The Good, Bad, and The Ugly

As in any of life's disciplines, experience takes on many forms. In our youth, we foolishly think that things eventually become easier at some magical point. We wait and wait and wait for that moment when our efforts become, effortless. Slowly, the realization sinks in that you never will arrive, it never becomes easier, and there will always be the bad alongside with the good.

The first 10 years of my cycling experience were an unrelenting pursuit to arrive, to be strong, and be fast. The following five years was like a roller coaster in slow motion, grasping the rope at its end in an effort to attain that firm hold. I was almost there, if I could just get to the top of the last rise.

These last five years have been a gradual eye opening transition to relax and enjoy the ride on this never ending roller coaster we call cycling. It cannot all be good. There is some bad and sometimes downright ugly. But it all fits together for one heck of a ride!

We have made the conscious decision to avoid a good bit of the ugly lately. Suffering just for the sake of suffering is not good, and can lead to bad things. Things like a bad attitude, a weak body, and a twisted mind. No, there's enough ugly in this world without us adding to it. I've enjoyed our new level of maturity in cycling in knowing how to keep it good and fun while continuing to stretch ourselves to a degree.

Tuesday nights road rides have been replaced with the Big Creek mountain bike playtime. Plenty of pictures have been posted previously, so I felt entitled to enjoy a night off from documentation. This Tuesday night was all mine to indulge in a full on ride. How good it was to pull up to a parking lot jam packed with all our friends. Even though it was 998 degrees, everyone was eager to hit the dirt.

I spied Raja, Treybiker, Cyclesmith, Millhouse, and Burch heading to the trailhead, so I quickly jumped on their train. With no camera in tow, I had opted to ride sans camelbak, and had my water bottle in my jersey pocket. I enjoyed the freedom of a weightless back, but could not access any refreshing water on a whim. The pace was brisk and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my parched mouth. If I could just survive till the freeride area, I could take a big gulp. Ah, how do the pros race with just a water bottle?!? That would be ugly in my case. Good thing I'm not a pro.

Raja, Cyclesmith, and I did numerous runs down the gully. The first time I came here a few months ago on my new MotoLite, I remember hanging onto Raja and Treybiker on the downhill. Scared me senseless, but the flow was on and all was good. Every time since, I have not been able to dial into that focus and flow. Staying on Raja's wheel has no longer been an option for me. I just cannot handle the speed.

When we get to the top of the run, I like to just keep it going. If I stop and linger at the top, it allows me too much time to scare myself and lose my nerve. This time, we kept it going without too many delays, but I still could not keep chase with Raja.

Cyclesmith was riding fast, but sensibly enough not to push the envelope too far. He's a Class A downhiller, but I think he, like me, no longer feels the need to make every pass a World Cup Run. Feeling more comfortable with him as my Captain, I tried to position myself behind him for each session. Trying to focus on my balance, leaning my body in the turns, getting my weight back, I felt less discombobulated descending than I have the past few weeks.

After 10 repeats, it was time to hit the singletrack. Raja led me and Ony back to the cars, setting a nice pace. Back at the parking lot, the light was fading, but there was still time for Robb to lead a handful of us out for one more short lap. I don't know what Robb was smokin', but he was flying and it became an all out race.

Finally towards the end, I gave up. Things were getting bad, and I did not want to load my legs up with acid. Tomorrow's ride was going to be ugly enough as it was, and I knew this would only prove to hurt me. I am only good for one hard effort a week. Let's not waste it here amongst friends. I'd rather be off the back on my mountain bike than left for dead on the side of road by a pack of ravenous shavers.

An hour and half workout for Tuesday night's dirt ride, not too bad. I might be okay for Wednesday, not good, but hopefully not bad.

While stretching Tuesday afternoon before the ride, I managed to get a rib out of sorts. Searing pain shot up the left side of my back, and I could not get in a deep breath without a reminder. As long as I did not breathe too deep while riding, I could handle it. Needless to say, that was a tricky feat. The heat was brutal, and I was gasping for any ounce of oxygen I could filter through the humidity. This pain better subside before Wednesday or it's going to be really ugly. I'll sleep it off and reassess in the morning.

Wednesday morning I awaken from a comatose slumber. Take a deep breath. Is it better? Inhaling slowly.....AH! No, we're not good. Still ugly. Time for a SOS call to my Torturer, Janusz. What would I do without Janusz to put me back together again (and again and again). It's like Humpdy Dumpty when he sees me coming.

