Crying in the Rain

(thank heavens for friends)

I checked the weather before my ride this morning. Isolated showers mixed with snow. High of 60. Sunshine in the afternoon. So I layered, assuming I would be fighting chill the early part of the morning. I�ve been spoiled by draught, I suppose. I expected no precip whatsoever, maybe a few sporatic sprinkles. Count the drops. I even opted for sweats instead of my waterproof wind pants because I was so sure I�d stay dry.

As I hit the 25-mile mark, I realized how effortless the pedaling had been. My knees didn�t hurt. I wasn�t tired. I wasn�t forcing anything. I didn�t feel like I needed a rest. This was one phenomenal ride. I felt so confident I would get my 80 miles. I even toyed with the idea of riding Waterton Canyon for a pleasant break, adding another 12 miles, if I had time.

I reached Chatfield Lake in three hours and seven minutes, my best time ever. Boy, was I excited! I pushed a bit going up the tough climb to reach the lake because I was so excited with the progress I�ve made in my training. I was so happy!

I passed one rider going the other way. Then I passed a group of what looked to be recreational riders going the other way. Everyone who passed me was wearing a raincoat. I ordered one online yesterday. It should arrive Monday or Tuesday.

I pedaled all the way around Chatfield, looking for the trail I knew would eventually lead to Waterton and Roxborough. My paved trail kept turning to dirt. So I�d go along the road for a while until I found a new paved path, and then I�d repeat the process again in another few minutes.

Suddenly, my dirt gravel road turned to ankle-deep mud. My bike came to a complete halt about three feet in, and my wheels were caked with about four inches of soft, goopy black mud. I walked my bike to the lake, coating my three-week old clip-in shoes with mud in the process. I took off my gloves and washed off my brakes and gears as best I could, then dipped my feet in enough to get the mud off the sides of the shoes but not get my socks wet. It began to rain. Before I could get back to a more sturdy section of path, the downpour turned to sleet, which stung like crazy as I braved the headwind in turning back. Forget Waterton, forget mileage. Head for shelter.

By the time I reached the closest restrooms, the sleet had turned to all-out hail. I thought sleet stung!!! Oh, my gosh! I�ve always wondered what deer and elk must think when suddenly pelted by ice projectiles. Now perhaps I can see why they run from humans�

I parked my bike and dashed to the bathroom, pulled on the doorknob, only to nearly collapse in disbelief. I had not been miserable until that very second. I thought I�d wait out the storm in the restroom, then be along my merry way. But the bathroom was locked. I was glad my helmet was protecting my head from the ice shards that seemed to be zooming at me from every direction like guided missiles. I looked around the landscape; there was no visibility. The maelstrom was too thick.

I raced back to my bike, mounted, and dismally stood back off the soft gel seat as water practically gushed out. No, I wasn�t miserable at the bathroom door. I was miserable NOW!

I raced to the next bathroom, which was closer to park headquarters. I hadn�t realized how isolated I was until I started looking for shelter. I was upset that I had brought my hydration pack instead of my backpack because my backpack always has a spare change of clothes. I was upset that I hadn�t worn my wind pants. I was upset that my fleece gloves now seemed to weigh 18 pounds each, fully loaded with a year�s supply of rainwater.

I couldn�t be mad at the rain; we need the moisture. We really, really need the moisture. But my fingers were frozen, and my toes were getting there. My fancy bike shoes are not like my hiking boots; they are not waterproof, and they are not good for up to 26 below. In fact, I felt like I might as well have been barefoot. I didn�t feel any protection from the elements at all.

I reached the next shelter, which entailed taking yet another dirt road instead of a paved path. This shelter was locked, too, and I decided it would be better to keep going on the dirt road than to backtrack. I wasn�t sure where the road would lead.

I kept trying to cheer myself by acknowledging dirt, gravel and mud roads are exactly what mountain bikes are built to tackle. My bike needed a good workout; I�m going to Moab next week. Warm Moab. Hot Moab! Dry Moab!!!

The hail had now turned to big flakes, and I was shivering.

