Steve on Mission Road.
I’ve given up trying to fight the wind and just accepted the fact it will always be there to trash me. This brevet, the wind was just unnaturally brutal to all of us—all the riders—fastest, fast, and then Yours the Writer of This Blog. And it was cold... You would think that with the sun rise it would start to get warm. This is not always the case between say, Eloy, Picacho Peak DQ and the Marana Circle K.
Steve and I have had success with hand and toe warmers Steve’s bought from REI. With temps in the 50’s in the parking lot at the start—in Casa Grande—Steve left the warmers in his drop bag just in case we needed them in the evening. Wish we would have had them going out… It was frigid cold and I was okay for the most part, but Steve used my extra arm warmers to wrap around his hands—this was around Red Rock I think—I’m sure we pulled in for a cup of coffee before the trek up Sandario.
John Heller lent me his Carridice Bag (made in Nelson England) and that has to be the high point of my 400. It was just right to carry everything I thought I would need—as we were nervous we wouldn’t see Susan at the controles later. We know we’d make the times, but Susan might have to be other places. Just in case I peeled off some warm clothing, I thought I should have backup in case my drop bag was not at the Arivaca controle when I arrived.
Steve and I have had success with hand and toe warmers Steve’s bought from REI. With temps in the 50’s in the parking lot at the start—in Casa Grande—Steve left the warmers in his drop bag just in case we needed them in the evening. Wish we would have had them going out… It was frigid cold and I was okay for the most part, but Steve used my extra arm warmers to wrap around his hands—this was around Red Rock I think—I’m sure we pulled in for a cup of coffee before the trek up Sandario.
John Heller lent me his Carridice Bag (made in Nelson England) and that has to be the high point of my 400. It was just right to carry everything I thought I would need—as we were nervous we wouldn’t see Susan at the controles later. We know we’d make the times, but Susan might have to be other places. Just in case I peeled off some warm clothing, I thought I should have backup in case my drop bag was not at the Arivaca controle when I arrived.
Dave Peashock aka Shock! saved our skins on the I-19 Frontage Road between Green Valley and Amado Jct. We were able to fill our water bottles and camelbaks—which would save us time; we wouldn’t have to stop and buy/get water at Amado Jct. Plus we got recon about the Arivaca Controle—that Susan might be leaving—all the reason to get moving and get to the controle.
The 22 mile leg of this brevet is one of my favorite roads. Dave Glasgow and Gerry Goode took me out there and we’d always stop at the Gadsden Coffee House for a sandwich or pastry—and then fly back to Green Valley for lunch. Later Dave and I would ride down to the Sasabe Store right on the border. Anyway, I wanted to get to the controle and get my gear—so I pushed as hard as I could those 22 miles, taking advantage of the fact their was no headwind—finally.
Yours on Mission Road. The winds have been brutal all day.
Susan was just about to pull out of the controle. I was so happy to see her, and felt good about riding the strongest I had all day. Mission Road and Helmet Peak Road had taken their toll on us.
Got a boost from a quick stop in McD’s for a hamburger and fries about lunchtime. Shock! as mentioned before, helped our morale when he gave us some water right there before the 22 miles to Arivaca—
But at the Arivaca Controle I started to fade, Gentle Reader. I had spent all I had. I was feeling sick—I didn’t want to eat. I noticed that I hadn’t made many stops to pee—I was in trouble. I had to force wraps in my mouth, and decided to take some for the road. All I need is the tail wind, the Buenos Aires on the 45 mile stretch to Three Points and I’d be alright.
Now we had John Moeny with us from New Mexico. I was glad to have him because he pulled for us and we hung on his wheel and I struggled to regain my head and stomach. Baboquivari was a blur as the sun went down. This stretch of road is cut through an ancient Holy Place that the Indians revere—I’ve heard stories—and many a poor soul has expired trying to reach a better life across the border in these parts—so its best to keep focused and keep moving. Border Patrol play cat and mouse with drugs smugglers and Coyotes out on this road. They actually stopped us and wanted us to get off the road because some vehicles (meaning drug runners) would be coming past at high speeds. I’m not quite sure they came through—but this might have been because I was in a dream-state/survival mode.
