That Day

I know it hasn’t been that long since the last update but I wanted to get another update in before the donation deadline. This update is a little longer than usual, but it is one of my more memorable days on a bike. So if you haven’t read the previous posts you may need to catch up.

I’m still selling sponsorships too. If you made a donation and haven't picked a spot, I may assign one to you or you can let me know. So get your donation in to get a spot on me or my bike.

France – The Hard Way

I woke on day 4 feeling pretty good. Not just-won-the-lottery good, more like slept-through-the-night-without-worrying-about-getting-spooned-by-Roy good. I attribute the better sleep to the glasses of local wine I shared with my new drinking buddy, Brigitte, wife of the non-drinking Rutiger. Trying to exhibit good-ole American hospitality, I couldn’t let her drink wine alone. So we made it a point to sample the local wine at each town we stayed. There’s definitely something to be admired about the rural French, they know how to eat and drink

Roy was already dressed, thankfully, and was describing the day’s upcoming ride. He’d diligently studied the route and, like a doctor explaining impending surgery, he gave me an unrequested but obligatory report that he was sure I needed to know. Along with the news he delivered the weather, it would be really hot today. We have three major cols to climb. As best as I can figure a col is French for a mountain pass. It’s probably short for “collapse” because that’s what you feel like doing when you get to the top. Roommate Roy asked if my sore tendon was going to force me to ride in the van. I wanted to say “I’ll be damned if I ride in the van, what do you think I am?” Instead I said the tendon felt fine and I was good to go. I made a mental note to thank Horst for adjusting my seat and alleviating the problem. As we headed out Roy mentioned that he’d let me have the bed by the window tonight since he always got to the hotel before me and always had first pick of the room. Instead of saying thanks, I smugly said, “Maybe I’ll save the window for you.” He laughed the kind of snort-laugh that I used to hear a lot in my high school days that simply said, “That ain’t gonna happen.”

The first climb, much like the days before, I brought up the rear. But something was different this time; I actually could see the leading groups as I was nearing the top. In other words, I wasn’t as far back as I typically was. On the second climb I rolled to the top for a rest just as Roommate Roy was leaving. Four of us left the top of the second col, crossed the valley and started the third climb – Col de Mente. Roy was something like 20 minutes ahead of us.

Col de Mente climbs about 1100 meters over 15 kilometers. Roughly 3400 feet over 9 miles – or in layman’s terms, a Mt. Diablo. There are many switchbacks that zigzag up the face of the peak. After the first couple turns I had to rest and cool off – Roy was right about the weather. As I was resting the other three riders kept going leaving me as the last rider on the hill - crap. I got back on the bike and continued the long hot climb. As I was slogging along, the tour van pulled along side me and a voice that can be only described as a Teutonic angel, in precise German-accented English I heard – “Vould you like some cold vater?”

Petra, whom I befriended on one of our rides a couple days ago, was in the van. She said they stopped at the spring atop the previous mountain and filled the coolers with ice cold water. I replaced the lukewarm water in my bottles and thanked her profusely. I also poured a healthy amount on the back of my neck and felt amazingly revived. If I’d known her better, I would have kissed her.

With 14 kilometers to climb, a voice inside me said something elegantly simple - “Go” As if propelled by a thermal updraft, I went. I knew that this was the last climb for the day and I might as well leave it all on the mountain. I kicked my cadence up to 80 revolutions per minute and dropped into a fast climbing pace. As I climbed I saw the 3 riders that had passed me earlier. They were a couple switchbacks ahead of me. I didn’t think of them I just focused on my rhythm. Without any fanfare I slipped past the group leaving them quickly behind me. I thought that if I was riding Mt. Diablo back home that this would be one of my personal best rides. I was in the zone. In every westbound switchback I would take a drink of Petra’s ice cold water – in every eastbound switchback I’d pour a little water on the back of my neck. I felt like Floyd Landis in 2006 Tour. Go. After doing this for countless switchbacks, I spotted what I never thought I would see.

With 1.5 kilometers to go to the top, I saw Phil and … Roy! Go. I kicked my cadence up to 85 rpm and quickly closed the gap between us. I came upon them said to them as nonchalantly as possible to make it sound like I was cruising, “Hey, how’s it going?” Roy looked around with a look that said “Where the hell did you come from?” Then I said something that was incredibly cheeky – “grab onto my wheel, I’ll give you a pull”. When you’re riding and someone says that to you, it may mean “Get in my slipstream and it will be easier on you.” But oftentimes it means “You can draft off me - if you can keep up.” I may have said it like the former but I suspect I meant it as the latter. Phil didn’t bite, he knew that it was still another kilometer to the top and he didn’t want to blow up. Roy bit.

