And the Strangest Things Seem Suddenly Routine

Today's ride (Strava, photos): south down South Platte River Trail/Mary Carter Greenway to the cute little trailside cafe at Hudson Gardens and back again, ~28.5 miles round-trip. A few more miles than last weekend, at a slightly better pace, and a lot less hating life. Partly because I learned my lesson from last weekend and I did eat a food and refill my water bottles appropriately, but also tbqh partly because it wasn't infinity degrees today. Slowly but surely working my way back up.

I still need to figure out what to do about my poor hands. I hate biking gloves so much, though. Maybe I'll just suffer a bit longer until I build up some calluses?

I really wanted to keep going the additional 10 miles from Hudson Gardens to Chatfield State Park, but I would have had to go those 10 miles there and back, and knew I didn't have that many miles in me today. Another time in the not-too-distant future.

I am way overdue on a writeup of last month's Tour de Cure. It was a good ride! I sort of met my goal of finishing faster than last year--my average speed and moving time was about the same, but my elapsed time was shorter--and I felt great afterward.

I'd been really worried about the heat, but it turned out to be a blissfully overcast day, with a few light rainshowers, even. The hills that had so surprised me last year were much more manageable, and while there were plenty of headwinds, there was nothing like last year's home-stretch slog. I rode most of the way with gayathri, and we met up with byronium where the final rest stop for his route and ours overlapped, so we all got to cross the finish line together.

The one thing that went wrong: I managed to forget my sports bra, and there was nowhere around that sold bras of any sort in my size, so I did the ride in the one bra I did have with me--a very pretty but not very supportive molded half-cup. It wasn't pleasant, but I survived. The bra did not. RIP, Curvy Kate Daily Boost! "Sports bra" is now at the top of every packing list ever.

Since I joined a team this year, I got to go chill in the team tent for awhile afterward. Team tents are awesome. llamaeyes, gayathri, and all the other Team Red volunteers did an excellent job making it a fun, comfortable, and welcoming place to recover. There was massage! And recovery beverages! And tasty things to nibble on so I didn't have to go wait in the food line! Thanks, Team Red.

And huge thanks to everyone who supported me through donations and encouraging words. My friends, family, and community are amazing! If you donated to me, keep an eye out for something in the mail in the next couple weeks (if I don't have your address, I'll be contacting you soon to get it).

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Paul came up to Napa with me so we could spend the rest of the weekend winin' and dinin'. It started off poorly, with a dinner at Morimoto so comically bad I had to write a Yelp review, but the rest of it was great. A fantastic dinner at Bouchon Bistro, coffee and ridiculously decadent pastries at Bouchon Bakery, and (of course) a lovely meal at Ad Hoc. Clearly Thomas Keller holds the keys to our hearts. Or stomachs.

I'm not very good at trying something I know I'm going to fail at. I'm (kindasortamostly) okay with failing something I tried my best at, because that's how we learn, but if there's something I'm reasonably certain is beyond my abilities, I just won't do it, at least not until I've gained the skills to try.

Which all seems very reasonable, but at some point last year I'd decided that 2013 was the year I was going to try for a metric century, and I registered for the Cinderella Classic. I hadn't done much riding between November and January due to weather, travel, and illness, but I put together a nice training schedule, and between that and having conquered a 50-miler last year, I had no doubt that I'd be able to ride 65 miles by the beginning of April.

And then there were many weeks of rain, and more illness, and lots of distractions.

I still managed to get in a bunch of riding, but not nearly as much as I needed to, and certainly none approaching the distance I was hoping for. I joined a fun-sounding ride with a local cycling meetup a few weeks ago because sometimes I ride better when I'm chasing others and thought it would help me get in some miles, but between a mechanical and tactical error at the beginning of the ride I never quite recovered from (toughing out a steep hill climb without the ability to shift into the lowest gear? Really dumb!) and much of the rest of it being hillier than anything I'd done since the fall, it did not go well, and I trailed way behind everyone else. I was determined to try to finish anyway, but after waiting for me to catch up on a challenging-for-me climb that wasn't nearly as challenging as the one coming up, the ride leader kindly and firmly directed me to the bail-out point. On what was supposed to be a no-drop ride.