John kept me coherent with conversation. I was coming back but slowly. Steve’s E-6 cast that reassuring glow of light on us as we glided on toward Three Points. Finally I mentioned the little string of lights to the West would be Ajo Way—and the red tower lights were Three Points—with rest, food, much needed water, and coffee—still had about 8 to 10 miles to go to get there.
Made it and had about 20 minutes before the store closed. I got stuff I needed and wanted to find a place to rest. Bad cramps made me find the rest room in the back of the store. A bout of the runs followed—which is okay because I thought I’d been done with the hours of nausea since Arivaca.
I had to lay down on the cement in the entrance of the store. I had almost blacked-out. Everything was spinning and I just didn’t want to get up. I was completely drained of any energy—I was empty. I was spent. It was over. Got to call Susan.
Thinking about it now—I could hear the concern in Susan’s voice. I could barely whisper in my cell. It was reassuring to know that she was going to call Shock! who would be at the Marana Circle K. He would come get me and I’d be fine. DNF, who the Hell cares? Better riders than me had to abandon this day. She called back and said that Shock! was just about to be on his way—he needed to go to bed. It had been a long day. I was starting to come around and my head was clearing. I couldn’t do that to Dave—ask him to come out and fetch us.
We decided that we would keep going. That’s Steve and I. I had no doubt that John would keep going as he was riding well and feeling good. Plus the last thing you want to do to your mates is abandon them on a ride—or get abandoned and have to go it alone. Just had to make it to the Marana controle.
We did that by stopping and resting—even if it was for 5 minutes—to eat a little something, to stretch—and for me, lay down on my back and calm myself and breathe. I lay down in a ditch in some thick dead weeds. They were soft and I was out of the crosswind. Steve kept telling me to get up and get moving. We all needed some coffee to keep us awake.
We made it to the Marana Controle at 1:30 a.m. Got coffee and a hot dog, and decided I wanted to lay down one more time for a few minutes. I went to the side of the Circle K and lay down by the side door. As expected, one the employees banged open the door and threw a bunch of trash out into the open desert. The bloke didn’t see me—had he, I bet he would have freaked out. It was time to go anyway.
Steve and I have trained for our brevets and ridden the last leg of this course so many times, the last 45 miles just seems like short run in the park. Slowly we made our way back, then the pace picked up. One high point of the ride was when we were going over the over pass on SR 87. We watched a train come full speed, and then roar past and underneath us. That was pretty awesome—kind of like front row seats with surround sound.
Eloy we stopped for coffee and a little food. I could not believe how tired I was. We had pushed ourselves, and continued to push ourselves until we were right there at Susan’s truck—just under 26 hours later. Susan was quite pleased with us. I remember her motto she once firmly put on me, “Press on regardless.”
Bryan Gibbon was sleeping in my car. I had left him my extra key in my drop bag. This really helped me out because he’d drive us back to Tucson while I slept. That meant I could get home faster, shower, and sleep. He also helped me pack my bike into the car, and packed our gear and his bike, while I changed into some clean clothes. I’ve injured my back trying to get the bike in and out of the trunk—and injured myself trying to change out of the bike clothes into some clean clothes—mainly in some small bathroom where its easy to pull a muscle or get a sudden cramp.
Gibb was a good sport driving me back as I probably mumbled incoherently. We had made the 400, and we had made it back to Tucson. And I wasn’t in too bad of shape.
Now its time to think about the things I did right—the mistakes I made—most likely nutrition/not getting enough calories, and recover and get ready for the Brevet of 600 km.
Susan was just about to pull out of the controle. I was so happy to see her, and felt good about riding the strongest I had all day. Mission Road and Helmet Peak Road had taken their toll on us.
Got a boost from a quick stop in McD’s for a hamburger and fries about lunchtime. Shock! as mentioned before, helped our morale when he gave us some water right there before the 22 miles to Arivaca—
But at the Arivaca Controle I started to fade, Gentle Reader. I had spent all I had. I was feeling sick—I didn’t want to eat. I noticed that I hadn’t made many stops to pee—I was in trouble. I had to force wraps in my mouth, and decided to take some for the road. All I need is the tail wind, the Buenos Aires on the 45 mile stretch to Three Points and I’d be alright.
