In Which I Am Famous

Today my friend, Laura, sent me the following text:

"Hey, did you know you are on the back of 'Biking the Best'?  How cool are you?"

Biking the Best is a booklet of maps of twenty-four of the best road rides in and around Shasta County.  I did not know I was on the back cover and I have to say it went to my head a little bit.  This was my reply.

"Send me a photo of it.  Wait, am I upright?"

Unfortunately, that is a valid question on my part.

"Yes, you're upright.  It's a picture of a bunch of people at a rest stop."

Laura sent the photo to my phone but I couldn't quite make it out.

"Oh good.  I was afraid it was when I fell over or something.  How do I get my own copy so I can brag about being big and famous?  And do you want me to autograph yours?"

Laura called a minute later and asked if I wanted to meet her at the bike shop because she was going to buy a copy.  Of course I wanted to buy my Very Own Copy.  I think she was actually buying it for the routes.  I, on the other hand, felt compelled to buy it because I was obviously the star of the book.  And bike routes are nice, too.  That way when I get lost because I didn't look at the map in the first place I can still find my way back home.

So I puffed up my chest and strode into the bike shop.  Funny thing is, nobody in the shop stopped and asked for my autograph.  They didn't even recognize me.  Didn't they know the back cover model of "Biking the Best" was in their presence?

I swaggered over to the counter and picked up a copy.  I didn't bother to flip through the routes.  Instead I turned right to the back cover.  And sure enough there were a bunch of my cycling friends.

"Are you sure I'm in this picture?  I don't see myself."  I said to Laura.

"Yep, you're right there in your Fat Cyclist jersey.  See?"  She pointed.

I squinted.  A lot.  And sure enough there I was.  Looking like an idiot.  True, I am upright in the photo, but that's the best thing I can say about it.  I apologize for the grainy quality of the photo.  It's a photo of a photo, but you'll get the gist.



Do you see me?  No?

I'm the one on the right.

Further right.

Yeah.  That one.

I have no idea what I was reaching for back there.  My only guess is that I had a sock stuck in my jersey or something.

Still, I'm happy to autograph your copy of the booklet.  In fact, you probably won't mind if I sign in big, black permanent marker, right?  And I have a long name so you might not even be able to see my photo underneath the autograph.  And wouldn't that be a shame.

30 Days of Thanks: Day 29

Today I'm thankful for...

• my electric toothbrush.  I'm telling you, that is three minutes of bliss.


• Fatty's 10 Pound Challenge


• my spin instructor who magically makes class feel more like a real bike ride and less like a bunch of sweaty people crammed in a room of stationary bikes


• my workout buddy who refers to spin class as "death spin", but still shows up twice a week


• this conversation with one of my little ones:

"I'm going to miss you, Mrs. McCauley."  She hugged my neck.

"I'll see you tomorrow."  I assured her.

"I know, but I'll still miss you tonight."  She smiled and gave me one more squeeze before leaving.

Seattle to Portland

208 Miles

208 miles is a long way to drive, let alone ride a bike, but last weekend, that's exactly what The Rocket and I did.  The Rocket took a road trip to Portland and then hopped a bus to Seattle.  I'm told she was well-behaved and didn't talk in her sleep too much.  While the Rocket travelled by land, Terry and I flew to Seattle.  The morning of the ride, I woke up at the unholy hour of 3:30 to yank on my Spandex and throw a bowl of Cheerios down the hatch.  As we fought road construction to the start line, my stomach was a ball of nerves.  With 10,000 cyclists participating in the Seattle to Portland ride, the start line was a hive of activity.  I met up with my pals, Joan, Laura, and Jim.  Terry kissed me goodbye, and at 5:15 we were off.  My favorite part of the morning was riding through Seattle watching the sun rise above the downtown skyline.

I also rode by green fields filled with wildflowers, like the ones I used to pick in fistfuls for my mother when I was a kid.

The sky was overcast most of the ride and temperatures hovered in the sixties and seventies.  It was a welcome relief from the scorching Redding heat and when it began to drizzle, I tilted my head back and let the sprinkles hit my teeth as I smiled, filled with joy to be on my bike.

