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!

A Long Time Ago (5 years) in a Galaxy Far Away (sort of)

5 years.

That's how long Char and I have lived in El Paso.  And now it's time to leave.

About leaving El Paso behind I have mixed emotions.  I have developed my physical prowess and athletic endeavors so much in this town.  At the same time, it can be a rough place to train and play.

The desert pretty much wants to kill you.  So do the drivers.  (See here for details on the drivers or the animals)

But the weather can sometimes be beneficial to training year-round.  You just have to find creative ways to work around the windy season (which only lasts about 11 1/2 months).

When Char and I first moved to El Paso in February 2009, I had only run my first half-marathon the previous April, and Char hadn't run a day in her life.  Neither of us was a cyclist, had ever raced in a triathlon, and I was still a terrible swimmer.  (Picture a bag of rocks sealed in a concrete box and a little propeller trying to push it along the water)

Since then, we've both ran multiple half marathons, completed metric century rides, blasted through triathlons and placed in our age groups in several races.  Just in the last year, I've completed separate standard century (100 mile) rides and then ran two marathons back to back with Char.

Celebrating the finish at the 100 mile Chile
Pepper Challenge.  Almost falling on my face.

1st Place in the women's 30-39 age group for the
Iron Soldier Sprint Triathlon, 29 September 2013.

We've planned whole vacations around athletic events, using them as excuses to visit places like Washington, D.C., Hawaii, and Colorado.

I've learned that I will run for beer (hoholo na pia), Char will run for wine, and that we'll both ride hard to earn the right to eat like this:

The Irishman's Cure at the Irish Embassy in Durango, CO: traditional Irish breakfast with rashers,  sausage, black and white pudding, eggs, grilled tomato, and irish potatoes in cream sauce.  Picture does not do it justice.  I burned 4,992 calories on a ride that day to eat this.

Somehow, most of our picutres while we're traveling for athletic events involve some kind of food.

I've learned to relax, too.  That not everything requires that I push myself beyond my limits.  Sometimes it's nice to throttle back and enjoy the scenery.

Humpback breeching along the Maui coast.  

I've decided that if there's no coffee or beer after a ride, then something is wrong.  But if there's a burrito waiting, it can make everything alright again.

Public bathrooms are awesome, and a well placed bush or tree is priceless.















                         Yes, another food picture.


There's nothing quite like an insurmountable challenge to push you beyond your limits.  I've learned to not be afraid of daring to do something that I'm pretty sure will be impossible for me to accomplish.

Likewise, there's nothing better than eating more than you can stomach knowing you've burned more calories than you'll be able to replace no matter how hard you try.  (There's a fat kid deep inside of me smiling when I'm riding.)


I don't respect the limitations of my body, and I have suffered the consequences regularly.

I've been hit by cars, almost eaten by bears, killed by bees and rabid dogs, nearly torn my IT band, and developed amazing bruises on my feet.  My toenails are permanently altered.  Char's taken face dives on concrete, done weird things to her joints and toenails, strained ankles and fought through horrifying shin-splints.

And we keep going because we're not right in the head.

The giddy sensation of completing something that you had thought was monumental and impossible can wash away the pain and suffering tied to the accomplishment.  Carbs and beer help, too.

Descending from 10,910 foot Molas
Pass into Silverton, Colorado.

Any amount of pain is worth the view from the top.

10,000 feet up Haleakala Volcano in Maui.

Setting a goal for a ride or run can make all the difference, even if it's frivolous.  Fish tacos, anyone?

Char and I both have grown so much in the last 5 years.  Sometimes it's hard to imagine what life was like before we started down this journey.  Our lives are much richer and more exciting with all the adventures we experience now.

With barely a month left, it's time to say goodbye to El Paso and all the adventures we've had.  Then it's time to look forward to new ones.  What will we look like in another 5 years?

How do we say goodbye?  Do something crazy?  Sure.

Char is doing the Bataan Memorial Death March at the end of the month.  26.2 miles of foot/leg torture.  I'll watch and cheer and eat and wait.  Twice was enough for me.

We're both running the St. Paddy's Day 10K (yes, I'll do it in my kilt) and then the World's Fastest 10K.  The latter should be interesting as that was one of the first events we both used to guage our running and fitness progress.

And then it's off to new adventures together.

What will those be?  Maybe some rides, maybe some runs, maybe we'll find something totally new to experience and push ourselves.  Kite surfing?  Stand Up Paddleboarding (SUP'ing)?  Equestrian jumping?  No clue, but I'm sure it'll be slightly dangerous, a little painful, and very rewarding.

