Some very positive things happening personally. Since I decided long ago to keep such things off this blog, you’ll just have to wait to meet her. I will say this… she must be pretty special. I’ve not been to church in 20 years, and she’s gotten me there no less than 4 times since late December… and maybe 5. My attitude towards organized religion is perfectly summed up by the Mohandas Gandhi quote “I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” That said, I have met quite a few very nice people through her and the friend that set us up together, all of whom go to their church. It’s an interesting change of pace for me… Besides Church, we’ve done quite a few things together, and have quite a few more on the plate for the next few months. I’m quite optimistic.

I’ve been very busy at work lately. In ’08 I was nearly desk bound the whole year working on this and that. In ’09 I will be much more involved in the daily lives of my fellow employees… not sure how well they’ll like that. I am the local representative for Information Security, after all. It’s like the police without the uniform, firearms, or authority. I can’t arrest anyone. I can’t have anyone fired. What I can do is make them feel really bad about what they’ve done. Sometimes, I get baked goods as apologies. I can live with that.

I’ve been playing a lot of pool lately. Monday night, Wednesday night and Thursday nights all see me at various pool halls in leagues the likes of which I’ve never seen. Wednesday is pretty standard in terms of competition, but Monday and Thursday… let’s just say that if I make one mistake, miss one ball, or dry break, I’m done for the game. The competition is fierce. I like it that way. It makes me really focus, though there are nights when it does get tiring.

Cycling has seen a dramatic decline so far this year… without my daily commuting (logistically impossible at this point, unfortunately – at least not without spending a lot of money on another form of motorized transportation to keep either at work or at home so I’m not bike-bound all day), and with the cold, I’m pretty much limited to roller training. While I did keep up with it for a while, I’ve since fallen into a rather “fat and happy” mindset, and haven’t felt the motivation to roll. The weather is looking to warm up soon, though, and I reckon I’ll get my expanding carcass out on that saddle for some long rides here real soon like. I have to, b/c word is that my brother, as well as our hosts in Colorado are training hard for the Triple Bypass… July 11th is fast approaching! I may not be as fast as I was last year, but I’ve no doubt whatsoever that I’ll make it over them there hills just fine and dandy.

That’s enough for now. Later.

I’ve thought about taking her out on the trails, but I’m still a little leary of those for some reason…

I’d take advantage of the best weather of the day for a ride, but that’s reserved for walking the Plaza with a Very Special Person (henceforth to be known as VSP). I’ll brave the cooler morning temperatures to make room for that.

And… stopped. Two full lanes are closed on I35, the highway is reduced to a parking lot at the moment.

45 minutes after we start driving, we get finally there, in spite of construction and plenty of stupid drivers. We unload and get ready to ride off when I hear her yell “I have a flat!” Sure enough, her front tire is completely flat. And here we are without any spare tubes or a pump. Why, when everything checked out perfectly right before we drove off?

*sigh*

A touch frustrated, we load the bikes back up and head back home. This time, we take Pflumm all the way, and beat our previous highway time by half. I change out the tube and pump it back up, ready to try again, when we notice a strange bulge in the sidewall. It’s completely torn through, and the tube is poking out in three little bulbs.

Another, louder and slightly less patient *sigh*

Sometimes, it’s just not meant to be…

I, of course, love riding in the rain. Sure, it means more maintenance on the bike (extra lubing and whatnot), but the joy that is a ride in the cool rain, especially after so many tortuously hot days is indescribable. So I won’t bother trying to describe it. That would be silly.

I took the Kona in, because it has fenders, and it’s proven itself in the rain. I’ve been told that the Campy Record Triple bottom bracket that I had installed on the Torelli has sealed bearings and is OK to ride in the rain, but I just don’t trust it. It was hella expensive, and I’d rather just ride safe than sorry with it.

When I first contemplated the Kona last night, I had a moment of regret. I’ve been spoiled with the Torelli, but the truth is (and this happens every time I switch out) once I get on the Kona, it’s like putting on an old pair of sneakers. Sure, they’re a little worn, but they’re so comfortable and easy to wear that it’s easy to forget how long it’s been since they were last trod in.

The GF asked me a couple of days ago how I can go between the two bikes so easily. I didn’t think about it much at the time, but the ride this morning brought it back. The answer is actually very simple. I’ve had the Kona for 15 years now, and have ridden it for most of that. I’ve had the Torelli for 2 and a half years, and have ridden it a *lot* in that time. Both bikes are extremely familiar to me, and both have styles that, though different, I enjoy. The old pair of sneakers might not be for anything but mowing the lawn and doing yard work anymore, but they do the job and do it wonderfully without complaint, and quite comfortably. The new pair is nicer looking and tends to allow me to run faster, but it’s best to keep them out of the grime. Both pairs slide on and instantly feel like they belong.

So today, it was the old pair of sneakers in the rain and the puddles, and they reveled in it, happy as hell to be needed.

Most notable sight of the morning: Indian Creek is running so high the trail that runs along it is flooded in at least one, and probably many many places. I might try to take it tonight on the Kona, just to see what it’s like…

I’d ridden the Indian Creek Trails years ago before I picked up the Torelli, and only remember one little hill that gave me trouble. Bear in mind, that was back in my days of “Granny Gear is for Wussies” thinking. Now, I’ll hit Granny Gear without a second thought if it’s necessary or appropriate. I’m still trying to get the GF to appreciate it’s benefits. Once she truly does, she’ll find that she’ll go farther with less effort and generally train better with a full range of gears at her disposal.

Both rides were very hot. At least while I was on the streets getting to and from the trail. Once on the trail, the temperature cooled down dramatically. Between the creek and the trees, it almost felt cool. The construction at 103rd and Metcalf is a bit of a pain, but it’s not a huge deal. The work done at Antioch is phenomenal.

I made a couple wrong turns while I was getting to know the path again, but it’s easy enough to find one’s way again.

One of the things I really liked about riding in the mountains was the winding roads. While the trails don’t offer much in the way of blistering downhill runs, they are very winding, and are a lot of fun for that. I think the GF will find them very agreeable.

