Day 3: Back Pedaling

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Prologue: Dykes and Bikes
Day 1: A Ride Down Memory Lane
Day 2: And I'm faster than YOU, and YOU, and YOU...

Shane's knees were still feeling bad on Day 3, so he got out of camp as quickly as he could and rode on alone. I waited for the Old Ladies and rode along with them. I had decided to stop bragging that day, and by mid-day no one had caught on, so I said to Lorraine, "Have you noticed I'm not bragging anymore?"
"Oh, you're not?" she said. "I couldn't tell." And she was kind enough to point it out to the rest of the crowd by lunch time. I tucked in behind Lorraine so that I wouldn't pull away from the group, but my noisy hub gave away how much I was freewheeling. "You'll ware out your brakes," Lorraine chided me.

The big buzz around camp was about Quadbuster, a "looooong, steep hill" at the beginning of the rout. There was supposed to be a photographer at the top to catch all of our panting, grimacing faces when we reached the top.

In the first 10 miles before our quads were to get busted, Alisa told me the story of what had happened to her the night before. She had gone looking for her 12-step meeting when she got distracted by an all-female massaging orgy. It was an easy choice of where to stop. When she walked back to her tent a big, butch woman in an ALC Staff t-shirt stopped her. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to search your bag," the Beast informed her. She started rifling through Alisa's bag and found a bag of white powder. I think it was Alisa's sports drink. She looked at Alisa suspiciously. Then she rifled around some more and pulled out a giant, 12" dildo. It wasn't clear by the way she was telling the story if the dildo was actually hers or if the big, butch lady was just fucking with her. I wouldn't have been surprised either way. Then the gorilla woman said, "I'm going to have to pat you down now..."
Alisa, never one to be bashful spread her legs, threw her head back, and proclaimed, "I'm ready, baby!"
And it was all in good fun until the gorilla woman made a lewd gesture with 2 fingers and her tongue and goes, "We'll do the cavity search later, baby!" That was too far. The fun was over.

We were passing whole groups of people easily on our way up to Quadbuster when a woman yelled out, "Hey, I recognize you! You're the woman with the giant dildo in your bag! I'm gonna tell your mommy!" I'm telling you, even when you're supposed to be watching the road, Alisa draws everyone's attention! None of the rest of us so much as appeared on the web site, but Alisa was in the days' recap photos twice, and also appeared in some video somewhere.

When we reached the bottom of the hill I asked Lorraine if I could go ahead and meet her at the top. "I thought you said you were done showing off!"
"I'm NOT showing off. You know how hard it is to climb at someone else's pace!" I whined. "I'll wait for you at the top, I promise!" She admitted that I was right and said she'd see me at the top and I rode off. Before the incline even started I saw a chick walking her bike, she had her thumb stuck out and for a moment I thought she was trying to hitch a ride until I realized she was giving the "I'm okay" sign for other riders so they wouldn't be asking her every 2 seconds if she needed help. I passed more and more people walking their bikes on the way up. What's strange was that on day 5, in which we climbed three similar hills, I didn't see anyone walking their bikes. It just goes to show how people can get psyched out by the hype, I guess. The hill turned out to be only a mile long and barley more than a 10% grade the whole way up. It was challenging, but not hard. My quads did not feel busted.

Lorraine and Alisa rolled over the top about a minute after I'd stopped, waved to me, and didn't even slow down to wait for me to finish taking off my jacket and re-mount. I had to haul ass down the hill to catch them, not like I'm complaining. I love descending. Shortly after I caught up with the Old Ladies we started seeing numbers painted on the ground. "We're doing part of the Wildflower long course," Alisa explained. We didn't do any of the hills, but I couldn't believe how rough the pavement was. It was that kind of rough pavement that makes your hands go numb and wares the skin off your butt in a big, fat hurry. I was regretting wearing my tri shorts (with the least padding) today of all days.

