Day 3 (Part 1)

Starting odometer: 272.3

Today is the big challenge. 62 miles and plenty of climbing. We are more eager to get going this morning as we have been warned the heat will be brutal and we will be exposed to the sun. We are jittery and more efficient in the morning packing and eating. Things start out as the rest of the day will go. We are again 2nd to last to leave camp, followed only by Dwayne (Chicago). There are paved roads to begin with and I discover that my seat is slowly sinking as I pedal. We stop to raise it, but have to stop again to get out a tool to tighten it up. I feel as if I'm riding a kids bike, my knees coming up so high and my legs never straightening out. J is anxious to keep going, I can sense his tension. We get back on the trail quickly.

Soon the road turns to dirt and we approach a couple who had a flat and were lucky enough to have Don, the mechanic, show up seconds later. They are on their way in no time. We are climbing at this point as we were expecting. This is exactly the type of forest service/logging roads that John and I spent endless hours riding during our training. This gives me confidence. We jockey with a group of others up the hill. I'm feeling pretty good and J is staying right with me. It's hot already and we're sweating, but still groovin. We take a short stop on a hill because one of the riders has lost her chain and we wanted to make sure she was back in action. This was Anna, from Greenwich, CT. She was good to go and we all started the last push up the hill. Her boyfriend, Eddy, comes screaming down the hill telling us that the water stop is getting close. Boy, he sure has a lot of energy to go back down and climb up again. I think I'd just wait until J caught up to me. No double climbing for me!


The first water stop is at the top and our group was a big one reloading. I discover a hole in the bladder of my hydration pack as I was refilling it that caused a nice drip down my back. Luckily, I have a smaller one in my gear on the truck for the rest of the week. And it's so hot, I don't mind getting a little wet. Don is there too and he offers to show us the "superman" trick on his bike: you hold on to the handlebars and put your stomach on the seat and start rolling, lifting your legs out behind the bike straight back. I don't get a picture of this, but as you can imagine, it's funny and we all joke around.

Then we lose every single inch of climbing we had gained in a wonderful twisty downhill race. We were all in a line at the start, but skill and outright guts allow some riders to pass others: Ed, 64 from California, who went screaming past me looking like he was on a leisurely ride. I, as usual, am on high alert to loose gravel and possible crash and burn situations. But, the wind feels fantastic and I find other riders who are even slower than I am, so I make my move as well. After 10 minutes of joy, we're climbing again. Carol, from California and biking partner of Ed, loses her chain and J helps her out. We are now in a pack of about 10. We ride more or less together, we are pretty fast climbers and pass people, but I'm always getting beat downhill.

The lunch stop is by a natural target range and we all discuss the possibilities of finding joy shooting signs. Never has lunch tasted so good. Someone shares his find of huckleberries and the water holes they have explored. Then we are on the road again for more climbing. Seems like a long day, no? Oh yea, and we're only halfway there. Bear with me because I have a great story at the end.

Next up: the hill of death. We go through some cool land with some shade and flat surfaces. We feel like we're cruising along, no problem. There's some private land in the middle of all of this nothing where someone must have spent a fortune on a nice fence. For what?, we wonder. It's all a mystery. But, so far, so good, until *the hill of death*. This starts out innocently enough. However, it just keeps going and going. We see a bend in the road up ahead. Surely that is the end of the hill. Oh no! This happens to us about a million times during this stretch. It's hot. We lose our comfy shade. At times the air seems to stand still and we are blasted in an oven. Just keep going, I tell myself. After this climb it's all downhill, right? J sighs with each new section of up. Brutal. There's really no other word. And just as we were at the end of our rope, it gets steeper and the terrain becomes more ungroomed. There are gullies, loose gravel, big rocks. Why? I ask myself. Why did this sound like a fun way to spend my vacation? What the hell am I doing out here? Luckily, I think J is having the same thoughts. I tell him, "I don't think I'd say this trip is fun. I'm not even sure it's pretty. I think the best that I'll have to say is that it is rewarding. That is, if I make it." The look in his eye tells me that he's thinking the same thing.

