A tale of scrapping flesh, gagging lunch, and many hills

WARNING: Post contains much masculine bravado and mind-numbing cycling details

Just one month ago my cycling summer looked dismal—the bursitis in my hip had not healed even though I took several months off, in fact it seemed much worse. My longest ride was a mere 25 miles at which point my hip generally gave out completely leading to a sorry-ass limping back home. I’d even subjected myself to several cocoa-butter-plastic- tool-beatings (a new fangled physical therapy treatment—ASTYM--where, in my case, one’s leg/hip/butt are scraped raw).

But all that changed on our St George trip. I knew the Bountiful-Mazda Cycling Club (BMCC) I’d joined and ordered gear from (hundreds of dollars wasted I figured at this point) would also be in St. George. I’d considered riding with them so I went out with the club the Wednesday before to see how I’d do—humiliating: so I began to talk myself into a solitary 25 miles max riding summer which my wife loved. Still, I wanted to take advantage of the St. George weather so I left for a ride Saturday morning (while my wife hit the Temple) thinking I’d ride around Snow Canyon park for about 30 miles. After taking my necessary hip-stretch-stop at a park, I got back on the bike and headed up to the main road. At that very moment a huge cadre of the BMCC club rode by, “What the hell, I thought—it must be destiny.” I hooked on to the end of the peloton. By the time I was done, I’d gone up to the top of what they call Utah Hill and put in 50 miles, my longest ride by 20 and my hip felt great (the group road to Mesquite for a cool 100 miles). Maybe that cocoa butter scraping was working.

And it did start working, culminating in the week of many hills. On Tuesday the “easy” ride takes off from Centerville at 5:30; this night we went south till we hit 4th south in Bountiful and then headed up towards the Bountiful Mormon temple. Hills usually treat me well—my 130lb frame seems to be designed for such activities—so I took off with the lead guys and quickly it became a duel (well, I thought it was a duel) between me and one of the ride leaders (i.e. they decide where we go). I was feeling pretty good so when I saw the top of the hill, I stood a bit—which makes one faster--and took it to him. Unfortunately, this was my first time cycling up this hill and I’d misjudged the top by several blocks, totally spent I began, as they say in cycling, to go backwards, the lead guy moving at a furious pace ahead of me. At the top I asked him how old he was: 17--double his age and he’d still be four years my younger.

Then we headed south across Bountiful Blvd. and dropped down into North Salt Lake at the rapid pace of 50mph. At the bottom of the road there is a turnabout which, incredulously, the youngster fully circled till we were once again face to face with the hill. “Ok, I can do this. Just take it easy; no need to impress anyone.” I survived the hill, once again behind the 17 year old, and we then head back north along Bountiful Blvd. but instead of staying on the easy rollers back past the temple we take an immediate right up past the golf course. My engine is already overheated—it’s one of the hottest days this year--and near the top I gagged on part of my lunch or possibly part of my pre-ride peanut butter sandwich trying to keep up with the youngster: I have a “tasty” cough for the rest of the ride. On the way down 4th North in Bountiful I hit a new high speed two-wheeled record: 53.9, one guy hits 58.

Today I finally make it to a Saturday ride to round out my week and guess where we go? Yes, the Bountiful hills. High point (literally and figuratively): I out sprint the two fastest hill guys who had beaten me on the first hill to the highest point in the homes just south of Mueller park, right where I’d regurgitated my food on Tuesday. Low point: I’m almost immediately in trouble once we reach the flats—a skinny ass does nothing for one on the flats. After avoiding pulling (where one has to take on the wind plus keep up the pace) I finally take my turn. I know it will be a short one, but it's no turn at all: the 250lb (I kid not) 50 something guy who struggled some on the hills, moves to the left signaling he’s done pulling. At this point, after having had minutes of the best pull imaginable, I’m supposed to maintain the speed, allowing him to move to the back of the peloton. Instead, I can barely get a half a bike lead on him and within seconds he whips into the lead and embarrassingly takes the peloton around me to the left. When you see someone get passed on the left you can pretty much figure it’s over for them and it was for me. I make a weak attempt to catch on to the end of the peloton as it passes but it’s not happening. Now I face the last 10 miles of our 50 mile ride solo, riding in the wind and the threatening rain. I keep hoping someone will flat or miss a light; at one point I swear I see orange just up ahead (our new club colors) but it turns out to be an orange hazard cone, a mirage of the worst kind. I never catch up but I make it back home before the rain hits, just in time to sit out in the cold for an hour to watch my son play soccer.

While most BMCC members are training for some big event—LOTOJA (a 200 mile race), Sport Mt Bike weekend competition, Category road racing, week long tours—my goal for the year is to keep up on training rides without anymore tasty coughs. That’s about it and I’m fine with it--at least for now.