Killer Climbs—Day 3

The numbers don’t do today’s ride justice—47.4 miles in 3:54 for a 12.1mph average. 6,726′ of elevation gained.

High desert, totally exposed, steep early and brutally so late. Toughest climb of my life and I was the first one up in our little posse which makes since sense I’m the youngest and thinest. I was delivering the mail during several stretches—swerving from one shoulder to the other as if putting mail in boxes on both sides of the street. Very lightly traveled road that dead ends at 10,000′ at the Ancient Bristle Pine Cone Forest—home of 7,000 year old trees, the oldest living ones in the world. At times, despite the very light traffic, I thought a car could come around the bend and pick me off while delivering mail on their rightful side of the road. Which prompted this dialogue:

Self1: You know, a car could be coming at any second and pick you off clean and simple.

Self2: If I’d die at impact, it might not be the worse outcome because I have no effin idea how far I am from the effin top. Anyways, the will is up to date. Betrothed is still a looker. She’ll be fine. (and with that assertion, my debt for a week away is paid)

Self1: Yeah, but what if the impact doesn’t kill you and you don’t die until being dragged several hundred yards down the mountain under the car’s front bumper.

Self2: That may be slightly less fun than continuing this god forsaken climb.

Mom, I apologize for using several words you wouldn’t have been proud of today. Fortunately though, no one was around to hear them. In fact, it was so quiet, I was taking my heart rate without leaving the handlebars. I was working so hard I could feel my pulsating head, and with the bike computer clock. . . 15 in 5 seconds, meaning 30 in 10, meaning 180. That was before I lost my ability to do basic math.

I’m eating like crazy and am still probably down a few lbs.

Tomorrow is an “easy” day. A 13-14 mile climb from Big Pine up to Glacier Lodge. Rumor has it somewhere between 3-4k of elevation. It’s supposed to be 95, but we’re starting early to avoid the worst of the heat.  Stay tuned, I will let you know how it goes.

 

Killer Climbs—Day Two

Subtitle—Voices.

Laying in bed last night, the voice was one of my internal ones, “You really should run before riding, just like yesterday. Don’t be a loser, get up and put one foot in front of the other.” To which another of my internal ones countered, “Yeah, but what about my trip motto, ‘train, don’t strain’?”

Whenever I go to bed unsure of whether to get up and run at 5:45 a.m., I sleep a little late, lay in bed, and kick myself throughout the day for what coulda and shoulda been. Those are the days everyone is out running just to remind me that I’m a lowlife. In short, I have to totally commit and visualize it before knocking off. Go to bed all Mitt Romney flip-floppy-like and forget about it.

The ride was straightforward, climb a highway for 25 miles to South Lake. Total elevation, 5,800′. Then descend eight miles to a fork and climb for five or six more miles to Lake Sabrina. Why? Because it’s there and we drove for 20 hours to get here.

There I was 16 miles in, working my ass off, when I shifted a couple gears before standing and relieving my back. The small-ring shifter cable snapped and I was stuck in one gear. Done for the day. Since the big-ring shifter still worked fine, I had two gears, neither which I could even remotely climb in. I descended back into town and found Aerohead, an amazing hole in the wall bike shop, where Brian was waiting to repair my injured steed.

Most amazing shop experience evah. Brian had to work really hard to get the cable out and said I was almost “Completely f-ed.” Then he heard the deep squeaking noise my headset/bars have been making and said “That’s heinous.” Is that brilliant or what? Line of the day. He broke everything down, headset, fork, bars, pulled the steerer tube out and inspected it for cracks, cleaned and lubed everything and put it all back together. A craftsman. Total cost of everything, $17.69. Un-f-ing believable.

Returned to the hotel where the bed whispered, “Just lay down. Enjoy the piece and quiet of an empty room. Kick on the tube, watch some basketball, some golf, chilax.” The shower shouted, “Just hop in! Let me wash away your sunscreen, dust, dirt, salt, and fatigue. It will feel really good, promise.” I thought to myself, “Dammit, shut up! I should ride another two hours or maybe I should run.” Then the shower and bed teamed up. “Just hop in and then lay down.”

Character building run—totally exposed to the sun, warm, at elevation, partly uphill. Felt decent through 10 and like complete shit at 11. The days deets—30 mile ride in 2:04 for a 14.7mph average. 3,146′ of elevation, and a measly max of 42. 13.1 mile run in 1:47. 691′ of elevation, 8:08 pace, but don’t be fooled, I completely unraveled and entered “stick a fork in me” territory at 12. Stomach cramps prompted walking breaks.

A final voice. Again one of my own internal ones. “Who are you trying to fool? Can’t even ride for two hours and run for two, what makes you think you can ride for six and run for four? Why did you even sign up to go long? Moron. Poser. Sorry excuse of a triathlete.”

Too bad it’s not, swim, cycle, self flagellate.

Killer Climbs—Day One

Ran 7 miles before a breakfast of oatmeal, cereal, multiple English muffins with pb and honey, yogurt, juice and green tea. May have been a personal record for windiest run ever. Ran mostly into the wind for the first half which is like eating your vegetables first. My grandfather always ate his dessert first because “what if I die mid-meal”. Maybe tomorrow, in Grandpa Dana’s honor, I’ll start out with the wind.

The inaugural Killer Climb was excellent. An “A-” due to a black and blue big toe which my running posse will delight in. I don’t know why, but since suffering a previous cycling shoe injury, they think I’m a little soft. It could present troubles. Here are the day’s deets—60.3 miles in 4:10 for a 14.4 mph average. 6,195′ of climbing including riding to the end of the highest paved road in the Golden State. Maximum speed on the descent, 48.1mph, which ties my personal record. Don’t tell the Girls Club, but I will be breaking 50mph on this trip. Each year, from now on—strike that, until I die engaged in this activity in a few years—I will “descend my age”. 4,129 calories which I look forward to replacing shortly.

Rider of the day—my brother, a Southern California fixed gear cycling legend in his own mind, who was nowhere to be found. Silly me, with our physical proximity, I was sure he’d be man enough to join us.

10,300′ up in the Eastern Sierras

Self portrait

Killer Climbs—The Prelude

Totally whipped after the first two days of the Killer Climbs Eastern Sierra bike trip I’ll be blogging for the next week. And I haven’t even turned the pedals once.

Long, long car trip complicated by our vehicle quitting near the top of Mt. Ashland just south of Ashland, Oregon. There are eleven of us from Olympia on the 20+ person trip. Three of us were in SJ’s SUV, two in a large van with ten bikes, five flew via L.A. and Mammoth, and one drove solo with her bike. SJ, M, and I were saved by Gary, a good friend of S’s from previous trips and an Ashland resident and fellow participant on this trip. At 5pm Wednesday, Gary, after a long day of dentistry, picked us up, fed us, housed us, and then Thursday morning we piled into his Suburban, with two of his Ashland friends. That’s after we hooked up a trailer to the Suburban for our overflowing gear. We’ll pick up our SUV in Ashland on the way home next Friday (crankshaft position sensor).

I’m really looking forward to riding tomorrow after sitting in a car for two solid days. Back is a little iffy as a result of folding into cars and my too heavy duffle, but I should be okay. The three Ashlanders are apparently crazy strong so it will be fun to be pushed. The key for me will easing in. I’ve never rode seven days in a row, let alone serious up hill at crazy elevation.

We have a group meeting tomorrow in Bishop at 8:30a.m. and then drive something like 20 miles to the start of our first ride. I think I can handle 20 miles in the ‘burban, but no more. In other news, there’s a 97% solar eclipse here for seven minutes beginning Sunday at 5:43pm.

Good times.

[I'm having a real hard time uploading pics with my weak hotel wireless signal. I'll keep trying. Check back.]

