Uncategorized - peaceonabike

April 22, 2012August 29, 2020

Lake Anna Century Classic

SPOTSYLVANIA, VIRGINIA

I arrived at the start location 30 minutes prior and went to registration. There I paid cash and received – nothing. No wrist band. No packet. No bumper sticker or key chain. No swag. Nothing at all.

Most organized events identify the riders with a wrist band (America’s Most Beautiful Ride) or helmet sticker (Livestrong) which shows who paid and who hasn’t. My thought was some riders may come and just ride. And who would know the difference?

In fact, at America’s Most Beautiful Bike Ride one section of the course is closed to only riders who go through a checkpoint. So no interlopers could jump on that course. But here, anyone could just show up and ride.

Benefiting the Law Enforcement United fund, the sheriff’s car had blocked Courthouse Road so that all riders (I’m guessing 200-300 but I have no idea) could roll out together. The first 3-4 miles is a typical roll-out as friends ride with friends and people like me, just find someone their own speed to ride with. I was at the front.

I wasn’t at the front for long. Some people passed me either to share the workload or to tell me I wasn’t fast enough. But I was in the front group. And we were rolling.

The organization did not have a downloadable map so I went to their website, found their cue sheet and mapped out the ride at RideWith GPS. com then downloaded that to my Garmin. And hoped it was right. As we were flying my Garmin beeped – a sign of a turn. I glanced down and it showed a left turn. I looked up and saw a sign that had an arrow – left turn. My group when flying by – straight.

Safely, and quickly, I turned left and yelled ahead “TURN!!!”

It was a reaction. I then soft pedaled to see if anyone would join me as I headed down the road alone. Two guys quickly did although I’m not sure if they were in the front group and had been trailing me. We rode together for a couple of miles and were joined by some others. I don’t know if that front group ever turned around although I assume this was them.

Without a word, we had a nice pace line going. All of us took our turn moving one by one to the front and keeping the pace high. Too high. We were averaging 20 mph over the first 20 miles and I feared that I would pop at any moment.

Yesterday was beautiful — too beautiful. I couldn’t resist the temptation to bike home from work. I took it slow but still had ridden 41 miles the day before this ride. And not that I didn’t think I could do 100 after 40 — it’s just that I can’t ride 100 at 20 mph after riding 40 the day before.

We were flying and I spotted a small sign for a rest stop. I called out and a few of us stopped. We were the first group to go by. The think the rest of our group doubled back and joined us. There were no porta-johns. Just a couple of nice ladies with some water and chocolate chip cliff bars. A church and lots of trees.

After a short break to refill the bottles we reconstituted and took off flying again. It became apparent at some point I would need to find my exit strategy. I couldn’t hang with this group for 100 miles and the question was when and how I would drop off.

After mile 28 we hit an incline, only half a mile, but one where I would typically be shed by such a group. The steep climbs slow everyone but these half-mile 3-4% grades are enough where the young guys just keep the pace high and I can’t match them. But I was although I was struggling.

I just didn’t have the juice in my legs today to power up the climb. So I spun. My cadence was pushing 130 and one rider remarked “your cadence is killing me.” I told him it was killing me too. Remarkably I stayed with them and recovered and we rolled together to the rest stop at mile 40. There they had water, fruit, and cliff bars. And suntan lotion, which would be useful on this sunny day where the temperature climbed to 80 degrees.

Although other riders came in 3-5 minutes after us, when five of our guys took off, I foolishly joined them. I noticed another rider trying to cross New Bridge Road so I asked the group to slow it down for him to join us. They did. To 23 mph. Then I knew.

I knew if this was all they would slow to let a rider catch up that I couldn’t hang much longer. I dropped then paced the rider back up to our group. We rode for a couple more miles and the rider behind me dropped his chain. The group kept going. We hit another rise and here I decided I just couldn’t match every acceleration for 100 miles. At mile 48 I was done.

Then I discovered that until then I hadn’t enjoyed one bit of the ride. If I wasn’t setting the pace I was watching the wheel in front of me. And I was tired. Tired from 40 yesterday and tired from hanging on today, I resigned myself to ride solo over more than half the route and enjoy the ride.

I was in “no man’s land” for more than 15 miles. I knew my group was up ahead and there were plenty of riders behind me but I was in between. And I was OK with that.

At Mile 58 I saw a sign for a rest stop at Shiloh Methodist Church. I pulled in and there was nothing there other than a port-john. A couple of riders also pulled in. Although we rolled out together I was in no mood to try to keep up with anyone. I let them go.

At Beaverdam, mile 74, I came to a pretty beat up country store. It was just what I needed. I was out of water and I was able to buy some plus a Snickers bar. Only when I left did I see a sign advertising this as a rest stop.

I left trailing some riders and in front of another and that is where I would stay. Never catching anyone and staying ahead of the guys behind me. Not the smartest way to ride but I didn’t have to worry about staying with a group when the legs weren’t up to it.

My Garmin showed 94.5 miles when I arrived back to the start so I kept going. I know Garmin had shut down at mile 5 and it took another 0.5 to get it back but I still wanted to ride to read 100. So I went out another three miles then turned around. Even if they call it a “century,” in my book it’s not a true century unless one rides 100 miles.

On the day I averaged 18 mph for 100 miles.* Probably 19+ with the group and 17- without. But still OK being the first century of the season, the day after riding 40 miles home from work, and one month after knee surgery. And it was windy too.

We crossed Lake Anna eight times, all between mile 30 and 50. Many of the roads were back country roads in the woods although the last few miles were on the busy shoulderless Courthouse Road.

As far as support the ride gets a “D.” Definitely below the average organized event with a very small variety of food at only two locations and nothing after mile 40 when we needed the most. No water unless you had money to stop at a store. But it’s about the ride and most of my rides I don’t look for support, but nor do I pay $45 for that privilege.

___
*Adjusting for the half mile without Garmin the distance was 100.71 miles over 5:35:21 or 18.02 mph.

April 8, 2012July 30, 2015

Knock Knock Knocking on President’s Door

FREDERICK, MARYLAND

I was pleased to see “Knock, Knock, Knocking on President’s Door” posted as a Potomac Pedalers ride for today. I last did this ride almost three years ago and suffered. I rode with a broken wrist and a yet-to-be-diagnosed e.Coli infection.

It wasn’t until two years later that I uploaded my data to RidewithGPS.com that I realized how sick I was. I knew I had to come back and ride it “healthy” albeit three years older.

I counted 30 people for this A/BB/B ride. Wheels down at 9:00 a.m. It was 39 degrees. And windy. We split into two groups – the As (and BBs) and the Bs. I looked at the Bs and (foolishly) decided I would try to ride with the As. That is always a bad idea. I should have stuck with the Bs.

In those first five miles we shed a number of riders, all of whom dropped back to the following B group. But I was struggling to keep up with the As.

As we hit a rise I started trailing off as did another rider. He told me that he knew he didn’t belong with them and would be dropped. But then he picked it up, integrated with them and I had to watch from 200 meters back for the next seven miles.

As we hit the serious climb in Cunningham Falls State Park I caught him, rode with him, then dropped him on the climb up Park Central. As we climbed I kept wondering how I did this with a broken wrist three years ago. I couldn’t stand out of the saddle and put weight on my wrist so I had to sit in all ride. I realized that even with a healthy wrist this was a tough climb.

From Mile 5 until the Sheetz break in Thurmont (Mile 31), I was a lone rider. I caught the previously mentioned rider and was passed by a real strong rider, “probably 35” (years old) said another about him. But that was it. I could have been on a solo ride.

At Sheetz the A group was getting ready to ride and foolishly (again) I decided I would ride with them. The rider who had passed me, wearing a green fleece looking jersey, went to the front and set the pace. And pace. And pace.

At the Sheetz in Thurmont

It was windy and perhaps 11 of us were struggling to keep the pace. I was working hard, (struggling) and moved to the back in case I wanted to drop off the pace. That would not be necessary.

At the Sheetz in Thurmont

At mile 43 we hit a rise and two of us dropped off the pace until the top of the hill. I thought the group would soft pedal for 10-15 seconds and let us integrate. Nope.

There had been two women riding and one of them, Stephanie Becker, dropped back when I did. After a few minutes of watching the group 200 meters in front and coming to a stop sign where they had not waited for us I said “I’m Barry.” She may as well should get to know me because we weren’t going to bridge the gap and it was apparent they weren’t interested in playing nice and waiting.

We rode at our own pace, both taking turns in the wind, and riding sensibly until the end. We discovered the group split up not long after we were shed. Just another Potomac Pedalers Ride. Sigh.

Seen on the Ride. From Jeremiah Bishop’s Gran Fondo.

Comparing metrics to three years ago, today wasn’t a whole lot better. I want to think the wind made it harder and I would have done better.

I rode 0.5 mph faster today and I want to believe I would have been at least 1.0 mph faster if not for the wind. My heart rate was only six bpm lower today. But I am three years older. And I’m happy.

March 13, 2012August 25, 2020

Recovery

WOODBRIDGE, VA

It seems like I’ve been down this road before. Too many times. This makes five surgeries in the last eight years.*

Nothing comes close to the cancer surgery two and a half years ago at Johns Hopkins. For that, I could only tell Ashley “this sucks” when she called. Yesterday I was able to tell her a lot more. And “sucks” wasn’t part of it.

I had the same knee surgery in 2006 to remove the torn portion of my meniscus. For that, I was on crutches for two weeks. By the second week, I had returned to work, on crutches, but went to the fitness center at lunchtime to pedal a stationary bike.

When I got home from the surgery yesterday I walked very gingerly to the front door and into the house. I balanced myself against the wall as necessary but never picked up a crutch. Or a pain pill.

Today I got the bike out. I put on tennis shoes, not the clip-ins, and wanted to see if I could pedal.

I could!

I didn’t go far, maybe 200-300 yards. But I went. The doctor said let the pain be my guide.

Pedaling is easier than walking. Unless I’m standing out of the saddle, it’s not supporting my body weight.

I’m not ready for a long ride. But I’m ready to begin recovery. Let the healing begin.

___
*Two foot surgeries, two knee surgeries, and one cancer surgery

March 12, 2012July 23, 2015

Peace on a Bike – II

ALTOONA, PA

Even in “winter,” the climb up Glenwhite Road from Horseshoe Curve is beautiful. There are enough Mountain Laurels that the forest retains a healthy look of green. A white water stream follows much of the road. From the time I turned onto Kittanning Point Road only two cars passed by on the next seven miles. I find it so peaceful riding here and it was a great place to come the day before surgery.

I created a 62 mile (100 km) ride and downloaded it to my bike’s Garmin. When I parked at Logan Valley Mall in Altoona and went to retrieve the route – it was gone. I must have screwed it up. More importantly, that meant I didn’t know where I was headed except up the mountain and I would improvise after that.

When I turned onto Kittanning Point Road I could hear a train above me, struggling to get up the mountain – the wheels creaking under the weight of the load. For a while I was “racing” the train to get to Horseshoe Curve. I smiled when I saw it ahead of me on the curve.

Passing by the Visitors’ Center, I was surprised that Horseshoe Curve was closed for the season. The trains still go by. And so did this cyclist although I did not see a single other cyclist today.

The climb up the mountain was harder than I remembered. I once went up it sitting down and briefly thought that would be today’s goal. Then it was a matter of just getting up it without stopping.

At the top I made it to Gallitzin but did not find the road to Cresson. I ended up at the entrance to the Allegheny Portage Railroad. From here, US Rte 22, the quickest way to Cresson, is a limited access divided four lane road off limits to my bike. I had to slip around the barriers and cut through the park on an access road to Old Rte 22 – Admiral Peary Hwy. I was comfortable cutting through the park even with the barriers in place because I park employee once told me to do that – that’s it’s OK for cyclists to use the access road.

Admiral Peary Highway in Cresson, Pa.

Admiral Robert Peary was an explorer who claimed to have led the first expedition, on April 6, 1909, to reach the geographic North Pole. He was from Cresson. Admiral Peary Highway, from Cresson to Ebensburg is a two lane shoulderless road with almost no flat sections. It’s either descending or climbing. It’s not my favorite road as there is a fair amount of traffic although there was no road rage on this day.

Mount Aloysius College, Cresson, Pa.

Once in Ebensburg, I saw a sign for a Bike Route and thought it was a less traveled road parallel to the main street. Instead it led me to the Ghost Town Trail — a nice rail trail but not suitable for a long ride on a road bike with its crushed limestone base. I rode it for 200 yards then jumped back on the road.

Ebensburg, Pa.
Notice above the red car Christmas decorations are still on the poles.

After Ebensburg I was winging it. I saw Alley Buck Road and remembered seeing that on a map it but didn’t see that it was also Beulah Road going in the opposite direction towards Nanty Glo. After a mile of headed the wrong way and sensing it – I found a man in his yard and asked for directions. He told me to turn around and go back to where I came from. I didn’t know if that was helpful or a warning. A cousin once warned me that the people around here are “rough.”

Ghost Town Trail, Ebensburg, Pa.

I crossed US 422 and headed north — until that didn’t feel right anymore. So I turned south. I didn’t realize that I had come to the town of Colver. I guess I was expecting more. There I asked a father and son for directions to Loretto.

At first they said go to Ebensburg and get on 22. I reminded them that I was on a bike. Then they suggested Peary Hwy. I then told them I needed to take back roads – the most direct route. So they sent me to Carrolltown.

In Carrolltown I was flying down a country road which felt right. Still, as I passed a house and saw a man in his garage I decided to stop. I told him how far I had traveled (50 miles) and that I was headed to Loretto then Gallitzin. He told me that the road would take me to “Loretta (sp).” Yikes, I wondered if we were talking about the same place.

Outside of Loretto/Loretta I stopped a car at a stop sign to make sure I was on the right road. I was.

Loretto, Pa.

In Loretto I talked to a couple about the next leg. Gallitzin. And they say that men don’t ask for directions.

On the road to Gallitzin I saw a mileage sign for “Gallitzin 3.” Then I came to a T and saw a sign “Ashville (left), Cresson (right).” There was no mention to the direction of Gallitzin. Love the Pennsylvania road signs. By feel, I was getting ready to turn right when a car pulled up. I asked directions. And right was correct.

That would begin the last three mile climb of the day, perhaps the hardest, if for no other reason I already had 65 miles in my legs. The last mile in Gallitzin was tough. Narrow steep streets, still with the gravel of winter on them. I didn’t think I would make the last two blocks. Knee hurting, I pushed through.

It’s hard to judge effort and the torn meniscus added pain or robbed me of power but the only other time I felt I would not make a climb was my first time up Mount Washington. I looked for a place to unclip and put a foot down but each pedal stroke got me closer to the top. And then it was a matter of a seven mile descent.

Garmin says my average cadence was 77 rpm. That seems high given all the climbing and lots of coasting, although I didn’t get in a tuck and not pedal nearly as much as one may think. But that’s more than 25,000 turns of the pedals. And every one hurt.

Knee Surgery Tomorrow

Surgery tomorrow. But peace on the bike today.

March 4, 2012July 23, 2015

The Little Things

RESTON, VIRGINIA

The shop ride at The Bike Lane in Reston was canceled today because of the overnight rain and the rain forecast for most of this morning. But I went to Reston to pick up some bike parts and decided to ride on the W&OD.

I wasn’t prepared for a long ride but the more I rode the more I wanted to ride. Until I bonked.

But it’s the little things that often make a ride. And today had some of those moments.

Around Herndon I passed a young woman, Ellen, who appeared to be just restarting from a stop. I was then surprised to see that she was sitting on my wheel. I wanted to warn her that she should announce her presence lest she be hit by some flying snot rockets, of which there were a few.

We passed a man who had two dogs on leashes and one, a pit bull, appeared determined to CHASE. Someone on a bike. Ellen moved to the outside of me. I thanked her for letting me be closest to the dog.

We didn’t have long together. She was out for a short ride before turning around. But our brief conversation, especially me recalling my encounter with those Pennsylvania dogs was a simple pleasure.

I kept riding and reached Purcellville where I left the W&OD and went to Loudoun Golf and Country Club. There I met my son-in-law, Bryan Snow. Another simple pleasure.

With Bryan Snow at Loudoun Golf and Country Club

The ride to Purcellville was tough. A strong wind was blowing — at times it was a direct head wind while at other times it was a cross wind. Plus it is a gradual uphill climb to Purcellville.

The terminus of the W&OD at Purcellville

I had hoped for a strong tail wind on the return but the winds were swirling and were mostly cross winds. So I fought it all day. I was not prepared for a long ride, I had no water or food. And no money either. About 10 miles from the finish I felt it. I bonked. I was out of energy. I knew it because even the slightest grades and I was out of the saddle rather than sitting and producing a constant pedaling rhythm.

While it’s not weighing on my mind like the cancer surgery of 2 1/2 years ago, my upcoming surgery has me appreciating each remaining ride until I take the forced time off the bike. And appreciate the little things such as a simple conversation or a short visit.

But next time I’ll take some food. Or at least water.

February 17, 2012July 30, 2015

When Life Gives You Lemons Go For a Bike Ride

WOODBRIDGE, VIRGINIA

Well, here I go again.

But this doesn’t suck. Cancer sucks.

My knee has been hurting, especially when walking or running. I don’t remember a traumatic injury – in fact, I don’t think there was one. But it was always worse after I played Ultimate (sometimes incorrectly called Ultimate Frisbee). Since there wasn’t an injury I just have to think how long this has been bothering me. Probably about 10 weeks.

I sucked it up. I took a deep breath. I manned up. I went to see my doctor.

My doctor did some range of motion tests and diagnosed it: Torn meniscus.

After the doctor visit I went for a bike ride. There is nothing better to clear the mind and just enjoy the ride. And it was a day that I went over 500 miles for the year — on February 17.

Usually I have 100 miles or less by this date. My fast start? Maybe too good to be true.

I have no answers. I do have fear. Fear that at age 65 I will not be able to walk.

I had foot surgeries in 2003 and 2004. And a torn meniscus in 2006.

Wonder what this means?

I have some cycling goals for 2012 — Ride the Rockies. Mount Washington. Now I don’t know.

But my doctor says cycling is the best thing I can do. So I will continue to ride. Even though it hurts.

I’m frustrated. I don’t know what’s next. But when life gives you lemons, go for a bike ride. So I did.

February 5, 2012July 23, 2015

The Best Ref in the World

RICHMOND, VA

While making a presentation about her experience at the last summer’s Women’s World Cup in Germany, Kari Seitz looked at me and asked, “are you a cyclist?”

I didn’t hear anymore she said after that. If you want to get on my good side, just ask me if I’m a cyclist. Here I was in a referee workshop and she recognized me as a cyclist. I wasn’t wearing spandex and she didn’t see my legs. She saw a cyclist’s body – no upper body, strong legs.

Or did she see my phone with its collection of jerseys on the covers?

“Did you bike up Alpe d’Huez?,” she asked.

Damn. It was my phone. My phone gave me away.

But Kari Seitz, who is certainly the best female referee in the world, settled into a conversation with me about cycling. And she is a cyclist.

One of these refs is the best referee in the world

Kari told me that if she had retired from refereeing a couple of years ago she would have jumped right into racing. And I’m sure she would have been very good. To be a FIFA Referee you have to be near-world class in both sprinting and endurance running. Plus you have to be a good ref too.

I was able to tell her about my ride up Alpe d’Huez. I told her I have gone over 50 mph on my bike and she one-upped me. She has gone over 60 mph. On a tandem. Her husband is a Cat-2 racer and while they have their own bikes they also have a tandem.

Kari told me they like to go out for recreational rides on their bike and they often see some racer types intent on overtaking them. She said she has a signal and right before they get passed, they put the hammer down and leave them in the dust. She smiled as she talked about how demoralized it leaves them.

While I was somewhat disappointed that I couldn’t ride today, meeting Kari Seitz and talking about cycling was a trade off I would make any day.

January 8, 2012April 17, 2024

A Fast Start

WOODBRIDGE VA

It probably means nothing. Two years ago when I was recovering from cancer I did two rides in January – both slow Potomac Pedalers rides just to see if I could ride. The first was January 18, the second was January 24. Total miles for January was 47. February, because of the weather, was worse. Just one ride for 23 miles. Two months and just 70 miles. Yet I ended up with more than 5,000 miles.

This is a fast start. It probably means nothing.

I was sick on New Year’s Eve in Pennsylvania. Yet I focused in on finishing 2011 with 3,700 miles. Why? I don’t know. But I rode. It was 36 degrees and just a cold damp day. No sun. And a brief light rain. My moment of truth came at Mile 10 when I could have ridden three miles more back to Camp Harmony but instead chose to ride 10 more miles around the Quemahoning Reservoir.

Almost immediately after I showered, I crashed. It was 4:00 p.m. and I heard my dad say “That ride really wiped him out.” Well, it didn’t so much as I was sick. Fever. Headache. Aches. Runny nose.

I went to bed New Year’s Eve by 7:00 and slept more than 12 hours. New Year’s Day started beautifully near Somerset. I still felt like crap but reasoned incorrectly that riding makes everything better. Usually it does.

But everyone rides on New Years Day. No matter what. So I rode.

I felt OK while I rode, it was 32 degrees, but even worse when I finished. I was off on January 2 and missed work on January 3 being sick.

Still not recovered, I thought more than once about not riding today knowing the pace may be too fast. But I rode and it was. It was a large group which quickly splintered due to the fast pace up front. We formed a group at the rear and eventually most people played nice.

When we got back to the W&OD I turned and headed to Ashburn. I stopped at Dominion Trail Elementary, where Bethany teaches then missed the W&OD which is right beside the school. I rode up to Rte 7 then had to retrace to find the W&OD.

A little windy, I was pretty wiped by the time I returned to The Bike Lane, 50 miles later. I’m still not 100%.

But I drove home and WTOP was reporting that it was 68 degrees (20 C) in Woodbridge. I knew I must ride when I got home. So I added another 12 miles to make it 62 on the day (100 km).

But if it was 68 it showed that I am still sick. I was cold the entire time despite wearing a jacket.

But through seven days in January my mileage is now 101 miles. In 2010 I didn’t reach that until March 6 and in 2011 it was on February 15. I’d say to hit 100 miles by January 7 is off to a fast pace.

But miles are measured in thousands, not tens, and to be 50 or 60 ahead of last year or 2010 is nothing. The key will be to sustain the pace which is hard in January and February because of weather and a busy schedule of teaching referee courses. After all, 100 miles is simply one ride in July.

Time will tell whether 2012 will get me back to 5,000 miles. Or 6,000.

October 22, 2011September 6, 2020

Mt Lemmon – A 30-Mile Climb

TUCSON, ARIZONA

Peter Jenkins, author of a A Walk Across America, wrote something to the effect that if two strangers told him he should see something he took notice but if three did, he had to do it. I have made that sort of my mantra in life too.

Traveling last May from Oakland to Phoenix I flew with Dr. Paul Mittman who told me I should come out and ride Mt. Lemmon. I had never heard of Mt. Lemmon. Then one of the riders on last year’s Tour de France trip, Deirdre Mullaly, told me about riding Mt. Lemmon. That was two.

Last Christmas, Adrian Register from Great Britain was visiting his grandmother in Arizona and rode Mt. Lemmon. And he also told me that I must do it.

That was it. Three recommendations from three people who don’t know one another.

Mt. Lemmon, it is.

Although I have a nice bike crate, it is still such a pain to fly with a bike that for one day I decided to rent. I located Broadway Bikes, online, and made a reservation. I picked up the bike Friday at 5:00 p.m., found an In N Out Burger for dinner, then went back to the hotel.

Wheels down at 8:00 a.m. I was at the Safeway at E. Tanque Verde and Catalina Hwy, it was 66°.

The first four miles were on Catalina Highway a straight-as-an-arrow road that leads to the base of the climb. Then the road kicks up.

I rode for a little while with a man and his exchange student son from Madrid. Like many cyclists, he was very nice but we didn’t hang around long enough to exchange names. In many ways, cyclists are just two ships just passing in the night and there usually isn’t any attempt to become personal. I may be the exception because I enjoy meeting people.

But we rode and talked and I found they were only going to Mile 5 or 6. He asked if I was going to Mile 10 and seemed surprised when I told him I was going all the way to Mount Lemmon. I didn’t have a good feel for where the road would lead me – I just knew the road signs pointed to Summerhaven, some 25 more miles ahead. And up.

At Mile 5, or 6, they pulled over and I kept going. At first. As we said goodbye he turned and offered me his water. I said no. As I rode away I thought differently, turned around, and told him that I would take him up on the offer.

