One week left. By this time next Friday, I will hopefully be getting some much needed sleep before I push off from Two Harbors, biking 86 miles to Grand Marais on day 1 of my epic ride around Lake Superior. I have been due for a long ride for awhile in terms of my training. The last several weeks, I've managed to eek out some 50 mile rides - not 50 miles a day like I had intended. I am all too familiar with the various routes around here and find myself so bored with them, it's hard to will up the energy to go - much less get some distance riding in.
What started out today as just a ride to Stillwater, MN and back turned into a century ride (100 miles). When I finally reached Stillwater some 34 miles later I decided I would lock in 100. It was my last century ride before I push off around the lake. With my wheels humming along the pavement, the light whir of the freewheel, and the burn in my legs as I continuously powered forward, I felt good. I stopped off in Stillwater and sat by the water (a much needed break for my feet and for my um...tender parts. Ha! I indulged in a Cliff bar and pounded back some water flavored with Nuun electrolyte enhanced drink pellets. I swear these Nuuns have saved my life in terms of hydration! I highly recommend them! The St. Croix river, which flows through the heart of Stillwater was still very high, and as the waves rolled in from passing boats, the water washed up on the flat stone I was sitting on. I took in the clouds off in the distance and tuned in and out of the conversations of the people in the gazebo above me. The shade offered a nice temporary refuge from the sun, heat and humidity.
As I mounted my bike on my way to White Bear Lake, headed back to the cities, my legs burned and cried out. It was a slow few miles to get back in the groove. I suppose climbing the hills out of the river valley didnt help things much either. I shifted up to my highest gear (yep, I utilized the "granny-gears") so as to try and minimize the torque on my joints as I worked every muscle in my body to get up those hills. Carrying 15.5 lbs of extra weight on a bike that weighs probably 10 lbs heavier than my road bike really makes a difference.
My ride took me to Stillwater, the border of Mahtomedi, North St. Paul, dowtown St. Paul, out to Hopkins and through the Cedar Lake Trail, back through Minneapolis, and out to Mendota Heights and back to St. Paul. There were several times during my ride that I imagined I was pedaling through Canada. Exhausted, yet exhilarated, in pain, yet willing to push through - driven to push through - I continued to turn those cranks over and over and over...As I tuned into my body, I felt every muscle contract and release. I felt every sting of pain and rash of burn. My breath was fast and shallow. I tried to pull in deeper breaths only to feel like I was going to vomit. The sun was baking me and the humidity had cloaked me in a thick layer of sweat. It felt heavy and miserable. Thinking ahead to every day for 17 days being like this, hopefully minus some of this heat and humidity though, this big ride suddenly became so real that I almost started crying. The intense need to cry didn't come because of the pain, it came because of the meaning of this ride. It came because of the 4 months I will have worked so hard to train to put myself through, by far, the most taxing and physically demanding endeavor yet. It came because of nervousness and fear. It came because this ride, I believe, will define me in so many ways and on so many levels. This is literally the ride of my life.
When one is heaving in breaths, pouring sweat, and in a fair amount of physical pain, all of a sudden feeling that lump forming in the throat does not do anyone any favors in terms of being able to continue to breathe! I literally swallowed that lump hard in order to maintain my pace and my ragged breathing. About 65 miles into the ride, my feet started to cramp really bad. This is a new ailment that usually plagues me around the 40 mile mark on rides. I've done some research on this and am fairly confident that it's about 80% my bike cleats (too narrow and not firm enough souls), 15% my bad knee, and 5% from a back injury I sustained while lifting weights a few days ago. It amazes me how everything is so connected. The pain was unbearable at times. I literally felt like my toes were swelling up so bad that they were going to burst. I finally stopped around 80 miles and took my socks off and loosened all the straps on my bike cleats. That helped for a little bit. As I was on the final homestretch at 97 miles, the pain was so bad I was yelling and moaning into the wind as I continued to push forward. I stopped, got off my bike, took my shoes off and tried to elevate my feet to try and get even 30 seconds worth of relief.
I worry about this foot issue for my ride. I think I have a combination of things that will help reduce the pain. For one, I will be biking mostly in tennis shoes that are a wide fit. I'll save my cleats for when it's raining when I'll need to fit my waterproof rain booties over them. I also have some Adidas sandals that can fit so loosely that no pressure is applied to my foot. Additionally, I know I'll be getting off my bike many times to explore the small towns I ride through, eat lunch or get a snack, take some photos, journal, and/or just meditate along the shores of the lake. I am hopeful this will minimize the pain as it has caused quite some concern for me, especially with this trip being full of back to back distance riding.
I'll be posting my route and mileage on my blog in the coming days. Anyone who takes a gander here can see what I'll be putting in and where I'll be. Whenever possible, I'll be updating my blog with reflections of the day and perhaps some photos.
