Where has all the time gone?
I guess my expression says it all -- less than five weeks left before New York. And I didn't run this weekend thanks to Gran Fondo. Did the 65-mile Medio route with -- surprise, surprise -- zero training. Hadn't ridden at all since Ukiah. And even though we took it easy (so easy, in fact, that Arvan and I sang showtunes and Carly Rae Jepson throughout most of the ride, much to the dismay of anyone around us), I still got my ass handed to me.
Dear Coleman Valley Road: You are one steep bitch. I was fine until this point. Stormed up the hills in Occidental and Bodega Bay, no problem. But Coleman did me in. Had to get off the bike and do the walk of shame. (And even walking was tough -- the incline was so steep that my Achilles tendons hurt.)
And it got worse. What goes up eventually comes down, and the descent was absolutely terrifying. Switchbacks in the shade, so I couldn't see any potholes or oncoming traffic, and then my sunglasses fogged up, and then my left contact lens fogged up, and basically I was clinging to Bibi and praying for dear life.
After that, I was so shaken up and exhausted that I had to walk the next hill. (And I had a mini meltdown right before getting off the bike -- my legs were so tired that I couldn't clip out, and I started to panic and imagine that I was stuck in my pedals and had to keep cycling forever and ever and ever ... Oh, the places a tired mind goes. Not pretty.)
But it wasn't all bad. I'd say 85 percent of the ride was honest-to-goodness fun. (How can it not be, when you and your good friend are singing the entire score from "The Sound of Music"?) And I think if I'd been in better shape, I would've enjoyed it more. (Which means that I'll probably sign up again next year because I'm a crazy masochist.)
And the views were sweet.
And even though Coleman was a bitch, the top was a nice place to be.