psycles

The Wheel in Front

2011-10-01T13:36:00.000-04:00

Part One

I have been racing in one way or another for about 10years. First it was running races, thentriathlon. Last year I started bikeracing, which doesn’t leave much room for anything else. Now I am wondering what to do. Can I stop racing? What would life be likewithout such goals?

The thing about bike racing is that it’s all about riding ina pack. If you are lucky enough to havea team, you can work together. But evenwithout a team, you are only as fast as the wheel in front of you. If you get dropped from the pack, the race isover. If you are much faster than thepack, you will just get bumped up to a stronger pack and be sliding off the backagain. The training is brutal. And, to tell you the truth, there is a pervadingattitude of arrogance and lack of true comradery in bike racing that turns me off.

That being said, my last bike race was great fun. The Tour de Greenwich is a local citizensrace. Because there are some stellarlocal athletes, the race is quite challenging. There are 3 waves of male riders, and the women all go in one wave. It’s hilly from the start, so it breakspretty quickly. And this time, I had ateam. As Bari, Christine and I lined upat the start I was feeling really good. We looked around and saw some really strongwomen racers. There were some rock stars in the men’s lead group as well. In fact, a couple of current and former proracers showed up to make things interesting.

Bari and I were with a small group (about 7 of us) thatpulled away on the first hill. We stayedwith the pack, taking one or two very brief sojourns at the front, right up to BuryingHill. Bari led up the hill, and althoughwe dropped back a bit, we were within striking distance when we reached thetop. The road is a slight but steady inclinefor a few miles, so it made catching up very hard. Bari dropped back with another rider, but Iwas not ready to throw in the towel. After a couple of fast flats and descents I caught them. We rode together again for severalmiles. Then, another hill created a gapand I was behind once more. I waspassing many men and tried to jump on as many wheels as I could. A few guys sped up to take me for a few shortpulls, but they could not keep the speed, so I just plowed on. Finally, I caught them. I was burnt, but pumped at the sametime. I started pulling much more than Ishould. As we rounded the last couple ofcorners, I led out. They passed me about50 yards from the finish line. What ablast. I got 2^nd in my category, won a nice jersey and got to racewith friends.

Part Two

The wheel in front can also be seen as a metaphor for thesupport you get from others during challenging times. I am very lucky to have so many peoplepulling for me and owe a huge debt of gratitude to everyone that has supportedme in my struggles with MS. Thanks fordonating and being there for me in so many ways.

The ride was great fun. It turned out to be a beautiful day, in spite of the weatherforecasts. I rode out in front acrossthe Tappan Zee Bridge, marveling at the beauty of the Hudson. This is the last year for this ride, and as aperson with MS, I sometimes wonder how many more years I will be able to ride60 miles.

I found myself riding with a guy named Michael Novich (Iknew his name because he is a top 200 fund raiser and got his name on hisjersey). He was a big, strong, very kind man and pulled me on the flats at highspeed- what a blast! As we neared BearMt, he said he thought he would climb it, because it was there, and whynot? So, we climbed the Bear and addedanother 10 miles to our journey.

I couldnot have done such a hard ride at that speed without his help, and I hope I wasgood company. He talked a lot about someupcoming brain surgery he faced due to a serious crash at a bike race a fewmonths ago. He is a young guy, marriedand hoping to have kids one day, and I was really impressed with his positiveattitude in the face of such adversity. As we got back to the event and I hung out with my WCC friends, I againfelt grateful to be a part of this crazy, wonderful tribe of humanity.

I believe that racing, and having athletic goals, has made me a happier, healthier person and I love being around other people that have a such a positive attitude. While bike racing may go on the back burner, I may return to triathlon next year, as I think the cross training will be better for me. Thanks again to everyone for all the pulls.

2011-09-17T06:57:00.001-04:00

I came in 9th, but really I won!

My dad said recently, "When people ask me how you are doing, I tell them, Kate with MS is pretty much the same as Kate without MS."

But actually, Kate today is even better than Kate a year ago, before I learned I had MS. I enjoy spending time with my great kids and my husband, Victor. My parents and brother and his family live nearby, so we get to spend lots of time with them too. The picture you see is me racing to my wedding on top of Whiteface Mountain. Our family gathered for a perfect weekend of love and celebration in June. I have participated in many races this year and done really well. I am stronger than ever. I love my job and do lots of volunteer work in my free time. Life is very, very good.

What few people see is that I have to inject myself everyday, which is no fun at all. And I worry that the drug I take might actually do some harm. But, it I believe it is also keeping me from relapsing, so I try not to think about it. I also have a lot of residual pain. I have been going to physical therapy and that helps some. When it gets really bad, I take some pain killers, but mostly I work through it. I don't worry anymore about waking up and not being able to walk, or see, or remember things. I take each day as it comes. I am thankful for this wonderful life I have right now.

But, it would be even better if there was a cure. The Westchester Cycle Club is a big part of my life these days. So, we are going to ride and volunteer. The money goes to research that might mean I don't have to take a drug that messes with my immune system. It might mean I won't ever have to stop riding my bike, or walking around my classroom, or any of the things I love to do.

The ride is next weekend, and of course, I will let you know how it goes. Please donate if you can. Thanks. WCC MS Ride Page

Summer Racing

2011-08-08T19:09:00.005-04:00

I have been bike racing for a couple of years now, with fairly mediocre results. I’m usually in the top 3rd, but I sometimes wonder why I race. I got a late start at athletics. I am old compared to most of the women I race with. But, I keep working- I don’t give up- and I have gotten better. This weekend I have been wondering if maybe I am just good at suffering. Does being really good at suffering make me a strong bike racer? Maybe I should leave it to the younger women.

I did have my first Podium win on June 4th at the Floyd Bennet 20km Time Trial. I took 3rd place cat 4 women. It was really fun racing around the pancake flat race track, into the wind. I had already done a team time trial a half an hour before with Ed, Jon and Rob. Their 4th man had dropped out, so they asked me! I was feeling strong and having a good day. Victor was there too and took 1st place in Cat 5 men. Unfortunately we had to leave before I even knew I won. Later, I got a check in the mail for twenty whole dollars!

Team Time Trial with Ed and Rob

This month I convinced these same buddies to drive to Tioga NY and enter the State Championships. This race is one of the few opportunities to race in my age group. Victor couldn’t make it, so Ed and I entered the mixed tandem race. It would mean two 40km time trials back to back.

Ed's truck- we had 4 bikes- one a tandem.

This time, I was able to do my individual race first. I had just two competitors, but they were strong. The women that beat me (by 5 minutes!) has won this race for years and also done well in Nationals. But the woman I barely beat has years of solid top 10 and podium finishes.

I had about a half hour before the TTT but I was feeling good. Ed had placed 3rd in his first race and we had two strong teams to race against. The first team won handily, but we came in a strong second. I missed the first podium and was afraid I would never get to have that podium moment. But, Ed and I crowded up there and got our silver medals! Now I had two silver medals around my neck. They clanked against each other every time I moved and made me smile.

Photoshopped myself on there.

Finally on the podium for real!

This weekend I faced my first stage race- the Tour of the Catskills. It seemed like a good idea when I signed up. I had never done one before. I convinced the women on my team (all new to bike racing) to sign up. Many of the men on our team were doing it. I found a house for us all to stay. Christine has a condo in Hunter Mt., so some of us stayed there as well. We planned to share meals and post race parties.

The race started with a 20km time trial with an uphill finish. Meg got her number- 666! I told her it was a good omen for the Devil’s Kitchen climb the next day. I did well with a 6th place finish. She placed just behind me without any aero gear. Christine and Bari also did well. Christine looked amazing in her borrowed TT bike and she did much better than she expected. We all went to Christine’s and had a fun meal. I was very unsure of what would happen the next day because on our pre ride (on a very hot day) I had gone into heat exhaustion on the Devils Kitchen climb. The climb is almost 3 miles and incredibly steep. The route is 68 miles and the devil comes at about mile 60.

I was delighted to find myself with the pack at the top of the first KOM (king of the mountain- a big hill where you get points if you are the first over) and got to fly with the peloton all the way to the base of the mountain. That is my favorite part. In the pack all your senses are crackling. You get to play with the drafts and enjoy the power of the group. It’s an incredible sense of sisterhood and strength.

We went through the food stop and there was dependable Nick handing me a bottle. We raced on towards the mountain. At the bottom, I let everyone pass and settled in to climb. I figured I would zigzag my way up. It was slow, but steady and it worked. At the corkscrew- the steepest part- my left quad cramped and I screamed in pain- each time I pressed my foot to the pedal I screamed- and kept riding. As it leveled, I calmed my breathing and mentally tried to relax the muscle. It worked and I was able to keep climbing all the way to the top. I finished just before the rain. Victor was there to help me off my bike and give me a hug. We hung out to see Meg take the podium for 3rd place! It started to rain heavily but we stayed and cheered Bari and Christine as they finished looking strong. Although the guys were not in yet, we fled back to the house to shower and get warm. Later, everyone came to our place for another feast.

I had come in 11th for the day and 11th overall. There was no giving up, but I was pretty sure I would not be able to do as well the next day. I was feeling pretty good physically, but I was afraid. Still, I wanted to support Meg and if there was any way I could help her, I would.

It was much more hot and humid than they had predicted. The heat index was around 100. Bari and Christine and Jon dropped out to cheer us on. Nick and Victor did the one-day race. John, Brian, Ed, Rob, Meg and I all ate a hearty breakfast and went to race. As Meg and I warmed up we chatted and I started to relax and enjoy myself. When the race took off, there I was again, blissfully flying with the peloton. The big long climb started about 20 miles in. I dropped back and rode with a few other women. One if them had come in right behind Meg and was a contender for Meg’s 3rd place overall. So, I figured I would just stay with her to keep an eye on her. I remembered she was very strong on the flats, so I hoped she might pull us back to the peloton. But, as the heat beat us down she faded fast. At one point she even veered into the grass. Another woman pulled ahead- I went with her. She and I worked together after the first KOM for the two and a half miles of flats. It seemed like the route was all uphill or down. My Garmin said 60 miles and 6000ft of climbing.

Soon we picked up another woman that had been dropped. They were both very young. One was not drinking enough and I nagged her. “Sorry, it’s just the mother in me.” They were not fast on the descents, so I kept waiting for them. I probably should have just soloed, but I preferred their company. Then, I saw the Babylon Bikes jersey up ahead. A woman named Jenn, I raced with at Battenkill and helped me for the last miles, was in that jersey. I called to her to jump on my wheel. She said she was cramping and hurting, so I gave her some electrolytes and slowed down a bit. We got to the bottom of the second KOM and it was a wall. I started zigzagging and she followed my lead. Somehow we made it up and kept on.

We passed another woman that I had been chatting with earlier. She claimed to be the oldest in the peloton at 46, but I informed her I was 48. We discovered we both have MS and chatted about our medications. I called to her to hop on, but she was too far gone. I was sorry to see her in such pain. The heat was really bad and cramping is very common with MS. I had been popping electrolytes and drinking lots of water, so I was OK. I did see her come in to the finish later and ran up to hug her. She burst into tears. Meg came up and we helped her off her bike as her husband arrived. Wow. Just wow.

I was totally exhausted, but felt energized by the whole experience. Meg’s smile was radiant as she stood on the podium and raised up her arms. She is 27 and has years of improvement ahead of her. Third place in her first stage race is an amazing accomplishment. Victor took 2nd in the one-day race. Nick had a really good time. I was very proud to be wearing the Tarmac colors as I saw the young guys coming in. They finished seconds from having a cat 4 team win. Rob came in 8th overall and John came in 9th. Brian and Ed finished strong. I was 11th overall- but I had wanted to be in the top 10. That is the magic number- the cut off between winners and losers. If I had left Jenn there on the road, or if I had just pushed harder… But those choices are part of what it’s all about and I feel good about what I did. 30 women started and only 19 finished. If there were a 45+ age group as there is with the men, I would have won. We all went back to the house and had another meal together before staggering off for home, spent but proud.

Maybe by next year I could lose 10 pounds and get up those hills just a little faster. Maybe I will give up racing altogether and leave it to the young ones. Maybe I could just do what I have been doing. I guess I don’t have to decide just now. The truth is, it’s good that I get to decide at all.

Whiteface Wedding Weekend

2011-06-20T08:37:00.000-04:00

The plan was for us to race up Whiteface with three of our friends and a couple of hundred strangers and be married at the top by my father, a deacon in the Episcopal church. We had been leaning toward plan B (getting married back at the house) for a couple of days, as the weather reports were not favorable, especially for the top. But, the morning of June 18th was clear and warm, and while we knew by evening it would be windy and much chillier we decided to proceed. We got on our spandex, I added some wedding flair and we headed out to ride the 10 miles to Whiteface.

My family packed into cars to head up the mountain ahead of us. Aunt Sylvia and Uncle Bob, cousins Ann Carol, Johnny, Sean and Courtney were in the lead van, followed by my brother and his family, our kids and my parents. As we waited for the first wave to go off at the bottom, the plans were again in peril. The caravan was stopped half way up at the toll house. First, they were told no cars were allowed up the mountain. There must have been some miscommunication with the race director which was resolved. But then, as my parent's car approached to pay, the toll woman leaned into the car, eying my father in his collar, and asked why they were going up. My 80 year old mother, wrapped in her Irish wool shawl beamed and replied, "My daughter is getting married! We're having a wedding!" The woman frowned and shaking her head, hissed, "There will be no wedding." My parents stared at her blankly as she repeated this several times, with increasing fervor. Wisely, my parents said nothing, paid the toll and continued up with complete faith that there would, indeed, be a wedding.

Meg and I went off first. The incline was steady and steep, but the views were magnificent. I tried to keep a steady power that I thought I could maintain for an hour or so. Many of the women blasted ahead, but more of them dropped behind, and Meg was right in front of me. It was difficult and somewhat painful, but it was also very fun, mainly because my sash and veil prompted so many smiles from the spectators and well wishes and shouts of congratulations from my fellow racers. We got to the top together- 8 miles at 8%- in 1:11, which gave Meg a 3rd place finish in her age group and me a 9th place finish. The fastest man did it in 49min and the fastest woman, who was in my age group, did it in 50min. Victor did it in 1:00, Nick 1:09 and John in just 58min. I felt good at the end and had enough in the tank for a finishing sprint, so I was pleased.

We changed our clothes quickly and gathered in a little circle on the grass near the castle. Many people looked on, but nobody tried to stop us. With the sun and wind upon us, my father performed the ceremony, my mother and aunt did some readings, my daughter and his son gave the rings to be blessed and everyone cheered at the kiss when he pronounced us husband and wife. It was done. There was a wedding, and the party began, or more accurately, continued...

The Dirt on Battenkill

2011-04-11T16:28:00.001-04:00

My plan was to hammer up the hills, see who was around to work with and go from there. This strategy, much to my surprise and delight, kept me with the front group for the first 50 miles. It was so much fun. There were about 20 of us. Several of them were women I had met at other races. The women, unlike male racers I understand, are very chatty along the way. It was so great to be sailing along with the peleton. The weather was as good as you could hope for in April- comfortable temps, overcast, a bit windy especially as a storm threatened later in the day, but nothing too horrible. I stayed in the middle of the pack as much as possible, and would drop back only a little on the big hills. There was one time I got in the very front by accident and found myself next to the ultimate winner, who had been pulling all day.

