TUESDAY, AUGUST 11, 2015
My Best Last
We did it, we finished! We were told we could say so because we did cross the finish line, on our bikes. But, I have to be truthful. At about 70 miles the race people stopped Justin, and as I pulled up and saw 4 orange Search and Rescue shirts (worn by the ride officials) with him, I knew it was over. You want me to quit, right? I asked.
Justin laughed, but the Orange Shirts were dead serious. They told me the ambulance (on-call at the finish line) had gone back to the hospital, and we had pedaled in 80-90 degree heat for more than 9 hours. The workers had discussed it, they told Justin, before I pulled up. They said they decided to pull everyone who hadn't reached the finish. Like there are more? We snickered silently, and he actually asked whether there were other riders still out. Their answer was, of course, No...it's just you guys.
The Orange Shirts kept apologizing, saying We're in charge of your safety, you had a helluva ride etc. but we understood. And to tell you the truth, I was glad it was their call and not ours. I think Justin was too, but you should ask him.
We started at 8 AM, after eating a fast food breakfast; it was the only open restaurant in Libby, was open early enough, and the dam where we were to start was still 17 miles away. It was the crack of dawn, and there was only one guy there who wasn't behind the counter. We both assumed he worked there, but as we walked past him, he asked if we knew of anything he could apply to his saddle to make it not so slippery. We looked at him as if to say, Do we look like cowboys? and then he told us he was riding the bike thing too. I realized he had seen our shirts with the name of the bike ride on the back. We mumbled that we didn't, and he left. If we couldn't find any place to get a meal, where was he going to find what he needed?
The night before, we had driven up to the dam, checking how long it would take us to get there. We were lucky because it was further than either of us had remembered. The fact I didn't know how far the dam was, really didn't matter. When I'm with Justin he's in charge. For his own safety! he would say.
Several campers and motor homes were in the parking lot when we arrived, and we were glad that we had been in a motel. I was reminded to thank my sister for notloaning us hers. 130 riders started the 83 mile ride around Lake Koocanusa, and there were 5 stops along the way for hydration (water and Hammer Heed drink that's like Gatorade, but not as tasty,) snacks (bagels, muffins, trail mix, oranges, etc.) and lunch (sammies, chips, cookies.)
Wally, my sister, suggested we drive the course before riding, but I didn't want to know how hard it was going to be. Justin heard it was hilly, and I figured if there were up-hills, there had to be down-hills too, and my 3 wheeler geared way down so I could creep up steep hills, very slowly, without disembarking (one could walk faster.) Justin had ridden the 100 mile CASA last summer, and is a real stud (don't tell him I said so.) I knew he could do it. And, as we kind of trained, he told me he was sure I'd make it, too. He added that it might take us a while. When he picked me up the night before, for the drive to Libby, he asked if I had my head lamp. You'll need it when the sun goes down and we're still pedalling, he joked. Justin is Mr. Sarcastic most of the time; like whenever he's breathing.
You could call what we did over the Spring and Summer, semi, or para, or part training. We rode to and from Somers and Kila, but never did the whole thing; from one to the other, and back to the 1st. But he has the smartphone app Map My Ride (one of his favorite toys,) and he figured we averaged about 10 miles an hour. We were ready, or so we thought.
We rode away from the dam, up a gnarly hill, and we lost sight of the other bikes almost immediately. The hill was long, and steep, and I just kept thinking to myself, I rode 11 miles up Going to the Sun Road in Glacier Park last Spring, after not riding all Winter, I can do this. You might think, as I did, that the ride downhill would be relaxing, and that I'd be able to rest, but that wasn't the case. I found that out, on that 1st downhill. I was going to have to stay focused on braking and steering.
