Bucket List Item #273: Circumnavigate the Franklin Mountains

It was a ride that I'd been dreaming of since I bought my first road bike over three years ago.  It was also a ride that I'd been terrified of trying for just as long.

What's funny about that, is that I'd ridden almost every part of the route at some time in the last 3 years.  In fact, there was only about two miles that would be "undiscovered country" for me.

So, for one of the last items on my El Paso bucket list, I decided that I would circumnavigate the Franklin Mountains.
 

El Paso is roughly horseshoe shaped, with the Franklin Mountains sitting in the center of the city.  There are three passes over the mountains, Scenic Drive on the south end, Transmountain Road in the middle, and Anthony Gap to the north.  To do the mountains justice, I decided to skip the middle, and use the north and south passes when crossing over.


I rolled out just before sunrise with the air a crisp 43 degrees.  The wind would stay fairly consistent, about 10 mph from the north, for my entire ride.  I made sure to wear my heart rate monitor to help maintain a low heart rate and level of exertion.  Although the route was only 72 miles, I wasn't sure what unknown obstacles I might face, surprise detours, etc., and wanted to conserve enough energy to overcome anything.

The climb over Scenic Drive was uneventful, I stayed light in the saddle and wasted nothing summiting and coasting down the backside.  Almost immediately, the temperature dropped 5 degrees and I was incredibly grateful for the layers I'd almost left behind.

On the west side of the mountains, I zig-zagged through side streets, making my way to Mesa Street, for the crossing into the Rio Grande valley.  This was my first time on the major street and the reason I'd taken off so early.  Turning onto the road, I spied two other riders in front of me, just close enough that I could bridge the gap and jump onto their tail.

I was suddenly faced with an unexpected opportunity and decision.  Did I bridge the gap and join them along Mesa, save myself about 10 miles overall, and feel safer with a group for security?

I asked myself what a half-crazed, masochistic sasquatch would do.

I turned left on Executive and crossed I-10 into the river valley.

The temperature dropped another 5 degrees in the valley and I soon found myself along familiar roads.  My fingers were numb but traffic was still fairly light, with the first church goers of the day the only other cars on the streets.

Par for the course, another flat tire.

My first stop was the Johhny Lolitas coffee shop in La Union, NM, about 27 miles into the ride.  I pulled into their gravel lot and coasted up to the shop.  And that's when I noticed the goathead embedded deep into my front tire.

Perfect.

It was what I was most afraid of on a ride this long and so far from help.  Flat tires.  Well, that, and getting run over.  That's also not fun.

I ingnored it and went inside to thaw out and get some coffee and sugar into my system.  The proprietors are fantastic local bicycle advocates and a standard breakstop or start/finish point for rides on the west side.

Warmed up, I got to work patching the front tire.  That's when the massage therapist showed up.

Oh, the people you'll meet.

She offered me a ride, gave me her card, offered me a massage, offered another ride, then made me promise to give her a phone call if I ran into any trouble.  And that's when I realized that I had left my wedding ring at home, gloves were off, and sleeves rolled back.  Maybe she was drawn to my animal magnetism or the pheromones of athletic effort.  I like to think that I look real good in my cycling kit.

Specializing in relaxation, deep tissue, myofacial release
and scar tissue release.

I can dream, can't I?

The ride up the valley and then east to Anthony Gap was peaceful, quiet and scenic.  I found myself mostly alone on the road with only the occasional cyclist heading opposite to wave to.  It was at this point in the ride, while pedaling through barren, winter slumbering pecan orchards,  that I realized I was truly committed to finishing this ride as planned.

There's always that moment in longer rides, especially so in this one, that you realize that you are totally committed to finishing what you started.  It may be that you have gone too far to turn around, that it's easier to just finish the route, or maybe you've already reached the halfway point in an out-and-back course and you have no choice but to finish.  Either way, there's no quitting and you start counting down the miles, instead of counting up. 

The climb up Anthony Gap is a solid 5 miles with a few grades that peak over 10%.  Once I crossed the summit, most of the remaining mileage would be slightly downhill, albeit, some of it with a challenging crosswind.  It was on this climb and descent that I encountered my first traffic issues.  Drivers in El Paso don't seem to be mindful of anything around them, and even exhibit erratic and homicidal tendencies.  I found myself fighting to maintain a safe bubble around me while cars passed well within 3 feet.  More than once oncoming traffic decided I was not an obstacle to their passing slower cars.  I finally had to push the image out of my head of colliding head on with little more than carbon fiber and styrofoam between me and 1,000 lbs of speeding aluminum.

