A 250 mile bike ride is not for me. I am still shell shocked that I signed up and went on this adventure. I did ride 140 miles of it—the other 110 of the mostly uphill miles were in the sag van. A sag wagon is the support and gear vehicle. Or the “take me to the top of this stupid mountain” vehicle.
I will never do it again. I cannot both breathe and move at 9,000 feet and above—there is no air! And how can you leave and return to the same spot four days later having ridden twice as many miles uphill as down? Isn’t there a downhill for each uphill? It does not seem physically possible but I am sure I ended at my starting point 4,000 feet higher in the air.
I will never do it again. The first morning I arrived at the 7 am group orientation wearing my cycling clothes: khaki shorts, a sleeveless white golf shirt, and sandals. Everyone else was in bright shiny shirts, padded shorts, and clickety clack shoes. I thought they were show offs but, over the four days, I learned how certain clothing aids the rider.
I will never do it again. The other 22 riders were serious about going the distance. Several of the men were hammerheads, making it a race. Though I must say they were all exceptionally nice to me and tried to lift my spirits when I came in hours after everyone else. I connected to a couple of great guys who live less than two miles from me. And I befriended an adorable 11-year-old named Alex who rode at my speed.
I will never do it again. The second night’s accommodations were abysmal—five of us in a room, no hot water, not very clean, right next to a state highway. It included my husband’s most hated amenities: a paper bathmat and shampoo in little ketchup packets that are impossible to open once your hands are wet. I must say though, my four roommates and I did have a long laugh when Larry’s cot gave out and plummeted him to the floor. And I did make everyone chuckle when I thanked my roommate Steve for bringing me hot coffee in bed after our first night sleeping together. (Mom, just to be clear: I shared a bed with Ted and Steve shared one with his wife Annette.)
I will never do it again. It was just plain hard. The climbs were long and steep. Though I must say I learned something: It was hard for everyone. I have always assumed that athletic feats were easy for others but once I stopped my whining and listened to the others, I realized others do it despite it being hard.
I will never do it again. I would work myself into such a sweat that I would feel light headed. I would lie down to recover—once in sticky sap, once in ants, and once in sharp pine needles. Yet, in 10 minutes, the feeling would pass and I would get up and ride some more.
I will never do it again. The descents were terrifying. Coming down thousands of feet from an 11,500 mountain pass in a few nanoseconds raised my heart rate into the stratosphere. When I dared to take my eyes off the road, I noticed that I sometimes was going faster than the speed limit for cars. I must admit, now that it is done, I find myself smiling as I remember the exhilaration.
I will never do it again. We were all up at the crack of dawn. I am not a morning person. However, I will concede that the mountain mornings were cool and crisp and beautiful.
I will never do it again. Although my buddy Alex did give me a big hug at the end of the ride and say, “Next year, Cynthia, you and I will rule!”
I will never do it again. Except that I do have this nagging thought of all the times I have lectured my nephews and grandchildren about being open to new experiences because perhaps they could learn something new, meet someone new, have a new experience.
Hmmm……