After that disheartening experience, and with only couple weeks to go before the Cinderella, I was ready to call it off. Not even trying would suck, but I wasn't even close to the shape I was in last year, and there was no possible way I could get there in time for the ride. So why do it and embarrass myself? What's the point of starting a ride I know I can't finish?

I talked with my partners about it, who said they'd support me no matter what. I angsted on AskMetafilter about it and got a resounding chorus of "go for it!" Most helpfully, though, I talked with gayathri, who was also registered and also hadn't gotten in the training she'd wanted to yet. We both recognized we might not be quite prepared for the full metric century, but after chatting decided we'd go to just have fun and go for a ride, and let the SAG wagons take us back whenever we decided we were done.

So I rode, and had a great time. There was a little bit of struggling on the hills, and some annoying headwinds, and a minor injury that turned out to need more attention than I gave it, but there were also some really fun descents and I kept up a great pace in the flats. And at the halfway point, ~32 miles into the ride, G & I both decided we were done. And it was okay! I did think Real Hard about trying to go farther, and mayyyybe I could have done it (just 13 miles to the next rest stop!), but I knew I'd feel awful, physically, if I pushed myself that hard. And since I biked to and from BART as well, I ended up getting in a bit over 40 miles all told. So I feel pretty good about it. I'm really glad I didn't quit before I'd even tried, and I'm looking forward to trying again next year--with considerably more training and preparation. :) And a costume! Everyone was dressed up all girly and princessy--with all the plastic tiaras, pink dresses, and feather boas it looked like a giant bachelorette party on wheels--but I didn't really bother (other than a failed attempt to attach my tiara to my helmet without damaging either) because I wanted to focus on the ride. Next year, though, I'm thinking superheroine.

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I've still got plenty of 2013 left in which to complete a metric century. The Rapha Women's 100 looks interesting, especially since it's a thing where everyone rides on the same day rather than a big group event with a set course, and once I'm done with the 50-mile Tour de Cure next month, I may start planning for that. In between a few short tours, that is, because I am super-excited about putting my rack back on my bike and heading off for more bike camping.

I swore off traveling during the holidays quite a few years ago because it's expensive and stressful and tends to upset whichever family members I'm not visiting, but somehow I keep letting Aunt jensmitkil talk me into flying across the country for Thanksgiving--probably because it's always so danged fun. This year we all converged on the Outer Banks for the week, in two cozy little condos a stone's throw from the ocean and a few short miles from xandyssin's place for our teeny tiny Smith family reunion.

Paul and I flew in Monday and left Friday, so we really only had three days there. We couldn't do much of the stuff we wanted to do because Highway 12 was closed to non-4WD traffic south of Oregon Inlet, leaving the entirety of Hatteras Island inaccessible, but we still managed to pack our days there quite full with running around, shopping for food and gifts, lazing about, hanging around, sharing stories, and consuming a not-insignificant amount of seafood and wine. And coffee. And bourbon.

And there was cooking! Oh so much cooking.

I wanted oysters and Dad wanted me to make my famous French onion soup and Caesar salad, so we did both as a little moveable feast on Wednesday night: six of us demolished nearly a bushel of raw and steamed oysters over at Aunt J & Uncle R's condo, then everyone came over to ours for soup and salad. Then we spent Thursday going back and forth between condos for nibbles (Sausage cheese balls! Devilled eggs! Pimento-stuffed celery!) while working on Thanksgiving dinner in our respective kitchens.

Cooking without access to my usual equipment and ingredients was a challenge, but it was kind of a fun one to tackle. I felt a little like MacGyver, or Rutabaga the Adventure Chef, and it was like all my years of cooking experience and food geekery was training for the task of cooking Thanksgiving and dinner for 6 in a tiny rental kitchen with a random assortment of cheap, abused utensils, an unfamiliar electric stove, and very limited seasonings. No potato ricer or masher? No bowls big enough to mix anything in? Knives too dull to chop broccoli? No problem! I was also pretty proud of my hastily thrown-together travel cold-brew coffee setup, though I've since purchased a more efficient piece of equipment to take with me next time. My obsession with vintage household handbooks was finally justified, too, when I used half a lemon and salt to scrub old scorched pots that were otherwise refusing to get clean.