I promised my bike I would give him Easter Sunday off if he would just get me back to a paved road. Then I encouraged my brakes, which were no longer functioning, to hold on just a few feet further, just a few feet further, just a few feet further�

By this time, of course, I had realized I was totally alone. I realized my moisture-wicking jersey does not wick rainstorms away from the skin. I pep talked myself into always remembering that any time I see a biker in the rain, ALWAYS stop and offer a ride, even if the biker looks like a nut getting his or her kicks in bad weather. I bribed myself with a new, dry pair of gloves if I could just make it to Mineral, where a side trail leads to a shopping center.

I verbally kept myself company the entire saturated 3.8 miles beyond the lake to the shopping center. I really had no choice. There were no people anywhere. All the fishermen had left the river. There were no animal owners walking their pets. There were no hikers or photographers in the wildlife area. There were geese and ducks all over the place, and they weren�t hissing at me anymore. They were pecking along the ground as if one had lost a contact. The snow had turned to rain. The rain was bringing worms out of hiding. Nature�s smorgasbord.

I took the fork to the shopping center and parked and locked my bike, then walked along the length of the shopping center in search of a store with gloves. Eddy Bauer didn�t have any. Victoria�s Secret didn�t have any. (duh) Banana Republic didn�t have any. Gap didn�t have any. But Noodles & Company had hot tea!

I went inside and ordered a hot tea and a bowl of pesto fresca, I think. I didn�t know what it was. I really didn�t care. I just wanted to get out of my gloves and socks, or at least the gloves, since I was still in a public place.

I noticed while I waited for my food that my sweats had been chemically altered and now were approximately 38% Chatfield. Not just lake. No, I was bringing home a section or two of the challenging dirt road as a souvenir.

When my food arrived, I dug in. But I couldn�t hold my fork steady. It kept clanging against the glass bowl. Uh oh.

I hadn�t realized how cold my whole body was until that moment. I hadn�t realized how soaked my whole body was until that very instant.

I thought I would finish my meal, warm up and then wait out the storm before heading back home. But half an hour later, the storm still hadn�t let up, and now the restaurant was uncomfortably full. I slowly put on my hat, my helmet and my hydration pack and suddenly felt overwhelmingly cold again. I hadn�t warmed up, and I made it worse by putting all my soaked gear right next to my shivering skin again.

I looked outside the front window again. The rain seemed to be falling even harder. Wow, the torrent matched my tears of frustration!

I took my gloves back off. I hung them over the edge of the wooden bench and watched the water drip from them. I took off the hydration pack, helmet and hat, and leaned them against the back of the wooden bench, watching the water drip off them. I felt defeated. I felt like a failure. I was humiliated. And I was soaked.

Hypothermia. What a joy.

I scrolled through all the names on my phone to see who I should bug, who I should give reason to stop being my friend.

I called Tami. I had a hard time holding back tears as I asked for a ride and dry clothes � a T-shirt and sweats. Tami, true to form, jumped at the opportunity to help me, and chastised me for feeling guilty about calling for help.

I spent the next hour drinking more and more hot tea, trying unsuccessfully to stop shivering. I periodically tried to dry up my mess, but I felt as though I�d unleashed a lake inside the restaurant.

Finally, just after the rain finally stopped and the sun poked out for all of about two minutes and 38 seconds, Tami�s husband arrived, and he brought not only warm sweats, but warm socks and a warm blanket. I asked if I could buy him anything while he waited for me to change. He politely declined, as always. He loaded my bike into his truck, the perfect gentleman. Then he apologized for taking so long because, he said, traffic was horrible, with Rockies baseball (in the rain!!!) and an Avs playoff game starting at the same time, with a couple of horrible wrecks to boot. He said there were a couple of times his speedometer needle didn�t move above 10 mph for at least 20 minutes at a time.

At home, I took a nice, long, hot � very hot � shower, then sat by my space heater while my hair dried. My skin first began tingling, then itching, as sensation slowly began to creep back through my body. I wanted to scratch all the itches with a hairbrush. I felt as if I was sitting atop an angry anthill, and the pesky critters were exacting full vengeance.

From now on, rain gear will be neatly packed in both my backpack AND my hydration pack. I haven�t figured out yet where in the hydration pack I will stash my bulky waterproof gloves, but you can darn sure bet I won�t leave home without them again.

Adventure aside, I do think I would have made the whole 80 miles. That�s the most frustrating part of this whole shortsighted day.

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