Day Two, NorCal AIDS Challenge 2009

May 15, 2009
Mileage: 102.74
Total: 195.65

Day 2. Whoo-eee. Blood, sweat, tears. Except without the blood. Tough day. Good day. Challenging day. Day two was the first day I realized that my brand new heart rate monitor was just not going to work at all. All that build-up and monitoring and excitement over how it was going to be on the ride for nothing. Bah. So frustrating. I spent a lot of time thinking about it, worrying about it, wondering whether I could get it fixed (I couldn't), and whether I could just let it go (I couldn't).
Other than that ('that' being the problems I was creating in my head), though, it really was actually a hard day. A good day. But hard.
Day 2 is "Hawaiian Shirt Day" -- we all wear our "Loudest, happiest Hawaiian shirts in honor of those we've lost to AIDS," specifically Marty, Rick Corby's partner, who sported these loud, happy shirts often.
The crew took it one step beyond just the Hawaiian shirts and had a whole Hawaiian theme going. Here you have Jim McCann as a pregnant, long-haired hawaiian woman in a mu-mu (and sneakers). Freaking brilliant. His job was to drive the big gear truck, so he didn't stay dressed in full costume for long -- lest he induce labor by squeezing behind the steering wheel.

My contribution to the hawaiian shirt day was my Rosie the Riverter jersey with Hawaiian leis tied to my helmet.
The morning started off fantastically. Fast-paced with all of us falling in line together for several miles. Check out this pace line:
Here it is from the back:
I know what you're thinking: Heather, is that you at the front? Why yes, it is.
Day 2 was also the day of the optional climb up Table Mountain just outside of Chico. The challenge? We had to be at the base of the mountain by a certain time to be allowed the pleasure of climbing this hill. Which means a heck of a lot of stress and fast riding if one intended to get up the mountain. I had decided that if I made it by the cut-off, I would go up. Why not? It's only a 5 mile, straight up climb, 5 miles down, to add 10 miles to the already 90-mile day. So . . . I made it. Some stress, some frustration, and some learning that the cut-off time did not change even though we left camp 20-minutes late. Bah.

As we were climbing up, the folks who'd already been to the top and turned around started coming at us. I was a little bit jealous, but mostly just very excited. Here's Capt Cullen -- always the first up down and all around. Fantastic Warren Jones:

It's a hard mountain to climb. Very steep in places, but Mindy and I decided to go it together. She went on ahead for the last mile or so, and I was able to notice that I'd made some progress since the first time I climbed this mountain, and then suddenly, there was the top.

We took this cute photo at the top, but in my attempt to edit it, I ended up with this stylized photo. Cute anyway though.

I like this one too: still smiling at the top.














