The Days that Never Were

We were not here.

At least not officially. The Lizard Head Pro Tour started at 9am on Sunday and yet here we were, 9am on Friday, mulling around Grand Junction with a growing hum of energy vibrating around us. We still had 2 full days before the tour even started. This is what happens when the uncontrollable excitement of several people combines - before you know it you're miles from home, rearing to go. We planned to arrive early to enjoy a 'bonus ride': we were simply too close to NOT add-in one of the incredible routes from the infamous Lizard Head Red Rocks Tour, highlighted on the front page of the New York Times Travel Section not too long ago in an article titled: Four Corners, Two Wheels. A few of the other Pro Tour guests (our soon-to-be-friends from Louisiana) had the same thoughts ....

The Midwest gang had a 6am flight .... and were all up by 330am (as if anyone could sleep anyway), catching rides, parking in the long term lots, some of us slugging our way into the terminal on 3 hours of sleep. Long lines at the airport check-in and the general I-wonder-what-I-forgot nervousness escorted us to our gate and onto our flight. A quick layover in Denver on our way to Grand Junction was highlighted by someone-who-shall-remain-nameless-but-who-is-very-small leaving her phone charging in the terminal after we boarded. While TSA mandates that passengers are NOT allowed to exit a plane after boarding to say, retrieve a forgotten item ...  it turns out that pilots are exempt from that rule (another reason to be extra friendly to your airline pilots).

For those of us who did the tour last year, flying into Grand Junction, on the West side of the Rockies, was a bit of a shock. The dry, brown and rocky 'high desert' was not an environment we ever saw last year. Being the kind of people that can't sit still for long, after hitting the local bike shop (actually called The Bike Shop, check 'em out, there's a particularly stunning Red Rocks poster on the wall leading into the maintenance section of the shop - if you're there see if you can spot it) and finding some lunch, a few of us went out for a blazing hot run. We couldn't find a speck of shade, and struggled to sip water frequently enough to keep our mouths from drying out between breaths, but did spy our first prairie dogs and small lizards.

On our way back into the hotel's breathable air we met part of the Louisiana contingent at the elevator: Louise, Donald and David. We knew who they were as soon as they spoke - it's hard to misplace those incredible southern draaaawls. Terry, our LA friend from last year, wouldn't arrive for a few days but it didn't take too long to establish that these had to be some of his friends. As luck would have it, as we were introducing ourselves Team Sada popped out of the elevator as well and the Lizard Heard Pro Tour party was unofficially started. We learned quickly that there had been a manhunt for a guy named 'Todd Larson' from Louisiana, who was unknown in their local cycling-circuits, and feared to be some sort of ringer .... we laughed as we all realized it was a misprint in the rider list ... Todd is actually one of our original Midwestern cohorts. 

Some folks in the newly-combined LA-Midwest contingent rode over to The Colorado National Monument (for a BONUS-bonus-ride), while others just rode around town (for some fun with Grand Junction traffic, which turned out to be as lovely as it sounds) ... and still others (who I'm not ashamed to admit included me) simply opted for a nap before heading into downtown for dinner. It would be one of the last naps any of us would see for the next 10 days.

The Lizard Head van, with our shipped bikes already assembled and secured on top, arrived early Saturday morning - they had graciously agreed to bring us our bikes a day early so we could do our unsupported-bonus-ride. After a few snags with the small number of folks who opted to rent bikes, and locating one bike that was shipped to the wrong location (all remedied faster than any of us thought possible) we took the complimentary Lizard Head bump to Whitewater (just outside Grand Junction and it's not-so-pretty-and-not-so-enjoyable traffic) where we'd start our bonus-ride: a 40some mile ride from Whitewater to Gateway, in 100+ degree temps, and blazing dry sun. After sending us on our way, the Lizard Head van would 'officially' arrive with all the other guests, and toting all our luggage, later that night. Our destination was the Gateway Canyons Resort (this place is owned by John Hendricks, founder of the Discovery Channel, if that gives you any idea about how utterly spectacular it might be), where we'd relax and wait for our luggage - it was going to be a rough situation but we all agreed to try to make the best of it.