I wondered how I’d feel about riding once the TPB was over. I wondered if I’d have the motivation to keep going as hard as I’ve been. I wondered if I’d want to ride at all. The rides I’ve been on since I’ve been back have been some of the most enjoyable rides I’ve been on, even including the TPB. The pressure is off. I’m not turning the cranks with any goal in mind. I’m just turning the cranks to turn the cranks, and it’s fantastic! Even as hot as it’s been this week, putting 30 miles in at a time in the heat of the day has been thoroughly enjoyable.

I’ll tell you something else with regards to the heat. Riding at 12,000ft is a lot easier than riding in Kansas heat and humidity.

I absolutely intend to ride the TPB again next year. As does my brother, as does one of our hosts, and the GF even has aspirations for it. At some point, I’ll need to ramp up the training again my brother and I are going to beat our time of 8 hours and 14 minutes. For now though, I’m going to throw myself headlong into riding for the sake of riding.

Maybe I’ll see Warren T out on the trails sometime…

Those were the words that greeted us as we rolled into the Aid station at Vail Pass. It was the last of three grueling passes, and the sign spoke nearly true. It was all downhill from there. Mostly.

Triple Bypass

The day finally arrived. 8 months and then some of training, preparing, dreading, and looking forward. 6 months of riding to work, and hitting as many weekend miles as the weather allowed. All the trepidation, all the excitement, it all came down to this day. I woke at 04:30 to the sounds of Reveille. It somehow seemed appropriate. We snarfed down some of my brother’s pre-ride nutrition (yogurt, oatmeal and fruit), had some coffee and our all-too-kind hosts drove us to the starting line.

It was hard to believe were finally there. Even as we rode to the park-n-ride where my registration packet waited for me, it still hadn’t sunk in that we were finally there. It was cool out, almost cold. Clear skies with no threat of rain, or snow, or sleet. The arm and leg warmers had already proved their worth, though I wish I’d packed my long fingered gloves. The Edge was fully charged, and ready to record. The bike was as tuned as it could be, and I was as ready as I’d ever be. I left my registration packet there, to be picked up after the ride, since I wasn’t sure we’d see our hosts again.

From the staging area, my brother and I set off for the start line, a mere mile away. Looking around, we saw all manner of bikes and all manner of body types. The majority was what you’d expect… thin and athletic bodies on thin athletic bikes. But there were heavier commuter bikes (my brother’s for instance), and even a few recumbents and tandems. I distinctly remember one woman on a mountain bike that couldn’t have weighed less than 350lbs. “Good for her!” I thought, “I hope you make it all the way!” I never saw her again.

There was no mass gathering. No cacophony of *clicks* as riders set cleats to pedals. With 3,500 registrants, there was no other way to start than on a first-come-first-served basis. We arrived at the start line, and immediately set off. Both Diane and Julie were there cheering us on and taking pictures.

Squaw and Juniper Passes

The climb up to Squaw and Juniper passes was already familiar to us. Most of it, anyway. We’d ridden from Elk Meadow to about 10,000ft on Wednesday. As on our previous ride, we took a couple of short breaks on the way up to take pictures, but for the most part, just kept a steady pace as we climbed up to 11,140ft. The climb wasn’t new, nor was riding in a large group. The chill air, on the other hand, wasn’t something I counted on. At 45°F, my fingers quickly became very cold, and finally numb. And that was at 7-10mph on the way up. In spite of the rush I knew it would be, I began to dread the flight downhill on the other side, knowing that the sun wouldn’t have time to warm the air by the time we got there.

At the top of Juniper Pass, we stopped briefly for fuel and to rest the legs. We were a little tired, but not overly so. The Aid Station there was fully stocked with food and drink, porta-potties and more bikes than we could count. Our energy level was just about where we expected to be, given our rides the previous three days. At that point, we knew we’d made the right calls on our prep rides, and our confidence was as high.

And then we looked down and noticed a single speed laying on it’s side next to our bikes. Someone was riding a single speed up three mountain passes, and over 120 miles.

Wow. Just wow.

Taking a moment to contemplate what would drive a body to ride a single speed up and over mountains, we saddled up, clicked in, and started down the back side of Highway 103 towards Idaho Springs.

I was right to wish I’d packed my long fingered gloves. By the time we were halfway down, my fingers were numb to the knuckles. I couldn’t feel a thing and had very little muscle control. I had to look to see that my fingers were actually on the brakes, and had to concentrate to apply any pressure. Needless to say, I was a little nervous about this particular predicament. I’m going 35-45mph down a winding mountain road, cliffs on one side going up, and cliffs on the other going down, and I had minimal control over my brakes. Don’t think that stopped me from enjoying the descent, however, or that it stopped me from taking full advantage of the opportunity for speed. It did not. I laughed through the pain and watering eyes, and took corners and curves like I knew the Torelli could. In spite of having nearly crippled hands, I had a blast!

Idaho Springs and seeing our Private SAG staff for the first time

The fingers weren’t numb for long, though. The temperature difference between 11,000ft and 7,500ft is amazing. Cold at Juniper Pass, it was almost hot in Idaho Springs. It was there, pulling into town, that we found our Private SAG for the first time. The GF, the hosts and both of their sons were there, and the GF was kind enough to offer her belly beneath her shirt to warm my still numb fingers. Matthew went to the van to see if my gloves were there, but came back empty handed. I wasn’t too worried at the moment, but knew that the next pass might offer additional numbness complications. Warmed inside and out by the show of support, my brother and I tried calling our parents, and he called his wife before setting off again. It was still hard to believe we were actually riding the Triple Bypass, and that we were a third of the way done!

The grueling climb to the Loveland Aid Station and Arriving Exhausted

The next leg of the journey was considerably less glamorous. The ride was pleasant and relaxed from Idaho Springs to Georgetown. Sure, we were climbing, but it was a relaxed climb through beautiful country. It was somewhere in here that our private SAG team came through with a pair of gloves for me. They only had one pair, and since my fingers had suffered the most, it was decided that I take them. They promised a pair for my brother later in the ride, but before the next pass at Loveland. They came through.

