These play-by-play posts are boring even me (although they're serving as a good training journal, I guess). This weekend --for reasons that you'll see later in the post-- I decided that I'm going to turn an eye back to my cycling and do a bike-specific block. The high running miles are trashing my legs, so I think that I'm going to cut down on the junk runs (treadmill jaunts just to get in miles) and train a little smarter, not harder. So unless there is an overwhelming outcry, I'm going to continue with the traditional race report and rant style that I've used in the past. Please donate to the San Francisco AIDS Foundation anyway. (The previous sentence is a link, don't know why it's not showing that way on my screen.)Monday: Run 3 mi and Spinning (boring entry)
I have to surrender my Mondays to a Higher Power lately because they are beyond my control. Knowing that I wouldn't be able to swim, I brought stuff for a treadmill run which I would have to break into two chunks in the time between morning clients. The first workout was about 25 minutes of balls to the wall sprinting. I set my tabata timer and ran 10 minutes straight of 20s on 10s off at 9 mph (about a 6:30-ish mile?). The 3 miles does not count the time I was straddling the treadmill letting the belt run underneath me. I was going to repeat the workout in my second 45-min break, but I decided to get breakfast instead. Why beat myself up?
Monday I usually go swimming before Spinning, but this time I had a client right up until the very last second that I could be at the studio before I had to leave for class. That's alright, I'd be able to jump in the drink Wednesday and Thursday.
Monday I usually go swimming before Spinning, but this time I had a client right up until the very last second that I could be at the studio before I had to leave for class. That's alright, I'd be able to jump in the drink Wednesday and Thursday.
Tuesday: Run 6 mi
This blog is not a "bitch about work drama" blog, so I'll just say that a chick who was apathetic about her job and didn't want to go out of her way to fix a simple problem that may cost me $1000/month. After meeting with said road block on Tuesday morning I was fuming and furious. I had about an hour to run and went for some trails that I haven't run in awhile because the uphills are too long and the downhills not long enough. I had never been able to run these trails without walking, but this time I had only a little time and a lot of pent-up stress and frustration to work out.
I hit the hill and started running, and then I never stopped. I gained and lost about 1000' over 6 miles, including some 18 switchbacks on one climb. Finally! Evidence that I was getting better! I was never a good hill runner, but I've had nothing else to run around here and it finally seemed to be paying off slowly but surely. I really needed some affirmation at that moment. I've felt like I've been stuck in place with my fitness for months now, with all the terrain and training being so different. Maybe I was getting stronger than I thought.
I hit the hill and started running, and then I never stopped. I gained and lost about 1000' over 6 miles, including some 18 switchbacks on one climb. Finally! Evidence that I was getting better! I was never a good hill runner, but I've had nothing else to run around here and it finally seemed to be paying off slowly but surely. I really needed some affirmation at that moment. I've felt like I've been stuck in place with my fitness for months now, with all the terrain and training being so different. Maybe I was getting stronger than I thought.Wednesday: Run 6.7 mi, Spinning
Wednesday is my new day to have a big open gap in the middle of the day, but today my big open gap was filled with a stupid meeting at the Y. Afterward I had 4 hours before my class -- not enough time to go home. I planned to go for a quick run till the pool opened again (they close it in the afternoon so that they don't have to pay lifeguards at off-peak times), then go for a dip and get some work done. I ran an easy rolling hour on the treadmill, going only as fast as my legs wanted to take me and staring at simulated trails in Utah and North Dakota on the treadmill screen as I ran. Then I rinsed off and went down to the pool.
The pool had opened about 20 minutes before and already had people circle swimming in all the lanes. I looked at the fast lane and there was no way. I couldn't have swum a length without having to pass two other people. I asked the lifeguard what he thought I should do. He pointed to the medium lane. I looked at the guy wriggling down the pool reaching his arm way across his body and moving at an impossibly slow pace, then at the side stroker, and the dry-haired breast stroaker and left the pool. I HATE swimming sometimes!