The gang getting ready to head out on the bonus ride (unsupported, but still with a little support from the Lizard Head crew). Photo credit: Ann Kurtenbach

The Gateway Canyons Resort: After the bonus-ride we would be 'stranded' here for a few hours waiting for our luggage to catch up to us. Oh the horror.    Photo Credit: Gateway Canyons Resort

The bonus-ride was one of the hottest, driest, and most fascinating rides I've ever done. It truly felt like we'd been dropped on another planet. I don't know about the rest of the crew, but 4 years of Geology electives in college had my head and neck rattling around like a bobble-head doll. I wished my memory was better and I could recall the hows and the whys and types of rock in the massive formations I was riding by. The heat accosted a few folks, so much so that even some of the screaming descents were taken in slow motion. We hung in small groups making sure everyone was ok (remember this was an unsupported bonus ride - the omnipresent oasis of the Lizard Head support van wouldn't appear for another day).

Whitewater to Gateway. Photo Credit: Ann Kurtenbach

We came from somewhere waaaay back there. Photo Credit: John F Martin, Jr.

One road. 40+ miles. Nary a car. Photo Credit: John F Martin, Jr

Towards the end of our bonus-ride was a loooong descent that ended, literally, at the Gateway Canyons resort. After 30'ish miles of riding in a standard household oven, we flew through an industrial blast-furnace created by the canyon walls ... in spite of taking gasping breaths of the hottest air I've ever felt it was still a ridiculously fun descent. As I neared the start of the descent I saw a lone rider coming back UP towards me. Figuring it was one of ours (no one else was out there) I realized it was Donald, our new long-haired friend from LA. He had already made it to the resort once (half-chased by a preliminary RWTR challenge from Team Sada) and was riding back to do the blast-furnace-descent one more time. When I looked at him quizzically he simply shrugged and said in his thick LA-accent: 'I got there and I just couldn't get off my bike'. All I could do was smile ... and chase him all the way back down to the resort.

We checked in to one of the most magnificent rooms any of us had every seen - giant beds, amazing stone showers, spectacular view, gorgeous fireplace in the corner (it almost made you wish it was the middle of winter and that you and the stunningly gorgeous love-of-your-life were hopelessly snowed in for days, though I don't actually know if it even snows in this other-worldly place?) - and, without luggage, headed to the pool to cool off and find food. We'd hang out here for a few hours, swimming, eating, talking, napping - truly 'roughing' it. There was a little smack talk between future RWTR competitors - the budding love-hate relationship between a particular 5ft tall Louisiana fireball and Sada would take its roots here and flourish throughout the trip. Some fun conversations occurred regarding our first encounters with cattle guards (grates that span the road, in theory, keeping the cows on one side or the other) and the resulting 'activation' that they may or may not invoke in various genders as they ride their bikes over top .... and even some deep and real discussions about love and marriage ... kids (or not) ... and the things that really matter in life. After a few hours, in spite of easy access to great food, drinks, and company, I think we were ALL ready to get out of our wet riding clothes - a few people opted to change into bathrobes (though I suspect had the establishment known what wasn't under those robes they may have frowned upon that public practice) ... but we all agreed having the bonus-day was well worth a little uncomfortable sogginess in what had to be one of the most amazing environments on the planet.

Gateway Canyon's Resort: Between the fire and the view you could probably survive trapped here for quite a while .... Photo Credit: Ann Kurtenbach

Roughing it at the Gateway Resort Pool. Photo Credit: Ann Kurtenbach

Midwest meets South: who knew the fun that would ensue? Photo Credit: Ann Kurtenbach

Some folks couldn't wait for their luggage to arrive. At least it was securely tied. Photo Credit: Ann Kurtenbach

The Lizard Head van, with our luggage and the remaining guests from Atlanta, San Francisco, and a few other places, arrived around 7pm. We scooped up our belongings, got into dry clothes, and fueled up one more time with a meal in one of the resort's restaurants. By then it was pitch black outside without a single cloud in the night sky. Only once before, in the middle of a Californian desert, have I ever seen the milkiness of our galaxy as clearly. A few of us stood simply staring upwards for as long as our necks could handle it, and I couldn't keep myself from finding a soft spot in the grass to just lie down for a while, staring up at everything ... and nothing.