Thanksgiving dinner itself was wonderful and abundant. From J & R: turkey, stuffing, chicken-cornbread dressing, two kinds of cranberry sauce, asparagus, beer bread, crescent rolls, two pies. From us: unstuffed stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cheesy broccoli, and one pie that had an accident and didn't make it to the table (not an oops-we-ate-it accident, but a lost-the-battle-with-gravity accident). Entirely too much food, of course, but it was all delicious. And we left Dad with enough leftovers to feed him for weeks. :)

I'd planned to do some bike riding while I was there, and rented a nice hybrid from what turned out to be a really great shop, but I had so much fun chatting with the bike shop guy about vintage bikes and east coast vs. west coast cycling that I left without picking up my helmet. And didn't discover it until Wednesday afternoon, when he (and everyone else who might have helmets for rent) was closed. D'oh. At least I know where to go for a rental next time I'm on the Outer Banks.

We all agreed that we should definitely make the Smith family reunion a regular thing, but at my request, NOT during the holidays. I think we're thinking of going down to J & R's place on the Gulf coast next time, during a warmer time of year, maybe when there's an art or shrimp festival.

When I was little I dreamed of bike touring. I didn't know that's what it was called, or even that it was an actual thing that people actually did. I just knew that I saw these mysterious little signs on the road during trips to see xandyssin, and the idea of hopping on my bike and following those signs all day sounded marvelous. I used to sit on my bedroom floor with my NC road map spread out in front of me and try to trace the routes I wanted to take, mapping out how I'd get there from home or Dad's and how I'd get back.

I never thought much about the logistics of it--how I'd carry my stuff, where I'd sleep, how long it might take--because it was just an idle fantasy, not something I thought I'd ever be able to actually do. Once I outgrew my childhood bike and left home I pretty much forgot about it.

Then a couple years ago I started cycling and absolutely fell in love with it, and suddenly I started dreaming of touring again. Sometime near the end of last year I started reading touring forums obsessively, and thinking that once I became a stronger rider, I'd start planning one- and two-night bike trips. A few months ago I realized that doing the sort of rides I am motivated to do is exactly what will make me a stronger rider, and started planning for real. And early Saturday afternoon I took off for my first overnight bike adventure.



The plan: Leave from Embarcadero BART around midday, ride to and over the Golden Gate Bridge, then head ~30 miles north to Samuel P. Taylor State Park to enjoy the scenery, camp overnight, then return the next day the same way. It was a solo trip, partly because I wanted to work out any awkward navigation or loaded bike handling issues on my own, and partly because I've been needing a bit of a retreat and this sounded like the perfect way to get it.

I got a much later start than planned since breakfast with Paul and a visiting friend took longer than usual, and then getting to the bridge took a ridiculous amount of time because tourists on rental bikes. After that, though, the ride up was mostly very pleasant. I was surprised by how much of it was on bike paths and well-marked bike routes. I was using a route I'd created on Open Street Maps and loaded onto my Garmin for navigation and that worked really well, but it doesn't recalculate for the many detours there were. I had my phone, of course, but the bike route signs kept me from having to consult it much. I wasn't sure how much my gear would slow me down, but I was able to keep up a decent pace, at least on the flats. Climbing the hills was of course much slower and harder, but even they weren't that bad until the end.

The worst part of the ride--of the whole weekend--was White's Hill on Sir Francis Drake Blvd, about 8 miles from the park. It's a short, steep climb that would have been challenging for me under normal circumstances, but with 20 pounds of gear strapped to my bike, at the end of a long day and right after another long, steady, draining climb, felt nearly impossible. I had to stop a lot, and I walked the steepest parts. Knowing how long it was taking me to travel a single mile, and how little daylight I had left, was really disheartening. There was a bit of a fun descent after I reached the top, though, and then I shifted into the big ring and booked it toward Lagunitas, where I planned to stop at the last little store before the park for water and dinner supplies.

It was, of course, closed. D'oh. Thankfully there was an Indian restaurant nearby that was still open, so I bought water, soda, and dinner there. The food was meh but it was fuel, and I foraged some blackberries from the roadside for dessert.

I finally made it to the campground just before sunset. The ride through the redwoods in the twilight was stunning, and mostly melted away the frustration of the hill ordeal. I stopped at the ranger station and asked if there was any space left at the hiker-biker site and the ranger said, "Technically no, but I'll let you in anyway. That'll be $5, please." I love state parks.



