I have also started weaving again (so much for its being on hiatus) and am almost finished with the second set of placemats.  Which means, of course, that it’s time to dye the yarn for the next set of placemats.  I’ve received a request for indigo blue, which means I need to figure out how to do indigo blue.  Which, in turn, means doing more dye samples.  Looks like I have my work cut out for me on that front.  More dye experiments!

Finally, I feel like I am over my cycling burnout and prepared to start cycling again.  I don’t think I’m doing the Death Ride again this year, though – it took a lot of intensive, focused work for a good eight months, and while I’m not opposed to that sort of maniacal focus, it also ate a lot of time which I could have spent on other pursuits.  I think it’s time I scaled back some, so I’m just doing the AIDS Ride and the Cinderella Century this year.  Well, I might do the Davis Double Century, but that’s it.  I guess what I’m saying is that unlike last year, cycling will not be my main focus for the year.  Instead I plan to pursue a number of other interests, like work (!), sewing/fashion design, jewelrymaking, weaving, dyeing, and whatever else crops up during the year.  It’ll be nice having the extra time and energy to do those.

So anyway, I am bowing out of the Death Ride, at least for this year.  Next year I may be ready to tackle it again. 

First and foremost, I’m proud of my performance. It was hard, and four passes is not at all bad for a first-time rider. Going up Ebbetts took tremendous courage, and I managed it. One pedal stroke at a time.

It was fun, in a sick sort of way. It definitely tested my limits, and I came out OK. I wasn’t fast enough to make the time cuts, but I was strong enough to make it up the mountains, and (given that Carson Pass isn’t any steeper than Ebbetts) I think I could have finished the ride, given more time.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever be a five-pass rider. At my current level of training, there was simply no way for me to make the time cutoff at Woodfords (or the time cutoff at Pickett’s if I’d made it to Woodfords) – I left about as early as possible and still missed the cutoff by a good hour or so. If I left at 3am instead of 3:30am and didn’t blow up on the way up Ebbetts, I might possibly make it to Woodfords, but it’s unlikely I’d make it to Pickett’s in time to go up the fifth pass. In order to make the time cuts, I’d either have to be in significantly better shape, or drop about fifteen pounds. Either one is achievable, but I’m not sure I want it desperately enough to put in the efforts.
The altitude definitely affected me. Going up a 7% grade felt like going up a 10% grade, and a 12% grade felt like an 18% grade. My average speed was only 8.6 mph, vs. an average speed of about 10 mph at sea level (and with much slower downhills!). I’m guessing I lost about 30% of my power just from the altitude. Less than I’d expected (given my prior experience with altitude sickness at 7,000 feet), but still substantial.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do next year. I may very well do the Death Ride again, but this time more for fun than as a focus of my training. As I said, I’m not sure if I’ll ever (given my motivation level) be a five-pass rider, but I did enjoy my time, and it was a nice getaway. On the other hand, if I manage a Triple Crown next year, and AIDS Lifecycle, I’ll be in much better condition, so who knows….? Perhaps I’ll collect that jersey after all.

Mike and I had arrived in Markleeville on Thursday night, and spent Friday resting. I went out for a short spin on the bike, but mostly we ate, napped, and conserved our energies for the morning ahead. I intended to go to bed at 7pm, get up at 2:30am, and get out on the road by 3:30am, giving me a two-hour head start on the Death Ride. So there would be absolutely no chance of sleeping through the appointed hour, Mike and I had set both our cell phone alarms and the hotel alarm clock to ring at 2:30am. Then we went to bed.

A horrible crashing noise brought me bolting out of bed. WHACK! THUMP! right next to our door. I was momentarily convinced that the world was ending, but remembered just in time that the hotel-keeper had warned us not to put food in the outside trash cans, because “the bears have come by every night this week”. A bear had just over-tipped the trash can in front of the room and was busily rooting through it.

Blearily, I looked at the time on my watch. 2:15am. “Well,” I thought, “I might as well get up, since I’m not getting any more sleep with a bear banging around outside.”

I swung out of bed, turned off all the alarm clocks, and quickly got ready. I had set all my cycling clothes, etc. out the night before (aware from past experience that my IQ at 2:30am is close to that of cottage cheese). I prepped the bike and myself, ate a quick breakfast, and poked my head cautiously out the door. The banging noises had slowly gone away as I prepped, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to be facing a hungry bear. (I didn’t think the “Death Ride” should be renamed the “Eaten by a Bear Ride”.)

Nope. Nothing out there. I made one last check, kissed Mike goodbye, and rolled off into the night.

It was surprisingly warm for 3:24am, the world a pool of darkness to either side of my headlight beam. I rode easily along the flat road from Markleeville to the CA 89 – CA 4 junction, seeing no one and nothing but the road ahead. It was an eerie feeling, almost like floating.

I reached the intersection, turned left, and began the long climb up Monitor Pass.

It was disorienting, climbing in the darkness. I couldn’t read my GPS or my cyclocomputer, so I had no idea how fast I was going or how far I had gone. I knew I was breathing harder than I should be for the effort I was putting in – the 5500′ altitude was getting to me – but I wasn’t sure whether to ride by “feel” or by how hard I was breathing. I finally ignored all that and pressed on through the darkness.