Janusz is one of the best things that has happened in my life. In 1997 something really ugly happened to me when my bike ride coincided with a car on the road one afternoon. If I had had Janusz at that time, I firmly believe my recovery would have been much different. Instead he and his wife were dancing in Germany, and I was left to my limited knowledge of physical therapy and a doctor's less than limited knowledge of physical therapy. Throw on top of that a nasty mtn bike accident in '99 and another bike/car incident in '02 and you have the makings of a big ole mess of scar tissue and messed up muscles in the guise of my body. Years of roaming from one bad therapist/doctor to another and I finally hooked up with a good thing, my beloved Janusz Mazon.

As always, my muscles and ribs were made compliant again, and I was ready to face another ride. Wednesday afternoon's workout was the Outspokin ride. Last time I did this ride a few weeks ago I got lucky. The heavy hitters were in short supply and the A Group pulled me along in a nice steady consistent pace. Somehow I knew this time lady luck would not be on my side.

Shane and Cerar were there. (I actually asked Cerar one day how you properly spell his name, sounds like we call him Caesar.) I did not know the other players, but that did not matter. These 2 bad boys had a couple more notches in their belt than mine. It was going to be an ugly scene for sure. But I was okay with that. I came here with one goal in mind; to get in a good workout. This was not social hour or fun time. Things cannot always be good. You have to sow in a little pain, let in the bad, before you can reap the good.

In our preride chatter, Shane said, "Yea, I'm tired tonight." Ah, yes, I know that language; Shaverlish. Been conversing in it for 20 years now. Translated into English he was saying, "I'm riding so strong tonight that I'm going to chew you up and spit you out before you ever even know what hit ya." I gathered my wits about me and decided to give it all I had. I would make it a game. Let's see how long it takes ya'll to crack me; 5 minutes, 10, do I hear 20? Don't hold back fellas, give me all you got!

They did. Without a doubt. At first the group eased out innocently enough along the beautiful rolling roads. Having already done this once, I knew there were some downhills early on the course. Why the tentative riders get up front for a downhill, I do not know. It irritates me, but not as much as it annoys Concrete Blonde. Oh, it got her gander last time, and I remembered that. Therefore, I quickly maneuvered myself to the front away from the heavy brakers. If I cannot keep up on the climbs, at least do not steal the one joy I have away from me!! The downhill!!!

I got on Shane's wheel and we blasted down the hill. I could almost hear the wheels turning in the other guys' minds. What does this chic think she's doing? Does she really think she can keep pace with us. We'll drop her in a New York minute. No, I was not trying to make a statement, and I did not really care what they thought. They would get their chance soon enough to put me in my place. But dang it, they were not going to slow me down on the fun part of the ride. Slowing people down on a downhill is not only bad, it's just plain wrong. If someone behind you is faster than you, swallow your pride and let them in front. Just say NO to turtles in the fastlane.

As good as the downhill is on Epperson, its climb is equally as bad. That's when things got ugly. I turned myself inside out to hang onto the train. Getting unhitched towards the top, I was not about to give up so easily. For once in a long while, I had some fight in me. I dug deep in the dark corners of my memory to remember how to do this. This wasn't just a matter of going hard. It was a whole other ball game that I used to play a long long time ago.

I became oblivious to what was around me, how many riders there were, and what road we were on. All that mattered was tapping deep inside to the power within, every muscle fiber, every brain synapse, every nerve firing, everything was being called upon to do their job. Details become a blur. Am I the last one? Did we just make a turn? Who's up front? Did I just run over a pothole? How many are in this group? I don't know, don't remember.

I do remember the pain, unbelievable pain, ugly pain. It took me years of training to become accustom to calling on that type of pain, driving through it, and surviving. I've put that ugliness behind me, but a few times a year I seem to be able to dredge it up from within me and stare it in the face. I could hear the tiny voice in me, "this is ugly, this makes me uncomfortable, we do not have to do this." Normally I quickly give in to that voice. But tonight I wanted to fight. Enough of good all the time. Let's get down and dirty, time for the bad.

But fight will only take you so far. I simply did not have the strength in my legs to match theirs. 28 minutes into the fight, we hit a climb long enough that I could not recover to catch back on the train. I could continue to fight, but I'd just be swinging into empty space looking like a fool. The ugly was over, now it would just be bad.