I had just enough time to claim a rough, uneven little spot and set up my tent before it got fully dark. A couple of the other bike campers stopped by to ask if I needed any help and remind me to lock up my food to keep the raccoons away, but after that I had the evening to myself. Well, once I shooed the two GIANT FREAKING RACCOONS away from my bike, where they were trying their best to get to the empty food bar wrapper I'd accidentally left in my top tube bag.

I was really happy with all my gear. My tent sets up in minutes and is exactly the perfect size for me and my stuff, and my sleeping bag and sleeping pad were quite comfortable and warm--even with a minor zipper malfunction. Having both my lantern and headlamp as well as my bike headlight for light was useful, and I love how my white tent amplifies the light. The backup battery I brought was perfect for keeping my phone charged through two full days of heavy use, though I wish I'd brought the cable that would have let me charge my Garmin, too. And little stuff like the headband I wore around my wrist to wipe the sweat and dirt from my eyes, the insulated Klean Kanteen that kept my iced coffee cold and my chicken biryani warm, and the comfortable technical shirt I wore instead of a bike jersey were really nice to have. I packed pretty well, too: I was aiming for 15 lbs. of gear, allowing for 30, and ended up with 20. Other than my camera and first aid/emergency kit I didn't pack a single thing I didn't use--and I wish I'd used my camera. I really should have brought an extra pair of bike shorts, though, and more food, and maybe my camp stove. Sunglasses would have been great, too--riding into the setting sun on Saturday and then into the rising sun on Sunday was kinda rough. I've been putting off ordering the nice prescription sport sunglasses I want because they're so expensive, but I think protecting my eyes is definitely worth it.

In the morning I packed up and headed out early enough that I'd have time to enjoy the scenery I wasn't able to on the way there, and make any stops I wanted to. The Lagunitas Grocery & Deli was open so I had a leisurely breakfast in the sunshine there, and 10 miles later I stopped for coffee at a little Java Hut in Fairfax that's such a popular stop for cyclists that they have nice pumps leashed to the benches and the gaggle of young, giggly baristas seemed to know many of the cyclists by name, even the ones who weren't local. I chatted with a bunch of other riders, including couple of French roadies who invited me to join their ride up to Point Reyes and reminded me that "There is no bike ride without coffee."

I was having an issue with my bike shorts that was starting to make riding unpleasant, so instead of riding all the way back to the bridge I stopped in Larkspur and took the ferry back to SF. I love ferries, so it was a nice way to end my adventure.

Next time--there is definitely going to be a next time!--I will leave earlier, bring more food and extra bike shorts, and either take a different route to get to the bridge or just skip it and take the ferry from SF to Sausalito and start there if I'm heading north again. And I might consider reserving an actual campsite rather than taking a spot in the hiker-biker camp, since that way I'll get a flat piece of ground and my very own table, firepit, and raccoon locker. :)

Sunday I rode 50 miles for the Napa Valley Tour de Cure. It's the longest ride I've ever done, and probably also the hardest, though it feels weird to say that right now when I'm feeling so great. I was expecting to be wrecked for days, but I woke up the next day feeling surprisingly okay. A little stiff and achy, but my PT stretches took care of a lot of that, and an amazing intense deep-tissue massage at Spa Villagio too care of most of the rest. Today I'm still feeling pretty good--my most notable sore bits are actually from the massage and yesterday's long trek home, not the ride.

It was definitely a very challenging ride, though. I was most worried about the heat, and it did suck, even with an early morning start and being vigilant about staying hydrated. By midday I'd unzipped my jersey all the way and was seriously considering taking it off and riding in just my sports bra and shorts, and sheer vanity (which I don't usually have on the bike, but there were too many cameras around) is the only thing that stopped me.

I hadn't been too worried about the hills, so I wasn't fully prepared for ~20 miles of rolling terrain. The upside: I didn't have a chance to psych myself out. The downside: every time I thought, "Surely this is the last climb!" there was another.

There were also long stretches of crappy pavement that made me fear for my rims and my wrists, killer headwinds that made the last 4 miles feel harder than the first 40, and the unfortunate and uncomfortable discovery that the padding on my fanciest and most expensive bike shorts bunch up and chafe most unpleasantly after about 20 miles. I ate well and frequently enough, but there were a couple times where I needed fuel but the thought of anything on my stomach made me want to puke, so I just chewed some Sport Beans and spit them out in hopes that I could trick my body into continuing until I could handle eating again.