As I was saying, the ride was pleasant and relaxed through this next stretch. Then we hit Georgetown and soon after that, I70. At Georgetown we used a two lane bike path. Smooth and well maintained, it was a great path to ride. It was steep here and there, and uphill everywhere, but it was a nice, scenic and relaxed ride. That is, until I70.

I70.

A slow and grueling climb against headwinds, with cars and semi-trailers screaming by at 75mph and greater, I70 was anything but relaxed and scenic. It was hot, ugly, and by far the least enjoyable section of the ride. Complicating the situation was the fact that my water bottles ran bone dry several miles from the Aid Station in Loveland. Fortunately, a kind lady by the side of the road offered me some of the ice water she was holding for her husband who hadn’t ridden by yet.

I’ve never been in a ride before where the enthusiasm and support showed by the general populace, or those there for other riders was as high and generous. The “fans” (for lack of a better word) were, to the last, fantastic, and hearing people yelling encouragement along the route at unexpected places had a motivation value I can’t begin to describe. That alone was worth the months of training.

Leaving the monotonous and grinding I70 behind, we pulled into the Loveland Aid Station together, and found our private SAG team. They immediately noticed our high level of exhaustion. The previous leg tapped us in a major way. Not enough that we doubted our ability to continue, but certainly enough to turn a brief 5 minute rest into 15 or 20 minutes. Looking around, we weren’t the only ones suffering the effects of the high speed traffic, headwinds, and mile after mile of steady 4-6% grade. The GF came through by helping me stretch and massaging my shoulders, neck and back, and the rest of the team came through with the gathering of food and drink. A ways away from us, we heard the loud *bang* of a tube blowing out. It sounded like a gunshot, and startled everyone around. We don’t know who it was, and can only hope that they had the foresight to bring extras like we had. Not long after this, Matthew pointed out a road up ahead, far up in the mountains. We wondered if that was where we were headed. A semi-trailer could be seen, as small as an ant, and we took some comfort in that it appeared to be the opposite direction from where we were going.

Loveland Pass and a Photo Op

We set out from the aid station after about 20 minutes of rest, and began the slow 4 mile crawl up to Juniper Pass. The climb was a steady 6-7% grade the whole way up. There was little in the way of respite, and when the grade did drop briefly to 2-3%, it felt like we were going downhill. The road we’d seen before from the aid station proved to be exactly where we were going. Looking down at the aid station from that height, it boggled our minds that we’d climbed that high in that short a distance, but we took a great deal of pride in it, and allowed ourselves a nearly continual moment of triumph.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, and yet at the same time what felt like only a few minutes, we arrived at Loveland Pass, 11,990ft. Oddly enough, as tired as we were arriving at the Loveland Aid Station, we felt exalted and full of energy arriving at Loveland Pass. This was the pinnacle of the ride. As high as it would take us, up grades as high as we’d see. In some ways, though we were only halfway to the finish, we’d overcome the worst the ride had to offer, and it felt absolutely, without reservation, fantastic. The air was chilly, but not cold. The wind was stiff, but not buffeting. The crowd at the top was all of one mind. Triumph. My brother and I soaked it in for a while, took a few pictures and chatted with a few of the others already at the top. Though nowhere near the highest elevation in the country, we felt, without apology, like we were on top of the world.

Downhill to the Frisco AID station

Ready and eager to enjoy another downhill run, we pulled our gloves and arm warmers on, and side-stepping a semi-trailer making it’s way through the crowd, we hit the hammer ring for another hammerfest down the mountain. At first it was a repeat of the previous run, with the exception of warm fingers. We were racing along at better than 45mph, pulling tight corners and having the time of our lives. Then we came upon three cars. A dark green Toyota Forerunner, a silver Honda Accord, and another sedan of unknown make or model. My brother and I were grouped with four or five other riders, and the cars appeared determined not to let us pass. Pass, you ask? Yes. Pass. We were passing cars and trucks on the highway, and it was glorious… or it would have been had they been more cooperative. My brother found an opening and passed them on the outside, but I couldn’t find a path. I was stuck, at least for the moment between the Honda and the Toyota watching him scream ahead down the mountain. The Honda and I paced each other for some time, around this curve, and down that straightaway until finally, after I’d lost sight of my brother, I was given a path on the right. Taking it, I stood up on the pedals and hammered past both them and the car ahead.

I kept up the tempo, hoping to catch up with my brother, but I couldn’t find him. I pedalled harder, thinking he was just ahead in the next group, only to be disappointed. I was convinced that he was hopelessly out of reach when I heard at voice behind me say “On your wheel!” It was my brother! I’d passed him without even realizing it, and apparently gave him quite the chase as he struggled to catch and keep up with me. Soon after we reunited, the three cars we’d battled passed us. We were coming near the end of the fall, and the grade was lessening. We lightened up on the pedals and relaxed a bit as we rode into and through Keystone, over the Dillon Lake dam road and into Dillon, and finally through wetlands into the Frisco Aid Station.

Arriving at the aid station was rather surprising. One minute we were making our way briskly over paved wetland paths, and the next minute we turn a corner to be greeted by cheering, music and tents full of refreshment. Had there been a choir singing praises, I wouldn’t have thought it out of place. We reunited with our fantastic private SAG team, who, once again, proved valuable beyond measure with face wipes, water fetching and uplifting enthusiasm. Truly, I don’t think we could have done it without them.

We arrived at the aid station relaxed, relatively well rested for having already ridden 80 miles, and with the exception of the clouding of my contacts, in perfect condition. 80 miles, and neither of us were hurting. We were tired, but not exhausted. Our saddles were still agreeing with us, and our bodies feeling, if not completely fresh, at least not finished. It was almost unnerving to think that we’d ridden that far, with that amount of slogging elevation gain, and were still feeling as fresh as we were. We rested for about 15-20 minutes refueling and taking advantage of the restrooms before saddling up, clicking in, and hitting the path once again.