"Man, it's really windy up here."

"No kidding," she laughed.

"Wow, and you have been pulling all day."

"Yeah, I'm kinda dumb like that."

"Well, this is too hard for me, I'm going back there...but wait... cameras...smile!"

The bad part came on the sandy downhill just before Meetinghouse. I dropped back a bit on the previous hill and started the decent in the back. Suddenly a cloud of dust- bikes and bodies were flying. These women that I had been chatting with all afternoon were on the ground crying. It was really awful. I barely had the heart to go on.

I found myself at the top of Meetinghouse with 2 other women. One of them organized us into a paceline and we worked together like that, picking up another woman that had gotten dropped. Then, on the last series of climbs I dropped off and at the top found only one woman. "Is this torture over yet?" I asked her. I let off a whoop and we took off.

I pulled mostly because I just wanted the pain to be over. She kept saying, "Oh my god, you are a machine!" We picked up a third women that had gotten dropped and were sprinting to the finish. I realize now that I might have been able to sprint past them both and not helped them at that point. At the finish line I was out of gas and they went around to cross before me. We finished minutes behind the winners. I was 11th and my time was 3:34 for 64mi- not a bad result. Victor Jr and Sr came running up to congratulate me. Sarah was there too and gave me a hug. It was an amazing day.

Racing at Sebring

2011-02-22T19:50:00.001-05:00

A few days before leaving for Sebring, Victor and I took the tandem out for a few loops to make sure everything was working well. With all the snow this winter, it had been months since we rode outside- in fact, it had been so long we forgot our helmets! True, we have been doing regular interval sessions, but the lack of real riding did not bode well for our chances of completing the 24-hour race with a new course record (over 344mi). Nevertheless, aside from an incipient cold Victor had, we were both feeling pretty well. I was off all the medications other than the Copaxone. I had been going to the physical therapist to treat the chronic neck pain that my neurologist believes is a result of the MS lesion on my spine, and was getting much better results than from all the pain medications I had tried. I was a bit worried the race would set me back, but I was also determined not to let the pain get in the way of accomplishing my goals.

At the start

The week before the race, Victor upped the ante with a bid to make over 400 mi for the RAAM qualifier. We planned as well as we could, but without a crew, it was not going to be easy. Honestly, I was just very excited to be able to ride in the warm sun after months of cold hard winter. The day did not disappoint, with near perfect temperatures and very little wind. As we stood at the racetrack waiting for the signal to start, I looked around and saw all the rock stars of ultra cycling. There was John Schlitter, racer and founder of Bacchetta Recumbent Bikes, Dana Lieberman owner of Bent Up Cycles, maker of posh carbon recumbents, both RAAM finishers. RAAM contenders Ann Woolridge and Sandy Earl were there, along with RAAM winner Daniela Genovesi. We took off with wings. On the first few laps around the racetrack, a guy on a beautiful Cervelo admired our bike, “Beautiful bike- must have taken out a second mortgage!”

“This thing? This is a Burley Rumba we got off of Craigslist for a thousand bucks!” Indeed, it was hard not to envy all the beautiful bikes. There were many recumbents and some had really cool fairings, including a cow skin and one with flowers that looked like a bed sheet. There was even a velomobile a.k.a. the bathtub bike. There was one other pair on a recumbent tandem, but we did stand out. In the pictures you will see some of my body parts standing out because my zipper broke at the starting line. Luckily it was a warm day and I just pretended I wanted ventilation. The first 100mi loop out around Lake Reedy was great. I was feeling strong and we were having fun. We saw George Meltzer, a friend from the PA Randonneurs. We saw Maria Parker, a women I raced with at Saratoga a couple of years ago. The loop was pretty flat and we did it in just over 5 hours with one short stop.

We took another break before setting out on the short loop of 11 miles. Unfortunately, we didn’t read the directions and missed some of the briefing at the start messing with my zipper, so we took a wrong turn and ended up doing 6 bonus miles before getting back on track. This ate up our time cushion, as did the afternoon winds and the small but tandem-slowing hill on the backside of the loop. We did stand on it every time, relieving the pain of the by then, very sore butt. By the 9^th or 10^th time around, I wasn’t sure if I loved or hated that hill. By the time 5:30 rolled around, it was hot and I was not eager to go out on that loop again. They were going to start sending people on the track any minute and I wanted to take a break and change my clothes. Plus, we needed to move the car and set up for the night. So, we decided to stop and take care of business.

It was almost an hour before we got started again. I had accidently filled up my water bottle with Perpetuem, which I discovered does not agree with me. I got some violent cramps. I tried to ignore them and listen to some music, but my iPod was not working (interestingly, it worked the next day). As the evening wore on, smoke from a mud fire was wafting heavily in the air. Victor’s lungs were feeling scorched. We knew we were very close to setting the course record and too far for RAAM qualifying, so we began to slow down.

The last few hours we shared several Red Bulls as I watched the shadows shifting in the moonlight. The light and the smoke were so beautiful. I started to imagine there was snow on the ground. Victor told me he thought he heard people clapping. He thought that the garbage cans and other things we passed were other riders, but then they would turn into garbage cans. We finally stopped at about 4:30 am. I wanted to go back out, but he reminded me he had heard people clapping that weren’t there. “So, you know it’s not real. Just ignore it and let’s go back out.” Somehow I could not let go of this idea of riding into the sunrise. But, we had already beaten the course record by about 20 miles, so we agreed to go back to the hotel, clean up and return for the awards ceremony.

They had only made one medal for us. Victor was going to put it around my neck, then joked about putting it around both our necks, but then they awkwardly handed me another medal. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t care whether people appreciate my role in our success. But I know what I did and I know Victor appreciates me that’s what really matters. Riding together is so much more fun. We’re just better together.

Now, if we just had a better tandem and a crew…

Inspiration

2011-01-15T18:17:00.001-05:00

Cyclepassion

A male teammate sent out the above link suggesting it as, “A little inspiration for the guys.” I spent a few minutes looking at the photos and watching one of the videos, and I have to say it was inspiring for me. You see, in my magic mirror, I see those women. Luckily, unlike the evil queen in Sleeping Beauty, I understand mirror tricks. So, I train hard to ride as well as I possibly can and I try my best to look presentable doing it. Yet, as I was looking at the site, I had a nagging feeling that something was just not right about it. It took some thinking to figure it out, but here it is-

Recently, my race team placed an order for custom cycling clothes. The catch was a ten piece per style minimum. We only have 5 women on our team, so that presented a problem. A company representative told our buyer that there was, “No significant difference,” between men and women’s clothing, “Just order a size smaller.” I knew that was not possible because, (I speak from direct observation here) men and women are built very differently. Sure enough, a quick look at the sizing charts on the company website told the whole story: women are not as large in the shoulders and larger in the hips proportionally to men and the sizing reflects that significant difference. I bet if I showed that rep the calendar website he might spend a half and hour or more watching those videos. Why couldn’t he spend a few minutes to get our women the information they needed to make an informed decision about their racing clothes?

Last summer I entered a race that the men on our team were doing. Victor, a new racer like me, is in the entry-level category 5 for men. They were doing one loop of the very challenging course. I was in the entry-level category, which for women is 4. We did two loops along with the cat 1/2/3 women. Many cat 4 dropped out, but a few of us did both loops, coming in as they were packing up the race site and most people had gone home. I bet if I showed the male race directors the calendar website they might spend a half and hour or more watching those videos. Why couldn’t they spend a few minutes considering the fairness of making novice women ride twice the distance of novice men?

So, you see, it’s not that I don’t understand that athletic women are attractive. I appreciate the admiration of the female form. But, I would like to believe that the package is not the only thing worth consideration. I understand there is a chicken and egg issue here- meaning that the inequality between men and women in bike racing, from prize money and sponsorship to race categories and rules, has something to do with the fact that there are simply fewer women athletes. But, I think if the men in decision making positions took a little more time to consider the needs of women athletes they might be able to make it a bit more attractive for potential competitors. Then, there might be more women racing- and more beautiful bodies in spandex to admire.

A Different Sort of Challenge

2010-11-21T12:52:00.002-05:00

The day after I met with the doctor was my annual Birthday Ride. This year the post ride festivities took the form of a tailgate party. There were four different levels and 50+ folks showed up to ride in the cold November gray. Victor and I led the A ride on our tandem. I felt like I wanted to prove something. In spite of what I said, it wasn’t about proving we could do the 50 miles faster than the B+ group. It was about proving to myself that I am still on top of my game. I needed to feel my strength and believe that it is not going away, no matter what the doctor predicts.

For the past few months, I have been going through tests to determine the cause of a nagging pain in my neck and back. I went to the doctor over a year ago and he suggested it was an overuse injury due to my excessive riding. He recommended physical therapy and massage. That worked somewhat, but the pain didn’t go away. Last spring I had a strange bout of dizziness that lasted on and off for a couple of weeks. But, it went away, so I let it slide. Then, this summer the pain became worse and I experienced numbness in my arm. So, I went to the doctor who ordered an MRI. Many MRI’s and several blood tests later, the doctor confirmed what she had suspected after finding the lesion on my spinal cord on the first MRI- Multiple Sclerosis.

Months ago, when she first told me of the possibility, my concern was about not being able to ride my bike. Then, it slowly dawned on me that working could also become a problem. I am constantly on my feet all day long. What would happen if I couldn't work? Then I started thinking, how could this happen to me? I raise money for MS. I can’t have it! Images of slow deterioration haunted my sleep. My own body has attacked itself, the reasons for which nobody can say. It’s like some dirty trick. After all this work to make my body strong, it has turned on itself. Do I get to choose what happens now?

I say yes. After hearing about the medication options, the one that seems to make the most sense is Copaxone. It has the least side effects, but the catch is that it has to be injected daily. Ok, I can deal with that. Studies indicate there is a good chance that early medication can significantly increase remission and delay the onset of further episodes. The fact that I have remained healthy for this long is also a good sign. I don’t plan on giving up any of my ambitions. Victor and I are going to enter the Sebring 24hr race this February and not only win, but also set a new course record on the tandem.

Yesterday, as we led the group- well, by then there was just Marcus hanging on- down the last stretch, my legs were burning and I was breathing like a warthog, head down, praying for the parking lot to appear because I didn’t want to give up before the end. I hung on, and as we made the turn to the finish, I sat up and breathed a loud sigh of relief. We rode 50 miles with 2500 ft climbing in 2 ½ hours. This body still works just fine; nothing lost. As the others started riding in, we put out the coffee, cupcakes and beer, turned on the music and celebrated this life we are so lucky to enjoy.

D2R2

2010-08-22T13:21:00.003-04:00

Imagine Tinker Hill, or the hardest hill you ever climbed. Now, imagine it as a loop, up and down, with a few tenths of a mile in between. Now, imagine it’s loose dirt, rocks, sand, with washed out trenches and/or washboard sections. Now, imagine doing that loop like, 50 times in one day. That’s the D2R2, or Deerfield Dirt Road Randonee. It turned out to be 111 miles with 17,000 feet of climbing. It took us 12 hours. It was almost all dirt. There was one road that was really just a washed out, overgrown jeep trail through the woods. The joke of the day: we would see a patch of sand on one of the rare bits of paved road, yell, “gravel!” and laugh because it seemed so silly, given what we were riding on most of the day.

To be fair, there were incredible vistas of distant mountains and farmlands at the top of each climb. And at the bottom, there were covered bridges and sweet little houses. Along the way there were rest stops chocked with delicious food and drink, and even an ice cream truck strategically placed at the top of one of the last climbs. At the end there was free beer and BBQ!

Victor rode his Long Haul Trucker and I had my Tri cross, but we were really surprised at how many road bikes with skinny tires there were. We were riding fat tires, and I had treads on mine (which really slowed me down- plus we discovered my brakes were rubbing badly for the first 25 miles- I thought I was just slow!) Victor put some low gears on the bikes, so we could actually ride the 20+ grades without walking, as we saw many people do. Truthfully, there was one spot where the road turned from flat to a 27% wall. We started to ride up, but the guys in front of us started spinning out, so we all walked the steepest 100 feet or so, and found a driveway to use as a landing. We all got in line and took off, turning up the hill, spinning out, but getting control to make it to the top.

This ride attracts the cream of the independent bike fabrication world, along with top ultra-distance, mountain and road racers who blast through trying to make a course record (8 hours). The bike porn was plentiful, and Victor was often found drooling over some classic steel beauty (truth is, there were only a handful of women to drool over, as most women have a strong sense of self preservation that prohibits doing this ride). This ride took all the strength, skills and mental fortitude I could muster to finish, so there was no question of “racing” it for me. The riders were friendly and supportive, as were the volunteers, and while Victor would have liked to ride more competitively, most folks were just riding their own pace and enjoying the day, so we were in good company.

It was a great ride, and I’m glad I did it. But, I’m not sure I want to do it again. If you have read any of my adventures, you know I enjoy a challenge, but the dirt, particularly the downhill dirt, was not fun. While I did hone my bike handling skills, there were times when I was sure I was going down. I had to will myself to remain relaxed and loose and respond to spin outs without overreacting. I had to be alert every second. It was exhausting, and the vibrations were like riding on a jack hammer. Overall it was a bit more painful than I want to endure. Maybe next year I'll do the 100km and wait for Victor back at the finish, drinking beer and enjoying the bike porn. Anyone want to join me?

Housatonic Hills Road Race

2010-06-20T17:17:00.000-04:00

The Housatonic Hills Road Race 2010 served up 54 miles, over 6000ft of climbing with temps and humidity in the 80s. With the crazy steep hill climbing, my goal was just to complete the race upright and hopefully not last. Housatonic is the Connecticut State Championship race, so it attracts some of the strongest riders around. I didn’t expect to be able to keep up with the pack, especially in the heat. Many, perhaps wiser, people did not even start and many quit after 1 loop.

The race begins with a steep uphill “neutral” climb. But, they let the cat 123 women go a minute or so before us, and the car setting the neutral speed was in front of them, so of course the cat 4 field was trying to catch up and hammered up the hill. I stayed to the back and figured I would either catch them later or I wouldn’t but if I hammered I would not be able to finish. I kept them in sight for most of the first loop, but I didn’t have anyone to work with, so I was really suffering. At one point, the men cat 5 (they left about 10 min after us) rode past with many of my Tarmac team members and I caught their draft for a few moments before the follow car yelled at me to get back. I really envied them only going 1 loop.

At the KOM (king of the mountain- the highest point in the race- you get a prize for getting to the top first in your cat), which comes late in the loop after climbing several endless and brutally steep hills, there were lots of people cheering and bells and I could have sworn I saw a man dressed in an all white suit and pointy hat blowing a gigantic red horn. I could have been hallucinating. A woman from Bethel rode with me for the last few miles of the loop. But, she told me that she was cat 123 and way behind, so she was dropping out.

