I’ve been a fan of cycling for 3 years now, but this is the first year that I’ve shown much interest in the Tour de France. But really, my interest isn’t all that much because all you hear is crap about how everyone’s doping, about how peeps of past times are blaming peeps of doping, about how uncool of a move this cyclist or that cyclist made. It really just takes all the fun out of enjoying a race for a race. With all that said, here’s some of my thoughts…and questions which I’ve not gotten around to googling yet.

1) I’m tired of hearing about Lance, it’s always been about Lance, and yeah, he’s won the Tour de France 7 times, but still, new guys are rising up and yet it’s still all about Lance. He’s done an amazing thing but it’s time for a new era of cyclists to rise up in the news.

2) Why is it a team sport, why would any cyclist want the job of setting someone else up for a win. Why not pushing to win it for yourself? Someone please explain to me why anyone would want to be the person that holds someone’s hand to the finish line and then lets go so that the other person can take all the victory.

3) For as much as I’m tired about hearing about Lance, I do have one comment, why save his legs. It’s most likely his last Tour de France and he wants to “save his legs”. Why not go out with a bang? It’s more exciting that way.

4) What’s with respecting the peeps in the yellow jersey, why does everyone have to stop if the yellow jersey has to go potty or has a mechanical problem? It’s a race and the goal is to win the race, so why does the rider in the yellow jersey hold so much power…isn’t the goal to have the yellow jersey for oneself?

5) I like the polka dot king of the mountain jersey…I don’t like climbing hills much but if I had a chance to get a polka dot jersey I think I’d try my hardest.

6) Why are there no women in the Tour de France?

7) Since Lance is no longer a podium contender why isn’t he supporting his teammates in getting them to the podium?

Next year I’m gonna find me a fantasy Tour de France league and choose my cyclists the same way I choose my teams for march madness: jersey colors and location.

9) If the riders have to pee while racing, do they pee while cycling like ultramarathon runners pee while running?

10) What would happen to the Tour de France if some of these cyclists couldn’t have their crazy “i’m eating but i’m not eating” habits to keep their body fat nonexistent? When I say crazy habits I refer to “i’m gonna chew my food but spit it out instead of swallowing”…and how is that even useful to the body?

Race days, charity ride days, any sporting event day that I had to pay to participate in …those days cause inordinate amounts of excitement.

I’m like a little kid at Christmas time who’s all giddy because they know they’re going to get something great under the Christmas tree. They can’t sleep, they can’t wait till everyone else is awake, they stand at the tree jumping up and down until they get a gift in their hand. Can you see it? It’s possible you were one of those kids.

The excitement begins with packet pick up which is typically the day before the race. We go, sign our lives away on waivers and get our race bib and goody bag. At most races we get a tshirt of some sort and a water bottle. But for me, more exciting than the tshirt and water bottle is the race bib. The race bib is like that one present you get to open on Christmas Eve. It’s the one that starts you thinking “oh man, tomorrow’s gonna rock, I got a great gift today I can’t see what’s under the tree tomorrow.”

Then tomorrow comes and we’re racing. There’s all kinds of excitement. You drive to the place where the event starts and get all excited to see other vehicles with bikes on them, or maybe stickers that say: Ironman, 26.2, USAT, 140.6, My sport is your sport’s punishment, etc. People are getting out of their cars and getting ready to race and we’re jumping around or stretching to warm up. We’re pulling the gear out of our cars. The adrenaline rush begins.

We move to the start line and hear the gun and we’re off. There’s something about being in a large pack of people that are doing what you’re doing, enjoying it right along side you that makes race days like Christmas morning.

The gift of it all is knowing that you went out there and did something that so few people do when you look at the whole world as a whole. It’s knowing that you went out there and accomplished something. It’s knowing that there’s something exciting about knowing that your race results are posted on the web for all eternity. It’s just a beautiful thing.

It’s exhilarating, it’s hard to contain, and you can’t wait till the next time you get to be there with “your” people, doing it again. It’s a craved thing. It’s an exciting thing. It’s an adrenaline pumping thing. It’s a thing, a Christmas day like thing.

Today I went for a bike ride in the beautiful 60 degree weather. I’ve not been outside on my bike in New Mexico since December. It was a beautiful day for a ride. Since I’m only just getting back on the bike I decided that I’d ride to a friend’s house. Since I was heading to see someone if anything were to happen to me someone would know where to look for me as there’s really only one way to her house from my house.

Beautiful, most bright and sunny day.

So, the weather is beautiful, my bike is beautiful, I’m happily in shorts and I’m riding along. I turn out of my residential section and onto a main road that doesn’t have a bike lane but it has a side walk. I opt for the sidewalk because there is a lot of traffic and crazy people on the road. I’m riding along at 20mph on a flat straight way. At least, I thought it was straight.