The point is, as I've learned over the last half decade, that you don't have to move fast so long as you are moving.

And not being eaten by an enraged mother bear.

 

The Maui Report Part II - The Ride to Kihei

Part Two – The Ride to Kihei

Or

There and Back Again

Or

Thar be Whales!

Or

Fish Tacos?  Sure, why not?

I survived the ride up and down the Haleakala Volcano, mostly.  And in accordance with our strict vacation itinerary, (yeah right) the next day was an easy 50 mile ride to the seaside town of Kihei and back.  I say easy, but nothing is easy after you spend more than 7 hours in the saddle and leave your body and legs depleted of all hope and happiness.

The idea was to preview the marathon route before Sunday, get a little cross training in, and enjoy a pleasant ride along the Maui coast. 

What we did not anticipate were the Kona winds (traditionally, Maui enjoys the benefit of the much calmer tradewinds) or the amount of whale watching we would experience this time of year.

We started after breakfast, the sun already well into the sky.  Our pace was light, with Charla in the lead, and me doggedly plugging along behind her.  My legs felt like jello, but I was determined to make the most of what looked like a beautiful day.

Signs along the road were constant reminders of why we were on Maui to begin with.

We had been warned by the B&B owner that the traffic could be intense and not bicycle friendly with all the tourists in town.  What we actually experienced was altogether different.  Drivers were courteous, and obeyed the rules almost without exception.  While not protected or guarded, the expansive bike lanes gave us plenty of room to maneuver and kept us far enough away from traffic that we actually felt quite safe.

The bike lane symbol is even wearing a helmet!

The tunnel along the coast of West Maui even had a bicycle button to push that would activate a light warning vehicles that you were passing through the tunnel.

Of course, we have been riding the past 4 years in El Paso, where every driver seems to have a homicidal urge towards all forms of life around them and traffic laws are just suggestions. 

Something else that I had noticed on my ride up the volcano was evident today.  The roads everywhere were like butter.  They were so smooth that I can recall every bumpy spot of the previous day’s 72 miles (there were 6 total, 4 of which were cattle guards near the Haleakala Park).  

Buttery smooth roads with wide bike lanes made for incredible riding.

We cruised around the coast and down towards Kihei.  There was some light rain and a breeze off the ocean that propelled us along.  In Kihei, we enjoyed a brunch of fish tacos before perusing the local market. 

Grilled mahi mahi with all the taco fixins.

My first fish tacos ever, and they are awesome!

Our ride back was a little more interesting.  Once out of Kihei, the Kona Winds that had given us a push in the morning were now blowing harder rain and a strong breeze off the ocean into our faces.  The uphill climb past Ma’alaea was a lot harder, but my legs had regained some of their vigor and I was able to easily spin up the coastline.  The headwind easily measured 15 mph that afternoon, but, and I can’t explain why, it seemed so much easier to handle than back in El Paso.  In EP, any headwind over 10 mph makes any ride miserable and sucks the fun right out.  Apparently, even a stiff headwind can be fun in paradise.

Into the headwind I felt strong enough to pull for Char for a bit.

Back along the West Maui coast Char and I had to stop several times.  Just off shore, the whales were playing. 

Never in my life have I experienced anything like it.  We had, apparently, chosen the right month to visit Maui as there were whales everywhere you looked.

"Admiral, there be whales here!" - Scotty

Cell phone pics don't do them justice.  They were hurling their entire bodies out of the water (called breaching and lunging) and lob tailing just a 100 yards offshore.  Close enough that you could hear them over the traffic that had just ground to a halt to watch.

We eventually left the whales behind and cruised into town.  Our recon of the marathon route complete and our bike riding in Maui finished.

The only thing left to do (other than have an awesome time on a tropical island) was to get ready for and then complete our first tropical marathon.  Too easy!

Training in style!

The Maui Report Part I - The Ride up Haleakala

The Maui Report

Part One – The Ride up Haleakala

Or

 To Hell and Back

Or

 Climb to the Sun Highway

Or

I Really Hope the Brakes Work on this Rental!

I’d been talking about it for months.  The ride up the Haleakala Volcano.

There was only really one rule - start and finish at sea level.  

Oh, and don't get eaten by angry lava monsters or fall off the volcano!

 

The map of my route, plus the elevation chart.  Straight up, straight down.