We all ended our nights early. Afterall ... we had a big bike tour starting the next morning.

In the Course of a Year

“To See a World in a Grain of Sand 
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, 
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand 
And Eternity in an hour.” 

- William Blake, Auguries of innocence*

(* or, if you ask me, from the note in the clock in the eternal classic, 'Tomb Raider') 

A lot can happen in the course of a year. Sometimes a year can feel like an eternity. If you've ever experienced a serious illness or injury (one that has a recovery time in units not of days or weeks, but of months), unexpectedly (or maybe even worse, expectedly) lost someone very close to you, or been through a divorce (even the "easy" ones take infinitely longer than you ever wanted) you'll know what I mean. Great friendships can be made, or lost, in the course of a year. And sometimes it can feel like the blink of an eye - a year full of vacations and stunning, life-changing adventures, graduations and new jobs, weddings, and  births. And sometimes, though it seems like the laws of the universe should make this impossible, it can feel like both at the same time.  

I've been outside the radius and in more directions in the past year than ever before - twice West to Colorado, four times South to the Smoky Mountains and the Carolinas, once East to the Appalachians. Venturing out seems to be like waking up at 545am for an early workout - the more you do it, the more doable it gets. Taking the time off work, locking down the house, holding the mail, finding a sitter for the pets - it all gets to be pretty easy. Or maybe it only seems easy relative to how much you feel the adventure is worth? The motto that hit me like a bolt of lightening (almost literally) during last year's Lizard Head Cycling Guide's Colorado US Pro Cycling Challenge bike tour:  'Experiences. Not Things.', seems to have not only taken hold, but has wrapped itself around me and locked into place hard and strong. I don't think it's letting go ... and I know I don't want it to. I came home to a house full of 'things', far more than I could ever need. For the past year very little has come in, and a constant flow of donation bags and boxes continues to go out. I've experienced far more - and not just outside the radius - there's an infinite number of experiences INSIDE the radius too (which becomes obvious as soon as you dig yourself out from under your pile of 'things'). It's been a long, spectacularly-exhausting time of go-go-go .... and it's gone by in a flash.   

A year has passed since that bike tour. The four of us locals who went last year had the time of our lives. We all said that it was an incredible experience, but we didn't know if we would be doing it ever again - there are just too many other adventures out there to spend time and money repeating one no matter how great it was. But then we slowly discovered that as the weeks went by we were still talking about the tour with that uncontrollable glint in our eyes. We'd drift happily back into the mountains for a bit ... to Cottonwood's dirt road and a lightening storm on Rabbit Ears Pass ... to a little-known lake hidden between two ridges in Crested Butte ... to a gourmet lunch at the bend of a river in a gorgeous-middle-of-middle-of-nowhere canyon with like-minded souls ... to feeling the enormous rush of wind and adrenaline following the Pro Peloton when they fly by just feet away from you .... and then slowly sink back to reality, to our desks and computers and far-too-many meetings a measly 900ft above sea-level. And then someone would casually say, 'Hey, didn't you ride your bike out in Colorado last year?' ... and like an alcoholic with one swig left at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey, we'd be right back where we were, counting the months on our fingers. 

It was inevitable. 

Sada really had no choice but to return - how could he not defend his Race Within The Race (RWTR) crown? The indomitable drive and passion in him that won it can't be capable of letting it out of his clutches without one hell of a fight. Todd and I had a few conversations in the following months about the 2012 tour: 'Are you going?' ... 'I don't know, are you?' ... but when it came time to sign up we simply both did, as if we knew we would all along. So did John Martin, the man behind last year's tour, the one who got us all to go in the first place - the tour wouldn't happen at all without him.