Lorraine was pulling, and I asked as politely as I could if she minded if I took a pull. "As long as you ride around 18 mph so that we can keep up," she warned me. "But I'm not chasing you if you go speeding away."
"I'll try to hold 18, I promise!" I said. "I know you ladies are old and fragile. I'd hate for you to get hurt trying to keep up." So I tried to hold 18 mph, but there was still a tail wind, and it wound up being more like 19 or 20. Dutifully, every few minutes I would look back to make sure Lorraine was still on my tail, and stop pedaling if too much of a gap had opened up. It was so pretty around there, and I picked up the speed to open up a gap so I could take out my camera and take a picture without anyone crashing into me.
I took the picture and slowed down to let Lorraine catch up. "You just can't help yourself, can you?!" she admonished.
"I wasn't dropping you! I promise! I just wanted to have some space to take a picture! Here, you take the lead." And I dropped to the back just to prove my point.

I think they forgave me, because Lorraine said to Alisa, "You know, Claire's a triathlete too." Alisa asked me what distance.
"I prefer the longer stuff. I'm not very fast, but I can keep going forever."
"Not fast, yeah, right, Ms. Speed Racer," Alisa scoffed.
"No, really!" I insisted. "I'm the most horrible runner you ever did see, aren't I, Lorraine?!"
Instead of validating me Lorraine said, "Do you know what she did a couple of weeks ago?!" She did a half ironman, and then she went and rode a century the next day."
"But it was my birthday!" I protested. Like that explained it.
"Why the hell would you want to do THAT on your birthday?!" asked Alisa.
"Cuz she's crazy," Lorraine laughed.
"You of all people are NOT allowed to call me crazy!" I protested. "Not when I do all this stuff because I'm trying to be more like you!"

Suddenly the rout took us onto Rte 101, which is a full-blown freeway at that point. The pavement on the shoulder was HORRIBLE. There were giant cracks and buckles every 10 feet like clockwork that felt like a kick in the ass each time you went over one. Right on the edge of the highway, in the 6" between the rumble strip and the white line, there was a tiny little window of acceptable pavement. We rode on that as enormous trucks (most of which were our gear trucks) flew past us inches away. Passing on the freeway was strictly prohibited, so when we came up on some slower riders, we slowed too. Not so some chicks that thought they were pretty cool. They just passed us right on the left as if pulling into freeway traffic were just like the traffic on any back road in any sleepy town.

We stopped for lunch in a tiny little town called Bradley that only had one schoolhouse for kids from kindergarten to 8th grade. God knows what they did when they went to high school. Got pregnant and dropped out, probably. The kids at the Bradley school were selling hamburgers, hotdogs, and veggie burgers to riders as a fund raiser. I paid $5 for a pin that said "ENDURANCE" in a 1st grader's handwriting, and the 10-year-old boy who sold it to me was strictly business. "You're a good salesman," I told him.
"Yeah, well I've been doing this for 3 years now," he said, like he were talking about selling stocks on Wall Street. "So I know how this stuff works."

After lunch we went back out to the freeway for several miles, and just like before the road had buckled regularly every 10 feet. My crotch was REALLY starting to bother me. Then we passed some riders who were just so impossibly slow, and HAD to pass them, which meant riding on the rumble strip. We made sure they knew what was going on, and gave them ample warning to move over, and then sprinted by over the rumble strip, which is WAY more severe than it feels in a car. That was the end of my butt. I was sure I'd never be able to sit on my saddle again, maybe never sit on ANYTHING again.

Coming in to rest stop 4 at around 50 miles they directed us down a road that seemed like it had been in bad need of re-paving since 1930. I took the whole thing standing up and I STILL think I knocked my brain loose. Rest Stop 4 is always the best, and today they were all dressed up in a Greece theme. Of course, there were about a dozen pink ladies and only one guy. Not only were they serving food, but they had out samples of shampoo and beauty products labeled "Beauty School Dropouts", and every half hour, they got on a stage with a Reidell High backdrop and performed a choreographed dance. It was hiLArious! And I have a video for you that I'll put up... just as soon as I can figure out how to get it off my camera...

