Day 8: REST DAY!!!

Distance: F--- THAT!!!
Average Speed: A Slow Stroll

Yesterday we finished the western leg of the ride. Over seven days we had three over 130 miles and none under 100 miles. We had some beautiful climbs, incredible scenery, a tailwind speed day, and a couple of hard long days that were really more just about getting from A town to B town. I am completely undisappointed, completely challenged, and really satisfied with my performance thus far.

The body is holding together well. Ankles and knees are getting iced every other night, more as a prophylactic measure than due to any pain. I think I did well to coddle the ankle toward the end of my training. I owe Techa and the diners of Enoteca Sogno on Broad Street an apology for ruining their antipasta with the stench on Ben Gay following a number of hard training rides. It is allowing me to ride pain-free, though.

You know, when I signed up for the Fast Ride I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the pace day after day after day. That has turned out not to be the case. I’m one of the stronger riders, and I feel like I’m still getting stronger. Again, preparation paid off. A bunch of guys are riding into some really strong legs now. While I may have been off the front for much of the first section, I suspect that that won’t continue for long. Everyone is getting better, getting stronger. Jay and Sam both have enough pace to put some hurt on me. Ron is a locomotive. Everyone is determined.

Other folks I ride with at home could do this ride. I’m thinking about the hard men in RABA that crank out the mileage. They could do this. So could the strong, fast guys. Both groups would find it challenging but would be successful doing it. It’s not because I’m a super strong rider that I can do this. That’s just not the way it works. The ability to find a rhythm is a lot more important. Ride, eat, sleep, repeat. Keep it simple. You can’t come here thinking you’re going to be keeping up with work email. You can’t get worked up about the little things. It’s too long and too hard. You have to keep it simple, and dare I say it, pure. You have to be patient.

One insight I’ve gained over the first seven days is that this is no club ride. Everything is bigger, longer, higher, harder. Leg fatigue will not stop me; the inability to keep my joints together could. One needs to hold oneself accountable for both. If my ankle doesn’t hold up, that’s my fault, not an act of nature. I went hard when I should have gone easy. I went dumb when I should have gone smart. We are not riding quiet, deserted, two lane country roads with no cars. I’ve been scared a couple of times. We’ve had one rider go the emergency room when she had to beat back a feisty guardrail with her head outside Sedona. Weather conditions are a given—interesting but they don’t change what needs to be done.

There is no option not to go on a given day. You have to work around the conditions and how you feel. I started Day 3 feeling the worst starting a bike ride than I have ever felt, and I was facing 115 miles into a moderate headwind. You’ll remember that Day 2 was 130 miles across the desert in 104 degree temperatures. After I got into Blythe that day I could not stop cramping, and for the first time in my life I vomited in multiples following a ride. Ron and I had gone hard down the highway, and no matter how great the SAG crew there was just no way I was not going to hurt that evening. Sorry for the long set up to the simple point that I was prouder of the ride I did on Day 3, crawling over the route, staying out of pacelines, and trying not to draw down my reserves further, than I was of making it through Day 2 strongly. I felt that way doubly when I saw the 11,000 feet of climbing and beautiful scenery on Day 4.

Some other advice:

Tweezers. Bring them. You’ll need them to pull out the wires that puncture your tires on the interstate.
Carmex. A must. Breathing desert air heavily over seven hours has left my lips a chapped mess of gristle.
Tires. Bring the slow, heavy, thick ones. These roads are no place for racing tires. Punctures kill a pace much more surely than slow tires. I didn’t take this advice. I’m fixing that today.

Thanks for following. Tomorrow we go to Las Vegas! New Mexico.