weather thou goest
I'm not going to lie to you. It hurt. There are a lot of things that I was not told about Mount Weather: that we would climb approximately 1,200 feet over three miles; that the climb actually began a mile earlier than we were led to believe; that the bulk of that elevation change occurred within three-fourths of a mile, with a ten percent grade. The best indicator is that our descent off the mountain ended just about at mile twenty-five. That first 25 miles took nearly four hours - just under six miles per hour. I can walk that fast.
Most of the rest of the course was roads we've been on four or five times already. They call them 'Virginia Byways' and the piedmont is laced with them. Not so long ago, I was convinced that these thoroughfares, while beautiful, were geographical anomalies that went only uphill no matter which way my bike was pointed. Now, however, my familiarity with - say... Frogtown Road, for example - has caused me to think of it as an old friend. Albeit one of those you became friends with more because they always seem to be around than out of shared interests. One you are not always exactly glad to hear from. One that fills your inbox with long boring stories about his damn bicycle.
The advantage of this unwanted familiarity is that I can tell how far I've come in such a short time. The last 35 miles or so were identical to that ill-fated first ride out of Middleburg. That's the one were I diverted my attention for fifty miles from my agony by cursing the coaches with increasing volume and ferocity. By last Saturday, I was still cursing the coaches, but it was more in a joking manner because one of them was riding with us than from any real ill will. In fact, I felt stronger and had more energy at the end of the ride than at mile sixty. And either my gloves are helping or I am becoming more adept at clutching utensils with simian dexterity. Yesterday, I even managed to tie my shoes on only the second try.
My official training is now complete, and I head west in less than two weeks. Many thanks to all of you who encouraged, donated, or simply tolerated my ramblings in silence.
Most of the rest of the course was roads we've been on four or five times already. They call them 'Virginia Byways' and the piedmont is laced with them. Not so long ago, I was convinced that these thoroughfares, while beautiful, were geographical anomalies that went only uphill no matter which way my bike was pointed. Now, however, my familiarity with - say... Frogtown Road, for example - has caused me to think of it as an old friend. Albeit one of those you became friends with more because they always seem to be around than out of shared interests. One you are not always exactly glad to hear from. One that fills your inbox with long boring stories about his damn bicycle.
The advantage of this unwanted familiarity is that I can tell how far I've come in such a short time. The last 35 miles or so were identical to that ill-fated first ride out of Middleburg. That's the one were I diverted my attention for fifty miles from my agony by cursing the coaches with increasing volume and ferocity. By last Saturday, I was still cursing the coaches, but it was more in a joking manner because one of them was riding with us than from any real ill will. In fact, I felt stronger and had more energy at the end of the ride than at mile sixty. And either my gloves are helping or I am becoming more adept at clutching utensils with simian dexterity. Yesterday, I even managed to tie my shoes on only the second try.
My official training is now complete, and I head west in less than two weeks. Many thanks to all of you who encouraged, donated, or simply tolerated my ramblings in silence.
posted by hotrod at 7:40 PM
1 Comments:
That climb out of Bluemont, after you've already done a nice hard 40 miles is rough. What route did you do? Was it a total of about 65miles? Nasty, Nasty, Nasty. If you want some pain, try Mt Nebo.
9:59 PM
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