Well at least now I had about 90 minutes to get some work done. I grabbed my laptop and took it to the kitchen. No sooner was I settled in, but a troop of about 15 wild teenagers came in and sat all around me. I picked up my computer and went to a classroom. The teenagers followed me there. At least they would be having a workshop and couldn't all scream at once. I tried to pull up the wifi and I couldn't. I went to the community center room. Couldn't find the wifi. Fuck, I had so much work to do and needed to get to the company blog and e-newsletter software. I went up to the room that the offices come off of, which was now being used as a nursery. Among screaming children I tried to resolve my wifi problem. After an hour of trying, I was no closer than when I'd started. My life was beginning to feel out of control and I wanted to kill someone. I slammed my laptop shut and flounced away with a shocked-looking 5-year-old staring at me. On the way to the locker room I put my laptop on the floor as I went to grab a drink. A slimy little kindergartner came by and stood on my fucking computer to get to the fountain next to me. "Don't stand on that!" I growled, pointing at the computer under her light-up pink shoes. She gave me a shocked look and backed away slowly. I gave her the same dirty look I would have given an adult in the same situation and flounced off to teach my class.
The pool had opened about 20 minutes before and already had people circle swimming in all the lanes. I looked at the fast lane and there was no way. I couldn't have swum a length without having to pass two other people. I asked the lifeguard what he thought I should do. He pointed to the medium lane. I looked at the guy wriggling down the pool reaching his arm way across his body and moving at an impossibly slow pace, then at the side stroker, and the dry-haired breast stroaker and left the pool. I HATE swimming sometimes!
Well at least now I had about 90 minutes to get some work done. I grabbed my laptop and took it to the kitchen. No sooner was I settled in, but a troop of about 15 wild teenagers came in and sat all around me. I picked up my computer and went to a classroom. The teenagers followed me there. At least they would be having a workshop and couldn't all scream at once. I tried to pull up the wifi and I couldn't. I went to the community center room. Couldn't find the wifi. Fuck, I had so much work to do and needed to get to the company blog and e-newsletter software. I went up to the room that the offices come off of, which was now being used as a nursery. Among screaming children I tried to resolve my wifi problem. After an hour of trying, I was no closer than when I'd started. My life was beginning to feel out of control and I wanted to kill someone. I slammed my laptop shut and flounced away with a shocked-looking 5-year-old staring at me. On the way to the locker room I put my laptop on the floor as I went to grab a drink. A slimy little kindergartner came by and stood on my fucking computer to get to the fountain next to me. "Don't stand on that!" I growled, pointing at the computer under her light-up pink shoes. She gave me a shocked look and backed away slowly. I gave her the same dirty look I would have given an adult in the same situation and flounced off to teach my class.
Thursday: Spinning
Thursday was really going to be the day that I finally jumped in the soup. When I was packing in the morning for my day: work stuff, swim stuff, stuff for spinning, change of underwear and socks, stuff for Girls on the Run, food... I looked at my swim suit sitting with my dirty laundry and I thought, don't forget that, Claire! So naturally I thought that I hadn't forgotten my swim suit. Still, before I left to go swimming, a sneaking suspicion snuck over me and I checked my backpack. Not only had I forgotten my suit, but I'd actually even pulled my spare suit out of my bag.
NO SOUP FOR YOU! was all I could think.
Thursday was really going to be the day that I finally jumped in the soup. When I was packing in the morning for my day: work stuff, swim stuff, stuff for spinning, change of underwear and socks, stuff for Girls on the Run, food... I looked at my swim suit sitting with my dirty laundry and I thought, don't forget that, Claire! So naturally I thought that I hadn't forgotten my swim suit. Still, before I left to go swimming, a sneaking suspicion snuck over me and I checked my backpack. Not only had I forgotten my suit, but I'd actually even pulled my spare suit out of my bag.NO SOUP FOR YOU! was all I could think.
Friday: Run 10 mi
This week had been one endless string of one minor annoying task after another and I couldn't be more excited that it was Friday. I was driving to work when I got a text from Judi. "Are you alright?" What the fuck?! I had no clue what she was talking about. "They say a tsunami is supposed to hit California at 11 am." It's 6 in the morning, I thought. How the hell am I supposed to know what will happen in 5 hours?