My new recumbent is way better than my previous trike, but if I get going too fast, it starts to shimmy. My bike is the tadpole configuration of a 3-wheeler; there is one wheel in the back, and I sit directly over the crossbar between the 2 front wheels. Handles to control the steering and gears are down by my hips. As I rode down the massive hill, I remembered an earlier time when my foot slipped under the crossbar, and the bike continued, trapping my leg and pitching me forward, over the pedal wheel (is that even a thing?) When it happened, I was going very slow, but a pedal was still able to reach out and tear into my shin. I considered what would happen if the same thing occurred while travelling well over 10 miles an hour, downhill. The picture in my head was not pretty, so I slowed down some, and focused harder. I wouldn't be able to rest any time soon.
We settled into a routine where Justin would get up the hills way in front of me, then he'd let me catch him on the downhill. The scenery was beautiful, but I have to admit I didn't have it in me to appreciate much of it. I was busy pushing myself physically to get up the hills (Legs, don't fail me now!) and using all my mental capabilities to not become too complacent and crash on the downhill.
Riding in the dense forest's shade, mostly, up one side of the huge reservoir, kept us out of the heat. And the road was basically traffic free. But it was still incredibly difficult for me. Justin pointed out the bridge we would cross over before heading back. He told me there was a hydration stop on the other side, and from there, we would be over half way. I needed that. Knowing I was 1/2 way meant I was only 40 miles from finishing.Crap, that's still a long way, I whined to myself. The next several miles were like a bad joke; every time that bridge came into view, it seemed as far away as it did the 1st time we saw it! Several times it appeared, and several times my hopes were thrashed.
Justin waited for me so we could ride over the bridge together. We were approaching a stop, so we slowed to take in the beautiful view. The bridge was high above the water's surface, and what looked like beaches on the lake, Justin said, were just high water marks. He told me of a guy who jumped off for fun, when the water was higher. As his friends watched, he made the jump, surfaced, and took a few strokes, before going under. He died from internal injuries sustained when hitting the water's surface. Justin is full of neat stories like that.
We reached the rest stop across the river and stopped to rest. He filled my bladder, and congratulated me for drinking it all. I came back with, Of course I drank it! I'm not the one we have to worry about! Just recently, he had had a scare in Utah. He found himself passed out in the dirt next to his tent, his face very bruised and scraped. But that's his story, this is mine.
Justin filled my camelback, which is a backpack with a bladder to carry water. You bite the end of a tube hanging from the pack, it opens, you suck water into your mouth, and swallow. That way, you can hydrate on the fly and don't have to stop! Yes, I knew I had to stay hydrated, and I did, but it required expending energy as I had to:
Justin laughed, but the Orange Shirts were dead serious. They told me the ambulance (on-call at the finish line) had gone back to the hospital, and we had pedaled in 80-90 degree heat for more than 9 hours. The workers had discussed it, they told Justin, before I pulled up. They said they decided to pull everyone who hadn't reached the finish. Like there are more? We snickered silently, and he actually asked whether there were other riders still out. Their answer was, of course, No...it's just you guys.
The Orange Shirts kept apologizing, saying We're in charge of your safety, you had a helluva ride etc. but we understood. And to tell you the truth, I was glad it was their call and not ours. I think Justin was too, but you should ask him.
We started at 8 AM, after eating a fast food breakfast; it was the only open restaurant in Libby, was open early enough, and the dam where we were to start was still 17 miles away. It was the crack of dawn, and there was only one guy there who wasn't behind the counter. We both assumed he worked there, but as we walked past him, he asked if we knew of anything he could apply to his saddle to make it not so slippery. We looked at him as if to say, Do we look like cowboys? and then he told us he was riding the bike thing too. I realized he had seen our shirts with the name of the bike ride on the back. We mumbled that we didn't, and he left. If we couldn't find any place to get a meal, where was he going to find what he needed?
The night before, we had driven up to the dam, checking how long it would take us to get there. We were lucky because it was further than either of us had remembered. The fact I didn't know how far the dam was, really didn't matter. When I'm with Justin he's in charge. For his own safety! he would say.
