The mantra of AIDS/LifeCycle 10 – before it even began – was created. It was simple, easily repeated and took heavy influence from my everyday passivity with an added dash of yogic/Buddhist meditation.
Surrender to the Ride.
The Ride by all accounts was set on the fast track to disaster.
The predictably cold and miserable weather of San Francisco has been my bane since October. As a rather soft rider, who avoids hurricane gale force winds and rain showers with conviction, I found myself somewhat jittery about the lack of training that went into my season. For my first ALC training season, I went full bore. I was riding so much that I would occasionally have to purchase new bike parts, just to re-pique my interest in riding at all. That being my first (and arguable most successful) season, it created a benchmark. My ALC10 training had fallen far below that benchmark. In all of May, when I should have been peaking in training, I had completed exactly 4 rides. Three of these rides were rather gentle 35-40 milers on familiar Marin routes.
The other ride was done:
- On a rented bike
- In Phoenix
- In May
- From 10:00a – 2:00p
- In 100°+ heat
- Without enough water
There is a unique sense of inadequacy gained in training when you experience mild heat stroke, have to flag a sheriff for water (sure… 1 bottle is fine. eyeroll.) and need to call a friend to rescue you from a laughably cartoonish death on a barren desert landscape. Alas, my legs are strong from previous rides and they will likely survive. Surrender.
I check the weather forecast. The Ride is more than 10 days out, so the standard forecasts aren’t predicting anything. I check anyway to be sure. One of my standard pre-Ride OCD habits forms itself into my becoming an amateur meteorologist for two weeks. I read the maps, cross-check my sources, review the different forecast models offered by Weather Underground compared to Weather.com compared to the local news. It all looks normal until a week out. There was rain predicted. Heavy rain. We can get through some silly rain, I thought, while texting Kari for vague reassurances.
I cross my fingers and go to sleep. I proceed to wakeup on the hour, every hour, to listen to the weather outside and check the forecast on my phone. The forecast predicts the storm hitting at around 1:30 am. Each time I wakeup before 1:30, I am happy about the lack of noise outside, but not optimistic. I wakeup at 2:00 and hear nothing. My mood is better. At 3:00, I am happier, but somewhat suspicious that I am missing something. Could the weather be intentionally trying to trick me?
The alarm goes off. It is 3:30 am. Time to get ready. I stumble to the kitchen, throw on my cycling clothes and look out the window. No rain. Clear skies. We hurry to get ready and flag a cab. As we are riding to the Cow Palace, we stare out the windows. Not unlike a horror movie, whose villain only appears after mentioning his name, we do not talk about the weather. We ride in silence.
We arrive at the opening ceremonies. It has finally hit me that I will be riding a bicycle today.
*video credit New Left Media.
It is a clear, beautiful day outside. Kari and I both feel great. We start pedaling – the easy part.