally not going to rain.”
So I yanked my plastic bags off my chest and put them back in my pocket. Andrea moved on while I waited in line at the porta potty (normally I’d go elsewhere rather than bother with a line, but I needed to apply more chamois cream).
Then I was off for my last pass! Yeah! But I realized I hadn’t thought to eat anything at the rest stop. So I pulled over, pulled out a bar, sat on a rock, and ate. Bobby passed me and asked if all was OK (I smiled, secure in the knowledge that he was sincere). I said all was fine, and he moved on. And then I hopped back on my bike and took off. And it got super dark. And then the hail started. And then the pouring rain (which lasted for the rest of my ride up Carson). Truthfully, Andrea, the plastic bags wouldn't have helped in this downpour, as we both know. But: heehee! I wrapped my cell phone in the plastic bags, hoping the enhancement would be supported. And then the weird squeaking noise started emanating from my bike, which was worrisome, but not as worrisome as the car traffic, wetness, darkness, and lack of shoulder.
As a guy passed me, I asked him if my tail light was on. He said, “yep. what's that funny noise your bike's making?" And I said that I didn't know, that it had started with the rain. He said, "that could be your brake pads rubbing. Or your bottom bracket." I said "yikes" (searching my brain for the term "bottom bracket" and wondering how dangerous it was...). He said, "Ah, don't worry about it" and I couldn't worry about it anyway, because there were cars, there was a line of riders behind me, and there was no real shoulder to pull off to, only mud/gravel (I thought the noise was gravel grinding my chain). Finally there was a pull-off. I checked my wheel, and sure enough, the front right brake pad was hugging the wheel's rim! Who knows how long I had that extra resistance on the bike!!! Could have been the whole ride! I only found out when the rain made it squeak, and if the guy hadn't said anything, I'd never have known to adjust the brake pads (which took all of 2 seconds and felt better immediately)! He saw me at the top of the final pass, and asked me if the bike was still squeaking. I told him he'd made the correct diagnosis and that I'd survived the Death Ride with my brake pads rubbing the rim. He added, "in HAIL!" High five.
And there it is. 5 passes. Over 100 miles, and 15,000 feet of climbing. 13 hours. A whopping 6,618 calories.
What did I take away from this experience? Well, a long ride is nothing if not a great opportunity for contemplation, this was nothing, if not a long ride, and I am nothing if not an opportunist. Here it is folks:
1. It is truly amazing how much you can accomplish when you think you simply can’t accomplish more. And the elation, at overcoming that feeling of utter defeat, all on your own? Intense.
2. Replace your headlight batteries at least once a year, if you plan to use your headlight, and for the love of all that is holy, check your brake pads, you dumbass.
3. Please please stop with the white cycling shorts. Am I not suffering enough, on a 12% grade up Ebbetts, that I have to see your sweaty ass crack for an hour or more?
"What's the Mt. Hamilton Century," you ask? Why haven't you heard of it? And don't I mean "Mt. Hamilton Challenge?"
One question at a time please. I'm quite tired because I won.
Well, it took place today, Saturday July 5, 2008. You've never heard of it because their lame-ass marketing team sucks. And no, I don't mean the organized Mt. Hamilton Challenge, though this particular century is quite similar to the Challenge in that you have to bring, buy, steal, kill, or forage for your own food. Yet it is quite dissimilar in that there are no SAG wagons or first aid stations, and it is in fact entirely 100% unsupported, but only because one of the participants (Tracy, the second place finisher! Yay Tracy!) forgot her cell phone in the car, so that even though they were lucky enough to have an emergency private SAG wagon "Plan B" in place, it could never have been called into action, had it been needed. And it felt sorely needed by one participantwhoshallremainanonymous in particular at mile 60, when she was suddenly totally out of water and thought she was going to die of dehydration in the scorching dry valley heat before the f*cking Junction Cafe appeared on the horizon.