Once I got into work there was no way to get around the tsunami news. Both TVs were showing shocking footage from Japan, but in general the attitude about a tsunami here at home was pretty much a joke. The apocalypse had been moved forward to about 8 am for the Bay Area, but they were only predicting 6' swells, which didn't really matter since it would be low tide and most of the coast is cliffs anyway. I was slightly worried about getting home since the only way to get to my street is by going along the coast, but I drove home right when they said the tsunami was charging toward me anyway. My exit is a steep hill that drops down about 600' to the freeway, and beyond you can see the ocean (see left). People were lining up along the side of the hill to stare down at the ocean from a safe height and take pictures. No one seemed too worried about the end of days. By lunch time pretty much everyone in San Francisco had forgotten about the tsunami, including me.
Well, everyone had forgotten except the San Francisco police who had blocked off the most direct route to Golden Gate Park, which was where I'd decided to squeeze in my 10 mile run. I took an extra 30 minutes to cross the city on surface roads and park at the far end of the park and started running the trails that snake through the perimeter. When I got down to the ocean, I could see that they still had the Great Highway (the road that goes along the 4-ish miles of coast on the ocean side) blocked off with one lonely cop and one of the pope mobile looking things that meter maids use. They weren't letting traffic through, but they were letting pedestrians and cyclists through to the beach. Smart.
I continued running, and at one point I looked down at my Garmin to see how much further I still had to run and saw that the whole face had come off of my Garmin! What the...? I backtracked along the trail and found it lying there on the ground all in one piece. I tried to snap the pieces back together, but they would hold together no more. What's amazing is that the thing had worked right up until the moment that it had fallen apart on my wrist. I wanted to be pissed, but instead I was impressed. What would suck, though, was that I would have no GPS for the 200K I had coming up tomorrow. (Which would prove an even bigger pain than I anticipated).
I ran what I guessed might be about 10 miles, and then hopped in the car and sped off to work. I had an hour and a half to shower, eat, and drop off my bike at the bike shop to get some new tires and minor work done. I decided to drop by the bike shop first because I now know better than to leave anything valuable in my car, even if it's in the trunk. "Can you just adjust the limit screw in the rear so that I can get into my hardest descending gear in the back?" I asked. Then I turned toward the door.
"It'll only take a second," the guy said. I sighed.
The adjustment should have only taken a minute, so when he started looking like he was just fucking around with it I tried to distract him. "And can I get a decent training tire? Mine are falling apart." Even more to my dismay, the guy came around the counter to the tire display rack. I was very aware that I smelled like sweaty crotch and all I wanted was to get into the shower, I did not want this dreamy-eyed bike mechanic standing 6" away.
"Whatever, this one will be fine," I said choosing one that looked similar the tire that was already on my bike and was cheap.
"But it doesn't match your bike," he said.
"I'm stuck with a white bike now. I'm so pissed that I don't care if my tires match. Do you mind putting them on for me?" Now for sure that would get him off my case.
"You've worked at a bike shop and you can't put on your own tires?!" he asked.
"I can," I said. "But I don't feel like going through 3 tubes trying to get them on while they're still stiff. I'll pay the $10, can you just do it for me?" Not being able to get new tires off was how I met Lindsey.
"Yeah, I'll show you some tricks." I'm never going to get out of here!
He started trying to show me how to put tires on with your hands, which I know how to do, and when he couldn't even do it without a tire lever I said, "Do you guys sell any food around here?" If I didn't leave right now then I wasn't going to get anything to eat, and I really needed to have my carbohydrate stores topped up before tomorrow.
"No, but hold on, we have some Gü Chomps upstairs. Then he disappeared before I could say that I was going to GO AWAY and pick up the bike in an hour. I ate five sample packets and he still hadn't gotten the tire on. Finally I just came out with it, told him that I had to go shower before my client came in and I'd be back in an hour. When I came back to pay for it I joked, "Now it won't go flat again tomorrow, right?"
"As long as you ride it on French roads," the guy told me.