But overall it was a great ride. Lots of gorgeous scenery, and it was fun to pass the wineries I've visited with friends and family and remember the great times we had. Even though I was slow up the hills, I got to spend a good deal of time going very fast on the descents and flats. My new bike performed beautifully. The rest stops were pretty well-stocked (one even had Dr Pepper!) and they helped a lot--not just having an opportunity to refill my water bottles and replenish calories, but also a getting the chance to get off the bike, stretch my legs, and rest a bit, just like I do on my solo rides. And at the end I'd ridden 50 miles! And it didn't suck! And I would totally do it again!

I rolled into the finish shortly after gayathri and llamaeyes, and we didn't have to wait long to cheer byronium on as he finished the 100-mile ride, which still blows my mind. I am so proud of all of us! And grateful to everyone who offered their support, in the form of donations and cards and texts and other well-wishes. Cycling is a very personal, self-centered activity, which is one of the reasons I love it, but it's still very nice to know my loved ones are rooting for my success.

After a little rest and the best shower I've ever had, we all met at Hurley's for a very tasty recovery dinner (Cocktails! Pasta! Wine! Steak!), and then I went back to my hotel. I'd thought I might go for a swim, or hang out in the bar, or even find some trouble to get into in town, but while I was thinking about it I promptly fell asleep sitting up, with my laptop in my lap and a water bottle in my hand. It was a very good sleep.

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What's the next challenge? As far as organized events go, the Gran Fondo is coming up in September and I want to kick last-year-me's ass on the Piccolo and finish it faster and stronger, and I think maybe I'd like to try for a metric century (100 km/~62 mi) sometime next year. Maybe. I've got my heart set on bike touring, though, so my main goal is to ride from home to Point Reyes for an overnight trip by my next birthday, so I'm going to keep riding until that seems doable and then do it.

Quality time with my loved ones has been hard to come by lately, so even though my training schedule called for rides on Saturday and Sunday I decided to say fuck Rule 11* and stay home and hang out with Paul on Saturday. We ran a few errands and grilled burgers and bratwurst because it was too hot to cook inside, but mostly we just chilled, and it was nice.

Sunday we had brunch al fresco with friends, then I took off on the bike for a long ride. I may have finally learned the lesson that unfamiliar routes make for poor solo training rides. My plan to ride along the shoreline down to Union City and BART back was thwarted when I found myself on a highway median in Oakland, trying to reconcile the map's idea of a bike-friendly road with all the Freeway Entrance signs and highway traffic zooming around me. I finally gave up and took the bridge to Alameda for a nice flat ride around the island, but there was still a lot of stop-and-go for traffic lights, beach jaywalkers, and map-checking.

And then on my way back into Oakland I got trapped in the middle of a caravan of stretch Hummers and other flashy rental cars blocking traffic and my bike lane, blasting music, and honking their horns. Not just a couple happy hoots here and there, but multiple vehicles banging on their horns relentlessly. Clearly it was an important celebration of some sort--it was mostly young men in suits, many of them hanging out of the cars and filming everything with their iPhones--and I am generally a fan of celebrations, even loud, public-peace-disturbing ones. But being trapped in the middle of honking vehicles without the protective sound-dampening steel of a car eventually got to me, and it is possible that an incredibly rare instance of me losing my temper in public has been immortalized in someone's wedding/prom/wake video. Oops.

So it was a slow-going 35 miles, and my stats are pretty sad, but I felt great and made very good time when I was actually moving. The last few miles were a bit of a struggle, almost like I was riding through sand, and I figured I'd just run out of steam. Then I discovered before my training ride today that my rear tire had gone completely flat, and found a small puncture from what appeared to be an industrial staple.

I generally love urban riding, but I'm really looking forward to riding in some slightly less urban terrain this weekend. :)


*Fuck all The Rules, really. But that's another post.

I haven't written much about biking for awhile. I've still been riding lots and mostly loving it, but I also had a couple particularly challenging rides that left me feeling pretty down and wondering why on earth I ever thought I could do it, and it took me awhile to crawl out of the hole and to feel okay talking about it. I had about a month of nonstop bike anxiety dreams: getting hopelessly lost without a map, phone, or friend; my tires disintegrating or splitting open, my wheels falling off, my brakes failing; and worst of all, waking up on the morning of a big important ride to discover that my bike had been replaced with something I had no idea how to ride.

