The picture represents how I feel sometimes at the end of a long ride, wrinkled and Gollum-like, with my ass dragging. Note the Lance Armstrong haircut.
I haven't been on a bike in more than a week; our recent trip to Omaha messed up my schedule, though I found it psychologically invigorating to talk with Mark and Paul about the upcoming Century. Not surprisingly, Paul, Sherpa-like, had studied the route map and could tell me far more about the roads in my neck of the woods than I know, even though I've ridden many of them and own a biking map. He also offered sound advice about pacing and the need to keep it all in perspective.
Mark and I had discussed riding in more general terms the night before, over beers, and came to the same general conclusion, though it was ironic indeed to hear him disparage the hardcore riders and their "$1500 bikes," when I know that his, too, is in that category. But I know what both meant -- all our rides together have been made with the intent of riding, not of accomplishment, which will probably be different than the goals of most riders in the Centurion. Again, I'm glad both are coming along, my yin and yang compatriots.
My last ride had been a good one, out Old Sauk Road to the Shoveler Sink, and then up to Mt. Horeb, returning primarily along the bike route. The ride began slowly, so slowly that I began to wonder if I were developing some sort of health condition that sapped my strength. But as I warmed up I got better. As I approached Mt. Horeb a number of riders, usually in pairs, passed going back toward Madison. A couple returned my half-waves, but most ignored me. I wondered why then, and, after my talk with Mark, I could presume it was because I was not sufficiently hard-core looking. Though I did have my new Cannondale gloves (black with white stripes along the fingers) and Specialized shoes and a serviceable Bell helmet; my jersey was Pearl Izumi, though simple solid green. It might have been my new mail-order Nashbar shorts, unstylish though luxuriously padded. Or because I had just completed a long climb and no doubt showed an unhip air of windedness. Or maybe they were just absorbed in their own shared experience. Or maybe I was simply expecting more. Or maybe Mark is making me paranoid.
Though not on the bike recently, I have been on the treadmill quite a bit. That's been an interesting experience -- I can tell I'm getting stronger because the same routine is less tiring everytime, though I sweat more. And I've experienced the same phenomenon as when I ride -- it's always harder at the beginning, and to look too far ahead is to intimidate myself. I've never really gotten over the notion that at some point riding will get "easy", as in nondemanding. But that will never happen, short of getting a motorcycle, and I realize now it never should -- bicycling without effort would be like watching a movie, interesting but nonengaging. And that's not why I'v chosen to do it.
A sidenote -- in scheduling an MRI for my left shoulder (apparently a noncycling related muscle tear that won't heal) I had to verify the status of the stent I had inserted after my heart attack. Turns out the attack was seven years ago this month, July 26, 2003. My near-death experience, which, as I recall, seemed quite mundane at the time, only annoying. No life pictures flashing before my eyes, no regrets, no last-second conversion, just the welcome relief from the crushing pain as the meds kicked in. "You understand what's happening?" the doctor asked, "you're having a major heart attack and we have to act now." "Yeah," I had replied, "just go ahead." And then a 24-hour blur. I guess I knew, to the extent any of us can know, that my time hadn't come yet.
The first year after the attack I worked hard on diet and exercise, but spent the next six years falling slowly off the wagon. Till this spring, when the cholesterol tests all came in bad, and I grew the wild hair that caused me to sign up for this Centurion ride.
But I am planning a ride this weekend, with my neighbor Rob, who, I discovered, has also been training for an upcoming century, albeit an informal, mostly flat, ride up north with a couple buddies. We've set aside 7 to 9:30 this Saturday morning, though Mei says, with a voice of experience, it will no doubt be longer. It'll be the first time I've had ride-long companionship since the last time the Three Amigos rode, sometime back in 2000, and therefore the first chance I've had to compare my conditioning with another. Stay tuned.
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