That was my 30-mile ride today. Easy Peasy Southern Breezy (as my daughter used to say before she got too cool.) I rode from the southwestern end of State Highway 28 to Farson, WY, which not-so-coincidentally is the "Home of the Big Cone". I mean, really, what's not to love about ice cream at the end of two hours of cycling?
Anyway, if you would have told me two months ago that I would be breezing through a 30-mile ride with energy (if not sit bones) to spare, I would have said you were "outta yer mind." And yet, voila, here we are and OH YES I DID.
Adam and Aislynn dropped me off at the start of the route and then drove on to Farson, had a little lunch and started on their own bikes the opposite direction on 28 toward me. I felt crazy good about the fact that when I met up with them I had 24 miles under my belt. I felt even better about the fact that Adam and Aislynn both rode 12 miles (6 to me and 6 with me back to Farson), which means we were out there getting active together, as a family. Whoo hoo!
The ride is mostly a view of sagebrush with the Wind River Range (I think) off in the distance. But I did get close enough to an antelope to cough a little on his dust when he finally leaped away from me. That probably puts me in a pretty small percentage of riders. (In Cody I got similarly close to a golden eagle. Isn't it incredible that these are commonplace views out here??? That's the glory in the Wild, Wild, West.)
I felt sufficiently good today to begin visualizing that final ride across the bridge to Astoria, Oregon in September. I thought I about how I will feel and what it will mean to this journey and to my life as I move forward. I guess some people would call that counting chickens, but I think it's important to imagine that moment so that it becomes cemented in my mind's eye as not only a goal, but something that can and will be accomplished.
I'm feeling so thankful for and inspired by the people in my life who have taken interest in this "project". My friend Janelle is in Alaska, doing a marathon. She is a fitness maniac, and really has "her stuff" together. And yet she has taken time to encourage me and has genuinely been excited for me as I train for the ride.
Layne is a master cyclist. He has ridden his bicycle across this great nation, not to mention internationally. He is an incredible writer, performer, artist, and still he has been generous with his words and spirit as he has followed this blog.
Peter and Dianne are avid cyclists who embraced this "newbie", opening their home to my family and taking time to ride with Fred and I, sharing their insights, advice, experience and knowledge.
Fred is a nationally ranked racquetball player with international and national championships on his resume. He plays in tournaments all over the country throughout the year, and has taken time out of his normal drill and playing time to prepare for this trip so that he can do it with me. And his sister, Nancy, is taking a week out of her life to drive support vehicle to ensure the ride is as safe and comfortable as possible.
The list goes on, from my husband and daughter who are cheering me on daily, to my sister and brother who listen to every sordid detail of the affair and alternately sympathize or celebrate with me, to all of you who have so sweetly have read these blog posts and offered your comments and support. This whole journey has been just one example of the many ways my cup runs over.
So, in the tradition of Facebook, "Jennifer Lasik is feeling....... grateful."
Thanks, blog.
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Friday, August 9, 2013
A "Real" Cyclist
Tuesday night I left Kemmerer to travel to Cody for Wyoming Arts Alliance and Wyoming Arts Council board meetings. I wanted to bring my bike so that I wouldn't lose a whole week of riding. It took some "doing".
First, I packed a big duffel bag full of clothes and equipment: cycling shirts and shorts, lots of socks, my neon green nylon wind breaker, helmet, gloves, shoes, water bottles, baseball caps, gloves, energy gels and snacks, sunglasses, sunscreen, bug spray. Whew... I'm slowly learning to work off a check list and to be more organized with my newfound sport, especially after a couple rides that got uncomfortable because I didn't have the supplies I needed along the way.
The duffel bag was in addition to the suitcase with my business clothes, the bag with all my "beauty maintenance" items, the tote with my laptop, tablet, agenda book, board binder, and my purse. I am pretty sure the car was a few inches lower with the weight of all my gear, and I admit I did have a concern or two about turning into a bag lady.
Then, of course, the bike rack and bike itself had to be mounted on the car.
It was quite a process.
But I rode. I took the time to pack my professional clothes and send them with a colleague so I could do an hour-long ride in the mornings, ride to the meeting sites, and get cleaned up and presentable at those sites. Cody has an upper and lower section, which denotes a pretty decent climb from one section to the other. I am proud to say that after my adventures in Grand Junction and all the advice and encouragement from my new friends Peter and Dianne, I not only did not avoid those climbs, but sought them out. That's right. My new perspective was, "Oooooh, there's a climb. I'm doing it! It's good for me!" (True.)
So.... I am s-t-r-e-t-c-h-I-n-g and GROWING. Feels pretty damn good, to tell you the truth. (Aches and pains notwithstanding..)
