In the first 8 miles of today's 80, I found myself pushing hard and already feeling tired. I hadn't warmed up at all, didn't really stretch, was still feeling frazzled from rushing out of the host site. I realized that I had to take it easy if I wanted to get through this longer ride, so I pulled over to catch my breath and calm down.
We're already leaving Georgia, after just four days! The roads have been winding, and the mountains make a beautiful landscape.
Yesterday I chatted on the bike path with a cyclist named Kim. She gave me a few nutritional ideas, which I relayed to my teammate Chris. Starting today, we're working together to cut down on bread. I'm doing my best to consume much more protein, having recovery drinks, and fueling myself with good calories. Nutrition can be difficult on a trip of this nature because our meals are provided by our host, or we're eating leftovers from the previous night.
So we crossed into Alabama today. At the morning's route meeting, JD said there were some serious climbs today. He wasn't kidding. Rachael and I tackled the first mountain slowly but steadily. It was cloudy and humid. I concentrated on breathing, and reminded myself of every touring cyclist's favorite quote:
We reached the top panting and dripping with sweat. The van and trailer were parked at the top for lunch, where folks who were already eating cheered when the next riders arrived. After a quick lunch, we all headed down to a swimming hole. Cliff jumping into the Little River and swimming behind a waterfall was definitely the highlight of my day, and made the ascent totally worth it.
For the second half of the ride, I started out by myself. I was feeling a little off, a combination of tiredness and stress and just needing some alone time, but heard the clouds ahead beginning to rumble. In general, I find myself motivated to ride fast in the mornings so I can beat the sun, and riding fast in the afternoons to get out of the sun as quickly as possible. Getting in the miles before the impending thunderstorm was another motivator.
I approached the second climb alone. I stopped a couple times to catch my breath, but didn't walk Calliope. Turns out that today's total elevation gain was 4,300 feet. I mused over this poem during the climb:
The day the mountains move has come
I speak, but no one believes me.
For a time the mountains have been asleep,
But long ago they all danced with fire.
It doesn’t matter if you believe this,
My friend, as long as you believe:
All the sleeping women
Are now awake and moving.
Yosano Akiko (Japan, 1911)I reached the top and began coasting as it started drizzling. I phone was blowing up with group text messages. "Ethan saw lightning, find cover." "Text your mile." "We're at 65." "I'm at 72." Well, I was at mile 59, and knew I had two minutes before the storm would arrive. Text sent, phone in pocket, jacket on, backpack zipped, just in time for the downpour. The support van passed me while I was on the side of the road, and all I could hear Sarah shout were the words "find shelter!" But I was standing in between two wheat fields, and could only see one house. It was my only option.
I walked my bike up the driveway of the house evaluating my risks. I could chill under the porch, or by the garage, there's a truck in the back so someone may be home, I hope it's not a territorial gunman, I hear a chicken clucking in the backyard, I don't see any sign of a dog around... I brought my bike up the steps of the porch and sat on a rocking chair. It was raining heavily and there was lightning. The support van called me to say they were coming back to pick me up. Meanwhile, I turned around and someone was standing in the doorway. It was a little old lady with a red-haired cat. Her name was Sue and she invited me inside for a few minutes. She was the opposite of an angry guy with a mean dog.
The van picked me up and that was it: I had been "vanned." We all love cycling on Bike & Build, and no one wants to ride in the van across America. Getting vanned is used as a punishment, but it's also for emergencies, like when you're riding alone in a thunderstorm and there's no good shelter anywhere. I conked out for the 20 mile ride in the van, got to the host site and slept for another two hours. It's our fifth consecutive ride day, without any build days or rest days, and the team is reacting differently: I need sleep and protein, others have vomited, bonked, cried, lost weight, faced heat exhaustion, been to the hospital, and are discovering a gluten intolerance. Though I was vanned because of unsafe weather conditions, it was probably also the best choice for my health. We're all learning to tune in to our needs.
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