I didn't swallow
Jul. 10th, 2008 06:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
threadwalkerWildcat Thursday: Apparently being an omnivore means inadvertantly being an insectivore, too. Thank goodness for 2 water bottles: swish, spit!
Time to the top,: 31 minutes. It will be a hat trick if I can do it in 33 or less on Tuesday.
The sense of it all
Wildcat starts in bed, not on the road. I lay looking at the clock, debating the pros and cons. Today I laid and assessed my energy level - I had less than 4 hours of sleep and wiping out on the ride or being fragged at work would be stupid. But as I lay there, my energy gathered and built up; I was doing it.
I started jamming on gear and clothes; triathlon singlet (sleeveless, mid-thigh, lycra body suit that wicks moisture away. Although since it's lycra, it leaves nothing to the imagination. Unfortunately, I was thinking in terms of 'what do I want to climb the hill in' and not 'what will I be wearing at work and on the Train when I go home today'. oh well. live and learn.), long sleeved cycle jacket, amber eye ware, helmet, gloves, heart rate monitor.. then pump up tires.. gobble oatmeal... lock the door behind me. Less than 25 minutes from prone in bed to pushing Sally to the road.
This morning I step outside to start my ride at 5:30 am and I'm immediately aware that all my sense are participating.
I dash across the lawn, collecting dew on my shoes and legs, then mount Sally and take off. With my shoes clicked into pedals and gears arranged for my ride to the train station, I feel the air wrap around me, warm and moist. It hugs me and caresses me as it moves across my bare legs. It warns me the day is going to be hot, but at that moment,
it was very relaxing and soothing; I could have closed my eyes and sunk into it.
The smell of wet asphalt tells the tale of early morning lawn-watering and my eyes search for the broken pavement in the dark because without a headlamp the yellow street lights are only vanity. Cats dash across the road, dodging into bushes, making me laugh, and I can hear the BART trains pulling into and out of the station I was heading for, not realizing I was going to miss mine.
At the station I heft Sally onto my right shoulder, attuned to the shift in my muscles to carry her on my arm and keep my balance as I jog up the station stairs to the train platform. Up the stairs I can feel my heart thudding with the effort.
We missed our train by 5 minutes, so I lean against Sally comfortably; legs crossed, arms braced and body balanced against the frame's cross bar that digs into my tush. I'm acutely aware of my heart beat and the smell of the BART station, which smells like burning insulation, fuel and damp cement. At least it doesn't smell like piss as it often does. The warm air plays with my skin as it moves slowly across the platform that raises us above street level. It's still dark out, although the skyline is slowly lightening up. We wait and I turn inward to my own thoughts as the lazy air continues to move warmly around me.
This time I take a seat on the train. Usually I stand, but there is plenty of space so I take one of the handicapped benches and pull Sally up against me. Hands resting on frame crossbar, chin resting on hands, I closed my eyes. I
start calculating my hours of sleep (3.75), my arrival time at work (est 7:30), how many station stops left on ride, what time I'd get off work (4pm) and thus how long of a lunch I'd get (30 min) and so forth. Always doing math. Always
counting. I feel my gloves encase my hands, leaving my finger tips bare, while pressing the different textures of webbing and cloth into my face as I lean on them.
The train sways and bumps, but it doesn't rock me to sleep even though my eyes are closed. The snoring passengers show that sleep can be had and, in truth, I've been one of those snoring passengers, but not today. Today I am biking and I am in my groove; my body feels like it is waiting for the ride and has no intent of relaxing into a nap. My senses take turns cuing to the train and I hear my heart beat and start counting that.
Soon I'm exiting at Orinda and I'm greeted by the smell, the constant stench of smoke from the California
fires; when will California stop burning?
Sally is again on my shoulder for the trot down the stairs; my shoulders and arm carry her weight, my legs and hips shift so that I maintain my balance, my off arm holds the handle bar steady - it's a practiced maneuver at this point. Settling my back-pack in place, I note the sun is up, the air is warm, and the glow at the skyline is unsettling; it looks like haze, which means it's another "spare the air" day since the ocean winds have not swept away yesterday's mess. Happy Thought: At least I'm reducing my carbon foot print today.
My ride down San Pablo is it's own leg of my journey, unique to itself. I hit 15-20mph and the lazy warm air of Concord has been replaced by a colder, biting, unfriendly breeze. It cuts through my clothes, chilling me and stealing the relaxing warmth I'd gained on the first part of my ride. It burns my cheeks and stings my legs as I pedal, making me accutely aware of the fatigue in my quads from last night's 5 mile run and I find myself wondering if I have what it takes to make it to the top of Wildcat; maybe I'd misjudged and shouldn't have anchored this ride less than 7
hours after a long run.