Some good was still lurking around the corner. Not knowing exactly where to go, I looked behind me. One of my fellow derailees was not far behind. As he pedaled by, I quickly slipped into his draft. Bud was strong and steady, just what I needed at a time like this. Uh oh, a little too strong. Desperately trying to recover, I could not stay in his slipstream. Unhitched again.

The Bad turned quickly back to good. Bud realized he'd cracked this little new found egg, so he eased up to let me hook back on his wheel. I thanked him profusely with halted breath. "I....didn't....mean for you.....to.....wait on me.....please....keep your.....pace.....you're a......lifesaver." He seemed content to be my domestique and calmly replied, "this is good."

For almost another hour we strode along in silence, heavy breathing belting out from my belly as if it were the steam propelling our train along the road. I admired his strength and patience, and he displayed no annoyance or arrogance at the role he was playing.

The last couple hills brought my legs to the edge of the precipice of cramping. I was going to have none of that. This ride had required all my body could give, but I was determined to finish standing upright. A huge bright orange sun was just setting behind the trees. I laughed within thinking how that represented the yolk of this egg that had been broken more than once tonight. With a face red as a beet and steam rising from my flesh, we turned into the parking lot. All I could think of was getting the ice cold bottle of water from the car.

After swigging half the bottle down and pouring the other half over my head, I looked for my Race partner. We shook hands as if we had just finished competing in the US Open. Respect and gratitude dripped from my heart thicker than the sweat flowed down my brow. "Thank you, Bud, you were just what I needed. I could not have survived without you."

I gave Shane and Cerar a high five. Cerar said, "I was tired tonight." Let me translate that for those who don't speak Shaverlish, "I could have annihilated you sooner, but just didn't feel like going any harder."

So now I'm good. I earned a nice day of rest without guilt. Cam rode by me this afternoon on his way to the mountain for hill repeats. I bid him on his way and said, "you go have fun without me." Translated that means, "Cam, you're bad and I can't take another day of ugly. Let's ride together again when it's all good."

Time to Get Serious

In 2 months, Raja and I will be packing our bags for Swiss Bike Camp with The Hillseekers. We bought our tickets back in February, so I've been lulled into the mindset of, "there's plenty of time to get ready."

In the meantime, we've spent every spare moment playing in the woods. Each ride we do lately ends up being a mountain bike adventure with our wild n' woolly friends. It is no secret that playing in the dirt is our preferable form of entertainment. It is also no secret that it is more difficult to make the cross over from mtn bike to road bike. On the contrary, roadie fitness and training translates perfectly to the dirt trails, as long as one has good technical skills on the mtn bike. All that to say, too much time riding my 2.4" wide tires has made me a bit soft on my 700c tires.

We had joined Mike of Cartecay Bikes for his annual Fourth of July ride. I had not yet committed to our next day's ride in my mind. Therefore, I approached the mountain bike ride at Tanasi with total abandon. Not a smart thing to do when you have to wake up the next day and expect your legs to deliver again. Larry the Shredder joined in our A- group ride, and I could not resist trying to stay with him on the climbs. As I was turning myself inside out to stay on his wheel, I told myself this move would be regretted, but pride got the best of me.

By the end of the ride, I was toast. Usually at Tanasi I am good for the full 34 miles with energy to spare. This time I barely eeked out 27, and was content to call it a day. Let's blame it on the heat. I was anxious to get to the real challenge of the day....the food fest under the pavillion:-)

idoc brought a killer black bean salad which Raja and I demolished singlehandedly. We left the unhealthy Chocolate Rocky Road Bars for everyone else to fatten themselves up with while we indulged in the healthy goods. I got the recipe from idoc for the salad. Thanks!

The next morning we were up again at O:dark hundred. I'm so over getting up this early. Damyankee sent me an email pleading for us to join them on a new road route that included a heinous climb up Paris Mtn. I could see his tear stains on my screen. We better not let him down. It had been a long while since we had joined our shaver friends, and I felt guilty for neglecting them. However, my legs were not feeling the call, and I knew before I got out of bed that the day's ride was not going to have a happy ending.

