too weary for a self-portrait
At the Top of the Steepest Climb
This section was incorrectly signed:
"End of Climb!"
too weary for a self-portrait
At the Top of the Steepest Climb
This section was incorrectly signed:
"End of Climb!"
I did 74.5 miles today. My knee is dead. My fingertips are numb. My shoulder is sore. I have saddle rash. But I did it!
I started the day an hour later than planned because I didn�t arrive in Moab until nearly 1 a.m. I rode my bike to the Moab Century Tour start, all the way across Moab (the entire two miles or so) only to discover I�d accidentally left my sunglasses back in my car. I doubled back, picked up my sunglasses and returned.
My clips got stuck in the pedals � again. Third time that has happened in the past five weeks. There being no fences nearby, I couldn�t devise a graceful way to halt without crashing, so I sort of laid the bike down, me still in the saddle, one foot finally breaking free as I fell. It looked and sounded like a wreck. Other riders commented that my arrival was quite the dramatic way to start a big ride.
I grabbed an apple and a microscopic juice. I wanted a yogurt or two, but such wasn�t to be had. I went about three miles off route because I couldn't initially see any course markers in the twilight. I�m accustomed to live markers, volunteers pointing the way. I finally figured out my error when I accidentally came across a spray-painted fluorescent orange street message designed for the returning 42-milers. I got back on route by taking some shortcuts through Moab back to the Spanish Trail.
It was an unusual sensation to ride in the desert in high humidity. The damp atmosphere was welcome until the climb became challenging. Then the humidity morphed from body-hugging moisture to extremely hot, sticky sweat augmentation. Everything on me was dripping with thick beads of perspiration.
The La Sal Loop climb probably is the third or fourth steepest I�ve ever done. I seriously overestimated the ease of this ride. I am out of shape. I had not been on my bike more than four times in the last month. I can�t climb as well now because I haven�t been practicing.
The ride was good, the volunteers and riders were friendly, and the weather started out beautifully. In my opinion, however, this ride wasn�t well supported, this being Moab�s first LAF benefit. It was almost as if Moab businesses were saying they don�t have to cater to roadies. They know they�re going to get cyclists one way or another, so why invest anything?
Each rest stop featured orange quarters, banana quarters, vanilla wafers, cheese crackers and small, dry and crunchy store-bought chocolate chip cookies. Oh, and Gatorade. Only two rest stops had been "adopted" by Moab-area eateries. I was craving real food. I would have paid for real food if vendors had participated. Not that bananas and oranges are bad; they just aren�t enough to sustain a century or a metric century.
As I continued up the climb, the ominous dark clouds shrouding the La Sals generated the same fear summer storms in Colorado�s high mountains conjure within me. I kept telling myself this wasn�t the Rocky Mountains, this ride would be okay.
It began sprinkling before I reached the top of the climb and was dousing riders by the next rest stop.
Near the top of the mountain, my knee was sore, and I knew I wasn�t going to be able to finish my 65 miles. I confessed that I should have stayed on the 42-mile out-and-back course instead of backtracking and taking on such a huge challenge. I already would be an hour and a half late in meeting Marjohna. I worried about making her drive all the way to Moab to spend all her free time waiting for me in a hotel room. I wanted to be able to hike. If I made my knee sore, Delicate Arch would be out of the question.
Within about half an hour of the humbling realization that I could not complete the course, I decided it would not be dishonorable to SAG. I didn�t want to. Sagging is never part of the master plan when I ride. But circumstances would allow it this one time.
When I reached the top of the ascent, no SAG wagons were available. Several riders had wiped out on the descent, and it would be at least two hours before a SAG vehicle would return.
I donned my raincoat and gloves, then briskly headed down the mountain in the rain. A bold sign warned of the narrow road ahead, sand and gravel, extreme grade and sharp switchbacks. I could tell right away it was indeed going to be a brake burner. But rain was pouring down. I remembered from the Ride the Rockies clinics that to descend in the rain, you have to ride your brakes, hold tight for full tire revolutions because clamped brakes actually peel the water off the wheel surface.
So on the upper part of the mountain, where all the wrecks had occurred, I never went faster than about 11 mph. I had to squeeze the breaks practically the whole way down in the rain. My fists were sore when the road began to straighten out.
Another thing that frightened me was the lack of visibility. Riding without my sunglasses resulted in sand-like stings in my eyes. Riding with the sunglasses was impossible because rain was getting inside the fogged-up wraparounds as much as outside. I need windshield wipers on my sunglasses!
I passed two people on the way down. Most of the time, I was being passed like crazy. But there were two riders going even slower than me.