2011 RWTR Winner: John Sada (and anonymous impromptu domestique)

In addition to the four of us, SEVEN more are coming from our flat state. Friends, cohorts, people we sat next to on the bus and forced to listen to our fabulous mountain riding tales (just kidding, we rarely ride the bus, but if we did ...). Five of them ventured outside the radius with me on one of my Colorado trips - my first official scout trip searching for where I hope to someday call home. After that spectacular adventure, I knew the odds of at least some of them coming out for the 2012 Pro Tour were pretty astronomical: we climbed the Manitou Springs Incline (there can be nothing else like it), ate fresh Colorado elk (sorry vegetarian friends, but it was out-of-this-world delicious), and slept (rather, laid still and quiet between parades to the 'detached restroom') in a Yurt in a snow storm (check out Tennessee Pass Cookhouse and Yurts if you're intrigued, Ty and Roxanne will take VERY good care of you!). 

The Manitou Incline.The vertical white stripe waaaaay down between the trees and beneath the clouds is where it starts.

Above the clouds on the Incline. Olympians play here (and some flatlanders).

The Scouts. That kind of happiness has to mean return trips.

Yes, six Ohio idiots DO fit inside a Yurt. It's really quite cozy.

The other two are riding buddies, who I suspect are going, in part, so we'll finally shut up about how they really need to go and experience the mountains themselves. One will be working as an 'official' domestique for Sada in his attempt to hang onto the yellow jersey. He'll have to find a way to curb his tendency to tail rare birds and point out dazzling purple flowers and beautiful grasses as he's helping Sada rip the hearts out of the other RWTR riders. The other, I suspect, will be somewhere closer to my world, marveling over how anyplace on this planet can be so breathtaking in whichever direction you happen to point your head. In total, we'll be heading west with a mid-western posse the size of a soccer (football, for the non-US world) team. Unbelievably, we also had MANY others that were genuinely interested ... they just couldn't join us due to other on-going adventures: keeping newborn babies alive, a desire to stay married to their non-cycling spouse, all-time-and-all-funds-consuming Ironman training, etc. Maybe another time, another adventure.

Terry, the Lou-zianne flatter-lander from last year, is returning as well. We never figured out how a guy from one of the few states flatter than ours (roughly at sea-level, give or take 20ft, and sometimes, unfortunately, below sea-level) could climb so well!? He's bringing a few friends this year and the word on the street is that they may have their own unified team strategy for the RWTR.

Humphries, the Lizard King, who raged the battle against Sada in last year's RWTR and unbelievably lost a six minute lead on the final stage into Boulder, will of course be back with a vengeance trying to bring the crown back to its rightful mountain home. Rumor has it he has some help joining him on the tour this year as well, though details remain sketchy, and stories have been spreading East about intense 11 hour training days and an arsenal of secret weapons.

As of right now, there will be 22 guests on this year's trip, plus 4 guides, and 2 vehicles ... and we hope to meet up with a couple ex-flat-lander friends, now Lyons (Boulder) residents, for at least one day of the tour. In comparison, last year there were only 6 of us, plus 2 guides and 1 van ... plenty of room to stretch out for impromptu naps (we could all get to know each other VERY well this year). I don't know the other riders yet, but I can only imagine the colorful characters that we'll have ... and the colorful stories to match. By all counts, this year's trip should be over THREE TIMES as spectacular as last year! I'm not sure how that can possibly be .... but can't wait to find out.

In addition to the RWTR there may also be a "Race Away From Bears (RAFB)" event, led by Tani, the most bear-averse member of our crew. We have been subjecting her to periodic desensitization treatments, but with limited success (she's a hard nut to crack on the bear issue).

 One of our many bear desensitization attempts.
Video: http://www.brokenpromisesrescue.com

Ann has instituted the "Race to Meet the Pros (RTMP)". She's on a mission to spot Hincapie, Phinney and Tejay, and I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for Jens, Jens and Jens. True, a year ago I thought Cadel Evans was a country singer ... but a year can be an eternity, and that's plenty of time for getting completely sucked in to the world of cycling, from watching the Paris-Roubaix (and the amazing Tom Boonen with his jackhammer arms on cobblestones) to the 2012 Tour de France (with the dominating Bradley Wiggins, and the EVER awesome Jens Voigt - heroes can also be made or lost in the course of a year).