Seeing familiar faces at the Rambo trailhead was pleasant enough. For a brief moment I actually believed I would be able to pull a rabbit out of my helmet and pull this thing off. In the old days, I was considered a trickster. Gerry used to always accuse me of being able to pull more rabbits out of my hat than anyone he knew. But, as soon as we started down the Comet for our warmup before hitting Vinson Mountain, it was obvious no magic tricks were going to be made....at least by me. Dang it. I hate it when this happens. Really.

You notice a theme here in my pictures? They are all from the back so far. What does that tell you? Does OTB mean anything to you?

Cam and rlaz were present. Fast, but I'm not afraid of them. They will humor me. I am afraid of Michael though. We were teamates back in the day when we raced mountain bikes. Michael has always been demon fast on the climbs, but I could always take him on a downhill.....in the dirt. The road is different. Michael and I are friends, but I really do not like to see him on the road, especially if it means he's riding with me. He only has one speed, and that is ridiculously fast. I'm not embellishing the truth here, just being brutally honest. I won't even ride with him these days because he just doesn't know how to go a mortals pace. With each passing year, my ability to ride and hang with my usual group of roadies continues to diminish. And I don't need to be so rudely reminded of that fact by getting demolished by him.

Anyway, we started up the dreaded Vinson Mountain climb. Raja told me he was going to try his best to hang on for the climb, and then he was going to back off. I responded to him by saying, "I'm not even going to try because it ain't happening today." Later I learned that Damyankee overheard me and thought I was snapping back at Raja, so he quietly slipped by me. Noooooo, I was just letting Raja know not to expect me to be on his wheel. Guess I need to work on my tone when I'm tired! I had already come to terms with this yucky performance day.

Ironically enough, 3 different friends had each emailed me recently seeking advice on training and dealing with the recovery aspect. I had just sent off a message to one about listening to your body, allowing it to rest, not fighting the process, and not beating yourself up in your mind. It made me laugh as I pedaled along ever so slowly trying to swallow my own medicine. Easy to hand it out, harder to receive it.

Somehow knowing my day would be one of suffering, I had chosen to wear a jersey that had specific instructions for those in my riding group.

Can you believe it, they all just pedaled on past me. Not one person was able to follow directions! Bye-bye now. All I could do was watch as they rode away. That was the last I saw of the group.

Having climbed Vinson countless times, I was convinced the road had been lengthened since my last visit. Would this climb ever end? For the love of all that's good in life,, enough already! As I neared the KOM mark, a rider coming back in my direction came into view, but it did not look to be Raja. It was Michael. Why the heck he was coming back for me, I do not know. Going back down for stragglers is usually my job! Today was opposite day. Humble Pie was the only thing on my plate so far this morning, and I was growing tired of the taste of umbles.

Thanks for checking on me Mikey, but I'm going to bail on ya! I need to be resting, and this ain't resting. I tried to persuade Raja to carry on with the group, but he insisted on turning back with me and my umbles.

Raja towed me back to the comet.

He towed me back to Rambo trailhead where I collapsed and slept the rest of the day;-) (Lots of looking at people's backside for me today.)

I had no intentions of riding the next day. Next day: Raja suits up and starts out the door. Where you going? Blankets. Awwwww, aahhhhhhhh, alright, load up my bike, my singlespeed. Are you sure? You can barely stand up? Fine, pack both bikes. I'll decide when I get there.

Geez, what else am I going to do? Sit around and stare at the walls, clean the house, wash clothes, buy groceries, prepare meals? Heck no! If I'm going to suffer, I might as well have fun doing it! hehehe. Truth is I could not bare the thought of him out there having a good time & inevitably running into some of our buddies without me. Even if I sat in the parking lot, I would have fun just waving at everybody as they came in and out of the trailhead.

I did not wear a camelbak or carry anything at all on my back. That meant no Nikon, no small child riding on my shoulders. The tiny Canon was tucked in my jersey for a sense of security. You just never know when a camera will come in handy.

Before we left the house, I had emailed a friend about my wasted condition & my plans to Rest! Oh well, I can rest tomorrow. He'll never know.

Immediately we ran into some friends, James & Amy, who were out with his nephew, Christopher. Two bright eyes were beaming out from underneath his full head of luscious curls. He looked to be having the time of his life. It made me think back to the days when we brought my nephew to Blankets. They grow up so fast. You have to catch those moments and cherish them. It passes by in a flash.

Raja and I headed off to the VanMichael Loop. Don't you want to start off with Dwelling and get warmed up on the singlespeed? No, I'm an odd bird. I like to do the hardest thing first and then enjoy the easy stuff.