All's well that ends well. After 105.27 miles, 8000+ feet of climbing, 4610 calories, 3 PBJ sandwiches, 4 fig newtons, some pretzels, almonds, a mojo bar (yum! my new fave!), a snack pack of fritos (had to slam my body as hard as I could several times into the vending machine in the planetarium on the top of Mt. Hamilton immediately after climbing 4,000 feet in the mid-day heat to shake that one loose! It got stuck on the spiral thingy! I earned those f*cking fritos and they were good!) 3 bottles of gatorade, 1 bottle of water, 2 bottles of cytomax, 3 cokes, and a big gulp iced caramel latte (so much for the 4610 calories!), I reached the car first (in the interest of full disclosure, I may have told Tracy that I needed to reach the car first and she may have pulled practically to the end and then let me go in front of her). So I won. Despite realizing about a mile into the ride that I'd left both of my water bottles in the car, and having to turn back and get them. (Here's the Bikely.com route; it says 95 miles, but we changed it a bit at the end after talking with a pair of riders that we kept running into.)
Thanks to Tracy for doing all the research, all the driving, and the lion's share of the pulling. And for almost having a Plan B, which was more than I'd come up with.
This was also the day after July 4, when I rode 50+ miles and did 5,453 feet of climbing (here's the Bikely.com profile), and then went to a BBQ with Scott, who got scolded for spending the whole time inside the house, which he only did to keep me company while I was stretching and resting my sore back, and then I had to go to sleep at 9 pm instead of seeing fireworks, or getting a drink at the tiki bar. Sorry Scott. Winner/loser. 2 sides of the same coin.
And now, finally, I rest. Nothing strenuous until the Death Ride.
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....
...to someecards.com for consideration (under "APOLOGY" or perhaps "SOMEWHAT TOPICAL"), in response to a wacky San Francisco Chronicle article...
NEWSFLASH!!! I had an elbow breakthrough this week. I've been tres, tres depressed because I haven't recovered full range of motion, and it's been quite tender on the bike, enough to make me reconsider the Death Ride which has been a major goal of mine for months. So, after being totally down in the dumps to the point of whining ad nauseum to Mom The Nurse, she strongly suggested:
a. Going to sleep early every night (completely irrelevant, but she saw an opening to give motherly advice and somehow worked it in);
b. Contributing more of my salary to my 403b (ditto); and
c. 2 Naproxen, once a day, for 3 days, to break the pain cycle.
I don't generally take pain meds, but I was desperate, so I tried it. Lo and behold, today (Naproxen Day Two) at PT I was almost able to get the arm straight! At 7:30 in the morning, when I'm least flexible! I started the session at -10 degrees instead of the usual -20, and went down from there. My therapist told me it was our most successful session yet, and to keep doing what I'm doing. But I think I'm going to stop at Day 3. Unless anyone out there has an extra liver.
Also taught my first spin class Thursday night. I forgot a few things, like making sure everyone was on the same page as far as resistance on the wheel, and explaining the "lingo." Oh, and one of the veteran spinners told me the tempo of my music was much too fast when we were grinding up some huge hill I'd manufactured. Whatever: The bottom line here is that I burned 920 calories in an hour!!!!
I awoke yesterday morning at 5:30, and walked into the living room, where I slammed into a scent wall of Febreze "spring and renewal" fabric refresher (I had chosen sleep over laundry the night before). I checked my kit, and it was dry (whew - I'd superstaurated it with the spraybottle less than 6 hours before), though I'd stop short of "renewed."
I paused for a moment to feel sorry for my friend Shmel, who would be doing almost all the day's driving across the Bay to/from Pescadero.
After dressing and packing up (no time for brekkie), I got into my car, which promptly took 580 westward on autopilot. I really need to get that fixed, because Shmel lives east of me. Stupid, dumbass car.
I got off the freeway and tried to figure out how to fix my car's mistake on the roads, rather than turning around and getting back on the freeway going east, because I guess at 6 am on a Saturday morning, high on Febreze, I think I'm some sort of bigshot. A mistake, it became clear. I found my way back to 580 amd called Shmel to (1) tell her I'd be a teeny bit late, and (2) ask her again for directions, just in case, because I'd left them at home (bigshot). Shmel was plussed (i.e. "the opposite of nonplussed"), as always. "Calm and encouraging" is how I'd describe Shmel in pretty much any given stressful situation, and this one was no different. Upon arrival, I got all my crap, plus the trainer I'd arranged/driven to borrow at the last minute the night before, and we stuck it all in/on Shmel's car. Then Shmel drove us to Peets as a favor to me (brekkie!). She waited in the car.