Made it to the base of the mountain in time. Made the climb up. Made the ride down, and then hit a friggin' wall. Coming off the mountain, turning right -- North? -- we had about . . . oh I don't know. . . 25 miles, maybe, to lunch. 20 miles? I can't remember. We headed into the hills, no shade, and lots of wind. Probably riding into 15+mph winds with a bunch of uphill slopes that made me feel like I was going backwards. Mindy had stayed on the mountain (I don't know why -- but I think she was celebrating the victory with everyone else who came up) and I was riding alone until I came upon Ken and Adam. Thank the lord for them. I pulled for a while, but then hid behind Ken of the invincible leg-strength to try to get my head into the ride. Then those boys wanted to stop for something or other and I just couldn't fathom the idea, so I kept going. Alone. It's got to be the most alone feeling ever -- to be out in unfamiliar territory, on a bike, not knowing how much farther until the road will open up into some semblance of civilization. Not knowing if there are any other riders, or even crew, anywhere around. Not knowing if I was even on the right road. My head was feeling it. My legs were okay. My water bottles were full (enough). I had food in my pocket. But my head wasn't going to let this go. 'You're slower than everyone else, you're alone, you're probably going to be alone forever, biking isn't going to prove that you're any more loveable, you'll never get to the next rest stop at this rate, you're probably on the wrong road, you're not getting anywhere on this ride, in your life, or anywhere else, you are fooling yourself if you think you can get through this, you might as well flag down the next car that comes by and pack it in. . .' on and on and on. One cannot cry in a way that is cleansing while physically exerting one's self. It ends up in a dangerous hyperventilation.
So I fought it off. I tried to fight with my head. I looked for signs that a turn might be coming. I counted pedal strokes. I sang to myself and outloud. I thought about my strong legs that were fully capable of getting me to the next stopping point.
Eventually it came -- a small fire station in the middle of nowheresville or wherever we were. The rest stop was nearly depleted, hot, and dirty. There was one bathroom inside and it had a line of 8+ people and I was in no mood for that. Someone asked me a fairly simple question, which I tried to answer, then followed it up with another question to which I responded, 'You know, I don't really feel like talking.' Which was probably not the appropriate response.
I just decided to leave this stupid rest stop and get back on my stupid bike and get to the stupid lunch stop which was only another 8 stupid miles down the road. I figured I could decide at lunch how I was going to get back to camp.
When I got to the lunch stop, I was greeted by Joaquin. He smiled at me. I cried. He took my bike and gave me a hug and told me to sit in the shade and get some food. I don't know if it was relief or anguish or I was just waiting to get off the bike to avoid the hyperventilating. I was glad he was there. But embarrassed all the same.
Whit, pinnacle of fashion, and also our bike tech, was hanging out at the rest stop.
This might be hard to see, but he's wearing patterned, neon bike shorts with hawaiian-patterned boxers over them, with his hawaiian-ish shirt tucked into the whole ensemble.

The rest of the day was a little more even-keel (or I was). I made up a lot of time on the stretch after lunch, and even though I was riding alone, I saw Joaquin in his mini-van with the bullhorn several times (he was joking about the wind. Wind is probably very funny when you're driving around in a mini-van. Not so much when you're riding into on a bike). I got to a little rest stop that was rumoured to have ice cream bars -- I didn't partake -- and met some very friendly faces. I meekly asked if I could hop in with them, knowing I could not ride another mile on my own, and knowing the next stretch was going to be particularly hot, windy, and painful. They said of course I could if I was ready to go. I didn't have much to add to the conversations, but just soaked up the commaraderie. We were stopped by a roving rest-stop -- Allison and Janelle who had ice and water and sports drinks.

KC took this photo at some point during the day -- she took it as a sign that EVERYone was rooting for Team Heathers.
Riding into town, near camp, I looked for the temperature building. You'll remember that last year, this same sign read 104. 93 felt hot, but everything's relative.

Day two was not only a stressful day for me -- it was also the day that the California Bar results came out. Bronwyn, Team Heathers' crew-member extraordinaire, was waiting for results. We had talked about it behind her back beforehand -- what to do no matter which way it went.
We had tequila, champagne, balloons, congrats signs, and lots of nerves. Thank the lord, come 6 p.m., we were celebrating. (KC told us to smile big):
A little party at the tent before the tequila really started flowing.
The lovely Colusa High showers:
Getting to camp -- still alive. Still (or rather, again) smiling.
Capt Cullen got a prize for being Speedy McSpeederson. I don't really remember why the chicken helmet, but I know there was a reason.
Capt Cullen is a fireman -- someone said later that they wanted to make a jersey that says, "Captain Cullen: SLOW DOWN. THERE IS NO FIRE."

I got a prize that night too. I guess I don't have photos -- but basically I was recognized for all the hundreds of emails I've sent out over the year to keep folks informed and up to date and on track. Some of them were funnier than others. Mark read snippets of some of them -- I'd forgotten I'd even written some of that stuff. I use the weekly NCAC email forum as my own personal soap box it seems.
So it goes.
Here's Cornell Bernard of News10 getting his knee wrapped up by our fabulous roving Chiropractor, Karen Cheney.

And so the day was at an end. I was glad to go to bed and try to sleep and get ready for some of the most gorgeous miles of riding on Day Three. And to try to recover from the emotional wreckage of Day two.