Fire on the Mountain

Nearly everything in the mountains is amplified and the entrance of fall is no exception.  The energy and power of summer has grown weary and the forest is silent.  The earth dries out and wildlife frantically prepares for winter. Afternoons are still warm and for a window of time only the nights grow colder.  A few leaves fly in the wind before the hills suddenly explode with red, orange and gold.

This is a time for reflection as we pause, ever so briefly, between summer and winter.  Our recreation waits until the sun has warmed the forest. It is nice to be unhurried.  The objectives of the summer have either been met or missed and the outcomes accepted.  It is a time to look forward.

In this season of comfort it was unusual that I found myself in the morning cold astride my bike before eight AM.  Circumstances necessitated a completion before one in the afternoon and simple arithmetic dictated the start time.  It was about four or five Celsius with the clouds and sun playing tag in a bright blue sky as I departed. 

This was my first ride of the season with big gloves, booties and a wool beanie under my helmet.  Summer is gone for good. My jersey pockets sagged with food and extra clothing as I embarked on my long solitary ride. I passed through town and it was comically quiet.  In a week this place will be busy with hunters getting coffee before seeking their trophies, but this morning everyone must have still been in bed.  In the summer this street is so busy you almost expect to see jugglers on unicycles, but this morning it is deserted.  

I downshifted and started the climb up and away from town. In the shade of the hillside I felt suddenly colder than I had been in the filtered sunshine.  The ascent warmed me and after ten miles I had only seen two vehicles.  I scanned the hillsides for grouse and deer.  Squirrels darted across the road and hawks soared overhead searching for their breakfast.

The road climbed gradually as I made my way north alongside the Chewuch river.  I wasn’t warm and I wasn’t cold.  My effort kept my furnace stoked and I took comfort knowing I had a wind jacket in my back pocket just in case.  The eastern side of the valley was still in the morning shade but the road had sunlight filtered through the trees.  I rode on the left side of the road just to increase my sun exposure. There was no oncoming traffic.  There was no traffic.  I felt like the only person on the planet.

As I continued north the road gained elevation steadily.  I realized I had forgotten to account for the conundrum of riding in the mountains. The higher you go, the colder it is.  The increase in temperature by the day warming up was almost perfectly offset by the decrease in temperature because of the increase in elevation. 

The grade kept my speed moderate and I was able to look around searching for deer, elk and bear.  Sightings are rare, but worth celebrating.  On my return I would be going thirty to forty kilometers an hour and my focus would be on avoiding the countless potholes in this old road, so if I wanted to see wildlife, this was my chance.

Finally the valley floor opened up a bit and for the first time on this ride I felt some warmth.  I pulled off my big gloves and rode with just my liner gloves on my hands.  My cadence was high and the road continued to alternate between slight incline and steeper sections. 

Nearly two hours into the ride the pavement ended and I smiled at the wonderful sound of gravel crunching under my Sectors. As I climbed and climbed the colors got brighter and move vivid.  I was about 1000m (3,300’) above sea level and autumn was ON!  

The gravel road was steeper and alternated between soft sandy patches and washboard at its end of season finest.  I looked up the valley and churned onward.  The valley floor was a mix of jumbled rocks and a meandering stream that seemed to be in no hurry to send its water down the valley.  The ground cover was awash with color and the mix of dark boulders and colorful foliage was stunning.

This spot was the site of a tragic fire in 2001 and in the spring, when I usually ride this route, the black and grey of the snags is only slightly offset by the smattering of green.  Today the hills were muted grey under the clouds yet the yellow on the valley floor was in bright sunshine and the contrast was a treat I may never see again.  I passed the memorial to the young firefighters who died battling the fire sixteen years ago.  I bowed my head out of respect as I rode past.

Any description I might try to convey would betray my shortcomings as a writer and fail to relate the solemn majesty of this silent valley on this crisp morning.  I paused and tried to absorb the scene.  I wished I could capture the feeling and relive it another time. The sound of my breathing vanished in the vastness of the valley.

I had a keen sensation that reminded me that I was a visitor to this valley.  I could stay, but not for long.  I was a long way from people and warmth.  I ate a bar and thought back to last May when I was here and the valley was flooding with snow melt. 

It is such a dichotomy to be in mountains that have been in existence since man stood upright, yet to be witnessing a color explosion and light combination that may only happen a few hours each year.  I soaked in all I could fathom then turned my bike downhill and with the sun on my back I began the journey home.

I was struck by the steepness of the descent on gravel.  I had been so entranced by the beauty on the way up I had forgotten the unrelenting grade.  The washboard and soft sand demanded my focus.  

When I was back on pavement I are a plum I had carried and forgotten about until I felt it in my pocket.  Then I zipped up for the speedy roller coaster descent.  My speed on the sub-optimal pave’ demanded my full attention and only allowed for momentary glances around me. I got in a good rhythm and pushed the pace.  When the grade would let up or even turn upward for a few hundred yards I got out of the saddle and pushed.  I was feeling strong.

As I was nearing home I attacked a short hill and my quads screamed when I got out of the saddle.  I was approaching four hours of ride time and I had spent most of it riding a moderately serious tempo.  It was now warm enough that I took my liner gloves off and unzipped my jersey a few inches. 

