This morning Baboo, Courtney, SW TriGal, her beloved, and a couple of other pals and I boarded the Rail Runner express with our bikes and bike gear and headed for Santa Fe.The Rail Runner express is beyond cool. When the doors are warning you that they are about to shut, they make the Road Runner sound. beep-eep!
Phrases and words to describe the train trip:
Fast
Smooth
Pleasant
Relaxed
Pretty scenery
We got off in Santa Fe, boarded our bikes, and had a quick breakfast and coffee, and then headed back to Albuquerque by bike.
Phrases and words to describe the bike trip:
Hills.
Hot.
Suckfest.
Wind.
Dehydration.
Pretty scenery.
The Garmin readout is kinda messed up, because Baboo and I rode down to the train station from our house, which is about 15 miles, but I forgot to turn on the Garmin at first. Then I shut it off until we got to Santa Fe. Then I forgot to turn it on until after we were well on our way, bellies full of breadfast burritos (potatoes, egg, veggies, cheese).
So, pretty much everything after the big line up is most of the trip back to Santa Fe. Baboo, much less scattered than I, said we got in about 80 miles for the day.
SW TriGal said she didn't care if I called her a liar publicly, so I will: she said it was mostly downhill from Santa Fe. Uh, yeah, my butt. of course, she was no more to blame that the lying weatherman, who forecast lower 90s, partly cloudy skies. But then again, SW TriGal also let me use her gloves, since I forgot mine (I get numb fingers if I don't wear gloves,) so she's forgiven. As soon as I wash all the self-pitying snot and tears I left on them, she can have them back.
How hot was it? Weather in the upper nineties, and that wind that changes from the morning cool breeze to the afternoon convection oven in your face. It was in the upper 90s, with it much hotter, of course, on the pavement.
It was so hot, that one of the guys with us, a pro cyclist, had a ride come pick him up about 18 miles from the end because he wasn't used to the heat and elevation. Well, of course after that I HAD to finish. Just so, you know, I could some day brag that I'd outlasted a pro cyclist with my badass self.
Another rider became a bit overwhelmed and got a ride home a few miles after that. That left the five of us to finish the ride. Well, sorta finish. When I got a bit less than a mile from home, and surveyed the 8% grade hill that leads up to where I live, I took a ride from a friend who happened by. I'd had about 30 miles of a painful and numb toes on the right, and toes on the left that were starting to tingle, so I was done.
Did I mention I hate cycling? During the last 20 miles I was all whiney and crying and saying, I hate this. I'm dropping out of Redman and IM Utah. I can't do this. I'm not cut out for this. Cycling isn't my sport. SW TriGal and everyone else there can testify that I was whiny and very self-pitying.
Now, of course, I'm showered and hydrated and cool and I'm wondering why I was such a wuss. I'm always embarassed to look back at how negative I get. Maybe when my glucose gets low, my brain kicks up the save yourself mode. I don't know.
In any case, as many say, it's miles in the Ironman bank for me.
...
