I had been looking forward to a good ride all week. Sure, I'd gotten out a couple of times with Doug on the tandem, but what I really wanted was to get on my superfast Pilot and fly. Unfortunately, I forgot that I do not fly up hills.
Things went really well at first. Mariah came to babysit the kids at 6:30 and Layne and I got off quickly and decided to head for Willow Park and pick up the Jordan Parkway trail. I was feeling awesome and even suggested on my own that we climb the windmills at the end. The last time I tried that hill, it kicked my trash. I guess I thought that, even though I haven't been on my bike near as much as I would like, somehow the cycling fairy came and bestowed upon me the magical ability to climb.
I rode the trail well-- the whole time thinking of the book I just read about the Tour de France and somehow imagining myself having anything in common with those masochists. We hit the end of the trail about 15 miles into our ride-- perfectly warmed up and ready ascend. I crossed the bridge and tried to shift down to my granny ring in front-- and nothin'. So, I pedal and pedal, trying to coax the gear down, but by the time it finally gets there, my heart is beating so hard that it is hurting my chest and I was sucking wind big time. The trail got steeper and steeper and all of my positive thinking went out the window as I started thinking "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die" over and over in time to the revolutions of my pedals. I finally slowed to the point where I was going to tip over and, embarrassing as it is to admit, I unclipped and "hiked a bike" up the hill. Layne, of course, had smoked me and was waiting for me at the top. Gentleman that he is, he discreetly pointed out that I had snot all over my face. Not a good look, it turns out.
After a minute of recovery, we decided to add a new twist to this ride and cut across to Redwood Road, then down to Talon's Cove. What we didn't know is that the cut-across trail is nearly as steep as the windmill part. Here was the part of the ride when I start wondering things like "Why do I do this to myself?" "What in the heck was I thinking?" It got especially bad when we actually got to Redwood Road and had the last climb up to Camp Williams. They are redoing that road and it is way too narrow for cycling right now-- After the third dump truck nearly ran me over, I started praying and promised never to do this ride again until they finish the road.
We finally got to Talon's Cove and began my favorite part of that ride, when suddenly, I started feeling that creeping fatigue every cyclist fears-- the BONK. Crap. I stopped pretty quickly and stuffed down a power bar and a few shot blocks, but I knew that I'd screwed up the best section of our ride that day-- descending from Talon's Cove by the lake.
We took it easy for a few miles until my food kicked in-- then decided to add on Lakeside for a total of 50 miles. We were almost to the dump, riding about 22 mph when I see this truck coming out of the landfill and I can tell he's not going to even look our way before turning left. I swung over to the left side of the road and Layne yelled to get his attention. He slammed on his brakes in the middle of the intersection, I hit my brakes and my back tire skidded a little, but I pulled out. I yelled "watch it" and the moron gave me a thumbs up. I'd like to say that I didn't feel better when I called him a jack a**, but it did release a little of the adrenaline that was already making my muscles tense up. I sped up, trying to burn off the rest and about a mile down the road, I hit the railroad tracks way to fast and heard that "SHHHHHHHH" sound that always means the same thing-- pinch flat.
I hopped off the bike and walked it the rest of the way to the marina (trying to fight the string of bad words playing in my head like bad rap music) where Layne, again the gentleman, fixed my flat. After filling it with CO2, in my greed for more air, I insisted that he put the cartridge on again and try to get a little more in. This is never a good plan, as the frozen cartridge stuck to the valve and bent it. I knew this meant essentially that I had about half an hour before it all leaked out, so dejectedly, I turned for home.
We did 45 miles in 3 hours (minus 20 minutes or so for the tire)-- averaging a little over 16 mph. In spite of everything that happened, I finally got the endorphin rush I'd been craving all week and I remembered why they say that even the worst day on a bike is better than a great day at work!