In the meantime I'll give you a picture that didn't come out of Alisa, Trish, and me with one of the Pink Ladies.

On the way back to camp Alisa was tired and over it, and I wanted to get back quickly, since I'd be meeting up with my friend Crystal in Paso Robles and I wanted to get a run in with Lorraine first. We rode pretty hard back to camp, and Alisa was complaining about how thirsty she was. She was tired and we should have slowed down, but it was really hot, and we both just wanted to get back. Alisa stopped in Paso Robles to meet the other Old Ladies for coffee, and I went on to camp, thinking that Lorraine wouldn't stop (she did). I waited for about 15 minutes eating a 3-foot long piece of licorice waiting for her, but she never showed up, so I went to get my stuff. It was frigging BOILING out there, and people were walking around camp reminding us not to fall asleep in our tents, which would be too hot. Rumor was, a bunch of people were hospitalized that day for dehydration.

When I got to the gear truck I freaked out. My stuff wasn't there! Every morning you bring your bags and your tent to the truck with the same letter as your tent assignment, so we were in the P truck, then when the trucks got to the next camp ground, the roadies for the P truck would lay everyone's bags out in two long piles, one for black and blue, and one for all colors. When you got to camp you would drop your bike off in bike parking and then pick up your bags and your tent, which you would then pitch yourself. At each camp ground they would lay little tees with tent assignments like "addresses" in long lines by letter, so we were always between P-22 and P-24, but our across the aisle neighbors and back neighbors changed depending on the shape of the campsite for the day. The first night Shane and I tried putting out sleeping bags on the outside of the tent with our stuff piled up in the middle between us. This proved to be a mistake because during the night I wound up touching the person in the tent next to ours (or she was touching me), and Shane got soaked from the condensation on the tent. It was also loud and you could hear conversations and porta potties slamming all night.

I'm quite positive I did not mean to make such a stupid face!

So anyway, my bags were gone. What the fuck?! Had they left them in King City? Was I going to have to search all the other piles at all the other trucks to see if I found them there?! I asked the guy at the truck about it. "Colors are on this side, black and blue are on that side," he said in a disinterested voice. I'd figured that out, thank you.
"I have one of each," I said. "And I don't see either one here!"
"What's your tent number?" he asked.
"P-23."
"Oh yeah, some guy just came and picked them up. Yeah, I remember him, I'm sure of it."
Shane? I'd thought he was behind me. Camp had only just opened, and I know he hadn't come in after me because I'd watched everyone come in looking for Lorraine. I found our designated spot in the P section, and there the tent was, all set up, with both our bags inside. It was windy and Shane needed my stuff to keep the tent from blowing away, but still, it was nice of him.

I had been waiting for Lorraine for an hour and was all ready to go out running by myself when she finally waltzed into camp, so I waited another 15 minutes for her to get her stuff and change. "Where do you want to go?" she asked.
"I don't know, let's just run around the perimeter of camp and see what there is." So we did. We ran out the door and people yelled at us that we were crazy. Then we ran around the corner and people looked at us like we were crazy. Then we ran up a block, over a block, and found ourselves at a dead end.
"I'm hot," Lorraine said.
"This sucks," I said.
"Let's just go back to camp," Lorraine said.
"Good idea." So we ran about another block to the back entrance to the fairground and went to take a shower. We only ran for about 10 minutes. Then I showered and called my friend Crystal to come over with her baby.