As I began the second loop with the huge hill I had resigned myself to doing the rest of the race triathlon style- solo. I went as hard as I could without blowing up on the hills, hammered as much as I could on the flats and flew down the descents. It was a relief really, and I started to enjoy myself. The pro men passed me sometime in the second loop. They were on their last of 3 loops. I felt pretty good and was confident I would finish. I knew there were several women behind me, but I didn’t know if they had dropped out.

When I got to the KOM there was nobody cheering anymore, just a couple of guys in shorts packing up their car. I saw one guy put a long red horn in his backseat and yelled, “I knew I wasn’t hallucinating, it was you with the horn!” but he shrugged, put on a wicked smile and said, “What are you talking about?” I got a chuckle out of that, and the fact that I was almost done.

I realized I was significantly behind when I could see the marshals getting up from resting in their chairs to wave me on. The last few pro 123 men had gone by and it was just me and the few women who might still be struggling behind me. At the last intersection, the cops that had been stopping traffic had gone away and I had to stop and wait for cars to pass. The arrows and cones had been packed up, so I had to go on memory and turned downhill. I figured it was all or nothing at that point, but I did wonder how I would get home if I were wrong.

Soon, I saw the home stretch and blasted away. I felt really good. The race turns uphill to finish in front of the school. I pedaled triumphantly up the finish line, but everyone was busy with the awards ceremony. I wondered if they would even notice my number and write it down. All that work to end up with a DNF next to my name would be a drag. I wanted to shout out, “Hey, did you get that? Kate Marshall, finishing?” The only face I recognized was the friendly blond who was at registration. She looked at me with a smile of sweet pity, but it made me glad that someone noticed what I had done.

MissFits Win!

2010-05-23T20:53:00.003-04:00

Any triathlon in Harriman State Park is both beautiful and very, very hard. The lakes are pristine, and cold. The roads through the forest are sparsely traveled, and very hilly. So, while other triathlons fill up within minutes of open registration, you can always sign up for a Harriman triathlon day-of. The least popular of all the Harriman triathlons is The Harryman because it’s not only hard, but it’s early. Folks ramp up their training in the spring and do a June sprint triathlon or two. But, doing an Olympic or Half in early May is not on most people’s calendars. No PRs to be found here. Naturally, I signed up.

In early December, after Eve’s brain tumor was removed, she, Flori and I drank coffee at the Black Cow and planned our race calendars for the upcoming year. We didn’t know when Eve would be back in the pool or on the bike, so we figured we would start with running. We all committed to doing the More Half Marathon in April. Eve wanted to raise money for the Brain Tumor Center at Memorial Sloan-Kettering, so we started up a Team Missfit Facebook page (Eve is a trainer and triathlon coach, and that’s the name of her website) and began getting the word out and supporting other athletes. Several signed up with us for the race. We also trained together and did some shorter races leading up to the half.

On the day of the More, we faced a cold hard rain that did not let up all day. But, we persevered, crossing the finish line together. Afterward, we drank bowls of hot coffee and basked in the glow of our finisher medals.

Even though I was committed to running and bike racing, I still wanted to do some triathlon. I tried to convince Flo to do the Harryman. She was skeptical, “So hard, so early?”

“Yeah! We can place!” I urged. Still, she was on the fence for a long time. She had not done a full triathlon in a couple of years due to a series of injuries, including a bike crash where she suffered a broken hip. Yet, she was determined to get back in action, and this seemed like a great way to build some energy. “If you can do the More, and you can do the Harryman, you can do the Toughman in the fall.” I think that’s what convinced her. She signed up.

Several times a week we would call each other on the way to school (she’s a teacher too) and talk about our training and plans for the race. We ran together at Rockefeller State Park. We did lots of riding. I didn’t do much swimming, but I did enough to be confident that I could swim 1.5km. We were ready.

The day was beautiful, overcast, warm but not too warm, windy but not too windy, the water cold, but not too cold. I got out of the water late, but got to pass dozens of people going up the hills on the bike. One fellow seemed a bit bent out of shape when I passed him and sped up to pass me. I let him get ahead a bit, then blew past him saying, “Oh no you don’t!”

He asked, “Building momentum for the downhill?”

I turned and shouted, “No, just trying to beat you!” That gave me a good laugh for a while and made me forget to suffer.

The run was a grueling out-and-back 10km. Every hill I went up was painful and I took no pleasure in the downhills, as I knew I would have to climb them on the way back. I was a couple of miles into it when I saw the first woman finisher and shouted, “You're number one girl, keep it up!” I did that for the second and third woman as well. They thanked me and I enjoyed seeing the looks on their faces change from pain to pleasure, knowing for sure they were going to win.

As I neared the finish line, I thought I heard steps behind me, so I sprinted hard. It felt good to know I still had that in me. As I crossed, I turned back and realized nobody was even close. I was somewhere in the middle, not as fast as the ones ahead, but faster than those behind. As it turned out, there were half a dozen women my age racing, and I was the fastest, so I got the prize. That felt good. But hugging Flori when she came in felt even better. She also placed first. Knowing we had gone on this journey together, with support from Eve and all our friends and family, knowing we had made them proud, made me feel really good.

Battenkill or the “Tour of the Big Frickin’ Unpaved Hills in Upstate New York”

2010-04-11T20:45:00.004-04:00

As soon as I saw this video, I signed up for the race. “How can you not sign up for a race that has kill in the title?” It’s just the kind of challenge I relish. When I told my son Louis, he said, “Why would you do something like that? Isn’t life hard enough already?”

Race day dawned cold and blustery, with snow flurries for dramatic effect. But, the roads were dry and I hoped it would warm up before my race went off at 11:40. We met up with other members of the Tarmac team. They were all in different races, but I found Barb who would be racing with me and consulted about what to wear as we warmed up. The day was getting brighter, although still windy. We kept stripping off layers until we thought we got it just right, but it was hard to know.   Barb had advised me to get to the line early and start near the front. I got right behind her and chatted with the women around me. I was excited and ready to get started.

There are several miles of warm up before the first bit of dirt. I stayed at the front of the group and tried to stay out of the wind. It seemed as though everyone was eager to race and the pack was moving at a fast clip. But, when we turned onto the first dirt road, I could feel a sudden wave up panic around me, and people slowed way down. I moved even further ahead and to the side just in time. A woman right next to me went into a skid and fell down sideways onto the dirt, just inches away. As I rode past, I could hear shouting and crunching metal. So soon, so close, it could have been me. I was glad it wasn’t.

Anyone not comfortable on the dirt dropped way back at that point. The rest of us stayed together until the first big-frickin-dirt-hill. Several blasted to the top quickly and took off.   I and another women worked together, taking turns drafting each other. Eventually, we picked up a couple more that had been dropped by the lead group. Amazingly, somebody who was in the crash caught up with us and we had a nice little pack going. We picked up more and more folks and soon, there were only a few women ahead of us. I was feeling really good, but expending way too much energy in my enthusiasm. I pulled too much, and when some of us would drop back on a hill, I was the one to bridge the others to the lead group. It was just too much fun to be part of this team working together.

At one point, the older men passed us, and in typical male style, slowed down. I bridged our group up to them, but the wheel car told us to stay back. I rode up and asked the guy in the car why we couldn’t pass them and he yelled, “Your ride is up ahead, your money is up there, you have to stay back.” It didn’t seem quite fair, but I wasn’t going to argue with him. We dropped back obediently, but it would have been fun to pass them.

Victor was waiting at all the turns to take my picture. The video below can attest to my overzealous lead. Of course, it didn’t last. I dropped my only water bottle at about mile 20, so by the time I got to the feed zone around mile 37 I was parched. Some people actually stopped their bikes and took a break. I grabbed the bottle and kept riding, but when the next big hill came up, I dropped back and that was it, I never did catch up. For one thing, I had nobody to help me. All the others were out of sight behind me as my pack got further and further ahead.

The next 25 miles were the hardest. The next time I saw Victor the pack was past and we both knew I would not be in the top 10.   A cat 3 women who had been dropped by her group stuck on my wheel. She wanted to know how much further. “Too much,” I told her. We rode together and the company was nice. At one point, the young men blasted past, practically running us into the ditch. There were several groups of trailing riders in that category, and going up yet another big-frickin-dirt-hill, one guy actually yelled at us, “Move over ladies, this is an open road!” I yelled back, “Your ride is WAY ahead buddy, you better step it up if you don’t want to be dead-frickin-last.” My riding companion and I got a good laugh out of that.

The dirt was smoother than it had been a few weeks before on the preview ride. I never felt out of control, although the winds were fierce. There were times I had to lean over just to stay upright in the crosswind. The headwinds were no fun either. But there was one moment as I was cresting the top of the last big-frickin-dirt-hill that I felt a tail wind push me like a gentle hand at just the right moment.

The finish was a bit of an anti-climax. There were no other riders in my category around but I love to sprint at the end, so I did. I saw balloons and lots of people, but unlike any other race I have ever been in, nobody cheered or clapped. There was not a sound, except for Victor, yelling, “Go Kate!” I crossed the line and somebody pointed to the chip removal area. Coming out, I passed a few of the women I had pulled, and they made a point of thanking me, which made me feel really good. And Victor ran up to hug me, which made me feel very grateful. As it turned out, I was 15th, which made me feel pretty proud. Maybe all those people standing around at the finish line didn’t know that life is hard anyway, and doing something like this deserves a round of applause. “$75 is such a bargain to pay for suffering like this!”

Fun on a Bike

2010-04-03T04:31:00.003-04:00

The week before I had done the Johnny Cake Lane road race and the next day Victor and I did the Battenkill preview ride. I was happy with my race performance and looking forward to the upcoming Battenkill race, but all I could think about all week was doing the PA 200km on Saturday. As we pulled out of my driveway Friday night, Victor said, “I think we’re a little unfocused Kate.”

“But Victor, there are so many ways to have fun on a bike. Why limit yourself?” I replied. Let’s face it; we’re not pros. We just want to enjoy ourselves and we think it’s fun to take on new challenges. After the Endless Mountains DNF, we weren’t sure what we were going to do this year. In January, we decided to join the local race team- Tarmac Cycling. I signed up for Battenkill. By the time I told Victor about it, the Cat 5 men slot was full. Nevertheless, we committed ourselves to training and racing. We bought computrainers and set them up in Victor’s apartment. Twice or three times a week for the last 3 months, we would torture ourselves with intervals. When it was warm enough we took all-day rides on the tandem and took a 400mi- 4day bike tour of Florida in February. We started really watching our diet- eating only what we needed to fuel our bodies. As a result, we got leaner and stronger which we hoped would translate into faster. While crits and road racing turns out to be great fun, we also want to do some distance racing. But, we still want to do brevets.

We got to the Wiesel early. As Victor was getting the bike off the car Tom Rosenbauer showed up with a car full of supplies. We helped him unload and then put on some music, got a fire going and settled in on the couch as folks arrived. Michael Anderson, who had been on the EM1240 came in from Massachusetts. Two young cat1 bike racers, Ben Kraft and Steve Sholzen, came in from Ithaca. Then the beautiful Bilenky tandem with a young couple, Patrick Gaffney and Cecillie Adams, from Philly arrived (read what happened to them on the ride.) Victor and the guys were salivating over the tandem while Michael and I talked about the Endless Mountains ride. He was behind us, but stuck with it, finishing just under the time limit. It was great to see everyone and be reminded that we belong with this community of crazy randonneurs.

The next morning we were happy to see Mike and Barb Anderson, with their tandem. They had rescued us when we stopped the EM after the second day. They, like many of us, were wearing our beautiful EM wool jerseys. Susan Rodetis, from New York, asked about it. “I did the Endless Mountains, and although I did not finish, I was told I could wear this anyway.” She said she was impressed with my honesty. To be sure, I was proud of the effort we made. We did the best we could at the time and while it was extremely difficult, we had great fun along the way. If we could have ridden faster, maybe things would have been different. On this day, we would see if we could ride faster.

Tom gave the briefing at the start, and told us he was setting us off in two groups. He asked who planned to complete the ride in less than 10 hours. Victor and I had never done a PA200km in less than 10 hours on single bikes, let alone the tandem. But, I thought we could do it. Victor had doubts, but agreed to set off with the first group.

Lower Saucon is where the ride typically splits up, with the first finishers climbing the steep hill at a much faster rate than the rest. We found ourselves with the Ithaca racers and two experienced ranndonours, Don Jagel and Bob Casciato. We stayed together until the first stop at Wind Gap. We told the story of the socks in the microwave to great laughter. Don and Bob took off first and after a short break, we followed.

The long climb over Fox Gap was the next hurdle. We discovered we could climb a steady 5-6mph- much faster than we did last year. We arrived at the diner with the other 4 riders. Victor and I chose to go in and have a little sit down lunch. I had some soup and he had pancakes. We both had some warm coffee. The others took off, and before we left, Robin Landis and Guy Harris showed up. We decided to ride with them, but found ourselves ahead on the endless, though scenic Lommason’s Glen climb. We were hurting, but really happy to be riding so well.

We caught up with the racers at the country store, where they were having some food and resting up for the last push. The first two guys were only stopping at the controls to sign in, so they were ahead. Guy and Robin joined us and we all enjoyed another cup of coffee together before taking off. Again, Victor and I chased the racers all the way to the PO control. It was a good thing too, because they couldn’t find the box and were wandering around frustrated. We showed them where it was, and as we set off on the next climb, we expected we would not see them again until Wiesel. We kept them in our sight for a long time though. As it turned out, we got a blast of energy at the end and rode in just a few minutes after them. They did beat us to the showers though ;-)

At the end of the day, we sat around and talked about rides past, present and future. It was interesting to hear how Guy experienced the Endless Mountains. He was riding ahead of us, fast enough to get some good sleep. So, for him the ride was not as difficult. We spoke about nutrition and training, and racing and bikes. It was really great to see old friends and meet new ones. There are so many ways to ride a bike and they’re all good.

Ronde De Bethel- First Race

2010-03-09T17:08:00.001-05:00

Honestly, I was pretty freaked out about this race. Although I was never an athlete growing up, I have done a lot of racing in the past 10 years. I have done running races, swimming races, triathlons, and even a bike time trial and long distance bike race, but never a criterium. So, what’s so different? The Humiliation Factor.

See, the whole race is conducted in a small loop, which you ride many times, passing by the spectators each time, to the finish. The women, young and old, pro to brand new category 4 riders, like me, are all in the same race. Competitors ride in a pack, and the pack goes very fast, so if you get dropped, you’re riding on your own, loop after loop with all the spectators noting what a looser you are each time you pass by.

So, I was feeling really anxious. Feelings of inadequacy surfaced with memories of childhood humiliations, like getting picked last for square dancing, or being first victim in dodge-ball. What was I thinking trying to compete with these women? The morning of the race, I was there early with Victor, as the men’s race started at 7. It was really cold, so while Victor warmed up on the bike, I went inside. Registration was set up in the offices of Navone Photography Studios, commercial photographers with a passion for cycling, and the space was decorated with antiques, leather couches, bike frames and photos of cycling, food and wine. It was warm, and soft music played in the background. As people came in I chatted with folks I knew and introduced myself to folks I didn’t know, and soon it seemed the most natural thing to be a part of this scene.