It was a rare luxury, riding just the two of us, all alone, no throngs of laughing silly friends. The starkness of the solitude struck me as I realized we rarely ride by ourselves in the dirt. Just me and my man in the woods.

Riding with my friends is definitely one of my favorite things to do. But riding alone without any distractions of keeping up or trying to impress takes one to a beautiful place. Raja and I can ride together and not be concerned with what the other one thinks. If he wants to go faster, or vice versa, then we do what we want. He was on a geared bike, and I was on the singlespeed. Insisting I ride in front, it was not long before I found myself ahead and in my own world.

The beauty of a singlespeed is the sense of focus you develop. My legs were weak and it required all I had to get up the slightest rise, and yet the effort was rewarding. I thought of what it is that separates the really good riders from those of us that are average or even "above average". It is all about focus. That's what sets apart the pros; to cancel everything out, become one with your bike, and flow through a trail. Tremendous focus is required to make it an effortless continuous flow. That's what it is like when you get in a zone, it's effortless. I can count on my left hand the number of times I have had that experience in 20 years, and to think there are cyclists that feel that more times than not.

After one lap of Van Michael, I decided a Dwelling would be in order. Oops, who's this I see? Uh oh, busted. It's the friend that I told today was my rest day. "Yea, you can give the advice, but you don't live by it," he said accusingly! I've got to start charging for my coaching tips. He forgave me, swore not to expose my double life, and we did a lap of Dwelling and another Van Michael together.

By the end I was ready to call it a day. Saw more friends. Robin, Colin, James, John. Time to enter the socializin' phase of my training.
The trails were a might bit dusty. Guess I need to give up my day job as a leg model.

Does anybody know who did all this fancy wood work for the mega sign?

This is so cool and so fun! Thanks for all your hard work!

Monday I did rest. I promise. Didn't do a thing but stretch and go for my weekly visit to Janusz. I affectionately refer to it as going to the torture table. About 6 of my friends have been going to him, and they all agree, Janusz doesn't mess around when it comes to muscle work. Treybiker apparently just learned that the hard way too this week.

A few days ago when I realized I need to get serious about my training, I decided to do a road ride on Tuesday nights instead of the usual Big Creek fun. Now it's Tuesday night, and guess what? I'm already having second thoughts. You know I'll end up at Big Creek on my mountain bike.

There's always next week to get serious, or the next. Then it will be time for Swiss Bike Camp, and I won't be ready! Look at Becky here, little Swiss Miss.

She claims not to be a mountain biker, and dang, look at her go! I am so proud of her! That is at a day skills clinic in Switzerland.

I was dismayed to hear her comments though of how she felt at the clinic. I feel way out of balance with skills vs. power. It's especially frustrating. This is a common theme I seem to hear when it comes to women trying to learn the art of mountain biking. Lately, there has been a barrage of women asking me advice and tips. But when I am in person trying to help them, I can smell the fear and anxiety pouring from their souls. I've thought about this alot these past few weeks. It's more than just teaching women to ride a bike. It's understanding where they are coming from and how their mind works. Generally, men have a one track mind. This is a good thing in mountain biking. Remember how I said that focus is so important in riding? Guys can just shut everything off and concentrate on the task at hand. Whereas, we ladies are thinking about 40 different things, of which getting hurt is at the forefront.

It is a challenge to teach someone bike skills when they are afraid. I used to be afraid myself, but have somewhat lost that connection of how to reach someone in that state. I would love to attend one of these European bike clinics and see what they teach. My other biggest problem is finding the time to teach a clinic. Though I'd rather work one on one with a person than in a group. Maybe most people are just too scared or intimidated or it's too awkward for them to take me up on it. This is perhaps an area that I will explore more in a few years when my riding hours start to slack off.

As for getting serious, I'm going to get serious in having fun. The Hillseekers will show us a good time no matter how lame we are! I'm so excited, I can hardly stand it.

Here are the pics of our July 4th ride at the Tanasi Trails in TN.