All in all today, it was a good century ride to go out with. I'll be taking it easy this next week so I have fresh legs come August 6th! I am ready for this!!
Friday, July 29, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Watching the Storm Roll In
I hear the distant whales of the tornado sirens. Instead of heading to the basement like I was taught to do, I head outside to scope it out. I hear their somber, yet alarming cries off to the south. Once they subside, the air here is still, the night is dark, and now the silence is interrupted by the humming of window air conditioning units at our house and the neighbor's house. There's a storm coming. A couple of birds are restless - still awake long after the sun has set. Flying around - perhaps trying to find some steady shelter. It seems like there is panic in their nocturnal chirps. I wonder, how do bird nests stay in trees during the high winds that accompany some storms? They must or we would see all sorts of them all over the ground with other downed branches and debris in the aftermath.
I'm sitting in the backyard waiting for the storm to arrive. I've been watching the strobing lightening for some time off in the west. As it moved closer, its bright flashes light up my surroundings. What was once silhouetted and hidden in the shadows around me is revealed to me in those few seconds of light - the green leaves on the trees, the pink flowers in our neighbor's gardens, the red shingles on the roofs of the houses across the back alley. The thunder doesn't crash here. It shouts and rolls. With the river a few blocks away, it reverberates in the river valley - gliding its sound along the water's surface. The low tones moan on and on. I can hear them as they travel away down stream. The atmosphere is never silent.
The air has been humid for the last handful of days. I walk outside and it sucks me in and clings to my skin. It wraps me in its suffocating embrace. It fills my lungs and weighs me down. There is a constant heaviness - saturation really. The sweat pours even just standing still. What relief I hope this storm will bring. I know these hot humid days will eventually bring on some big storms as cool fronts push through and violently collide with this hot, heavy, humid air.
As the cold front moves in, the winds pick up. The trees once so still come alive. There is intense energy building as the gust front (the leading edge of cool air rushing down and out of a thunderstorm) pushes the branches over and whips around anything not anchored firmly down. The trees give way to the rushing currents of invisible air - bending and arching - sometimes breaking. I can hear it coming up behind me as it roars through consuming the silence and the stillness. The racing wind pummels through the branches and leaves moving its way up our block and on to the next, and the next - tearing through our yards. My heart pounds as the silent night air is consumed with the raise of the wind bursting through the trees. I have always been afraid of high winds during storms - more so than the thunder and lightening. When I was younger, I thought the wind would literally pick me up and blow me away, yet tornadoes do not scare me. They intrigue me and I have been known to get in my car, cameras in hand, and head off in the direction of the storm hoping to catch one on film. I listen to the weather and have my maps ready so as to not head into the danger, but rather move alongside to witness and document from a safe distance. They have been elusive thus far...
The gust front brings new air - cooler, less humid air. It feels good. In a matter of minutes, the winds die down and the rain comes. Up until now, it's just been a few sprinkles dancing across the yard. Larger drops are beginning to fall. There is that smell of fresh falling rain. It reminds me of new spring after the snow from the long Minnesota winters has finally gone away and the earth is just beginning to awaken. Harder and harder the rain drives coating every dry space within sight. My only partial refuge is under the awning of the house - squeezed up against it to protect me from the rain and flying debris from the wind gusts. The patio now glistens as the light from the shed illuminates the saturated ground. The wind whips the falling rain into a mist and peppers my computer screen with water droplets. It's time to move indoors.
I stand at the back door watching the weather. Sheets of rain race across the patio in sync with the blowing wind as they are directed and driven in various chaotic directions. As the talkative part of the storm ends its conversation with me tonight, I return once again to the living room, settling back in, waiting for the silence to envelop the night and peace to fall asleep to. While storms can be scary and violent, there's something comforting for me in watching them and understanding how they work. It reminds me of my dad. He taught me some of the things I know about severe weather and storms. I remember driving out to back country roads at night with him and watching the storms roll in.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
One Month and Counting
As I think about this blog and when and why it began with my journey back to Korea, it seems fitting that I will conclude a year of blogging with this bike trip. I have mentioned this before, but it will definitely feel like I have completed a full circle in so many ways over the last year of my life. I am hoping that many good things will come to me as I prep for the trip and as I embark. I cycle in search of clarity, meaning, place, love, acceptance, healing, mourning, and letting go.
With my bike getting geared up and preliminary shopping for a light weight solo tent (unless I can find someone willing to lend me theirs for 3 weeks), a few new bike duds, maps, and mileage plotting, I am sealed into this trip. It's not like I would have backed out anyway, but the reality - the excitement and shear terror too - is sinking in.
I'll be blogging about my training pre-trip, the trip itself once I am on my way and when I can actually have computer access, and probably some post trip thoughts to conclude this blog. Let the cleansing of mind, body, and soul begin!
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