And yet somewhere in there I signed up for the October 1 Levi's GranFondo, a popular event in the Sonoma Valley that byronium and gayathri had done last year and sounded like a fun challenge. I'd been thinking about it for awhile and had actually decided not to do it for various reasons, the main one being that the moral support I knew I'd need wasn't going to be available to me. But then Valerie decided to go, and knowing that I'd have a friend of similar skill and fitness level to leapfrog up the hills with made it pretty easy for her to talk me into it, too. We both signed up for the shortest route, the 31mi/50km Piccolo Fondo, but it was still going to be the longest ride I'd ever done, and with a pretty significant climb, so I was both really nervous and really excited about it (but mostly really nervous).

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We all went up for a practice ride the last weekend in August, and it kicked my ass, hard. Struggling-not-to-pass-out, this-close-to-sitting-on-the-side-of-the-road-crying hard. This did not help my confidence level. On one hand it was nice to know that I could at least complete the route, even if it took me 6+ hours and made me feel like ass, but on the other, I wasn't sure I actually wanted to if it was going to feel that bad, or if I'd be able train enough before the real thing to make it easier on my body and a less unpleasant experience overall.

I didn't get in nearly as much training as I wanted to or should have, of course. I did a few short, intense bursts of hill training in my neighborhood, and I got in a few longer, easier rides to try to help build my confidence back up, but I still felt woefully unprepared and like I'd bitten off way more than I could bike. It wasn't until the weekend just before the 'Fondo, when I did an amazingly beautiful and exhilarating solo ride in the Berkeley/Oakland hills, that I really got my confidence back and fell back in love with being on the bike.

It's a good thing, too, because Valerie had been sick for a couple weeks, and the week before the GranFondo she let me know that she was neither well enough to ride nor well enough to come along to hang out and cheer us all on. I understood completely, but it left me on my own for both logistics and moral support, and if I'd still been as freaked out about the ride as I was just a couple weeks earlier, I'd have backed out of going. Instead I allowed myself a brief period of freaking out and feeling sorry for myself and then put on my big-girl panties and made the necessary arrangements to get me and my bike to and from Santa Rosa. Thank goodness for Paul, who immediately stepped up to offer whatever logistical support I needed. I ended up deciding to go up on my own Friday, but he picked me up on Saturday so I didn't have to deal with 4 hours of public transit after a 31-mile ride.

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The bike+BART+bus trip to Santa Rosa was fairly pleasant, especially once I'd stopped worrying about my bike falling off the front of the bus (fucking bike racks, how do they work??). I got in a little later than I'd originally planned but still in time to meet Byron and Gayathri for a carbolicious dinner at a cute little Italian place with dishes named after famous cyclists. Afterward they were kind enough to take me to registration and drop me back at the hotel, where it finally sank in that holy shit this is happening tomorrow, and I started feeling really anxious again. I asked Byron if he had time to come by for a hug, which helped, gave my bike some last-minute love, and then went for a swim to try to calm my nerves and wear myself out enough to sleep. I had the pool entirely to myself and it was wonderful, but it didn't work. Well after I should have gone to bed, I tweeted "Can't sleep, hills will eat me."

But I did eventually sleep, and I woke up in time, and survived a really dumb no-lights ride in the morning darkness over to the start (thank goodness for all the other really dumb lightless cyclists doing the same thing--we made lots of noise for each other). By the time I got there my anxiety had turned mostly into excitement, though seeing the sea of 7,499 other riders was really intimidating. I gulped down a chocolate milk, wished Byron and Gayathri a good ride once they arrived, and took my place way, way behind them with the rest of the "Intermediate Beginners."