Once I got into work there was no way to get around the tsunami news. Both TVs were showing shocking footage from Japan, but in general the attitude about a tsunami here at home was pretty much a joke. The apocalypse had been moved forward to about 8 am for the Bay Area, but they were only predicting 6' swells, which didn't really matter since it would be low tide and most of the coast is cliffs anyway. I was slightly worried about getting home since the only way to get to my street is by going along the coast, but I drove home right when they said the tsunami was charging toward me anyway. My exit is a steep hill that drops down about 600' to the freeway, and beyond you can see the ocean (see left). People were lining up along the side of the hill to stare down at the ocean from a safe height and take pictures. No one seemed too worried about the end of days. By lunch time pretty much everyone in San Francisco had forgotten about the tsunami, including me.Well, everyone had forgotten except the San Francisco police who had blocked off the most direct route to Golden Gate Park, which was where I'd decided to squeeze in my 10 mile run. I took an extra 30 minutes to cross the city on surface roads and park at the far end of the park and started running the trails that snake through the perimeter. When I got down to the ocean, I could see that they still had the Great Highway (the road that goes along the 4-ish miles of coast on the ocean side) blocked off with one lonely cop and one of the pope mobile looking things that meter maids use. They weren't letting traffic through, but they were letting pedestrians and cyclists through to the beach. Smart.
I continued running, and at one point I looked down at my Garmin to see how much further I still had to run and saw that the whole face had come off of my Garmin! What the...? I backtracked along the trail and found it lying there on the ground all in one piece. I tried to snap the pieces back together, but they would hold together no more. What's amazing is that the thing had worked right up until the moment that it had fallen apart on my wrist. I wanted to be pissed, but instead I was impressed. What would suck, though, was that I would have no GPS for the 200K I had coming up tomorrow. (Which would prove an even bigger pain than I anticipated).I ran what I guessed might be about 10 miles, and then hopped in the car and sped off to work. I had an hour and a half to shower, eat, and drop off my bike at the bike shop to get some new tires and minor work done. I decided to drop by the bike shop first because I now know better than to leave anything valuable in my car, even if it's in the trunk. "Can you just adjust the limit screw in the rear so that I can get into my hardest descending gear in the back?" I asked. Then I turned toward the door.
"It'll only take a second," the guy said. I sighed.
The adjustment should have only taken a minute, so when he started looking like he was just fucking around with it I tried to distract him. "And can I get a decent training tire? Mine are falling apart." Even more to my dismay, the guy came around the counter to the tire display rack. I was very aware that I smelled like sweaty crotch and all I wanted was to get into the shower, I did not want this dreamy-eyed bike mechanic standing 6" away.
"Whatever, this one will be fine," I said choosing one that looked similar the tire that was already on my bike and was cheap.
"But it doesn't match your bike," he said.
"I'm stuck with a white bike now. I'm so pissed that I don't care if my tires match. Do you mind putting them on for me?" Now for sure that would get him off my case.
"You've worked at a bike shop and you can't put on your own tires?!" he asked.
"I can," I said. "But I don't feel like going through 3 tubes trying to get them on while they're still stiff. I'll pay the $10, can you just do it for me?" Not being able to get new tires off was how I met Lindsey.
"Yeah, I'll show you some tricks." I'm never going to get out of here!
He started trying to show me how to put tires on with your hands, which I know how to do, and when he couldn't even do it without a tire lever I said, "Do you guys sell any food around here?" If I didn't leave right now then I wasn't going to get anything to eat, and I really needed to have my carbohydrate stores topped up before tomorrow.
"No, but hold on, we have some Gü Chomps upstairs. Then he disappeared before I could say that I was going to GO AWAY and pick up the bike in an hour. I ate five sample packets and he still hadn't gotten the tire on. Finally I just came out with it, told him that I had to go shower before my client came in and I'd be back in an hour. When I came back to pay for it I joked, "Now it won't go flat again tomorrow, right?"
"As long as you ride it on French roads," the guy told me.
