Veronica
10-05-2008, 05:21 AM
Yesterday I rode my 8th 200K and somehow I finished. Yeah, determined that's me. :cool:
The weather forecast was for showers. I decided I was going to ride Fluffy, my Rambouillet, even though he hasn't been out for a long ride in a long time. He's my commute bike so he has the generator hub and light and a rack. Those are all necessary things when riding a 200 K in the rain.
Thursday Thom and I put his fenders back on so he was all ready. I checked again on Friday that both wheels were rolling smoothly through the brakes since the fenders attach at the brake mount. I hate messing with my brakes.
The ride began and I was tooling along. The bike seemed a lot heavier than LT (my Legolas) and I could feel the the whizzing of the generator hub through the handlebars.
Around about mile ten my legs were beginning to feel fried. I started wondering if maybe I've been doing too much. I raced last weekend, I did a 200K two weeks ago... Maybe I'm coming done with something... Maybe it's the bike... maybe I haven't been riding enough... Fluffy is heavy.
Soon, I was the last rider on the road. I'm never the first rider. But I've never been the last rider either. This was very demoralizing and I was not even at the first checkpoint at mile 23.
At this point the mental voice kicks in. This is what determination sounds like. "You're doing okay. Yeah, your legs are fried, but your average speed is good enough that you can finish in the time allowed. It doesn't matter where you finish. Getting there is all that counts. Just keep pedaling. Rest on those downhills. You can do this. This ride is about you and no one else. Just GET to the finish."
This voice talks to me a lot. The whiny voice chimes in every now then, reminding me that I am LAST, how much my legs hurt and that I'm not going to make my goal of a sub ten hour ride. Finally around mile 40, the whiny voice convinced me that I needed a little more moral support. I pulled over and gave Thom a call. I was leaning against the bike as the phone was ringing and I heard this funny little squeak from my rear wheel.
Thom answered. I said something like, "I'm DFL, my legs have no power, I can't get the bike to 15 miles an hour, but I think maybe I have brake rub. I love you. See ya." Click.
Yeah, 40 miles of brake rub - not a little brake rub. Severe brake rub. I released the brake quick release and that barely got the brake off the wheel.
85 miles to go and I'm already pretty fried. But just being tired is not a good enough reason to quit. I soldier on. Catching up to Jo and Mel at the checkpoints, hanging on to their little train with Andrew for a few miles and then falling off the back. The determined voice keeps cheering me on. The whiny voice is pretty quiet, even over Cardiac Hill. Until we have about 30 miles to go and the leftover wind from the storm began to hit me as we neared the coast again. That really sucked! But come on - it's only 30 miles. I began to think about just getting to the next turn. The miles slowly rolled by, turn by turn. I knew once we crossed back over the Carquinez Strait I'd have only three small hills and I'd be done.
I was so happy to get off my bike and so wasted. I think this ride hurt more than any of the 6 double centuries I've done, more than my Half Ironman. Thom thinks we didn't tighten down the rear brake enough and it shifted in the car on the way over. We can't put bikes with fenders on our roof rack, so it has to lie on its side in the car. We have plans to buy a Sprinter van. I think we need to accelerate that plan. :D
Happily, Fluffy still fits me just fine, no weird aches or pains from bike fit. And number 8 is done. Just 4 more to go.
Veronica
The weather forecast was for showers. I decided I was going to ride Fluffy, my Rambouillet, even though he hasn't been out for a long ride in a long time. He's my commute bike so he has the generator hub and light and a rack. Those are all necessary things when riding a 200 K in the rain.
Thursday Thom and I put his fenders back on so he was all ready. I checked again on Friday that both wheels were rolling smoothly through the brakes since the fenders attach at the brake mount. I hate messing with my brakes.
The ride began and I was tooling along. The bike seemed a lot heavier than LT (my Legolas) and I could feel the the whizzing of the generator hub through the handlebars.
Around about mile ten my legs were beginning to feel fried. I started wondering if maybe I've been doing too much. I raced last weekend, I did a 200K two weeks ago... Maybe I'm coming done with something... Maybe it's the bike... maybe I haven't been riding enough... Fluffy is heavy.
Soon, I was the last rider on the road. I'm never the first rider. But I've never been the last rider either. This was very demoralizing and I was not even at the first checkpoint at mile 23.
At this point the mental voice kicks in. This is what determination sounds like. "You're doing okay. Yeah, your legs are fried, but your average speed is good enough that you can finish in the time allowed. It doesn't matter where you finish. Getting there is all that counts. Just keep pedaling. Rest on those downhills. You can do this. This ride is about you and no one else. Just GET to the finish."
This voice talks to me a lot. The whiny voice chimes in every now then, reminding me that I am LAST, how much my legs hurt and that I'm not going to make my goal of a sub ten hour ride. Finally around mile 40, the whiny voice convinced me that I needed a little more moral support. I pulled over and gave Thom a call. I was leaning against the bike as the phone was ringing and I heard this funny little squeak from my rear wheel.
Thom answered. I said something like, "I'm DFL, my legs have no power, I can't get the bike to 15 miles an hour, but I think maybe I have brake rub. I love you. See ya." Click.
Yeah, 40 miles of brake rub - not a little brake rub. Severe brake rub. I released the brake quick release and that barely got the brake off the wheel.
85 miles to go and I'm already pretty fried. But just being tired is not a good enough reason to quit. I soldier on. Catching up to Jo and Mel at the checkpoints, hanging on to their little train with Andrew for a few miles and then falling off the back. The determined voice keeps cheering me on. The whiny voice is pretty quiet, even over Cardiac Hill. Until we have about 30 miles to go and the leftover wind from the storm began to hit me as we neared the coast again. That really sucked! But come on - it's only 30 miles. I began to think about just getting to the next turn. The miles slowly rolled by, turn by turn. I knew once we crossed back over the Carquinez Strait I'd have only three small hills and I'd be done.
I was so happy to get off my bike and so wasted. I think this ride hurt more than any of the 6 double centuries I've done, more than my Half Ironman. Thom thinks we didn't tighten down the rear brake enough and it shifted in the car on the way over. We can't put bikes with fenders on our roof rack, so it has to lie on its side in the car. We have plans to buy a Sprinter van. I think we need to accelerate that plan. :D
Happily, Fluffy still fits me just fine, no weird aches or pains from bike fit. And number 8 is done. Just 4 more to go.
Veronica