It took us an hour of driving blind in the dark to find the Paia Beach to start the ride.  There aren’t too many street lights on Maui, so when the sun’s down, it’s dark!  Our hosts at the B&B had packed us a picnic breakfast: yogurt with granola, banana bread, juice and fruit cup.  Delicious and perfect.  Once we found the beach front, I scarfed down the breakfast and got my gear rigged to ride.  Then it was a short trot down to the waters edge to kick off the ride properly by dipping my toe into the Pacific Ocean, proving that I’d started at sea level.  Like I said, it was pitch black and the waves were crashing hard.  With no other sound to soften their blows, it was really intimidating to walk out there in the dark.  (side note: Char and I had to stop and watch the burrowing sand crabs)

I rolled out of the beach lot at 6:38 am, still dark and difficult to see where I was going, praying that the cars rushing down the highway into Paia would see me and not run me over. Hey, West Maui Cycles, how about some lights on your rental bikes?  And, while you’re at it, how about a cyclocomputer so I know how far I’ve ridden and how fast I’m not climbing?

For those that care, here's the ride analysis data.

The first few miles were gorgeous as the sun slowly rose and I could enjoy the tropical paradise around me.  There were old missionary churches, cemeteries, cattle and horse farms along the road.  There was nowhere to look without a spectacular view.  Within the first hour, I had climbed a 1000 feet and was able to look back down the slopes to the ocean where the sun had risen enough to reflect off the water on the north shore.  Just shy of Makawao, another rider caught up to me and introduced himself.  Tyson from Santa Cruz and I would spend the next 5 hours fighting our way to the top of the volcano.

Our goal, still 9,000 feet above us.

We cruised through Makawao, the cowboy town complete with a general store, and hit the first steep pitch of the day.  It was barely 200m but rose straight up the hillside.  My heart rate spiked and our legs burned, and this was only a preview of what awaited us farther up.

In the town of Kula we stopped at the Kula Marketplace, supposedly the last place to get any water before reaching the National Park.  The pull off rested on a 30 foot cliff above the store, and we pondered how to get down to it without breaking our necks.  Tyson took a small winding sidewalk that twisted through some potted flowers and dropped straight down the steep side of the hill.  I hesitated at the entrance, thinking about how badly this was going to end for me, when a kind gentlemen leaned out his car window and pointed out the main entrance about 40 feet down the road.  Much easier for me to go down and then back up again without breaking my skull.

Back on the road, our climbing started to increase in steepness, and we rode into a beautiful dark pine forest.  By now we were at about 4000 feet and looking forward to reaching the half way up point.  I must point out that we were also already 3 hours into the ride and weren’t halfway done climbing yet.  We had also been watching the tour groups of folks riding bikes down the road, waving and gawking at us as we slowly spun up the volcano.  Local tour companies drive paying clients up the volcano, fit them with cold weather gear and full face helmets, then let them coast down the roads.  That was starting to sound like a lot more fun than we were having.

To the west we could see the mountains on West Maui peaking through gaps in the eucalyptus trees.  Tyson asked about those, and I told him that the peak, Mt. Pu'u Kukui, is only about 5700 feet.  We realized we’d be well above that in no time.  Once we rode out of the forest and onto the grass lined switchbacks, I noticed that my heart rate was way above my comfort zone and knew that there was no way I was going to maintain our pace.  I told Tyson to go on, that I needed to throttle back a little.  We parted ways temporarily right at the 5000 ft mark.  I made it to the 5500 ft mark before I stopped to take a picture and stretch my legs out. 

Starting at 1000 feet, someone painted these friendly reminders of how far I had to go.

I never thought I would stop while climbing a hill, but 36 miles is a long ways to go straight up.  Restarting was difficult, the Specialized Roubaix that I had rented had a different balance than my personal Cannondale Synapse.  When I pushed down and stood up to clip in, the front tire came off the ground and I almost found myself skidding off the road and down several thousand feet of volcanic terrain.  It took me a couple tries to figure out how to restart uphill with this new bike, but eventually I had it figured out and didn’t kill myself trying.

The view from 5500 feet.  In the distance, Mt. Pu'u Kukui at 5700 feet.  To the right you can barely see down to the north coast near where I had started before sunrise.

As I continued on, I made a promise to stop roughly every 1000 feet of climbing.  That gave me a goal to work towards and prevented me from exhausting myself and failing.  I held out past the 6500 mark until I hit the ranger station at 6700 and paid my $5 fee.  Most depressing and bitter park ranger ever.  He needed a yogi bear in his life.

 

Lonely rider, Tyson, making his way up the volcano.

When I reached the park visitors center, at about 7300, Char was there waiting and she switched my water bottles out and I took off right away.  