Needless to say, a spillage situation had just occurred at Peets when I walked in. The yellow caution sign was coming out, floors were being mopped, drinks were being re-made, and the wait was excruciating.
I eventually got my breakfast (fat-free apricot vegan scone, because despite the unappetizing description, they're surprisingly really yummy, and big-gulp iced caramel latte) and hopped into the car briefly pondering what my bladder etc. situation would be when we got to the start, and the fact that I had on bib shorts (you can't just drop trow; you need to take off your top first). I let those thoughts go as Shmel handed me the mapquest directions and we took off, commencing girl-talk as we headed toward the race.
If you want to get super duper technical about it, I guess I was the navigator, because I was sitting in the seat often occupied by the navigator (when there is one), and I happened to be holding the directions.
We missed the San Mateo Bridge entirely. We then saw some Dumbarton Bridge signs, but kept going (with my strong encouragement, because I was pretty sure the San Mateo Bridge comes after the Dumbarton). It was getting late.
Once we hit Mountain View, Shmel realized we'd gone way too far down 880, and she turned off on 237 in a panic, and then 101, while I scrambled to figure out how to get to 84. I was getting nauseated because I had to look backwards to grab the map, and find my glasses. The signage sucked and we ended up on some street that wasn't 84. After a u-turn at the "no u-turns" sign (interesting that they had a sign in place for that!) and vehement denunciation of the inadequate signage situation, we ended up on 84, which had *gasp* stoplights! We didn't have time for stoplights! And we were behind dilapidated trucks full of leafblowers!
Leafblowers are the bane of Shmel's existence, and she has plenty to say about them. Unfortunately, she made me promise not to tell anyone what she said on this particular morning. Anyway, that's not the focus here. The focus here is another Shmel commentary, as she was noticing the time (it was slipping away and we had many miles of twisty road ahead of us) and was starting to unravel:
"We're behind another truck of f*cking illegals!!!"
Immediately, she felt terribly, and said she had nothing against them...
"But they drive f*cking two miles per hour because they don't want to get pulled over, and I CAN'T DEAL! I have a f*cking race!!!"
I think it's OK that I'm recounting this part, because (a) she didn't specifically tell me not to, and (b) I changed her name.
And of course we both had to go to the bathroom, and that always gets worse when you're stopped at a red light, we noticed. Well, unbelievably, we got there in the nick of time (the first heat rode by us as we were parking and everyone was looking at us incredulously as we careened on twisty roads to the start as late as we could possibly be - it was obvious we were trying to get to the race in time; we had bikes on the roof), and I (totally stressed out at this point and severely car-sick to boot) ran to use the nature facilities as Shmel got naked and changed next to the car and then spilled Hammer Gel all over herself and the trunk and used my bottle of water to get unsticky, and then we biked over to registration to get our numbers pinned, and so much for the trainers we'd brought! No time for a warm-up! Fortunately, things were running late so we had a moment to compose ourselves as they were starting the other groups (female 3s,/4s/masters went last, yay!). And then we were off.
I was off the back immediately. The pace was just too fast to sustain. 2 others were behind me, and one passed me (I never saw the second again; I assumed she dropped out). I ended up passing her back, later (I'd offered to work together to get up Stage Road, but she didn't take me up on it, so I drafted, and I think she must have bonked). And then I passed someone else on lap 2, but I think she was a master's racer, so I may have finished last in the 3s/4s group (of those who finished).
The feed zone was interesting. Both bottle cages on my bike were in use, yet they offered to pass me a full bottle as I was riding by! And I was thinking "where the hell am I going to put a 3rd bottle?!" so I didn't grab it. Then on lap 2, I stopped (because I really needed water; I was out), to ask how it was done, and the guy pointed to a bin full of used water bottles and said I toss one out and take the new, full one. And I looked at him. And he said, "Oh. You want to keep your water bottles." And I said yes (they have sentimental value!). And he said, "Well that's a first." And he poured the water out of the new, full water bottle, and into mine. And I was on my way.