I had done lots of base miles, intervals and lost a few pounds. I read a blog by Aki Sato, (check it out http://sprinterdellacasa.blogspot.com/ ) the race director and experienced racer, who even took the time to answer my email and lend support. I listened to webinars, talked to people and got advice, so I was as prepared as I could be. Of course, I had no teammates and no strategy other than to stay with the pack.

By the time our race started at 10:30 it had warmed up quite a bit. The women were chatty at the starting line, and when we took off, I was comfortably snug in the middle of the pack. It was amazing how much easier it was to ride the flat inside the peloton. I actually enjoy the feeling of gestalt, like being in a flock of birds or a school of fish. Ever wonder how the whole bunch knows when to dip and dive? Inside a peloton you have to focus on everything and nothing at the same time, so that you can react to the subtle movements and sounds around you. It’s a giddy feeling of joy and oneness.

But, the hill loomed. The first few loops I tried to sit and spin up the hill, so as to keep my heart rate down, but I found myself dropping back a bit and had to catch up after the crest. There was an early prime- that’s when they ring a bell and everyone at the front goes like lightning to be first on that lap for a bonus prize- and I didn’t catch up until just before the bottom of the hill, which meant not enough rest time in the pack.

So, I stood and hammered up the hill to stay with them and that seemed to work. It was an effort to get up the hill, but not so hard that I couldn’t recover nicely in the pack on the backstretch. In the second half, I began to feel really optimistic and even got out front on the climb once. Going into the last lap I felt really good and wondered why the others were not going faster on the flat. Apparently, the two in front had already taken off without chase.

Then, on the hill they all started going off like fireworks. I tried to do the same, and held my own to the finish line, coming in 12th in a field of over 20 (they only publish the first 20 finishers). I’m not sure how fast we were going, but it was a 20mi race done in about 50 minutes, so it was fast. Ann Marie Miller, who won, (riding way out in front of the pack for the last few laps) is a Cat 1 racer and many time Masters National Champion. I will never be like that, although nor will I be the woman who did get dropped…and lapped…several times (apparently though, everyone cheered for her). In the end, I felt pretty proud of myself. I learned and I had a lot of fun. I was tired, but not too tired to go out for another 20mi with Victor on the tandem, watching the world melt as the sun went down.

Florida Ride- February 2010

2010-03-09T17:06:00.004-05:00

Check out the above video for some fun ride footage. Music is Black Sabbath: A Bit of Finger/Sleeping Village/Warning.

Podcast below- Music is Brian Eno Music for Airports 1

Down and Dirty

2009-12-01T20:50:00.014-05:00

In our efforts to find quiet roads with few cars and pleasant scenery, we often look to Putnam County. This little block of country 30 miles from NYC has been developing slowly and still has many, long dirt roads. Taking a road bike on hard packed dirt is acceptable for short distances and when there is not much elevation. But, Putnam is full of ridges and valleys. We had led a few rides and gotten some complaints about the dirt and hills. So, we figured we would lead a ride that was mostly dirt and hills and see who was man enough to ride with us.

Some time ago, I had gotten a cute pink pannier on sale from Nashbar and I wanted to get a bike to go with it. I wanted a bike I could ride down to the market, to the river for a picnic, and most importantly, a bike I could use to do the D2R2 I was going to get a Windsor from Bikes Direct, but due to my impulsive tendencies, I wound up with a cross bike from my local bike shop. (I was just going in for some cleats, but this bike grabbed me and would not let go until I took her home.) Dirty Lil came just in time for the Down and Dirty Putnam ride last Sunday. Victor and I had been planning to do it on our tandem. Good thing we didn’t, because I think we would have killed ourselves.

If you have been reading my adventures, you will know that I relish challenge. You will remember that I have done many, very long, very difficult rides. I want to tell you that this ride is right up there vying for first place as the hardest ride I have ever done. So, you know what I’m talking about.

It was only 39 miles, but almost half was dirt. Now, riding on dirt, especially with fat tires is not a big deal. But, when that dirt climbs for miles up hills with 20% grades, it’s a big deal. Some folks call it a death ride. The NYCC folks call it that actually. Michael, Steve, Neile and Mordecai came up on the train from NY to share our adventure. Pat, Frank, Getz, Bob and Victor showed up from WCC. Debbie and I were the only women. The day was gloriously sunny with temperatures mild in the 50’s.
We started off from the train station in Cold Spring and trekked down to the foundry ruins for some sight seeing. The ride started off easy enough, but soon the dirt climbs began and we broke into two groups. Neile had a bad cycling accident several years ago and must ride a recumbent, so he is a bit slower on the climbs. Deb has been recovering from Lyme disease, so the two of them rode together in the back. Victor and Mordecai were pushing the pace, and I had some idea of what lay ahead, so I hung on the back and tried to conserve. The fun really began as we descended down the steep and windy Sunken Mine Road. We crossed the Appalachian trail, as we would do several more times that day. The dirt was loose and gravely, so the riding was highly technical. Pat was bombing down at an alarming speed. I was just trying to keep upright. We all managed to make it down and headed for our rest stop at Niese’s Maple Farm.

After some hot cider, coffee and donuts, we headed out for the second half. The first killer climb was just an appetizer, as it was paved. The steep decent caused Pat to overheat his rim and his tube popped at the bottom. I took the opportunity to head out while the others waited for him to fix it. I made a turn onto Long Hill Road and saw a wall of dirt leading up into the woods. I dropped into my lowest gear and hunkered down for the climb. The thing about climbing on dirt is that you can’t stand up. You have to hold your weight evenly over the bike. You have to use your core to keep you steady, while your upper body remains loose, to respond to bumps and turns. The climb went on for miles. There were several spots with over 20% grade, including one hairpin turn that featured ruts full of running water and mud. You can’t hesitate for a second under such conditions or you will go down. I really didn’t want the guys to find me lying in the ditch, so I just kept pushing.

I heard heavy breathing behind me as I reached the first summit. Victor blasted past. Then, at the top, I turned to see Mordecai right behind me. Thankfully, the road became paved for the decent and we bombed down to the bottom. Victor pointed the way and while he waited for the others to catch up, I continued on up the next ridge as it turned to dirt again. This climb was similar to the last, but even longer. An interesting thing happened as I neared the top. A part of my mind separated from my body and rose to a place just above, and slightly to the right. I could see myself, and the woods and the stones on the ground and the sunlight and the sky and everything all at the same time. I couldn’t feel the pain in my legs anymore, or the tightness in my lungs, but only a feeling of profound, peaceful joy.
The rest of the ride was pretty much all downhill. As Dirty Lil and I flew down from the ridge tops, I could feel the warm sun on my face and all I could do was smile. We did another little ride on some dirt through the woods back to Cold Spring. I let the others ride ahead, as I just wanted to savor the last bit of the ride. I pulled up next to the car and told Victor, “I want a burger and a beer, and not necessarily in that order!” Our friend Kas had seen us riding and pulled in to say hi. We were wondering about the progress of Neile and Deb, so Kas, Victor and I found an outdoor café by the main road to have some chow and wait to see them ride by. Sure enough, before we had finished our beer they came riding up. We greeted them with shouts and smiles, but all Deb could say was, “I hate you, I hate you!” But we knew she really meant, “Thank you, it was a great ride, and I am looking forward to doing it next year.” That did come, but it took a few days to translate.

DNF

2009-10-03T20:26:00.009-04:00

In the end, it wasn’t the mountains that defeated us, although they were endless, as promised. It was the cold.

Victor and I set out to accomplish this ride together. Although we did the qualifying rides on single bikes, we decided to get a tandem for the 1240. Let’s face it, we’re not exactly Harold and Maude, but in addition to gender, there is a significant age difference that makes it difficult to ride together. Victor is much stronger than I, and he can recover much faster. On the other hand, I have more time to train and what I lack in ability I compensate with gumption. So, most of the time it works out. But for this Epic ride, we figured we should combine our efforts on one bike.

We found the Burley on Craigslist. We took it for a spin and loved it right away. There were a few things we had to learn, but for the most part, we were in sync and found a great new way to ride. One of our local club members describes us as a “lunar module” as we rocket away on our tandem. We found we could even climb hills fast. We did the Harlem Valley century with 9000 feet of climbing in just over 6 hours. So, as we planned for the Endless Mountains ride, we expected success.

Instead, as we started the early climb over Fox Gap, Victor looked down at the speedometer and saw trouble. He didn’t say anything, because he thought I was doing my best. Maybe I could have pushed harder, but I didn’t realize we were going so slow. I don’t have a speedometer on the back of the tandem, so there is no way to know. I was not pushing as hard as I had on our training rides, mostly because I knew there were days of riding ahead and also because I had a cold and didn’t want it to blossom into something worse.

Then, our chain broke. I watched with admiration as he expertly used some tools and handy rocks to put the thing back together. He did a good job too, because it held together for the many thousands of feet of climbing to come. Victor had spent hours getting the brakes and gears just right, finding a generator hub and rigging lights. It was a work of art, but one that weighed well over 150lbs. Although we continued on, Victor was starting to think that we had made a big mistake. We stopped at one point so that he could get a Red Bull and he shared his thoughts. I was surprised and told him we should just keep riding and try and enjoy ourselves, but he was not a happy rider.

I was bitterly disappointed when he told me he thought we should drop out at the overnight controle. He said we were going too slow and would not be able to get enough rest. I didn’t want to give up. I pointed out that we were hundreds of miles from our car, with no way to get back. I pointed out a few other things that I will not share, but suffice it to say, he agreed to continue and I determined to push harder.

Looking back, this challenge to our relationship was more important than any bike ride. Victor got back on the road with only a few hours of sleep and was cheerful all day. He found some reserve of energy that he didn’t know he had. He started to point out interesting things along the way. As we climbed hill after hill, I pushed as hard as I could and we laughed and sang and had a great time even though it rained most of the day. We chatted with other riders and shared stories. We rode with Nick for a while and he told us about the Burley he rides with his wife. Roger was another friend we made along the way. He came from Brasilia to do this ride and had some major setbacks the first day, but soldiered on. Henk from Montreal and Vick from Seattle rode up some hills with us. Al from California and Dan from Missouri were great company.

The most memorable episode of the ride came late the second night, as we had just descended a 20-mile hill in the bitter cold to find an open tavern with rando bikes parked outside. We were frozen and exhausted. But, inside we found hot coffee and soup; a coal fired stove and cheerful fellow riders. For the rest of the night, we rode together in a group and tried to keep each other awake. I was actually thankful for the hills, as they gave me a chance to warm up. Although I had on many layers of clothing, as well as hand and foot warmers, I was painfully cold. There was nothing to do but ride on. There were no stores or cars and few houses. At one point we found ourselves getting ahead of the others and I was afraid. We were both very tired and the cold just made us want to sleep. I asked Victor to stop because I needed a hug. We repeated the hug break several more times over the next few hours.

Finally, at about 3am we arrived at the overnight controle. I listened to the others make a plan for the rest of the ride: Leave at 5:30am, ride 24 hours to the next overnight control, rest for an hour and set out for the last day to ride another 17 hours or more. I knew then I couldn’t go on. I could feel the cold moving from my head into my lungs and I could not bear the thought of riding through another night of freezing rain and wind. Apparently, Victor’s only concern was that I would be too hard headed to stop. But this time, I didn’t put up a fight. I was ready to give up.

After a day of sleeping, drinking fluids, taking a walk, sitting in a hot tub, sleeping some more, I sit down to write this with mixed feelings. I am disappointed, but I know we made the right decision. I love to ride, but this time, the risk was too great. I love my life more. And, I want to keep riding. Victor and I have been discussing what form this will take. Maybe we will ride together, but maybe not. Whatever happens, we have no regrets, and lots of wonderful memories.

Juggling Knives

2009-09-13T20:20:00.005-04:00

Organize a club century ride for a thousand people, move my classroom to a new school, new grade level, do a half ironman triathlon- sure, but at the same time? Maybe not.

Last year when I agreed to direct the Golden Apple, Westchester Cycle Club’s annual public event, I figured it was a good way to give back to the club that has given me so much. I thought it would be a great learning experience, and utilize my administrative skills. I thought it would be fun, but I knew it would be a huge amount of work, especially when the wife of the guy who had been doing it for the past 10 years hugged me and thanked me for giving her husband back.

This spring, I learned there was an opening in one of the other elementary schools in my district at the 4th grade level, one of the few I have not taught before. After 12 years at Edgewood, I thought it would be good to change. Plus, I had just earned my administrative degree, and I figured working with another principal and staff would be good experience and move me toward an administrative position. So, I requested to move and was granted my wish. I packed up 27 boxes and said goodbye to familiar surroundings and old friends.

Although I knew my focus would become the bike, I still wanted to do the Toughman Tri this year and signed up in early January. I did a sprint tri in San Francisco in the spring, but I didn’t sign up for any others. I did a lot of riding, as you know if you have been reading my adventures, but I was not doing a lot of running or swimming. I did a half marathon in the spring and it nearly killed me. Every time I would run, something would hurt and riding was so much more fun…

Fast forward to the last week of August. I was in my new classroom, unpacking and setting up. I painted the bulletin boards a fine spring green, got a blooming orchid and fragrant gardenia, a new rug and curtains. I fielded calls from the Port-o-Potty folks who had not gotten their check and were threatening not to deliver, made emergency calls to Metro North to find out about some emergency construction being done at our event site, and arranged to have 600 pounds of ice delivered. Not surprisingly, time for riding had been scarce, and by Friday when my friend Nick called to ask if I was going on his ride, I wanted to cry. “I don’t think I can. I have to pick up the cue sheets at the printer.” A true friend, he offered to pick up the printing and promised not to drop me on the ride. I finished up in my classroom and put my bike in the car.

As I was flying down Rt. 100 I remembered how this all started. I love to ride. I love to push my body hard and feel the blood pumping through my veins. I love the wind on my skin and the feeling that I am a part of everything going by. I love the people who love to ride- they are my people.

I realized by the beginning of August that there was no way I was going to be able to do the full half, as I had not put in the time for the run. I figured I could still do the bike, but I needed to find a relay team. Four years ago, I walked into the teacher’s lounge and said to my friend and colleague Bevin, “Let’s to a triathlon!” She said I was crazy, (not an unfamiliar accusation) but agreed. She and her husband and I did our first triathlons that year and fell in love with the sport. For the past couple of years, they had some injuries that had kept them sidelined, but I gave her a call. They agreed to do the Toughman with me.

The Golden Apple was sweet to the core. I look at the photos and see many smiling people and feel glad. It was exhausting and beyond stressful, but gratifying and indeed, a great learning experience.

My first week of school was smooth. There were problems, like when the school secretary walked in and announced I had a new student on Thursday morning. “Well, that is wonderful. I will call the custodian and see if he can find you a desk. In the meantime, honey, why don’t you sit here in my chair?”

The Toughman was…tough, but that’s the way I like it. It was also great fun. My goal was to push myself as hard as I could because I knew I didn’t have to run, and I figured that would be good training for my upcoming 1240km. I did push a very hilly 56 miles in about 3 hours. I was a little disappointed that I didn’t do it faster, but when I got home, I noticed my brake pads were rubbing. That would explain why my thighs were threatening to cramp up at the end.

