Indy still flies

On the way driving down to Blacksburg (in our beautiful new car with working air conditioning), I asked Mark just how miserable this ride was going to make me?  He just got this knowing little smile on his face and he said "You're going to love it." I guess after 28 years he knows me a little.

Wow - it's been a while since I posted.  Not a huge amount to talk about really.  I've been head down, butt up learning my new job - what I'm supposed to be doing, what's working, what's not.  I have come to the conclusion that I need to cut back on training (or rather, feel less guilty about not training enough) because I need to give the job the attention it needs.  I've realized that all the rejections, failures and depression are like layers that have built up into a mountain that's sitting over my left shoulder.  It's not going away - all I can do is move myself away from it with layers of challenges, successes and forging a way at work that is considered valuable to my employers and colleagues.  So I need to give the job time and attention and care.  Plus I'm not enjoying running (OK, so I did run a marathon, but it was so ugly I prefer not to count it), so it's good to have an excuse not to get to the track.

But I have been on the hook for one thing.  After two years of listening to Mark blather on and on about how Mountains of Misery is the Best Bike Ride Ever (BBRE), I finally went down to Blacksburg VA over Memorial Weekend last year to see for myself.  Along with my teammates, I planted myself at a hairpin turn about a mile from the mountaintop finish line of the century (160km) and double metric century (200km) routes. And what suffering I saw.  Probably more walkers than riders, most people didn't want to talk- or didn't have the breath to talk.  We poured water over the necks of sweaty and exhausted riders, ran (slowly) alongside encouraging the ones still riding, tried to gauge what each individual needed.  And I found myself committing on video to doing the event in 2012.  I don't quite understand why I had to see the suffering to want to experience it, but for whatever reason, it worked its magic on me and so, a year later, I found myself at the bottom of a very long, very high mountain, not sure what the day would bring.

A few weeks ago, I'd had to take away Mark's MoM privileges - it seemed that every time we saw a hairpin turn or a steep grade on the spring classics on TV, he'd turn to me and say something like "That's nothing on what you'll see at Mountains of Misery."  I accused him of deliberately trying to scare me and banned him from talking about it.  A few days ago, I relented and did ask for his advice based on the elevation chart and route that I'd printed out.  In the meantime, I'd grown strangely excited about the event.  Not nervous (which worried me - shouldn't I have been nervous?  This event is known to break people), but excited.  I think there were a few factors that contributed to my excitement:

1. I love cycling.  I'm never happier than when I'm on my bike.  And what couldn't be better than 10 hours of cycling?  Except maybe 10 days of cycling.
2. It'd be the first time since Ironman in 2009--the first time since the long 2.5 years of unemployment, depression and lack of training--that I'd really be testing my ability to go long and push the boundaries of my body and spirit (see what I mean about not counting the marathon?).  I'd be attempting to re-earn my tattoo - tinana kaha, wairua kaha, wahine toa - strong body, strong spirit, strong woman.
3. The area around Blacksburg is drop dead gorgeous and I love scenic rides.
4. This isn't just any event that just anybody could do - there's a mystique to it and bragging rights that comes along with completing it - along with a t-shirt you only get if you finish.  I wanted to be one of the club.
5. Did I mention it's a cycling event?  And how much in love with biking I am?

I planned it like I did for Ironman, including making Indy a fuel & distance bracelet - what to eat when, which rest stops I'd be stopping at, where the Big Climbs came on the route.  I managed to get in a dream team of teammates and thankfully they didn't seem to mind me imposing my plan on them.

There was a hiccup a few days before when Indy was diagnosed as a very very sick bike.  She's nine years old and unfortunately a bunch of things broke at once, including a part that couldn't be bought for love nor money.  I was faced with sinking up to a grand in repairs - and is it worth it to do that for a nine year old bike?  Fortunately, a gear-head friend had the part and kindly offered to bike it over to the repair shop.  Crisis (both mechanical and financial) over and Indy performed brilliantly all day (except for constantly losing the chain, but after the anxiety of thinking I might not even be able to start the ride, that I could live with.)

What can I say about the ride itself?  It pretty much lived up to its publicity.  It is stunning, with new beautiful vistas around every turn.  I kept on thinking of that song about a village, hidden deep in the valley, among the pine trees half forlorn.  The day itself pretty much went according to plan, so I won't bore you with the details of double strength sustained energy, combos and uncrustables.  Except to say that - as advertised - salted potatoes and pickles rock.  

The dream team stuck together well for about the first 28 miles, including down the most fun screaming technical descent I've ever done.  Then Oli and I headed out, assuming the faster folks would catch us.  Instead, at the next stop a couple of hours later. we formed up with Jason, Julie and Marti.  We'd stick together for the next five hours and they were the best team I could hope for.  They're experienced, positive, strong cyclists and I was happy to follow them up the mountains (mostly within sight, but they were fabulous at waiting at rest stops for me and Oli).