As anticipated, it was a pretty ride, and I'm glad to have gotten my feet wet. Next time I'll bring my crappiest water bottles. And I won't get totally lost riding those last few miles from the finish (at the top of the hill) back to the start, which prompted a panicked "I don't know where the hell I am!" call to Shmel, and required her to come pick me up.
I'm racing tomorrow - Pescadero. It's my first real road race (accidental entry, then 10 miles, then accidental exit doesn't count). I hear it's not flat. And I'm at the worst part of my cycle right now and my back hurts particularly badly this month. And I now have an ulnar nerve "bruise" (this was the doctor's diagnosis when I called him in a panic 2 days after Tuesday's "aggressive" PT session, because ever since then it's felt a bit like I just hit my funny bone, pretty much constantly, and gets worse during stretching exercises, and I simply haven't been able to wear my nighttime splint for the pain, and my ring and pinky fingers still haven't regained full sensation. And I just now realized my kit's dirty, and the laundry machine is in use (surprise!) and it's almost 9 pm and I have to get up at 5:30 am.
So yeah, everything's coming together.
OK, it's actually not all bad. I got my 12x25 cassette (which came standard on the new bike) switched out for the 12x27 from my old bike, at a moment's notice less than half an hour before my bike shop closed, despite the fact that the shop was having some huge sale and was chock full of people. So now I have an extra gear (I'm going to need it). And a teammate of mine left a trainer on his front porch for me to grab so that I could get in a nice warm-up tomorrow morning.
Rats. I just realized that's two fewer excuses I have for a DFL finish. That's OK...I've heard it's a pretty ride. And I'm going to a BBQ in Half Moon Bay after! Yay!
I LOVE MY NEW BIKE!
It's a pound lighter than my old one, for some reason. I think it's the wheels, which are skinnier. Skinny wheels can be a teeny bit scary.
So the inaugural ride was Saturday, or "Touchstone-and-related" day! Went up Tunnel to Grizzly, down South Park and Wildcat Canyon, across the 3 Bears, and back up Wildcat after lunch in Orinda, and then up South Park (ugh - but this kind of stuff happens when you're with Marty...at least it wasn't El Toyonal, which also tends to happen when you're with Marty). The elbow did OK!
Sunday was TO-and-related-women day! Up Tunnel to Skyline, down Redwood, pause for fun kit photo opportunity (thanks Lauren! Gosh, who's the dork wearing the visor?), and up Pinehurst (while passing I think 3 unicycling women who were coming down Pinehurst) . By the end of this ride (actually, more like by the beginning), my bike was feeling heavyheavyheavy, and my back was killing me even more than my elbow, so I turned toward home at the top (I believe that's the first time I've left before the end of a Mel ride!) and heeded my teammates' recommendations: called Rick at Eden for a fitting as soon as I got home. He hooked me up! Saw me that day despite his no-weekend-fittings rule, spent almost 2 hours with me, had me on and off the trainer for a gazillion adjustments including shoe cleats, swapped out my stem for a better one at no charge, and threw in a TO discount. And he told me I reminded him of his ex-girlfriend, who I later learned was a Jew from Philly! Well no wonder! They were together 7 years. I asked him what happened, and he said everything was great as long as he did everything she said. Well no wonder!
Can't wait to test out the fit on a long ride. If I can manage a long ride. I've been feeling like a zombie for two days. Unbelievable.
In other news, I went to the orthopod for a follow-up on the old elbow today. He's concerned that I still can't get full extension (I'm at about -12 degrees after the physical therapist has been tugging on it for 20 minutes). Apparently, the bone fragments calcify, and this may cause rubbing/friction which limits range of motion. He said therapy needs to be more aggressive at this point. So I punched him with that arm. Haha! No, actually, it means I need to force it. So the tension is going up a notch on the Dynasplint tonight, and I'll see if I can sleep through the pain. No problem! I laugh at pain! Except when I'm crying...