3 Awesome Things With Wheels

With 9,999 other cyclists on the course, I was never alone.  I thought of the rules Gramma and I had on our trip to Eastern Europe.  Rule #1: See something new.  Rule #2: Meet someone new.  Rule #3: Eat ice cream.  I was riding by all kinds of new scenery and crazy bikes.  On the first hill, I rode past a three person wide bicycle.  Yes, I know that's not technically a bicycle, but since they were riding across, not front to back, it's not a tandem either.  I don't know what this thing was, but it was a bike with three riders that motored up hills like a sack of bricks.  I also passed a unicyclist.  I cannot even fathom what it takes to ride a unicycle 200 some odd miles.  I'm just going to take a moment of gratitude for my comfortable bike seat.  Maybe I'll write it a sonnet later.  While the brick of riders and the uni were incredible, the most amazing bike (and again, I'm grappling for the right term here) was this:

It is the offspring of an unnatural romance between a bicycle and an elliptical machine.  I saw two of these parked at the finish line which means there are at least two people on the planet insane enough to ride/run from Seattle to Portland.  Incidentally, when I showed this picture to Terry, he said something like "I think I'd be awesome on a bike like that."  He's right and that makes me feel a little bit stabby.  Anyway, now I understand why there is a separate room for spin bikes at my gym.  Who knows what might happen if they were left alone at night with the elliptical machines.

2 Creamsicles

After 100 miles there is a midline festival.  I'd heard rumors that when you ride into the festival, there are people there handing out Creamsicles.  I assure you, such Heaven does exist on Earth.  Before I get to the Creamsicles, I have to backtrack a little.  I'm a proud member of Team Fatty and on both days of the ride I sported Fat Cyclist jerseys.  This means that throughout the ride I heard "Go, Team Fatty!"  and "Fight Like Susan!"  This warmed my heart knowing that Fatty has touched so many people with his efforts to fight cancer.  When people rolled up next to me, they would usually open the conversation with a friendly "Hey, Fatty!"  Now, let it be known here and now that if you call me Fatty when I'm not on my bike, there will be punching.  Lots of punching.  People who don't know Fatty's story asked about my jersey and I told them the story of Susan and my own story of riding for my grandmother.

There was also a large contingent of cyclists that felt they had to make sure my self-esteem was properly inflated.  Hundreds, maybe thousands, of cyclists rode up to me and said "You're not a fat cyclist."  I'd say a quick thanks, relieved that my jerseys were ironic and not truth in advertising.  I've worked hard this season to trim up a bit, but after 50 or so people commented on my unfatness, I started replying a little differently.  Instead of just saying thanks I'd say things like "It's more of a state of mind."  People would laugh and then I'd tell them how I came to join Team Fatty.  At mile 99, with Creamsicles dancing in my head, another cyclist rolled up next to me and this was our conversation.

"You're not a fat cyclist."

"Thanks.  It's more of a state of mind."

"Oh, like p-h-a-t cyclist?"

"Yeah, sure.  That and if I beat you to the midline festival, I'm going to eat my Creamsicle and yours, too."

He sprinted to the festival and I sprinted right after him, passing him just in time to grab a Creamsicle.  He gave me his Creamsicle and I happily ate them both.  One for me, one for Gramma Betty.  Sorta like pouring one out for my homey.

1 Awkward Moment of Chivalry

I am a big fan of chivalry, specifically of men like Terry who hold doors open for women.  At each rest stop there were rows of port-a-potties.

Did you catch the manufacturer's name?  Honey Bucket.  Has there ever been a more ill-fitting name for something?  I think I've just found a new curse word.  "Oh, honeybuckets!"  or "Aren't you just a little honeybucket?"  Yup, it totally works.

So there I was on deck for a Honey Bucket, waiting for a door to pop open.  A man exited the last one, and I hurried over.  And then he held the door to the port-a-potty open for me.  It was awkward.  I just stood there for a second until he let the door go.  I don't really know why I felt so awkward except that nobody has ever held a port-a-potty door for me before.  I feel kinda bad because I was stunned by this act of chivalry and I'm not even sure I said thanks.  So, let me just say thanks to that guy now.  Thanks, nice guy who held the door for me.  I'll try to be less of a honeybucket next time.

