Colliding with Denial

Way back in December, I thought it would be a swell idea to do this thing called the Death Ride. I may have mentioned that the thought of this ride held me at bay for 12 years until some sweet talker thought it would be the perfect next step in my cycling apprenticeship. Easily swayed (why now?), I set the alarm on my google calendar so I wouldn't miss the 10AM registration opening. It sold out within hours because there are just that many people as crazy or crazier than I.

[I define those crazier as those who have already done it once and are electing to repeat the experience.]

Then, I was chomping at the bit to get started training. February finally rolled around. The training schedule got emailed out. Oh, gee. By May, we'll be doing centuries regularly. And 11000 feet of climbing. What have I inflicted on my dear Bianchi?

She's a trooper, my little Celeste Veloce. She's still unnamed. There's two kindsa people – thems that name their bikes and thems that don't. I guess I'm a don't-er since I still haven't come up with anything clever or meaningful to either her or me. Celeste – c'mon – every celeste green bianchi is probably named Celeste. Snore. I met someone who un-ironically named their bright yellow bike Sunshine. It was sweet and she rocked the climbs, so who's going to argue? In my mind, I've started to refer to her as my Bianchini (my garbled Italian for Little Bianchi). So maybe that'll stick. Essence of pepperoncini – a little fire and heat and a dash of snarky vinegar (that would be the rider) mixed with the elegance of Italian machinery.

The other ride, when I had my little Bianchini upside down while changing a flat, Jeff K looked over at me (he was also on a Bianchi) as he rode by, shook his head, “...those old Bianchis...” like it was an old FIAT on the side of the road with its hood up. So dry. So perfect.

And yet, my bike is old. It's one of the few steel bikes on the team. And I adore her. People now come up to me on large rides and tell me how much they love my bike. They used to have one and now it's …. doing something else and they're riding something newer and shinier. One ride, every time one woman passed me, she'd call out to my bike, “hello, beauty!” (at first, I thought she was flirting with me, but I realized she was coming on to my bicycle). My bike is on its way to becoming a classic. Sorry about the minor dents and scratches. It won't make it into the Bianchi museum in mint condition, but well-used and well-loved. I said to (whoever would listen) that early in the season I was self-conscious about my old bike. But now? She gets me up the hills. And she gets up faster than fancier bikes. She has great reliable components. Her geometry is fantastic. She downhills well and corners like a champ – probably better than I allow her to do. And her age? It shows my years of cycling. I'm not a Jane-come-lately to this fine sport. I've been out here awhile. Just don't ask why I haven't improved any.

Aw shucks. There I go rambling again. What was my point? Senility?

(pssst – don't get the old lady talking about cycling, you'll be stuck here for hours!)

Oh, yeah. Denial. So when a ride is seven months away, it's easy to think you're going to do all the training rides, go to the gym, lose 20 pounds and be totally buff and strong and look like Peter Sagan instead of this middle aged woman with a little more roundness than she cares to admit at this late point in the season. Too late to diet now!

It's easy to think there's plenty of time to build the climbing muscles and endurance and saddle-proofing.

And then the training schedule comes out. Well... That's ambitious! Okay. What have I signed up for?

And the weeks go by. I've only missed one-half of a training ride all season. 40 miles. Which I kinda made up for in distance one weekend, but not in height. So in that respect, I've been faithful to that part of the program. On our training website, there's a countdown ticker at the bottom of the screen. Starting at over 5 months, it gradually reduced. For awhile, I thought, there's still time. Time to build. Time to train. Time to get ready. And then it became three months. Okay. Still lots of time! Almost 12 weeks of training! And then two months.

Yikes.

Now, we're under two months. We have a month of Centuries (May) which will build our climbing up to 12,000 feet. There will be unpleasantness in the remaining 6 weeks of hard training before we start to taper. There may be tears. Frustration. The possibility of failure looms large. I hear talk of Ft. Ross Road and Meyer's Grade. I've driven Stewarts Point-Skaggs Spring Road. I'm not entirely sure I wish to ride it.

But.

I will because that's what will make me successful on the Death Ride.

And I'm not going to embarrass my little Bianchini. She's been training hard this Spring and she deserves to succeed.