"Hill Ain't Gonna Take Itself"

Men do foolish things and some men do "damn fool" things, if southern speakers will forgive me. Today counts as a damn fool thing. Even so, I made a memory, and I tested and pushed myself really hard, and I won. Good to go.

Left work around noon and headed east up Fairview to Edmonds, then around the curve down to the Carson River. I wasn't doing too bad at this point because Edmonds and the road to the river are mostly downhill, so I was feeling a little cocky from the first endorphin surge. I wanted to go down to the water, but a dude was there with his two small kids and his dog or, more accurately, a dog was there with his family and he was in full protection mode. There was no point in challenging him so I headed up Pinion Hills Road and the first real hill.

And that was the theme of this trip: endless hills. If/When I go to Hell, the soundtrack will be "I'm a Believer" by the Monkees, and Satan will be chaining me to a bike with flat tires and pointing me to the Alps. The hills in east Carson are nowhere near that scale, but pain is relative and they are my Alps. With my level of physical fitness, the only solution was to crank the bike all the way down and try to keep moving fast enough to climb but not slow enough to fall over. For the record, that would be somewhere between 3.4 and 4.5 mph...a brisk walk...by most senior citizens...in walkers...carrying large oxygen tanks. But as I constantly reminded myself, I was in a marathon, not a sprint. It sounded good at the time.

So I survived the first hill with only one break. By the way, “breaks” are defined as the time it takes for me to stop to get my breathing under control, and relax to the point where I can't hear my heartbeat in my head. I do try to go forward in this state for as long as possible because experience in the gym has taught me that this is when my heart is pumping at the special 10% where I burning calories pretty darn fast. On the other hand, the body does love the oxygen for some reason.

I made it to the top of that hill and the rest of Pinion Hills Drive was a gentle down slope to the uphill Laurel Road. As I was shifting gears, my chain came out of the spokes, so I had to flip Dollar over and rechain him. In all honesty, I'm surprised that doesn't happen more often because I'm constantly changing gears to find a happy medium between speed and available energy. I finished up and saw an older couple whiz by me on a tandem. They looked happy and totally in sync with each other, and they were jamming on their pedals like wolves were chasing them. Assholes.

Hit Deer Run Road and another bitchin' hill, which I took at granny speed (the secondary theme of the day). I made it to the top with no stops and was rewarded with a spectacular view of the ranches that nestle the Carson River. The east side of Carson gets a bad rap because the property values are comparatively low, which attracts all sorts of fun, including gang wars and meth dealers. The far east part of town with the green fields and horses around the river is beautiful, though, and is Carson's hidden secret.

Did some downhill and found the road and bridge were closed for construction. Since it looked like they were repaving only, I weaved through the cones and crossed over, then headed the short distance to the intersection at Highway 50.

And there I sat, thinking things over. Going east on Highway 50 out of Carson takes you up a fairly good hill that runs for miles. The advantage of the route I'd gone was that I was already a third up that silly hill (I thought - wrong!), so I figured, what the heck. This shows how naive I was: I actually said out loud, "Hill ain't gonna take itself."

Silly me.

I clicked down to granny speed, reminded myself that it was only eleven miles to Dayton, and headed up the hill at a speed that would make Myrtle the Turtle very proud. Lord, it was slow going. The nice thing was the city fathers allowed for idiots like myself and put extra-wide bike lanes on 50 all the way to Dayton, so the folks going by at twenty times my speed (no exaggeration) were not in danger if I fell over. Oh yeah: and vice-versa.

That hill did a number on me, but I took far fewer breaks than predicted. There was wind, but at my speed, I sort of was able to go slip through it sideways. The road began to flatten out at turnoff to the city dump and started to go slightly downhill at the Lyon County line. That's when the first "real good" feeling hit me, because I knew the rest of the way to Dayton was mostly downhill. I was actually singing out loud and dancing on the bike as I headed down the very long hill into Dayton because I thought when I got to town, I could call Liz for a ride and would be done with the Hills from Hades.

Blame the endorphins. They made me stupid.

I zoomed into Dayton and pulled into the Chevron/Port of Subs to get a recharge. Called Liz for the ride and found out the Danielle had the phone and she was nowhere near home. The house phone was in use by someone connected to the internet, so I couldn't call for a ride. The choices were simple as I mulled over my Number 7 (roast beef with provolone): be patient and Liz would call eventually, or head back to town. Choice One was the obvious smart option.

Blame the endorphins. They made me stupid.

So I hit the road, energized by the Number 7, Gatorade, and a Snickers. The beginning wasn't too bad, but that hill…oy vey! Granny speed was not getting me anywhere. It seemed like I had to stop every few feet to catch my breathe and kick myself for not being patient. On one stop, I was bent over my handle bars and got to see my calves shrink back to normal size. It was an eerie sight.

I made it to the top of the hill, eventually, and that’s when I heard the phone. Liz said she’d been trying to call for a half an hour (probably the time it took for me to get up the hill) and she wanted to know if I wanted a ride. I said I’d tough it out.

Stupid.

The “top of the hill” was a figure of speech. What I really should have said was I made it to the end of the really steep part of the uphill and had just the normal steep part left to go. Twenty breaks later, I was in Moundhouse and was finally starting to get seriously saddle-sore. I may have not made a lot of smart choices today, but my wardrobe was perfect: shorts, long-sleeved shirt, and a synthetic undershirt that is well-known for keeping the sweat away from the body. It worked perfectly. The only thing I would have added was a bandana, but it wouldn’t have made much difference over time because I was sweating buckets. At least I was smart enough to drink some Gatorade and refill my Oakland A’s water bottle in Dayton.

Oh yeah: forgot to mention that I was exhausted, too. The hills and distances had taken their toll and I couldn’t stop the weaving. I cranked up the gears some and that took care of things a little, but something else helped a lot more: the downhill into Carson. It kicks some serious ass on a bike. New landspeed record: 41 miles per hour, thank you very much, and when your life relies on keeping your bike on the straight and narrow, it’s amazing how quickly that weaving thing disappears.

I kept that momentum going for as long as possible or at least until I pulled into the parking lot of the local bread store, where I bought cranberry and grape juice that was heavy on the sugar. Mixed in with the remaining water in my Oakland A’s bottle, it gave me the last surge I needed to get home.

So here I sit, strong in the legs, but weak in the arms and head (mostly the latter), trying to process today’s little jaunt. It was nearly twice the time and distance as my longest ride in Carson to date. Would I do it again? You betcha…after some time has passed and the memory of those hills has faded a little. The upside is I set new biking records for me, surpassed my personal limits, and rode some serious miles instead of vegging out at home. I also got some food for thought.

After all, it’s only thirty miles to Reno.

Distance: 29.00 miles on the nose (32 miles total today)
Time: 2:55:28 minutes (3:11:38 total)
1328 calories burned (yeah, that's right)(1483 total)
9 days until the USN (wow)