It's weird seeing friends who have babies. Not that I think that my friends would be bad parents, it's just weird to see someone that you've seen drunk off their ass changing diapers and pushing a stroller. And it's no secret that I'm not a big fan of kids (for a laugh-out-loud funny post about kids, read Mindy's latest). My friends' kids are fine, I guess, I was having fun with the baby, but other people's children gross me out. I just want to squash them. I think what really turned the Old Ladies against me that first day was because Shane said something about kids. I said, "Eeew!" Shane knows how I feel about kids. He knows I don't ACTUALLY hate them... so to speak.
"You know you're sitting with a bunch of moms," Alisa said. I was vaguely aware that she wasn't getting the joke, but felt obligated to continue with my act.
"Eew," I said.
"Trish is a mother of three."
"Gross." I was getting uncomfortable with this game.
"Lorraine's got 2 kids."
"I know, disgusting, right?"
"I've got a son."
"And aren't you ashamed of yourself?" That's when it became clear that she didn't get the joke and I dropped it as quickly as I could.
When I got back to camp after playing with the baby for a couple of hours, the Old Ladies asked how it had gone. "The baby was so cute!" I said, then I gushed about all the cute things she'd done.
"I can't believe you just said a baby was cute," Lorraine said.
"What? You didn't think I was actually serious about all that, did you?!" I asked. "Sheesh, I'm not a monster." Well, okay, I was a little bit serious, but it seemed important to make a big deal about the baby considering my image right now.

And speaking of monsters, this was the first night that we tracked down our friend Meg. While Shane and I know Lorraine from working at the gym, Meg was more of a friend to drink and eat junk food with. She'd done the ride 3 years ago on minimal training, and even less training this time around. Meg was more into the not shaving, love your body the way it is, tree hugging, granola side of Santa Cruz. Meg is not stupid, but it's easy to make fun of her as if she were. There's something about her that makes you wonder if she should have a chaperon. We were sitting in her tent chatting when she said, "Hey, does this ever happen to you guys...?" When Meg starts a question this way, you know that she is about to say something really weird in a totally innocent voice like she thinks that this stuff happens to EVERYBODY. "I've got this rash on my leg... Wanna see it?" She rolled up her pants as she asked.
"NO! I do NOT want to see it!" I said. Like I said, it's easy to make fun of Meg. I took a quick glance at her leg and saw that she'd quit shaving and got grossed out before I ever saw any rash. Shane looked closer and looked even more horrified.
"And, well, I've let my armpit hair grow out and..." I already had a face of utter disgust on. Meg and I had had the body hair argument many times, I'd even managed to convince her to shave for a summer. She turned to Shane, "... Do you ever get... like a fungus... in your armpits?"
"NO!" Shane said, totally grossed out. Shane's into cleanliness too.
"Really?" This is the point where most people realize that their thing is weird, and get the hint to shut up. Not Meg, "It's like... orange, down at the tips of the hair, and kind of looks like... salmon eggs." Meg has a way of saying this stuff like it's all as normal as getting spinach stuck in your teeth.
"Gross! Can we stop talking about this now?!" Shane asked. He was still looking at her legs in horror. I also continued to look at her leg hair in horror for the rest of the conversation.

As we were walking back to our tent later Shane asked, "Did you see the rash on her legs?"
"No, I was too grossed out by her leg hair," I said.
"Dude, I've seen scabies, and that shit looked like scabies!" Of course it wasn't scabies, but the joke for the rest of the week was that Meg had scabies. Or it was the joke anyway, until in LA I got a rash too and insisted that it was prickly heat, and a bug flew out of Meg's girlfriend's hair and SHE became the gross one of the group.

Everyone seemed to be fading but me. Trish was feeling low and needed some Trish alone time. Alisa wasn't joking as much as she had been at the beginning of the ride. Shane was really disappointed about his knees and sick of being checked out by all the gay guys constantly. "Ugh!" he said. "Everyone thinks I'm gay, and no one knows you're a lesbian," he bitched as we walked by the porta potty line.
"Not anymore," I said. And again, all the people who were listening to our conversation started laughing.
Everyone seemed to be fading but Lorraine and I. The next day I decided to just wake up early and be one of the first people out. I really needed some alone time anyway, and having a whole afternoon to just chill sounded nice. So the next day I planned to get out early and ride the nearly 100 miles as fast as I could.

Total distance: 66.7 miles (I had Garmin off for about 20 miles)
Time in the saddle: 4:05:31
Average Speed: 16.8
Profile: Guess where the 20 missing miles are...
Map: