Flats, Bugs, and Bonks

It's 11:47 pm Sunday night and after making posters and videos for school tomorrow (still waiting for one of them to finish "rendering"-- whatever the heck that is), I'm finally getting around to blogging.

I had kind of a surprise yesterday. We decided last week that we were going to ride the 67 mile version of the Salt Lake Century-- that's 100 kilometers, if you like nice, round numbers. Due to weather and other annoying factors, neither one of us felt particulary prepared to ride a full 100 mile century. 67 was going to be pushing it.

My former Cycling Padawan-now-turned-Apprentice Calli decided last minute (we're talking Thursday here) to come with us.

Calli has never ridden more than 35 miles in one ride.

That ride nearly did her in.

Calli not only wanted to do this ride, but she wanted the full 100. (miles, not kilometers.)

I humored her a little and thought--"Once she hits 35, she'll be ready to quit."

But Calli's not a quitter.

Not even when she hits a sheet metal bar and slits her tire nearly in half.

We fixed it with a Wet Wipe wrapper (a mom is always prepared with those, right?) and backtracked 4 miles to the last rest stop where they gave her a new tire.
Here's the awesome guy who fixed Calli's bike. Twice. (I'll get to the second time in a minute.)

By that time, we'd done 25 miles. We could have turned around for a respectable 42, but everyone was feeling good, so off we went.

It felt like it took forever to get to the next rest stop. At about mile 37, you guessed it-- Calli flats out again. Here's Superman (Layne) fixing that one. It took both he and I to get the new tire back on the rim, as new tires are notoriously tight. We both have broken thumbnails to prove it.

Calli's job is to look cute, hold stuff and make witty remarks while we change her tires. She's getting good at her job.

We finally made it to the rest stop. We were about 45 miles in. Figuring in the 10 that we double tracked (going back for the tire change), we decided that to get our hundred, we'd have to ride out about 7 miles, then turn around.

This is me when I still thought that was a good idea.

Most of those 7 miles (14 round trip) were on the Antelope Island Causeway. Long, flat, smooth road-- perfect for riding.

Except for the stench.

And the bugs. I ate them for lunch.

Couldn't help it-- they were everywhere. I'm pretty sure that I flossed 9 or 10 of them out of my teeth when I got home last night. Extra protein, right? Here's a pic I took WHILE riding 20 miles per hour at the back of the paceline. It's not as hazy as it looks. It's bugs.

I never really thought we'd do the full 100.

I guess that's why I forgot to eat.

On an extended ride averaging 18 mpg, I burn just over 1100 calories per hour. I need to be putting back in 250-350 per hour to stay fueled.

By hour 4, I had eaten only 700, maybe.

At mile 80, I started to feel REALLY bad. Here's the thing. When your body needs more fuel in a bad way, the VERY last thing that it wants to do is eat.

This is called "bonking" and it's one of the worst feelings in the world.

Technically, it means that you have used all available glycogen in your liver and muscles and there is simply nothing left.

Bonking comes with some pretty funky side effects. Nausea, inability to stand, hallucinations-- pupil dialation which causes colors to seem very bright-- all accompany this condition.

I had all but the hallucinations.

I forced down some Sport Beans and Gatorade and willed myself not to puke them back up. There was nothing left to do. I got back on my bike and rode.

(I should mention that somewhere in here is where Calli got ANOTHER flat tire-- it was a slow leak, so we pumped it up and the nice guy from above fixed THAT one too.)

I'm used to being the one that finishes strong-- the one pulling everyone in at the end.

This time, I was on the tail end and there was not much I could do about it. Layne (who hardly has any time to ride) and Calli (who had more than doubled her longest ride ever by that point) pretty much dragged my sorry ass to the finish. (Sorry about the swear word, Mom.)

We took a wrong turn at the finish, which added two miles to our journey. Those were the longest two miles ever. That's when the hallucinations started.

(Hey-- how did my bed get on the side of the road?)

Finally, the finish was in sight. We were all so elated (and so out of it) by that time, that we thought we were pro racers and we should sprint for the finish for I-got-there-first bragging rights.

We're stupid.

But we made it.

And I'll never tell who won that sprint.

Here's Calli and I at the finish. This was right before I sat down and nearly passed out.

Here's me kissing my Knight in Shining Spandex.

And here is my proof that, in spite of:

* 5 flat tires,

*a serious case of the bonk,

*2 pounds of bugs (seriously, they alone should have kept me from hitting the wall!),

*a couple of unwanted detours,

*and a strange guy riding a mountain bike wearing spandex and hiking boots,

I rode 100 miles.

I think it's kind of like having kids. Your whole body hurts (especially parts South, if you know what I mean) and you want to die. But, somewhere in there, you get the elation of pushing yourself further than you thought you could go-- then putting in 20 more miles on nothing but will power and the grace of God.

Next time, though, I'm going to remember to eat.