Looking off one side of the road and seeing a bank of gray clouds engulfing the aspen, pine and juniper, I would marvel as I glanced off the other side of the road to see sunshine baking Castle Valley. I knew I would be out of the storm soon, but I longed for it to be sooner!
Shortly after the road straightened out, the rain stopped. I pulled over and put my sunglasses back on. Then I started down the hill again. Within minutes, I was doing between 35 and 40. So it was still quite steep, even though it didn't look or feel like much of a grade.
I knew I was within minutes of bonking. I could read all the signals my body was transmitting. If I�d had Marjohna�s cell number, I would have called her to pick me up at the Colorado River � with food! I needed real food, and I needed it fast. My decision-making ability was deteriorating so quickly, I didn�t even remember I had packed pistachio and cranberry trail mix in my hydration pack. That would have helped.
When I got to the highway, I was prepared to SAG at the next rest stop. But I didn�t know if I would make the shuttle into town without real food. I stressed about whether a banana or an orange would do the trick just until I could get into town. I wasn�t even going to bother returning to the finish. I needed food. Bread. Peanut butter. Something solid. And fast.
About a mile or two down the highway was the next rest stop. It was the only fully supported rest stop of the entire ride. Slick Rock Caf� would be serving us lunch.
A baked potato bar, bigger than I�ve ever seen, out in the middle of nowhere, all the fixings for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, giant melting chocolate chip cookies, and of course, orange quarters, banana quarters and Gatorade. Someone had put out a can of nuts, too.
I quickly piled tons of mushrooms on my potato and sat at the first available table to begin scarfing my food. I was absolutely starved. I could feel the energy flowing back into my veins as I ate. So I just kept right on eating. I felt so good at the end of the meal that I snapped a couple of photos of the Red Cliff Ranch, which was hosting our lunch venue, before hopping back in the saddle. A woman rider advised me to put on another layer because I was shivering.
I suppose I probably did get cold while I was in the rain, and because I was close to bonk, my body didn�t have enough of anything it needed to prevent me from becoming hypothermic. I finished taking my pictures and got back on my bike to make the climb out of that part of the valley. It isn�t a brutal climb, and it was just enough of an energy burner that I never noticed I was cold, even when the woman suggested I bundle up.
I had taken off without another thought of bonking. I suppose there was a vehicle there at the lunch stop to take us in if we wanted, but I never thought to look for it. Once I ate, I was fine. My knee hurt, but I knew I had only two more hills to climb, and the rest would be relatively flat. My average mileage on my borrowed computer jumped from 6 mph to 10.5 mph as I rode along the scenic Colorado River. I know the last part of the big descent probably helped bring the average back up, but the section where I actually zoomed downward wasn�t long enough to noticeably change the reading on the odometer.
I made it back to Moab in exactly 7.5 hours. I had averaged just a little over 10 mph, rest stops included. I felt very good about that, considering I haven�t been on the bike much. My per hour average is down a couple of miles, but I did ride 74.5 stunning miles. I was too tired to be very proud of myself when I first pulled into Moab, but now!!! Now I realize I accomplished a pretty darned awesome thing!
When I entered my hotel room, Marjohna had settled in to watch the second session of general conference. I was quite excited to be able to watch it on television without going to a church. Can�t do that at home in Colorado. Before showering, I relaxed a few minutes on my bed to listen to a speaker or two.
The second speaker I heard spoke about adversity. One of the tales he told to punctuate his thoughts was about his daughter�s first marathon. During the actual race, which she had trained for and thought she was prepared for, she was in pain and struggling to continue. Then she heard a voice from behind, "Blind man on the left." She turned to see a blind man running, holding the hand of someone who was running at his pace and guiding him through the course.
The girl suddenly no longer felt her own pain but was overcome with amazement that this blind man could participate in such a grueling event. Suddenly she felt the strength to continue in her own effort because she realized her setbacks were nowhere near what the blind runner must have been experiencing.
I got back to the hotel just in time. I think I was meant to hear that story. It definitely contributed to my day, my attitude and my outlook.
My knee is sore, and I have a little bit of a sunburn on my face again. The rain took care of showering my sunscreen off for me. And being close to bonk, I didn�t think to slather on a new coat at the lunch stop. Race for the Cure is next week, and I�m going to have to really baby my knee if I plan to finish the race without stopping.
The story of the blind man running the marathon will be with me all week now. I won�t be thinking about my knee. I�ll be thinking about finishing that race, no matter what. Just like the bike ride I just completed. Woohoo!
out west
you make parking spots where you can find them
maybe you had to be there to see the humor in this one...
Epilogue:
I ran the RFTC 3.2 miles in 33 minutes, five minutes longer than last year's phenomenal time. My knee hurt, but I made it, and I didn't stop until I crossed the finish line.
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