One more reason I'm glad to be leaving El Paso behind.

Turning south onto War Highway (connects El Paso to White Sands Missile Range) I finally found my first bit of clean shoulder to ride on.  I try to measure how safe a shoulder is by how much broken glass, twisted metal and shredded particle board is waiting to kill me.  In a 72 mile ride, this was the only 4 mile section I felt comfortable riding.

Go figure.

I left the War Highway behind and headed east, only stopping to find a quiet, inconspicuous bush and eat some delicious peanut butter bars.  (Mom's recipe with Charla's twist)  The rest of the ride was familiar turf, and once I turned south I could ride the tailwind the 18 miles to home. 

When I pulled into my driveway, Charla was waiting for me.  My legs were shaking, my arms were tired, and I was short of breath.  I definitely didn't eat enough on the ride, and probably should have drank more water.  But I was finished, with only one flat out on the route to slow me down.  (later that afternoon, I would check on my bike to find both tires had slow leaks and were completely flat)


I've ridden longer rides and I've ridden harder rides.  But this ride will always be singular in my memory for what it signified in how far I've come as a cyclist.  Three years ago, a ride this long, covering so many different areas around town and so far away from my support base was beyond intimidating.

Only in perspective does it now seem hardly terrifying at all. 

 My biggest rides of the last year have all led me to this final test of my commitment and development as a cyclist.  The Death Ride was over 230 miles in 3 days (111 miles on the longest day), the Chile Pepper Challenge was a fast 100 mile bike ride, and the climb up Haleakala Volcano started at sea level and climbed straight up to 10,000 feet.  All have given me the perspective to recognize that nothing is impossible once you have committed to achieving it and put in the preparation to do so.

Circumnavigate the Franklin Mountains, check!

The Grande Finale

I have good months, and then I have bad months.

October was a bad month for cycling, at least, in so far as I didn't get to very often.  Also, note the complete lack of posts for the entire month.  Let's just say that, well, work has not been kind.

The final event of the year for cycling was this last weekend.  The Tour de Tolerance (look it up on Facebook) was the first organized ride that Charla and I rode together three years ago.  We had purchased our first road bikes the year before and I had knocked out a couple 60 milers with some friends the summer before.  Since then, no dice.  I was on an extended vacation in the desert last year and missed out, while Charla was having a blast on her own.

After noodling my way through the 60 mile Oryx Challenge and then crushing the 100 mile Chili Pepper Challenge I was eager to see just how fast I could ride a 100 km.  This year's Tour de Tolerance would be my litmus test for all the cycling I've done since coming home in the spring.

The morning was crisp, almost frigid, but promised to warm up with the sun rising.  The dreaded wind from the east hadn't appeared yet (nor would it the remainer of the day).  I'd thown on my Death Ride kit, wanting to sport something unique for the last ride of the year.  The course was a rolling 10 miles to a single climb out of the Rio Grande Valley up to the mesa, then 16 miles out along a straight stretch of smooth pavement to the turnaround.  16 miles back, drop down the long hill, and cruise to the finish line.  Too easy.

I slid into the front half of the pack at the starting line hoping that I could find a group fast enough to challenge me, and not so slow that I felt like I was cheating myself.  What I ended up with was a group that would push my body well past my worst nightmares.

When the horn sounded the entire peloton took off and stuck together for the first 5 miles at a light 18-20 mph.  I was frustrated.  I thought we should be moving much faster at this point, but I held my line and my pace waiting for someone to start pushing away from the group. 

And push they did.

Just before the climb someone midway in the pack must have been sleeping, because about 15 riders suddenly surged away from us.  I realized it was too late to make the jump with them, I was too far inside the second half.  Coming around the turn that leads into the climb up to the mesa, I found myself riding away from my pack with ease.  I started thinking about what it would take to make the rest of the jump to the lead group.  Once I crested, though, I saw just how fast they were pulling away and realized I was going to need some help.  Soon enough, I was tag teaming with another rider and we tried for a solid mile to cover the distance but were steadily falling away from them.  I glanced at my heart rate monitor once to see that I was redlining against my maximum heart rate.  Just as I was thinking that there was no way to keep up this pace, a train of orange kits cruised along side and I jumped into their draft just as the last rider passed.