Sometimes we find ourselves juggling knives, trying to make it all seem graceful and effortless while desperately avoiding bloodshed. This time, the magic was there. The applause was loud. I feel very lucky, and blessed.

Great Expectations

2009-08-22T13:13:00.005-04:00

It's my father's fault, really. A dreamer, a bard, a storyteller, he set me up for adventure. While it is true (or at least it is told) that he didn't hold me for the first 3 months of my life and never changed a diaper, he was there orchestrating many important moments of my life. He bought me my first ten-speed bicycle. Today is his 75th birthday, so I thought I would share a bit about my life with him.

As a child, he read me Carl Sandburg stories at night. His voice was rich and deep and gave me the most wonderful dreams. He took me out on skis and sent me down the slope when I was just four years old. He bought some land in New Hampshire and took us there every vacation. On the long car rides he would tell us the great stories of Shakespeare or Charles Dickens, or he would sing; my favorite was, "K-k-k-Katie, beautiful Katie, you're the only g-g-girl that I adore." “Sing it again, Daddy!” I would cry.

First we pitched tents, and then he built a cabin- but with no running water or heat! My brother and I had to use the hand pump at the bottom of the hill and carry five-gallon jugs to the house. We did have a deluxe outhouse with a padded seat, and he would get up before dawn and make a fire in the Franklin stove. He got all the kindling he needed by challenging all the kids to wood splitting contests. I knew how to use a wedge and hatchet and could split a log into a dozen pieces by the time I was 12.

In the summer we would hike and swim in Spoon’s Pond. When had I learned how to swim in the shallow water, but was afraid to swim in the deep, he picked me up and threw me off the end of the dock, jumping in behind me. There was a, “No body tending!” rule, but we did wash with peppermint castile soap in the pond. In the winter we would xcountry ski. Always we would read and talk and play games together. One night, xcountry skiing across a meadow in the moonlight, we stopped in the silent snow and he recited Robert Frost, “These woods are lovely, dark and deep…” Inspired, I wrote my own poem about skiing across a meadow in moon shadow and won the 4th grade poetry contest at school.

He took me backpacking in the White Mountains when I was nine. I carried a backpack with all that I needed to survive in the wilderness alone. “You need to be self sufficient,” he counseled me. I remember sitting by the edge of Tuckerman’s Ravine, the clouds below, thinking it was the most perfect moment of my life.

Happy Birthday Daddy. You have taught me to expect those perfect moments of life. More importantly, you have taught me how to make them happen. I love you.

Rider Down

2009-08-20T07:00:00.006-04:00

It seems like more folks are riding this summer than ever before. Westchester Cycle Club members are for sure. This weekend over 40 of us spent the weekend riding in Lancaster PA. Unfortunately, crashing is often a part of riding. Sunday, on the Covered Bridges ride, a 61-year-old man failed to negotiate a sharp turn, ran off the road and hit his head, causing traumatic injury. We rode by the scene shortly after he was found and saw the paramedics standing around a body under a white sheet, a bicycle up against the wall; a sobering vision.

I used to say, the more you ride, the more you crash, but that is not entirely true. As you get more experience, you can avoid accidents because you know how to handle a bike and you know what to watch out for, like corners and descents. You have the strength and endurance to handle tough rides. You know that one of the most important things to watch out for is other riders.

Recently, two of my friends in the club have gone down due to bad moves by other riders. Of course, even experienced riders can make bad moves. And, it's hard to avoid somebody who drops a water bottle or misses a turn, and then turns around right in front of you. These incidents have sparked discussion about safety in group riding, and hopefully action can be taken to make our members more knowledgeable and our rides safer.

Cheryl Cohen crashed on the Lancaster ride and is going to be recuperating for a while. She has compound fractures in her leg and is undergoing several operations. It appears that an erratic move by a rider in front of her caused the crash. Cheryl is one of our long-time riders, a rides coordinator on the Board and leads many well-attended rides. She is a strong rider and is serious about safety. Just the other day a friend told me, “She is one of the best ride leaders in WCC.” We have set up an account at a local deli and grocery, so that she can order food and get it delivered. If you can, please donate. Thank you.

While all of this may be scary, the truth is, we love to ride and we don't want to stop riding just because there are risks. We want to minimize the risks for sure, but we don't want stop riding because it makes us feel alive. Victor and I had a great time in Lancaster, as you can see from the pics below.

Racing Distance: The Saratoga 12/24

2009-07-13T14:36:00.005-04:00

Saratoga is a place steeped in the history of battle, the traditions of horse racing and the hope of its rejuvenating springs. At 8am on Saturday, July 11th, I mounted my trusty steed, a second-hand Trek 5200 I call Morrigan, and began a long, arduous battle that would not end until I was drenched, exhausted and victorious 12 hours later.

Only a handful of women compete in this race each year. Most women’s bike races place all the riders in one group, from pros to masters with only one winner. But the pros typically don’t go near distance racing, and thus it is the perfect venue for a strong amateur rider, such as myself. In fact, there are relatively few men who race distance in this country. It takes a special kind of physical ability and mental fortitude that some people call Crazy. My partner Victor was also racing, but he dropped out after 4 loops and became my support. He made the mistake of trying a new nutrition product that didn’t agree with him. I felt bad for him, but happy to have him there for me, especially at the end.

The ride began with sun and a cool, blustery wind. The course was a steep climb up Bacon Hill and then rolling to flat terrain north towards Bluebird Road. After the climb I got down in my aero bars, dropped into my big ring and flew. The course was perfect for my abilities. I was able to pass many riders and some looked at me with concern wondering if I was doing the 12 or the 24-hour race. When they saw the 12 on my race number they were relieved.

It’s a non-drafting event, so you can’t really talk to people. My primary competition was Nancy Guth, a Champion ultra racer. We leapfrogged each other for the first few loops. I said if we kept going at that pace, we could break the course record of 199 miles and asked if she could do it. “I can,” she replied. So, I figured maybe I could too. But, she dropped back after a while, probably because she had just raced the previous weekend. Yet, as I would pass her after each checkpoint, she would shout encouragement.

The first checkpoint marked the turn southward and down the Hudson River to Schuylerville and the second checkpoint. The round trip loop was 32.5 miles this year. The winds were coming out of the South at over 15mph, with gusts up to 30mph, so that made the second part of the loop particularly brutal, especially as it climbed out of the valley back up Bacon Hill. This continued relentlessly all day long. I would fly through the first half of the loop, only to watch my average speed drop through the second half. After a while, I realized I was alone on the road and began to amuse myself by counting and repeating nonsense phrases or remembering the words to songs. I noticed a woman sitting on her porch, and there she remained for 3 loops, doing nothing but sitting and watching. I was glad to be riding.

I managed to find the perfect quaff to sweat ratio, and only needed to stop for the bathroom once. I refilled my aero bottle a few times with green tea and sucked down a few ounces of gel every half hour. My body had some aches, but nothing awful. I felt strong and energized. I knew I could win, and more importantly, break the course record. It grew cloudy and dark, then, at 6pm, the sky finally rumbled and flashed and let out a torrent of rain. But, the winds died down, so believe it or not, it seemed like a fine trade-off. Victor got in the car and started leapfrogging me to make sure I was OK. I came through the final checkpoint with under a half hour left. I knew I had to ride hard in order to accomplish my goal. I’m still not sure how I did it, but in what seemed like no time at all it was 8pm, and I had passed the 11-mile mark making my final mileage 207.

Riding Long

2009-06-15T16:49:00.014-04:00

We sat on my porch at 5am, watching the radar on the iphone and waiting for the hard rain to pass. On this, the day of the Westchester Cycle Club's famous Double Century ride, we were leading our version of the ride. Nobody had showed up to join us, and only one person had signed up online (definitely not coming. Note: you guys are nuts). The goal was to ride the double century route, more or less, from my place, making a neat 300km (188 miles). We hoped to meet up with some of the other folks riding long that day, and enjoy ourselves. I figured, after riding 240 mountainous miles in one day, sleeping a few hours and then riding 135 miles, this would be a piece of cake. But, nobody was handing out any medals for this one, so I was not compelled to start in the pouring rain. By 5:30, we decided it had slacked off enough to ride. We got our gear together and set out.

Riding out on familiar roads was a very nice, although very hilly start. The wet roads also slowed us down a bit. A couple of weeks ago, Victor finally gave up his fender fetish and got himself a sweet new titanium frame. He spent some hours building it last week, and Saturday, took the bike out for a few minutes for a test ride. With a new saddle to boot, we were taking some risk setting off on such a long ride. No fenders meant no drafting and wet butts, but we were enjoying the familiar muscle-memory feeling of setting off at dawn for a day of riding. By mile 25, Victor was lobbying to sit down and have a hot breakfast at a diner, but I nixed that idea. He is a Clydesdale and needs to eat constantly on these long rides, but I didn’t want to take the time so early on, so we just grabbed a Starbucks Double Shot at the gas station and he ate a few candy bars.

After a while, the rain sputters stopped and the roads dried out. By Millerton, we were ready to take off our jackets and switch out clear lenses for dark ones. We stopped at the CVS and got some Fig Newtons and some more Double Shots. While Victor was inside, I adjusted my new saddle a bit, and was stretching when who should come riding past but Ave & company, who were riding 150 miles. We met them over at the McDonald’s where they were making a quick stop. There was Terry and Paul (on his mountain bike!), James and Larry and, to my delight, another woman, Marion! Hiroshi came pedaling past without stopping, as he was going for his 9th double century. We passed him as we set off, telling him we’d meet him in Great Barrington. We road and chatted a bit with everyone, and then James, Larry, Victor and I road ahead. We never did see Bruce and Aaron, who had started off from lower Westchester, as they were riding fast.

The farms and houses are quite beautiful in that part of the world, and we were having fun commenting on the scenery. At one point, we saw a fellow up ahead with large panniers and a sleeping bag strapped to his bike. He was an old guy, and told us he rides down to a reunion every year, and was on his way back up to Great Barrington. We paid our respects and continued on our way, marveling at all the ways to enjoy life on a bike.

At Great Barrington, we pulled into a gourmet food shop and waited for the others. This was a very gourmet shop, with sandwiches that had things in them you might not want to know about, and iced coffee with real cream, and jars of duck fat for sale in the cooler. The sun had come out, I took off my shoes and when the others got there we all enjoyed a pleasant lunch. Besides the above-mentioned crowd, there were two more that joined us, Klaus and Brad, doing 200. Chatting and basking, it was over an hour later when we set off.

Soon, it was the four of us out front again, and I encouraged Victor to draft behind James for a bit, but he likes to be out front (although he doesn’t seem to mind drafting me occasionally). So, we rode side by side-by-side most of the way to the river. When we got there, we found a detour that took us off on a dirt road between the train tracks and the river for a few miles. It was pretty, dark and cool, so we didn’t mind. When we finally crossed, a quaint covered bridge was our reward.

At Kent, I took the boys to a great little gelato place Eve and I found last year on our Northern bike tour. There was a sign in the grass that said it was a children’s play area, so I lay down and watched the puffy clouds go by, carefully licking my pink grapefruit sorbet cone and feeling really good. Larry and James told us there were riding a century, and would take off soon to end in Dover. So, Victor and I found ourselves riding alone again, and contemplating whether we should make a few extra loops somewhere to complete a full 200mi. We saw Trudy, Hiroshi’s wife, waiting to offer him (and all of us) encouragement in Pawling. We got some lube at the bike shop for our squeaky chains and kept going.

By Mahopac we decided we were hungry and wanted to chill by the lake instead of putting in extra miles, so that is what we did. We found a restaurant with outdoor seating. I had a strawberry mango margarita and Victor had a pina colada. We shared a chicken marsala pizza and watched the jet skis from the patio. Setting off for the last leg home we marveled at how good we felt. As we found ourselves again on the familiar roads leading home, we could smell the barn and picked up the pace. In spite of all the time we spent lounging around and socializing that day, we managed to get back before sunset, goal accomplished. I hope some folks will join us next time.

Every Ride’s a Story

2009-06-03T08:56:00.008-04:00

This story begins in the hospital. I am in labor with my twin sons, I am 24 years old and I am alone. At 8.5 and 7.9lbs, I’m having some difficulty pushing them out. I turn to the nurse and whisper, “I changed my mind. I don’t want to do this.” She laughs, “Well honey, you don’t have to do it again, but you do have to finish this now.” This memory came to me several hundred miles into the PA600km, and I was bolstered by the realization that I had, in fact, completed that labor successfully and I could, in fact, complete the ride and become…drum roll please…a Super Rando!

Now, if you asked why I would want to ride hundreds of miles over every hill and dale in Pennsylvania just to get a silly medal I would tell you…hang on…let me think about that.

First of all, unlike the first labor of this story, for this one I was not alone. When I met Victor a year ago, we rode two hundred miles over three days, from Boston to New York (Read the first post of this blog for the story). He had some experience with long distance cycling. But I was very new to riding. I had completed several sprint triathlons, but had put in very little mileage on the bike. We found we enjoyed riding together, and a few more things, and have been doing it ever since. He introduced me to Tom and the PA Randos for a 200 km last fall, and we rode again in the early spring 200km through Lancaster. I really enjoyed those rides, and when I heard about the medals, it seemed like a challenge I wanted to take on.

Last year I completed several short and long course triathlons, placing second and third in my age group and even winning the Harlem Valley Hill Climb time trial overall. I discovered that I enjoy going fast and pushing myself to the limits. It's especially rewarding to find I am actually really good at something athletic. And, I love the way the medals go, “Ching, ching,” on my bedpost when I knock into them accidentally. So, I was determined to complete the series and win my Super Rando status. Plus, Victor convinced me to sign up for the Endless Mountain 1240km in the fall, and we had to do this in order to qualify.

This last ride of the series was a gift of perfect weather, incredible scenery, good company, and a healthy body and mind. At one control, George saw me take out my bag with the brevet card, a credit card and an iphone and exclaimed, “That’s really all you ever need.” I think that is a perfect metaphor. We all need challenge, the means to accomplish that challenge, and human connections to make it all meaningful. I guess that is the answer to the question of why.

The memories of these long rides become like impressionist paintings for me. There are some clear images, but often there are just memories of smells and feelings, and songs in my head. The most fun was the last part of the first day, when Victor, Eric and I linked up in a fast pace line trying to beat the dusk. As we rolled by other riders I would shout, “Express Train to Weisel, all aboard!” The least fun was the last part of the second day, when my knee gave out and I had to crawl up all the hills. I worried that I was not going to make it. I thought, how tragic, for the story end this way. But, I remembered those words in the hospital room all those years ago, and pushed on. At the Weisel, I was greeted like a celebrity and almost wanted to cry with joy and grateful admiration for the folks who were there supporting us. 38.25 total hours- 27 hours in the saddle. 25,949.2 feet of climbing, 13.8 average speed. 374.89…no 375 miles because Victor picked up the bike and spun the wheel a few times. Thank you.