Warning for the local Nene bird, of which I did see one while climbing but was too tired to get a picture of.

With only 3000 feet to go, I should have been happy but the climb just continued to get more difficult.  The altitude started working into my head, and several times I wondered if I was going to pass out, throw up or start giggling to death.  It got really weird around 8000 feet when I looked down the mountain and saw that the clouds had moved in and were almost chasing me up the volcano.  I swung my leg over my back to stand beside it and almost fell over.  My thighs were quivering, my calves screaming and I was a little dizzy.  I forced water down my throat, and stretched as best I could. 

Being chased up the volcano by the cloud layer was disconcerting and I started worrying about my descent.

I stopped again after passing the 9000 foot marker.  There was a pull off for cars that I chose and stretched out my legs again.  The shaking was less severe and I was thinking a little clearer.  Or, perhaps, altitude sickness was setting in and I couldn’t tell how bad off I was.

At 9700 feet, I pulled into a large parking lot where Tyson was pulling on his cold weather gear.  He’d only made it about 10-15 minutes ahead of me.  Sitting on the sidewalk, we realized the actual summit was another .8 miles uphill, the steepest pitch on the entire ride, so he took off to make his summit bid and I got dressed for my attempt.  Somewhere around 8500 feet it had cooled off significantly, but I hadn’t really noticed until I stopped.  Now, I was freezing.  All the cold weather gear I had crammed into my pockets suddenly seemed like a great idea, even if some of it was damp from sweat or humidity. 

Char took this picture from the summit, of Tyson and I resting and pulling on winter gear.

The last climb to the summit was by far the worst and best part of the entire ride.  It’s only 8/10 of a mile, but is also one of the steepest pitches, over a 14% grade, and sucks the very last bits of energy and hope right out of your body.  However, you know it’s all over and you crest the hill grinning like an idiot as you pass the 10,000 feet sign.

Depleted but exhilarated that I was finished climbing.

The view awaiting me at the top.

Char was waiting for me in the parking lot and stared at me like I was an idiot when I picked up the bike to carry it (while running) the additional 23 feet up the stairs to the true summit of Haleakala.  At the time it made sense to me, and I have no idea where the energy came from to do it.  Four days later we would drive up the volcano and the same stairs would leave me breathless and dizzy from walking up.

We even took some glamour shots to prove I had survived and not fallen off the volcano or been eaten by a lava monster.

I stole food and water from Char and began my descent.  I had looked forward to this part all day long, but now wasn’t so sure.  It was cold.  Really cold.  The moisture from the clouds combined with the speed of my descent cut right through my gear and my whole core was frozen.  I’m sure that I was borderline hypothermic on the descent, and at one point was shivering so badly that the bike started bouncing on the road.  The switchbacks meant that I had to brake hard and bleed off speed constantly, and my hands started to cramp.  I expected to begin warming up as I passed through the thermal layer at 5000 feet, but no such luck.

It wasn’t until I’d made it back to Makawao that I felt warmth creeping back into my body.  Then the descent leveled out and I had to pedal to keep up with traffic.  Of course, that was probably the best thing for my body and I pedaled my butt off, easily outpacing several cars trying to follow me down.  The more I pedaled, the warmer I got and the more energy I seemed to find.  I soared around open sweeping turns through fields of sugarcane finally stopping to downgrade my gear with a couple miles to go.  It had taken over five and a half hours to climb, but less than an hour to descend.

Once back in Paia, I ripped off my shoes and picked up the bike for the walk down to the shore.  People were sunbathing, surfing and relaxing along the shoreline, and I probably looked like an idiot, but nothing would stop me from finishing in style.

From 0 feet to 10,000 feet elevation, 72 total miles.  No lava monsters.

I burned over 4000 calories during the ride, so I was promised I could relax and eat/drink whatever I wanted at that night's luau.

It wasn't until a few days later that I would come to terms with the enormity of my ride up Haleakala. On our drive to Hana on the far east coast I would gaze up at the volcano in one of the few moments that it wasn't shrouded in a cloud layer.  Staring up at the naked rocky ridge at 10,000 feet from sea level, I suddenly questioned my own sanity in attempting to climb it in the first place.  I was able to snap a shot of the volcano after sunrise during the marathon that captured some of the majesty for me.  But the greatest emotional impact came from driving up the volcano later that week, and staring down at the expanse of the island and realizing just how far above everything we were at the top.

Stay tuned for the second part of the Maui Report, where Char and I go on a 50 mile ride in search of fish tacos.