1 Drawbridge

One of the best parts of the ride was crossing from Washington into Oregon.  We crossed over the Columbia River by riding over a drawbridge.  Joan snapped this photo as ride volunteers closed off traffic and let huge groups of cyclists go at a time.  Crossing the bridge shoulder to shoulder with hordes of other cyclists was thrilling.

1 Good Cry

At around mile 160, I passed a sign for Prescott Beach:

My grandfather's name was Prescott and when I saw the sign, I immediately thought, "I've got to call Gramma and tell her about this!" And there it was.  Grief bleeding through the scab that had begun to form in the months since my grandmother's death.  Most of the time, I'm aware that she is gone, but every now and then I'll see something that makes me think of her.  My reflexes react and I am left raw, missing her in a whole new way, grieving for all the things I will never get to share with her.  I pedaled and cried.  My legs were weary and my cadence was slow.

And then I thought of my mom.  The same weekend I was riding for Gramma Betty, my mom was closing up my grandmother's house for the last time.  Packing up her furniture.  Sitting in the backyard one last time.  Driving away with her heart in her throat.  Riding a double century is hard, but I thought of how my mom was doing something so much harder.  I thought of how my mom has been so strong and brave these last few months.  I thought of how my mom is so much like my grandmother and how I want to be strong and brave, just like both of them.  My legs began to pedal faster, my tears dried up and I sailed across the finish line.

32 Donors & 1,243 Dollars

Maya Angelou says "I will be myself.  I will speak my own name."  This season I have taken my hobby and used it to speak my grandmother's name.  And now I speak your names because you have spoken for cancer patients and their families.  Together we raised $1,243 for LiveStrong.  You have overwhelmed me with your generosity.  Thank you Adam C., Amy H., Andrea & Jeromy H., Anita J., Betty C., Cheryl P., Chris F., Christine W., Dale M., David & Vickey P., Debbie S., Diana P., Hayley L., Heather F., Jill S., John P., Katie G., Kathy V., Katie L., Krystle J., Marla M., MaryKay, S., Melody A., Nick W., Patti L., Peter K., Sallie C., Sam O., Sara S., Stacey R., Sue H., and Tracy H.

1 More Thing

It's been a fantastic, heartbreaking, beautiful cycling season.  Thank you for being a part of the journey.  I couldn't do it without you.  Oh, and there's just one more thing before I go:

Fondly,

Alicia

Cycling in May

Dear friends and family,

May was an incredible month to cycle in Redding.  Cooler temperatures gave us a real Spring this year and on days when the rain let up, I hopped in the saddle and pedaled my heart out.

411 miles

I've never ridden 400 miles in a month before and it was a fun goal to chase after this month.  From riding in my living room to climbing up to Shasta Dam to turning the cranks up to Shingletown, every circle of the pedals inched me closer to my goal.

1 Butterfly Kiss

On the first of May, I found myself riding out in Whitmore, enjoying the cattle ranches and volcanic rock fields that pepper the landscape.  I was riding along, pondering important things like world peace and ice cream, when a butterfly twittered on the breeze in front of me.  You may recall the Kamikaze butterfly that hurled itself into my helmet last month.  This time I was prepared.  I kept a careful eye on this beautiful creature, being careful to give it plenty of space to my right.  Just as I was coming up next to it, this butterfly launched a surprise attack and flew right up between my eye and the lens of my glasses.  Being trapped in between my eyeball and my glasses made this butterfly a bit hostile.  It was flapping and flitting and causing a big commotion.  Meanwhile I was flapping and flitting and causing a big commotion as I tried to rip my glasses off and stay upright at the same time.  As soon as I tore my glasses off, the butterfly winged away, leaving me shaking my head at this aggressive interpretation of a butterfly kiss.

1 Rescue

When my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer my little brother, Pete, felt called to join Team Fat Cyclist and raise money for LiveStrong by riding a century.  His generous friends and family emptied their pockets and Pete started joining me on rides.  His century ride was at the beginning of the month and I simply couldn't let him have all the fun, so I rode with him.