Grinding uphill to Vail Pass Aid Station and arriving tired, but excited

Straight out of the Frisco Aid Station, we hit what appeared to be a paved rails-to-trails path. Straight and steady, it presented a gradual climb of 4%-5% grades that just didn’t seem to end. It became apparent that it was not, in fact, a rails-to-trails path, as the grades became more erratic and the path more curvaceous. Tucking in behind a group of 5 or 6 riders, we made great time for most of this leg. They pulled us along at a great pace, until finally, we couldn’t stay with them any more. Letting them go, we pushed along on our own. The trail offered little in the way of even brief downhill respites, and, in fact, became increasingly difficult the closer we got to Vail Pass. While it was a difficult climb up the path, it was some of the most scenic riding we saw. Though short, some of the climbs were the steepest of the day, all-but-requiring we stand up and hammer the granny gear to just keep moving. I distinctly hearing the phrases “C’mon! Seriously!” and “This just isn’t fair!” through this stretch. I’m not unconvinced that it wasn’t I who uttered them. Unfortunately, the grind and our level of energy were such that taking pictures didn’t occur to us as often as it had in the past. While we got a few, we didn’t get as many as I wish we had. The vistas were breathtaking.

Around a corner, my brother and I were greeted with the glorious sight of the Avon Aid Station, posed at the top of a hill like a castle, complete with festival day flags, streamers and merriment. It was a tough climb getting up the final path to the gate, but it was well worth it. Our private SAG team was there, as enthusiastic and proud as they could be. We’d hit the final pass of the day. The final long climb was behind us. There was time to celebrate and take pride on our accomplishment, b/c it was all downhill from there. A lady was holding a sign that said “You’ve climaxed, now enjoy going down!” All too perfect. We were tired, but we were full of accomplishment and pride. 20 more miles, and all of it downhill… or so we thought. We refueled, rested a bit, took some pictures, and set out on our way.

Downhill run to Avon, and pulling 22mph against the wind on level ground

I followed my brother to the exit gate, but lost him in the crowd. Thinking he’d gone ahead and I’d missed him, I set out with feverish abandon. Pushing my big ring as hard as legs with 100 miles and 9,000+ feet of climbing would allow, I raced down the hill. Pulling nearly 35mph, I kept up the pace as long as I could, but never saw him. Thinking, once again, that he was hopelessly ahead of me, I relaxed a bit. Right about that time, I heard him say “On your wheel!” just like before, and we were off. For almost 10 miles we leap frogged each other, passing everyone we came across and being passed by no one. It was nearly as glorious as our race against the cars on the backside of Loveland Pass in raw speed, and more glorious in that we knew we were almost there. We’d gone over 100 miles at speeds we’d only imagined, and up grades we dreaded. Our elation was mounting with each hard pull. There was no pain, there was only the wind in our faces, and pride in ourselves and each other.

Arriving at the finish line exhausted and a little sick

About 12 miles out from Avon, or 108 miles into the ride, the route moved onto the streets and leveled out some. What were 5-7% grades on the downhill became ±1% grades. Additionally, we hit a headwind, which eliminated any effect the slight downgrades might have given us. Somewhere along this leg, my brother found an opening that I was denied, and pulled ahead, leaving me stuck behind slower riders. Try as I might, I couldn’t get around them. I was tiring, and traffic wouldn’t allow slow passing. Eventually I did pass, but by then, my brother had hooked up with another stronger rider and was able to draft him all the way into the finish line. They traded wheels, each pulling the other for a time before trading off again. I, on the other hand, pulled 22-24mph against the wind on level ground alone. Where I got that energy I don’t think I’ll ever know.

It turns out the man my brother was drafting had been chasing us since the Vail Aid Station. He saw us pulling hard down the hill and thought to himself “Those are the guys I want to hang with!” He caught up with my brother after he’d lost me, and they stuck together through the end. Now, here’s the kicker. Matt (that was his name) has been base training, and focusing on keeping his heart rate low. I’m pleased as hell that my heart rate didn’t rise above 187 for the ride. Matt’s never rose above 162. As hard as he was pulling my brother for those last 10 miles, he hardly even broke a sweat. Wow. Just. Wow.

As I pulled into Avon, definitely sweating from the effort, I passed our private SAG team walking along the road. They’d been held up in traffic, and we’d made far better time than they anticipated, and weren’t able to get there in time to meet us as we rolled in. Though they apologized, and obviously felt bad for not being there, I don’t think they realize just how much they helped all along the way.

When I arrived at the finish line, I found my brother waiting there for me. “Let’s cross the finish line together!” he said, and we did. In a way, it was nice that it was just the two of us riding across together, ignorant of the crowd. We took pictures of each other, congratulated one another on a job fantastically done, and slowly walked our bikes to a grass embankment before we collapsed on the ground.
Our private SAG team arrived shortly thereafter with their own congratulations. At the time, I was too tired to be visibly excited. In fact, I was so tired that I felt a little bit nauseous. I was sincerely concerned for a time that I’d be sick right there on the grass. Pride wouldn’t allow it though, and I fought it down with chicken, half a baked potato and a cheeseburger. My brother felt more energetic than I, and was kind enough to join our hosts in getting the food and picking up my packet. He exchanged his small woman’s jersey for a medium men’s jersey at the same time. In the meantime, I simply lay there basking in the joy of completion and wondering if I was going to win my battle with nausea. That last pull into the wind did it for me. Had I taken it easier for those final 10 miles, I would have been perfectly fine, but what would have been the point of that?

For about an hour, the GF, Diane, Julie, Matthew, Andrew and my brother sat on the grass near the finish line and just took it all in. Spirits were high, and though we were tired, we weren’t nearly so tired as we thought we would be. Though it took us 8 hours and 11 minutes in the saddle, it didn’t take as long as we thought it would. Though the climbs were hard, they weren’t as hard as we thought they’d be. In every way, we’d underestimated ourselves, and came out well ahead of where we thought we’d be. Our months of mental and physical preparation, combined with the outstanding support of our friends paid off far more than we ever imagined. We were tired, but I’ve had shorter rides exhaust me more than this one did. We were tired, but we were fully satisfied.