Several campers and motor homes were in the parking lot when we arrived, and we were glad that we had been in a motel. I was reminded to thank my sister for notloaning us hers. 130 riders started the 83 mile ride around Lake Koocanusa, and there were 5 stops along the way for hydration (water and Hammer Heed drink that's like Gatorade, but not as tasty,) snacks (bagels, muffins, trail mix, oranges, etc.) and lunch (sammies, chips, cookies.)
Wally, my sister, suggested we drive the course before riding, but I didn't want to know how hard it was going to be. Justin heard it was hilly, and I figured if there were up-hills, there had to be down-hills too, and my 3 wheeler geared way down so I could creep up steep hills, very slowly, without disembarking (one could walk faster.) Justin had ridden the 100 mile CASA last summer, and is a real stud (don't tell him I said so.) I knew he could do it. And, as we kind of trained, he told me he was sure I'd make it, too. He added that it might take us a while. When he picked me up the night before, for the drive to Libby, he asked if I had my head lamp. You'll need it when the sun goes down and we're still pedalling, he joked. Justin is Mr. Sarcastic most of the time; like whenever he's breathing.
You could call what we did over the Spring and Summer, semi, or para, or part training. We rode to and from Somers and Kila, but never did the whole thing; from one to the other, and back to the 1st. But he has the smartphone app Map My Ride (one of his favorite toys,) and he figured we averaged about 10 miles an hour. We were ready, or so we thought.
We rode away from the dam, up a gnarly hill, and we lost sight of the other bikes almost immediately. The hill was long, and steep, and I just kept thinking to myself, I rode 11 miles up Going to the Sun Road in Glacier Park last Spring, after not riding all Winter, I can do this. You might think, as I did, that the ride downhill would be relaxing, and that I'd be able to rest, but that wasn't the case. I found that out, on that 1st downhill. I was going to have to stay focused on braking and steering.
My new recumbent is way better than my previous trike, but if I get going too fast, it starts to shimmy. My bike is the tadpole configuration of a 3-wheeler; there is one wheel in the back, and I sit directly over the crossbar between the 2 front wheels. Handles to control the steering and gears are down by my hips. As I rode down the massive hill, I remembered an earlier time when my foot slipped under the crossbar, and the bike continued, trapping my leg and pitching me forward, over the pedal wheel (is that even a thing?) When it happened, I was going very slow, but a pedal was still able to reach out and tear into my shin. I considered what would happen if the same thing occurred while travelling well over 10 miles an hour, downhill. The picture in my head was not pretty, so I slowed down some, and focused harder. I wouldn't be able to rest any time soon.
We settled into a routine where Justin would get up the hills way in front of me, then he'd let me catch him on the downhill. The scenery was beautiful, but I have to admit I didn't have it in me to appreciate much of it. I was busy pushing myself physically to get up the hills (Legs, don't fail me now!) and using all my mental capabilities to not become too complacent and crash on the downhill.
Riding in the dense forest's shade, mostly, up one side of the huge reservoir, kept us out of the heat. And the road was basically traffic free. But it was still incredibly difficult for me. Justin pointed out the bridge we would cross over before heading back. He told me there was a hydration stop on the other side, and from there, we would be over half way. I needed that. Knowing I was 1/2 way meant I was only 40 miles from finishing.Crap, that's still a long way, I whined to myself. The next several miles were like a bad joke; every time that bridge came into view, it seemed as far away as it did the 1st time we saw it! Several times it appeared, and several times my hopes were thrashed.
Justin waited for me so we could ride over the bridge together. We were approaching a stop, so we slowed to take in the beautiful view. The bridge was high above the water's surface, and what looked like beaches on the lake, Justin said, were just high water marks. He told me of a guy who jumped off for fun, when the water was higher. As his friends watched, he made the jump, surfaced, and took a few strokes, before going under. He died from internal injuries sustained when hitting the water's surface. Justin is full of neat stories like that.