Well, I rode with him until we were climbing up to Shasta Dam he said "Something's wrong with your back tire."  Those are not my favorite words to hear.  Our step-dad, Chris, a remarkable photographer and graphic designer, snapped pictures of us up to the Dam.  Yes, I travel with my own paparazzi because I am a Very Important Cyclist.  Okay, maybe just an Important Cyclist.  Uh, maybe just a Cyclist.  Anyway, back to the story.  It turns out that what Pete meant by "something's wrong" was that my rear tire was so worn it split wide open, making it quite unsafe to ride on.

Enter Chris, my awesome paparazzi.  He popped my bike in the car and hustled me down to my favorite bike shop while Pete continued on.  We got there just before the bike shop opened and Chris plunked down the cash for new tires and then shuttled me out to where Peter was riding.  Chris gets the hero of the day award because Pete and I had a fantastic time together and seeing my brother cross the finish line of his first century made me so very proud.

100 Miles of Nowhere

 

It's no secret that I feel passionately about raising money for cancer research and so a week after I rode with Pete, I rode  The 100 Miles of Nowhere.  100% of the entry fee went to LiveStrong for Team Fat Cyclist.  All sorts of companies donated cool swag like t-shirts and seat packs and books and water bottles and lions and tigers and bears, oh my.  On a Saturday afternoon, 3 of us gathered in my living room, mounted our bikes on trainers, popped in a movie and went nowhere fast.

Conditions were excellent in my living room.  It turns out my living room is all downhill and the only wind came from the ceiling fan above us.  My mom came and cheered us on and fixed us snacks.  I'm proud to say that my time (3 hours and 6 minutes) made me the clear first place winner of the "32 Year Old Teacher/Writer Cycling In My Living Room In Redding" category.  It matters little to me that I was the only racer in that particular category.

1 Big Climb

 

I love riding around Redding because there are roads I know like the back of my hand, roads that are filled with history, and the Anderson metric century is a ride filled with these kinds of places.  It has the stretch of road where I tried a new sports drink and had a reversal of fortune in front of hordes of itty bitty soccer players.  It has the road wherein I discovered Creamsicle scented sunscreen attracts scads of flies.  It also has an incredibly steep climb.  I have faced this climb before.  And lost.  The last time I attempted this climb, I had pneumonia and a broken toe and I alternated between walking and riding, depending on which hurt my toe less at that particular moment.  This year I was determined to beat that climb, to take down Goliath.  Everything was working in my favor that day.  I'd applied regular smelling sunscreen, filled my bottles with water, and I wasn't fighting any illnesses.  Even the weather was a surprisingly cool 80 degrees.  I was having the ride of my life when I turned the corner, dropped into my lowest gear and started to climb.  I pedaled and breathed regularly all the way to the top of the hill.  I grinned as I rode through the pine trees and into the rest area to wait for a friend.  Several minutes passed and she did not show up.  Many more minutes passed and she did not arrive.  She was out of water and in need of a little help.  I filled my bottles with cold water and turned around, riding back down the hill until I found her.  After a lot of water and a banana, she was good to go.  We saddled up and then I faced the steep hill for the second time, a little unsure if I could do it twice in a row.  I tucked my head down and my strong legs and steady heart carried me to the crest again, and let me tell you, my teeth hurt from smiling so much.  Twice!  I'd ridden the hill twice!  As I coasted through the pine trees I thought about how blessed I am to be healthy, to have a heart that keeps time as I pedal through the beauty that rises up to meet me on each every ride.  Some days are perfect and I will always remember this as one of those days.

$828 donated so far

Thank you Amy H., Andrea H., Anita J., Betty C., Chris F., Christine W., Dale M., Diana P., Hayley L., Heather F., Jill S., John, P., Katie G., Katie L., MaryKay S., Patti L., Sallie C., Sara S., Stacey R., and Tracy H.  I appreciate your support and generosity.

$1,172 until I reach my goal

If you'd like to make a donation to the Lance Armstrong Foundation on my behalf, please go to: http://sanjose2010.livestrong.org/aliciamccauley.  You can donate in memory of a loved one's life cut short by cancer or in support of a loved one who is battling cancer now.  I look forward to sharing my June cycling adventures with you soon!

Fondly,

Alicia

WIN, Gramma Betty!