The Highway Patrol and Our Thanksgiving Dinner

After a while, we picked the bikes off the grass and slowly made our way to the car. It was slow only in part because we were tired. It was slow in larger part because of the crowd. There was still a very steady stream of riders coming in an hour after we arrived, and no sign of it diminishing. The boys climbed in Andrews IROC, while the rest of us climbed in the F150. We changed into clean clothes, and proceeded to head out for a quick dinner before driving the long drive home. No sooner had we hit the highway than a highway patrol officer pulled the boys over. Apparently, he didn’t like the way Andrew changed lanes. I think they’re going to fight the ticket.

That done, with appropriate levels of teasing applied, we left the boys behind and hit Ruby Tuesday’s for dinner. My brother and I had Shrimp Alfredo and shared a milkshake. For some reason, a milkshake sounded better than anything, and it was. My Ruby Relaxer came in a close second, though. The others basked in salads, steaks and wine, and were pleasantly surprised when, in addition to filling up their gas tank for all the driving they did, we bought their dinner for them as well. I really cannot stress enough the value of the support they showed us during the ride.

Matthew had scheduled a paintball session for Friday afternoon, but my brother and I were really too concerned with making sure we were prepared for the Big Ride, and requested that it be rescheduled for Sunday (we were banking on not being too tired). He was agreeable, and so my brother and I drove down to Bergen Park (again) and met up with the rest of the “Warm Up” ride participants. While we were waiting, we noticed (how could we not) a silver Porsche Carrera drive up with a bike rack on top carrying a nice Scott. We couldn’t help but make a little fun of it. I mean, seriously… a Carrera, with a bike rack? C’mon. Turns out that it’s the Team Evergreen Club President!

I want to be a bike club president if it allows me to afford a Porsche!

He gives a bit of a speech to us, talking about the origins of the ride, and how it’s turned into one of, if not The premiere single day event in the country. He wishes us all the best of luck, and we all click in and set out….

…on a hard ride with some seriously confidence busting hills.

Triple Bypass “Warm Up” ride

It turned out to be a much more difficult ride than either of us imagined, or hoped it would be. We made it, but we were a lot more tired than we should have been after 16.5 miles. The altitude wasn’t affecting either of us as much as we expected it to, but the ride leaders set a mean pace. Naturally, we had to keep up. Dropping simply wasn’t an option.

That night, the GF made another dinner. This time she made home made Scallop and Shrimp Alfredo with Angel Hair pasta. It was an another amazing dinner. That GF of mine can cook, and loves to do so. Everyone who’s had anything she’s made loves that she loves to, as well.

Taking a lesson from our bike commuting experiences, we packed all our gear after dinner, knowing that in the morning we’d be too tired to be sure we’d gotten everything. Then, a couple of glasses of wine settled our nerves and we went down for an early bed time around 9:30pm.

Neither of us slept that well. We were anxious and nervous and excited all at the same time. We’d been preparing for over 8 months in our own separate ways, and as difficult as it was to believe, it was almost time…

After the success of the previous day’s ride, my brother and I wanted to ratchet it up a notch on Thursday. Not a huge notch, mind you, we were still cognizant of working ourselves too hard too early. We didn’t want to come down with altitude sickness, or stress our bodies too much before the Big Ride on Saturday. But we were also very pumped up. That meant more climbing and at a higher altitude.

This time, Matthew took us down to Bergen Park again to pick up my bike, and a few other odds and ends, and drove us all the way up to Echo Lake at the foot of Mt. Evans Road. Matthew drove back down to Bergen Park to wait for us. What a star!

Echo Lake to 12,000ft and back to Bergen Park

The climb up Mt. Evans Road is, all and all, a little steeper than up to Juniper Pass from Bergen Park. Combine the additional grade with the additional altitude, and we were working harder. But the extra effort was well worth it. It’s absolutely gorgeous up there. Made all the more compelling by having gotten there under our own power. All the pictures we took simply don’t do it justice… if you’ve not seen it, you owe it to yourself to head up thataway sometime.

At 12,200ft or so, we had to turn around in spite of a strong desire to continue on. Hunger pangs started to hit, and that’s a sure sign that it’s time to reduce effort and refuel. So turn around we did, and enjoyed yet another fast downhill run back to Echo Lake where we grabbed a light lunch and proceeded to climb back up to Juniper Pass before throwing it in neutral and letting gravity have her way with us back to Bergen Park. We didn’t sprint downhill like we did the day before, but it was still a blast!

While heading back, we stopped to check out one of the “scenic overviews.” While there, we met a local couple who were all to happy to help out a couple of flatlanders with a picture. Our camera batteries were dead, so she took this one and e’mailed it to us later.

Also on the way down… we saw a short (what appeared to be) Mexican man walking two wolves up towards the pass. I’m not sure if they were pure bred or mixed, but they were huge, they were gangly, they were grey, and they were gorgeous. If the camera batteries weren’t already dead, I would have stopped to take photos.

That night, the GF cooked up a fantastic meal of prime rib, roasted fennel, and crab cakes. Mmmmm…. is there anything crab cakes can’t do? It was so good, our hosts thanked *us* for the dinner, never mind that they were putting us up for the entire week free-of-charge.

After dinner, my brother found an organized warm up ride for the Triple Bypass being put on by Team Evergreen. It appeared pretty low key, and more of a tour of the Bergen Park area than anything, so we committed ourselves.

I’m used to waking up early in order to ride into work with time to cool off. My normal 05:00 CST wake-up time nearly came through for me, and I woke at 06:30 MST, and was unable to go back to sleep. So I got up and joined our host who was already up with coffee ready. It wasn’t long before my brother was up, and we started planning the week’s training. He was very concerned with not overdoing it, and fortifying ourselves with proper nutrition. I’ve been winging this whole thing from the start, so I continued that trend and just went with the flow. He been counting protein grams, and making sure to get the ride types of food at the right time during his preparation. I’ve been eating frozen pizzas and whatever else the GF puts in front of me. Granted, I’ve been eating *better*, but I’ve not been strict by even the least strict sense of the word “strict.” For the most part, I’ve been training like I ride… by the seat of the pants.