The sky lightened to dark blue; the stars faded out, one by one. Soon I could see the road, faintly, through the darkness. Dawn was coming. How far had I come? How far was left to go? I checked my GPS, but I still couldn’t read it. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I saw a tent with water bottles and a van parked next to it. I pulled up, and my light woke up the occupant of the van, who stumbled out and told me that the water stop wasn’t open yet, but I could have some water if I needed it.

The water stop! I was only halfway up Monitor Pass. I thanked the man, declined the water (my Camelbak was still nearly full), and moved on up the pass. Dawn came, and I turned off my lights and kept riding. At 6am, I crested 8300 feet and saw the peak: the rest stop was right there, spread out in a flat part of the road. As I rode in, someone ran up behind me and put a sticker on my rider number. I had completed the first pass. Victory!

There were very few other riders in the rest stop, maybe ten others who (like me) had started very early. I ate a little, and pressed on. The back side of Monitor was gorgeous – stunning views down the mountain – and I sailed quickly down the broad straightaways and sweeping curves. At the junction with 395 – the turnaround point – I went into the rest stop and collected my second sticker. I would need all five to be certified as a five-pass rider.

I struggled up the back side of Monitor. I was definitely riding more slowly than usual, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it – even a nice gentle 7% grade felt like a 10% grade, and I found myself breathing hard with the slightest effort. I also lacked energy – found myself having to stop for a few moments every fifteen minutes or so to catch my breath. As I rode up, the main pack caught up with me and started to pass me, three or four abreast. As one lean, fit cyclist passed me after another, I found myself intensely aware of being overweight and undertrained. I struggled on.

Downhill on the front side of Monitor was glorious. I bombed down the hill, hitting 50(!) mph on one of the long straightaways – a new personal top speed. (And hopefully the fastest I’ll go – I didn’t realize I was going that fast!)
At the bottom of Ebbetts Pass, I stopped to refuel. For me, lack of energy usually means I haven’t been eating enough, and I hadn’t been eating much at the rest stops, so I ate a bit extra. This would prove to be a bad decision.

Ebbetts was really, really hard. Monitor Pass topped out at 8300 feet, with a nice, gentle grade near the top. Ebbetts topped out at 8800 feet, and was quite steep in places (12% grade). I rapidly found myself gasping for breath. I broke out some more energy GU, but was worried about running out, so I tried one of the Clif Shots I had picked up at the rest stop. Ten minutes later I was suffering from a horrible bloated feeling, barely able to move. I wondered if I was going to vomit. I kept going.

At 11:30 am, 50.1 miles, I had had to pull over three times in the last fifteen minutes to rest. There was simply no way I was going to finish, no way to finish climbing up this hill.

Three minutes later, I was back on the bike, struggling uphill again.

I made it to the top, on sheer willpower. I rested for a bit – about twenty minutes – and then realized they would be chasing people out of the rest stop in half an hour. I descended to the bottom, down a steep and tricky grade, dodging other riders down the way. I looked at the steep grade I was descending and realized there was no way I’d be able to make it back up that hill. A 12% grade? When I could barely do an 8% grade?

Down in Hermit Valley, they had run out of stickers, so they wrote “HV” on my rider number. I was now officially a four-pass rider.

I felt better on the way back, curiously. I felt much less bloated – the effects of the Clif Shot, or the extra food, had worn off, and I finally had the sense to slow down – riding at a heart rate of 146 beats per minute rather than 155, even if it meant going ridiculously slowly (2.9 mph up a 12% grade). One rider was walking up the hill, going only a little slower than I was. But I was making it.
I arrived at the peak of Ebbetts at 2:50pm, just in time to get the last of the water. They announced that Ebbetts was going to reopen to traffic at 3pm, and I had only one hour to make the time cutoff at Woodford, so I grabbed my bike and hightailed it out of there. I descended Ebbetts quickly, yet conservatively – much as I wanted to make the time cut, I was not risking another crash. I had fun descending the whizzy downhill.

The descent was long, and I realized fairly quickly that I was in trouble, time-wise. I had no idea how much further it was to Woodford from Markleeville, but I remembered it being at least five miles – two of them uphill, to Turtle Rock Park. By the time I finished descending Ebbetts and checked my map, I knew it was hopeless – it was nearly 3:45pm, leaving me fifteen minutes to ride the 10 miles to Woodfords. So I turned in at the hotel in Markleeville (no bears this time!), and gave Mike a hug. My ride was over. I hadn’t finished all five passes, but I was insanely proud of myself nonetheless: I had ridden the hardest ride of my life, and still felt good enough to do another mountain.  I had gotten caught by the time cuts, but I knew I could have finished, given an extra hour to make Woodfords.

The Markleeville Death Ride:

82.23 miles, 9:29:54, 12:30:00 total time on bike.

10,882 feet of climbing (at 5,000-8,800 feet of elevation!).

Avg speed: 8.6mph.