Go West, Ye Over-Oxygenated Flatlanders!

Our small posse congregated Saturday morning at Port Columbus Airport for our 11am flight.

Todd, Sada, and Sada's spare wheels waiting at the gate at Port Columbus. In case you ever need to know, wheels do qualify as carry-on. 

After a slight delay in security due to the full-body pat down of an ominous looking terrorist in line in front of us (a 97yr old woman in a wheelchair) and my roadID confounding the body scanner, we were on our way to our gate. John and Todd boarded in group A, missing out on the following priceless tidbits of knowledge that Sada shared with me while we waiting for our group to be called:

•  When going down the mountain you should stop every five miles or so just to make sure your tires don't explode. 
• A rearview mirror is helpful to see the big trucks coming up behind you, but don't worry they won't push you off the road; their wind will. 
• You may think you're in hell on the way up; On the way down you'll wish you were. Take a jacket. 
• If you really want to beat John (I don't, I just want to live) you should push hard and try to beat him on the uphills and then don't look back - he will catch you on the downhills.

The boys charging their batteries.

After arriving in Denver we waited for Sada's bike to arrive alongside a group of hunters waiting on their bows (what ever could be holding those up?). And waited. And waited. "What will you be hunting?," I ask, not really wanting to know. "Antelope," the burly camo-cloaked man replies with a grin. "Ah, so that changes the song to 'Where the deer and the <awkward silence> play' then?," I ask (not really, I'm not that bold around camo).

We get to the hotel and decide to meet back in the lobby in 30 minutes to walk to lunch at the restaurant next door. Well, John, Todd and I walk. Sada, as you might have guessed, spent his 30 minutes putting his bike together and rides over. Sada procures a window table where he can keep a watchful eye on his beloved, leaned against a bench, and we enjoy a lunch full of more 'Sada'isms (any similarity to other words which mean 'the joy of inflicting pain without pity' is purely coincidental):

• Never eat tomato skins before a ride. The juicy middles are ok, just not the skins. Lance has a guy in his entourage who's only job is to cut the skins off his tomatos. 
• If you're going to ride you can eat salt. Otherwise, no salt. 
• You HAVE to get 9 hours of sleep a nite. 
• Balsamic vinegar and tiny bit of olive oil on your salad. Nothing else.

After lunch us mortals, weary from our travels, went to take a nap while Sada went for a"little" ride. 3 hours later, as we're waiting comfortably on a bench in front of the hotel for Erica Drennen to pick us up for dinner, we see Sada pulling back into the hotel parking lot on his bike, with a backpack. The story, as relayed to us, went as follows: He rode for a few miles when he ran into a group of local (and obviously serious) cyclists and, not being from around here, politely asked if he could join them for a little while. They explained where they were headed and, after a few moment's consideration, say, 'Well, we know your bike can do it, but what about you?". John replies, "Well, I'm from Ohio, but I'll try," and tacks onto the back. They ride for a while when the leader asks John if he'd like to take a stab at pulling - they'd like to see what an Ohio boy's got. "Ok, sure" John says, and he pulls to the front leading at a steady 18-19mph. After a short while, in his rearview mirror, he sees the lead guy shaking his head (another good use for a mirror, in addition to seeing the truck that's coming to blow you off the road) and hears him tell his buddy to go take the lead and get them moving again. Hearing this, Sada picks up the pace ... to about 23-24mph. He arrived at their destination with no one behind him. The group pulled in 4-5minutes later.

John, having gone out for a short easy ride, had taken no fluid with him. Realizing that he maybe possibly perhaps pushed just a little harder than he should have he, after saying his goodbyes to the local cyclists, promptly found a drugstore to get his miracle recovery juice. "It has taken me years of experimenting and countless dollars to find this miracle, but it WORKS! I'll let you in on my secret." He pulls the 3/4 empty bottle out of his backpack, shows us what it is, and guzzles the rest of it. "What's that taste like, just a real mild flavor?," John Martin asks. "No. It actually tastes a lot like rabbit piss." None of us ask how he knows.

Dr Drennen arrives in her brand new (beautiful!) car

and we head to LoDo in Denver to meet Chris Quinn for dinner at one of the local brew pubs. After a cyclical tour of Denver's freeway system (Erica just wanted to show us around, she was never really lost) we had great dinner conversations about Erica's new job (with its killer perk of free meals all day!) and Chris's amazing Leadville adventures (Yes really!! The man has a GOLD buckle! and undoubtedly more to come!) along with his house hunting stories (he and Jennifer are in the process of moving out here). We even got to experience Denver construction traffic on the way back to the hotel.

All of us are breathing ok, though Sada did note that his legs felt heavier (more lactic acid) than in Ohio though his heartrate was fine. John and I have had headaches since yesterday, but after throwing the kitchen sink at them (and 16 bottles of water) they're getting steadily better. According to someone, in high altitudes if you get up 2-3 times in the nite to pee you're hydrating properly. We're all hydrating properly although now we're tired with bags under our eyes from not sleeping. We head up into the mountains in about an hour for today's 'bonus' ride. 

And the quote of the day (bonus points if you can guess who said it):

"Women have an advantage on the bike. They have no protrusions."