Elk Meadow to 10,000ft and back to Bergen Park

So, we eat what he recommends, and hang out for a few hours catching up, chatting with our hosts, and generally enjoying the start of our vacation. At around 11 or so, we packed up the truck with our cycling gear (including our bikes), and son #2 drove us down to Bergen Park, where we hit a local bike shop and had a quick bite to eat before hitting the road. While at the bike shop, I had them true my wheels and check the rear derailleur as it felt a little off. As it turns out, the derailleur drop out is bent a little. I opt to ride it as is, and take them up on the offer to fix it overnight. Wheels trued up, Son #2, who I will refer to as “Matthew” (b/c that’s is name) dropped my brother and I off on Highway 103 just west of Bergen, and we set out. Our plan was to ride for about 30 minutes, and then do 15 second sprints followed by 15 second recovery or another 15 minutes before turning around. Things didn’t really work out that way. 30 minutes came, and we just felt like continuing the slow climb up, which, as it turns out, wasn’t nearly as hard as we thought it would be. We set a nice slow pace of around 7mph, and just rode… and rode… and rode. Bergen is at about 7,700ft, and we probably started at around 7,900ft. After an hour, we were just a couple hundred feet shy of 10,000, and decided it would be criminal to not hit that mark. 10,000ft arrived, none the worse for wear, and we turned around to reap our reward.

I can tell you with no qualms whatsoever that flying down a mountain at 35-45mph, taking the corners and curves tight on a bike built for racing is one of the singular joys in life. I won’t say it’s better than sex, but I will say it comes damn near. I really put my Torelli through the paces, learning it’s limits in ways Kansas is simply not equipped to offer. We were laughing the whole time, pushing ourselves more than we intended, but we couldn’t help it! The spirit grabbed hold and would not let go. And then came The Curve. I’d replaced my brakes pads a few weeks back with brake pads I thought would be better. Let’s just say I’m glad they proved inadequate on an inside curve where I would have gone into the cliff face, rather than off the side of the cliff. I didn’t actually hit the cliff face, but I did leave the road surface and was headed that way. Lesson learned, we continued our downhill run, perhaps a little more cautious, but having a blast all the same.

Aside from leaving the pavement once, I was incredibly pleased with how the Torelli performed. It was absolutely perfect, cornering on rails, and dipping lower than I ever thought it would, only to bounce back up for the straightaways like it was coming up off a trampoline. What a fantastic bike to have for those 45mph runs. The triple crank also came in damn handy. I don’t think I would have been able to make it without it. I probably could have used another cog on the low end, but I made do just fine.

Arriving back in Bergen Park, I drop the bike off at the shop to have them bend the drop out back into place, and we head back to the cabin, feeling very good about being able to finish the Triple Bypass. We made the climb up to 10,000ft quite easily, and had the time of our lives on the way down.

A few hours later the bike shop calls me back and tells me that not only is the drop out bent (easily fixed), but the rear derailleur is bent as well and one of the chain tensioner cogs is loose (fixable only with a replacement part). It still works, though, so I decide I’m not in the mood to spend $300, and tell them to adjust it as best they can, and I’ll replace it later. That disappointing call out of the way, my brother and I and Matthew (who you’ve already met) and Andrew (son #1) get back to playing Halo 2.

We’re nowhere near as good at Halo as we are at riding.

Finally arriving in Denver, we stopped at the Swedish Medical Center, where the GF’s newborn niece was… well… born. A week premature, and weighing in at almost 7 pounds, she’s very very tiny. She’s almost, but not quite, as long as my forearm. I didn’t hold her, but the GF did, nearly swooning in the process she was so taken by her.

While at the hospital, we decided to head off at the pass the health issues that were plaguing us on the drive out. That added about an hour to our hospital stay, and having driven for about 12 hours already, I was getting tired and even a little cranky. However, I’m not one to force my agenda on anyone, especially when there be health concerns on the table. In the end, the wait was worth it. Health concerns dealt with.

Leaving the hospital, we made our way into the mountains where our hosts, Diane and Julie live with their two sons, Andrew and Matthew, two dogs, RJ and Sadie, and three cats, Charlie, Sparks and Bogie. It was dark, and the road winds up the mountain, and my already overly tired mind had a hard time with it. I made a couple of wrong turns before we finally landed safe and sound in their driveway. They live in a beautiful log cabin at 8,400 feet on Bear Mountain, just up the hill from Evergreen, CO. With a gorgeous view of Denver in the distance and a wraparound porch, we were set for the week. My brother arrived earlier in the day and met our hosts for the first time. All socializing aside, his first order of business was to tackle the mountain they live on with his bike. He did so, and experienced first hand what altitude can do. He was fine through the ride, but when he was done, the light-headedness hit hard. Naturally, I was jealous that he was able to get out and ride, but I took some small comfort in his misery.

I’ll have my laptop with me, and a camera, both of which I intend to use. Last week was a really slow week for blogging, but aside from being rained out one day, a very good week for riding.

This week, I’m going to try to force myself to write more, but I may have to simply face the fact that I’m in a bit of a blogging slump.

Tonight we head to the parents, who are taking care of our puppies. Tomorrow we make the drive to Evergreen, CO, where we’ll spend the next three days acclimating at altitude before the big ride on Saturday.

Enough of that.

Friday night was spent, at least in part, preparing for the garage sale that would span Saturday and Sunday. In addition to that, I spent it preparing for another epic training/endurance ride. I don’t remember much of Friday, so let’s move on…

Saturday morning arrived much too soon. We got up at 07:30. On the agenda was moving the copious amounts of flotsam and jetsam for sale out of the garage and onto the driveway, pricing what hadn’t yet been, and getting cash from the bank for change. That done, I had to get a good breakfast, go over the Torelli, get together all the stuff I’d need for a long day on the saddle, and get myself on the road. With the TBP fast approaching, I have to get all the good miles in that I can. I’m feeling the pressure.