Dear family and friends,

The trees are revealing buds they’ve secreted away all winter and the sun is showing its face a little longer each day.  It’s perfect cycling weather.  On the heels of a difficult few months with my heart, I intended to enjoy leisurely rides and take a break from cycling for a cause.  Last year I was proud to raise funds for cancer research via LiveStrong as a member of Team Fat Cyclist: Fighting For Susan.  Often I was asked about my connection to cancer.  I was grateful to reply that I had no immediate connection to cancer and my reason for riding for LiveStrong was that I wanted to keep it that way.

I hope you’ve never received the news that a loved one has cancer.  It’s a moment that turns everything upside down.  This month I received the call that my Gramma Betty was diagnosed with cancer.  Since I was a kid, I’ve marveled at the postcards emblazoned with photos of her riding a camel at the pyramids or parasailing over the ocean.  In her office hangs a world map covered in pins marking all the countries she’s visited.  Gramma Betty is an explorer at heart with a passion for seeing all the beauty this world holds.



My grandmother’s cancer is advanced and she will soon leave me with only memories of our time together. The realization that I cannot save her is one that jolts me from sleep in the quiet hours of the night.  The only thought that quells my sadness is the fact that I can raise money for researching a cure.  And so this season, I’m pulling on my Fat Cyclist gear to ride for LiveStrong, to ride for my grandmother.

When people ask me about my connection to cancer, I will swallow the lump in my throat, brush aside my tears and tell them about Gramma Betty who used to ride camels and who has made a mark on my life so lasting and deep that it cannot be marked with a pin.

On July 17^th-18^th, I’ll ride 204 miles from Seattle to Portland.  It’s fitting that I’m riding a double century this year because I’m twice as hurt that cancer has made this battle personal.  Please join me in my fight against cancer by making a tax-deductible donation online at http://sanjose2010.livestrong.org/aliciamccauley. I can’t thank you enough for your generosity and support.

Fondly,

Alicia

Heart of a Warrior

I'm pretty sure I'll never be one of those girls who bounces out of bed at the sheer prospect of riding my bike.  Don't get me wrong, I love riding my bike.  I just also love burrowing in my warm cozy bed.  Because my love of cycling can be so easily trumped by my bed, I resort to trickery.  I round up the troops and make them ride with me.  I might stand myself up, but I won't leave a friend hanging.  So this morning, I set out in the good company of Terry, That Laura, Nick and Abby.

This morning I ate the cycling breakfast of champions: oatmeal, skinned grapefruit and a banana.  The last time I rode, I had eggs for breakfast and almost had a reversal of fortune on the side of the road up to Shasta Dam.  (Note to self: Eggs are not a good cycling food.)  But back to this morning, I slipped on my Team Fatty gear, dismayed that the fatty part, while once ironic, is now just truth in advertising.  I'm working on that.

The weather today was so perfect, blue sky, cotton ball clouds and barely a hint of wind.  It was warm enough that I didn't even need tights.  We headed out to Millville Plains, my most favorite place to ride.  You can see for miles and miles at the top of the Plains.  The cows grazing there must be the happiest in all of California.  My favorite tree lives there, too.  She was all sticks and bones standing guard over the plains, but I know she's secreting away green buds for me underneath her black skin.  Spring is coming, spring is coming I told her as I whipped by.

My legs were strong most of the ride leading me to believe that maybe, just maybe, my spin instructor isn't entirely evil.  My legs were strong enough, but my heart, my heart was fierce.  I had the heart of a warrior today.  It pumped away pressing uphill, screaming downhill, and keeping time on the flats.  It was glorious and I smiled so much my teeth hurt from the cool air.  Not even the five putrid dead skunks I passed or the pair of pitbulls that chased me could dampen my joy.

Thirty three miles into the ride and three miles from home, my legs began to ache.  The sort of ache that feels like my bones are hollow and might shatter any second, but I've had this ache before and I know it passes if I just ignore it.  Well, I complain about it and then ignore it.  Same difference.  I willed my legs to circle me back home.  At home I rested in the front yard.  Not even the fact that I'd locked myself out of my house could ruin this ride.  I waited for a friend to arrive with spare key and as my legs pulsed complaints, my heart was steady, calm even.  I sat there making a sweaty print on my walkway and realized I'd just had one of the best rides of my life.  Now that just might make me bounce out of bed to ride next time.