Saturday: Bike ~120 mi
The Moss Beach 200K started in downtown Santa Cruz and followed Highway 1 nearly the whole way back to my house. I showed up with plenty of time to put my bike together, check in, and go to the bathroom. It had said on the website that there would be bathrooms at the start, so once I got my brevet card I went over to the public bathrooms across the street which were... locked. Goddamnmotherfucker! I have yet to go to a brevet here that has a fucking bathroom at the start of a race that lasts 6-13 hours. I went behind the building and was about to drop my shorts in a secluded corner when I saw a woman walking toward me on a hiking trail. Fuck lady, hurry up and pass! I thought. She was walking slowly and it would take her a good two minutes to get out of sight. Then she saw something on the ground that interested her, stopped and crouched down to get a better look. Fuck it! I thought and pulled down my shorts anyway. I got back to the start just in time for the pre-race meeting. "Don't do anything stupid," the guy said. And that was it. We left.
The guys took it slow getting out of Santa Cruz, but once we hit the first slight incline they poured it on. Highway 1 isn't "hilly," but it's relentlessly undulating. Without my GPS, I had no way to gauge whether these guys were fast or if I was just riding like shit. One thing was for sure though, I was going to be in a tight spot if they kept up this pace for the whole 200K. Since this road had been my one and only training route for my first triathlon, I had a rough idea about distances for the first 28 miles: start at the spot where Shane and I used to drink 40s and talk about heartbreak, 9 miles to the naked beach where we dropped acid and mushrooms next to masterbating naked men, 11 miles to the tracks in Davenport, 25 miles to where I tore my tire that one time and had to wait with a homeless Hawaiian man for 3 hours for Lorraine to get off of work and come pick me up, 28 miles to Pigeon Point and then I was in uncharted territory.
Only we didn't get to Pigeon Point and instead turned off into Butano State Park instead, and now there were real hills! And suddenly... the boys slowed down! The pack splintered and I found my way among the stronger guys gliding up and down the hills at a conversational pace. When we came back out onto Highway One, we were in a group of three guys on TT bikes who looked too good on their bikes to be randos, and a guy with funny teeth and a SF Randonneurs vest who kept falling off the pace and then shooting past us.
As soon as we crossed the town line into Moss Beach I heard a funny hiss. Noooo! I thought. Then I felt the telltale vibrations from the road that meant I had a flat. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd had a flat on the road, and three of those times had happened on Highway 1. The first was the aforementioned time when I was stranded all afternoon waiting for Lorraine. The second was a few months later in my first half ironman when I flatted 5 miles from the finish and my spare tube had a faulty valve.
I was so pissed. I would have been better off with my 2000-mile-old tires that had been falling apart at the seams. Sure, it wasn't really the bike shop's fault, but they were already on my shit list for adjusting the front derrailleur (which I hadn't said anything was wrong with) to now rub against my chain every time I was in the small ring, and not putting lube on my chain which I thought was standard practice every time a bike was in the stand. I sat down in the middle of the field to take off the tire. It was so stiff that it kept flinging my tire lever into the middle of the field. The third time this happened, I flung the wheel into the grass and screamed.
Finally I got the flat fixed, and I hit the road. I found the triathlon boys only about a mile up the street at the turnaround checkpoint. I asked them to wait just a second, ran in and got a receipt, and came back outside ready to hit the road again. But no sooner had we hit our stride again and I felt the road underneath me again. Nooooooooooo! Another flat. I had had to use a tire lever to get the tire back on, and it looked like I'd nicked the tube after all. I came to a halt and watched the boys disappear down the road.
Now I had no more tubes, no more cartridges, no patch kit, and I was all alone. I stood at the side of the road trying to decide what to do. My house was only 8 miles away to the north. My car was 55 miles away to the south. What could I do? Finally I trudged back to the checkpoint where now the crowd was all weirdo randos with holes in their shorts and suitcases on their bikes. "Does anyone have a spare tube and a pump?" I asked dejectedly.
I had tried to fix it myself, and so when a guy offered to show me some "secrets" to not using a tire lever, I just let him do it and pretended to care about his tips. Once the tire was on, he took off leaving me to pump it and put everything back together. It was fine, but now I was alone and without a cue sheet. I knew how to get back to Santa Cruz, but not what turns to make in Butano Park to get to the fourth checkpoint. I told myself that if I met up with someone before the turn-off then I would do the whole route, but if not then I would just continue straight along Highway 1 back to Santa Cruz. I'd only be cutting off about 4 miles anyway, and they were hilly miles.