Monitoring my energy levels and my leg conditions, I dodge cars and site down the length of the smooth road, which has a dedicated bike lane. I have to listen for traffic coming from behind because I have no rear-view mirror; I can't seem to use them without wiping out. Suddenly as I hit my first major intersection, I'm assaulted.
It's the smell of cooking bacon. Cruel kitchen genius! Every morning the same smell greets me at the same spot. My stomach rumbles, realizing I've tried to trick it into complacency with warm oatmeal just an hour ago. Even though I'm navigating and monitoring my surroundings, part of my attention is now dedicated to the smell of bacon and my imagination lingers on what it would taste like even after the smell has faded. Cruel torture.
In less than 15 minutes I've made it to Bear Creek/Wildcat cross roads, and the San Pablo leg, punctuated by greetings from other members of the tribe who were out cycling to their own destinations, is done. I take a moment to drink water, asses that my muscles are warmed up and I have enough energy to make it to the top; not that I have a choice because as soon as I got off the train, there was no turning back. I was on the last train that permitted bikes, afterwhich is a 3hr black out window where bikes are not permitted. I stand and gaze at the view, which is oak trees, yellow hills and lots of emptiness surmounted by a gold/orange globe obscured by haze. I take a deep breath, acknowledging my 2 minute break is over, and then shed my jacket; experience has shown me I won't need it on the climb.
Ten feet into my climb, I'm switching my gears to the smallest settings, wondering why I thought this was a good idea. I'm aware of the smell of grass and trees and water. My legs churn along and I realize my on-board AI has decided to display speed: over 6mph! This is faster than my first trip up by at least 2mph, so maybe even with tired legs, there is something gained here. My internal cheer is echoed by the cows who call out from the bottom of the hill.
Then ensues a 31 minute climb, punctuated by the beeping on my heart-rate monitor as my efforts send my heart rate over 160 bpm. I spend my ride pedaling just past my comfort zone while enjoying the vistas, the sounds of small animals scurrying through the brush, the patterns of sunlight and shadow on the road, the warm air sliding around me as my efforts create my own breeze and the heat of my own body as I work. During the climb I discover (again) the patch of road where the bugs gather.. swish, spit!
At Tilden the road levels out for a stretch and I catch some speed, nodding at on-coming members of the tribe. The cold breeze slides across my sleeveless arms, but I am warmed up and it does not penetrate. Instead, it's a balm and I laugh recalling the icewater balm that was dumped on me at June Crown. Much the same, but without the crowd of onlookers.
Speeding along at 20 mph is a little scary because one rock or acorn could mean a lot of blood and pain, but I own the road. Instead of slowing down, I practice deeper turns, foot placement and I push my speed up a notch. I spit in the eyes of fear and show it who's in charge of this ride. I also make a mental note to myself to pack baby wipes and gauze/tape because slowing down for fear is silly, but being prepared for the consequences of ignoring it is a good plan.
I feel like I am flying. I could take flight any second. I can feel myself laughing from the inside out from the raw pleasure of it all.
Past the Botanical gardens I pick up more speed for my final climb. In less than one minute I switch from the highest gears to the lowest, amazed at how quickly the steep climb has slowed me down. I put all my enthusiasm into the final climb and I am still slowed to a crawl, weaving back and forth across the road in order to stay upright. My heart thudding, legs screaming, arms straining, ears alert to the truck coming up behind me... every ounce of me is focused on climbing as quickly as I can. More importantly, in not stopping and getting off. I can feel my pulse in my entire body, thudding with the effort as the sweat rolls out of every pore of my body.
I make it to the stop sign, again victorious. My inner driver is satisfied that I have proven my mettle. I check the time and give a cheer. I take a splash of water, watch a jogger peel out onto the road, wait for a BMW to zip past me, and then take off. It has been a glorious climb.
The downhill ride is on Shasta, steeper, more treacherous and colder. My heart rate slows and the cold starts to sink in as civilization again envelops me. My senses are attuned to watching for pot-holes, drivers and joggers. I pass the same lady with 2 leashed dogs that I see each time and we call out morning greetings. I zip down roads almost too narrow for on coming traffic to pass me and so steep, my hands are constantly gripping my brakes. I skid through several sharp turns with little margin, annoyed with myself for misjudging my speed. My onboard AI clocks me at 15-18 mph, but the road is so narrow and potted, it doesn't feel like flying. Instead I feel like I am precariously balanced on tires that are 1 inch from dumping me into a wall or throwing me into a tree. Most of the cyclists I've met say they hate downhill. For good reason - it's dangerous.