Fight Like Susan

"If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together there is something you must always remember: you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart: I'll always be with you.”  Winnie the Pooh

Today Susan passed away.  I will continue to wear my jerseys that say Win Susan because I'm going to fight like Susan.

Touched By the Devil & Other Stories from the Big Ride

Dear Friends & Family,

Another cycling season has come to an end.  The Livestrong ride in San Jose this weekend was uh...er...um... memorable, yes, memorable is a good way to put it.

• 4 really cool prizes: The day before the ride, I picked up my registration packet and jersey number.  Your generous donations entitled me to a LiveStrong t-shirt, water bottle, hat and the highly coveted LiveStrong messenger bag.  I stuffed all my booty into my super awesome bag and strutted around the LiveStrong village, making sure that all the other participants took note of my bag.  As they were taking note of my bag, I took note of the fact that everyone except Terry and Nick (my other two Redding Fat Cyclist teammates) had shaved legs.  And everyone was unusually lithe and athletic.  Walking around amongst such freakishly fit people I came to the realization that although it was called a "ride", I had unknowingly entered a "race".  A bike "ride" and a bike "race" are two very different things, a fact that would become apparent the next day.


• 1 amazing dinner: The night before the ride Terry, Nick and I were privileged to attend the fundraising banquet.  We were inspired by the speeches given by cancer survivors and enjoyed a night of meeting our teammates.  Team Fatty won two separate awards that night.  To begin with Elden "Fatty" Nelson won the individual messenger award.  He and his wife, Susan, made this video acceptance speech.  Thanks to you, Team Fatty also won the award for most funds raised.  You can see our team on stage as our captain, Matt, accepts the award and honors Elden and Susan as they fight cancer in a mighty way.  Elden is bald and our team donned bald caps to show our support.  It was a fantastic night and I was proud to be a part of Team Fatty.


• 1 upset stomach: The morning of the ride, I woke up with a disgruntled stomach.  I chalked it up to nerves, ate some breakfast, and joined my team at the starting line.  As the top fundraising team, we began the race ride ahead of all of the other participants.  We were escorted by a police cruiser.  Well, the people who could keep up were escorted by a police cruiser.  Me and my knotty stomach were in the throng of all the other riders within minutes.  My stomach gurgled and churned for the first twenty miles.  At the first rest stop, I spent some quality time in the port-o-potty doing what my friend, Nate, calls "livin' the dream".  I was miserable, but when my stomach realized I wasn't quitting, it settled down.


• 1 windy day: The wind that day was unholy.  I rode into a strong headwind and through wicked cross winds.  The wind was so powerful that rest stop snack tents were blowing over and garbage blew into my mouth as I rode.  Never was there even a hint of tailwind.  It was punishing and it remained that way the entire ride.


• 1 friendly devil: About 25 miles in, I faced my first hill.  It was short and steep.  My legs cranked the pedals and my little heart hammered away.  I walked a portion of the hill and just as I was getting back on The Rocket to face the crest, I saw the devil.  Or at least a man dressed in a red devil suit.  He goes to The Tour of California and other bike races (again proof that I'd mistakenly entered a race) to cheer on the cyclists.  He stood there high-fiving riders as they topped the hill.  He must have seen me walking because when I came by, he placed both of his red painted hands squarely on my buns and gave me a push, calling out "That's what we call a European start."  Uh, then let me just say that Europeans are much friendlier than I'm accustomed to.


• 1 enthusiastic flagger: This by far was the best staffed ride I've participated in.  Volunteers showed up in droves to work rest stops, flag riders in the right direction, drive SAG wagons, and perform a myriad of other tasks.  I gave one particular course flagger a good shock at around mile 40.  A left turn took riders to the 65 mile course.  Straight ahead led to the 100 mile course.  The flagger took one look at me and immediately started flagging me left.  I shook my head.  He flagged more vehemently.  I again shook my head.  He continued flagging and as I rode by, I yelled "I'm doing the century."  He shook his head and in one last ditch effort tried to flag me left.  I just smiled, well aware of the fact that I didn't look like any of the other people riding the century.


• 2 circling buzzards: What would a ride be without at least one bird story?  As I was still chuckling at the dumbfounded flagger, 2 buzzards circled overhead.  2 skinny cyclists came from behind and rode next to me for a few minutes.  They commented on the buzzards.  I replied that I was moving so slowly that the buzzards thought I was dead.  They laughed, made a remark about how funny Team Fatty is, and then left me in the dust with the birds.


