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.

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.