How not to fight a cold...

If you've been following my Twit feed on the sidebar, you know that I've been sick. What started as just a light cough like you get when you've been breathing too much dry air has now turned into a SARS-like painful, phlegmy bronchiole hailstorm. But the weather was finally acting spring-like, and breathing knives just wasn't a good enough excuse to miss a solid weekend of outdoor riding. Plus, I was signed up for a 100K ride in the Berkshires, and I couldn't let those $10 go to waste.

On Saturday I managed to squeeze in just under 50 miles before my front tire punctured 4 short (but not short enough) miles from home. So my fifth flat in 2 weeks led me to the bike shop for the third time in 24 hours, and I was pissed. I didn't even want to SEE my unreliable, sorry excuse for a bicycle by the time the day was over. I just wanted to give someone an earful and dump my misery on someone else before I went home to sulk for the evening. The flat turned into a happy accident, though. Instead of getting one of the grease monkey boys as my mechanic, I got the only girl in the shop... the one I've been checking out for some months now. I couldn't very well dump my sour mood on her. In the end that flat tire it lead to dinner with a very nice young lady whose only unattractive feature was that she rides a pink mountain bike (not actually the bike pictured at left). So I can't complain. By the time I got home, I only had 3 hours before my 3:30 wake-up call. By the time I quit tossing and turning, obsessing about what an awkward fool I am, I was at roughly T-minus 2 hours. And I couldn't have caffeine in the morning. This was going to suck.

I hit the road at 4:30 in order to be at the start by 6:30 with plenty of time to set up before the 7 am start. Why the hell did we have to start at 7 am when the ride was only 60 miles long, and the sun didn't rise until after 6:30?! It was going to be nearly 60º later in the day, but right now it was still well below freezing. By the time the world's slowest pooper finished his business, I had precious few minutes to pee, get everything organized in my many pockets and pouches and hit the road. When everybody left, I was still pumping up my tires. I took off down the road after them, and then realized that my helmet and gloves were still sitting in front of the shop. By the time I caught up with the group around half a mile later, my hands were already frozen. I hadn't thought to bring warm gloves, and even my fingerless cycling gloves were in my back pocket (since I'd been in such a hurry to leave). Before the 5-mile mark, I was already thinking of turning back.

It was so cold! I had seen the weather report saying that it was going to be in the high 20's until 9:00, but rather than coming prepared, I decided to ignore it. How could it possibly be in the 20's in the morning when it planned to get up to the 60's in the afternoon? Impossible! But lo and behold, people who had thermometers on their bikes said that it didn't get above 25º for the first 2 hours of the ride. On the first noticeable descent I was thinking seriously about if I could follow the cue sheet backwards back to the shop, when the ubiquitous gregarious rider (the one who kept saying "HOOOOO-ly....!" every time we went over some potholes and kept expecting everyone to laugh) commented on my naked hands. Thank goodness for the kindness of strangers, because when a girl on the ass-end of a tandem heard that, she reached into her partner's backpack and took out a spare pair without ever even having to stop the bike.

With my frozen hands taken care of, I now noticed how cold the rest of me was. I could feel the cold air blowing though the vents on my helmet, and I hadn't thought to wear a hat underneath. My feet were frozen and aching because I had no booties and hadn't even thought to wear warm socks. And even though I was wearing winter tights on the bottom, and 4 layers on top, none of them were wind blocking, and I felt naked in the wind. All I wanted was to hit the far checkpoint so that I could warm up a bit. Despite having lungs that felt like they were stuffed with cotton, I was keeping up with the lead riders without any extra effort. I was alright as long as I didn't have to breathe hard. It was windy, and no one was pulling a particularly fast pace. As long as I sat in on someone's wheel, I could hang in there.