I'm not going to lie. Working cycling into travel, meetings and daily life is a time-consuming and fussy project, and often means making choices about where my time is best spent. I'm hoping that as I make it a priority, more and more it will become second nature and a quick process that highlights organization and efficiency, two pieces still lacking as far as I am concerned.
The upside? I am starting to feel like a "real" cyclist and an "active person" -- way exciting.
Thanks, blog.
First, I packed a big duffel bag full of clothes and equipment: cycling shirts and shorts, lots of socks, my neon green nylon wind breaker, helmet, gloves, shoes, water bottles, baseball caps, gloves, energy gels and snacks, sunglasses, sunscreen, bug spray. Whew... I'm slowly learning to work off a check list and to be more organized with my newfound sport, especially after a couple rides that got uncomfortable because I didn't have the supplies I needed along the way.
The duffel bag was in addition to the suitcase with my business clothes, the bag with all my "beauty maintenance" items, the tote with my laptop, tablet, agenda book, board binder, and my purse. I am pretty sure the car was a few inches lower with the weight of all my gear, and I admit I did have a concern or two about turning into a bag lady.
Then, of course, the bike rack and bike itself had to be mounted on the car.
It was quite a process.
But I rode. I took the time to pack my professional clothes and send them with a colleague so I could do an hour-long ride in the mornings, ride to the meeting sites, and get cleaned up and presentable at those sites. Cody has an upper and lower section, which denotes a pretty decent climb from one section to the other. I am proud to say that after my adventures in Grand Junction and all the advice and encouragement from my new friends Peter and Dianne, I not only did not avoid those climbs, but sought them out. That's right. My new perspective was, "Oooooh, there's a climb. I'm doing it! It's good for me!" (True.)
So.... I am s-t-r-e-t-c-h-I-n-g and GROWING. Feels pretty damn good, to tell you the truth. (Aches and pains notwithstanding..)
I'm not going to lie. Working cycling into travel, meetings and daily life is a time-consuming and fussy project, and often means making choices about where my time is best spent. I'm hoping that as I make it a priority, more and more it will become second nature and a quick process that highlights organization and efficiency, two pieces still lacking as far as I am concerned.
The upside? I am starting to feel like a "real" cyclist and an "active person" -- way exciting.
Thanks, blog.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Kind of a Big Stretch - Part Two (Sunday)
Saturday night we decided that Fred and I would ride with Peter the next morning. I still felt nervous about this because Peter is way fit and a very experienced cyclist, but the great thing about him is that he has this awesome, laid back, accepting demeanor that made me feel relaxed and comfortable. I knew he would be patient and non-judgmental on the ride.
But when I woke up Sunday, tired and sore from the day before, my anxiety returned, especially when we started talking about where to ride and decided that a descent into the monument and a ride along the rim would be the route. If I am a novice and a slow rider in general, I am 100 times worse on climbs. But I didn't want to be a baby, and was also operating under the conviction that I needed to challenge myself and establish a benchmark at the same time.
And so we started out. There was about a mile of downhill riding on a gravel road, which was tough for this scaredy cat. Gravel freaks me out because I'm desperately afraid of my wheels skidding sideways, causing me to crash. When I was 12 I was standing up, pedaling furiously on my bike and one of the pedals came off. I crashed hard, sliding several feet on concrete and gravel and still remember the pain of my mom picking the gravel out of my hip, ribs and arms. Definite negative emotional tagging there. Happily, no crashes today.
The first part of the ride was great. More downhill riding than climbing and breathtaking, stunning vistas, which you will see below this blog. But as we rode down, down, down, I worried more and more about the up, up, up that would be necessary in order to get back to the house. About midway through we did a fairly ambitious climb, and I could feel the previous day's ride, because pushing uphill was even harder than usual. Then there was a long, steep downhill ride. It was like flying. So much fun. But when we turned back toward home, the real work began.
Peter is really, really good at climbing and genuinely enjoys it. By my estimation, he climbed about three times as much as Fred and I, because we would begin a long hill and he would take off like a bullet, riding up the hill, then turning around and coming back down to where we were to check on us and start all over. He was amazing, offering advice and encourage and lots of energy to the experience. I was thinking that Peter is to cycling what Brett Favre was to football (before he got weird and creepy.) He has this great boyish joy about riding that is infectious, and it makes me want to get really good at it so I can love it the way he does.
That being said, today was the hardest physical challenge I have ever attempted. I have never been so out of breath for so long a period of time in my whole life. We climbed 1200 feet the second part of the ride, and I slowly dragged my carcass up every inch of it, huffing and puffing the whole way. It was such hard work that I couldn't recover in-between climbs, so each one started more out-of-breath than the last one.