In short, I did so, and it was a great ride. My route, available on mapmyride.com for ease of exporting to my Garmin Edge, proved to be fantastic, as I knew it would. I’ve ridden every foot of that route, but never in this particular configuration. Normally I’ll head to Lawrence via 24/40 and come back via K32, or I’ll head out from Olathe, and come back via the same route. This time I did one big loop, heading out 24/40 to Lawrence, and back via country highways south of K10 and into Olathe, where I picked up the roads I learned on the Spring Classic ’08 route.

The way out was noteworthy only in that I took fewer breaks than I normally do, and had a mild to brisk headwind nearly the whole way out. Arriving in Lawrence, I was most pleasantly surprised to find a friend actually at home. Until Saturday, I was 0 for 2 catching her at home. We sat and chatted in her living room, giving me a chance to have a bite, rest the legs, and catch up with a bit of her life.

As I left her place, I was looking forward to having a tail wind, but it wasn’t to be. It wasn’t that the wind switched… on the contrary, it just died out there, so I had neither tail nor head wind. All things considered, it certainly could have been worse. I wasn’t complaining then, and I’m not complaining now. At least not about that.

It is with no small amount of irony that I report that the most noteworthy part of the ride back into the KC Metro area was being passed by an old style roadster driven by an older blond woman. There was a triple take on that one. I’ve always been a fan of that style of car, and would someday really like to have one for lazy Sunday drives around a lake somewhere. I imagine by the time that desire becomes reality, cars will be powered by small nuclear reactors and only touch tire to road when at rest.

By the time I got home, just over 90 miles and 6 hours later, the sale was packed back into the garage and the doors closed. Fortunately, the GF had help in the form of our next door neighbors as well as a friend of hers from Lawrence. I felt more than a little bad leaving her alone, but she assured me that she understood the need for miles. When I found out for sure that she had company, I rested much easier. The rest of the evening was spent on the couch watching the idiot box and counting the money we’d made. Almost $300 for a bunch of stuff we just wanted to get rid of. Not bad at all.

Sunday was in part a repeat of Saturday, at least for the GF. I didn’t get out and ride again, having developed quite a need for a rest day. Instead, we moved the for-sale contents of the garage onto the driveway, and started immediately in on the rum & cokes (or rum and RCs, as the case was). We had about $50 worth of business before the storm clouds rolled in furiously from the north, and at just after noon, we called it. It was dead as it was, and with no customers, there was no need to keep things open. I drove around and gathered up the signs, and we contemplated what to do with the rest of the day. Home Depot and Target played small roles, as did the idiot box, and a couple of movies.

This morning, I rode the Kona on account of the threat of rain. I rode sans lighting because I couldn’t find my light battery in the chaos that is our post-garage sale homestead. Furthermore, when I got here, I realized I had no shoes. Somehow, they’d all made their way back home last week, and I forgot to pick them up. Hilarity.

Ah, Monday…

It was a very slow ride in, on account of having slightly too much fun yesterday for Memorial Day… at least up until the very last minute, but we’ll get to that later. As I was approaching 91st and Lowell, I noticed another commuter heading north on Lowell. He blew right through the stop sign, with cars entering the intersection from all 5 directions. He didn’t slow for the sign, and he made no signals that I could see. He just rode through as if neither the intersection nor the cars were there.

I briefly considered chasing him down, as Joe started to do, but came to the same conclusion. Going out of my way like that just wasn’t in the cards this morning.

So as he sped off heading north, surely to run more stop signs, and disregard more stop lights, scofflaw that he is, I turned south and made my way, slowly but surely, to work.

Part of the reason for the slow ride is because I’m sad. When the GF moved in, she brought her cat with her. A rag doll that looks like a little white tiger, he really is a great cat. I’ve really grown attached to him. He’s actually a dog in a cat body, which is why I like him. The best of both species, he is very affectionate and loves people, and has the agility and vocal chords of a cat. He sheds like no other animal I’ve ever known, but he’s gorgeous.

But… he pees. He uses his litter box, certainly, but he also uses the couch. And he used to use the bed before the bedroom door was kept closed. And who knows what else. The GF spent a great deal of money on a Cat Genie, hoping to make her life easier, and that a change in litter box might snap him out of it. She was also hoping the move would snap him out of it. “Stranger things,” yes? Not so much. I’m no help, b/c I’ve never had a cat before.

Last night, right before we turned in, the GF found more urine on her couch in the basement. She’d covered it in plastic, so the couch was very protected, but that was the last straw, and as surprisingly sad as it makes me, we have to find him another home. But I’ll miss the little guy, in spite of myself. He doesn’t pee a *lot* outside of the litter box, but it’s too much for us, and we don’t know how to make him stop.

So… map behind the cut.

View Larger Map

Following this, I think the GF and I are going to get out and hit Shawnee Mission Park, and see what that has to offer. It’ll be a very slow pace. She’s not ridden much this year, and I’ll be coming off 60 miles straight away.

There may be pool somewhere in there as well.

As for Sunday, I’m not sure, but another 80-90 miles is a must. Weather permitting, of course. I may actually have my new toys installed by this weekend.

Work itself was anything but relaxing and restful. Many different issues converged to make me the nexus of many a foul temper. I don’t mind, though. It’s not my job to be liked, it’s my job to be vigilant and diligent in the protection of the customers the choose to grant us their business.

The ride home could have been relaxing, had I let it be. I wasn’t in a real hurry, but with the same winds I fought in the morning helping push me along, the temptation to take advantage of it was just too much. I’m weak. I caved. I hammered. I loved it.

A bit later in the evening, the GF made a dinner for us and some friends that my own mother used to make when we were growing up. She, the GF, got it into her head to resurrect the dish, and she did so with great success. Not only that, but she cleaned out the basement to the point that, for the first time since I’ve lived in that house, we were actually able to USE the basement as an actual living space, rather than storage. Have I mentioned that she’s a keeper?