Then it was my turn to pull. I hopped on the front and barreled into the wind. I like pulling, but I find it so disorienting. You can't see anyone but the person directly behind you, so you can't tell if people are keeping up or dropping off the back. You're working 20-30% harder than you were back in the pack, so it's hard to tell if you're speeding up or slowing down. Plus, you have to point out obstacles. I'm no good at pointing out potholes and crap in the road. I don't notice it until I'm practically on top of it myself, and whenever I try to talk at speed, my voice always comes out quieter and breathier than I expected. Not to mention, my arms were frozen, and my wrists felt sluggish. Rather than waving my hand over gravel, all I was able to muster was a wrist flick. Instead of pointing at potholes, all I could manage was to drop my arm off the handlebars and point limply as I rode past it. And there were potholes and shit in the road everywhere. Some of them were only an inch or two deep, but there were several the size of Madagascar that went a good 6–8" into the pavement. I was very aware that if I got a flat tire, I wouldn't be able to stop shivering enough to change it. I zoned out for a few seconds staring at a particularly large pothole that might lead to China for all I knew and thinking of all the horrible things it could do to a bike, when I went splashing through a mostly-frozen puddle. I felt my bike slipping and yelled out, "ICE!!!", but it wouldn't have been in time for anyone to avoid it. Luckily, I didn't fall over and most people swerved around the puddle. Finally, after about the puddle and 5-10 minutes of pulling, I decided it was time to drop back and let someone else take the lead.

By the time we hit the checkpoint, even my legs were feeling sluggish. Everything below the knees was burning, and the same rigor mortis that had taken over my wrists was taking over my legs as well. The checkpoint was a huge Irving gas station with a Dunkin' Donuts and a Subway inside, and after getting my brevet card signed to prove I'd been there, I parked myself smack in the middle of that gas station and I stood there until I stopped shivering. Once I got outside again, most of the faster riders I'd come in with had already left. The guys that were still there were the kinds on vintage bicycles who brought bar bags on a 60-mile ride and took the non-competitive aspect of a brevet very seriously. I had a goal of not having to look at a cue sheet for the entire ride, so I decided to wait for them as they shoved entire bagels or Subway sandwiches into their mouths. It was much warmer now, and I had only begun to shiver again by the time they finished their food and saddled up.

I hate riding with cue sheets. As soon as I start traveling down a road, I wonder if I've already missed the turn. What if I have to double back? How long will it take me to figure out that I'm going the wrong way? What if the street sign is missing? These guys knew the course, but they were moving so much slower than I would have ever ridden normally. Every time there was a short hill, I was one of the first to the top. What I really couldn't understand was why they were taking so long to get down the hill on the other side. I was sitting up and braking, and they still seemed to be dropping farther and farther back. I was getting colder rather than warmer as we rode, and my shoulders were really starting to cramp up from the shivering. When 2 faster riders came along (one of whom had toppled over in the gas station parking lot because he couldn't get clipped out in time – again, who DOES that???), I hopped on with them.

Finally, in the last 5 miles or so, I started to feel warm. Temperatures were just climbing into the forties, and I was already finishing my ride. What the hell??? I managed to track down the tandem riders and give back the gloves. "You might want to wash them," I said sheepishly. "I didn't want to, but I kind of snotted all over them." The girl who had lent them to me was much prettier in normal clothes than she had been in a helmet and sunglasses, and I thought that maybe hating all female riders who thought they could keep up with me might actually be a mistake on my part.

An example of what a brevet card looks like. Not mine.

After I shot the shit for several minutes with the tandem couple, I had to chat with the 2 guys who I had ridden in to the finish with, and then with the comedian when he rolled up, I went in to hand in my card. When I finally walked in the door and the girl in the shop wrote the time on my brevet card, I tried not to cringe. All those lost minutes! But brevets are supposed to be non-competitive. And I was feeling like shit. I wasn't trying to ride hard today. Still, I was a bit chagrined to think that these results would be posted.

All in all, I suppose that I probably would have been better served to stay in bed on Sunday morning rather than riding in the freezing cold at the crack of dawn with a chest cold. But the course was beautiful and easy. I just can't wait until winter is done with us once and for all! Sorry there were no pictures, but I didn't have the dexterity with gloves on to pull my camera out and take a couple of shots. I promise more pictures soon.