And I had to contend with both my fragility AND my ego. So at some point I started doing this weird half-gasping, half-crying thing where I would suck in a huge gulp of air and then push it out in these ragged, pathetic sobs. Then I would see Peter riding back down the hill toward me and my pride would force me to swallow it and get it together long enough to say, "Oh, I'm fine. I may be slow, but I am determined."
When I became not only teary but really shaky I realized I need to get some calories into me. I stopped to drink water and eat these tasty little gummy energy bites. Fred stopped, too, and downed an energy bar, and Peter rode back, I think a little mystified as to why the ride was even taking long enough or taking enough energy to warrant a mini-meal. Apparently my façade was also starting to break down, because he offered to ride back to the house and bring his truck back so we could throw our bikes in the back and be done. "No!" I said. "I am going to finish this ride. I may be slow, but I can do it." (All false bravado. I really doubted I could make it all the way back at this point and was beginning to wonder the exact spot in which I would lie down on the side of the road, unable to make one more revolution of the pedals.)
Fred was jubilant, by the way. Although he, too, felt sore and extremely fatigued by the ride, he was buoyed by the thought that what we were doing was harder than any single day of our September ride will be. We finished our energy snacks and started another long, steep climb. Peter stayed by my side as I began to lose my breath again and encouraged me. "When you get to the top of the hill -- see those three arrows?-- it will be the crest. Well, there is one more hill, but then it's downhill and easy riding from there."
"Okay," I told him. "I got this. But go on and ride ahead, because if I start to cry I want to do it alone." Peter laughed, reassured me one more time and took off. I gritted my teeth and worked my granny gear. At the top of the hill the road veered left behind a cluster of trees, so I couldn't really see where the road went as I climbed. But I kept my eyes fixed on the top of the hill, telling myself that this was it -- the last tough piece. And I did it. I got to the top of the hill, turned left... and there was another steep hill (which Peter had referenced, but which had not registered in my oxygen-deprived brain.) I stopped my bike.
Fred turned and rode back to me, and when he asked, "Are you okay?" I shook my head. No, I wasn't, and this time I didn't bother trying not to cry in front of anyone. Like a pressure valve releasing, tears streamed down my cheeks, and Fred was smart enough and kind enough to just let me cry.
But you know what? I finished the ride. After that last climb, there was a most glorious downhill ride and about halfway down, I felt the energy from the food we had consumed kick in. There were about four final miles of mostly rolling hills, and they flew by like nothing. And afterward, I had something huge to feel proud of. Dianne met us as we were coming back up the driveway. "How did it go?" she asked.
"It was hard," I replied. "I cried a little, but I stayed on my bike." Yeah, probably not the best thing to tell her, because she looked a little alarmed and asked me several times after that if I was okay. I hadn't known her long enough to disclose my weeper tendencies, or that I am surprisingly gritty despite the sometimes freely-flowing tears.
We finished our stay with a brunch of omelets and peach and walnut pancakes. The weekend was so great for learning, growing, testing my limits and getting a more accurate picture of the road ahead (no pun intended.) As I told Peter, there is some work to be done in the next month. There's a road off of 189 that is a two-mile long climb, and I think I need to get on it and ride up and back, up and back over and over to practice.
In the coming days I will reflect more on all the subtle and outright things I learned, but for now, thanks blog.
And thanks so much to Dianne and Peter, our wonderful hosts and mentors, for an incredible weekend.
But when I woke up Sunday, tired and sore from the day before, my anxiety returned, especially when we started talking about where to ride and decided that a descent into the monument and a ride along the rim would be the route. If I am a novice and a slow rider in general, I am 100 times worse on climbs. But I didn't want to be a baby, and was also operating under the conviction that I needed to challenge myself and establish a benchmark at the same time.
And so we started out. There was about a mile of downhill riding on a gravel road, which was tough for this scaredy cat. Gravel freaks me out because I'm desperately afraid of my wheels skidding sideways, causing me to crash. When I was 12 I was standing up, pedaling furiously on my bike and one of the pedals came off. I crashed hard, sliding several feet on concrete and gravel and still remember the pain of my mom picking the gravel out of my hip, ribs and arms. Definite negative emotional tagging there. Happily, no crashes today.
The first part of the ride was great. More downhill riding than climbing and breathtaking, stunning vistas, which you will see below this blog. But as we rode down, down, down, I worried more and more about the up, up, up that would be necessary in order to get back to the house. About midway through we did a fairly ambitious climb, and I could feel the previous day's ride, because pushing uphill was even harder than usual. Then there was a long, steep downhill ride. It was like flying. So much fun. But when we turned back toward home, the real work began.
