5 hours, 57 minutes, 30 seconds. That is the amount of time it takes me to ride a bicycle 100 miles.
There are few times in my life when I've felt like I was completely focused, completely in the zone, and last Sunday, when I hopped on my bike and traveled the first few feet of what would eventually become a 528,000 foot journey around Lake Tahoe, through two states and 5 counties, was one of them.
Signs had foreshadowed otherwise. First, I was scheduled for an interview on Saturday, the previously mentioned 6 hour long interview (which actually turned out to be 4 1/2!), which caused us to arrive in Tahoe around 6:00 that evening, not leaving a huge amount of time for acclimating to the altitude or just relaxing about town. When I stepped out of the car at the hotel, my legs were *already* tired from the constant shifting, braking, and accelerating of the 4 hour long trip up there through some pesky Sacramento traffic. Retrieving our bikes from my bike rack, I then noticed my front tire was not only flat, it was scorched! We'd mounted it too close to my left exhaust pipe, causing the tire to melt and the tube to explode. Luckily, a local bike shop was open late and I was able to buy an extra tire ($40!!!) before wolfing down a huge plate of pasta at Mark's Team in Training pre-event dinner (carbo-load, baby!).
10:30, lights out. I immediately fall asleep and dream of nothing.
6:00 am, we're up. While Mark is set to leave at 6:30, we weren't able to pre-register (this is a very popular bike ride - 3,000 riders! when we tried to register in March, it was already full) and are counting on being able to register at 7:00 and leave shortly thereafter. Luck is now on our side - we are able to register. I get my number (pictured above), an orange wrist band, and a sticker for my helmet. JLO pins the number to my back, and we're off at 7:20 in the brisk 58 degree Tahoe morning air for what I know, I KNOW, I will be able to finish.
We take off and there's excitement in the air. It's a beautiful day - the 30% chance of thunderstorms seems unlikely, near impossible, as the skies are clear. My new tire is holding up beautifully as we zoom over the first 10 miles or so on flat pavement, already passing tens of people as we approach the first and most difficult hill of the event - the climb up Emerald Bay.
I am completely focused. I know what lies ahead. In my thrice weekly 30 mile long training sessions over the past two months with my buddy JLO (pictured in the previous blog), he had told me about the more challenging parts of the Tour de Tahoe, which he had done twice before. He told me about this first hill, the climb up to Emerald Bay, and made me take a route in Redwood City that was just as steep and twice as long. He told me about Kings Beach up Spooner Junction, and made me ride Alpine Road which is just as agonizingly uphill for just as agonizingly long. I had been up the worst hills of Redwood City - Old La Honda with its twists and turns, super steep, and Kings Mountain Road which even makes my car have to work hard to get to the top of - and survived, so I knew that nothing Tahoe threw at me could be any more difficult. I had no fear.
The climb up Emerald Bay began. My eyes knew it before my legs did. A few hundred riders were up ahead, laboring slowly up the steep hill. We zoomed by rider after rider, switchback after switchback, the road veering sharply left, then sharply right, then sharply left again. Still we powered on - passing cyclists one after another. No one passed us - no one could even if they had dared to. We were two streaks of red and blue light, and when we got to the top we raised one hand in triumph and smiled for the camera. This was the worst Tahoe would be able to challenge us with, and it had been embarrassingly easy. Only 85 miles left to go!
And so it went. We passed hundreds and hundreds of cyclists. I was just on another plane of consciousness. Mile after mile melted away. We pulled into 4 different rest stops to refill our water bottles (I went through about 8 full bottles during the course of the ride and didn't go to the bathroom a single time - Mark,
on the other hand...) and eat some snacks (oranges and salted potato slices never tasted so good!) and before we knew it, we were only about 10 miles from the finish.
My crotch having settled into a comfortable numbness after mile 38, my legs still felt strong and it was all essentially downhill and flat to the finish. We cruised to the finish line, this time not a barren wasteland like when I finished the Tour de Menlo but lined with hundreds of cheering and roaring spectators who acknowledged us as we completed the milestone with a riding time of 5 hours, 57 minutes, and 30 seconds -
more than 3 HOURS before Mark would cross (granted, not his fault, but for posterity's sake and for my future presidential biographer, it's a detail I must include).
Wow - 100 miles.
There are many metaphors for life in this experience. The importance of preparation and training, of not being afraid, of having a buddy along for the ride, of ascents inevitably followed by descents inevitably followed by ascents again, and of pushing yourself to discover things you didn't know existed. But apart from the metaphors, it was just a lot of fun. Next year, let's do it again.
