Day Three

Miles: 92.40
Camp: Yolo County Fairgrounds, Woodland, CA
Temp: 102 degrees (the third day of record-breaking highs)
Winds: probably up to 10-15 mph, but not steady.

Another 4:30 a.m. wake up call. Or rather -- it was a wake up song. Today was a song Joaquin had written during the summer between his seventh and eighth grade year in a composition class -- he and Ann harmonized beautifully (again). We learned that there was a tricky stretch of highway that led up to and included the hill and that if riders wanted, they could ride in a car for the narrow, windy part of the road. Sometimes being reminded that cycling is dangerous, and drivers in cars are spatially-challenged is necessary.
The day started off fairly well -- I think we were all happy to get out of that camp. We had an 8 mile hill ahead of us, and after that, some of my favorite cycling in Northern California -- a stretch along the Cache Creek in the area along highway 16. And after that, some long, hot, miserable miles that seem to be never-ending.

So we kicked out of camp at 6 a.m., knowing the heat would climb up to over 100 degrees again. I had my morning sweat -- drenched within about a mile or two -- it was cool and the air was sweet in that wet-grass way the valley has in early spring.

Our first rest stop came quickly -- a tent on the side of the road with some ice refills and salty snacks. Here's some riders coming into the stop, followed by the thumbs-up moto-crew.

This one was right before the big hill [if I'm remembering correctly] -- there's really only one way to get out of a valley, and this was was probably one of the more innocuous ways. A long slow, relatively gradual climb that went on for 8 miles. One of those hills where it looks like the top was near, and so we'd push hard to get there, and when we got there, we could see that the hill was just going to go on and on. Joaquin pulled over in his car about 3/4 of the way and we refilled the ice and water and prepared for what could have been another mile, could have been 6 miles -- there was no way of knowing.
What I did know, however, was that after the hill, we would make a left hand turn from highway 20 to highway 16, and enter the gorgeous cache creek area. But first -- to the top of the hill, and an exhilarating downhill.
How can one not love riding here?
Even with the only shade we'd get that day, it was was obviously heating up. And we still had a ways to go. At this point we had already ridden about 200 miles with another 130 to go --the heat was hot and the ground was hard. The last 40 miles were painful. Long, hot, flat, dry. It was a little difficult to feel sorry for ourselves though. At our last stop, we shared the space with another bike ride that was going on that day -- the Davis Double Century. The folks who were stopping (or so hard core that they didn't stop to rest, they just kept going) at this rest stop were at mile 181 of their 200 miles -- in ONE day. Yeah. We think we're so cool.
While we were hanging out at this rest stop, brand new bags of ice showed up. Worth hanging out for.

Emily showed off her Rosie the Riveter pose --
jealous of my Rosie jersey, I think. But check out those pink gloves!

I had to convinced Janelle that it was okay for me to take this photo. She wasn't as happy about it as she looks.




We got a surprise rest stop at what was supposed to be 10 miles from camp. The high that day was 102 degrees (another record-breaking day). Several miles from the stop, I kept getting a glimpse of a flash of white. I started to think it was a mirage. It would get farther away, and then seem closer, and then it would disappear from sight. As we rode on, a white tent came into focus. But I was still thinking the heat had infiltrated my brain and a was getting a touch of delirium the closer we got. It took a while for Dottie and her girls to come into focus.

But then they were unmistakable.


























Check out the shoes



















They had squirt guns and cold water and ice and jelly belly candies that Janelle said were just like crack. I'm not sure how she knows, and I can't attest to the veracity as I didn't want a bunch of jelly bean sugar in my teeth for the next "10" miles.

We rolled out of that stop still laughing a bit and encouraged by how close camp was to be. Then we started noticing the construction signs. Detour. I'm not sure how to explain the effect of what we thought would be 10 miles, but in reality was 16 miles. About 4 miles after Dottie and her girls, Emily took a spill on her bike. We had stopped at a stop sign and she couldn't get clipped out in time. That was her second fall on this trip. Her bruises were getting bruises. She had so much sunscreen and sweat on her that she didn't get scraped up -- she just kind of slid along until she realized in about 1.2 seconds that her skin was going to sear on the asphalt if she didn't hop up.
She and I hung back from the group after that and just tried to get through.

Every time one of our cars passed us, they'd tell us we were 'not very far' from camp. After hearing this at one point, I tried to wait until the car was out of range before yelling, "THAT'S NOT HELPFUL!" I was mad and hungry and tired and hot and snappy. After one of the 'you're almost there's,' we turned a corner and the street again went on forever. There was no sign of camp, no sign of a town, no hope whatsoever. My legs were weak with defeat. I started to cry, but then started coughing, so tried to get it together. I didn't want to keep riding, but I couldn't see the point of getting in someone's car if we were 'not very far' from camp. Finally the turn came that opened up into a row of stop lights and a smattering of cars, and even some buildings. Turn after turn, mile after mile, we were actually 'not very far' from camp. The road kept going. The stop lights kept turning red then green then yellow and back to red. We passed intersection after intersection. The pain increased the closer we got.
I pulled into camp and barely looked at whoever was trying to see my number so he could check me in. I looked for some shade, got off my bike for the last time that day, sat in the grass and sobbed. I don't know if it was relief or pain or frustration, but it's about all I could do.

Now here's one of our cars -- or at least some nice folks who let us use their property for a rest stop who also happen to be reasonable [read: liberal] (you remember from day one, the car that was not ours):















I set up my camp, took a cold shower, and tried to get some food and water in. I don't think I'd eaten enough. That had to be the most challenging part of it -- getting enough calories in to keep going.

Emily had her own issues.



















The evening's program was a celebration of our ride support. Grumbles spoke on behalf of the sisters of scota to tell us that as long as we keep riding and raising money, they will keep coming out for us.















Kelly and Coral got an award for being the 'two strong blondes:'
















Our Chefs got a standing ovation (just because I was hungry all the time doesn't mean there wasn't plenty of good food for us):















We learned about Breaking Barriers -- an organization that provides support to people who are unable to do some things for themselves -- drive to doctors' appointments, clean their houses, cook their own food, etc.

This was a tough day -- there's no doubt about it. Part of it gorgeous and inspiring. Part of it exhausting and debilitating. But we all got through. And when we were done, there was a room full of people who were celebrating the accomplishment. And a whole community of people who were sharing in our success. One of the women from the CARES Clinic, who was also a rider, thanked us for riding, and reminded us that the way we felt at the end of the day -- exhausted, beat up, and drained -- is the way some of her patients feel every single day. The perspective was helpful. The way I felt at the end of that day was a way I had chosen to feel -- I signed up for the ride, I did the training, and when it was done, I would go back to my normal, comfortable, healthy life. And the pain is just something I would write about later.

A note about camp -- it was hot that night and wasn't cooling off. I couldn't seem to shake the feeling that I'd crashed and wasn't coming out of it. I took another shower -- cold. The building right next to our tents housed a rousing Quinceañera fiesta going on complete with live (Mexican) band. Our organizers got 4 or 5 boxes of ear plugs to hand out after they found out the party would continue until midnight.
When the band started playing "Achy Breaky Heart" in Spanish, I dragged my tent as far away from the building as I could. I could only hope that the ear plugs and the sleep-aid would work their magic quickly.

I think that's enough. This post went on a little long.

Coming up: It's already over??