He told he I didn’t have enough water to make it to the top and he was right. I finished off one bottle then refilled it. It was like having three bottles instead of two. But I would want four.

At the base of the climb you are in the desert with tall Sagura catci all around. The Tucson valley is at approximately 2,500 feet. I’ve read there are six different eco systems; it’s like driving from Mexico to Canada in a span of 30 miles. I can point out four and I’m no biologist.

At 5,000 feet, the cacti are gone and you are in a barren area with lots of rock croppings. Yet higher about 7,000 feet, you’re in a fir forest and at 8,000 feet there are Aspins.

I don’t think there were many cyclists on the road. I would guess less than 50. I do think at 8:00 a.m. I was one of the last to start the climb. And for good reason. It gets friggin hot in the desert, even in late October. But what goes up must come down and most cyclists seemed to be coming down while I was going up.

Look carefully. Someone left water in a jug by the pole. It was hard but I resisted the urge to fill up from this jug. Actually, I should have but maybe it was hot water.

Notice the retaining wall for this highway at the top of the picture

At Safeway, as I was getting ready, a couple was also getting ready to go and I thought I might jump in with them but decided not to. They were never far ahead of me and I sawe them turn around about Mile 10.

This couple thought the views were nice. They were overdressed.

The road seemed to average 5-6% which makes it the equivalent of the first seven miles of Skyline Drive coming out of Front Royal, Va. Except this would be for 30 miles. In the heat.

Looking back, and down, at the road just climbed

As I saw people going back down I was beginning to wonder if I should do this. Or if I should go all the way to Mount Lemmon. Yet I came for this purpose and there would be no turning back.

No water for you. (In fairness, I may have looked parched but neither did I ask for any.)

Halfway up I was passed by four guys with Carmichael Training Systems. This is a training camp that cyclists can go to. They were in their 30s and 40s and I thought about riding with them but wisely decided not to. Running out of water, I passed their support person. He was holding out new water bottles for the paying customers. I wanted him to offer me some water but he did not.

I was allocating my water — one sip/gulp every mile, when I came to the Palisades Campground around Mile 25 and saw the one source of water on the ride. I pulled over and filled my bottles from the faucet.

Water! at Palisades Campground. I hope it was free.

Back on the climb the four guys came whizzing down past me. I thought it strange they didn’t go to the top but in 200 meters or so I was at a summit. It was clear this was where they turned around but where was Mt. Lemmon? I kept going.

I was flying downhill over the top and wondering where the heck I was going. The only thing for sure was I was getting there fast and eventually, I would have to turn around and climb this on the way back.

Three miles later I was in Summerhaven, and after missing the turn and righting myself by talking to a local, or at least a local tourist from Tucson, I started the climb up the ski road. After almost 30 miles of climbing at 5-6%, the road kicked up to 8-9% with grades of 12%. I was hurting.

I passed a famous pie restaurant (I know because it said “famous pie restaurant”)* and entered a section beyond a gate. I saw a sign for “next two miles” and wondered how I could finish this climb after having climbed for 30. But I must. It’s one time. It’s Mount Lemmon.

I’m not the strongest climber – just enthusiastic, and my bike is made from carbon fiber (light) with a triple front ring (low of 30 teeth) and a pretty helpful 27 or 28 tooth cassette on the rear. I rented an aluminum bike (not as light) with compact crank (low of 34 teeth — harder than 30) and a rear cassette of 23 (much harder than 27 or 28). I divided one number by another and I calculate that it was 38% harder with this gear setup than the one at home. I may be grossly wrong because it didn’t feel any harder than maybe 35%.

I really did not look ahead at the road – just kept turning over the pedals. At the end of the two miles I came to a small parking lot and the road was fenced off with a no trespassing sign. The end.

There was no summit sign. In fact, I don’t think this was the true summit if there is a true summit. But it’s as far as the road allowed. I met three women from Germany having a picnic in the back of a pickup truck. They were gracious enough to take my picture and offered me a tomato. I declined the tomato.

I headed back down the road, and came to a hairpin curve and pulled over for another photo op. None up here offered a clear view but this was one of the best. Two women had pulled over and were picnicking by the drop off. They offered me a nectarine and strawberries. I accepted.