• 3 times I walked The Rocket: I walked portions of 2 small hills and at mile 7o faced a 12-18% climb.  I pedaled until my little heart began to actually ache.  I got off my bike and walked up the hill.  Nick was with me and we clomped along in our bike shoes, pausing every few steps to rest.  We waved off about 10 SAG wagons, insisting that we were fine, absolutely fine.  We took off our cycling shoes and huffed up the hill in our socks.  It seemed logical at the time, okay?  "No, really, we're fine." we'd pant at each SAG wagon.  The hill was only 1.9 miles and we were sure the top was near.  My heart ached and even squeaked, but we plodded on.  Then we came upon another Team Fatty cyclist getting into a SAG wagon.  We asked how much further to the top.  "Oh about another mile and a half.  Then you go downhill and then back up the steepest pitch."  the SAG lady chirped.  My head drooped.  I couldn't walk another mile and a half.  My heart physically couldn't do it.  I fought back hot tears, overcome by shame.  Then in the midst of my pity party, I thought of Susan.  Susan who has strength in ways that I will never comprehend.  Susan who graciously accepts help for tasks like getting out of bed and getting dressed.  Part of strength is knowing when to accept help.  I swallowed my pride and rode in the SAG wagon to the top of the hill.


• 1 tweet from Lance Armstrong: At around mile 85, another cyclist told me Lance Armstrong had twittered a message to all the San Jose cyclists.  This is a direct quote: "Thanks 2 everyone in San Jose 4 the Livestrong Challenge! I was there last year and the course kicked my @$$!!! Appreciate all the support!!"  What!?!  Lance Armstrong had a tough time on this ride?  I couldn't help but wonder what the heck I, a big, wimpy, wannabe cyclist, was doing on a ride like this.


• 14 bottles of water/Gatorade: People often ask about what I consume on rides like these.  On this particular ride I drank 14 bottles of water and/or lemon lime Gatorade.  I ate 1 1/4 pb& j, 2 bananas, 3 handfuls of gummy bears, 1 slice of peach, 1 handful of grapes, and 1 Clif bar.  After the ride I ate dinner.  Twice.


• 90 miles: The course was actually only 95 miles long and after 5 miles in the SAG wagon, I rode a total of 90 miles at an average speed of 12.5 miles per hour.  I was disappointed with my mileage and my speed, but it turns out those things aren't what this ride was about.


• 22 donors: Thank you Amy & Steve P., Anita J., Carmen L., Chris F., Christine W., Debbie S., Janet M., Janice L., Jean P., Jeff W., Jill L., Jill S., Katie G., Katie L., Kyra M., Nancy C., Nancy W., North Valley Bank, Peter K., Sara S., Sue H., Tiffany D., Tracy H. and Youth to Youth International.  Your support and generosity made it all worthwhile.


• $1, 790: I'm grateful to know people who eagerly help others in need.  I'm honored to call you friends.


• 9 hours: After starting the ride at the front of the pack Terry and I finished almost dead last 9 hours later.  After gripping my handlebars into the unforgiving wind, I'd lost feeling in 4 of my fingers.  My face stung with the combination of salty sweat and windburn.  My heart labored over ever beat.  It was the most grueling day on a bike I've ever experienced.


• 4 days later: Four days have passed since the ride.  My windburned face is a peeling mess.  My heart is steady again.  I have feeling in 9 fingers and am hopeful that the last one will soon follow suit.  I mentioned earlier that this ride wasn't about miles or speed.  I think Winston Churchhill sums it up best, “We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give.”  Thanks for giving from your heart and making my life that much richer.

Fondly,

Alicia

Hollow Legs

Saturday was my first road ride of the season.  I'm just going to cut to the chase and say I got my, uh, my, um, pride, yes let's say pride, handed to me.  The morning of the ride I woke up extra early to prepare.  I put on layers of cycling clothing.  Then came the all important jersey selection.  I peered at the rainbow of jerseys stacked neatly in my cycling drawer.  (Yes, I have a cycling drawer in my dresser.  I also have a cycling drawer AND shelf in my garage.  It's okay to be jealous.)  I decided to go with my favorite pink Fat Cyclist jersey.  It has FAT CYCLIST emblazoned across the back pockets.  Awesome.  I slipped on my jersey and then headed over to the mirror to tame the bedhead.  Irony stared back at me.  I've grown squidgy around the edges and there's no hiding anything in Spandex.  I've got muffin top.  I'm too fat for my Fat Cyclist jersey.