I thought I'd be throwing a mental temper tantrum once I was by myself, but I didn't. I actually felt fresher going my own pace. This was me at my best: just me alone with my bike over long distances. The wind, which had been at our backs going north (which never happens) had turned some time while I was fixing my flats, and I had another tailwind coming home. As I approached the turn-off I saw another rider up ahead and found myself staring down at my top tube, hoping that I wouldn't see where he or she turned so I wouldn't have to do the extra riding. It was irrational because I was feeling great, but I wanted to be alone. There was no avoiding her, however, and I was relieved to see that she was a mountain biker; not part of our crew. I rolled into Santa Cruz around 2:00, 7 hours after starting, and realized that I had no idea where the finish was. At the boardwalk maybe? I thought. When I hit the car (before the boardwalk), I decided that since I was going to be a DNF anyway, I might as well pack up the car and look online to find out where the finish was. It was actually over 2 miles behind me.
So by my reckoning, I probably did at least 120 of the 125 miles, but since I hadn't been to the final checkpoint there was nothing that I could do. I drove to the brevet director's house, told him I was alive, and tore up my card while he wrote "DNF" next to my name. Then I went back out onto his street of million dollar homes and pulled off my shorts right there on the street to put on underpants and jeans. Hey, it's Santa Cruz after all; they have a 'clothing optional' ordinance. As I was cowering ass-out behind my passenger side door (I am a little bit modest) the rando guy with the funny teeth who had been riding with us at the turn-around rolled up to the house. So I hadn't even finished that badly, even though I didn't finish at all!
What annoyed me most of all was that I think I had ridden well in spite of everything, but I would never know how well I'd ridden. By my reckoning, I was off the bike for about 30-40 minutes (5 min at checkpoint 1, 10 min for flat 1, 3 min at checkpoint 2, 20 min for flat 2), giving me a finishing time of somewhere between 6:30 and 7 hours for 120-ish miles, 55+ of which I'd ridden by myself at no special pace. What the hell kind of shape was I in? Good or bad?!
The Moss Beach 200K started in downtown Santa Cruz and followed Highway 1 nearly the whole way back to my house. I showed up with plenty of time to put my bike together, check in, and go to the bathroom. It had said on the website that there would be bathrooms at the start, so once I got my brevet card I went over to the public bathrooms across the street which were... locked. Goddamnmotherfucker! I have yet to go to a brevet here that has a fucking bathroom at the start of a race that lasts 6-13 hours. I went behind the building and was about to drop my shorts in a secluded corner when I saw a woman walking toward me on a hiking trail. Fuck lady, hurry up and pass! I thought. She was walking slowly and it would take her a good two minutes to get out of sight. Then she saw something on the ground that interested her, stopped and crouched down to get a better look. Fuck it! I thought and pulled down my shorts anyway. I got back to the start just in time for the pre-race meeting. "Don't do anything stupid," the guy said. And that was it. We left.The guys took it slow getting out of Santa Cruz, but once we hit the first slight incline they poured it on. Highway 1 isn't "hilly," but it's relentlessly undulating. Without my GPS, I had no way to gauge whether these guys were fast or if I was just riding like shit. One thing was for sure though, I was going to be in a tight spot if they kept up this pace for the whole 200K. Since this road had been my one and only training route for my first triathlon, I had a rough idea about distances for the first 28 miles: start at the spot where Shane and I used to drink 40s and talk about heartbreak, 9 miles to the naked beach where we dropped acid and mushrooms next to masterbating naked men, 11 miles to the tracks in Davenport, 25 miles to where I tore my tire that one time and had to wait with a homeless Hawaiian man for 3 hours for Lorraine to get off of work and come pick me up, 28 miles to Pigeon Point and then I was in uncharted territory.Only we didn't get to Pigeon Point and instead turned off into Butano State Park instead, and now there were real hills! And suddenly... the boys slowed down! The pack splintered and I found my way among the stronger guys gliding up and down the hills at a conversational pace. When we came back out onto Highway One, we were in a group of three guys on TT bikes who looked too good on their bikes to be randos, and a guy with funny teeth and a SF Randonneurs vest who kept falling off the pace and then shooting past us.