Now we had John Moeny with us from New Mexico. I was glad to have him because he pulled for us and we hung on his wheel and I struggled to regain my head and stomach. Baboquivari was a blur as the sun went down. This stretch of road is cut through an ancient Holy Place that the Indians revere—I’ve heard stories—and many a poor soul has expired trying to reach a better life across the border in these parts—so its best to keep focused and keep moving. Border Patrol play cat and mouse with drugs smugglers and Coyotes out on this road. They actually stopped us and wanted us to get off the road because some vehicles (meaning drug runners) would be coming past at high speeds. I’m not quite sure they came through—but this might have been because I was in a dream-state/survival mode.
John kept me coherent with conversation. I was coming back but slowly. Steve’s E-6 cast that reassuring glow of light on us as we glided on toward Three Points. Finally I mentioned the little string of lights to the West would be Ajo Way—and the red tower lights were Three Points—with rest, food, much needed water, and coffee—still had about 8 to 10 miles to go to get there.
Made it and had about 20 minutes before the store closed. I got stuff I needed and wanted to find a place to rest. Bad cramps made me find the rest room in the back of the store. A bout of the runs followed—which is okay because I thought I’d been done with the hours of nausea since Arivaca.
I had to lay down on the cement in the entrance of the store. I had almost blacked-out. Everything was spinning and I just didn’t want to get up. I was completely drained of any energy—I was empty. I was spent. It was over. Got to call Susan.
Thinking about it now—I could hear the concern in Susan’s voice. I could barely whisper in my cell. It was reassuring to know that she was going to call Shock! who would be at the Marana Circle K. He would come get me and I’d be fine. DNF, who the Hell cares? Better riders than me had to abandon this day. She called back and said that Shock! was just about to be on his way—he needed to go to bed. It had been a long day. I was starting to come around and my head was clearing. I couldn’t do that to Dave—ask him to come out and fetch us.
We decided that we would keep going. That’s Steve and I. I had no doubt that John would keep going as he was riding well and feeling good. Plus the last thing you want to do to your mates is abandon them on a ride—or get abandoned and have to go it alone. Just had to make it to the Marana controle.
We did that by stopping and resting—even if it was for 5 minutes—to eat a little something, to stretch—and for me, lay down on my back and calm myself and breathe. I lay down in a ditch in some thick dead weeds. They were soft and I was out of the crosswind. Steve kept telling me to get up and get moving. We all needed some coffee to keep us awake.
We made it to the Marana Controle at 1:30 a.m. Got coffee and a hot dog, and decided I wanted to lay down one more time for a few minutes. I went to the side of the Circle K and lay down by the side door. As expected, one the employees banged open the door and threw a bunch of trash out into the open desert. The bloke didn’t see me—had he, I bet he would have freaked out. It was time to go anyway.
Steve and I have trained for our brevets and ridden the last leg of this course so many times, the last 45 miles just seems like short run in the park. Slowly we made our way back, then the pace picked up. One high point of the ride was when we were going over the over pass on SR 87. We watched a train come full speed, and then roar past and underneath us. That was pretty awesome—kind of like front row seats with surround sound.
Eloy we stopped for coffee and a little food. I could not believe how tired I was. We had pushed ourselves, and continued to push ourselves until we were right there at Susan’s truck—just under 26 hours later. Susan was quite pleased with us. I remember her motto she once firmly put on me, “Press on regardless.”
Bryan Gibbon was sleeping in my car. I had left him my extra key in my drop bag. This really helped me out because he’d drive us back to Tucson while I slept. That meant I could get home faster, shower, and sleep. He also helped me pack my bike into the car, and packed our gear and his bike, while I changed into some clean clothes. I’ve injured my back trying to get the bike in and out of the trunk—and injured myself trying to change out of the bike clothes into some clean clothes—mainly in some small bathroom where its easy to pull a muscle or get a sudden cramp.
Gibb was a good sport driving me back as I probably mumbled incoherently. We had made the 400, and we had made it back to Tucson. And I wasn’t in too bad of shape.
Now its time to think about the things I did right—the mistakes I made—most likely nutrition/not getting enough calories, and recover and get ready for the Brevet of 600 km.
1 comment:
Good job on completing that ride. I think the more we realize our limits the better we are at pacing ourselves on future rides. Great picture of Steve heading up Mission Road. That picture has a lot of impact as I know that hill well now after 3 series with Southern Arizona Randonneurs! Great write up as always!
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