Peter is really, really good at climbing and genuinely enjoys it. By my estimation, he climbed about three times as much as Fred and I, because we would begin a long hill and he would take off like a bullet, riding up the hill, then turning around and coming back down to where we were to check on us and start all over. He was amazing, offering advice and encourage and lots of energy to the experience. I was thinking that Peter is to cycling what Brett Favre was to football (before he got weird and creepy.) He has this great boyish joy about riding that is infectious, and it makes me want to get really good at it so I can love it the way he does.
That being said, today was the hardest physical challenge I have ever attempted. I have never been so out of breath for so long a period of time in my whole life. We climbed 1200 feet the second part of the ride, and I slowly dragged my carcass up every inch of it, huffing and puffing the whole way. It was such hard work that I couldn't recover in-between climbs, so each one started more out-of-breath than the last one.
And I had to contend with both my fragility AND my ego. So at some point I started doing this weird half-gasping, half-crying thing where I would suck in a huge gulp of air and then push it out in these ragged, pathetic sobs. Then I would see Peter riding back down the hill toward me and my pride would force me to swallow it and get it together long enough to say, "Oh, I'm fine. I may be slow, but I am determined."
When I became not only teary but really shaky I realized I need to get some calories into me. I stopped to drink water and eat these tasty little gummy energy bites. Fred stopped, too, and downed an energy bar, and Peter rode back, I think a little mystified as to why the ride was even taking long enough or taking enough energy to warrant a mini-meal. Apparently my façade was also starting to break down, because he offered to ride back to the house and bring his truck back so we could throw our bikes in the back and be done. "No!" I said. "I am going to finish this ride. I may be slow, but I can do it." (All false bravado. I really doubted I could make it all the way back at this point and was beginning to wonder the exact spot in which I would lie down on the side of the road, unable to make one more revolution of the pedals.)
Fred was jubilant, by the way. Although he, too, felt sore and extremely fatigued by the ride, he was buoyed by the thought that what we were doing was harder than any single day of our September ride will be. We finished our energy snacks and started another long, steep climb. Peter stayed by my side as I began to lose my breath again and encouraged me. "When you get to the top of the hill -- see those three arrows?-- it will be the crest. Well, there is one more hill, but then it's downhill and easy riding from there."
"Okay," I told him. "I got this. But go on and ride ahead, because if I start to cry I want to do it alone." Peter laughed, reassured me one more time and took off. I gritted my teeth and worked my granny gear. At the top of the hill the road veered left behind a cluster of trees, so I couldn't really see where the road went as I climbed. But I kept my eyes fixed on the top of the hill, telling myself that this was it -- the last tough piece. And I did it. I got to the top of the hill, turned left... and there was another steep hill (which Peter had referenced, but which had not registered in my oxygen-deprived brain.) I stopped my bike.
Fred turned and rode back to me, and when he asked, "Are you okay?" I shook my head. No, I wasn't, and this time I didn't bother trying not to cry in front of anyone. Like a pressure valve releasing, tears streamed down my cheeks, and Fred was smart enough and kind enough to just let me cry.
But you know what? I finished the ride. After that last climb, there was a most glorious downhill ride and about halfway down, I felt the energy from the food we had consumed kick in. There were about four final miles of mostly rolling hills, and they flew by like nothing. And afterward, I had something huge to feel proud of. Dianne met us as we were coming back up the driveway. "How did it go?" she asked.
"It was hard," I replied. "I cried a little, but I stayed on my bike." Yeah, probably not the best thing to tell her, because she looked a little alarmed and asked me several times after that if I was okay. I hadn't known her long enough to disclose my weeper tendencies, or that I am surprisingly gritty despite the sometimes freely-flowing tears.
We finished our stay with a brunch of omelets and peach and walnut pancakes. The weekend was so great for learning, growing, testing my limits and getting a more accurate picture of the road ahead (no pun intended.) As I told Peter, there is some work to be done in the next month. There's a road off of 189 that is a two-mile long climb, and I think I need to get on it and ride up and back, up and back over and over to practice.
In the coming days I will reflect more on all the subtle and outright things I learned, but for now, thanks blog.
And thanks so much to Dianne and Peter, our wonderful hosts and mentors, for an incredible weekend.
Kind of a Big Stretch - Part One (Saturday)
We got home a little while ago from our adventure in the Grand Junction area. I tried to blog last night, but was simultaneously exhausted and keyed up and couldn't put two coherent sentences together. Then today I tried again during the ride home and still couldn't focus my thoughts.
You know how it is when so much is jam-packed into a short time that it's hard to figure out what to say about it and what angle to approach it from? That was this past weekend. But I just got done talking to my sister, Rebecca, recounting the past few days, and now feel ready to blog. (Unfortunately for Rebecca, if she reads this, it's going to sound really familiar. But that's what sisters are for, right??)