As soon as we crossed the town line into Moss Beach I heard a funny hiss. Noooo! I thought. Then I felt the telltale vibrations from the road that meant I had a flat. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd had a flat on the road, and three of those times had happened on Highway 1. The first was the aforementioned time when I was stranded all afternoon waiting for Lorraine. The second was a few months later in my first half ironman when I flatted 5 miles from the finish and my spare tube had a faulty valve.
I was so pissed. I would have been better off with my 2000-mile-old tires that had been falling apart at the seams. Sure, it wasn't really the bike shop's fault, but they were already on my shit list for adjusting the front derrailleur (which I hadn't said anything was wrong with) to now rub against my chain every time I was in the small ring, and not putting lube on my chain which I thought was standard practice every time a bike was in the stand. I sat down in the middle of the field to take off the tire. It was so stiff that it kept flinging my tire lever into the middle of the field. The third time this happened, I flung the wheel into the grass and screamed.
Finally I got the flat fixed, and I hit the road. I found the triathlon boys only about a mile up the street at the turnaround checkpoint. I asked them to wait just a second, ran in and got a receipt, and came back outside ready to hit the road again. But no sooner had we hit our stride again and I felt the road underneath me again. Nooooooooooo! Another flat. I had had to use a tire lever to get the tire back on, and it looked like I'd nicked the tube after all. I came to a halt and watched the boys disappear down the road.
Now I had no more tubes, no more cartridges, no patch kit, and I was all alone. I stood at the side of the road trying to decide what to do. My house was only 8 miles away to the north. My car was 55 miles away to the south. What could I do? Finally I trudged back to the checkpoint where now the crowd was all weirdo randos with holes in their shorts and suitcases on their bikes. "Does anyone have a spare tube and a pump?" I asked dejectedly.
I had tried to fix it myself, and so when a guy offered to show me some "secrets" to not using a tire lever, I just let him do it and pretended to care about his tips. Once the tire was on, he took off leaving me to pump it and put everything back together. It was fine, but now I was alone and without a cue sheet. I knew how to get back to Santa Cruz, but not what turns to make in Butano Park to get to the fourth checkpoint. I told myself that if I met up with someone before the turn-off then I would do the whole route, but if not then I would just continue straight along Highway 1 back to Santa Cruz. I'd only be cutting off about 4 miles anyway, and they were hilly miles.
I thought I'd be throwing a mental temper tantrum once I was by myself, but I didn't. I actually felt fresher going my own pace. This was me at my best: just me alone with my bike over long distances. The wind, which had been at our backs going north (which never happens) had turned some time while I was fixing my flats, and I had another tailwind coming home. As I approached the turn-off I saw another rider up ahead and found myself staring down at my top tube, hoping that I wouldn't see where he or she turned so I wouldn't have to do the extra riding. It was irrational because I was feeling great, but I wanted to be alone. There was no avoiding her, however, and I was relieved to see that she was a mountain biker; not part of our crew. I rolled into Santa Cruz around 2:00, 7 hours after starting, and realized that I had no idea where the finish was. At the boardwalk maybe? I thought. When I hit the car (before the boardwalk), I decided that since I was going to be a DNF anyway, I might as well pack up the car and look online to find out where the finish was. It was actually over 2 miles behind me.
So by my reckoning, I probably did at least 120 of the 125 miles, but since I hadn't been to the final checkpoint there was nothing that I could do. I drove to the brevet director's house, told him I was alive, and tore up my card while he wrote "DNF" next to my name. Then I went back out onto his street of million dollar homes and pulled off my shorts right there on the street to put on underpants and jeans. Hey, it's Santa Cruz after all; they have a 'clothing optional' ordinance. As I was cowering ass-out behind my passenger side door (I am a little bit modest) the rando guy with the funny teeth who had been riding with us at the turn-around rolled up to the house. So I hadn't even finished that badly, even though I didn't finish at all!
