2010 Elephant Rock Cycling Festival 6/6/2010

festival n. An occasion for feasting or celebration, especially a day or time of religious significance that recurs at regular intervals.
It was a time of religious experience for me as I challenged myself to ride 34 miles through the rolling hills of the horse country east of Castle Rock.  My prayers started in the middle of the night as I tossed and turned, unable to sleep as the ride weighed heavy on my mind.   I knew I had signed up for the most extreme physical challenge I had ever tried.  I'm not fit.  I am fitter than I was 100 days ago when I bought my bike.  I'm fitter than I have been any time in the last 10 years.  But, I am still 60 lbs overweight.  I still get winded on even small hills.  I still don't have any real speed when I ride.
So, in the middle of the night, I prayed I would be safe, that I wouldn't get hurt.  I asked for the same for my brother, Jim, and sister-in-law (sister), Lynn, who were also riding.  And I asked for the courage to give it my best effort.
My alarm was set for 4:15am.  We were due to meet up with our family to caravan at 5:00.  I rolled over to see how much time I had left to sleep to find that it was 4:40am!  Shit!  I jumped up, pulled on my bike shorts and jersey and woke Lucas!  "We have to go!  Get up!"  While he pulled on his socks and shoes, I slapped together 2 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to give me a little energy for my ride.  I threw everything into bags and we were out the door. Loading the bike on the car, we were off.  Amazingly, we arrived by 5:03am.  Minutes later, we were on our way.  While traffic was light, most of the cars on the road were loaded with bikes.  Eight thousand cyclists were expected to participate in this festival.  As we approached Castle Rock, the rush was over and rush hour had started.  It took 45 minutes to make our way off the highway and over to the Douglas County Fairgrounds, a distance of less than 5 miles.
There was no official start; no gun went off to launch a sea of cyclists.  Instead, riders set out as soon as they were ready.  Jim was riding the 62-mile course so he set out right away.  I took a few minutes to make sure Lucas was ready for his time hanging out while we were riding.  He had some money in his pocket, video games and music in the car.  He was good with his situation so there were no more reasons to put this off any longer.
The fairgrounds and starting line sit down in the middle of a topographic hole.  Everyone had to climb out of that hole no matter which ride they were doing, 100 miles, 62 miles, 34 miles (my ride), 25 miles or the 7-mile family ride.  Lynn chose to ride with me so we began our climb.  The first uphill stretch was about 4 miles long and an elevation gain of 400 feet. I knew I would be slow but I hoped to apply the tortoise's rule that slow and steady would win the race.  Unfortunately, I don't have the tortoise's experience.  I was nervous and scared and I began to panic.  I had trouble breathing, couldn't catch my breath.  My heart was racing.  My self talk was not very helpful.  "I can't do this.  I should turn around.  I want to go home!"
Lynn stuck with me and could see my distress.  She knew I was responding physically to my fear and nerves.  She calmed me and reassured me.  She explained that panic was playing a part in my struggle.  When I pulled off and sobbed, Lynn reminded me that she'd been there, too.  She did Ride the Rockies one year and cried every day.  She supplied me with the empathy I needed to calm down, dig a little deeper and keep going.  Eventually, we made it to the top of that first hill.  The reward was a downhill section that was equal in length.  At the bottom of that hill, was our first Aid Station.  Bananas, grapes, muffins, trail mix, water and Porta-Potties were waiting for us.  I soared down the hill and savored the feeling of really moving.  I hit speeds of 25 to 30 mph in stark contrast to the 3 to 4 mph pace I had climbing the hill.  While concentrating on holding my bike steady at that speed, I also tried to calm down and slow my breathing.  This was my chance to recover and prepare for what was ahead.
Reaching the first aid station was a major victory!  My hands were shaking as I tried to peel my banana.  I needed the sugars packed in the fruit.  I also drank plenty of water and had a Clif bar.  At this point, I knew the size of the next challenge.  It was the hills I had ridden to prepare for this event.  I knew they were hard and I knew they were long. 
Lynn had a tire that was losing air so, while she checked into getting it repaired, I set off for the next leg.  We both knew she would be able to catch up to me so it seemed reasonable to push on alone.  Actually, it was kind of nice.  Riding alone is what I had done for the last few months.  I would set my own pace and tackle the course in my own way.  It also gave me time to think.
For the next couple of miles UPHILL, I had a chat with myself.  “You paid money for this?  Are you crazy?  It isn’t any fun.  In fact, it’s stupid.”  Yeah, I got quite a talkin’ to.  Lynn showed up and I got a break from the nagging.  She offered me encouragement and much needed acknowledgement of how far I had come to make it to the course at all.  She kept me going while assuring me that each mile was an amazing accomplishment.  I walked from time to time when the hills required more than I had to give.  The riders who passed me were gracious and supportive.  They checked on my condition and inquired about possible mechanical problems.  I was comfortable enough in my situation to assure them that I was fine, just ascension challenged.
From time to time, Lynn chose the spots where we would stop to rest and have some water.  At one stop, she realized that the advice she got at the aid station was erroneous.  Another rider thought her tire would be fine if she just pumped it up.  He thought the leak was slow enough that she could make it without changing the tube.  Wrong.  Her tire went flat as we drank.  She pulled off the course and planned to change it herself.  She admitted that this would take some time as she is not very skilled at this.  Again, I set off alone.  And again, the self talk started.  This time, it was joined by an ever growing head wind.  “This really is stupid.  You having a good time?  I’m not.  I want to go home and NEVER ride these hills again.”
The wind picked up so that even the flat spots and the downhill sections were hard.  My earlier downhill speed was no longer possible.  By now, my downhill speed was not topping 10 mph.  I had settled into a rhythm of sorts, riding until I was too tired, and then walk for awhile.  It was slow-going.  By the time Lynn caught up to me again, I had come to a decision.  I would ride to the next aid station and take the SAG wagon back to the fairgrounds.  She was completely supportive of my decision and, again, assured me that I had done a great job.
When she was certain that volunteers were aware of my desire to SAG back, she continued her ride.  It took a few minutes for the truck to arrive.  When it did, five riders jumped on board.  Several had crashed; one had a possible broken thumb.  At least one other ride was just done, like me.  We drove back to the first aid station where we picked up a mother and son who had arrived there too late for refreshment.  They were done too.  Back near the fairgrounds, the roads were so full of cyclists that the truck stopped on the road outside the entrance.  I was able to ride down the hill and across the finish line.  Lucas was there waiting as I rode up.  I told him that I hadn’t ridden the whole way.  He was surprised but not disappointed.  Within a minute or two, Lynn crossed the finish line.  I had barely beaten her back.  It wasn’t much longer before Jim rode in completing his 62 miles.  It was over.  I had ridden about 19 miles of the 35 mile course.  I had climbed the biggest hills of the course and rode the section that went into the wind.
We had lunch and then Lucas rode a kids’ ride, a race through the grass in a loop with other 11 and 12 year olds.  As we cheered him on, he mashed the pedals in high gear and took second place.  It was great to watch him compete. 
Later that night, the phone rang.  It was Jim calling to tell me how proud he was of me.  He told me that what I had done that day was the most courageous thing he had ever seen.  And, I cried.  Courageous???  All I had thought all day was that I had done a stupid thing.  I had taken on a challenge that was way, way out of my league.  I had been naïve in thinking that this was something I was able to do.  Yet, he viewed me as courageous.  That was something for me to think about.