The Pro Tour starts in 6 days. We fly out in 3 - it feels like an eternity ... and a blink. Our bikes are already there, and Lizard Head will bring them to our hotel this weekend, all ready to go, just like last year - all we have to do is hop on and ride. Easy peasy! Having done this trip once I know the days are going to feel ridiculously long ... and yet nowhere near long enough. I know there are going to be moments where I wonder why in god's name I willingly subjected myself to this magnitude of suffering yet again (last year I could at least claim ignorance) ... and moments where I can't imagine a more perfect instant in time or space.

And, though right now I can't even fathom the circumstances .... how or when or why it'll happen ... I know there are going to be those unique and priceless moments that are both at exactly the same time.

Our entire flat-lander soccer team is all-in on gathering spectacular photos and unbelievable stories this year (and we hope some of our soon-to-be-friends-at-least-for-the-course-of-this-tour will do the same) ... from the front-lines of the RWTR ... to stories from inside the SAG vehicles .... and anything in between. We'll share what we have the time and energy for, the moments that matter, for those who can't be there ... and for our own memories. Come on along!

The REAL Hell of the Hills

I had no idea what I was getting into. Like most of life, that was a good thing. It was another one of those questionable things, you know, the ones where you sit on the fence for a while thinking 'Should I?' or 'Shouldn't I?' ... 'Should I?'. 'Shouldn't I?'. The Appalachian Mountains in Maryland were supposed to be beautiful (I like beautiful, and I LOVE mountains!) ... the ride was supposed to be a challenge (who doesn't like a challenge?) ... the last 3/4 of a mile of the 102 mile route was a 13% incline (uh-oh). 3/4 of a mile I can do. 13% I can do. But those two together at the very end of a very long and grueling day? There was no sense worrying about the other 101 1/4 miles until my brain could wrap itself around that last 3/4 ...

The Savage Century route. Did I mention the last 3/4 mile?

The fence is a horrible, uncomfortable, miserable place to be. When I end up there I want off as quickly as possible. I play out both scenarios in my head and see which one feels better - go, and risk the most brutal 102mi ride of my life, possibly (probably?) crash and burn and have to get scraped up by a SAG vehicle, and slink back to my friends with my head hanging low in disgrace ... or simply don't go - and never know if I could have done it or not.

Not really much of a decision, is it? 

I registered for the end-of-June ride in January and started looking for the steepest scariest longest climbs available in my flat little home state. Some buddies and I came up with a ride we've trademarked 'Hell of the Hills' - HotH for short - encorporating a myriad of steep climbs in the southern part of our area, where the glaciers didn't quite reach. We did the HotH ride in constant rain and in blazing heat (doesn't make a difference, it hurts equally in both). I went for a weekend ride in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee and North Carolina with friends in Just Tri, one of the premier local tri teams - some of the most driven (and most fun) group of athletes I've ever known. I found the hilliest road in our area and went up and down, and up and down, again and again and again.

It wasn't even remotely close to what I was about to encounter. None of it.

The Garrett County Gran Fondo Savage Century is 12,700 feet of climbing over 102 miles. This isn't even the Queen route of the event - The Diabolical Double is 125 miles and 16,500 feet of climbing (now THAT would've just been nonsense). The two routes share 73 miles. Where the Diabolical Double adds more ridiculous climbing, the Savage Century gives you a few recovery miles along the gorgeous Savage River before nailing you with more ridiculous climbing of its own (no, you don't get 29 miles of easy flatness - but even a few easier miles could potentially allow oxygen to make its way back to your brain, and blood to pump all the way to your toes). 

A wee bit of respite along the Savage River.  
Photo credit: John F Martin Jr

I drove out to Maryland with two of the best cyclists I know (or should say, 'had heard of' - Mike, I just met as we pulled out of town - though he more than lived up to his reputation - both as a cyclist and as a comedian). John (aka JFM) has ridden everywhere and up and down everything I know of (and many things I've never heard of), done ironmans, marathons, and everything else in between. Mike has done the same, plus the SavageMan Triathlon twice (with two bricks with his name on them in the Westernport Wall to prove it), and I'm sure a billion other accomplishments that we didn't even have time to talk about. We were meeting up with a handful of others at the base of the mountain in Maryland - the starting line (which is also the finish line, with that measly 3/4mi 13% incline) is at its peak. At some point it should have occurred to me that there weren't any other females along for this ride, or more importantly, anyone even remotely close to my skill level, but, if you've read previous posts, you'll notice that I tend to miss these subtleties. 