What annoyed me most of all was that I think I had ridden well in spite of everything, but I would never know how well I'd ridden. By my reckoning, I was off the bike for about 30-40 minutes (5 min at checkpoint 1, 10 min for flat 1, 3 min at checkpoint 2, 20 min for flat 2), giving me a finishing time of somewhere between 6:30 and 7 hours for 120-ish miles, 55+ of which I'd ridden by myself at no special pace. What the hell kind of shape was I in? Good or bad?!
Sunday: Bike 13.2 mi
While I was riding I had spent a lot of time thinking about how I needed to get my climbing together. I always get dropped on the climbs, and although I can usually claw my way back up to the pack, I'd tire out a lot less if I could just stay with the big boys on the climbs right from the 
beginning. I've never been a strong climber, but ever since I moved to San Francisco and haven't been able to ride outside much, what climbing gains I made with Eric last year seem to be eroding flat. I also thought that I should probably start scouting the climbs for the double centuries that I was targeting over the next few months.
The most famous climb in the three double centuries in this year's California Triple Crown was Mt. Tamalpias, or "Mt. Tam" which dominates the horizon when you look north from the City. I didn't need to be doing another long, tough ride, but I did want to do some reconnoitering for the next time that I had to put together a solo ride, so I drove over to Stinson Beach (a drive that proved more dizzying than the climb itself) to ride the most direct way from sea level to the 2500' peak 6.5 miles away.
In the first fraction of a mile I felt like I was going to die atop my bike, but as my legs warmed up the climb wasn't actually so bad. I only encountered 3 cyclists going my way, but I passed them all easily. One of them was a woman from the Dolce Vita team who had not invited me to join when I asked for a late entry. I make it a point to drop them like they're hot every time I pass them on the road. Bitches.
It was a cool, blustery day and cold raindrops started falling as I reached the summit. I was tired and dehydrated and my chain was making a terrible noise against my derailleur, and yet I couldn't shake the feeling that I was the luckiest person in the world. It hadn't always looked like I would land on my feet, but here I was doing what I love to do in the most beautiful places I'd ever seen. If you'd told me a year ago that Lindsey dumping me would be the best thing that ever happened to me, I probably would have drunk a liter of Drain-O at the suggestion that life would go on without her. But all I could think as I came around a corner and saw the Marin Headlands below me and then the sun breaking through the clouds over San Francisco, all I could think was that Lindsey dumping me was the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
beginning. I've never been a strong climber, but ever since I moved to San Francisco and haven't been able to ride outside much, what climbing gains I made with Eric last year seem to be eroding flat. I also thought that I should probably start scouting the climbs for the double centuries that I was targeting over the next few months.The most famous climb in the three double centuries in this year's California Triple Crown was Mt. Tamalpias, or "Mt. Tam" which dominates the horizon when you look north from the City. I didn't need to be doing another long, tough ride, but I did want to do some reconnoitering for the next time that I had to put together a solo ride, so I drove over to Stinson Beach (a drive that proved more dizzying than the climb itself) to ride the most direct way from sea level to the 2500' peak 6.5 miles away.
In the first fraction of a mile I felt like I was going to die atop my bike, but as my legs warmed up the climb wasn't actually so bad. I only encountered 3 cyclists going my way, but I passed them all easily. One of them was a woman from the Dolce Vita team who had not invited me to join when I asked for a late entry. I make it a point to drop them like they're hot every time I pass them on the road. Bitches.
It was a cool, blustery day and cold raindrops started falling as I reached the summit. I was tired and dehydrated and my chain was making a terrible noise against my derailleur, and yet I couldn't shake the feeling that I was the luckiest person in the world. It hadn't always looked like I would land on my feet, but here I was doing what I love to do in the most beautiful places I'd ever seen. If you'd told me a year ago that Lindsey dumping me would be the best thing that ever happened to me, I probably would have drunk a liter of Drain-O at the suggestion that life would go on without her. But all I could think as I came around a corner and saw the Marin Headlands below me and then the sun breaking through the clouds over San Francisco, all I could think was that Lindsey dumping me was the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
2 comments:
glad to see the ending to that story. im on day 15.
And among all the stressful little annoying events of the week, all it took was the view off of a mountain top to give you the big picture that you are one lucky girl. Blessed and lucky!
Love you!
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