My left hand is aching where the thumb is squeezing the hand brake. I'm "in the horn" of the handle bars because I fear the uneven road will throw my hands off the top-side grips. I shift my feet in response to whether I am turning right or left, but that is the only foot movement; gravit and momentum are doing all the work. I am completely fixated on nailing each turn without wiping out from speed or the broken surface. I have "that grimace" on my face that I get when I'm intent on defeating something that's hard.
I hit that part of town where UCB is located and the smell of fresh donuts assaults me at the same spot it always does. I have reached the land of text books and oblivious pedestrians. Of cars and stop lights. Of stopping and going and flowing with traffic.
I locked up my bike at 7:05. Excellent time - 25 minutes sooner than I thought. With bike shoes on, I click-click-click to the trailers.
My ride concludes with the shower... the magical hot water sluices away the sweat of the ride even if the shower stall is crammed into the handicapped bathroom that dominates one end of the trailer bathroom and I'm squeezing in against the wall to fit under the shower head.
I feel like all my nerve endings have been energized by my morning exertions. Too bad I can't do this everyday. And why did I wait so long to start doing Wildcat? I can't wait for next Tuesday.
Time to the top,: 31 minutes. It will be a hat trick if I can do it in 33 or less on Tuesday.
The sense of it all
Wildcat starts in bed, not on the road. I lay looking at the clock, debating the pros and cons. Today I laid and assessed my energy level - I had less than 4 hours of sleep and wiping out on the ride or being fragged at work would be stupid. But as I lay there, my energy gathered and built up; I was doing it.
I started jamming on gear and clothes; triathlon singlet (sleeveless, mid-thigh, lycra body suit that wicks moisture away. Although since it's lycra, it leaves nothing to the imagination. Unfortunately, I was thinking in terms of 'what do I want to climb the hill in' and not 'what will I be wearing at work and on the Train when I go home today'. oh well. live and learn.), long sleeved cycle jacket, amber eye ware, helmet, gloves, heart rate monitor.. then pump up tires.. gobble oatmeal... lock the door behind me. Less than 25 minutes from prone in bed to pushing Sally to the road.
This morning I step outside to start my ride at 5:30 am and I'm immediately aware that all my sense are participating.
I dash across the lawn, collecting dew on my shoes and legs, then mount Sally and take off. With my shoes clicked into pedals and gears arranged for my ride to the train station, I feel the air wrap around me, warm and moist. It hugs me and caresses me as it moves across my bare legs. It warns me the day is going to be hot, but at that moment,
it was very relaxing and soothing; I could have closed my eyes and sunk into it.
The smell of wet asphalt tells the tale of early morning lawn-watering and my eyes search for the broken pavement in the dark because without a headlamp the yellow street lights are only vanity. Cats dash across the road, dodging into bushes, making me laugh, and I can hear the BART trains pulling into and out of the station I was heading for, not realizing I was going to miss mine.
At the station I heft Sally onto my right shoulder, attuned to the shift in my muscles to carry her on my arm and keep my balance as I jog up the station stairs to the train platform. Up the stairs I can feel my heart thudding with the effort.
We missed our train by 5 minutes, so I lean against Sally comfortably; legs crossed, arms braced and body balanced against the frame's cross bar that digs into my tush. I'm acutely aware of my heart beat and the smell of the BART station, which smells like burning insulation, fuel and damp cement. At least it doesn't smell like piss as it often does. The warm air plays with my skin as it moves slowly across the platform that raises us above street level. It's still dark out, although the skyline is slowly lightening up. We wait and I turn inward to my own thoughts as the lazy air continues to move warmly around me.
This time I take a seat on the train. Usually I stand, but there is plenty of space so I take one of the handicapped benches and pull Sally up against me. Hands resting on frame crossbar, chin resting on hands, I closed my eyes. I
start calculating my hours of sleep (3.75), my arrival time at work (est 7:30), how many station stops left on ride, what time I'd get off work (4pm) and thus how long of a lunch I'd get (30 min) and so forth. Always doing math. Always
counting. I feel my gloves encase my hands, leaving my finger tips bare, while pressing the different textures of webbing and cloth into my face as I lean on them.