I took my pace up a few more notches. Roy and I were flying up the last 800 meters. He was hanging on my wheel. The afternoon sun was beating down. Sweat was flying. I shifted into a couple higher gears and put the hammer down. With that I heard what sounded like the “pfffishhh” sound a compressor makes when it the pressure valve releases. It was Roy making a pronounced exhale as he reached his limit. I cracked him. I pulled away and made it to the top of Col de Mente a few minutes ahead of him.

As we rode into our hotel in Luchon later that afternoon, Roy and I together, Roy said “The beer’s on me tonight, you kicked my butt back there.” For the rest of the trip, Roy was all right. Roy may out climb me on most rides, but today was that day. You know, that day, where everything just works and you can beat the world.

Now here’s the point - You have to keep after it. That’s what TnT and fundraising is all about. There are people fighting for their lives. Some days are bad and some days will be that day. With research more of them will win. This is your last chance to donate so if you are inclined, please consider making a donation. It will give some victim a chance to experience that day.

Steve

Riding across France and man with no pants

Welcome Back!

Once again I’m here to clutter your inbox with more tales from Team in Training and more tales from France. America’s Most Beautiful Bike team has been making great strides and continues to get ready for their big ride in June. The fundraising has been going well. I continue to be touched when I learn that a donor is supporting the cause because someone they love is fighting cancer. So thank you to everyone that has supported this cause. Your contributions make a huge difference for sufferers and their families. If you’re considering donating, please do so before May 20^th. It’s super-easy, just go to my fundraising page.

Don’t forget if you sponsor me you do get to choose a body or bike part where you want your name displayed. So far I’ve got sponsors on the drops, stem, hoods, down tube, helmet, shorts (butt), one calf, the left and right nipples and more. If you have a body or bike part you want to sponsor, get your claim in before the 20^th.

France – The Hard Way

In our last installment our protagonist, i.e. me, wasn’t faring too well. We’d just completed a grueling hot 90 mile ride and I was seriously questioning whether I trained enough for this adventure. Roommate Roy had delicately implied that maybe, just maybe, I was too heavy for this type of riding. Well that brings us up to date.

I woke up on Day 2 to the sounds of Roy moving around the tiny hotel room. He’s talking about how great he feels. I refuse to open my eyes because the thought of seeing a bottomless man first thing in the morning did not seem like an ideal way to start the day. I asked the night before if he and his wife split the pajama pairs one taking the bottoms and the other the tops. He said, “No, she wears tops too.” “Well that’s convenient,” I thought. I thought to ask what they did with the pajama bottoms but I figured I had talked enough about pajamas. So, with my eyes closed, I asked Roy what the weather looked like outside. He said, “You sure have a hard time waking up. You can clearly see it’s overcast and cool today.” So I made the mistake of opening my eyes only to see that through the picture window in our 4^th floor room that indeed it was cloudy. Well, that is, what I could see around Roy since he was standing half-naked in the window admiring the view. Of course, all the patrons in the courtyard and pool below probably were gazing at their own memorable view in our 4^th floor window. I figured I’d get down to breakfast quickly to avoid the inevitable visit from the hotel manager.

For the next two days we enjoyed much more tolerable weather. Thankfully it was cool and overcast. I was able to struggle through each day’s ride – invariably bringing up the rear to finish the ride behind the other riders. At one stop I asked Horst, the tour leader, if there is anything I could do for a rather sharp and nagging pain in my left knee ligament. He checked it out and in a matter-of-fact precise English with a German accent told me that my hamstrings were too short. I was taken aback as I told him that there’s hardly anything I can do about that! He laughed. I guess that was my exposure to fine German humor. He said that I should stretch my hamstrings more after each ride. At this point Roy who was in earshot says to me, “I was going to suggest you stretch more after your rides. I do yoga.” Thankfully I hadn’t been exposed to that spectacle…yet

Horst lowered my seat a little bit and said that it would help. I have to hand it to Horst, he knew his stuff. I struggled through the rest of day 3 but I wasn’t as sore as the previous two days. I rolled into the hotel at the end of the day and Roy, who was already showered and had been to the pool, was telling me that I would like our room…”it’s got huge windows.” I considered warning the other patrons but thought the better option would be a hot shower and cool beer. As I left to the room, Roy yells “Remember to stretch, heavier riders put more strain on their muscles.” I couldn’t fault him because, after all, it was good advice. But it is like your mother yelling at you while you’re on the baseball field asking if you remembered to wear your cup. Good advice, but you really don’t want to hear it.

Riding in France is unlike any riding I’ve done in the US. In the US you come to expect a lot of things when you ride through towns. Things you don’t see in France – gas stations, convenience stores, and oddly, people. Check out some of the pictures at http://notabouttheback.blogspot.com/

Thanks for reading along. Join me next time as we enter the high Pyrenees and yes, there will be more Roy. Also, remember if you want to sponsor me go to the fundraising site.

Thanks,

Steve