For the next 40 miles we worked together, never gaining on the lead group, but making good time anyways.  The pace setter would cruise comfortably at 23-24 mph, then suddenly surge up to 27 mph, leaving me behind so I had to fight to catch up.  We hit the turnaround point, slowing almost to a stop to make the tight u-turn in the middle of the closed highway, then someone stepped on the accelerator for the return trip.  They continued to surge randomly, throwing me off the back end, forcing me to scramble back into their draft.  I pulled twice, but otherwise struggled just to stay with them.  Every single time they dropped me was a heartwrenching, gut-churning moment.  I pushed so hard to catch back up that I thought I might pass out.  Each time I was sure that I wouldn't be able to catch them.  And when I did catch up, it was a struggle just to keep in their draft.  I was afraid of taking a drink of water, or grabbing a gel, afraid I would miss another surge and be left alone.  The last thing I wanted was to be left alone on this ride, 20 miles from the finish with no one to share the burden with.  I quit looking at my heart rate monitor, it was too depressing and was beginning to scare me.  At some point, I saw Charla riding the other direction.  She saw me and smiled and waved.  I tried to smile, lifted my hand and reached out towards her, my voice was gone and I couldn't cough out more than a whisper in her direction.  Less than a blink of an eye later, she was gone, and all that remained was the steady pumping of legs, the burning in my lungs, a dull ache in my thighs.

We made it all the way back to the turn leading to the descent when I fell off for the last time.  It was a half mile shy of the hill and I realized that they'd dropped me (and several others) for good.  I started to bridge the gap on the descent, but I just couldn't spin the gears fast enough.  My gears are great for climbing, but aren't so hot on the flats or the descents.  I couldn't get more than 35 mph out of them.  My heart began to sink as I watched them sail away down the hill without me.  10 miles to go. 

Someone fought up into my draft but fell off after only two miles.  I checked behind me to see if anyone was closing, hoping that I could pull together a little train, something big enough to make the last few miles a little easier and faster.  But every time I turned to look, there was nothing but empty pavement as far as I could see and I realized that I was truly on my own.

The finish lies on a short steep hill, no more than 200 meters in length.  When I hit the final turn I tried to stand up out of the saddle to get the little extra kick through the finish line.  There was nothing left in my legs though and I almost fell over.  I squeaked through the finish, rolled to a stop and stood straddling my bike and shaking for several minutes.

When I finally checked my Strava record, and then the posted results, I couldn't believe just how fast we were riding.  Then I remember my throbbing legs, shaking arms, gasping lungs, and it all makes sense.  For the final major ride of the year for me, I'd call this one a success.

19th out of 154 riders.  Not too shabby.

Check here for everyone's results, including Charla who rode like a mad demon girl, or a crazed honey badger.
 

One Tough Weekend; Chapter Two

Chapter Two:  The Chile Pepper Challenge (ain't that spicy after all)

I have wanted to ride in the Chile Pepper Challenge ever since I bought a bike over three years ago, but something always comes up.  Work, deployment, field training, meteor showers, evil undead walking the earth, you name it.  I thought this was the year.  Which, it kind of had to be since we're leaving El Paso in April.

I signed up for the whole enchilada, the full monty, the entire 100 mile ride.  I figured that if you're going to do it, well, do it all the way.

What I hadn't expected was that a major event at work would try to intervene.  And it didn't help matters that the Iron Soldier Sprint Tri was the day prior.  No one has ever accused me of suffering from an abundance of good decision making.  They have, however, called me masochistic and a little bit crazy.

After finishing the triathlon on Saturday, we hydrated and tried to eat healthy.  Okay, so maybe the Taco Bell for lunch wasn't a good idea.

Earlier in the summer, I rode my first standard century ride in the middle of the Death Ride Tour.  Day Two of the Tour and I found myself on a 111 mile ride that started at over 7,000 feet elevation and topped out at over 10,000 feet in the first 5 miles.  I figured that a 100 mile ride, with a lot less climbing, lower elevation, and not following a 73 mile ride the day prior, would be much simpler.  To make sure, though, I kept increasing my mileage on the weekends until I finished an 86 mile ride the Sunday before the Chile Pepper.  I thought I had prepared as best I could with the limited amount of days I could ride each week.

29 September was the first day of fall.  And nature decided to show it by dropping the temperature down into the 50s for the start of the bike ride.  I'd been training all summer for warm weather, learning how to keep my body hydrated in 90+ degree temps.  Didn't do me much good today.  It was 20 miles before I started to get feeling back into my hands and feet.

Almost too cold to smile.

I took off with a quick group that seemed to be averaging about 22mph.  I figured that was a speed I could manage without bonking out of the ride, and it would get me to the finish line with just enough time to change for work and take off.  There was a group of EP Cyclists (local club) that were driving the train and not letting anyone else near the front to pull the double paceline we had going.  I would normally have been just fine with that, but their pace was a little erratic and they imploded on every hill and tight turn.  We stuck together over the first two major climbs until the water point at mile 40.  That's when I found another group that was about as fast, and could stay together much better.

And that's also when I started to realize what a bad mistake it was to try and juggle both a major work event and major athletic event on the same day.

Mile 40 - boss calls to make sure everything is still good for the afternoon.  Yes boss, everything is still on track.

Mile 47 - text message about afternoon timeline.  Yes, everything is still on track.

Mile 62 - deputy to my boss's boss calls.  Mouthful of peanut butter bar and breathing heavy.  Yes, everything is still on track.

Mile 73 - chaplain calls.  Panting and keeping a 23mph paceline going.  Yes, everything is still on track.

We hit the 2-mile sign post when the guy that had just taken lead pulled out to the side.  Apparently, he'd had enough and couldn't pull anymore, which was too bad since he and I had done most of the work over the past 30 miles.  I took the lead and dug deep inside to find enough strength.  I'm not the strongest cyclist, but with a mile to go I started to surprise myself.  Maybe it was the proximity of the finish line, or maybe there was a magical tailwind that I hadn't noticed before.  I started to kick up the pace from 21 to 22mph, then 23mph, then 24 mph, and then I looked down to see 25mph flashing on my cyclocomputer.  We raced around the last long curve to the finish line where I skidded across, both hands tight on the brakes to keep from ramming full speed into the back of a pick up truck.  Not the greatest traffic control at the finish line.

Not the smartest move on gravel, but I was pretty excited.

Post ride, waiting for a burrito and some horchata when my boss's adjutant calls.  Yes, everything is still on... wait... everything just moved up an hour.

Drink water, beg Charla to drive like a crazy person (easier than it sounds), drink water, get home, drink water, shower, drink more water and show up just in time to major work event.

Chile Pepper Challenge 100 mile ride, done!

One Tough Weekend; Chapter One

Chapter One:  The Iron Soldier Sprint Triathlon; Take Two!

Saturday was my second chance at the Iron Soldier Sprint Triathlon.  One year ago I participated in my first triathlon.  In late winter I was able to do another one while on extended vacation overseas.

They say that you're not really a triathlete until you've done at least two triathlons, so count me an expert.

Ex = has been       -pert = flippantly cocky and assured

Yes, we have matching triathlon socks.

I spent the last year working on my swimming, my weakest event.  In June, I was the swim leg for a Team Aquathlon event, and was feeling pretty good about pulling a time closer to 10 minutes in this year's tri.  But then the month of July hit me really hard.  First it hit me with a horrible summer cold and sinus infection.  Then it hit me with a near death 72 hour flu.  Then it hit me with a car.  Not really my month.

I struggled in August to get healthy, and in September to get back into shape.  I finally got my swim time back to a low 12 minute mark and signed up for the tri.  Standing by the empty pool on Saturday morning, and later in line with 300 other swimmers, was the first time I didn't feel complete panic before getting in the pool.  Not counting the time it took me to jump in the water, or climb out the other side, I finished in 12:02 exactly; only two seconds off my target time.  I may or may not have done a quick victory dance in the pool which is why my recorded time was 12:12.

This sight used to intimidate me and cause real anxiety attacks.  Now it just looks peaceful.

The T1 (Transition 1) was much easier this time with a solid pair of triathlon shorts to make things simpler.  3:01 between the swim and bike.

The bike event is something that I never thought twice about.  All I had to remember was to not stop for anything and not drop my water bottle this year.  I was successful at both.  15 miles in 43:56.  Sucked down two gels during the bike ride so I wouldn't bonk before finishing the run.  May or may not have been a good idea.

The T2 was so much easier this time without having to switch shorts.  I threw my helmet and gloves off, pulled on my tri shoes and visor (thanks Mom and Dad), and took off.  1:28 from bike to run.

My legs felt completely drained and wobbly when I took off out of the transition area, but I remembered reading an article that said everyone's legs are wobbly, just maintain what you feel is a less than miserable pace and even though you feel like you're running slowly, you're actually going quite fast because your legs are adjusting to the different cadence between cycling and running.  Sure enough, at the 1-mile marker my watch said 7:40.  I just kept cruising along, fought off some cramps and bubble guts from the gels and water, and then crossed the line at 23:19.  Two seconds faster than last year.  I'll take it.

1:23:56 total for my overall.  I was 56th overall (out of 265 that finished) and 6/36 in my age group.  Can't complain.  In fact, I feel like bragging a little.  But then I remember that I was 220th in the swim this year out of 268 swimmers.  Time to get back in the pool before we go to Hawaii for the marathon.  No shark is getting a piece of this guy.  I will literally punch every single shark in the face, and then swim away very fast.  Say no to sharks.  Say yes to more swim practice.  (and then say no to blogging while under the influence of too much coffee and m&ms)

I will brag a bit about Char, who finished second in her age group.  She received the first place medal after the girl before her won the overall trophy.  Not bad for someone that 5 years ago didn't run or bike. 

Oryx Challenged

A week ago Char and I completed the Oryx Challenge Bike Tour.

The Challenge you think you will face is not always what you think it will be.

I think this time I learned a little patience and more about what it means to be a part of a team.

The Oryx Challenge is an annual non-competitive bicycle ride in El Paso with a maximum route that covers almost a full 100km (62 miles).  I've ridden it for the past 2 years and this would be my third and final opportunity.

It was also the main event for which our little bicycle club had been training for over 3 months.  (That would be the "Imperial Bicycle Club", aka "Biking with the Brigade Commander", aka "I don't wanna do regular PT and I own a bike")

The Imperial Biking Team ready to go!

When I came back from the Death Ride in June, this was the next adventure in cycling.  It's what our group had been focused on during our multiple weekly rides.  We'd been cycling together, practising our pace lines and talking about nutrition on the bike trying to prepare ourselves for a 60 mile, out and back, scorcher of a ride.  Some of us were new to cycling, some were very experienced and some were right in the middle.

The Oryx Challenge course is one of my favorites.  There's not much room to get lost on the 100km route.  Ride off the installation, go east until you hit the turn around, then ride back to the start.  Sherriffs are stationed at every intersection to try and keep you alive, water and peanut butter await you on top of the hill that marks the turn around point, and even the climb up to the turn around really isn't that daunting if you've been in the mountains before.  It might be a Cat 4 climb near the top. 

Maybe.


Ok, so it's a 10 mile long climb to the turnaround point.

I had been doubtful at first when Char told me that she wanted to ride the whole 100km.  I wasn't sure she could really keep up with the group we'd put together.  But over three months of riding, she'd become quite the beast on a bike.  She could hold a paceline at 16mph in equal headwinds, pull her fair share on the flats and not cry about the hills, and had just completed a 62 mile ride the previous weekend without too much complaining. 

60 miles in and things got out of control.

Good enough for me.

But what we hadn't taken into account was just how much another decision was going to affect her ability to ride.

Yom Kippur is the Jewish holiday of atonement.  It involves a 24 hour period of fasting.  And it was the day before the Oryx Challenge this year.  We'd talked about skipping one of the two, for safety reasons, but Char was feeling strong and decided she would be fine if we made sure to plan good meals, get lots of rest and focus on our pre- and mid-ride nutrition. 

And I'm just insane enough to agree with her.

We gorged Friday evening, just prior to sunset.  Then we prepared what we thought was an extremely nutritious and sensible meal after sunset on Saturday.  Baked chicken, quinoa and a fresh veggie salad.  We did splurge on a brownie and ice cream dessert.  But then, you don't want to accidentally die one ice cream short, now do you?