We spent the weekend at Fred's sister and brother-in-law's place in Glade Park. Peter and Dianne have 35 acres that sit above the Colorado National Monument. They are avid cyclists, and were gracious enough to invite my family to stay with them so that Fred and I could log some hours together on our bikes. First, let me say that two days in Peter and Dianne's home have made me realize that the Southwest style of home decorating is for me -- something I never would have thought before. The house and the guest house are done in earthy tones of terracotta, oranges, greens and blues, and it was as if my entire soul let out a collective content sigh in the midst of it. Their home is also clearly made for entertaining family and guests... I have never seen space so aptly made for people to sit and visit and enjoy one another. I know exactly who I am going to consult when I am ready to decorate my next home.
We arrived late Friday night and got up moderately early on Saturday. After a light breakfast, we got ready to ride. (Lesson one, Fred and I both need a checklist and better organizational skills, as it took an inexplicably long time to gather everything and get on the road.) The route we took was just over 30 miles long, what I call an "out-and-back" where we road almost to the Utah border and then turned around and rode the same exact path in reverse. It was mostly rolling hills and really just about the distance and time on the bikes.
Fred did really well, as expected, except of course for the four or five times he cut me off when he was riding in front of me. We have now come up with a plan for what Peter and Dianne call "car backs", which is when a car is coming up from behind and riders need to be as close to the shoulder as possible in a single file line. It has been agreed that regardless of who is on the inside or outside, any time there's a car back, I will slow down and Fred will speed up to form a line --- these are the kinds of things you figure out as you ride together.
Anyway, we both felt pretty good when we got back from the ride, sore sit bones and fatigue notwithstanding. Adam and Aislynn were just coming back from a trip to town, but agreed to ride back in with us to go to R.E.I (a sporting good store.) (I now know what Butt'R is, Layne!) We also took a little ride through the downtown of Grand Junction -- tres cute. And good timing, because right about then I was hitting a hypoglycemic low, which is not a good experience for anyone around me, because I get uncharacteristically agitated and impatient and can't make a decision to save my life.
We had a light meal at a bagel shop and then walked around a bike store before returning back to the house for the most delicious meal I've had in a long time. Grilled shish kabobs, corn on the cob, squash, saffron rice and a dessert of brownies (that Aislynn made) and ice cream. Soooo dee-lish. I loved Dianne's comment at the dinner table: "The best thing about riding," she said, "is that you get to really eat!" Cheers to that.
So any day that ends after a good accomplishment, great food, fantastic company and some card-playing gets an "A+" in my book.
Stay tuned, blog. Day 2 was a whole different kind of adventure.
You know how it is when so much is jam-packed into a short time that it's hard to figure out what to say about it and what angle to approach it from? That was this past weekend. But I just got done talking to my sister, Rebecca, recounting the past few days, and now feel ready to blog. (Unfortunately for Rebecca, if she reads this, it's going to sound really familiar. But that's what sisters are for, right??)
We spent the weekend at Fred's sister and brother-in-law's place in Glade Park. Peter and Dianne have 35 acres that sit above the Colorado National Monument. They are avid cyclists, and were gracious enough to invite my family to stay with them so that Fred and I could log some hours together on our bikes. First, let me say that two days in Peter and Dianne's home have made me realize that the Southwest style of home decorating is for me -- something I never would have thought before. The house and the guest house are done in earthy tones of terracotta, oranges, greens and blues, and it was as if my entire soul let out a collective content sigh in the midst of it. Their home is also clearly made for entertaining family and guests... I have never seen space so aptly made for people to sit and visit and enjoy one another. I know exactly who I am going to consult when I am ready to decorate my next home.
We arrived late Friday night and got up moderately early on Saturday. After a light breakfast, we got ready to ride. (Lesson one, Fred and I both need a checklist and better organizational skills, as it took an inexplicably long time to gather everything and get on the road.) The route we took was just over 30 miles long, what I call an "out-and-back" where we road almost to the Utah border and then turned around and rode the same exact path in reverse. It was mostly rolling hills and really just about the distance and time on the bikes.
Fred did really well, as expected, except of course for the four or five times he cut me off when he was riding in front of me. We have now come up with a plan for what Peter and Dianne call "car backs", which is when a car is coming up from behind and riders need to be as close to the shoulder as possible in a single file line. It has been agreed that regardless of who is on the inside or outside, any time there's a car back, I will slow down and Fred will speed up to form a line --- these are the kinds of things you figure out as you ride together.