The Westernport Wall. Up at the tippy top there are (small) sections of brick - if you make it up on your bike during the Savageman Triathlon you get a brick with your name on it. I had to work hard just to WALK up the thing. I'd need a pack of hungry wolves after me to even stand a chance on a bike (and I'd probably be dinner).

The bricks. We also found the bricks of a couple other hometown superstars: Kathleen Hughes and Ryan Glaze. Note: there aren't that many bricks to look through.

After a quick stop at High Mountain Sports (great little shop, if you're ever in McHenry County, MD - we stopped because I had found a weird defect in my rear tire the night before, totally by accident. While cleaning my bike I noticed the bead was pulling away from the wall of the tire. I'm no expert on bike maintenance, but that just seemed incredibly wrong - imagine what kind of peaceful dreams a tire busting apart at the seams might give a person who's totally-in-over-her-head the night before a big ride with hellacious climbs followed by screaming descents? (btw, the tire manufacturer later replaced it for free - for the record, tires are NOT supposed to do that)) we went to packet pickup, put our numbers on our bikes and helmets, and that was that - everyone knows once the numbers are on there's no turning back. 

We enjoyed the free (FREE, as in "included in your registration fee so you might as well go") athlete dinner (multiple expertly-run buffet lines - everything you could want with no waiting) and then those of us who had never done this ride before contemplated driving up the final climb (that 3/4 mile one that I may have already mentioned) to the finish line just to try to wrap our heads around it. I was 'strenuously' warned not to. By multiple previous riders. Multiple times. So, after finishing dinner I hopped into the car that was driving up to the top. When you're in a plush SUV cruising up a long climb it's really not that harrowing at all ... it looks kind of puny and it actually eased my mind (or more correctly, fed my delusion that the ride wouldn't be that bad). We got back to the hotel, I checked for the third time that my gear was all set out and ready to go, and then I laid still, wide eyed, drifting off every now-and-then, until morning. 

The start was pretty interesting. I've never done a bike ride with an actual 'starting line' so that was an experience. Similar to a marathon or triathlon start ... but different. Add in the foggy mist that occurs at the tops of mountains in the early morning hours and you felt a little like Christopher Columbus contemplating sailing off the edge of the known world. We took our position near the back and waited for the gun to go off.

The Start/Finish  ... at the top of the mountain.  
Photo credit: John F Martin, Jr

Like most events, everyone took off like bats out of hell. It was quite a site. It's incredibly exciting stuff and a little hard to contain yourself. But, I'm one of those people that actually needs (needs!) a warmup (apparently one of only a handful in existence). I also can easily flame and burn out early ... so my plan for the day was simple: spin as easy as humanly possible up every single climb. It's actually doable if you concentrate really hard!

The first 25 miles was only rollers, a lot of downhill and no real climbs, with perfect pavement and lots of lovely shade. The thick foggy mist promptly coated your glasses making you more or less blind - which seemed like a fairly big problem at the time, but given the rest of the day this turned out to be a pretty minor issue. Several of the bats had stopped to wipe off their glasses, and still feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed I enjoyed flinging out chipper comments to strangers, such as 'Ahh c'mon, you don't really need to see!', as I rolled by (of course these folks would run me down and leave me in their wake just as soon as they could see again, but the day was young and I hadn't been properly humbled yet). Interestingly there were several folks with flats and other mechanical problems in this early stretch, but for the most part, the entire pack flew to the first aid station.

A few of our folks were lounging (well not quite, but they were chatting comfortably, kicked back on a picnic table) at the aid station, enjoying a steel drum band (and when I say band I mean band - not one or two, but 20 steel drum players, jamming wildly under the park shelter). We bounced along with the reggae beat up to the Coke and cookies, inhaled, chatted briefly to our lounging friends, and then took off. This is where the climbs began ... for the next 11 hours.