Mascot–Now resting quietly at Medford Mercedes dealership

Driving Hate Underground and the Illusion of Progress

I need help in the form of divine intervention, a Pentecostal moving of the Holy Spirit, to feel any kind of Christian brotherhood with Sean Harris, senior pastor of Berean Baptist Church in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Here’s an excerpt from one of Harris’s recent sermons:

So your little son starts to act a little girlish when he is four years old and instead of squashing that like a cockroach and saying, ‘Man up, son, get that dress off you and get outside and dig a ditch, because that is what boys do,’ you get out the camera and you start taking pictures of Johnny acting like a female and then you upload it to YouTube and everybody laughs about it and the next thing you know, this dude, this kid is acting out childhood fantasies that should have been squashed.

Dads, the second you see your son dropping the limp wrist, you walk over there and crack that wrist. Man up. Give him a good punch. Ok? You are not going to act like that. You were made by God to be a male and you are going to be a male. And when your daughter starts acting too butch, you reign [sic] her in. And you say, ‘Oh, no, sweetheart. You can play sports. Play them to the glory of God. But sometimes you are going to act like a girl and walk like a girl and talk like a girl and smell like a girl and that means you are going to be beautiful. You are going to be attractive. You are going to dress yourself up.’”

Hearing the hate in his voice makes it twice as troubling. Take two minutes to listen to it here.

I saw Harris interviewed about his sermon on CNN. He didn’t apologize. Instead he backpedaled on some of the words he used, like “punch” by which he meant “shove”. Oh, okay Harris, all is well as long as parents are just shoving their young children for not conforming to your homophobic conception of traditional gender roles.

Harris’s “sermon” has gone viral and he says he’s received tons of negative press including death threats. Responding violently to Harris’s violence makes no sense from either a Christian, Constitutional, or common sense perspective. The best response would be for everyone to stop attending his church, but the most troubling aspect of this saga may be the congregation’s seemingly unconditional support for Harris. They laugh and cheer throughout the sermon and have come to his defense following the media backlash. Are these the only couple hundred of people in the country without a gay or lesbian family member or friend?

Harris presents an interesting case study of hate. Hate crimes obviously have to prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, but what about hateful thinking and speech? Once Harris’s semi-private thoughts and words were made public, he felt a need to temper his hate by offering up a series of synonyms in the hope that some combination of them would appease the media and public so that they’d move on to the next story and leave him alone to pastor his church.

The key question is how do we create public spaces—whether school or church classrooms, community centers, work conference rooms, or public media—where the Harris’s of the world can articulate their fear, anger, and even unadulterated hate without the fear of being tarred and feathered? Because until we shine the light of civic discourse on hateful thinking and hate speech, it will fester, increase, and intensify.

The current way of dealing with hateful thinking and speech is to silence the perpetrators through what often takes the form of “counter hateful thinking and speech”. Instead of leaning more heavily on the First Amendment, we opt for public shaming. Expose them on YouTube and compete to see who can damn them to hell most quickly, creatively, and persuasively. As a result, no one ever learns anything about the underlying causes of the perps’ fear, anger, and hate. And we delude ourselves to think we’re making progress. All we’re doing is driving hate farther underground where it festers, increases, and intensifies.

The CNN interviewer who interviewed Harris looked like he was quite proud of himself. Post interview he was probably thinking, “Boy, I really held his feet to the fire, taught him what is and isn’t acceptable, and caused him to feel at least a little remorse.”

Wrong. I suspect Harris’s only take-away was “I have to be more mindful of the media’s reach.” Worse than not feeling remorseful, I suspect Harris’s fear, anger, and hate towards homosexuals is now coupled with amped up anger and hate towards the mainstream media. Whether Harris likes the media is less important than whether we create public spaces where a wide range of challenging, even hateful ideas can be discussed openly and honestly in the hope that the pockets of hate that prevent the church from fulfilling it’s mission and limit the potential of our democracy can be chipped away at.

We have a very long way to go.

How To Lose Your Principal’s Job

Tired of recalcitrant faculty, entitled students, absentee or helicopter parents, and after school sports supervision? Want to shift gears, go in a different direction? I’m here to help.

First decide whether you want to go “old school” or “new school”. If you want to go “old school”, like a Washington State principal a few months ago, follow these steps. First, drink yourself silly. Second, be a bad enough husband/wife that your spouse feels they have to file for divorce. Third, come completely unhinged at the dissolution of your marriage. Fourth, get arrested for Driving Under the Influence. And fifth, for good measure, buy a gun and threaten your spouse with violence. That should do it.