Happiest Girl in the Whole USA

Yes, I am the happiest girl in the whole USA! You name it, I got it. The perfect husband that can downhill on a bike like nobody's business, drive a car like Mario Andretti, and fix a flat tire in under 3 minutes. A list of friends a mile long that love to ride bikes as much as we do and are always at the ready to join in the fun. Janusz Mazon, the world's best masseuse/chiropractor that keeps me up and running. And to top it all off, we're getting ready to head out west for a week of fun and mountain biking with some of our fat tire friends!Yes siree, life is good. Good, now that I'm the Happiest Girl in the Whole USA. Lately I had started acting old and cranky, but there was no reason for me to be that way. Guess I was getting tired of this eternal winter from which we are suffering.

Lest all my friends begin to tire of me, I decided to hire a marketing firm to freshen up my image. Get me back on the fast track. With a slim budget, my choices were limited. This was all I could afford.Some poor old hill man, lives in a shack in Hanging Dog in the Carolinas. Since I could not afford to pay him, we struck up a deal. I'd change his image if he'd change mine. I did the best I could. Have you ever seen such a before and after?That good ole Hillbilly held up his end of the bargain. I am now the darn tootenist happiest girl you will find in these here parts.

I imagine his business will be booming now that the word is out!

I know someone else that's probably the happiest guy in, uh, Switzerland.I've been enjoying reading Jeff's blog since his arrival safely back in Zurich from Morocco. His pictures from the Marathon are up and they are amazing!! I cannot fathom what he did. This picture of them climbing the dunes says it all to me!

Back here in the USA with a new found happiness, we were finally able to get in a long road ride in the mountains.Even though we began with about 50 other riders out of Ellijay, it wasn't long before I found myself in no man's land. Finally I bridged up to a small group that had some nice high horsepower engines present. Kevin and Mary Kellar, the energizer bunny couple, and Larry Crook did plenty to keep the train rolling at a nice clip. The most impressive engine was Sarah.She is like a female version of my friend, The Caminator. Goodness me! What a powerhouse.I was ready to blow a gasket by the time we approached the real climb of the day, Fort Mountain.My goal was to stay aboard this train till the bottom of the climb. It's tough keeping up in the paceline, but it helps to shave valuable time off an otherwise long day in the saddle.It did not take long for all the cars to come uncoupled as we started the 8 mile ascent. Sarah and Larry were gone in a flash. Kevin hung back for a while, but quickly grew tired of me and motored on ahead passing Mary as she dangled in front of me like a carrot. The carrot I could not catch, she rode just far enough ahead to taunt me. Knowing Ken was creeping up behind me made me keep up the effort. This climb is perplexing to me in its difficulty. It does not seem that steep and yet I was unable to power up like I can on steeper climbs such as Neals or Wolfpen. It took a grueling 50+ minutes to make the 8 miles, and then you're greeted with these nasty rollers. Not the usual, "Ah I'm at the top so now all I have to do is go down." No mam. My legs were screaming in protest and had to yield to the 30x23 every time. I do love my triple.At least we were greeted with lovely views. By now 60 miles have rolled by over the course of 3 1/2 hours. About to enter the unknown portion of the route, I have no idea what to expect. Kevin had warned me that the part after the climb would be the kicker. I wondered if I would survive.It turned out not to be so bad. If you go slow, you don't notice the hills. Instead I was enthralled with the beautiful country roads.I knew I was on the right course because I had caught a glimpse of Mary at the turn off the descent down Fort Mountain. She was long gone now, and it was just me and the cows, the flowers, and lovely countryside.By now it was though I were walking. Any moment Raja should be coming up on me, but he never did. No one did. Great, I've missed a turn. The white arrows on the road must be leading me to a Spa or a Pot of Gold. Ha ha, I'd be rolling in nuggets of gold while everyone else was pedaling away. Yep, I was on an adventure all by myself. Another look over my shoulder and not a soul in sight but the chickens.What I did not know is that Raja had followed Ken past the turnoff down to the bottom of Ft Mountain. When he learned that Ken was going back via Hwy 52, he had to climb back up to the road to get back on course. Ouch.I was enjoying my little game, finding amusing signs and taking pictures of horses and flowers. My other favorite sign was of Lillipat Lane.

I asked a fella on the side of the road if I was headed towards Ellijay. Yup, he said. That's all I needed to know. On, on. The route came down into town on the coolest road; like the kind we ride in Italy. Tiny, twisty, and narrow, it literally dropped you down from high in the sky right down to the middle of town. Shew. I'm done!

