Let's turn the page

 

The forecast said it would snow overnight.  In the meantime, the inch or two from yesterday morning had mostly melted. I put on more layers than I had in worn in the past seven months. 

My earbuds stayed home as I wanted to savor this ride.  Tomorrow there would be no more trail riding for the rest of the year.  The impending storm likely would not bring skiing, but I will be skiing on these trails before I am riding on them next spring.

The sound of snow crunching under my tires is the only thing I hear. Other than the sound of my tires the forest is silent as I make my way up the trail.  The smell of rotting leaves and wet dirt will soon be lost, buried under snow.  A wind from the northwest cuts through my clothes to my chest.  My hands are warm and hidden inside giant gloves.  This is the kind of cold I hadn't felt in months.

I wasn't going hard and I wasn't going easy.  The objective here was to soak in the ride and not crash. At times the snow was slippery, in other places the dirt was soft and my rear wheel slid more than I would have liked.  I just tried to ride smart and look around so I could recall this ride when I can't ride.

NOAA says we would be getting ten to twelve inches of snow tonight.  This ride was going to be it.  

My eye doctor says I get a lens next week.  After more than five hundred days, that ordeal could be coming to an end.  After that surgery I'll be on the sidelined for another month, so my return may be on skis. 

Here is the warming hut.  All it needs is some snow.

This is me.  Ready to turn the page?  Hell yes!

Time rolls on

It is between ninety and one hundred degrees as I climb steadily, the sun overhead shines down through my bike helmet and jersey and into my soul.  The shadows from the trees on either side of the road fail to reach to the pavement.  Everything about this moment says heat, yet I recognize this open stretch of road as a spot where, in springtime when the snow is retreating, I have had to turn around as the snow on the road becomes solid just around the corner. 

The oddity of thinking of snow in the burning heat of summer reminds me of my own seasonality. Only a month ago I was lamenting my complete lack of fitness and now just between yesterday and today I will have nearly six hours of saddle time. 

At times my physical setbacks seem unending, yet if I step back wisdom tells me this too will pass.  After a spring that refused to come to an end, summer is here; dry, dusty and hot. Seeing the mountains now one would never imagine that in six months they will be blanketed with snow, subject to the long, cold dark nights of winter. 

Yes, today shows no hint of any other day, but those days will come.  I welcome today and I will welcome the changes when they happen.  For now, I will pause, breathe deep and be grateful.  

Can I please have my body back?

Marty, where did I leave the Flux Capaciter?

After months of living my pirate life I had a chance to take a step toward normal vision.  The hope lasted only a few days and then it was a step backward and an unplanned surgery.  I'll spare you the sad story and get to the subject of this post.

After this eye surgery my physical activity was more strictly limited than in the past.  By the time I was given the green light it had been just over six solid weeks of nothing.  Don't even bend over to tie your shoes nothing.  Have your son carry your luggage nothing.  Walk, but not too briskly, nothing.

When I got back on the bike I had nothing.  It was like I was trapped in someone else's body.  That someone else was not a lifetime athlete, it was a fat slob who had puny lungs and weak legs. 

On my rides my HR zones were  a full 1.5 zones above where they should have been.  It seemed wrong, but then afterwards the way my body felt was consistent with the actual heart rates. 

I had only six days before my team was coming to the Methow for a handful of days riding gravel.  I tried to cram in some training with predictable results.  I bet it all on the one big day and managed to avoid cramping until I was past the flame rouge.  I finished the ride pedaling with one leg.  I was blown.  

My usual training ploy after a setback is to load up on zone two miles.  The problem this time was that to go zone two speed, I had to tickle zone four.  I slept like a pile of dirty laundry. This was hard.  Getting back in shape is a young man's game and I am not a young man.

After a couple weeks of trying to build up some fitness I went on a nice Saturday ride with Hottie.  The next day was our team's Coffee and Lies ride.  The fast guys went slower and the rest of us were compelled to keep up with them as a thank you for their kindness.  

I was due for a hard day and I actually felt like I had some power.  I had resumed running for the first time since my forced rest period.  That may have given my legs some power.  Maybe. It wasn't impressive, or fast, but it was what I had on this day and I was happy with it.

It is rare that my legs hurt even before the ride is over, but the climb up to the cafe was a mix of twitches and simply sore legs.  It felt good to be strong enough to have tired legs. 

To distract my mind from the hurt I tried to plan my afternoon ahead so as to minimize the number of trips I would have to make up and down our stairs.  

When I got home I felt I had earned the right to what had been forced on me for all of the month of May; nothingness.  I relaxed and spent some time chillin with Hottie.

Loaded for bear

The road, like a slender finger of spring, splits winter and reaches into the backcountry. Spring is here with the promise of long days of sunshine.  Under a blue sky dotted with clouds ranging from white to grey three souls rolled out of Mazama and follow that road into the mountains where winter remains steadfast.

As the miles ticked by we climb and the snow on either side of the road grows deeper. Wild flowers are starting to bloom on the valley floor, yet the mountains are still cloaked under a deep blanket of snow. Spring is a time of contrasts.

As we ride, we look lumpy, our pockets bulging as we make our way deeper into the hills.  

The road isn't ready for cars and, on weekends, the snow plows are idle. We ride three abreast.  The first hour was warm, but now the clouds are thicker and a wind is bringing the chill of the snow through our jerseys.  Patches of ice on the pavement become larger and more frequent.  Finally we round a corner and can see the road goes into a wall of snow. 

There is no doubt we are at the end.  Often in spring I ride a road to where the snow takes over and there is a "Should I, or shouldn't I?" moment as I consider if I should turn around or keep going.  No debate here.  This is it.

We look around and realize it has begun to spit snow.  We are emptying our pockets like we are contestants in a game show.  We pull out jackets, vests, gloves, tights, and neck warmers. I sit on the pavement to put on wind pants. I am amazed that the road isn't cold.  We dress as fast as we can and then begin what we know will be a long, cold descent.  We are no longer lumpy, we are dressed to stay warm.  We have all done this multiple times over the years and we came prepared.

Time to get going.  

As we begin the descent the sweat on the front of my beanie turns cold and I have an ice cream headache.  The wind blows in our faces, then from the side, then for a moment behind us as we ride down the mountain we spent the last two hours riding up.  I realize that while I am not quite warm, I am not cold.  After several minutes we see two cyclists heading up and they are not lumpy.  They will be cold.  They will be very, very cold.

We trade pulls and can't help but have fun on the never ending descent.  The road grade fluctuates as we drop thousand of feet. 

As we near the valley floor we see a cyclist with bare arms and legs.  He appears to be out for a short ride and will turn around soon (we hope).  We finish our ride and welcome some hot lentil soup into our bellies.  We express gratitude for the day, the ride and each other's company. 

Yeah - I'm off plan

Pirate for a year

This shouldn't be forever, but after eight months, it feels like it has already been forever.  Yes, you adapt; but everything is harder. I said everything, and I mean everything.  I am grateful to be where I am and am glad I have been able to adapt as well as I have.  I have learned that I need those around me.  Hottie and TQ have been essential to my success and happiness.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

More later.  Just wanted to let my fans know I'm not dead, just laying low and getting ready to attack!