Anyway, we both felt pretty good when we got back from the ride, sore sit bones and fatigue notwithstanding. Adam and Aislynn were just coming back from a trip to town, but agreed to ride back in with us to go to R.E.I (a sporting good store.) (I now know what Butt'R is, Layne!) We also took a little ride through the downtown of Grand Junction -- tres cute. And good timing, because right about then I was hitting a hypoglycemic low, which is not a good experience for anyone around me, because I get uncharacteristically agitated and impatient and can't make a decision to save my life.
We had a light meal at a bagel shop and then walked around a bike store before returning back to the house for the most delicious meal I've had in a long time. Grilled shish kabobs, corn on the cob, squash, saffron rice and a dessert of brownies (that Aislynn made) and ice cream. Soooo dee-lish. I loved Dianne's comment at the dinner table: "The best thing about riding," she said, "is that you get to really eat!" Cheers to that.
So any day that ends after a good accomplishment, great food, fantastic company and some card-playing gets an "A+" in my book.
Stay tuned, blog. Day 2 was a whole different kind of adventure.
Friday, August 2, 2013
THAT Family
I am blogging from the passenger seat of our Ford Edge. The car is packed with suitcases, backpacks and totes, and our three bikes (Adam's and Aislynn's mountain bikes and my road bike) are mounted on the hitch rack. We are headed down to Grand Junction where Fred and I are going to log some good training mileage and Adam and Aislynn are going to try out some off road trails.
I feel so excited and so proud of us -- we are THAT family this weekend, the ones we all see headed to their healthy, active, sporty weekend. In the past I would glance sideways at them on the freeway as I was headed home to watch movies and gobble popcorn, exhausted and ready for yet another sedentary few days off.
Do you realize I could get one of those bumper stickers that says, "I'd rather be riding my bike" and actually MEAN it?? Hoorah!
The weather is gorgeous, and with each passing town sign (Coalville, Wanship, Kamas) I feel my stress lifting like a morning fog burning off in the sunlight.
Something good is about to happen...I just know it.
I feel so excited and so proud of us -- we are THAT family this weekend, the ones we all see headed to their healthy, active, sporty weekend. In the past I would glance sideways at them on the freeway as I was headed home to watch movies and gobble popcorn, exhausted and ready for yet another sedentary few days off.
Do you realize I could get one of those bumper stickers that says, "I'd rather be riding my bike" and actually MEAN it?? Hoorah!
The weather is gorgeous, and with each passing town sign (Coalville, Wanship, Kamas) I feel my stress lifting like a morning fog burning off in the sunlight.
Something good is about to happen...I just know it.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Are You Kidding??!?!
I finally completed a 33-mile ride today. I felt a great deal of accomplishment, but it wasn't all smiles. A good part of the ride was absolutely agonizing, and most of it was avoidable. Simply put, I made a lot of rookie mistakes.
In no particular order:
1. I didn't eat much the night before, and certainly didn't eat the carbohydrates I should have to get my muscles ready for the ride.
2. I had only a 210 calorie protein shake for breakfast before the ride.
3. I only brought one bottle of water, even though I was likely going to be riding for over three hours.
4. I took only a 120 calorie protein bar with me.
5. My bike was not quipped with any kind of bags or packs to carry needed items.
6. I didn't check wind speed or wind direction before I set out.
Thanks to all the above "should have known better" moves, I rode the 16 miles out to Viva Naughton and was almost out of water when I got there. I sat for a little while on the boat ramp and talked with a gentleman who was putting his boat in the water. I rested for about 15-20 minutes, eating my protein bar as I looked out on the lake. When I rose to head back to town, walking about a fourth of a mile up a hill to get back to the road, I was alarmed at how drained I already felt.
No matter, I thought, the ride in is always easy -- tail winds all the way and more coasting than climbing. I got back on my bike and started pedaling, and it felt as though I had 500 pound weights in both my thighs (can you say lack of carbohydrate energy reserves?). I noticed I wasn't gaining much speed going downhill, and the climbs seemed exponentially more arduous. Eventually I started watching the long grass and shrubs and realized with a sinking feeling that the wind was coming from the south and I was heading back to town in a headwind or strong crosswind, depending on how the road was winding.
It was horrible.
At mile 25 I ran out of water. Miles 26, 27 and 28 seemed to drag on for hours. As I approached mile 29, walking my bike up the hill I no longer had the energy to climb on my bike, I broke down and called my assistant, Kathy. "Can you bring me a bottle of water and any kind of sugar soda?" Humiliating, but honestly, by then I didn't see myself finishing the ride without fluids and quick energy. She met me around mile 30 with two bottles of water and a can of Coke. As I guzzled both, it took pretty much every remaining ounce of self-discipline I had not to crawl into her car and beg her to drive me into town.
I finished the ride. But it wasn't a very good experience.