We stop on the steepest part of the hill of death for a breather and some courage. J takes out his map. Um, I think that the water stop is literally around that bend. I've heard this one before, so I ask, how many miles away is it? He says 1/10 of a mile. We think we can make it. Eddy (of and Anna) and Doug (Seattle, WA) are chugging up towards us. As the hill is steep, I try to dissuade them from stopping by telling them the water stop is literally right there. They dismiss my claim and stop anyway, sharing our complaints of a brutal climb. We all decide to go for it and kill it up the hill. And....yep. The water stop was just a few feet away, but just around the bend could be another 3 miles and those head games sure do put a damper on your ride. We get to the top.

Oh. My. God. I can hardly stand and almost fall over trying to unclip (story of my life) twice as the luggage guy winces watching me. I may look like a fool, but at this point, if I had the energy, I could throw my bike off a cliff. I stagger over to food and water. I am unsure I can continue. I voice this and I think people are taking me seriously. But just wait- everyone else coming up the hill looks even more sick than me. Really. Actually Not Looking Good. Several people walk up, lacking the energy to ride and I secretly wish I had walked as well. Todd (Seattle, WA) says that the words he used while coming up the hill would have cost him a buck with his kid, and it rhymes with buck too. Anna arrives looking seriously beat and claims: I'd rather be eaten by a grizzly bear because it would be less painful. Ok. I have to laugh. At least we are all miserable together. By the way, this is mile 45 of 62. Yes, I still have almost 20 miles of misery to go. Oh, those head games.

J looks at me. Can I make it? The rest is downhill, right? Jim looks at me honestly (and I appreciate that): no, there's still some climbing, but it's sort of roller coaster. Nothing like this hill. I chew on that while I cool off. J looks at me and I can tell he's ready to keep going. I dig deep, oh so very deep and decide that I may not be able to walk tomorrow, may not be able to pitch the tent tonight, may not be able to feed myself, but I will try to push through it. I know that there will be a van coming behind us if we need it. Ok. I'll go. Meanwhile, the crew working this trip is worried, trying to figure out how to get so many people off the hill. They are not equipped for so many to sag. We find out later that only 2 people actually sag, the rest ride it out.

Ok. From here on out it's pretty much just J and I. There are some nice downhill sections. I hardly touch my brakes, more out of exhaustion than confidence. I don't think road rash will hurt more than that hill did either. I try to keep my speed up as much as possible so I have to pedal as little as I can up sections. But, we do keep climbing. The van passes us and kicks up some nice grit for our teeth. Oh, it's just like whipped cream on top, isn't it? I hope no animals charge out into the road because I will plow them down. All of my caution is gone and I think we're both a little delirious.

We stop in the shade for a break and a van coming uphill stops to tell us that there's a great swimming hole up ahead: only 2 miles. This I can make. But first, I need to pee. I've been drinking and drinking without needing to go, but now that I'm off my bike, gravity has put it's weight on me. I'm too tired to climb down the embankment by the road. We haven't seen anyone in hours (so it feels), so I tell J to look for bikers and drop trow right there at the edge. J, well, he's a man, instead of looking up the road for a bike, he's looking at me. Instantly I realize my mistake. Right then, J announces panicky, bike, bike, BIKE! The floodgates have opened. It's the Hoover Dam being released. There's no stopping now. My crazed mind races. I see who's coming. This guy will probably wreck and die of embarrassment when he sees not only my bare ass hanging on the side of the road, but also the lake I'm producing. I panic. I jump off the ledge and into the brush below, water spraying everywhere, soaking my underwear, my chamois, my shorts. Oh man. Biker dude yells out "are you ok" as he flies by us. J says yea, very calmly.

When I resurface J and I look at each other. A minute passes. We start laughing hysterically. Classic moment there. And, as gross as it might be, my wet shorts were delightfully cooling in the breeze my bike produced. I think it may have been one of the best sections I'd ridden all day. I took off my shoes and socks at the swimming hole and jumped into the river, glad for a good excuse for wet pants.

Garth, the Kiwi, in his speedo (yes, 71 and still had a body for a speedo) took our picture together in the river. I can't wait to see that one. I'm framing it. It's the day I wet my pants and enjoyed it.