We reached the rest stop across the river and stopped to rest. He filled my bladder, and congratulated me for drinking it all. I came back with, Of course I drank it! I'm not the one we have to worry about! Just recently, he had had a scare in Utah. He found himself passed out in the dirt next to his tent, his face very bruised and scraped. But that's his story, this is mine.
- get a hold of the mouthpiece, which was usually on my right shoulder, but sometimes fell out of sight
- position the mouthpiece (on the end of the tube) just right, between my fake teeth (the bridges top and bottom, replaced several teeth removed after my accident - the top bridge has been replaced twice, and it's spendy so I am extra careful when I have to bite anything anything harder than... soft)
- bite the mouthpiece to open the tube, careful to use my back teeth
- suck the water into my mouth
- swallow the water
At the rest/hydration/food stops Justin arrived way before I did, and when I rolled in he took it upon himself to refill my camelback. Sweet guy. He had to take it from my bike's fabric carrier, remove the bladder from its' own backpack, and open it, which takes all sorts of shenanigans that are difficult for the physically impaired. Finally, after closing up the bladder, and re securing it in its' pack, it had to be tucked back into my carrier. That may not sound very difficult, and I could have done it, but Justin would have had to sit idle, watching me, and waiting until I was finally ready to roll again. I know, I am extra fortunate to have him as a friend.
Back on the road, we were directly in the sun, and there was a lot more traffic. Just inside the shoulder was a rumble strip. It wakes up sleepy drivers by making a loud hum when moving wheels cross it. If I rode with the strip between my wheels, my back wheel bumped over the raised lines of asphalt, and drove me crazy. There was just enough room for my two front wheels between the rumble strip and the dirt and gravel next to the road so that's where I'd ride. We faced a very long, semi steep hill, and the next stop would be for lunch. Justin pulled away from me, as the sun beat down on us, and I pushed those pedals around, and around. I tuned into the sound of the broom wagon. It's there to pick up the stragglers who don't finish in time. But, at the time I didn't know there even was such a thing. I compared that car to my recumbent when I coached cross country. I realized there had to be someone responsible for every last rider, just as I was responsible for every last athlete. I realized he had followed me the whole way. I concentrated on the hum of the engine as I crept up the hill. But then I felt chills, and I looked at my forearms and saw goose bumps. This is not good, I thought, as I remembered the feeling.
I was in Mexico with my 1st husband, the last time I felt like this. I was watching my new husband para sail. We got back to the room, where I started to hallucinate, and he put me in cool bath before calling the front desk for a thermometer. Not familiar with the Celsius scale, he phoned back to have the temp converted to Fahrenheit. They sent me directly to a doc in town who said it was food poisoning, and shot me up with penicillin.
Thinking back on that experience, I continued to pedal but I knew I needed to stop. At some point, I told Justin I didn't think I'd make it. He was riding well ahead, but stopping on hill tops to wait for me. He told me if I went with the broom wagon, he'd see me at the next stop. But the chills and goosebumps let up, and I was able to make it to lunch, where I planned to give it up to the broom wagon. But the orange shirts there filled me with electrolyte hydration, and protein, and offered me 2 energy boost pill. I took the pills, and after using the toilet, I felt much better.
It's only 22 more miles, they said encouragingly. Justin chimed in, To Somers and back is all, we do that all the time. I told myself I'd stop if the chills/goosebumps returned, and off we pedalled. I felt like a new gal! We'd do it now, I mused. There was a hydration stop in 10 miles so that was my goal. Ken pulled the Broom Wagon alongside to tell me he was pulling over, and would catch up with me. A few minutes later he returned to ask how I felt, and I responded Good!