After the four hour point, the first Big Climb came.  About 2-2.5 miles long, with some horrendous grade.  All I knew is that I was looking at my speed hovering anywhere from 1.4mph (I didn't fall over!) to 4mph.  This was going to take some time.  So I hunkered down, concentrated on matching my breathing to my pedal cadence, sitting up to get as much oxygen as possible.  There's one devil of a hairpin turn and as soon as I saw it, I knew I had three choices.  I could keep my steady cadence and speed and not make it around the corner.  I could get out of the saddle and face the very real possibility of losing all momentum when I sat back down again.  Once again the result wouldn't be good.  Instead, I hammered my cadence, speeding up to get as much momentum as possible around the turn.  Whooopeeeee!  It worked!  I was stoked and by the time I reached the top of the mountain, I was buzzing.  I didn't have to walk once.  Up until this point whether or not I would was a matter of speculation - should I blow myself up on this climb and walk up the final climb?  Or walk and try to save myself for the final climb?  I truly thought I wouldn't have any choice in the matter, so I was delighted to make it up, flip flops untouched.

The worst time of the ride came at 70-83 miles, about 5-6 hours into the ride.  There's a "nice little ride up the valley," as Oli labeled it.  Not so much.  Really, it was about eight miles of stair step climbs, sometimes when I was going about the speed of the Big Climb.  Ugh.  I dropped my chain, so I was on my own the entire time.  I was thinking I was bonking and I truly doubted my ability to keep on and tackle the rest of the ride.  Then the descent turned out to be a gravel filled, pot holey, shaded, dangerous, two-hands on the brakes type ride.  I had definitely started to lose my equilibrium by the end.  

The next ten miles were much better.  Some climbing, but also some beautiful fast tempo riding beside a babbling brook.  I couldn't enjoy it tremendously, knowing the Final Climb that I was facing.  At mile 93, the second to last rest stop, one of the amazing volunteers described the next 7.94 miles as four miles of easy (relatively!) riding, one mile of easing into the climb (still nothing to sneeze at) and then the three mile Final Climb.  I was less excited at that point - just wanted to get to the Moment of Truth.

Before I knew it, there it was.  Up, up, up.  But, you know what?  Nothing hurt.  My lungs were fine, I was breathing heavily but not excessively.  The speed was OK (my garmin tells me that for the last 2.5 miles of the climb, I was averaging 3.6 mph (5.8kph)), the legs were still managing to pull up and not mash down.  I tried not to look up (except when Marti said "Oh, I didn't mean to look up!," and thankfully my garmin was in the triple digits, meaning that I wasn't subjected to watching the interminable 100ths turning over - only the tenths of a mile.  At one corner, there was a SAG wagon with a guy and a water mister.  We stopped for breather and I tried to figure out how far we were from the top.  You can imagine my chagrin when Jason told me this was a "traditional stop" and not the official rest stop.  But this wasn't on my plan!!!  Still half a mile to the official rest stop.  Still, the breather was good and a time to apologize for how ridiculously chipper I was feeling.  My team mates didn't seem to mind.  

I don't really remember much about the next half mile - I'm sure it took long time.  The last rest stop - 1.5 miles from the top was the only one I sat down at.  As always, the volunteers were delightful and as helpful as you could ever wish for.  I do remember gummy bears and dishing out salt tabs like they were candy.

By this point, we could hear the Team Z vuvuzelas.  From last year, I knew they were only a couple of turns away.  There is nothing quite like a Team Z cheering station - especially when you're digging deep. Three's something about the noise and the personal encouragement that makes you pick up your pace - beyond what you ever thought you could.

My first encounter was with Adele, a little bit down from the corner, who screamed something about the Denver Broncos (to a Kiwi?) and various other things, all of which seemed to boil down to "you go girl." Awesome.  Then the rest of the team saw me.  The screaming and the name calling (all positive!) and the offers of water did nothing but make me grin from ear to ear and pick it up around the corner.  Oy.  Despite having run alongside cyclists multiple times last year, I hadn't realized that the gradient kicks up at that point.  But my team was screaming at me to keep going - there was no way I was going to walk now!  

I managed to have a conversation with Rod who was riding behind me, telling him all about the team and how they'd be there for the last cyclist through.  He said that he'd never seen anything like this kind of support.  Ain't that the truth.   

The last mile was a blur.  I remember seeing Rich sitting at the side of the road - I am so proud of him for finishing.  I know he'd thought that maybe this would be the one he didn't make it.  I think I crossed the finish line whooping and hollering.  Thank goodness for the volunteers who caught my bike and held it while I clambered ungracefully off.  

Wow.  What a day.  About 9:20 elapsed time, 8:25 cycling time, 10,000 feet of climbing, 0 walking.  I loved nearly every minute of it (minus the lollipop at 70).  Will I do it again?  Dunno yet.  Maybe it's better to go out on top, eh?  But I did sign up for a 60 mile ride next month, this one with 8,000' of climbing - 30% more climbing per 10 miles than MoM.  Wheeee!