The Ride I Needed

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When you leave the house before sunrise, you know you're committed.

When you leave the house during a downpour, before sunrise, you know you're something.

I had a few companions on my ride: Anne and Shirley. Their voices echoed through my head for the five hours of rain that helped define my ride.

If it were not for them. I would have been left entirely to myself. In the first two hours of my ride I only saw three vehicles. I didn't see any bicycles for four hours.

Like I wrote: when you leave the house during a downpour, before sunrise, you know you're something.

And when you plan to do all of that for 130 miles with ~8,000 feet of climbing—while injured—you're...something unprintable.

I'm Only Happy When It Rains

Sunday's ride was a test. My injury was forefront in my mind. This ride was to help me set my riding expectations for Pelotonia. I know that it's the money that matters believe me, I get it. But my performance matters to me as well. And I know that I won't be happy if I don't ride to my expectations.

Mercifully, it was raining. Sometimes, it was pouring. That makes me happy.

Shirley

As I've written before, I do so love to ride in the rain. It comforts and tests me like no other conditions. It's primal, elemental. It's full commitment and complete concentration

Riding in the rain feels pure. If you're there, you're there because you want to be. Something is driving you, and being there is being true to yourself.

I hope Pelotonia 11 is in the driving rain.

Here Comes the Rain Again

I felt remarkably good. My legs had required from Wednesday night's sufferfest. And I was armored for battle.

Annie (Come on, you knew this was coming!

My physical-therapy sage recommended that I use an ankle brace—to give me feedback that would limit my calf movement. He also suggested kinesio tape, to help support the calf.

Good ideas, those.

Armor!

I was two hours in, tracking at ~16 mph, and I was managing my power output to the low 200s—often much lower. It was not a ride about speed. It was not about power intervals. It was to test myself—my fitness and my leg—to assess what I could do.

And I learned a lot.

I discovered that I could do...most of what I could normally do I'm about 80% to 85% on a bike. That's compared to about 50% on foot. Overall, my power average was identical to my 2-day Shenandoah ride in July. But it came at a cost.

Because of my calf, my biomechanics are...different. I'm working far more with my left leg, with predictable consequences:

• Left IT-band tightness
• Left knee soreness
• Left hamstring fatigue

On the right, there are consequences as well:

• Right hip-flexor fatigue
• Right hamstring...weirdness
• Right shin fatigue

I'm imbalanced—no surprise there. And if Pelotonia wasn't less than a week away, I'd succumb to mindful rest and a lot of swimming.

But Pelotonia is in six days, and all my biomechanical issues are manageable. Stretching, massage, tape, bracing, and Vitamin I can get me through.

What else did I learn?

• I can't sprint
• I can't surge
• I can climb—but I need to do so by adjusting technique and with less top-end power than I am accustomed to
• I can push out long, sustained power sessions. I can still handle a bike
• I can put my head down and suffer

And I can still enjoy the experience.

Taking Flight

Mile 73. On a long, flat-ish stretch outside Thurmont, with farms on either side of the road. Realizing that I have a lot of miles in front of me, were I to make it home. I'm soaked through, but the rain has just stopped. Traffic is beginning to appear, as folks emerge from their rainy-Sunday cocoons.

On the periphery, from my left, I see something in the sky. It's larger than it should be. Thump-thump-thump beat its wings. Three strokes. That's all it took to cover the distance between us. It was heading straight for me, and then it banked, as only a bird can. Strong, fluid, powerful. It turned, curving away to my left, passing behind me just as it approached the road.

Sometimes Mom pays us a visit, bearing wonderful gifts...

And I was blessed with a perfect view of an American Bald Eagle in full flight.

"Thank You!" I called as non-rain-induced chills passed over me.

I closed my eyes, pedaled on, and watched as my mind replayed all 5 seconds of the experience.

And I rode on.

Decisions, Decisions

I wasn't going to make it. 130 simply wasn't going to happen. I was out of food, out of energy, and somewhere around mile 87 I got the first twinge in my calf. It was time to reconsider.

If I pushed on the whole way, I might make it home uninjured. But chances were that my bio-mechanical issues would result in another injury. I started the ride with the intention of testing myself. I had achieved that goal; so why push it?

And—much to my surprise—my ego wasn't throwing up barriers. Somehow I wasn't viewing not finishing as a failure. I actually believed what I was saying to myself.

Well, we all grow up sometime, don't we?

So I called in the cavalry (for the second time in two weeks), and I was picked up.

112 miles. 7.5 hours. 16.1 mph average. ~8,000 feet climbed. 4,000+ calories burned.

And one decision made.

I'm riding Pelotonia. Both days. And I'm going to...

...decide on Wednesday if I can hang with the big boys.

Let's see how I recover, and what I have on Tuesday night.

Yep...I'm wussing-out on making a decision today!