And THEN... (I know.. you are thinking, "There's MORE??")... I talked to my riding partner, Fred today. Let me give you a little history. Fred just turned 70 and is probably the most fit 70-yr-old I know. He plays racquetball all over the world, and gets extremely restless and irritable if he goes more than a day or two without good physical activity. He is a natural athlete, agile and strong.
HOWEVER... his "training" for this ride thus far has consisted of riding up to 10 miles on a stationary bike. A STATIONARY bike. Indoors. In one place. No ROAD, let alone hills and wind and mosquitos. "You know, Jennifer, I think this stationary bike has done well by me."
Uh huh. Just wait, I thought, until you get out into the real world and ride. Stationary bikes are for wussies. I can't tell you how many times I thought to myself, the road riding is going to eat him for lunch. I have lectured him repeatedly about how the ride is coming up, and he better GET A BIKE and get out on the road.
So yesterday, he rides 8 miles on a borrowed bike. Ok, good start. He sits in the Jacuzzi last night because "his sit bones hurt". Today he tells me he is going to try 22 miles. I feel smug, considering my own 33-mile agenda. After our rides, we compare notes, and the first thing he tells me is that he "ran out of gas". Well, fair enough. A 22-mile ride is pretty ambitious for a guy who rode his first 8 miles of road in training just yesterday.
Yeah. Turns out he felt so good on the borrowed bike that he rode 38 -THIRTY-EIGHT - miles before "running out of gas."
You have to be freakin' kidding me. In what parallel universe is that justice? Fairness? Equity? I have been getting my booty on that bike seat for MONTHS, preparing, training, killing my butt bones. And look who is already all caught up -- Mister The-Stationary-Bike-Has-Done-Well-By-Me.
If that kind of thing doesn't frost you and send some MAJOR sympathy my way, dear reader, then you are reading the wrong blog.
Honestly.
In no particular order:
1. I didn't eat much the night before, and certainly didn't eat the carbohydrates I should have to get my muscles ready for the ride.
2. I had only a 210 calorie protein shake for breakfast before the ride.
3. I only brought one bottle of water, even though I was likely going to be riding for over three hours.
4. I took only a 120 calorie protein bar with me.
5. My bike was not quipped with any kind of bags or packs to carry needed items.
6. I didn't check wind speed or wind direction before I set out.
Thanks to all the above "should have known better" moves, I rode the 16 miles out to Viva Naughton and was almost out of water when I got there. I sat for a little while on the boat ramp and talked with a gentleman who was putting his boat in the water. I rested for about 15-20 minutes, eating my protein bar as I looked out on the lake. When I rose to head back to town, walking about a fourth of a mile up a hill to get back to the road, I was alarmed at how drained I already felt.
No matter, I thought, the ride in is always easy -- tail winds all the way and more coasting than climbing. I got back on my bike and started pedaling, and it felt as though I had 500 pound weights in both my thighs (can you say lack of carbohydrate energy reserves?). I noticed I wasn't gaining much speed going downhill, and the climbs seemed exponentially more arduous. Eventually I started watching the long grass and shrubs and realized with a sinking feeling that the wind was coming from the south and I was heading back to town in a headwind or strong crosswind, depending on how the road was winding.
It was horrible.
At mile 25 I ran out of water. Miles 26, 27 and 28 seemed to drag on for hours. As I approached mile 29, walking my bike up the hill I no longer had the energy to climb on my bike, I broke down and called my assistant, Kathy. "Can you bring me a bottle of water and any kind of sugar soda?" Humiliating, but honestly, by then I didn't see myself finishing the ride without fluids and quick energy. She met me around mile 30 with two bottles of water and a can of Coke. As I guzzled both, it took pretty much every remaining ounce of self-discipline I had not to crawl into her car and beg her to drive me into town.
I finished the ride. But it wasn't a very good experience.
And THEN... (I know.. you are thinking, "There's MORE??")... I talked to my riding partner, Fred today. Let me give you a little history. Fred just turned 70 and is probably the most fit 70-yr-old I know. He plays racquetball all over the world, and gets extremely restless and irritable if he goes more than a day or two without good physical activity. He is a natural athlete, agile and strong.
HOWEVER... his "training" for this ride thus far has consisted of riding up to 10 miles on a stationary bike. A STATIONARY bike. Indoors. In one place. No ROAD, let alone hills and wind and mosquitos. "You know, Jennifer, I think this stationary bike has done well by me."
Uh huh. Just wait, I thought, until you get out into the real world and ride. Stationary bikes are for wussies. I can't tell you how many times I thought to myself, the road riding is going to eat him for lunch. I have lectured him repeatedly about how the ride is coming up, and he better GET A BIKE and get out on the road.