Back on the road, I hit 45 mph, disappointed that I didn’t hit 50, but I wasn’t on my own bike and the road didn’t allow for more. At Summerhaven, I began the three-mile climb back up to Palisades. Shut up Legs!

Once I crested at Palisades I began the 30-mile descent to my car. And it was sweet. While many curves were marked at 20 mph for cars, I never had to brake. Not once. I even went through one at 40 mph.

Reaching the valley floor it was hot – it hot 100° – and I regretted not having stopped for more water before my descent. I was parched, again, but the car was only 5-6 miles away.

I reached the car satisfied. Mount Lemmon is a beautiful ride. Water is probably the hardest thing to prepare for. If I did it again I would probably carry a couple of water bottles in my jersey as well as on the bike. Or a Camelbak.

Dr. Mittman. Deirdre. Adrian. You were right. This was one super ride.

___
*This was the Sawmill Run Restaurant

July 23, 2011July 30, 2015

Some Final Thoughts about France

TOULOUSE, FRANCE

I began the day having to find the beach and swim in the Mediterranean. Monday on Alpe d’Huez and today would be the only two really nice weather days I had in France.

I found the beach and went for a brief swim. The water was much colder than I expected. It was the Mediterranean Sea, after all.

I parked along a beach access road and decided I would follow a bike path to the town I could see about 4-5 miles away. I followed the path until it came to a small town and then to a harbor.

I turned and went back and flew right past the car without realizing it. The path ended and I entered a town and spent 30-40 minutes wandering about the small beach town, enjoying seeing the carnival atmosphere and wondering where in the heck I was.

I was lost. I stayed in the town looking for a way out and couldn’t find any. Three or four times I thought I found an exit only to be fooled. The entire time I had believed that that I was on the right beach road but had yet to come back to the car. Along the beach with hundreds of cars parked along the road, they tend to all look alike. I finally decided that I had passed the car so I would have to turn around and find it.

I remember a private tent or building on the beach and could spot it in the distance. I went by it and figured I was close to the car.

I passed the car. I didn’t see it.

I just went by the car again. Two kids on bikes were on the bike path, which was next to the road, blocking my path and laughing. They were about 11-12 years old and were challenging me to a race. I didn’t know French but I knew they wanted to race. I guess all Frenchmen race. I gestured back and pointed to my grey hair. They continued.

Then I came to an opening in the barrier which separated the bike path from the road. I went through the opening and just took off. The kids never had a chance. I was gone.

Inside I laughed but I still had to find the car. I soon realized I had been here before, turned around, and found the car. Thoughts of spending extra time in France because I lost the rental car now left me. I drove on to Toulouse.

At the airport Novotel I watched the TdF on French TV. Then I went to return the rental car to the airport. I removed everything from the car except my bike as I would bike back. I followed the signs to the airport and a big “oh shit” moment hit me. I didn’t have the car’s Garmin with its French maps. And I was on a limited access highway that did not permit bikes. I hoped it wasn’t far but soon went 7 km and made many turns then three or four roundabouts. And there was no way I could find my hotel using surface streets. And it was getting dark.

When the women working at Hertz couldn’t help me I went inside the airport to the information counter and called the hotel and had them come pick me up. I took the wheels off and sheepishly put the bike in the hotel van. What a way to end cycling in France.
Back at the hotel I carefully packed the bike and then my two suitcases. My 4:30 a.m. wake up call would come soon. And although I was first on the shuttle at 5:30 a.m., I needed all that time to catch my 7:30 a.m. flight to Madrid. Only once I boarded the plane could I really relax.

In the airport at Madrid I was in my comfort zone. After all, Ashley and I ran through this airport one year ago only to miss our international flight by five minutes. Or less. I got this.

I found the Iberia Business Class lounge with their wonderful spread of free food. What a nice way to end this trip.

This is the best ice cream in the world.

I came to France thinking that I would ride perhaps 500 miles. I rode 276. But I did climb up the famous Col du Tourmalet, Mont Ventoux, and Alpe d’Huez. Now I don’t know if I will ever return. I hope I do but if I don’t I have great memories, both with Trek Travel last year and with my solo venture this year.

Vive le France!