From here on out it's bit of blur. Whatever mental processes store memories were apparently busy with more critical tasks such as directing oxygen to brain cells, and firing appropriate muscles to make the pedals turn just one more time ... and you wouldn't even dream of stopping to take a picture to remember anything by. I was still all-in with the 'ride as easy as possible' plan (knowing it was probably my only chance of survival) ... but around mile 4 of the first big climb the 'easy' part was out the door. Now it was simply 'ride'. There are 10 or 12 climbs on this ride that have official names and are timed - things like 'Killer Miller', 'Bowman Hill', and 'Devil's Half Acre' ... but there are countless OTHER climbs that don't even warrant names. Back in my mid-western town those climbs would ALL have had scary names of their very own. We'd start up something horrifying and I'd breathlessly ask, "What's this one called?". JFM's response would be "Nothing" along with a kind chuckle. When we actually got to the first named climb I stopped asking: there was no mistaking the ones that earned names. It was brutal and at times so close to impossible it was simply comical (except that laughing takes energy, so the chuckling mostly occurred silently in my head ... at least I hope it did).

And it went on. And on. And on.

What's around the bend? I'll give you a hint - it goes up.  
Photo credit: John F Martin, Jr

Countless times I watched people fly up beside me at the base of a climb. At first it was difficult not to get discouraged - holy hell - I'm here putting everything I have into this, plus a little more from I-don't-even-know-where, dropping every gear I have as fast as I can as it got soooo steep soooo fast that it was necessary just to be able to keep my legs turning over, and here I am, going 4mph, while this guy just comes screeeeeaming up beside me like he's wearing Wile E Coyote's jet pack. Except that time after time the jet pack would sputter and unexpectedly run out of fuel, and inevitably you'd hear either that horrible grinding of chain that comes with gears changing under incredible tension ... or you'd see the fall starting out of the corner of your eye, receding at a steady 4mph, while thinking please! Please! PLEASE! don't tilt in my direction. The falling happens in slow motion (what isn't in slow motion when you're going 4mph?), you see it start, hear some primal guttural sounds, then the thud of body and clang of bike hitting pavement, typically followed by a quiet voice saying 'Dude? You ok?' ... and a different, slightly muffled (as if perhaps it's speaking towards the ground) voice mutter back 'Uhh. Yeah'.  It wasn't funny ... and yet, it was, because you knew how easily it could have been you. Pretty quickly, 4mph UPRIGHT starts to feel amazingly good. 

I originally had 2 goals for this ride. One was to start and finish. The other, which was admittedly a stretch goal, was to never get off my bike. In my head I held fast to the first goal. A few weeks before the ride I had let the 2nd one go - odds of me having to walk at least one of these crazy climbs were pretty astronomical. But, somewhere around mile 60 it occurred to me that I actually hadn't been off my bike yet. I'd gone up climbs at a snail's pace (field studies have shown you can stay upright at 2.9mph). Past gorgeously built fit guys in gorgeous red and white Castelli kits that matched their equally gorgeous bikes (in all fairness, they obviously didn't have as gorgeous of gearing as I did). Past people carrying their shoes and walking in their socks. Past people sitting on the side of road switching out of their bike shoes and into the flip-flops that they were carrying in a jersey pocket ... but I hadn't walked a single step. Why didn't this occur to me before now? Because when you're focusing - and I don't mean focusing on the day, or the current hour, or the current climb - I mean focusing on the next 3 feet - it's pretty difficult to think of anything else.

I only have a handful of basic, steadfast, rules. 'The Golden Rule' is one (the only thing I got out of CCD as a kid, other than 'priests are even scarier up close' and 'it's best to steer clear of nuns carrying rulers'). The 'Half Way' rule is another: If you're greater than 50% done with something you might as well finish it. The Half Way rule is more powerful than you might think - it's actually what got me through grad school, and it's gotten me through more than a few tough spots (well, you're 9 miles through an 18 miler, might as well just finish it at this point ... well, you're half way up this mountain, might as well go on up and see what's at the top). If you're remotely good at math you've probably figured out that mile 60 of a 102 mile ride is something greater than 50%. The Half Way rule had already invoked itself before I even knew it. 