But around the next corner I met up with Justin, surrounded by orange shirts. Broom Wagon Ken joined us and after hearing we pedalled for 9 hours in the heat, I knew it was time to stop. Once our bikes were loaded up, and we were sitting in air conditioning, Justin asked if they could let us out at the top of the hill leading to the finish so that we could ride down. Sure! Was their answer, and so we did. Once we finished, all the Orange Shirts cheered. Ken asked if he could douse me with a cooler of water in celebration, and I said he could. It was a big cooler, and it seemed like it would never stop.
I don't remember ever finishing last in any of my athletic performances, prior to my TBI (traumatic brain injury in 1991.) This hurdler/jumper/sprinter even ran several 5K road races after competing as a Duck. But even then, I was never last. But as I rolled to the finish at the bottom of the dam on Saturday, both arms held high, last place seemed OK to me!
Back on the road, we were directly in the sun, and there was a lot more traffic. Just inside the shoulder was a rumble strip. It wakes up sleepy drivers by making a loud hum when moving wheels cross it. If I rode with the strip between my wheels, my back wheel bumped over the raised lines of asphalt, and drove me crazy. There was just enough room for my two front wheels between the rumble strip and the dirt and gravel next to the road so that's where I'd ride. We faced a very long, semi steep hill, and the next stop would be for lunch. Justin pulled away from me, as the sun beat down on us, and I pushed those pedals around, and around. I tuned into the sound of the broom wagon. It's there to pick up the stragglers who don't finish in time. But, at the time I didn't know there even was such a thing. I compared that car to my recumbent when I coached cross country. I realized there had to be someone responsible for every last rider, just as I was responsible for every last athlete. I realized he had followed me the whole way. I concentrated on the hum of the engine as I crept up the hill. But then I felt chills, and I looked at my forearms and saw goose bumps. This is not good, I thought, as I remembered the feeling.
I was in Mexico with my 1st husband, the last time I felt like this. I was watching my new husband para sail. We got back to the room, where I started to hallucinate, and he put me in cool bath before calling the front desk for a thermometer. Not familiar with the Celsius scale, he phoned back to have the temp converted to Fahrenheit. They sent me directly to a doc in town who said it was food poisoning, and shot me up with penicillin.
Thinking back on that experience, I continued to pedal but I knew I needed to stop. At some point, I told Justin I didn't think I'd make it. He was riding well ahead, but stopping on hill tops to wait for me. He told me if I went with the broom wagon, he'd see me at the next stop. But the chills and goosebumps let up, and I was able to make it to lunch, where I planned to give it up to the broom wagon. But the orange shirts there filled me with electrolyte hydration, and protein, and offered me 2 energy boost pill. I took the pills, and after using the toilet, I felt much better.
It's only 22 more miles, they said encouragingly. Justin chimed in, To Somers and back is all, we do that all the time. I told myself I'd stop if the chills/goosebumps returned, and off we pedalled. I felt like a new gal! We'd do it now, I mused. There was a hydration stop in 10 miles so that was my goal. Ken pulled the Broom Wagon alongside to tell me he was pulling over, and would catch up with me. A few minutes later he returned to ask how I felt, and I responded Good!
But around the next corner I met up with Justin, surrounded by orange shirts. Broom Wagon Ken joined us and after hearing we pedalled for 9 hours in the heat, I knew it was time to stop. Once our bikes were loaded up, and we were sitting in air conditioning, Justin asked if they could let us out at the top of the hill leading to the finish so that we could ride down. Sure! Was their answer, and so we did. Once we finished, all the Orange Shirts cheered. Ken asked if he could douse me with a cooler of water in celebration, and I said he could. It was a big cooler, and it seemed like it would never stop.
I don't remember ever finishing last in any of my athletic performances, prior to my TBI (traumatic brain injury in 1991.) This hurdler/jumper/sprinter even ran several 5K road races after competing as a Duck. But even then, I was never last. But as I rolled to the finish at the bottom of the dam on Saturday, both arms held high, last place seemed OK to me!
This is for you Justin, THANKS!