So yesterday, he rides 8 miles on a borrowed bike. Ok, good start. He sits in the Jacuzzi last night because "his sit bones hurt". Today he tells me he is going to try 22 miles. I feel smug, considering my own 33-mile agenda. After our rides, we compare notes, and the first thing he tells me is that he "ran out of gas". Well, fair enough. A 22-mile ride is pretty ambitious for a guy who rode his first 8 miles of road in training just yesterday.
Yeah. Turns out he felt so good on the borrowed bike that he rode 38 -THIRTY-EIGHT - miles before "running out of gas."
You have to be freakin' kidding me. In what parallel universe is that justice? Fairness? Equity? I have been getting my booty on that bike seat for MONTHS, preparing, training, killing my butt bones. And look who is already all caught up -- Mister The-Stationary-Bike-Has-Done-Well-By-Me.
If that kind of thing doesn't frost you and send some MAJOR sympathy my way, dear reader, then you are reading the wrong blog.
Honestly.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Whatever Works...
The weather today was not optimal for cycling. Not even close. Rain, thunder, lightning and even hail fell from the sky. After yesterday's storm debacle, I came home from work today and took a nap without even debating whether to try to get a short ride in.
Then I talked to Fred. Fred is my riding partner for this September ride. He and his wife are in Colorado for the next couple weeks, and we kicked around the idea of Adam, Aislynn and I driving down to Aspen for the weekend so that Fred and I could practice together on a longer ride.
Turns out this is a bad weekend for hotel vouchers. We tried three or four different cities nearby and I was pretty much ready to give up on the plan. Adam and I started to discuss other alternatives for what would be a solo ride for me somewhere here in Wyoming or possibly in Utah.
Then Fred's sister and brother-in-law graciously offered to let us stay with them in Grand Junction AND to do a 35-mile ride with us on Saturday. Peter and Dianne are avid cyclists. We made some tentative plans and I hung up. And immediately started to worry.
I worried so much that I got dressed for riding. Adam only slightly raised his eyebrows as I headed out into the cold, damp, windy evening. I rode around, doing the exact opposite of Layne's advice. Instead of enjoying my cadence and the gorgeous Wyoming landscape, I was frantically climbing, climbing, climbing, worrying the whole way.
What if I can't keep up? What if the ride is too long? What if they take one look at my chubby thighs and round stomach and think, 'Yeah, good luck.' What if I disappoint Fred? What if I disappoint myself? What if I can't handle the climbs? I worried up hills, down hills, through downtown and along Highway 30.
What am I worrying about? That I get to do a benchmark ride with 6 weeks still to go? That I get to do a longish ride with experienced riders who can observe me and make suggestions? That I can pick their brains about what to bring, how to handle problems, how to get my mind straight for the challenge? How are any of these things bad?
I know it's not good. I know I have to get over it. I know I need to take each day one at a time. I know I need to toughen up.
But on the bright side, my worrying did get me on my bike tonight. ;)
Then I talked to Fred. Fred is my riding partner for this September ride. He and his wife are in Colorado for the next couple weeks, and we kicked around the idea of Adam, Aislynn and I driving down to Aspen for the weekend so that Fred and I could practice together on a longer ride.
Turns out this is a bad weekend for hotel vouchers. We tried three or four different cities nearby and I was pretty much ready to give up on the plan. Adam and I started to discuss other alternatives for what would be a solo ride for me somewhere here in Wyoming or possibly in Utah.
Then Fred's sister and brother-in-law graciously offered to let us stay with them in Grand Junction AND to do a 35-mile ride with us on Saturday. Peter and Dianne are avid cyclists. We made some tentative plans and I hung up. And immediately started to worry.
I worried so much that I got dressed for riding. Adam only slightly raised his eyebrows as I headed out into the cold, damp, windy evening. I rode around, doing the exact opposite of Layne's advice. Instead of enjoying my cadence and the gorgeous Wyoming landscape, I was frantically climbing, climbing, climbing, worrying the whole way.
What if I can't keep up? What if the ride is too long? What if they take one look at my chubby thighs and round stomach and think, 'Yeah, good luck.' What if I disappoint Fred? What if I disappoint myself? What if I can't handle the climbs? I worried up hills, down hills, through downtown and along Highway 30.
What am I worrying about? That I get to do a benchmark ride with 6 weeks still to go? That I get to do a longish ride with experienced riders who can observe me and make suggestions? That I can pick their brains about what to bring, how to handle problems, how to get my mind straight for the challenge? How are any of these things bad?
I know it's not good. I know I have to get over it. I know I need to take each day one at a time. I know I need to toughen up.
But on the bright side, my worrying did get me on my bike tonight. ;)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)