Blue Mountain 400km

2009-05-18T16:58:00.006-04:00

Two weeks after Victor’s crash, we took on the challenge of riding 250 miles at one time, something neither of us had ever done before. Victor had a new bike. Well, not exactly new. Since his bike was totaled, he planned to ride his Surly Trucker. After nearly getting dropped on a few club rides, he realized that was not the best plan. Instead, two days before the 400, he pulled an old Trek frame out of his bike-stuff-pile and about three hours later, he had built a new bike. He also decided to leave the Garmin at home, and use a regular cue sheet. But, we had to figure out some lighting to read cues in the dark. Plus, we knew it would be raining, so we needed to print the cue sheets on waxy paper. All of this took some preparation, but it was well worth it.

For many reasons, we figured we should take it easy on this ride and not be tempted to push too hard. Maybe we were taking it a bit too easy, because we showed up just as everybody was rolling out. Steve waited and we all took off together. It was wet and dark. Then, Steve got a piece of wire stuck in his tire and had to fix it. So we were having a hard time getting going.

I read an article Tom wrote about what you need to be a randonneur. One of the things is knowledge. Knowing your equipment, nutrition, set up and fit so that you are prepared is key. One of the things I have been working on in this area is the saddle. At first, I had a Terry but I spend a lot of time in aero position, so in spite of the cutouts, I was getting sore. Then I got an ISM, which basically eliminates the nose of the seat entirely. This was great, except it was very hard on my sit bones. After the long rides I was swollen and bruised. I rode a lot between the 300 and the 400, so they never healed. So, I started the day with some discomfort, and just hoped it wouldn’t get worse.

Of course, it got worse. In fact, after the second control, as we were climbing, I started to feel pain emanating from my right butt down my leg. At first it was not so bad, but then after the third control I was pushing the pedal down and felt a shock of pain down my leg. I nearly fell off my bike. After popping a couple of Advil, I was struggling to figure out how to ride without further irritating the problem. By this time, Steve had been having knee problems, and although we waited at the third controle for quite a while, we heard after we left that he dropped out. I felt bad because I was looking forward to riding with him again.

Anyway, I figured the pain was from the swollen sit bones pushing against the sciatic nerve. I didn’t think it would do any permanent damage, so I decided to tough it out. We sat down to breakfast at Blondies with Christine. I enjoyed spending time with her and hearing her stories. She told me about her saddle, a Selle-An-Atomica, which seems to be a great design, so I have ordered one and we shall see if it ends my saddle problems. I wondered what was in her large trunk (silently marveling at its size and wondering how she manages to haul the thing over the mountains) and learned there were things like extra clothes for late at night when it gets cold and dark. I remembered those words later, with a sense of irony, as I was cold and shivering. We rode with her and Dan on and off for a while. At one point I saw a line of a dozen black sedans next to a farm building. At first I thought it was some sort of strange car dealership. Then I noticed each was a different brand. Victor thought maybe I was hallucinating. Did anyone else notice that? We got to the fifth controle just before dark, hung around for a while, and then headed out into Lancaster farmlands.

We have ridden in the rain before, but riding in the dark was a relatively new experience for both of us. In the rising darkness, I looked around and saw we were passing through an old graveyard. I heard a banshee scream, and although I knew it was just a barn owl, I have to tell you I was scared. In fact, I told Victor and he replied, “If it makes you feel any better, I am way out of my comfort zone.” We got to the next control and waited for the others, but they didn’t show up so we took off. That was when the thunder and lightning began. It was raining buckets. We pulled into a store and just looked at each other wondering why we were doing this insane thing. Passers by confirmed with words, “You guys are crazy.” There was nothing to do but ride on.

I was starting to get used to riding in the dark rain. Still, I was happy to get off the busy roads into French Creek State Park. But then, I started to think about how desolate this place was. There were no houses or lights and I was pretty sure there was no cell service. In the thick dark forest I could have sworn I heard a grunting sound and thought of bears. I can tell you that the only good thing about all this was that I was no longer thinking about my pain. I just wanted to ride as fast as I could back to the hostel. I was thankful for well-paved roads as we flew the rest of the way back. In fact, we caught up with some others who had been riding ahead, and road in with them.

This ride offered new observations, new knowledge and more questions. I think I am richer from the accomplishment. Plus, the medal for the 400 is really pretty, with a pink and purple spanch across it. I am still holding out for the Super Randonneur medal though. To get that one I have to make it through the 600 in two weeks. I think I can, I think I can…

PA 300K

2009-05-03T09:56:00.019-04:00

We started off in the dark, drizzling rain. I had never ridden more than 200 km in one day before. Plus, I had crashed my bike two weekends ago, and still had some lovely bruises and a sore shoulder. Then, last weekend I ran a half marathon in 90+ heat, and wound up at mile 6 with excruciating quad cramps. I ran the next 7 miles one painful step at a time, and couldn't walk properly until Wednesday. The pain was still dull in my thighs, and I knew my legs were not 100%. I was worried the cramps would come back, or the shoulder would act up, or the Myers Neuroma in my feet would kick in, or all of the above. But, as we were riding, I started chatting with the other riders. I could hear the birds chirping as the light seeped into the sky, and in spite of cold toes and gray skies, I thought maybe everything would be fine.

Then, Victor crashed. We were almost to the third control(rest stop). Going around a corner he skidded out on some gravel and went flying through the air. Luckily, he tucked and rolled. He was bleeding from minor cuts and abrasions, but he didn't think he had broken anything. His helmet was cracked in several places; even though he landed on his butt, his head bounced. You cannot imagine how scary that was to see him go down. I think he was in shock. Every time he stood up he got dizzy. It was cold and wet sitting there for a long time. I was about to flag down the next car that came by and ask them to take him to the control that was jut up ahead. But, he thought he could ride, so we did. We sat at the bakery for another hour or so drinking coffee. We had decided to quit and ride back to the hostel. Then a guy said, "Well, there's nothing broken right? You could ride. It's just a mental thing, right?" Apparently, in randoneuring, unless you are bleeding profusely, projectile vomiting or disemboweled, you push on. So, Victor sucked it up and we rode. Shortly after leaving the control his derailleur cracked off the frame and lodged in his rear wheel, sending him flying into a ditch. Victor was OK, but his bike was done. Game over. I called Juan, the guy who was running the ride and he kindly offered to pick up Victor and his bike. It was going to be more than an hour before he would get there, and then I would have to wait several more hours for Victor to get back to the hostel, get his car and come back for me. I figured Victor was going to be taken care of, and the sun had come out, so I decided to keep riding. Only, I forgot to take the cue sheet.

I rode to the next control with Tom, the guy who usually runs these rides. But there, he ordered a sandwich and sat down to eat. I wanted to get back as quickly as possible, so after chowing down a cup of chili, and calling Victor to make sure he had gotten picked up and was OK, I rode off with another bunch of guys. I figured I just had to keep them in my sight. And that worked, until I left the next control. I was following a guy out in front, but he was not sure of his navigational skills, and after a wrong turn or two, I hooked back up with the other guys. At the following control, I went in, got my card signed, went to the bathroom and came out to find another bunch of guys leaving. I figured I could get back even sooner if I could follow them. I took a couple of bites of a Clif bar, and rode after them. The next hour was a seemingly endless climb. If I don't eat on a ride, I bonk pretty quickly. Victor usually keeps tabs on this and reminds me to eat. But Victor was not there.

Pretty soon, I found I couldn't keep up. Because I couldn't see if they had turned, I stopped at the next intersection and waited for someone to come by. I played that chasing/getting dropped game for the next 20 miles. I can tell you, it was no fun at all. At one point, I just sat down on the grass and started to cry. I took out my phone, and was about to call Victor, but then someone came around the corner and I jumped back on my bike.

At the last control, I snarfed down some cling peaches in heavy syrup, a Starbucks Doubleshot vanilla, and a couple of bites of potato salad. I felt much better. But, by then, I had already ridden about 170 miles, and there were 24 more to go. A big, sweet guy named George was there, and recognizing a friend in need, offered to pull me in. It had started to get dark and we turned on our lights. He advised me to spin as we were going to be climbing for quite a while. I just stuck to his wheel and tried not to think. The next thing I knew, I could see the lights of the Weisel Hostel. Victor came running out to hug me. I thanked George, and I told Victor I never again wanted to do a long ride without him.

There were some wonderful moments: Wildflowers and blooming trees, their sweet honey fragrance permeating the air. The warm sun on my skin. Children playing in their yards. Old folks lined up for a church supper. The majestic Delaware River, wide and beautiful. At one of the many crossings, I noticed fat quarter-sized spiders had woven webs in each and every triangle of the bridge rail, waiting for their next easy meal. There were soaring hawks, blue black crows, red winged blackbirds, goldfinches and some geese that laughed at us as we passed in the dark, our blinking lights like Christmas trees. And, nothing tastes as good as chocolate ice cream after a long hard day of riding.

Vineman

2009-04-12T10:45:00.004-04:00

55° water temps in San Pablo Bay had me wondering what form of illness drove me to want to participate in the Vineman sprint triathlon. Many months ago, I decided to visit my son in San Francisco during spring vacation, and this tri was being held the same week of my trip, so…I signed up. I have a friend who has a place in Marin, and asked if I could use her bike. As it turned out, she was not around, but I had gotten James a bike for Christmas, so I figured I would use that. It is an aluminum Motobecane from Bikes Direct- a far cry from my Fuji SL-1, but perhaps I could make it work. He offered to put my clipless pedals on and agreed to come and watch me race. Most tris are held early in the morning, so none of my children have ever seen me race. I was really happy that he and Olivia would join me.

All week James and Olivia and I had a great time riding around San Francisco together (James borrowed his roommate's bike) and staying up late sampling California wine. I did run across the Golden Gate one morning with a friend, but on the whole, I was feeling totally unprepared for this race. I have been cycling a lot, but doing very little swimming or running. In fact, I have been doubting myself and my abilities lately. I was really unsure about this race.

But, Saturday morning dawned sunny and warm. As we drove across the bridge to San Rafael, I was starting to feel more positive. At the park, the plethora of jellies washed up on the shore gave me some pause. But, I was in the last wave, so I hoped they would all be churned away. I always feel like a stuffed sausage in my full wetsuit, but I was glad I had it, and my neoprene cap, as I plunged into the fringed waters. The swim was actually not so bad. I was surprised to find myself getting out of the water at the front of the pack. I am not a fast swimmer, but I am steady, and in a triathlon people often panic. Plus, I can swim a straight line, so I guess that gave me an advantage. After a quick transition, I headed out on the bike. The ride began with a 400 ft climb up and around a sharp corner with a 20%+ grade. Not a problem for me, but some folks walked. In fact, The Motobecane kicked butt for the whole rolling, windy course. I got some satisfaction as I blew past many competitors riding carbon tt bikes 20X the price.

The run started just as brutally, with a long steep stair climb up to the road making for a tough brick. But, the rest was flat for the most part and I felt really good. A few folks passed me, but I was just enjoying the warm sunshine on my face and the feeling of strength and well being. The last half mile I picked up my pace and closed in on a young woman ahead of me. I stayed just behind her until the last 400 yards or so. Then I put on the blasters and, Zoom! I felt her try to sprint as I passed her, but there was no way she was going to come close. At the finish line my son said, "Well, you didn't win, but you did beat her!" Booyah!

Here is a fun little video I made during our visit to the California Academy of Sciences.

PA200K

2009-04-06T04:41:00.006-04:00

This is not a photo of the PA200K. This was taken yesterday, riding along the beach with my son in San Francisco. I didn’t take too many photos on the PA200K on Saturday, because I was hanging onto my bike with both hands trying not to get blown off the road.

The day began before dawn, a gaggle of riders in reflective gear heading off into the darkness. It was cold and drizzling and the winds were just starting to send leaves skittering across the road. The forecast called for steady 25mph winds, with gusts up to 60mph. Victor and I set out with the first group. He had a new Garmin with the route downloaded so we would not get lost. The only problem was, it wasn’t working. The route was too long and it couldn’t process all the information. Maybe it was all 11,000 of feet of elevation that did not compute.

In any case, we had been so mistakenly confident in technology that we had not taken a cue sheet. On the first big hill, he urged me to drop back. If we could not keep up with the front group, we would be lost. It would be safer to stick with the second group. He recognized Steve from last year’s brevets and knew he was an experienced rider, so we stuck with him.

During the first half of the ride there were heavy crosswinds that gusted across the flats, so that I had to lean into them, trying to stay upright, all the while trying to move forward. Steve and Victor are big guys, and they tried to block the wind, but it was almost impossible to find a sweet spot. The landscape is quite beautiful in this part of Eastern Pennsylvania, but riding required so much concentration it was hard to look around much. At the 2nd control, I snapped a few photos, but those were the last.

Now, you will understand how bad the wind was if I tell you I looked forward to the hills, because at least there was some calm in the mountain passes. Steve distracted us with amusing stories and told us about all the worse hills we didn’t have to climb. When the sun broke out, he led us in a resounding rendition of “I Can See Clearly Now” By this time, the Garmin was working, and so I trusted the two of them to keep us on track.

By the end of the ride, the winds were head on. The white noise was loud and constant. On the flats, down in the aero bars, in a pace line, working full steam, we should have been going 25 but we were lucky to manage half of that. The stream of stories and songs had stopped and we had all gone to that place in your head that you go at times like this. Every once in a while I would look up and see a beautiful vista, or a bank of spring flowers and smile. Steve assured us that the end control was just up and down and around the bend, and finally, it was.

Tom was at the door with warm greetings. I got signed and stamped and he asked me if I wanted a medal. Hell yeah, I wish I could get a medal after every hard effort in life. After a hot shower and some good food we were on our way. I had a plane to catch. But, that’s another story.

February Desert Ride

2009-03-29T12:40:00.037-04:00

While we had been making the best of the winter, with X-country skiing and skating etc. it was high time to get outside on two wheels. A Southwest cycling vacation was just what we needed. The festivities began with pre-flight drinks at JFK. Cheers!

Day 1, we had shipped our bikes and had to wait for the shop to open at eleven o’clock. So, we hiked along Riverside Park in Tempe. The park is quite beautiful, with a bike path and tiles that tell stories in poetry along the banks. We watched the birds, and the many scullers navigating the calm waters. Victor gave me a new camera for Christmas, and I was having fun playing with the macro lens taking pictures of flowers as we climbed up one of the nearby hills.

Finally, we got our bikes and were on our way. We had a 75-mile trek across the desert ahead of us. The skies were overcast, and the day was already getting late. Morgan, my trusty steed, seemed to know it was folly and threw some obstacles in our way in the manner of two consecutive flat tires. While patching the last tube, we contemplated
calling the nearest bike shop when I realized my phone was in my jacket which I had accidently left back at the bike shop! We were about 35 miles out with just two hours until the shop closed. With luck, we made it, got the jacket and then rode to a hotel in Scottsdale, arriving just after the sun had set. We had ridden all afternoon, but were only a couple of miles from our starting point. We made the best of it with some fine red wine and delicious pasta.