Yea! 72 miles, over 6,000', and a long 4 1/2 hrs. I wonder if the girl with the funky bike had as much fun as I did?
Raja and I had enough fuel in our tanks to pull out 2 hours of fun the next day at Blankets trail with Sweetwater and rlaz. We have to get used to riding day after day, because that's what we'll be doing next week.Did I mention we're going to Moab and Fruita?! Hehe, I'm the Happiest Girl in the whole USA!

Walk on the Beach

Apparently I need a week at the beach, not just a stroll. Since this picture post was inadvertently placed here on the wrong blog, (juggling multiple blogs tests me), I decided not to delete it, but rather go turn my lemons into lemonade.

Ah, yes, a nice stroll on the beach would have been just what the doctor ordered after my workout last Thursday. It would have the perfect ending to a perfect day.
But no luxury for me of wiggling sand between my toes while the gentle lap of ocean waves massaged my tired legs. Instead, I braced my achy quads and gluts against the shock of icy cold water for 8 minutes of an ice bath in my boring tub with no tropical view. The best way to end an otherwise perfect day.

Georgia winters may be mild compared to the rest of the country, but they are erratic at best. One day it is 69 degrees and the next it can be 34degrees and snowing. It has not been bitterly cold, but enough to discourage me from getting outside during the week. Thursday's forecast was for 66 degrees with the following days dramatically changing to 40s, rain, and degrading to snow flurries. This would be my only chance to get in some real quality time on the bike. I knew just what to do.

For 3 months my cycling routine has been suspiciously void of any real workouts, i.e. no road riding. It's the same excuse I sloth by every year. "Oh, it's winter, time to take it easy, I'll pick it up next month." Problem is, next month always comes a month too early and I'm never ready. Raja said he would prefer to ride the mtn bike Thursday, but I knew that was not what I needed. What I wanted and what I needed were two different things. I needed a long arse kicking road ride.

The first week of March, like clock work, I'll purposely go on a ride with Greg Turner or some other shredder friend and get chewed up and spit out like I was flavorless chewing gum. I use it as my "Reality Check" or "Wake-up Call". Shock therapy. Jumping in the deep end of a swimming pool without testing the waters.

Works like a charm. A ride like that will jolt you out of winter's deep slumber in a New York minute. Makes you feel like you're standing in front of the mirror naked and you don't like what you see. But it's all the motivation you need to get off your duff and start doing something about it.

I lined up a ride date with my task master friend, the Caminator. With Greg recovering from a couple broken ribs, maybe I should have called him instead. Oh well, the damage has been done. Time to anty up. I added in a little security blanket and got rlaz to come along too. It was a beautiful day and I was riding with friends. What could possibly go wrong?

We were starting the part of our ride that entered the land of endless climbs, when I was aware of a new presence among us. Two svelte little decked out riders appeared out of nowhere. I barely caught a glimpse of one of the riders as they zoomed by, but immediately recognized him. It was Maurizio of The Latino Cycling Team. We met each other during hill repeats last year at Kennesaw Mountain.

I braced myself for the shock therapy about to begin.

Little Julio from Uruguay, all of 26 yrs old, had been racing bikes for 6 years, and was riding like a race horse just let out of the gates. On the other hand, Maurizio, was going to celebrate his 50th in a week, and he rides like a gazelle. Couple that with the Caminator who has thighs the size of my torso and logs 20+ hours weekly on the bike, and you've got a real problem on your hands.

Looking on the bright side, rlaz and I were relieved that Cam would now have someone else to torture. But we knew it meant we'd still get a working over. For some reason I wore my heartrate monitor that day, and I am glad I did. 4-5 digit numbers were popping on the screen, and my lungs were using air pockets they didn't know existed.

After the first climb, I managed to make it up to Maurizio to reintroduce myself. For the next moderate climb, he rode alongside me to chit chat. But it was difficult enough for me to speak, let alone use any extra energy to try and understand his thick Colombian accent. Don't get me wrong! I have nothing against an accent. It's just that I was using every ounce of get up and go to propel my body forward, and had no get up left for extra synapses of the brain.

It was embarrassing to be wheezing and huffing at this alarming rate in front of someone I barely knew. A quick glance at my monitor showed my redline was fast approaching. If I wanted to survive the remaining 40 miles, I had to come up with a better plan. My only hope is he would become bored with my lameness, and go pick on Cam.

