Friday, April 13, 2007

I'm an aminal.

All my adventures of late seem to revolve around bicycle travails. But since all I’m doing is working and bicycling that sort of makes sense. I mean really, how many exciting adventures can one have in an office? I’ve gotten some wicked paper cuts from all the filing I do, but that is just really lame.

So, onto the bicycle ordeals!

First there was my experimentation with bicycle commuting. After one week of particularly cold, wet storms I came to the conclusion that wearing underwear to work was pointless. By the time I arrived I was soaked to the skin with mud (the mud and grit makes its way through multiple layers of any fabric), dripping grimy water all over the office and in desperate need of removing everything I was wearing so I could put something (anything!) dry on. If I wore underwear it was just one more article to wad up in a plastic bag for a few hours until the commute home when I would then have to put the gristly, soaked, cold garments upon my body. I started taking the bus after that week. I’ll try bicycle commuting when the weather is more clement.

Next came the long ride during which my dad fell. I was in front of him so I didn’t see, but the friend behind said he smacked his head pretty hard against the ground and was fairly well whipped about in the process. He actually ended up riding his bike 25 miles back to the cars, but soon after got very stiff and then had a series of secondary body problems (like an old back problem waking up and laying him out.) That was a month ago and he only recently graduated from the cane and can barely walk, let alone ride. He won’t be doing the Chico Wildflower with me and my Christopher next weekend. Serious bummer.

Then came the “training hill” ride (see post below) that I don’t even want to think about again, followed this past weekend by my first attempt to connect with other riders in the Portland area. There was a 75-mile group ride posted for last Saturday. It was mostly flat with one serious climb and I thought it would be a perfect training ride as the Chico Wildflower is 100 miles of mostly flat and one or two serious climbs. The five days before were absolutely gorgeous and Saturday was supposed to stay nice through the morning. It was supposed to be nice but obviously it wasn’t. In the early hours of the morning I heard rain on the windows and the day dawned quite dreary. Not to be deterred I went to the starting place at the designated time. I asked a couple of the people there what the pace of the group usually tended to be and when they said, “Oh, about 15 or 16 mph average.” I thought, “Perfect.” Gradually people showed up and by the time we started there were about thirty dudes and me. Every single person on the ride, except me, was a guy. But I am intrepid and shall not be dissuaded by an overabundance of testosterone.

With such a large group we ended up breaking into a few different packs and as I didn’t know the route and was afraid of getting dropped I was up with the lead bunch when the breaking up occured. Remember the guy who said “15 or 16” mph average? That is a comfortable pace for me. I’m pushing myself a bit when I cruise around 17 or 18 mph, which is good for me, but for a long ride, 15 or 16 mph is a good pace. But these guys were animals and biked along at 19, 20, even 21 mph. Sturdy Girl that I am, through the rain and the wind and the pace I kept up. “Stubborn,” or “stupid” girl is more like it. Through Northeast Portland, North Portland, over the bridge into Washington, around Vancouver, along the Columbia River, back into Oregon and out to a town called Troutdale I kept up. This was 40-something miles and I was sort of amazed. By this point I was also sort of starting to get tired.

We stopped briefly at a gas station to get snacks, water, and so on and by the time we started again I was fairly cold and in no shape to deal with the long, steady climb up to Crown Point in the Columbia Gorge. Almost immediately out I got dropped. I was really, truly trying to stay up with the group but I just couldn’t do it any more. I felt like I was going slower and slower and slower. The climb wasn’t very steep at any point but it was long and steady and I had exhausted all my “reserves” before getting there. I figured I would just keep plugging along and when I saw the group coming back down would turn around and catch them there. I would miss the great, grand, glorious vista and highlight of the ride, but I wouldn’t get lost trying to find my way back to my car all alone through unfamiliar neighborhoods. The map I had was so wet and muddy that it was pretty useless.

So there I was toiling like a lame kitten when one of the stronger riders in that strong group came up behind me. I guess he’d stopped for coffee or something and was now catching up. He asked how I was doing and I said, as perkily as I could, “oh, not so strong. Sort of hittin’ the wall here.” I explained my plan to just turn around and he said, “You can’t do that!” He gave me some Gu (the fairly foul energy gel), said they would wait for me at the top and off he was. Now I HAD to make it to Crown Point because they would all be waiting for me. So I slurped up the Gu, recharged my spirit and wobbled up to Crown Point. It was absolutely stunning and, unlike the training hill mentioned in a previous post, totally worth it. The Gorge is stunning just about all the time but the greenery had that special springtime shade of green that is so fresh and young it looks like sunlight has somehow been injected into the color. The clouds and rain were swirling around, but not so thickly that it obscured the view – just enough to give it texture and depth.

By the time I got back to my car, battling winds much of the way, I was so incredibly tired I could barely collect myself for the drive home and over dinner that evening could barely make myself even mildly social. My legs were also exhausted for days afterwards. But I think it was a good training ride. A little more training than I wanted, but it was good for me to be pushed that hard. Now I’ll be able to keep up with my Christopher during the Wildflower ride next weekend. Or rather, not slow him down as much as usual.

(*Note: "animals" should not be confused with "aminals." Animals are fierce. Aminals are cuddly. The boys on the ride last weekend were animals. I am an aminal.)

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