The train sways and bumps, but it doesn't rock me to sleep even though my eyes are closed. The snoring passengers show that sleep can be had and, in truth, I've been one of those snoring passengers, but not today. Today I am biking and I am in my groove; my body feels like it is waiting for the ride and has no intent of relaxing into a nap. My senses take turns cuing to the train and I hear my heart beat and start counting that.
Soon I'm exiting at Orinda and I'm greeted by the smell, the constant stench of smoke from the California
fires; when will California stop burning?
Sally is again on my shoulder for the trot down the stairs; my shoulders and arm carry her weight, my legs and hips shift so that I maintain my balance, my off arm holds the handle bar steady - it's a practiced maneuver at this point. Settling my back-pack in place, I note the sun is up, the air is warm, and the glow at the skyline is unsettling; it looks like haze, which means it's another "spare the air" day since the ocean winds have not swept away yesterday's mess. Happy Thought: At least I'm reducing my carbon foot print today.
My ride down San Pablo is it's own leg of my journey, unique to itself. I hit 15-20mph and the lazy warm air of Concord has been replaced by a colder, biting, unfriendly breeze. It cuts through my clothes, chilling me and stealing the relaxing warmth I'd gained on the first part of my ride. It burns my cheeks and stings my legs as I pedal, making me accutely aware of the fatigue in my quads from last night's 5 mile run and I find myself wondering if I have what it takes to make it to the top of Wildcat; maybe I'd misjudged and shouldn't have anchored this ride less than 7
hours after a long run.
Monitoring my energy levels and my leg conditions, I dodge cars and site down the length of the smooth road, which has a dedicated bike lane. I have to listen for traffic coming from behind because I have no rear-view mirror; I can't seem to use them without wiping out. Suddenly as I hit my first major intersection, I'm assaulted.
It's the smell of cooking bacon. Cruel kitchen genius! Every morning the same smell greets me at the same spot. My stomach rumbles, realizing I've tried to trick it into complacency with warm oatmeal just an hour ago. Even though I'm navigating and monitoring my surroundings, part of my attention is now dedicated to the smell of bacon and my imagination lingers on what it would taste like even after the smell has faded. Cruel torture.
In less than 15 minutes I've made it to Bear Creek/Wildcat cross roads, and the San Pablo leg, punctuated by greetings from other members of the tribe who were out cycling to their own destinations, is done. I take a moment to drink water, asses that my muscles are warmed up and I have enough energy to make it to the top; not that I have a choice because as soon as I got off the train, there was no turning back. I was on the last train that permitted bikes, afterwhich is a 3hr black out window where bikes are not permitted. I stand and gaze at the view, which is oak trees, yellow hills and lots of emptiness surmounted by a gold/orange globe obscured by haze. I take a deep breath, acknowledging my 2 minute break is over, and then shed my jacket; experience has shown me I won't need it on the climb.
Ten feet into my climb, I'm switching my gears to the smallest settings, wondering why I thought this was a good idea. I'm aware of the smell of grass and trees and water. My legs churn along and I realize my on-board AI has decided to display speed: over 6mph! This is faster than my first trip up by at least 2mph, so maybe even with tired legs, there is something gained here. My internal cheer is echoed by the cows who call out from the bottom of the hill.
Then ensues a 31 minute climb, punctuated by the beeping on my heart-rate monitor as my efforts send my heart rate over 160 bpm. I spend my ride pedaling just past my comfort zone while enjoying the vistas, the sounds of small animals scurrying through the brush, the patterns of sunlight and shadow on the road, the warm air sliding around me as my efforts create my own breeze and the heat of my own body as I work. During the climb I discover (again) the patch of road where the bugs gather.. swish, spit!
At Tilden the road levels out for a stretch and I catch some speed, nodding at on-coming members of the tribe. The cold breeze slides across my sleeveless arms, but I am warmed up and it does not penetrate. Instead, it's a balm and I laugh recalling the icewater balm that was dumped on me at June Crown. Much the same, but without the crowd of onlookers.
Speeding along at 20 mph is a little scary because one rock or acorn could mean a lot of blood and pain, but I own the road. Instead of slowing down, I practice deeper turns, foot placement and I push my speed up a notch. I spit in the eyes of fear and show it who's in charge of this ride. I also make a mental note to myself to pack baby wipes and gauze/tape because slowing down for fear is silly, but being prepared for the consequences of ignoring it is a good plan.
I feel like I am flying. I could take flight any second. I can feel myself laughing from the inside out from the raw pleasure of it all.