We crossed the highway en route to the real climb of the day. As the threesome quickly jumped off the front, rlaz asked me who I'd put my money on to take the climb. Hmmmmm? That was a tough one. I didn't really know the full extent of these Latino's abilities and they did not know this climb. Cam, however, could do this climb in his sleep, but he is also the size of the 2 Latinos ductaped together. We rode our hearts out trying to keep the gap close enough in order to see the outcome.

At first we could keep them in sight. But then it became a losing battle. Our focus then turned to our own survival. I was riding as hard as I could, a bit annoyed at rlaz's fast cadence. We were climbing for goodness sake. How the heck could he be spinning like that. Oh, that big fat cassette might have something to do with it. I continued to mash my 39x23 hoping my hip wouldn't revolt. Janusz's magic weekly therapy was working like a charm, and my hip did just fine, despite the never ending climb.

Every friend I've brought to this delightful "little" climb always has a wide-eyed dazed look at the top. Even Duckman was in horror over the pain this beautiful empty country road can deliver. "Is this the top," rlaz asked as we crested a small rise. "No, not yet," was all I could muster. I too know this climb like the back of my hand, and there was still more suffering in store.

Finally, the Col di Cemeteri was in sight. The last rise with a cemetery off to the side, is the sign of the KOM sprint. No energy for sprinting today. We could see Cam circling like a vulture at the top waiting for us. Was this the sign of victory. Were Maurizio and Julio piled in a heap on the side of the road, or were they riding on ahead with fists raised high?

"So, who took it", we asked in eager anticipation. Without a second hesitation, Cam answered rather matter of factly, "Oh, they did. They were playing with me." We shuddered in our shoes. Anybody that can mess around with the Caminator is...well, I ain't messing with them.

We joined up with our 2 new friends and continued on the lovely backroads. This time I had a chance to admire Julio's gorgeous bike. "That's a beautiful bike," I told him. He told me it was barely 2 weeks old. It is an Aerocat, one of the team sponsors. The blue design matched their team kit perfectly. It was very impressive. Of course, the one day I decide not to bring my camera. Agh.

Enough socializing, time for more pacelining. Well, not pacelining. More of, they pull and I sit and try to hang on for dear life. Fortunately I knew the rest of the way and tried to mentally map out my strategy for survival. A truce must have secretly been called, because the pace backed off to Level 5 on the last road leading back to the Comet. Cam and rlaz had no problem conversing in Spanglish, while I tried to pick up bits and pieces here and there.

The only thing I did that Julio didn't do was make the "dirt ride" traverse from the road hooking us back up to the Comet trail. Remember, I can ride a mtn bike! Dirt is one thing that will scare a roadie senseless. A short lived glory moment.

We ran into Raja as he was just getting off the Comet to do some of the climbing we did. In my delirious state, I did not have the sense to just split off from the group and ride with him. We wished him a happy ride and carried on the Comet back to our starting point, still a good ways back. After a few minutes it occured to me, "why didn't I ride with Raja?" Yes, I really was wiped out!

Maurizio and Julio were having such a good time, that they decided to continue riding with us instead of stopping at their cars. Oh joy. But it turned out alright. Our hard riding was done, and everyone was happy to spin. Thank goodness!!

I saw Flatfender and Shane go riding by in the other direction. And we waved to G-OFF heading out on the trail a few miles later. It was too pretty a day for anyone to miss out on a ride.

It was quite the lashing and thrashing, but in a good sort of way! The type where at the end when you remove your helmet to see the straps are completely white with salt, you get a big ole grin on your face. It was a slap in the face of "You have a lot of work to do Missy", but also a pat on the back of "way to put forth the effort". A huge thanks to rlaz and the Camster for motivating me. It's nice to have fast friends that will put up with you while not making you feel like a slug.

I got home with 5 minutes to spare before Raja rolled in behind me. He was a bit jealous as I went over the details of my adventure, still stoked with adrenaline. The bad part of having a wife that rides is you don't get to come home from your workout to a warm homecooked meal. You come home to a wife that blabs on about her ride, then retreats to the stretching mat, and hollers from the next room, "What's for dinner?"

After 19 years, he used to it. And he's used to me taking my silly ice baths. But hey, they help me get out of bed the next day. In fact, I went out for a spin Friday. Those 40 degree temps didn't make a show. Instead it was a balmy 58 degrees. I got in a ride and even a visit with my friend, Greg. A great past 2 days!

Now, if I could just manage to get that walk on the beach, it would be beyond great. It would be a dream!