Le Tour qui n'a jamais existé
Le Tour qui n'a jamais existé
In the hours that have passed since Saturday I have thought
a lot about what to call this blog. Heck,
the days and the weeks leading up to it, I thought a lot about what I would
call this blog. However, the last 48 hours
have changed any pre-Le Tour de Fuzz ideas that I might have had. I am trying to find the right balance between positive
and negative to express my views on my first Tour de Fuzz experience. What I had thought would be the title of the
blog let me feel that I was telling a negative story, Le Tour de Dud! While calling it the Tour of Failure, just
isn’t right. Then saying I did it!! Is far from the truth as well.
They say it is all about the journey and not the
destination. I have heard so many times
before so many events that the fact that you start the event is the win. That you put yourself out there and tried is
what is truly heroic. I don’t feel like
a hero. I don’t feel like a failure
either. The hand I got dealt was outside
of my control. It was the will of KA, or
fate, or whatever it is you believe in.
It was the proverbial it is whatever it is. So, I settled simple on the The Tour that
never was… and I hope that Google translated that right for me. If it didn’t, then I apologize.
I wondered over and over standing at the 10 miles mark of
the ride if I was feeling like that NFL player who went through all of training
camp working his ass of every day only to blow an Achilles on the first play,
of the first snap, of the first game of the season and had to watch the rest
from the sideline and go from competitor to spectator in a matter of
seconds. Is it how the baseball player
feels after lumbering through spring training and making the majors for the
first time only to be in the batter’s box in the bottom half of the first
inning to take a 3-0, 99 MPH fastball on the hand and having your hand shatter
on opening day during your first at bat to watch the foreseeable future from
the bench or some rehab facility in Florida?
Probably more than anything I felt like the Indy car driver who spent
the entire month of May working to put your machine into the field and then on
race morning when the most famous words in auto racing are spoken, your car
just won’t start, and your day is over really before it every began. I guess a more apt Indy car reference would
be you get 30 laps in and your axle breaks, not because of anything you did
wrong, it was just the hand you were dealt.
I have probably done close to 25 or 30 endurance events in
my life. All the 5 and 10K’s I haven’t
counted. The 9 half marathons, 2 Tours of
Napa, and 9 triathlons I participated in, probably put me in the area of 30,
maybe a few more, maybe a few less. Of
all the events I have done, I was never ever more prepared for one than I was
for Saturday’s ride. Everyday, for
months, everything I did was geared towards getting me to the finish line at
Tour de Fuzz. One could argue that when
I PR’ed at Santa Barbara half I might have been in better prepared, I did work
my ass off for that one, but I am missing my own point, and that is I was
ready. I was going to ride 65 or 66
miles on Saturday, and I was going to both love it and hate it at times, but in
the end, I was going to do it, come hell or high water. Mentally, and physically, I was better than I
had ever been.
It is why I was up at 6 a.m. before the alarm was every
going to go off. It is why I laid out
everything in my room the night before.
It is why I couldn’t wait to get to the start of the race and get
peddling. I was ready and I was jacked,
and I couldn’t wait. I was at David’s
room as the sun was coming up and had eaten, brushed my teeth, and pretty much
finished my entire morning routine by 7 a.m.
I was so excited on the morning of the 3rd. If there were butterflies, I didn’t notice
them. I slept well the night
before. I ate good that morning. I was just ready.
When David and I pushed off from the hotel, I was down the
hill and on the street before I think he had even mounted up. I was like Kona gets when I say the magic word
Outside, she is up and at the back door before you can blink or think. That was me ready to race to the start and
finish line.
The ride over was easy breezy, even if it was a little
chilly. What else should you expect from
a morning in California around 7 a.m. I
was in good spirits on my way over to the start area which was about 1.7 miles
away from the hotel. I had to pee, but
other than that, all was right with the world.
David and I got to the start finish line and we opted to
head out and get to riding. No reason to
wait around. They said because of the
heat warning coming for later in the day you could start early. So, after stopping at the porta-potties we
headed to the start finish and got our Tour de Fuzz under way.
I am a member of the pathetic triathlon group on Facebook. I get some laughs from it. I see a lot of memes about how rude cyclist are. Generally, I ignore these and am like whatever
a few bad apples don’t ruin the whole barrel, but after Tour de Fuzz, I am
staring to think those memes are right. Cyclists
can really suck. To many cyclists blew
by David and I and didn’t let us know they were coming around us to think
otherwise. It is something I have
noticed more and move over the last few months.
People, it isn’t hard, I am on your left. I am in your blind spot, coming around,
please yield your position. It isn’t
hard people. You have a mouth, use it. Just
let us know, lets be safe. Especially,
when most people are riding on roads we never have been on before. Maybe, I am asking to much of people? I get it, I am slow and fat, but I am out
there and just because you can blow by me and be an ass, doesn’t mean you have
to be. Ok, vent over, people use your
words, lets all be safe out there.