The ride itself was challenging. And awesome. Once I actually got moving (a mass start with that many other cyclists takes forever and is a hell of a thing to navigate) the first 13 miles or so were pure zoomy bliss. And there were tons of people lining the course with cowbells and signs and balloons cheering us all on! The first difficult bit was the long climb up Graton Road; it was tough and slow-going, but I'd made a friend of one of the other Intermediate Beginners and we kept each other company during rest breaks. Which were many and frequent and often involved most unladylike language (sorry, dude with the 10-year-old). Even so it was much easier for me than it had been on the practice run, and I made it to the rest stop at the turnaround point feeling pretty great. Flying back down Graton Road was lots of fun, and I did okay for the next few miles after that, but then I really started to lose steam and just like on the practice ride, the last 5 miles were the absolute worst. My body was Done. Cytomax and energy chews weren't helping. I wanted to pull over and fall over, but I knew that if I stopped I might not start again, so I didn't. I didn't think it was ever going to end, and when I finally crossed the finish line just 4.5 hours after I started the only thing that kept me from bursting into tears of relief and exhaustion was the fact that people were talking to me and congratulating me, and crying seemed like it might be rude. I had just enough energy left to park my bike and collect my complimentary plate of paella, and then I kind of collapsed onto the nearest empty bit of field, inhaled the paella, and just chilled and reveled in the fact that I fucking did it. And I totally wanna do it again next year. :D

Last Sunday morning I met up with byronium, gayathri, Valerie, princeofwands, and JG to scope out next week's Tour de Peninsula route. It was my first ride of that length and it was a pretty difficult one for me--especially after I had a spectacular spill before it even started.

Only I would crash and end up bloody and with the wind knocked out of me before a ride. And then get back up and ride over 20 miles anyway. After helping me tend to my wounds after the crash, Byron asked me if I felt okay to ride after the crash and I told him I'd feel worse if I didn't. I know now that that was the right thing to do, but I wasn't so sure by the end of the day on Sunday. It was a harder blow to my body and confidence than I'd realized, and I didn't quite recover. Having to navigate some truly terrifying traffic right at the beginning, and then encountering an unexpectedly steep and lengthy climb after that, didn't help. I couldn't catch my breath, I couldn't stop panicking, and I spent the first 13 miles or so really upset but determined to keep going no matter what. My wonderfully supportive friends kept checking in on me to make sure I was okay and ask me what I needed, and I didn't know how to answer them because I didn't know if I was okay, or what I needed other than their support, plenty of water and energy noms, and my own stubbornness, all of which I had. The last 7 miles were much easier, even with a little unexpected off-roading, so I was finally able to calm down, but I still wasn't sure how I was going to make it to the end.

But, somehow, I did! And I hurt like a motherfucker for days, and still have what can only be described as some gnarly road rash. And for some crazy reason, I'm doing it again tomorrow. I'm really nervous about the hills, and about being the slowest person there, and about the dynamics of riding in a large group, and about a million other little things, but I am at least comforted by the fact that it can't possibly be any worse than last weekend.

This weekend I went on my first big-girl bike ride! byronium and gayathri picked me up yesterday afternoon, and we met up with our friend V in Danville to go for a ride on the Iron Horse Trail. Which sounds totally badass, but is actually a very pleasant, flat, paved path through the suburban wilds of Contra Costa County.

Between crappy weather, being sick, and being busy, I hadn't taken my bike out in weeks, so I had some twitchiness and trepidation about a) riding with way more experienced people, b) embarrassing myself in front of my friends, c) sharing a path with other cyclists and pedestrians, and d) falling off/falling down/bonking out, but as usual, I was worried over nothing. My friends were patient and supportive, I managed to followed the rules and share the path like a good citizen, and I stayed on the bike and upright. Well, other than getting a little lightheaded and wobbly at the halfway point, but that was nothing that a short break sitting off to the side of the path with some water and Sport Beans couldn't fix. I ended up riding just over 6 miles, which is the longest distance I've covered by far. I feel like I probably could have done more if I'd been more willing to push my limits, but it seemed like a better idea to just nudge up against them a little for my first time out of the gate. And 6 miles is nothing to sneeze at. It's kind of strange to contemplate, actually, since most days I can barely walk a mile without being hobbled for the rest of the day. It's a novel experience for me to engage in physical activity covering a distance of multiple miles and still be functional.

I expected to be in a lot of pain today, but other than being quite saddlesore--OK, I give, it's probably time to get a new seat, or at least have someone show me how to adjust mine properly--and having a constant, keen awareness of my quads, I'm feeling pretty good. And ready to go do it again! That was way more fun than riding around the neighborhood, as pretty as north Berkeley is. Thanks to my favorite Tour de Cure riders for taking me out!