Day 2 we rode out along the canals on unpaved bike paths. The sky was still a bit overcast, but the air was warming. We were about to get on US route 60, a busy highway, when Victor got a flat. While he fixed the flat outside a local bar, a fellow came out and started chatting with me. He shared that his father had passed away just a few hours earlier. He just wanted to talk. The great thing about cycling is how close you are to the people. Every place you go, people talk to you. There are so many ways people live their lives, and on a bike, you get a close up view. He smoked a cigarette and went back inside and we were on our way.

We stopped for coffee and checked out a Performance Bike Shop. We stopped at all kinds of cool places to eat, including Coyote Flats, The Way Cool Café and a little hole in the wall place where the chili was fantastic and the bathrooms were surprisingly clean. We met an old timer at one place, who told us of his bike accident that has kept him in and out of the doctor’s office for two years. He was a character. Another old-timer had not been so lucky. Just outside of Wickenburg we found the Ghost Bike of Charles Peterson, 80 years old, who was run off the road in 2007. We were reminded that our sport is not without risk.

Soon after, we arrived in Wickenburg, a cute little rodeo town. It was early enough that the museum was still open. Though small, they had some really great exhibits. We had dinner in a great little Mexican place, did our laundry, and took a dip in the hotel pool/hot tub. The next morning we had breakfast in a local eatery. Despite the sign that claimed tourists were treated “same as home folks,” they led us past the cowboys seated at the front, into a formal dining room in the rear where we ate all by ourselves.

Day 3, was a 95-mile ride across the Arizona desert into headwinds. There were forests of giant saguaro. I tucked in behind Victor, he sucked down a pint of Hammer gel, and somehow we made it across. We were exhausted by the time we got to Old Tackitt's place a few miles out of Quartzite. Old Tackitt's woman offered us some spaghetti, but we just used the bathroom and headed out. The last 10 miles were on interstate 10, which allows bikes, but had a sign telling us to ride in the shoulder, as if we had any intention of wrangling with tractor-trailers going 100mph. We finally got to Quartzite and I looked around for the village, but there was nothing but lot after lot of RV parks and dealerships. It was RV purgatory! Victor was not interested in my dismay and only wanted to find someplace to eat. We did find a fine little establishment, frequented by the local RV crowd of retired folks. There was not a man without facial hair and the women wore 1980’s off-the-shoulder shirts and feathered hairstyles. We had pizza and beer that couldn't be beat and fled to the nearby Super 8. The only thing interesting about that place was the fact that in the morning, while having breakfast in the lounge, I found on the coffee table, a Bicycling magazine. Now, what are the chances of that?

Day 4, the sun was warm and red on the mountains as we set out. Our shadows were silhouetted on the hillside as we rode out of town. This was to be our longest day, 112 miles, but the wind was at our backs. The border with California is the Colorado River. On the other side of the river the saguaro disappeared and the landscape changed. But like Arizona, many of the towns seemed very broken, with people barely able to eek out a living. We met a fellow rider who had just set out to ride around the whole country for an entire year. He was also using Adventure Cycling maps. We climbed up rolling canyons and passed the Pre-Columbian Indian trail. Finally, after waiting forever for a train to pass we crossed into Glamis Dunes. I was hoping for a burger, but the place was deserted. The guy in the convenience store (the only thing open) told us that the action starts on Friday night. Hundreds of dune buggies gather every weekend and the place becomes a scene from Mad Max. We marveled at this wonder of nature 5 miles wide and 50 miles long. Have you seen a movie set in a sandy desert? It was filmed here most likely.

Later that afternoon, we arrived in Brawley, booked into a lovely hotel and went to dinner, where we shared a bottle of wine and enjoyed a large meal, including a chocolate dessert. We followed this up with a soak in the hotel hot tub and concluded that this was one great way to vacation.

Day 5, we were dealing with headwinds again, and some crosswinds that wouldn’t even allow me to hide behind Victor. But, the sun was shining and we were rejuvenated and ready to ride. We rode into the Imperial Valley, were it was apparently lettuce season. The pickers arrive in white buses, hauling port-o-potties and water/washing stations. They use a huge machine that drives through the field and boxes the lettuce as the workers pick. There were several border patrol checkpoints, I assume to control the flow of illegal workers who might have come in through Arizona. There is a lot of work in the Imperial Valley. Nearby, we saw others planting a field. All this lush agriculture is possible because of the Salton Sea, a large lake created by runoff from the Colorado River. The lake is growing as climate change melts the icepack. The marshland preserves, home to a huge diversity of wildlife, are now drowning. Where there used to be 37,000 acres there are now less than 3,000.

As we climbed into the high desert we found ocotillo in bloom! With hundreds of miles under our seats, we thought we deserved a little luxury. We found it at the Borrego Springs Inn. This place has two pool/hot tubs- one being clothing optional. In the evening we soaked and drank wine and looked at the stars. I took a morning soak as well (clothing optional). In the courtyard was a bird enclosure. We watched finches fight over a feather for a long time. It would not fit in the tiny nests, but they kept trying.

Day 6, we climbed Yaqui Pass. I looked up at the snow-capped peaks that seemed impossibly far away and Victor informed me that was where we were headed for lunch. For a moment, I thought I might be hallucinating, as I saw a pack of elephants, but they turned out to be giant sculptures. The road snakes up the canyons, slow and steady, for hours. The views were spectacular, but my nether regions were not happy. Victor distracted me from my pain by playing clown on the embankment. As we climbed, the desert turned into forest. And soon, we found snow! At the top was a lovely western town called Julian. Victor took me to the famous pie shop where we had warm apple boysenberry pie, chased down by a Fat Tire beer, for lunch. Then it was a fast ride down the other side, past ranches and farms to Ramona, our last stop in California. We got there in time to visit Kirk's Bike Shop. The town itself was nothing special, but we were tired, so we got some food and went to sleep.

Day 7, it was my idea to leave before dawn. We needed to ride 45 miles to San Diego, rent a car and drive back to Tempe before the shop closed to turn in our bikes for shipping. We rode by streetlight, and just as we got out of town, the sky started to brighten. There were few cars and trucks, so the ride was peaceful. As we rode into San Diego, we found a bunch of cyclists out on a Saturday club ride. We were anxious to get to the beach and have some time there before we needed to head out, so we were going at a fast clip. It was hilarious to watch Victor speed past these guys, on their carbon fiber rides, with is Trucker and full panniers. In no time we arrived at Mission Bay and made our way down to Dog Beach. This place is a haven for dogs, their masters and surfers. We spent some time breathing in the fresh ocean air and dipping our feet in the cold seawater before making one last stop to get some of the most delicious pastries I have ever eaten at a sidewalk café. Food always tastes better after long hours of riding. As we retraced our 500 miles in the car, we were amazed at how far we had come and pleased with how much we had seen and ready to plan our next adventure!
To see all the pics, click here:

Last Day of Summer

2008-09-30T17:56:00.011-04:00

The days were warm and the nights were cold. The leaves were beginning to turn, but the cicadas were still humming away in the afternoons. As September 21st dawned at Croton Point Park the triathletes stood on the shore looking into the foggy cove and wondering what the day would bring. The last day of summer was one I will never forget, full of life lessons and a profound sense of accomplishment.

Two months ago Eve and I carefully considered doing the Toughman Half.

“I’ll do it if you do it.”

“OK, let’s do it.”

Having some fitness to begin with, we just needed to ramp up the volume, especially on the run. She is an excellent swimmer and I had already put in some mileage on the bike. Neither one of us loved the run. So, we made bargains with each other:

“How about we run to Silver Lake, swim and walk back,” she would propose.

Once accomplished, “It’s too slow to walk back; Let’s just run,” I would suggest.

In this way, we pushed ourselves to do the training necessary to complete the toughest part of the Toughman: the hilly run. Little did we know the run would be only one of the challenges on race day.

For a swimmer inexperienced in open water, or one who is afraid of it, the swim was daunting. There were strong swimmers who got way off course, and some who were found in the river sobbing, and many who spent twice as long in the water as they would have. Luckily, Eve and I had been swimming the cove twice a week for months, so we were confident. But there was one moment, when I turned around at the double buoy to face the shore and all I could see was mist. There were no boats, no buoys, and no shoreline- nothing. I guessed which way to swim based on the angle I knew it should be and took off. Every once in a while the fog would shift and I could see the tree line and knew I was on course. I got out of the water 43 minutes later feeling great and ready to ride.

I wanted to catch up with Eve, who had gotten out ahead of me, so we could run together. My tube sack full of Cliff Blocks; my water bottle full of Accelerade; I was following my plan to eat or drink every fifteen minutes. I was feeling really strong and passing lots of folks. As the big hill loomed at mile 35, I decided to drop into my low gear in order to save my legs. The chain slipped off and I tried to shift up to snap it back, but succeeded only in tying it in knots. I clipped out before crashing, moved to the side of the road and assessed the situation. The chain was seized between the frame and the chain wheel. It was a serious situation. Sometimes you can’t get the chain unstuck, or sometimes it breaks, or the chain wheel breaks. I realized I might not be able to finish the race. People were passing me with sorry looks, but I could read behind their eyes they were thinking, "I’m glad that’s not me.” I wanted to cry.

Instead, I took a deep breath and looked for a tool. I needed to ease it out like the knot in a kindergartener’s shoelace. A stick might break off and get jammed. My tire lever was perfect. I patiently pried and wiggled until it finally started to loosen up. I had lost about 10 minutes. My official bike time was a disappointing 3:14, but I was happy to be able to finish the race.

I had lost the opportunity to catch up with Eve, so I found myself starting the run alone. I still felt strong, although the day was warming up. It had been about four hours since I plunged into the river and I still had 2:28 to go. About five miles into the run I realized there was a guy who was running, more or less at my pace. So, I struck up a conversation. He was an experienced Ironman but had never been on the Toughman course. I was able to warn him about impending hills and he kept a steady stream of encouragement coming my way. He was impressed that I knew so many people. Indeed, it was heartening to find old friends at water stations giving me the high five. Rich, James and the other organizers we had been training with for months were driving around, shouting encouragement and James had even written our names just before the crest of the biggest hill, “Go Kate! Go Eve!” I was hurting, but I felt happy and strong right up to the end.

The end was the longest half a mile I have ever run. Over the train bridge and down the path to the river, open to the sun, I began to pick up the pace just so the pain would end sooner. I knew there were people waiting for me at the finish line and I wanted that moment to come very badly. It was an excruciating few minutes that felt like forever. When I got to the river and saw Victor, Jill, Shelly, Bevin and Flori all cheering for me I found some fire deep down inside and sprinted into their open arms. I completed the race in 6:29. It was a small field, but Eve and I placed first and second in our age group. I think I can do better next year.

Many people along the way have wondered why I would want to do this race. There are so many reasons, but I will share a few life lessons I got from the experience:

Set a goal and work hard to get there, but be prepared for problems. A fog may set in and you may not be sure which direction to proceed, or something might slip and become impossibly stuck. With focus, confidence and persistence, the problems can be solved. The true measure of accomplishment is how much love fills your heart along the way. In the end, it’s all about the love.

Going, Going...

2008-08-30T20:54:00.007-04:00

Another summer passes, like the water I try to hold in my cupped hands, somehow finding the cracks, going the way it must go in spite of my wishing it to stay.

There were more victories I can tell you about. At the end of July I participated in the Harlem Valley Rail Ride. I rode by myself, but met lots of friendly people and even found some fine riders to draft on occasionally, as you can see in the video. It was a perfect summer morning to ride through the country. The wildflowers were spectacular and the cicadas were making that warm buzzing sound that always reminds me of the long summers of childhood. After 75 miles I got to the Hill Climb Time Trial. Basically, you start at the bottom of a hill 1.2 miles long with a 7% average grade and they time you to see how long it takes to get to the top. I had been practicing riding hills all summer and I wanted to see how well I could do, so I hammered as hard as I could. At the top, I could barely breathe and my muscles were screaming with pain, but I knew I had done my best. This time, my best was… the best. I won the time trial- overall and not just my age group! They gave me a medal and $100! How about that? I was pretty proud of myself.

August brought even more good things. My kids and I took a rafting trip in the Adirondacks. Our friends from Topanga joined us. Our families have always been close, but several months ago they lost their 16-year-old son. There were many times we felt the hole he left. But, we also felt the joy in being together again and it brought some healing for all of us. We sat up, two moms and five kids, wearing silly hats and playing poker late into the night. Then we woke up and faced down category 4 and 5 rapids in the upper Hudson River. There was one place, a big hole in the river the guide kept telling us about, named Big Nasty. When we got there we were met with a wall of water that forced its way into my nasal passages and would have knocked me out of the raft had I not been holding onto the straps so tightly. As the water smoothed out and the kids took turns pushing each other into the water, we decided that life is like a river. There can be long stretches of calm and sometimes things get rough. Sometimes there might be a Big Nasty, but you can hang on tight and find joy again with those you love.

Finally, as part of training for the Toughman Half Iron I am doing in September, Eve and I decided to do the Harriman Sprint. The day was sunny, warm and dry. I was feeling really good and just wanted to have a great day. You know what? I did have a great day. I won second in my age group! I was so surprised when they called my name that I whooped with joy. So, now it’s back to work. The tapering starts next week by necessity. I am really looking forward to my first long course triathlon. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Winning

2008-07-23T09:15:00.003-04:00

While there are many reasons to be humble, and qualifiers that dampen the measure of my success, I would rather bask in the feeling of pride and accomplishment for placing third in my age group at the triathlon Sunday.

It was another sweltering day. As I set up my transition area first thing in the morning, I was already sweating and drinking great gulps of water. The pond was full to the surface with choking weeds and floating algae. I was in the first wave, so there was nothing else to do but swim through it. People emerged covered in brown scum. I am used to swimming in weedy lakes, but this was exceptional. Still, it didn’t slow me down and as I ran up the grass to my bike I felt good.

The bike was all hills for the first 5 miles, and then evened out to rollers and flats. I decided to push as hard as I could through the hills, sparing no pain, knowing that I could get down on my aero bars and rest on the flats. The bike is the only thing I really excel at, so I wanted to do my best.

My goal for this race was actually to push harder on the run. I have always been afraid to push, for fear of bonking. I knew I could do better though, and wanted to test my limits. The run was hilly and difficult, especially since the road had just been paved and the black tar was reflecting the heat. I just kept my legs turning over and asked myself if I could take more pain. If the answer was yes, I turned over faster. When I couldn’t take any more, I just maintained. Soon, the end approached and my friends were there cheering for me. I had enough in my engine to kick in some extra speed at the finish line.

The best part was sitting with my friends at the awards as the announcer called all of our names. Everyone won something, either in his or her age group or overall. I was really happy to have such amazing friends who inspire and support me and make me feel a part of something so special. I am lucky indeed.

Full Moon Ride

2008-07-23T08:40:00.002-04:00

Last Thursday we met at dusk for a ride through the dark. Everyone spent some time adjusting and admiring each other’s lights. There were warnings about safety; bats, skunks and cars were a threat. It was to be a gentle, social ride, mostly on the bike path with a stop for coffee. Our fearless leader, Gus, assured us that the moon would soon rise in its full magnificence. Five men and two women set off for adventure.

