Killer Climbs—The Conclusion

There’s one more ride on the itinerary for tomorrow, the last day, but only one of the four of us that are remaining want to do it. I’m going for a run before we head home since I have a total of zero miles so far this week. In the sport of triathlon you “ride for show and run for dough.”

Today’s ride was from Lone Pine through the Alabama Hills and up Horseshoe Meadow Road 24 miles and 6,500′ to the end at 9,900′. There’s some YouTube vids of the road if the pics intrigue you. A large percentage of Western/Cowboy movies were filmed in the Alabama Hills. I worried all day that a massive line of Indians were about to crest the mountains above us.

We left at 6 a.m. to avoid the heat. At the top I had ridden 28.3 miles in 3:10 for a 9.0 mph average. With the return, and a shortcut back to the hotel, I rode 51.4 miles, in 4:11, with 7,008′ of elevation. The descent was not for those afraid of heights. The drops were in the thousands of feet. Truth be told, I was a bit spooked at times. All in all, a very nice exclamation point to a great week of training. My inner voices, for a change, were relatively quiet.

However, there was one inner convo that started with this question, “How can you provide your legion of readers a feel for what it’s like to climb these mothers?” Here’s what I came up with. Go to a fitness club or weight room with a leg press. Figure out your 85-90% max or what you can do about 12 times, working especially hard on the last four. For me it’s usually in the 180-200 pound vicinity. Then divide that weight in half and do slow reps for 30 minutes or divide it by two-thirds and do slow reps for an hour. Turn the heat way up, turn a fan on and don’t forget to wear a cycling helmet so you get a wee bit warmer. Now repeat six days in a row. Welcome to the team.

In related news, loosening my shoes and wrapping the damaged toe tightly with bandaids stemmed the damage I was doing to it on days one and two. Back is still fragile, but with some rest, it should be fine. After absorbing this intense segment of training, I will definitely graduate from “spring” to “summer” cycling shape. The next and final stage is “late summer” shape.

All in all, this past week of climbing was fun and a success. Thanks for coming along. We return to regular programming Monday.

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Killer Climbs—Day 5

From Big Pine. Up Onion Valley. And I mean “up”. No real warm up. 5,703′ of gain in just over 13 miles. The road goes from the valley way up into the Sierras where it dead ends at a campground where there are trailheads for wonderful High Sierra backpacking. I remembered the camera and the new hotel has beefier internet so pics below.

Day’s total—44.4 miles in 3:19 for an average of 13.4 and max of 46. Beautiful ride and scenery. The first half included some gentle turns, but we were mostly moving from the Valley floor into the mountains. The second half consisted of dramatic switchbacks that made for some of the most fun riding of the trip so far. Steep, but maybe I’m getting used to it, because I got into a bit of a rhythm.

Midway, at about 6,500′, I’d look up at 12-14,000 peaks and then scan down and see shimmering metal guardrails way up high and say to myself, “Damn, steady punishment ahead.” And yet, once up on the top half, it was very cool to look down and see where you’d come from, an extremely long, brown, serpentine snake of a road. And of course I looked for the other riders to see what kind of gap I had created.

The view, coupled with my gap, meant the days of self-flagellation were over. Instead, my head swelled to historic proportions. “Contador would need roided up steak to climb this mother.” “Landis would need ‘whiskey’”. “Armstrong would need a (Dr.) Ferrari.” “Look at that road down there and look at those specks chasing me. I’m doing it on King Sized PayDays. I am among the baddest of badasses.”

After resting by a small stream at the top, the descent was fun, but you could’ve easily killed yourself since guardrails were sporadic and the drop off was many hundreds of feet. Unlike Day 3, I didn’t want to die today. Also, the freeze cracks were wicked. Still, I noticed I did one five mile downhill segment in seven and a half minutes.

Once down, four of us decided to ride to our ultimate destination—Lone Pine, 16 miles away—once again, via Hwy 395. This is where things got a little weird. It was 91 degrees and so I assumed we’d work together to make the best time possible. Wrong, Larry must of lost patience, because he took off down the road, leaving Bill, Melody, and me to chase. Or so I thought. I said to myself, “Self, the three of us will reel him in within a few miles.” So I turned around to see if Bill and Melody were ready to ride the Ron-train for awhile and they were gone. Unbeknownst to me, they crossed the street for ice at a Chevron. So I was officially in “No Man’s Land”.

I said to myself, “Self, you’ve been climbing faster than Larry, so ride like you stole it and close the damn gap.” Great, I’ve just climbed 5,300′ and now I have to time trial across the Valley floor in 91 degrees. No problem because don’t forget, I’m among the baddest of badasses. Or so I thought.

Turns out Larry is more of a badass. I should have known that when I learned he also grew up in SoCal, but unlike me, his idea of a good time was bodysurfing the Wedge in Newport. That my friends earns one a lifetime Badass Card that you can whip out whenever someone is chasing from behind. Also worth mentioning, Larry is 62 years young. Also worth mentioning, Larry has a little rearview mirror on his shades.

Damn if he didn’t throw down an epic time trial effort. I have never chased anyone so long and been so exasperated that I couldn’t close the gap. The gap began at 30 seconds. I closed it to 24 once and it grew to as much as 38. We were literally riding the exact same speed for the entire sixteen miles. Once we pulled into the Best Western in Lone Pine, I was afraid he might say, “Yeah, I was wondering where you were. I decided to take it easy given the morning’s climb and the mid-day heat.” Instead, he saw me the whole time and just resolved not to get caught. Total props! He laughed at how intense our effort was and gave me a congratulatory fist pump. Hope I’m half the badass in 12 years.

Anybody know how many times a blogger can us the term “badass” in one post? I’m sure I’m over the limit. But I doubt anyone is going to restrict me, because today at least, I’m a badass.

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Killer Climbs—Day 4

Plan was to meet at 7:30a, drive 15 miles south to Big Pine, and then climb up to Glacier “Lodge”. A ten mile climb, how hard could that be?

Getting to the start was half the battle. I walked out to the hotel parking lot at 7:30:30 a.m. glistening from sunscreen with my gear bag on my shoulder only to see the van leaving. Okay, vehicle two, the rental SUV. Also gone. Okay, Alex’s car, there she goes heading south on 395. Bus left plain and simple. And it’s not like we’re always hyper-prompt. I felt like a Facebook investor, but knew what happened. Each driver just assumed I was in one of the other cars.

I knew exactly what would happen, and it did in fact go down exactly this way. They’d drive south (20 minutes), unload the bikes, see mine still in its stall, and then someone would say, “Where’s Ron?” At which point, they’d all have a good laugh at my expense. Fortunately, Double B returned for me about fifteen minutes before I told myself I would have to go for a run instead. Peterson said, “I asked if anyone wasn’t here and you didn’t say anything.” Now we’re overcompensating by doing double and triple head counts.

Another damn tough climb, 3,900′ in 10.5 miles. Official deets of the day—37 miles, 2:36 ride time, 14.2 mph average, 48 mph max again, and 4,298′ of total elevation. I rode from the start/finish, Big Pine, back into Bishop after we descended together. They thought I was crazy for doing that and I may be since I had a black jersey on and it was pushing 90. Hwy 395 has a great shoulder—wide, clean, and smooth—and the wind was helping so I made very good time. Picture the main character in Breaking Away sitting behind semis as the drivers signal 30, 40, 50. Well maybe I wasn’t going quite that fast.

Given the discombobulated start, I left my camera in the car at the start. That was a crying shame because the mountains, lake, stream, and trees at the top made for the most beautiful scene of the week. Alas, I leave you with another pic from earlier in the week.

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.