Monday, April 30, 2007

Breakfast With The Leneves: Humble Pie

Date: Sunday, April 29th, 2007
Leave: 8:00AM
Return: 1:15PM
Distance: 72.3 miles
Average speed: 18.2 mph

I left home at 8AM on Sunday to meet Lon and Sally at their house in Durham by 9AM, thinking that an hour would be plenty of time to get the 15 miles from my house to theirs -- which it was not. I forgot to account for the fact that the first 10 miles of the journey are pretty much all uphill -- most significantly up the short but painfully steep hill from John's Landing up to Barbur Blvd. I rolled into their driveway at precisely 9:00, having taken a wrong turn at the very end. Happy to be ontime (it looked dicey there for a bit), but having used more legs and energy getting there than I would have liked, I scarfed half a Clif Bar filled up my water bottles and procured a couple scoops of Cytomax in preparation for a brutual few hours of chasing the ever-fit Leneves around the rural roads southwest of Portland.

We set off into a blistering pace almost immediately; I was feeling OK, but not liking pushing so hard just to keep up in the first 10 miles of the ride. Riding with Lon is like chasing a crossbow bolt. He gets into his aero bars and just hammers -- Sally glides along effortlessly on his rear wheel, and they both talk and laugh and make conversation with me while I am trying to hide the fact that my lungs are dragging along behind me. Despite my weiner status, the ride was great, nice rural roads with very little traffic and the day just got nicer and nicer as we rocketed along. There was one sketchy part along I-5, but it was only for about a half a mile to get across the Willamette.

We made our way through the mostly flat, sometimes rolling hills of the farmland, out past Champoeg park where there was some organized ride happening, and eventually all the way out to St. Paul, where we turned around. I should remark again at how nice of a morning it was (it offset the impending lump in my stomach due to knowing there was a bunch of climbing yet to come). Coming back from St. Paul, we went north into Newberg and made our way over to Bell hill. There was a bunch on construction going on, so we had to literally climb through a ditch to get where we were going, and as soon as we got back on the bikes Lon's rear wheel went flat, so we took a little breather and bar'd up for the impending climb.

This is where the bonk started. I was already about 50 miles in, and quickly running out of gas due to the accelerated pace of the day. I would estimate that I was running at 85-90% the entire time (as opposed to 60-65% that I usually do), which was quickly draining my energy reserves. So we started up Bell hill, and both Sally and Lon pulled away almost immediately. My legs were burning and I had run out of water, so I was trying to climb in the ol' slow and steady fashion, but I knew a full on bonk was on its way. Lon, the fit bastard, would ride down to me to make sure I wasn't passed out in the ditch, and then ride back up like it wasn't a hill at all. As much as I appreciate the gesture, it added to the misery. At the top of Bell, he graciously kicked down some of his water and we proceeded on.

Before the ride took place, Lon kept talking about the climbs in plural, so I knew there was more to come, but there was a little piece inside of me that hoped that wasn't true. There was a nice descent off the top of Bell and then a STEEP little 14-18% climb out, and then another steep drop down to Hwy 99. We crossed Hwy 99 and I had managed to recover a little bit, but my heart sank when we pulled off at an exit labelled, "Parrett Mountain". Balls.

Parrett Mountain was long as shit and actually a beautiful climb that I really would have enjoyed had I not been already bonking for the last 30 minutes. Lon came down to cheer me on multiple times, and even brought Sally down with him as I approached the top. While I know both Sally and Lon have been cycling for decades, it still put in perspective how much farther I have to go with this whole being a cyclist thing. It also had me cursing my steel frame, fat tires and fenders on my beloved Surly, since they both ride Titanium-framed Serottas.

The descent from the summit of Parrett Mountain was unfuckingbelievable, and totally worth the bitch of a climb to get to it -- hit 42mph and stayed there for a good long time. The only problem was that at the bottom I got a cramp and spent the rest of the way back to Lon and Sally's trying to fight off various cramps in my legs, and moving quite slow as a result; further solidifying my status as a weenie with the Leneve's. However, it was a great training ride, and while I was totally humbled by the athletic prowess of Lon and Sally, I was proud of myself for riding through a pretty serious bonk and getting some serious climbing in to boot.

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