The bike path runs through the woods, so we stayed close together as the darkness closed in. There were new people to meet, and I had fun chatting. The day had been brutally hot and very humid. As the air cooled the humidity rose, so even though we weren’t pedaling very hard my skin was wet. The air evaporated the moisture on my skin for a delightful cooling effect.

After a short break we decided to travel further on the road to the dam to better view the moon. Sure enough, there it was rising high in the sky above. As we got onto the open road I felt a childlike urge to fly. Between the moonlight and my powerful lamp I could mostly see the road. There were few cars. While part of me argued to stay with the group, another part took over and started pedaling faster and faster. Soon I blasted out onto the bridge over the reservoir and was treated to the cool silver light of the moon sparkling on the water. I waited on the bridge, enjoying the spectacular display, and soon I spied a UFO approaching. It had six lights that moved more or less together as it came closer. I was ready for them to take me, and as they rode passed, I hopped on and was glad for the company.

Philadelphia Triathlon

2008-06-28T07:55:00.006-04:00

Katie’s Law: If anything can go right, it will. At least it did for me on June 22, 2008 in Philadelphia.

As we drove down Saturday morning, the forecast called for rain all night long, continuing into the morning. The bands on the radar were strong and clear and ominous. I had done triathlons in the rain before, but it was not something I was relishing for this, my first Olympic Distance. For those of you who don’t know, Olympic Distance is 1500 m swim - 40 km bike - 10 km run, (or about 1 mile swim, 25 mile bike and 6 mile run). With half a dozen sprint triathlons under my belt and 6 months of serious training, I was pumped and ready.

Well, the truth is, the training was a bit off. My training for my first two years of triathlon ranged from minimal to sporadic. This year I had decided to follow a plan, log my hours and train systematically. I had a little logbook with my name on it, and the Gale Bernhardt plan to study and follow. I determined to ride outside in the winter and discovered a new passion for riding. As it turned out, by June I had put in 1,500 miles on the bike. I did a half marathon early in the spring, but put less effort into the run after that. The swimming I did more regularly, but on my own and at a slow pace. Not surprisingly, I did very well on the bike leg in Philly and made a decent show on the other legs, so the lesson is, training works. Effort translates into performance.

The weather was warm, but overcast. They let us warm up in the water, so the swim was great and I felt really strong in the first transition. At the start of the bike I was taking a drink and some gel and passing someone on my right. A very buff, 33 year old guy (they write your age on your calf) passed on my left and yelled, “Get out of the way a-hole!” I put down my water bottle and hunkered down for the chase. I passed him easily. Staying ahead was not so easy though, as he kicked it up a notch. He passed me and then I passed him and we did that a few times. Then, going up a hill, I rode up on his left and said, “Were you calling me and a-hole back there?” He stammered and gasped as I hammered up past him. It was a beautiful moment.

I finished the run with a sprint and felt really great. In a very competitive field, I placed in the top half of my class. Plus, I had enough energy afterward to ride around the city and see the sights. And, it never rained at all. Some say 22 is a lucky number. I don’t know about that, but June 22 is my mother’s birthday and I know am very lucky to have such a great mom. Growing up, I was not an athlete. In fact, I almost didn’t graduate from High School because I couldn’t meet the PE requirement. But I have always had my parent’s support, no matter what crazy thing I decide to try. Maybe that’s why things go right for me. Happy Birthday mom.

Hot City One Hundred

2008-06-16T19:23:00.010-04:00

The air was full of warm water vapor as we gathered in the parking lot for the Hat City Cycle Festival. Many members of the Westchester Cycling Club had taken the challenge to ride on this oppressively hot day in June. Most chose the shorter routes, but we decided it would be an adventure to see if we could ride 100 miles in 100 degree heat.

The sun was already burning at 8:00. The lower loop was full of shade though. My glasses kept steaming up, so I had to take them off. The strategy was to ride slowly and drink lots of water. We didn't see any other riders. In fact, we were alone pretty much the whole day. The rest stops were full of homemade baked goods and friendly volunteers. Must have been that anyone crazy enough to do the 100 had started much earlier. There are 3 loops, with the first cycling back to the start. The second is the longest, and you can turn back at the top, or go for the upper loop to complete the century. Most people just rode the middle loop and got done much earlier.

There was one point, at the end of the upper loop, when we were riding up a long shadeless hill. A car drove by and pulled to a stop at the top. A man got out and held up a jug of water. As we approached, he offered us some and suggested we reevaluate at the next rest stop and noted that if we wanted a ride back we could get one. We drank some water and poured some more over our heads and rode on. Too bad there's not a man with a soothing jug of water at the end of every hardship in life.

As it turned out, we felt good and finished the 100 miles. It wasn't fast, but it was fun. The homes and gardens of Connecticut are beautiful. It has taken me a while to get around to writing about it, and now looking back, I wish I could ride that day all over again. At the end, we sat eating ice cream while the sky opened up outside. We watched the puff balls that had been falling from the trees as they dodged the rain drops. Every so often one would get hit, and drop down, but manage to shed the weight of the water and rise up again to fly.

Music is Morning Yearning by Ben Harper

Pawling Triathlon

2008-05-31T19:39:00.005-04:00

Actually, it was all over in one hour and twenty minutes. And yes, it was painful. I went into the water too fast and my heart rate went through the roof. I had to swim slowly until it dropped. Once I got my rhythm it was all good. The water was fine and I was in the first wave, so I didn't have many people swimming around me. I felt really good coming out.

I peeled off the wetsuit, pulled on some socks, bike shoes, helmet and glasses, grabbed Morgan and off we flew. The bike was fast- rolling hills and some flats. A couple of bigger hills. There was a shirtless, buff dude who kept trying to pass me. I punched it hard, so he had to keep dropping back. Finally, in the last stretch, he was determined to ride along side me. I was determined not to let him get in front of me, so we raced that way to the finish. Not sure if he lost points on that, but it sure was fun. As a result, I could barely breathe when I got to the next transition.

I ripped off my bike shoes and helmet and slapped on my sneakers. I was trying desperately to catch my breath. The run is always hardest for me, but I have been training hard for the past few months. I was hoping it would make a difference. For the first five minutes I wondered if I was going to be able to make it. It really hurt. Then, I found my groove and ran strong. I even had enough juice to blast up to the timing gate.

My time was several minutes faster than last year. In fact, I was seventh in my age group. I am pretty proud of myself and I had a great time with my friends. I saw lots of training buddies and John and Jill were there to support and cheer me on. At one point I was sitting on John's shoulder as he knelt down to massage my calves. I was moaning loudly with pleasure to the delight of all those watching. What a scene. I can't wait for Philly.

Montauk Century

2008-05-21T20:48:00.005-04:00

There was a fat butter moon in the sky as I drove to meet Bill and Ave. We had volunteered to help out, so we drove into Babylon as the sun was rising. We unloaded a huge truck of food and soon Bill and Ave were having lots of fun making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I took my bike over to the SAG van as soon as I spotted him setting up. While oiling my chain and pumping my tires the night before, I had noticed that Morgan had a flat. I figured I would let the professionals take care of it, and went of to work the registration table. There were over 1000 people including the familiar faces of Leslie and Adam. The man on the loudspeaker kept saying the 100 milers needed to leave. I urged the boys to stop the shenanigans with the PBJs and get on the road. Finally, the sun high, we were ready to ride.

I strapped on the helcam and rolled out of the parking lot. Incredibly, there was a gentle wind at our backs. There was a rain forecast for early afternoon, so I decided to push to see if I could do a five-hour century. Actually, with my large chain wheel, aero bars and a flat road, it was not hard at all. I found if I nibbled on some tamari almonds and a fruit/nut bar and sipped my Accelerade I could go the whole way without stopping. I passed many people along the way. There were a couple of bike racer guys who would ride up on me occasionally. I would draft them for a mile or so, but I couldn't keep up. But, then they would stop and have to catch me again. By the last time they were asking to know my secret.

I was born on Long Island. I rode through some of the places I spent time as a child. My parents had friends who were artists and naturalists, so my memories are of walking along the beach barefoot, picking up jingle shells to make things and spotting all kinds of birds. I love the smell of the ocean and the sound of the gulls. I got into a sort of trance on the long fast road to the end. Finally, I reached the gentle rolling hills of Montauk and had some fun blasting past several buff, yet very tired guys struggling to make the last miles.

At the finish there were about 50 people and they told me I was the 8th woman. Thus, men had appropriated the woman’s shower truck. No problem, I went in anyway. There were curtained stalls, after all. Next I got on line for a massage and met some really nice folks chatting while we waited. We took turns getting beers. By the time I lay down on the table I was feeling really fine. As the woman stroked my shoulders free of pain, I heard bagpipe music. The hypnotizing sound came closer and I thought perhaps I was making some sort of passage, but the pipers were just parading through the park.

When I got up, I saw Ave and Bill and we sat down for some burgers and corn and stories. The woman announced that the train was leaving the station shortly, but the station was about a mile away. Ave had a big bag to carry. We strapped our bags on our backs and rode as fast as we could, thinking we might miss the train and have to wait two hours. We just made it, tossing our bikes on the truck with a prayer and doing a dash to the closing train doors.

It was a glorious ride, and a really good time. Wish you were there.

Early White Pond Swim

2008-05-21T20:37:00.002-04:00

There are few things I enjoy more than an open water swim. The sun was shining Saturday morning, although it was only about 53 degrees when we got to White Pond at 9:30. It may be optimistic to say the water was about 60. The whole thing had been my idea, and I was taking three new triathletes for their first OWS, so I decided to read my lifeguarding book, especially the chapter on hypothermia, and gather a few supplies (space blanket, hot tea) before setting off.

Our wetsuits were fine for keeping the core warm, but getting our faces in the cold water was quite a shock. To me, it felt like someone slapping me in the face, hard. I had to roll over on my back until the tingling went away. To some of the others, it took their breath away. But, that is not unlike the experience of getting in the water at the sound of a horn with a hundred other people swimming on next to you and on top of you. The trick is to find a calm place to go in your mind and stay there.

Shelly had on a sleeveless, which was just not doing it for her, so she decided to go back. We had a rower with us, so she escorted her to the shore. Jon and Carolyn and I swam to the opposite side. I showed them the rock we were heading for, and how to spot. By the time we got there we were all feeling warm and exhilarated. The swim back was too fast, as I would have liked to stay in White Pond a while longer. Getting out I shouted, “Halleluiah, I have been born again!” because that is what swimming White Pond is like for me.
Check out Jon’s blog on the swim-
http://swicyclorun.blogspot.com/
The music is Cabin by Doctor

Farmlands Century Ride

2008-05-04T09:54:00.003-04:00

The skies were overcast, the temperatures were chilly, and the headwinds made riding a challenge. But, you know, I enjoy a challenge. The terrain was flat with rolling hills, so I tried to push hard for a fast ride. 105 miles at 16.6 average speed in under 7 hours. Booyah!

The music is the Creedence version of Proud Mary.

Walden Pond

2008-05-02T16:17:00.000-04:00

Last Part

The thing about living apart from someone you love is how hard it is to say goodbye. The symbiosis began whittling away 21 years ago when my boys were born. When they were little, I could still protect them. It was hard to watch Louis riding between the cars in Boston, without a helmet, or maybe armor or a force field. I guess it could be worse; he could be in Iraq. The sensation of joy and oneness that we shared on our ride to Walden Pond stayed with me for a while after we said goodbye. But, the sadness crept in around the edges as I waited for the next leg of the adventure to begin.

Eve had driven home on Thursday, and I was left with my bike and a few essentials loaded in my saddle bag. Victor arrived on Friday afternoon and we began the long ride to New York. He is an experienced adventure cyclist, has excellent maps and a great sense of humor, so my worries were soon spinning away in the wind. Amazingly, the weather continued with clear skies and warm temperatures. The hills were many and long. Some people see hills as personal insults, but I learned to accept and enjoy what each hill had to offer. Victor accidentally led us off-course once, resulting in some extra mileage and a huge hill that took us to a place of spectacular views. But, that's a great metaphor for life isn't it?

Taking a trip like this, one gets to see snippets of the myriad ways people live their lives. It's fun to fill in the gaps and imagine the trajectories of each life. It's also tempting to compare my life to other's. But, rather than fall into judgments that usually end up with me as the loser, I try to use the experience to inspire choices. Sucking the sweet juice out of each moment is key, but thinking and planning for the future is good too. I know I want to have more adventures like this one and, when I remember to turn on my helmet cam, I'll put them here to share with you.

The music is Whirl-Y-Reel by Afro Celt Sound System and a little taste of Moby's 35 Minutes.

Walden Pond

2008-04-29T23:48:00.000-04:00

Part Two of Three

As I'm hurtling down a hill at 35 mph I never think about crashing. Yet, I know it could happen and sometimes wonder why I do it. The truth is, I'm pretty attached to this life. Particularly, I am attached to my children. As they have grown and moved away from me, I search for ways to stay connected. Louis now lives in Boston in a house with a bunch of guys who love bikes. They collect them and build them. They ride them to school and work and play bike polo. Their house is littered with bikes and bike parts. So, cycling is something that connects us.

Walden Pond, a kettlehole formed by retreating glaciers, is now a popular swimming spot. Even on this early spring day there were hardy children in the water. The 19th century transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau spent a couple of years at Walden attempting to "live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

The beat of the distant drummer has always sounded loudly in my head. A times, it has seemed a curse, setting me apart from others. I think my children hear it too, and it worries me. Like the mother pig who sends her piglets off to make homes for themselves, I hope my children have learned to avoid the big bad wolves. I wonder if I should have taught them more about building a house of bricks instead of sticks. But then, as I am hurtling down a hill at 35 mph feeling the spark of life that connects me to everything, I find I can let go of worries. I know my children share that spark, and maybe that's enough.

The music is Clocks, by Coldplay

Walden Pond

2008-04-27T22:32:00.000-04:00

Part One

Louis suggested I come visit sometime and we could ride bikes to Walden Pond. So, I thought, why not ride my bike to Boston? I got on the chats and asked if anyone wanted to have an adventure.

Eve was the first to take me up on it. As it turned out, Eve drove our SAG car (Support And Gear) to Southern Connecticut and the Berkshires, where we rode out each day and returned to stay at her friend Ginna's lovely home.

The best part about this whole leg of the trip was that I made two great new friends. Eve is a former music exec turned English professor and triathlon coach (and guitarist). Ginna is also a former media exec turned novelist and singer/songwriter. Very cool people. Eve and I had 3 amazing days of riding before heading off to Boston and Walden Pond.

This is a short taste of the first part of my adventure. The music is Afro Celt Sound System- My Secret Bliss

Two Bridges Ride

2008-04-20T22:00:00.000-04:00

I got Flip Video camera with a helmet mount. I strapped it on for a group ride on Saturday. We rode 40 miles, across the Bear Mt. Bridge, through West Point to the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge, across and back to Cold Spring. It was a glorious day. The video comes out a bit wiggly, but you get the idea. I plan on blogging my athletic adventures in multi media style. This is gonna be fun.

The music is Let it Ride by B.T.O