Sunday morning I fixed a simple power breakfast.  Leftover rice and hamburger, scrambled with eggs and some fruit on the side.  We had our pre-ride snacks and drinks at the course.  When the "gun" went off, I felt pretty confident in our group's fortunes for the ride.

For the first 10 miles, we managed a solid 18mph pace.  It was a little tricky with all the wheel suckers trying to break into our pace group, but we managed to stick together enough to keep our newer riders sheltered on the lee side and out of traffic.

At about 15 miles in, the machine started to break down.  That's about where you notice the definite rise in grade as the hill draws near.  Then it's a solid 10 miles of climbing with about a 1,000 foot gain.

First off the back was Chelsey, next was Char.  I decided not to leave them behind to fend for themselves, afterall, this was a group effort and we'd spent too many hours working together not to finish together.  Joe, the ride leader, came back to check and I asked him to take the lead group and I'd stick back with these two. 

I will admit, it was painful to make that 10 mile climb at a fraction of the pace I could have.  I've really learned to enjoy the struggle and pain involved in a solid climb like that.  Watching the other riders, many that I recognized,  descending while we were still plugging along was both a little humbling and frustrating.

10 miles of straight climbing definitely took its toll on the whole group.

We stuck it out all the way to the turn around where I took a much needed latrine break and grabbed a snack.  The girls recharged and we headed back down the hill together.  There were two fun-sized riders coming into the turn around point as we pulled out.  There was nobody behind them.  In fact, there was nobody left coming up the hill.  That's when I realized how close to last place we were.  I know it wasn't a competitive event, but I still feel the competitive edge that drives me to try and push myself faster than the riders around me.  And this was a sharp lesson in humility for me.

On the return trip, at first we were flying, and I was a little worried about dropping them on the descent, but they stuck right on my wheel the whole time.  I was impressed with the time we were making together, but as soon as we hit a few spots with a slight gradient, or the headwind picked up, I felt Char falling off the back end again.  I tried to keep her tucked into my draft, to keep them both out of the wind and spinning comfortably.  It became obviously painful for them just to keep moving.  Even I was becoming weary, struggling to keep them both moving, to keep the three of us together enough to draft and save energy. 

After 4 hours of riding we crossed the finish line together.  By then the raffle prizes were all handed out, there was no beer to be found and most riders had already taken off.  But we were still together.  We finished the same way we'd started that morning and that was my most important lesson of the day.  That no matter how fast I want to go,  it's more rewarding to stay with my team.

I had to ask myself, what if I'd been the one struggling to keep up with the group?  Who would have come back to pull me along?  Although it was a lot slower than I'd wanted to ride that day, I was happier for staying with my teammates (especially 'cause I'm married to one) and seeing the whole ordeal overcome with them.

Next up is the Iron Soldier Sprint Triathlon followed the very next day by the 100 mile Chile Pepper Challenge.  This time I might be the one falling off the back. 

The Junedoggle

I rode over 1,000 km in June.

I keep all my running and cycling activities recorded on my phone's Strava app so I can look back later on and use the lessons learned to improve my performance, brag about the workout and remember cool routes that I want to run or bike later.  

Every month Strava offers a variety of challenges to work towards.  In June, the Jundedoggle challenge was to ride as far as possible over the course of the month.  I rode 1,000 km in June.

My highest per month mileage ever.

I've never ridden that much in my entire life and was proud to see that number on my home dashboard.

Riding that much has left me retrospective about my cycling experiences.

This is the point where I could get all sentimental and over-analytical about my riding experiences and how much better of a person I am because of my personal accomplishment.

But really, I just want to find something soft to sit on and brag about how much more I can eat because I cycle so much.

(Seriously, I ate a lot in June.  Everyday during the Death Ride Tour, I burned almost 4,000 calories and spent the rest of the day with food in my face. It was awesome!)

I've discovered that I truly and emphatically enjoy being on the bike.  And that I really enjoy eating, too.

Like that was a surprise.

But I do realize that this little hobby that Charla and I picked up almost 3 years ago has become a huge part of my life.

Between the Death Ride Tour, obsessing over the Tour de France and all the group rides I've been in lately, you would think I'd have my fill of riding.  But instead, I'm already looking for more challenging future rides and planning my strategy for the upcoming fall rides around El Paso.

