As I cycled down a wet mountain road while cautiously gripping my brakes so that my back tire wouldn’t skid out from under me, I realized that I probably got a little in over my head…again.
Triathletes are a sick bunch. They take joy in overcoming painful challenges. I appear to be no different. Though I haven't ridden more than 30 miles in my entire life, I joined an early morning group ride that was going to attack the 56 mile Savageman Half Ironman course. My "I'll figure it out when I get there" mentality said, "Oh, what the heck – let’s give it a shot!"
I rode the first 18 miles up and down some beautiful paths next to babbling brooks. However, from the get go, I found myself chasing the group. In a group ride, if you don’t keep up, you risk getting lost. Being 3.5 hours from home, I tried hard to at least keep sight of one cyclist.
We came upon our first challenge – Westernport Wall. This 30% grade cobblestoned climb was a popular training ground. If you could clear the Westernport Wall without unclipping and continued to complete the SavageMan 70.0 Triathlon, you would be permanently immortalized in triathlon history with a brick engraved with your name laid into the road at the top of the Westernport Wall.
I looked at Westernport Wall and saw Sarah topple over because she didn't hold her balance just right. Falling is never the problem. I assess a situation by how long it takes for someone to get up once they fall. Sarah sat on the ground for a while measuring the impact of her wounds and realized that the rest of us behind her were less gutsy. The really experienced cyclists were getting a running start from a block away to gain momentum up the hill. Since my pride was not at stake -- I got off my bike and starting pushing She-Ra up the hill.
When I finally reached the top sweaty and breathless, I asked if this was the worst of them all. Ryan smiled mischievously and said “Don’t believe them when they say this is the only hill. We’ve still got Savageman Mountain and Killer Miller.” I wondered if anyone would design a triathlon around a hill named “Fluffy Marshmallow Man.” It seemed more my speed.
My teammate, Matt, was the only rider behind me. He had some serious races leading up to this training weekend and they were catching up to him. I decided to hang back so that he wouldn’t lose track of me. I wasn’t being generous -- I was tired of chasing anyhow. He had a cue sheet and the slower pace would help me to survive the entire ride. Hey…it sucks to lose the group. But it sucks even more to be by yourself on a long ride.
By mile 24, I rode ahead of Matt and came to an intersection – left or right? Left? Or right? I decided to wait for the man with the cue sheet. Once again, it’s better to be lost together than to be lost alone.
We opted to go left and were faced with bigger hills. My quads began to cramp – both at the same time. I unclipped and stopped mid-incline. I could not even bend my legs. I looked back at Matt and his body was going through the exact same thing. It took 5 minutes for the cramping to stop. I was out of water and had no salt tablets. I hate to quit, but I threw my hands up. It was about mile 28 and this ride was no longer fun.
Matt and I stood on the hill considering our options:
1) We could push through and ride the remaining 2/3 of the monster.
2) We could call for a SAG (Support and Gear) wagon back at camp.
3) We could rely on the kindness of strangers.
We pulled out our phones trying to think if anyone would be back at the camp and could pick us up.
*Beep beep* No service.
We were so far out in the country that the chances of us having service, someone else having service, or more specifically someone having service that would be able to drive to come get us were slim. And even worse, how would we be able to tell anyone where we were?
We walked our bikes up the hill for a good 15 minutes before a truck came clamoring in our direction. Now was our chance. Matt waved his arm to flag the couple in the pick up truck down.
M: "Hi! Do you know where the convenience store is? How about this park? Oh, 6-7 miles away?"
S: "Is it hilly?"
M: "Wow -- yeah, we've been climbing hills for about 30 miles."
S: "We had to stop because we started cramping badly. Now, we've lost our friends."
M: "These hills are treacherous."
S: "We drank all of our water too. It sure is hot out here. So the convenience store is 6-7 miles away?"
M: "Hmmm...."
Old couple in the pick up truck: "Umm...do you guys want a ride?"
M&S: "Wow - you guys are lifesavers!"
We jumped into the bed of the truck with our bikes. They shared some warm sodas with us and drove us to the next landmark that was on our riding route about 7 extremely hilly miles away.
After Matt and I high-fived another at our smart progress, we looked around to assess our next options. Our phones still weren’t working. We didn’t have any coins for the pay phone. Even if we could call someone, we did not know who else had service, except Matt’s mom who was 5 hours away.
Matt stopped another two men to ask them about the location of the convenience store on our route. As they stopped to tell us about its nearby location, Matt and I jumped back into survival mode and repeated the routine that had already worked once. This time, the men said they were actually headed back towards Deep Creek and could drop us off. They were driving a truck that could also transport our bikes.
It was our lucky day.
“Are your friends going to give you a hard time when you get back?”
Matt responded with, “It was only a training ride. All in good fun.” My response was, “This was a more interesting way to get back anyhow.”
Lessons learned:
· Don’t let your fear of failure prevent you from testing your limits.
· Don’t let your pride keep you from knowing when to call it quits.
· Don’t ever leave a buddy behind, especially the one who was smart enough to come prepared with the cue sheet.
Eventually, I plan to come out and give the Savageman trail a try again. I have no intention of earning a brick, but I want to earn the right to read the sign at the top of the hill that asks,
Who is Miller and why does he hate me so much?"
Who is Miller and why does he hate me so much?"
Like I said, we triathletes are a sick bunch. I survived this adventure to try again.