While the cooking and the eating and the relaxing were going on inside, the storm was raging outside. It rained pretty hard where we live, with a lot of great lightening and thunder, but the winds never got too bad. We watched the news for a while until we were comfortable that we wouldn’t have to find shelter or foot major repair bills, and then we just let the evening evolve until everyone went home satisfied and happy.

This morning, I was able to catch first hand the storm’s effects, at least in Shawnee, Leawood and Overland Park. I hear it hit much harder down south, but up in my neck of the woods, all I faced were wet streets and plenty of downed branches. Even the wind was down to nearly nothing. A most welcome change from the rest of the week, to be sure.

First thunderstorm with tornado potential of the season… check. Did any tornadoes actually set down?

Finally, this weekend I’m going to go buy a camera. There might be pictures.

The first deals with mood. I’m flat. In a bit of a funk. Neither super low, nor super high. Pool league last night was… uninspired. Normally I really enjoy the game, but I could have just as easily taken a nap last night. I won 3 of 4, but only because they were given back to me, after I gave them away to begin with. The fourth opponent had the audacity to keep it. Eh. Flat.

The second deals with my ride home last night. Almost 6 miles in, and just over 3 miles from home, I start bouncing up and down in my seat in an odd and unfamiliar manner. I start to get a sinking feeling, and sure enough, my rear tire is sinking to the rim. Slowly, but surely, it’s going flat. Nothing like forced recovery, eh?

And there’s me, with no spare tubes, no pump, and no CO₂. Believe it or not, this is the first road flat I’ve had. Ever. 30 years on and off the bike, and I do not remember a single time a tire has gone flat due to road debris while still on the road. I know, I know… sounds laughably implausible, but it’s true. I’ve definitely had flats before, but never while I had miles left ahead of me.

The GF picked me up, and was cheery and upbeat in spite of my surly demeanor. Bless her heart, but she’s a keeper. I now have a spare tube and a pump with me, along with the requisite tire levers, and a little bit of baby powder to help the tube expand, plus the three spare tubes in my garage. You can’t prepare for everything, but I’m prepared for my next flat.

Moment from last night… the first hint that things weren’t quite right with my rear tire.

Moment from this morning… pulling up next to the driver that previously gunned his engine to pass me at speed for great effect only to be stopped by a light. I managed to maintain a demeanor of relaxed aplomb, in spite of laughing on the inside.

What I/we/she did accomplish, aside from finding health issues to deal with, was

• give her old apartment a good thorough cleaning,
• pack the remaining items and transport them to my overflowing garage and basement,
• rearrange said garage and basement to make room for the GFs’ (much nicer) washer and dryer,
• set up the Cat Genie in the basement bathroom,
• install and enjoy Lazarus, a Dungeon Siege total mod,
• gobs of loads of laundry, and
• make it through seasons 1, 2 and part of season 3 of BtVS.

Sunday night and last night I really didn’t get that much sleep. This infection on/in my leg causes a fairly consistent and constant low level ache accented by moments of sharp pain. That makes for the tough time sleeping. I’m pretty sure today will *not* be a decaf day. Regardless, I’m back up in the 230′s for my mileage deficit, so tonight I pick things back up again with the long way home. Pain or no.

The way there was a constant battle against 10+mph headwinds. Coming out of the NW, there was no way I was going to avoid it. My average speed, typically up in the 14-16 range, dropped to the 11-13 range. It was tough going… but unlike many previous rides where I cursed the wind, I welcomed it. Head down, I welcomed the fight. The more resistance the better as I struggle and claw my way towards the Triple Bypass.

The moment came, and the deciding factor was the wind. I wasn’t going to have an entire ride home against this kind of wind. It was going to work for me for a while. I turned back into the wind at 83rd and Quivira with the promise of tailwinds in a few miles. The neighborhoods from the Resurrection Cemetery up to Lackman and back around to the Happy Hunting Country Club are all your typical upper middle class suburbs. Nice, to be sure, and well maintained, but lacking either the character of the rougher neighborhoods, or the more inspiring architecture of the upper crust locales. Still, it’s a very nice change of pace from the merciless position jockeying type of traffic you’ll find on the main arteries. I welcome the vanilla blandness.

The promise of the wind is kept as I turn east on 71st Terrace. Though the hills are brutal in their grade, they’re short and to the point. The wind helps, but not enough to nudge my average speed significantly in the upward direction. I count every foot of elevation climbed as a foot towards Colorado, and stick hard and with conviction to the hammer ring. I decided when I set out that I was going to continue the big ring streak, and though the wind tried my resolve, I stuck to it.

Tired, but not exhausted, I pulled into my driveway with an overall average of 13mph and moving time of an hour and 10. 10 minutes waiting at lights made for an hour and 20 on the road. Opening the garage door, I am greeted with the familiar site of piles and piles of boxes waiting to be unpacked and sorted. The results of moving the GF in. The wind just doesn’t seem to let up, does it?

View Larger Map

It’s way too late to ask people to join me. I leave in about an hour. But I do like being able to run my normal “Renner Route” from home, so I put it up here for you to enjoy too. As a bonus, I’m including some of the more hilly parts of my most recent commute route.

On Wednesday, I rode the new route I spoke of. It was pretty brutal. Noah suggested I take it up a notch and head to 67th before turning off Lackman. Tonight, I’m going to give it a shot. It will add a bit more distance, and a few more feet of climb. I’ll let you know how that works out for me. ;)

Yesterday, taking a recovery day was as much due to running errands as it was about recovery. I *finally* went to the optometrist to get my contacts replaced. Washing the contacts twice a day due to discomfort and haziness was just too much, and I caved. What really sent me over the edge to spend the cash (to be recovered via pre-tax Flex money) was that it was affecting my pool game. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on short shots, much less long shots. I hope to have the new ones by League next Tuesday.

Tonight, it’s going to be a quiet night at home with the GF, some wine, and Buffy.