Mile Ninety-Three

On June 1, 2008 I lined up my bicycle with other Team In Training members behind the North Texas Chapter at the starting line in Stateline, Nevada for America’s Most Beautiful Bike Ride around Lake Tahoe.  I had two water bottles attached to my bicycle, Advil in the pocket of my Team Long Island jersey, GU gels in my bento box, and a toe tag on my shoe- it had my emergency contact information written on it.

And we were off.

We crossed the state line into California at 6,273 feet and I was petrified.  I felt a little something in my knee, but not necessarily a pain.  I took it slowly and stayed with the other riders and once I saw the lake, it was all that I ever saw. 

That lake was like the Jedi mind trick.  If I had any worry or doubt during the ride, I just looked out into deep blue; mountains were on the horizon with snow on top and a cool zephyr would stream over my face.  We entered the forest, and the tall evergreen trees made it look like a fairytale.  Fresh green was what I breathed in through my nose and a quiet, forest serenity lay like a blanket over us.

The California Police were kind of strict, and at one point on the road they slowed everyone down to about 5mph to pass between them so they could check our bracelets that signified we were registered riders.  I saw one of them scolding a female rider that they had pulled over and heard the officer say, “I told you to stop pedaling and you didn’t.”  Then there was a crazy woods lady who stood along the shoulder and yelled, “QUIET ZONE!”  We were confused, and as we came around a bend in the road we saw about a hundred tents and smoke from a burnt out fire. 

At mile twelve, we reached the switchbacks.  I looked to my right and straight up a mountain, and I saw a rider fighting a switchback.  Naomi had taken a ride in a car to check them out after the practice ride the day before and came back to the room with a pallor to her face as she described the precipitous end of the mountain with no guardrail that made her nervous.  When we reached 6,828 feet at Inspiration Point and the beginning of mile fourteen, I felt pretty good.  There were people walking their bikes up the hill at that point because it was just too hard to keep pedaling through but I somehow pushed it through.

Mile fourteen to twenty-six was my favorite part of the ride.  It consisted of very fast downhills through the woods along the lake and occasionally the woods opened up to beaches and docks.  Mile twenty-six was the Homewood Mountain Resort rest stop where locals supplied California oranges and other fueling foods.  Within the next five miles we took a detour onto a bike path that led us along a crystal blue river and out to a road that led down into Truckee.  The road to Truckee was my least favorite part of the ride because it was not along a visible body of water, was deceivingly hard due to a very gradual incline we were climbing and a wind in our face, and it was increasingly becoming hotter.  Miles thirty-four to sixty-one were that same route to Truckee and then back through the bike path.

Miles sixty-one to seventy-one were interesting since we traveled through little towns like Tahoe City, Dollar Hill, Cedar Flat, Carnelian Bay, Tahoe Vista, and then stopped at Kings Beach for lunch.  Ed, a rider from Nassau, seemed to be on the same page as me as far as getting going quickly after lunch since we were about to climb Spooner and we did not want to cramp up or lose our momentum.  We left together, and I remember tossing back a fourth or fifth advil on my bike as we approached what was to be the biggest challenge of the ride. 

We were at 6,324 feet at mile seventy-nine, right before the beginning of the climb.  Ed had expressed to me that he had cramped up but we kept pedaling to try to work it out.  I became so fatigued and was pedaling on the smallest, easiest gear there was and I hardly felt like I was even moving.  Ed complained about the cramp again and I asked if he wanted to stop for a second, hoping that he would say yes but he insisted that we did not stop because he thought it would only make it worse.  About half of a mile later I had to stop to drink some water and I couldn’t do it on the bike because I could hardly breathe.  I was almost out of water as well.  We began pedaling again and the sun beat on my right ear now because we were at 6,501 feet and the exhaust from the passing cars blew up hot in my face, and I thought of the one sip of water I had left and that sun still burning my right ear and the salt from my sweat dripped down from underneath my helmet and I thought I could not pedal another rotation.  The ear, flaming- and Ed grunted from behind and I thought of the first day my Aunt Margie and I arrived in Martha’s Vineyard and went straight to the beach and fell asleep with no sun block on and we were scorched from the sun when we got up and my ear!  Salt in my mouth now, a cool zephyr finds it way up from the lake to my ear for a tenth of a second and I can’t stop because I will make Ed stop and then he will be in pain.  Then a sign that says “water station” and I muster out to Ed that I’m out of water and we find the hoses quickly to fill up at 6,600 feet.  From 6,735 feet to 7,044 feet I drank two water bottles I had on my bike and a woman from one of the cheering sections came running along my bike yelling in that burnt ear, “I think you’re pedaling faster now! Go! GO! GO! Look! You ARE! GO! GO!” I dug into the pedals and wanted to quit but clenched my teeth and Ed wailed behind me and we were almost to the top (so the cheering section said) and now 6,948 feet and Ed began quoting Teddy Roosevelt as he passed me and I tried to keep up but I couldn’t but I kept pedaling and cursed the Eric Macaluso School of Training and the bell jangled on my bike with every rotation and finally, I heard the cheers at the top of Spooner Junction.

At the top of Spooner Junction, Jenn, a mentor, explained the rest of the ride. 

“Crazy, crazy, downhills.  And some rolling hills, but it is all down hill from here.”

Erroneous. 

The crazy down hill part was nothing but true, but the last ten miles were harder than I imagined.

That climb did not break me.  It was something else that came later, so unexpected, and so perfect.

Mile eighty-nine to ninety-four was a crazy down hill.  But it was also special because at one point I realized that I was on the road that George pointed out on the bus that eventually led to Cave Rock Tunnel at mile ninety-three.  I flew around a bend at a wild 43 mph and the bike was hard to control and I held onto the handlebars so tightly and the wind blew and I was in a tuck, ducking under the wind with the bike vibrating beneath me and I saw the tunnel approaching.  I leaned to the left and when I went to yell, “GO TEAM” I couldn’t get it out because I began to cry.

Shocked, I squeezed and yelled hoarsely, “GOOO TEEEAMMM!”  As all sound and life was muted from the moment I entered the tunnel and it reverberated off of the rock walls and out to the vast lake of blue hope.

The tunnel ended and I was thwarted back out onto the road, around the bend, whizzing by the side of the mountain and I could not help but think why I could not help but cry on mile ninety-three. 

My revelation came quickly and the only way I could explain it was that I knew that if I was to die in the near future, my descent through Cave Rock would be the last image behind my eyes, feeling the wind on my face and hearing my voice bounce off of the mountain and out over the lake. 

I realized that I had done something on this earth and in this intricate life that I felt God would be most proud of thus far.  I had pushed myself to the point where I could not possibly be pushed any more in the effort to make a positive contribution towards others and those less fortunate than myself and I did it while breathing in the evergreens, gazing out into a incomprehensible beauty of lake and snow capped mountains, and felt the blue breezes and warm sun floating over me; an experience all intertwined that has left me astounded and spirited towards the wonders that lie on the road ahead.

When I crossed the finish line, Ed was waiting for me and we discovered that we were one of the first few riders from the Team in Training to finish, as the rest of the team rode in together after meeting a few yards from the finish line.

When I returned to my room, Naomi was showered, had napped, and was watching Pirates of the Carribbean.

With an incredulous look on my face I discovered that she had finished an hour before me.

We all finished that day, and then we celebrated our patient heroes Eric Macaluso style.