Ride underway and I was feeling good. David was up in front of me, but I told myself
I am riding my ride. I don’t need to stay up with him. We will ride together when we can. It was important for me to remember
that. When I try and ride at someone else’s
tempo, I get agitated and annoyed. It
leads me to that bite me zone we all hate.
I wasn’t trying to win Tour de Fuzz, I was just trying to finish it, and
as much as I love riding with David, I am also ok being a little behind him. Riding for me is as much of a mental game as
it is a physical one. I have learned
that over the summer. I can ride
farther, happier, when I remember to stay in what I can do. That doesn’t mean I don’t challenge myself,
and I am happy being slow. I am
not. I want to get stronger and
faster. It just means when you are going
a long way, don’t blow your energy trying to ride at a faster pace. Pace yourself to enjoy yourself, the bite me
zone is not only a bummer for your friends around you, but also a bummer for
you as well.
As I was riding, I was getting passed a lot. Which is ok.
As I said I am no speed demon.
The one thing I did notice is I wasn’t just being passed by skinny minis. Or people with the prototypical bike
body. I mentioned this to David later in
the day. I noticed a lot of big,
bottomed people putting the pass on me.
I am not saying a lot of fatties, because I am not trying to be condescending
or mean, I am just saying people of all shapes and sizes were out there
riding. It made me really happy to be
out there doing it too. No matter what
body shape or size I have going on. It
also made me realize I can get faster. I
can start to ride harder. That is a goal
I have for the next 12 months get faster on my bike. Look, I only have about 950 miles back in the
saddle, maybe a little less and I am doing good. I am not saying I want to be a time trailer,
but I would like to get a little faster.
Now, notice this might sound like a complete contradiction to what I
said in the last paragraph, but it isn’t.
One paragraph is talking about riding within your limits on longer rides
and one is talking about feeling good that you can become stronger, and faster
the more time in the saddle.
The crazy roads in a new area were coming and going. I was navigating the ride and trying to call out
to David were to go. I knew when I was
coming to a road called Chalk Hill, I was in for some climbing. I assumed it was the 7% grade hill that had
been giving me nightmares since I signed up for the ride and it was. It was big hill 1 of two big hills on the
ride. The main climb was quite a short
but steep affair. As I was climbing towards
that I noticed my gears in the back weren’t shifting easily. I was having to double click or even triple
click trying to get the gears in the back to move. I am not really sure just what in the hell
was going on, but I was nervous it was going to be a long day with the gears
because the Tour de Fuzz loves to make you climb. However, I just kept cranking away. The gears would work, it would just take a
few clicks to get them where I wanted them.
I could deal with it.
I was going up and feeling pretty good about what I was
doing. Sure, I was being passed but I
was going up. Then I looked up and saw
it. The 7% grader. The nightmare hill that made me seek out ever
hill I could find and ride up it. It was
a bastard, but I was climbing it. I was
going up and up. People passing me
telling good job, me looking up to the top an saying I am not going to be the person
who gets off and walks this, I moved into granny gear, I had been in middle
ring up to this point and I was in mountain gear in back and I was going up. I
was doing it. It wasn’t not thing; it
was just another climb. Was it worse the
going from Patterson to Cross, ya a little bit, but it was not awful. I was
doing it. I was not out of breath like the first time I climbed Cross or even GreenBill
1. I was riding my ride baby and I was climbing. I didn’t even need to swing side to side,
because I was good enough to do it. I was almost at the top, I could spit on
the top. I was doing it, I was at the
top and…
WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT SOUND? I was going backwards. I was falling off away from my handlebars. What is that snagging my bike shorts right
next to my huevos. I was at the top and
people were parting around me like the red sea and, I was falling, and my foot
was on the ground and then I was off the bike.
I was looking at my seat post at the 10-mile marker and I was off the
bike looking at my seat post in disgust.
I was off the bike at the 10-mile marker looking at my seat post and my
seat was hanging onto the post not because it was still attached but only because
my saddle bag was holding my seat against the post. The seat and seat post had CRACKED. What the fuck, just happened to me at the 10-mile
maker at the top of the steepest hill on the ride, that I had just gotten to
top of? My seat broke. My day was over. The view from a little farther up per David
was of a man who was about ready to toss his bike over. It wasn’t pretty.
Crushed. Defeated. Angry.
Hurt. Sad. Frustrated.
Pick a word. Anyone of them and
you had the feelings running through my mind.
Devastated is the one that I keep using.
I was walking a few feet up the road and pulling myself into a drive
watching all these people huffing and puffing up this hill, wheezing like old
goats and struggling and I was off my bike with a broken seat post. Part of me felt like this is why fat people don’t
ride bikes. Part of me thought it was punishment
for being an ass a few times over the last few weeks at work, and part of me
just thought it is what it is. KA is a wheel
and the wheel spun and decided that it wasn’t my day to ride 63/65 miles. My day was over before it every really began.
David and I held palaver at the top of Chalk Hill. We waved down a motorcycle who was doing race
support and I was going to get SAG’ed in.