Then me and the muffin top headed out to the garage to give The Rocket a little attention.  She was sleek as ever, bright pink wire casings looking all happy at me.  I gave her a little air in her tires.  By a little, I mean her tires were at 30 PSI and I had to pump fiercely to get them back up to 100 PSI.  As I was pumping, I noticed cobwebs laced in the spokes.  Muffin top?  Flat tires?  Cobwebs?  Had it really been that long?  Not good.  Not good at all.

My friend, Laura, met me at my house and we headed out toward Millville Plains, my favorite place to ride.  On our way out there we saw some pretty cool things like a field full of itty bitty goats.  Then we saw buffalo.  Buffalo are so cool looking.  They are unimpressed by everything.  I tried to snap a shot of a buffalo right next to the fence, but as I got closer he moved away, no doubt freaked by the muffin top.  Sorry, buffalo.  Just a little ways beyond the buffalo we passed a manger scene.  It had Joseph.  It had a handful of animals.  It had Mary, but no Jesus.  This led me to wonder WWJD?  What was Jesus doing?

We continued on, Laura speeding ahead of me and then graciously hanging back so I could catch up.  She could have totally stomped me and left me to my own devices to get home, but she didn't so that was nice.  The weather was perfect, sunny, crisp and with winds at about four miles per hour.  It doesn't get better than that.  In Millville we stopped at the Post Office and scarfed down some snacks.  Well, I didn't actually scarf.  What I thought was a whole Clif bar in my saddle pack was actually half of one I'd opened last season.  Clif bars are tasty, but this one had taken on the consistency of concrete.  Don't get me wrong, I ate it.  It just took a long, long time, meaning that Laura had to wait for me.  Again.

We reached Millville Plains and I was loving the sweeping views.  Laura raced ahead of me, and with the exception of one or two cars, it was blissful solitude.  The kind of solitude that quiets the mind and steadies the heart.  I was turning the cranks pretty slowly, but with snow-striped Lassen to my left, I didn't care. I chugged along with a ridiculous grin on my face.  I love riding my bike.

Laura had mapped out a thirty four mile ride for us.  I'd ridden most of the roads before and thirty four miles is usually a pretty easy ride for me.  Not Saturday.  At about mile 25, I got what I call hollow legs.  Hollow legs are when my legs start to ache, not muscle ache, not cramping, but a deep ache in my bones.  Each pedal stroke feels like my legs are empty aluminum cans, ready to crumple at the slightest strain.  I have ridden with hollow legs before, but usually at mile 75 or 80.  To be greeted with hollow legs at mile 25 was disheartening.

This is the part of the story where I get philosophical.  Feel free to skip ahead.  I've learned a lot from cycling.  For example, it really is all about the journey.  The destination is just icing on the cake.  Another thing I've learned is that it's possible to cry and ride at the same time.  In fact, it's quite rewarding, even invigorating at times. Fortunately, I had no need to cry on Saturday because the most important lesson I've learned on my bike is that my mind is stronger than my body.  Much stronger.  If I can convince myself to just keep pedaling circles, then I know I can ride beyond the pain.  Hollow legs are no match for a strong mind.  My body listens to my mind and my mind is one tough cookie.

After nine miles of mental fortitude, we were back home eating minty ice cream sandwiches.  I slumped on my couch for a few minutes until I was confident my legs could carry me to the bathroom.  I eased my salty, sweaty self into the shower.  My shower is about as big as a refrigerator.  Single occupancy only.  No tub.  No frills.  Not even room for big ideas.  As the scalding water ran down my head and turned my flesh pink, I sunk to the floor of my shower.  I closed my eyes and the water swirled in rivulets down my cheeks.  The water pounded my head and legs, massaging the aches away.  A singular thought rose from the steam.  I can't wait to ride my bike again.