Bike The Course

    Pre-race anxiety has been tenaciously creeping from my subconscious to my conscious. The Race is the first thing on my mind most mornings, and the last thing on my mind most nights. I have laid to rest my swim anxiety. Running, I have done two hella brutal halfs with minimal problems. Oddly, for as much cycling as I have done, it has been the bike leg that has been nagging at me. Looking at the bike course map, and the elevation graph, I knew it was going to be a steep, technical ride. But how steep? How tech? I know that the best way to finish any long course Tri in good shape is to execute the swim and bike well enough that there is energy left for the run. That was my fear, that the bike course would be too tough to leave me with legs for the run. The only way put these fears to rest, or fuel the fire, was to ride the course.
    Today was the day. I planned on getting a good night's sleep, maybe sleep in a bit, be well rested. Instead, my pager went off at 5:30, so I was dressed and out the door by 5:32. Back home by 6:30, too awake to go back to sleep, so I had a healthy breakfast, two cups of coffee, loaded my gear, and was out the door by 9:00. This trip had several purposes, first and foremost to learn the course, but also to make sure I knew exactly how far and how long of a drive I would be facing at O-dark-thirty the day of The Race.     Just south of Salem the rains began. It poured. And me without anything remotely resembling rain gear. Oh well, it's only water. The rain stopped shortly before I arrived at the lake. I found a wide shoulder to park Wallace, strolled down a narrow trail, listening to the trees shed their early morning shower, and saw the green, pristine lake that I will be swimming in 13 days. It is a beautiful place. I got Joshua out of the truck, got into my gear, strapped my TT helmet to my head, and straddled the bike. The rains came. The heavens opened. In a few minutes I couldn't have been wetter if I had been hit with a fire hose. It was cold, wet, but not miserable. I had a moment of concern for hypothermia, but dismissed it as soon as it arose.
    The first few miles were nice, rolling hills. I was beginning to relax, thinking that this wouldn't be anything I couldn't handle. After all, I can ride Wildcat Road, aka Kick-my-ass-and-leave-me-in-the-ditch-to-die road. No sooner had I had this particular thought, when I rounded a curve and saw I-shit-you-not-holy-mother-of-the-gods-this-is-gonna-hurt hill. It was a steep, long incline that made me think of Wildcat Road On Steroids. The road disappeared into the mist, I had no idea just how far, or how high it went. Shit just got real. Lowest gear, up in the stirrups, head down, grinding my way up the hill at near walking speed. There was nothing to do but just gut it out. Every curve I rounded, the road just kept going up, and up. It was amazing. A nagging voice in the back of my mind was speculating, the altitude graph showed the worst hill to be at the halfway point. If this was as brutal as it was, holy gods, the toughest climb was going to be punishing. I kept grinding along. At one point I saw a man strolling down the road towards me. Me, "Heckuva a hill." Him, "Yep, pretty steep." And we were both on our merry ways. I admit, as I was slogging my way up, I was congratulating my cardiovascular system on its health and strength. Finally, finally, I reached the top, an intersection. I stopped to check my scribbled notes, and compare them with the road signs. Nothing matched anything anywhere in my notes. Nothing. I had no idea where the hell I was, except that I was at the top of a long-ass hill, and over 12 miles from my truck. Well, there was nothing to do but keep going. I figured worse case scenario I would ride another 12 miles or so, then turn around and ride back, then get in my truck and drive the course to see where I went astray.
    After bombing several miles down a ridiculously steep, winding section of road, and thinking what an unholy bitch it was going to be to ride back up, I came to another intersection. Berlin Road. I was back on course. Not sure how it happened, but apparently the road pixies were on my side. Now to settle down and ride. The rest of the course was technical, with some wicked steep hills, but nothing quite as agonizing as my unintentional detour. I got in some excellent practice shifting, more practice to "level the course." Reaching the top of the course, I paused for a moment to snap a picture, eat a Clif Bar, and guzzle some water, then back down. I was feeling damn good, when I heard Han Solo's voice in my head, "Don't get cocky, kid." I was only halfway done, after all. This time I was careful to find the correct road. At least I think it was the correct road, and pay attention to what I had missed.
    Before I knew it, 50 miles had rolled under my wheels, and I was back at the truck. I knew I had to test myself. I had ridden the course with the intention of being as energy efficient as possible. Using my gears to "level the course" and coasting the downhill grades. On training rides I rarely, if ever coast. When training I make it a point to keep peddling, keep my cadence high and regular. By coasting the downhill sections, saving my legs a little, I actually felt less fatigued than I would after a training ride on less hilly terrain. It was an interesting little lesson. So, to check just how well I had done, I locked Joshua up in the bed of the truck, got into my running shoes and ran a quick mile. I could have run farther, but it is getting too close to The Big One for me to do an ass kicking brick workout. I really just wanted to see how my legs would feel. They felt damn good. I have started races with my legs feeling worse, The Hagg Lake Half, for instance.
    This was an excellent confidence boost. A much needed balm to my pre-race nerves. I know this race will kick my ass, it is a long damn distance to go under my own power. But now I am feeling confident that I will cross the finish line, head high, and under my own power. It was an excellent day.