David and I both agreed he should ride on. After all, why not, my bad luck was not his own
and he should ride his ride, just like I was going to ride mine. I had a choice they’re at the top of Chalk
Hill. I could be bitter and upset that things
didn’t go my way, or I could turn into the biggest cheerleader on the course
and help support those people coming up Chalk Hill. I of course settled on the later and started
to clap and scream for everyone who was coming up the hill. Giving those who needed encouragement all
that I could give and more. People were
working so hard to get up Chalk Hill, and they still had more climbing to do,
so I gave them what I could. I was amazed
at how people struggled up that hill. I feel like I didn’t struggle as much as
they did, but maybe I did. So, those people
who were struggling and coming up completely out of breath, I hooted and
hollered for more and as loud as I could, and I can get loud. I told everyone who came by great job and to
have a great ride. You get back what you put into this world. I have long wanted to be a force for good and
positivity and even though, I felt great loss because I didn’t get to start
what I finished, I figured I could do a little encouraging of other. So, I think I helped a lot of those people up
that hill.
I was SAG’ed back in by an ex-cyclist and police officer. He said it had already been a rough day on
Chalk Hill. One woman had wiped out
going down the hill and had sever road rash.
I counted myself very lucky to not have gotten hurt. He said there were a ton of flat tires on
course, but to his knowledge I was the only collapsed seat post he had seen or
heard of.
When back at the Start/Finish area, I walked my machine to
the Bad Ass Coffee shop a block or two away.
I waited there for Priscilla to arrive in the car. Priscilla is David’s fiancé and had the keys
to his car. We got ourselves a Bad Ass
Coffee and a treat and headed over to the Farmer’s Market. I know little to nothing about Farmer’s Markets
seeing how I Instacart all groceries to my front door and also have become
quite the hermit in my 40’s. Apparently,
everything at the Santa Rosa Farmer’s Market is overpriced so we didn’t do any
buying.
She also allowed me to use her and David’s shower at the
hotel. I hadn’t planned on getting back
to the hotel because I assumed I would be riding all day. The show was much needed because I didn’t
shower before the ride, I never do. It
was good to get freshened up. Then we
headed out to see if we could find some fresh eggs in the Santa Rosa Farms around
where we stayed. We struck out on eggs,
but we found the best strawberries I think I have ever had on State Rd 12. Man, I ate an entire basket in the car that
day. I mean they were so sweet, and so
good. Wow. We drove around looking for other produce and
eggs, but it wasn’t our day. We talked
about going to the dispensary. Mainly, because
we kept passing it and neither of us had ever been to one. We thought about getting David a brownie and
not telling him it was special, but we never did get to the dispensary. In hindsight we probably should have.
We had near perfect timing.
When by the time we got back to the start/finish area and parked the
car. We walked over to the actual start/finish
line and found us a spot in the shade.
We weren’t even there for ten minutes when we saw David come down the
last leg to the finish line. It was a
glorious finish. He through his hands up
and did an excellent pose for the cameras.
It was like he had just won Le Tour de France. The image of him coming across and the excitement
he showed is seared into my brain, it was awesome. I of course greeted him with my traditional
screams, hoots, and hollers as he came down the last few yards of the race and
gave him a standing ovation with Priscilla at my side clapping away.
The ride took a toll on him.
Or at least the heat did. He was wiped out. The heat had grown into the 90’s. That plus the rolling hills really pushed his
endurance. Unfortunately, he didn’t feel
super fantastic after finishing. Which
really stinks. He worked to hard not to
be able to enjoy the BBQ and Priscilla and my fabulous company to get ill. He reports he is feeling better and that makes
me happy.
Let’s take a moment to acknowledge David here. I mean really. Fantastic job riding 60+ miles and climbing
almost 3K feet in 90+ degree heat. On
top of that he had to do it without his wingman for this ride. That is really super fantastic. I am so proud of you David. REALLY AWESOME! While I am at it, let’s also help get my riding
partner in crime to his fundraising goal for Bike the Bridges coming up in a month. You can donate here:
I wouldn’t be out there doing what I am doing if it wasn’t
for the support of David. So, lets get
him to 2,022 dollars for 2022!!!
Remember the Special Olympics is a wonderful cause, giving all athletes
a chance to shine!
Thanks for everyone who supported my riding this
summer. We are at the beginning of a wonderful
journey and maybe this was the Tour that Never Was and maybe I do have a DNF,
but you know what live really is about the journey and not the
destination. I wouldn’t trade anything I
did this summer. Not one moment. Plus, now…
how exciting I get to start shopping for a new bike. I am doing some research on them today. I am going to My Buddy’s Bikes in Livermore
to talk to them about road bikes and my size.
So, we are entering an exciting new phase of my riding and move towards
total health. Life is a series of up and
downs, strikes, and gutters. Even with
the DNF this is the best Labor Day I have had in years. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Now onto the next ride and the next… Let’s
Ride!!
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