Todays ride will go down (in my head at least) as one of the most difficult and physically demanding days of my life. Not the longest day of the week, but certainly the most difficult so far. 4,298 feet of climbing over a 59.5 mile trek. The day started early, waking up at 5 am, a time of day I am usually not familiar with. Packed up the tent, and hiked 35 minutes of crappy gravel road to get to the route. I should explain that I was supposed to meet a team from my hometown at a certain place to camp, but they lost the clutch on their bus, so never made it. I stayed in our designated meeting place anyway mostly because I had already hiked out there, also, I didn't want to have to ask someone else if I could set up on their lawn.
So... back to the story of the day. After finding the route, which is a simple process of watching where the majority of bikes are riding, I was on my way and excited. The 35 pound backpack carrying all my gear did not yet feel like a giant gorilla strapped to my back, the early morning cool weather was beautiful, and hey, this is why I'm here right?
I can't go much further in the story of day one without getting to the crash. Why you ask? Because it happened only 9 miles into the ride! Going down a nice big hill into Silver City, the very first pass through town of the week, I found out the hard way that not all people like to go fast down the hills. Here's the scene for you.... Rolling 35-40 mph, I found myself boxed in by the bikes around me, very little space in front or back, a bike tight on my left, and a gravel shoulder to my right. With the tight space and high speed it became quickly apparent to me that foot braking was going to be an issue, and thats when it happened. A rider directly in front of me put his brakes on with no warning, my speed was still increasing, and my only choice was to try to pass on the right. Not usually recommended, especially when there's about 6 inches between him and the edge of the road. I screamed out "ON YOUR RIGHT! ON YOUR RIGHT!" but it was too late. As I attempted to squeeze by, my wheel caught his and sent me onto the gravel shoulder. Tried to ride it out, but the backpack threw off my balance, as did the enormous chunks of gravel. Took a nose dive directly to the ground, the backpack preventing me from rolling and holding most of my weight down on my right side. The result was road rash on the entire length of my right arm/shoulder, my right knee, and a silver dollar sized chunk out of my left palm. (For pictures see the photo page) Luckily my helmet did its job and took a big smack and scrape that otherwise would have been my face.
So... back to the story of the day. After finding the route, which is a simple process of watching where the majority of bikes are riding, I was on my way and excited. The 35 pound backpack carrying all my gear did not yet feel like a giant gorilla strapped to my back, the early morning cool weather was beautiful, and hey, this is why I'm here right?
I can't go much further in the story of day one without getting to the crash. Why you ask? Because it happened only 9 miles into the ride! Going down a nice big hill into Silver City, the very first pass through town of the week, I found out the hard way that not all people like to go fast down the hills. Here's the scene for you.... Rolling 35-40 mph, I found myself boxed in by the bikes around me, very little space in front or back, a bike tight on my left, and a gravel shoulder to my right. With the tight space and high speed it became quickly apparent to me that foot braking was going to be an issue, and thats when it happened. A rider directly in front of me put his brakes on with no warning, my speed was still increasing, and my only choice was to try to pass on the right. Not usually recommended, especially when there's about 6 inches between him and the edge of the road. I screamed out "ON YOUR RIGHT! ON YOUR RIGHT!" but it was too late. As I attempted to squeeze by, my wheel caught his and sent me onto the gravel shoulder. Tried to ride it out, but the backpack threw off my balance, as did the enormous chunks of gravel. Took a nose dive directly to the ground, the backpack preventing me from rolling and holding most of my weight down on my right side. The result was road rash on the entire length of my right arm/shoulder, my right knee, and a silver dollar sized chunk out of my left palm. (For pictures see the photo page) Luckily my helmet did its job and took a big smack and scrape that otherwise would have been my face.
Nobody else went down thankfully, and the rider who had braked in front of me stopped and came up the hill to make sure I was okay and apologize as he knew it was his fault. He claimed he was "too scared to ride that fast". I held back the inclination to ask him what the hell he was doing on the ride if he was scared on a bike, and told him I would be okay and he could move on. I covered my scrapes as best I could with the minimal first aid kit I had along, and continued on my way.
Little did I know that the fall would not be the most painful part of that ride. As the sun got higher in the sky the temperatures went up, up, up. A bank sign in a pass-through town read 101, and I heard the heat index was around 111. I knew that especially on the steeper up-hill climbs that I would have to pick up my board and walk. Pushing up the hills wasn't much faster, and burned at least twice the energy. But with the heavy pack, even walking up the hills was quite a workout. I gulped down as much water and gatorade as I could, trying to stay hydrated in the heat, but it was a losing battle. Dehydration was giving me major leg cramps, making me unstable even while coasting and riding downhill.
After 12 hours of pushing, hiking, sweating, and cursing myself for this terrible idea, I was done. My morale was obviously low, and the idea of spending the night in my little tent in the heat sounded like about the worst thing in the world. So, I made a phone call to my wonderful sister Chelsie. She is a teacher, so has the summer months off, and was very generous to come pick me up and take me to her house in Des Moines. I took a painful shower, scrubbing the dirt out of my road rash, and passed out on her couch for the night. I had a hard decision the next day as it was equally hot, and my injuries seemed to have become more sore overnight. I decided that if I was going to be able to continue at all, that I needed to re-evaluate my "self contained" approach, as well as use that day to rest.
It was not an easy decision to stay in that day, as I had come so far with training, and pushed through the injuries the day before, but it was the best decision I made all week. I spent the day in air conditioning, drinking tons of water, and taking more than the recommended amount of Aleve. I worked it out with Chelsie that for the next few days she would shuttle me back to the start early in the mornings, and pick me up when I finished. So on to d
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