Back in January, I got an email for this ride. May? I thought. Hmmmm, warm. And for a good cause to boot — saving the lives of little dogs and cats. Heartwarming, really. And all whilst getting in shape for the summer. Seemed like a no-brainier. So I immediately shot off an email to a bunch of people to gauge interest.
Fast forward to last week.
With some dread, I realized that I had gone and signed up for said ride but hadn’t actually been astride my bike since late last summer.
“No problem,” said I, trying to latch on to the positive. “I’ve been running, and working out. Just not on my bike. And it’s only 35 miles. It’ll be fine.”
Those words came back to bite me in the ass yesterday. And calves. And hamstrings. And shoulders. And…well, you get the idea.
Because embedded in the original email I received about this ride was the following: “With routes climbing between 1500 and 9000 feet, you’ll wish you had an extra set of legs!”
“Ha!” said I, upon reading that email in January. “So funny! So clever!” I laughed.
“Mother@#$%&!” said I, thinking of those same words, as I was grinding my way up what seemed like the 1,000th “rolling” hill in the first eight miles yesterday.
Note to self: marketing materials rarely lie. The truth is in there somewhere, if you’re willing to look hard enough. Always.
And additional note to self: get your ass on your bike well before attempting a ride in Dodge County organized by the same sadist guy who does the Dairyland Dare.
Because, if I were to be honest with myself, that was the last time that I remember looking at my odometer every. single. mile. and thanking the Lord Above that that was one less mile I had to go until I was finished, just like I did yesterday.
In fact, at one point, when I seemed to be was averaging less than nine miles an hour between the wind and hills, I looked down, expecting for the odometer to tell me we were approaching the mid-point rest stop (never mind that we seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by corn fields, with nary a rest area-looking area in sight) because we had been out there that long. As you might guess, the odometer told me nothing of the sort. In fact, it actually laughed at me as it said, “You haven’t even gone seven miles yet…sucker!”
(stupid odometer).
I told Chief of Stuff at that point that I was ready to be done. He agreed. He asked if the DLD was this bad. “Worse,” I said. “It was like this for 100 miles.” He told me that he didn’t know how I survived it. This, somehow, made me feel better. Probably because I had survived it — on those same relentless roads with their relentless hills and in the relentless rain and sun (they took turns that day, alternating), alone. And, probably because, that day, I had something to prove. It was me against me.
Today, it was a completely different situation. There was nothing to prove. It wasn’t me against me. Rather, it was me with Chief of Stuff and our good (also faster and infinitely patient) friend, XT4, just out getting some miles under our collective belts on a positively fantastic spring day.
And so, I adjusted the attitude. I quit worrying about the hills; if I had to walk one, I would (but I didn’t!). I made myself look around and take in the sights (a cow off-roading through a stream!…a few new foals out to pasture!…the smallest bird I’ve ever seen!) more than my dashboard, and just appreciated the fact that for once it was not 40 degrees and sleeting during a workout. I let go of how long the ride was going to take us and simply gave myself over to enjoying it.
(Except for the time spent climbing a hill toward the last 8 miles that XT4 correctly characterized as all of the IM-Moo’s three “bitch” hills combined into one. Most of those minutes [hours?] was spent alternately swearing and hoping that the people far up in front of me — including CoS — would dismount and walk so that I could feel justified in doing the same. They did not, and I did not, which only increased the swearing. Alas.)
And it was, looking back over the day, fun. Fun to be out there. Fun to test my metle on the bike again. Fun to be doing something tough alongside friends and those you love.
And I must say, the cheesy hasbrowns, fries, and onion rings at Country Kitchen post-ride didn’t hurt either. (I’m glad we had the collective good sense to stop there and put the dessert menu away).
So, next year? A Quadrupedal rematch? Perhaps…but I’ll be on my bike well beforehand for certain.
And who knows…the DLD is only months away and just 3/4 full, too…