I thought I would start with another Strava challenge for July.  The Take on the Tour Challenge sounded almost possible after June's accomplishments.  But I realize that my real life just doesn't allow me the freedom to knock out 230 miles a week.  Though, to say I rode a 1,000 miles in a single month would be pretty cool.

Still gotta put food on the table somehow.

Instead I'll look forward to the cycling events coming up in the fall (Oryx Challenge, Chili Pepper Challenge, Tour de Tolerance) along with the Iron Soldier Sprint Triathlon.

And I'll keep focused on helping Charla with her own progression through the world of cycling, which reached a huge milestone yesterday when she rode her first 50-miler.

Only 20 more to go until the finish, and she's still smiling.

Guess the cycling bug is contagious.

What's Next?

So, the Death Ride Tour is over. Now what?

I thought I would feel empty after the Death Ride. I thought I would have to start looking for challenges right away, to find something to work towards. I expected to find something missing in my life after devoting so much time to one event.

After all, I do have my masochistic tendencies to satisfy.  Not to mention, an innate desire to drive my wife, Charla, completely insane with my constant self abuse through rigorous and slightly psychotic training.

Then I remembered, there are so many other things that I’d already planned on doing. Now, I just have the added confidence and experience of the Death Ride to add to them.

So, as early as this week, I have the Fort Bliss Team Aquathlon. It’s actually a duathlon (with a 5k run, 400m swim, and 5k run), but they give it a funky name to be different. It’s a team event, with three members, each completing a different event consecutively as a relay team. Since there were no real swimmers in my group I volunteered and am spending the rest of the week in the pool to get ready. And I am not a strong swimmer, so we’ll just have to see how this goes.

In July there’s the Fort Bliss Individual Aquathlon. That’ll be my preview for the sprint triathlon later on.  Plus, it’s a great way to torture myself in the pool and prove just how much I do not float.  (hint, I sink straight to the bottom when I stop kicking)

Next, the Oryx Challenge Bike Ride in September. I rode it the last two years with my cycling mentor, Alanna, and hope to really crush it this year. Not looking for an amazing time, but I want to feel stronger and less exhausted at the end of the ride.  It would also help if we could avoid the destructive headwind (in both directions) of two years ago.

Then there’s the Iron Soldier Sprint Triathlon in late September. That was my first triathlon last fall. I felt pretty strong on both the bike and the run, but my swim was the third slowest time for everyone competing. It took me over 15 minutes to clear 400m and I was 222 out of 224 swimmers. Yeah, need to work on that.

Because I’m such a masochist, I also want to do the Chili Pepper Challenge this year. It’s the day after the triathlon. But I really want that jersey when I leave El Paso, and want to say I did the whole Challenge, all 100 miles of it.

Finally, for the fall at least, I want to ride the Tour de Tolerance with Char.  That was our first major ride together two years ago, and we’ve both come a long ways since then. 

Some of my biggest challenges will be less personal and more about sharing and patience. Charla has been running for a few years now, started cycling with me and will also be joining me for some of the events. But, my big task will be helping her prepare for her first marathon.

Yeah, you heard that one right. Char is going to run a marathon.  (that’s 26.2 miles for the uninitiated, please stop asking)

She told me a while back that she wanted to do a marathon before the end of the year. We started looking around at different marathons with a list of criteria. Which would be the most fun and entertaining to make up for the suffering and pain of running 26.2 miles? It would have to have amazing scenery (sorry DukeCity/Albuquerque, I can only run along the ditch and interstate for so long). It would have to be reasonably accessible and occur within certain windows that coincided with my ability to take time off from work (sorry Marine CorpsMarathon, DC, I just can’t make it this year). It would also have to make for a great vacation, so we could also enjoy time before and after the marathon in the area.

We finally have tentatively settled on the Maui Oceanfront Marathon. 

Just imagine 26.2 solid miles of Hawaiian coastline while you run. And the time you spend before and after the race? Awesome.

There’s prime whale watching, trails to hike, beaches, snorkeling, various excursions in the water and the Haleakala Volcano to cycle up. Yeah, don’t think I won’t try it.

So, there you have it.  My summer pretty much tied up into one long session of pain and misery while I prepare myself and Charla for the fall.  I suppose that at least I won’t be bored.