Past the Botanical gardens I pick up more speed for my final climb. In less than one minute I switch from the highest gears to the lowest, amazed at how quickly the steep climb has slowed me down. I put all my enthusiasm into the final climb and I am still slowed to a crawl, weaving back and forth across the road in order to stay upright. My heart thudding, legs screaming, arms straining, ears alert to the truck coming up behind me... every ounce of me is focused on climbing as quickly as I can. More importantly, in not stopping and getting off. I can feel my pulse in my entire body, thudding with the effort as the sweat rolls out of every pore of my body.
I make it to the stop sign, again victorious. My inner driver is satisfied that I have proven my mettle. I check the time and give a cheer. I take a splash of water, watch a jogger peel out onto the road, wait for a BMW to zip past me, and then take off. It has been a glorious climb.
The downhill ride is on Shasta, steeper, more treacherous and colder. My heart rate slows and the cold starts to sink in as civilization again envelops me. My senses are attuned to watching for pot-holes, drivers and joggers. I pass the same lady with 2 leashed dogs that I see each time and we call out morning greetings. I zip down roads almost too narrow for on coming traffic to pass me and so steep, my hands are constantly gripping my brakes. I skid through several sharp turns with little margin, annoyed with myself for misjudging my speed. My onboard AI clocks me at 15-18 mph, but the road is so narrow and potted, it doesn't feel like flying. Instead I feel like I am precariously balanced on tires that are 1 inch from dumping me into a wall or throwing me into a tree. Most of the cyclists I've met say they hate downhill. For good reason - it's dangerous.
My left hand is aching where the thumb is squeezing the hand brake. I'm "in the horn" of the handle bars because I fear the uneven road will throw my hands off the top-side grips. I shift my feet in response to whether I am turning right or left, but that is the only foot movement; gravit and momentum are doing all the work. I am completely fixated on nailing each turn without wiping out from speed or the broken surface. I have "that grimace" on my face that I get when I'm intent on defeating something that's hard.
I hit that part of town where UCB is located and the smell of fresh donuts assaults me at the same spot it always does. I have reached the land of text books and oblivious pedestrians. Of cars and stop lights. Of stopping and going and flowing with traffic.
I locked up my bike at 7:05. Excellent time - 25 minutes sooner than I thought. With bike shoes on, I click-click-click to the trailers.
My ride concludes with the shower... the magical hot water sluices away the sweat of the ride even if the shower stall is crammed into the handicapped bathroom that dominates one end of the trailer bathroom and I'm squeezing in against the wall to fit under the shower head.
I feel like all my nerve endings have been energized by my morning exertions. Too bad I can't do this everyday. And why did I wait so long to start doing Wildcat? I can't wait for next Tuesday.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-07-11 03:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-11 04:32 pm (UTC)WOW... what a ride.
Date: 2008-07-11 07:22 am (UTC)Re: WOW... what a ride.
Date: 2008-07-11 04:32 pm (UTC)For me the trick is getting started on something and convincing myself I want to invest the time and energy into figuring out how to do it the first time (such as map out Wildcat to work, get the right gear, figure out the train schedule, figure out what time I need to leave the house, how to work it around the family, etc). But if I do it once and it feels right, I'll keep trying to recapture that sensation of "rightness".
Finding my "driver."
Date: 2008-07-12 05:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-12 03:18 pm (UTC)The rough route
Date: 2008-07-13 12:50 am (UTC)I'm more of a "turn left at the big rock" person, but I've been trying to take note of the street signs I use.
I start at Orinda BART, take San Pablo to Wildcat Canyon and go up to the top. I turn at Shasta and follow Shasta down. I hook over to Euclid at some point and that's more of an instinct thing.. I don't seem to take the same turn twice in a row. I take Euclid until I hit the University. I'm one street east of Shattuck (towards the hills) because it has less traffic. I think I end up dumping out onto Shattuck, tho. I'm so busy navigating around traffic and gardening trucks, I don't spend a lot of time looking at the signs. heh. Sooner or later I hit Haste and turn right. I turn left on San Pablo. Right on Dwight. The plant entrance is 800 Dwight.
The surface streets suck after I hit Haste, that's for sure. Broken, pitted and patched, my whole bike rattles with the ride.
Re: The rough route
Date: 2008-07-13 06:08 am (UTC)Re: The rough route
Date: 2008-07-13 10:23 am (UTC)Re: The rough route
Date: 2008-07-13 07:28 pm (UTC)