Rolling back through town the tourists were now getting lunch and shopping for things they didn’t even know they needed.  I pedaled on and drained the last drops out of my last bottle.  Although I was tired the climb back to the cabin was easy enough and when I unclipped from my clipless pedals (ironic isn’t it?) I savored the satisfaction of a good day in the saddle.

Back in the RED

Sasha Riding Hard

I hope to parlay my fitness and hard won slimness into some success this Cyclocross season.  Race fitness means base plus intensity. Intensity means intervals and lots of them.  My base has been built and it just needs some maintenance to survive into the fall.

I had deliberately added weekly intervals in my build up to Italy and it helped tremendously.  The irony was that after all of the Z5 training my plan in Italy was to stay Z1-Z3.  It worked. The Z5 stuff made my legs stronger and when the grade went to double digits you need strength.

On a recent evening commute home I returned to my interval routine which I cleverly refer to as Commutervals.  It had been nearly a month since I had hit Z5 and clearly the zone was rusty from lack of use. 

After executing the plan for Italy in my mind this was just another plan that, if followed, would yield success.  The plan for Italy involved a big investment of time to log the miles. 

Intervals are different.

Zone five hurts.  It really hurts.  It is the key to racing success but the coin of the realm is pain. It took forever to get to Z5 and when I hit it, it hit back.  When I finished my lungs were burning and I was light headed.  My legs ached and my right calf started to twinge like a cramp was coming.

It felt good to be back in the red.

Reality Check – Don’t Get Greedy

Does Barry's beer make ME look bitter ?

Our ability to rapidly normalize improvements and then ask for more is almost shameful.  One aspect of this is typified by a term my son introduced me to, “Lifestyle creep.”  Cyndi Lauper in her iconic song “Money Changes Everything” has a line in the chorus that “We’re never going back again….” 

As an example when I set my training goals for my upcoming Dolomite bicycle odyssey I had a weight target.   To my minor astonishment I hit that early and of course, wanted more.  Now if I gain and even get near what was once my goal, I am disgusted.  Greedy I am.

As I built my base for the Dolomites I got strong and wanted to be stronger.  I quietly kept increasing my training plans and goals. 

I had gritted my teeth and mumbled under my breath when planning our East Coast Grad trip knowing the dent it would put in my training. The trip was the right thing to do on so many levels but it would put a dent in my training.  My plan was to hit it hard before and after the trip and treat the trip as a longer than needed rest break.

The big miles and big climbs prior to the trip made me fast and strong and light.  My left knee was, however, unhappy and looked forward to the break.  Years earlier I had some knee issues and a week off the bike and a steady stream of anti-inflammatories had resulted in a drastic improvement.  I repeated this on the trip and my knee is indeed better.

All was going to plan until I had some breathing problems on a comically easy bike ride with my son while on the trip.  I assumed that was an anomaly and looked forward to getting home and returning to training and recovering the fitness I knew I was losing while on vacation.

After getting back home I anxiously jumped on my bike and began my bike commute with high hopes.   “How hard should I push it?  Let’s just see how I feel,” I thought to myself.  To my horror the breathing problems were worse than before and even my powers of denial were no match for the reality of my physical experience.

As I slowly ramped up my effort on my morning commute things got weird.  They got weird fast. Typically when I ride at my limit in Z5 (Heart rate in zone five which is 95+% of my max heart rate for those less obsessed) my throat and lungs burn and I want more air than I can fit in my lungs and my heart pounds like it is trying to escape my chest.  This morning I wasn’t riding anywhere near that hard. When this happened in low Z3 I knew I was screwed.

With my dream trip just weeks away and my window for training closing fast I did not have time for any physical bullshit.  In 2012 my good friend Hank had a similar experience (chest pains during exertion) and after heart testing the day before our scheduled departure for France his doctor told him he couldn’t go.  He texted me a photo of his packed bags and boxed bike sitting in his entryway along with the news that he would not be going.  That tragic image is forever seared into my memory.

It took several months but Hank got his life and medication dialed in and has returned to hard riding and nationally competitive rowing.  With a departure in just over three weeks there wasn’t time. I didn’t want to be the Hank of this trip.

Hank of course

I rode home that evening and the symptoms reappeared albeit with less severity.  Now what?  My denial powers are strong, but not that strong.  I was nervous.

A couple days later the symptoms materialized at work and after a phone call with my doctor I set the wheels of our healthcare system in motion.  Everyone’s story is different but also essentially the same and I won’t recount it here.

As a matter of fact I will enjoy this hot dog...

You don't need to see a pic of me looking freaked out

After losing another weekend and having more tests than a full year of college I think we have it narrowed down and it looks like I won’t be the Hank.  Thus I am training now with a trifecta of emotions panic, relief and dedication.

Tommy and Evo

On the first post-you’re-not-going-to-die-ride I saw my mindset creep from “Ode to Joy” at just being able to ride to “Ali in the Jungle” as I got out of the saddle and powered up one climb after another.  So much for gratitude. Backsliding already.  I’ll never learn.

That night as I slipped into bed I was tired from the effort on the bike.  My quads were a bit tender. After a long exhale I smiled and drifted off......