the tao of cycling: hogsback and henefer: whew and woo-hoo

Sunday, June 19, 2011

hogsback and henefer: whew and woo-hoo

the trip from salt lake to henefer and back seems to be a standard training ride for "serious" cyclists around here.
how would I define "serious" as used in this context?
determined, stubborn, indifferent to pain, slightly crazy, yep, words like that.

the round trip is about 80 miles, with perhaps around 7,000' of elevation gain: emigration, big mountain, hogsback (which is just a big darn silly hill out in the middle of nowhere you have to climb then descend: why do they do that?) . . . then everything again in the opposite direction. plenty climbing, plenty swooping, a tour alongside two reservoirs, and, yesterday, a chipper moose (my third of the week) trotting down the road in front of me on our way down from big mountain on the way home.

on the first leg of our ride I asked biking buddy bob if he ever got nervous before rides like this.

"nervous? no, not nervous. I might get anxious before a big organized ride, like the 1000 warriors, or lotoja, rides like that. rides like this today, I might have thoughts like 'I don't want to do this,' but it's not an anxious thing."

he nailed it. I had been trying to put descriptive words to what I'd been feeling earlier in the morning, and perhaps the most accurate word would be dread. as in, oh, this is going to hurt, I would rather stay home and eat bon-bons and life would be easier if I didn't like to ride my bike. wait, do I like to ride my bike? then why don't I want to go today? oh, that's right, because it's going to hurt . . .

the trip to henefer, standard summer ride for the serious training cyclist, is just not one of my favorites. I've only ridden it 3 or so times, and I have never loved it.

so yesterday I was experiencing some combined form of dread and anxiety, yet telling myself I had all day to do it and great company, and it would be just fine.

and it was. parts were less fun than others, but I survived it, it's behind me, and I have just jumped a mental hurdle: the first long, painful ride of the season to henefer.

it may not seem like so much, but for some reason, having this ride behind me is significant. perhaps it's like passing your first exam in a new course, or receiving your first--and favorable--review at a new job. surviving this ride is confirmation that my training has been good enough, and I'm on the right path.

it's a whew.

and a woo-hoo.

2 comments:

Holly said...: Sounds like fun ... want to go again tomorrow? Remember~you love to ride!; June 20, 2011 at 4:06 PM
susan said...: are you coming with me?; June 21, 2011 at 8:59 AM

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the Male Ego

The other day I was coming down a canyon in my drop bars (two years ago I would have said, 'what's a drop bar?'), working hard, when I came up on two guys who were also heading downhill but at a more leisurely pace. I passed them, said hello as I did so, and pulled back into the bike lane. a few minutes later they went flying past me, faces looking dead ahead, not a single bit of acknowledgment that I even existed on this planet let alone was involved in and enjoying the same sport they were.
I have to attribute this to the male ego. what else can it be? now I know we all have egos, myself included. and mine even shows its ridiculous little head once in a while, or perhaps more often. but the difference between mine and say, those of certain men on bicycles, is that I KNOW mine exists and I can LAUGH at mine. I know my ego was quite excited to pass those guys, and I could also smile because I knew if the men had really been working like I was, they would have kicked my butt down the hill.
I think I pissed them off.
and I'm sure I will be sharing with you much more of my thoughts about the male ego . . .

a little history

I was married, and I had a mountain bike which I rarely rode. we separated, I moved out, and four months later someone stole my bike. the next spring, 2005, I bought myself a new mountain bike. I rode occasionally, and in april 2006 I rode in my first century, the Cactus Hugger in St. George, Utah. I made it 54 miles on that mountain bike, and it took me about 6 hours. I think that included the rest stops where I prayed that someone would steal my bike again . . .
in june 2006 I started riding my mountain bike five mornings a week, a 45-55 minute loop that was intended to be all about exercise. and what I found was that I loved the quiet, peaceful morning full of bird chatter and barely breaking sunrises. by that fall I was hooked, and began considering the purchase of a road bike. I rode up emigration canyon for the first time that Labor Day of 2006, panting and plowing along on my trusty (heavy) bike, and a month later I was the proud owner of my own road bike: I had become a two-bike girl!
a 17-week-long "power camp" over the winter and a handful of new friends kept bicycling front and center in my life, and when spring of 2007 rolled around I was ready to hit the pavement. I rode my first century the end of april, when I again went to St. George and completed that Cactus Hugger. it took me about 7 hours, but this time I rode the entire 100 miles with about 9300 feet of vertical gain. woo hoo!
I started riding canyons around our area, emigration and millcreek, city creek, big cottonwood, little mountain and big mountain, and once--yes, only once--little cottonwood.
then in september of 2007, I rode from Logan, Utah, to Jackson, Wyoming, in the slightly infamous LOTOJA race. I rode, I did not race. and I completed the thing, crediting my good training buddies, the incredibly perfect weather, my support team, and an amazing convergence of all things positive in the universe.
I put in about 3500 miles last season, and as of today, july 19, 2008, I have about 1700 in, adding to it every day.
I have again signed on to ride the LOTOJA race, and my goal is to have just somewhere near as great a ride as I did last year. oh, and to have someone fun to talk with along the way as I got incredibly bored last year . . . star valley is still a nightmare scene in my biking memories . . .
and here is a picture of the machine that has helped me reclaim my life.