If that seems a little messy and you fancy yourself more modern, go “new school” like Louis Losos, former principal at Clayton High School in St. Louis. All you need is an internet connection and a fake Facebook account. Wired Magazine fills in the details:

A high school principal in Missouri has resigned after she was accused of impersonating a student on Facebook in order to spy on students and their parents, according to a news report.

Louise Losos, the principal of Clayton High School in St. Louis, is suspected of having created a fake Facebook account under the alias Suzy Harriston and “friending” hundreds of students, presumably in order to monitor their communications through their Facebook postings.

The account, whose profile picture depicted a group of penguins, was set up last year. More than 300 students accepted the “friend” request from “Harriston,” many of them Clayton High School students, before a student who received one of the requests posted a note warning others to stay away from the account because he believed the principal was behind it, according to the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

Whether you go out old school or new, know that legions of hopeful school administrators thank you.

Triathlon Training Update—April 2012

[Newer readers—I had a mental lapse last year and registered for a late August Iron-distance triathlon—3.8km swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile run—in Penticton, Canada. Once a month the sports world anxiously awaits my training updates.]

Solid month of base building, but swim and bike times are slow. Three flats later, I found a very small piece of metal in my back tire which may help explain the pedestrian bike numbers. The swim times are probably off because I’m training solo, and therefore, not working as hard as when pushed by other fishies. Running has been steady, not speedy, but very solid. I have to get used to longer and even slower than normal distance-based training. The key is finding a rhythm—in each activity—that’s sustainable for hours on end.

In April I knocked out a few mid-distance bike-runs that went well. The mental toughness those require is as valuable as the physiological adaptations. Related to that, I have to learn to run slower in the first 30-60 minutes off the bike. My muscles are so warmed up, I routinely get out of an even semi-realistic “sustainable rhythm for hours” zone. I also have to learn to adjust for warm temps—something that’s tougher than it sounds. That will be the focus of my early August Tampa, FL running.

Like most athletes I have a time goal. Older bro and Lance both went 11:44ish so it would be nice to be south of that. But a friend’s experience at Iron-distance St. George, Utah last week makes me wonder if I should take an alternative approach to goal setting. Long story short, at St. George a 40mph wind kicked up shortly after the swim start. Two to three foot swells kept many from finishing the swim. Had the wind started fifteen minutes earlier, they would have shortened or cancelled the swim. The same 40mph winds played havoc with the bike leg. Times were 40-90 minutes slower than normal.

Stoicism encourages people to set goals that are in their control—such as the quality of the effort they expend in contrast to finishing in first place.

Who knows what race day will hold—a few years ago nearby wildfires meant competing through smoke and haze. High winds, rain; even hail; and most likely of all, serious heat; could sabotage my day if I stick to a hard and fast time goal. The alternative? Age-group placing since everyone has to endure the same conditions. So what place in the 50-54 year old geezer division am I shooting for? Not telling.

The first serious setback to my training took place a week ago when my back seized up for the first time in about 18 months. Painful. My hips were completely out of alignment. Chiro said it was the worst he’d ever seen me. So May started off with long awaited idyllic weather and unplanned, forced rest. Everyone is getting in better shape except me. Poor, pitiful me. Meanwhile, I’m laying on the floor with a heating pad watching the NBA playoffs. The good news is I’m slowly improving and right now I’m about 75-80% of normal.

Next week I depart for the first of two bike intensive training trips—this one to the Eastern Sierras in the state where my cycling fame first took route—California. It’s going to be sunny and hella hot which should be good for my back. Starting next Friday, I will be taking you along, so buy some sunscreen, pump your tires, and lube your chain.

And there’s this from a pre-departure email: On the way down Wednesday, we might stop and do a short ride on Mt. Shasta, and then stay in a motel in Burney, CA. On Thursday, the highlight will be lobster tacos at the Mobil Station at Mono Lake.