I can't explain the ride in words. Or photos, because it never crossed my mind to take any (whopping 3 foot focus, remember). I don't think 1000 words or 1000 photos could've painted the picture properly anyway. If you want to 'know' then you'll just have to go do the ride and experience it yourself (funny how that works, isn't it?). The weekend before this ride I had done a 2 day 105mile running relay with a team of 5 friends - when it was over I said it was the hardest thing I'd ever done (running almost 20 miles over 2 days, alone, in the deep dark of the night, exhausted from no sleep, and running as hard as I could so as to not disappoint my teammates). It dropped to a distant 2nd less than a week later. There's no warning appropriate enough for this ride. Had I KNOWN what the climbs were like, had I somehow SEEN 'Killer Miller' (even the relatively easy beginning of it where the cows really do stare at you (JQ, you weren't lying!) and you can almost hear them saying 'Pssst, Joe! Look! ANOTHER one is trying it!') before my rubber wheels actually touched its pavement ... I would have backed slowly away from this ride like it was a rattlesnake, and once I was a safe distance away I would've kept running until sundown just to be sure. Weeks later, as I finally get around to writing this, I still shake my head in disbelief. The word that still pops instantly into my head: unreal.

Partway up the final 3/4 mile climb to the finish. I think we all felt like this guy, whether or not we stopped to show it.

That last climb - the 3/4 mile one that I'd been trying to comprehend since January. The one that I thought didn't look 'so bad' the night before ... Yes, I made it up on the bike, Yes, at a snail's pace (one wonderfully enthusiastic spectator ran - or more accurately, walked briskly - next to me, with his bright blue vuvuzela in hand screaming 'Ok! OK! Don't look at me! DO. NOT. LOOK. AT. ME! I know it hurts! I know you're suffering! But you're doing AWWWWWWESOME! JUST. KEEP. GOING! DOOOOON'T STOP!' ... I'm pretty sure I smiled and breathed out 'Thanks' ... at least I meant to ... and I'm positive that I laughed like a giddy schoolgirl inside). The last pedal stroke of that climb was the best one of the entire day: it took me 18 minutes to get to it. I started a little ahead of JFM at the base, so once I topped it I slowed down and waited - the finish line was almost in sight - and for some sick twisted reason, which I still don't quite understand, I wanted to enjoy every moment of those last few painful minutes. I was laughing when I crossed the finish line.  

Somewhere around mile 101.9. This is not the first time JFM has given me this look. I'm guessing it won't be the last.  
Photo credit: Mike Weber (after his nap)

  

After the ride our group went out for dinner and beers (and water, lots and lots of water). As usual, the stories started pouring in: one person (who shall remain anonymous, but whose name starts with a 'Mike' and ends with a 'Weber') had run out of fluids, got a little dehydrated, and was recovering with a nap at the second aid station (I figure once you've earned all those bricks you've earned the right to take a nap any damn time or place you please), only to be woken by Todd, who just happened to spot him lying on the grass - they stuck together the rest of the day and had a spectacular ride. There were stories of a bevy of beautiful bikini-clad women seen walking along the side of the road near the end of the ride (there are mixed reports as to whether they were real or just a hopeful mirage)... a few of the boys relayed stories of a nicely built female rider who used nature's facilities in plain view of her new-found, and somewhat shocked though unable to look away, male riding buddies. And, as always, even more stories that you had to be there to be privy to (Rule #3: What happens on a ride ...). 

Weeks later, this ride remains the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm sure it will be surpassed at some point, by something I don't even know exists yet. I can't wait. The folks that rode this year were immediately talking about next year ... new goals (I already have a 3rd goal myself, the one that always occurs after you've done something once ...), new people to recruit ("So-and-so would've looooved this ride, don't you think!?". You know who you are), and preliminary plans for road trips and 'training rides' leading up to next year's event.

I've had several folks tell me they may join the ride next year. I'd never in a million years suggest that someone I LIKE go on this ride - I won't take responsibility for that, or risk ending a friendship - but if you decide for yourself that you want to experience something special, something 'unreal', all the info for this marvelously run event is available here: Win the Fight: Garrett County Grand Fondo.

Enjoy every excruciating and exquisite moment! Maybe we'll see you there ...