I see this big electric wire pole and I, like the genius I am, because it’s how I would’ve designed it, think that the sidewalk goes in front of the pole. Going in front of the pole would’ve meant I was on a straight away. This was not the case…no, the sidewalk went around the pole. I was going way to fast by the time I realized that the sidewalk went around the pole to make it around the pole myself…but, I didn’t slow down. No, I kept pedaling along thinking that I could make it around the pole. I didn’t make it around the pole.

At least, I should say that I didn’t make it around the pole still riding my bike. We made it around the pole but half way around the pole the side walk was covered in dirt and I’m deep into my turn around the pole and my rear tire slides out from under me too quickly for me to get my foot unclipped from my pedal and we fall. The bike and I go down. And there were cars coming and they saw and they were probably laughing. But, I got up and looked at my leg since that’s what hit the pavement and was immediately sad that there was no wound. No blood, no bruise. It was a huge disappointment.

I put the chain back on my bike, I get back on my bike, and take a moment to look at my brakes and notice that there is a little blood on 2 of my knuckles. I got slightly excited at the blood. A battle wound…I rode the rest of the way to my friend’s house and washed my hands and was disappointed to see just how minuscule my battle wound was.

See, next to no wounds. Just something small on my middle and ring finger.

As I was telling my friends my story I got told “You’re just like a 12 year old boy, wanting to see blood and have an awesome wound when you fall.”

Yup, that’s me, if I’m going to fall, I want an awesome wound. I have to have something to show for it more than just my bike becoming endangered with all it’s wounds. And no, I don’t fall a lot, it’s just that when I do…the bike is more injured than me…and it’s a huge disappointment.

The morning was more beautiful than anyone in Tucson expected. It was warm, not rainy and only slightly windy. It was a good start to what the weather people had predicted to be a not so great day. It was a great day for the Tucson Tour de Cure (at least it looked that way when I woke up.)

My blood sugars had been steady throughout the night so I was in prime position for a wonderful ride. I was very excited. I hadn’t been outside on a bike since December, this ride was long overdue and it was my first Tour de Cure of 2010. It also happened to be a ride that I missed out on in 2009 due to illness. I had a date with this ride.

But then I broke my ride, before I even started it…by eating a CarbBoom (as was planned) but not taking any insulin for (NOT as planned). When the ride started my blood sugar was almost 400. This is not where anyone wants to start a ride, in fact, it is HIGHLY (heh, get it, highly) not recommended. But I wasn’t gonna fix it and ride later, I was gonna fix it and ride now. Which I did, and that made for other problems down the road. I took a nice bolus of insulin (slightly reduced from my normal correction to account for the riding I was about to do) 5 minutes before the ride started.

At The Start

The ride started and I fell in line with several women I had been talking to earlier. I stayed with them cycling at a beautiful pace of 20mph for the first 10 miles. I had to stop at the 1st rest station that most people bypassed. I stopped because at about mile 7 things just didn’t feel right. I was fighting to breath and was feeling like I was going to vomit. I knew my blood sugar was catching up to me.

At the first rest stop my blood sugar (30 minutes after the almost 400 blood sugar) I had dropped to the mid 100s. It had dropped dangerously fast and I was feeling the effects of that drop. The peeps at the rest stop could tell to, and I love them for jumping to help me even though I didn’t take the help (I’m overly independent sometimes.) It was at this rest stop that I met this awesome woman that I didn’t get the name of (failure to fully communicate on my part). She has had diabetes 47 years. This is completely impressive to me because I always hear about how the goal is to make it 50 years with diabetes. And here she is, coming from a time where they couldn’t test their blood and had to boil their one needle, and she’s made it 47 years and she’s still on injections. If I can’t make it 47 years with all the technology we have, something is severely wrong. I asked her about the needle situation, I asked if she had to use it till it was completely horrible to use and she didn’t remember how the needle situation worked back then. I always like hearing the stories of people that have had diabetes since the time when next to nothing was known about this disease. They have awesome stories.

When I was done socializing, I ate another CarbBoom, washed it down with some water and waited for a few other cyclists to come in before I started on my way again. I don’t like riding solo. There is comfort in being with people that actually know the area we’re riding in. It turns out that I had dropped to the front of the back of the pack because the Tour de Cure Marshalls pulled in with a couple of cyclists. Now, this was new to me, Tour de Cure Marshalls, because I’ve never seen them before on any other of the Tours that I’ve done. They were following the last riders on the route, which is awesome because that meant that people knew where the last riders were and that the back of the pack didn’t have to fear being the back of that pack. That made me more comfortable. It also made me give the Tucson Tour de Cure a big thumbs up, but I’ll blog later about all I loved about the Tour and the stuff that I wasn’t so impressed with, this right now is all about me and the ride Of course, when is it not all about me, I digress.

So, I’m riding this next leg to the next rest stop, which I think is 15 miles away based on what the peeps at the first rest stop told me. But they weren’t quite sure. And there’s one person in front of me that I can see (we left the rest stop together but I couldn’t keep up with her) and there are no people behind me that I can see (but they’re back there). I’m still not feeling well, but I kept going. Lucky for me, the next rest stop was only 5 miles away and as I’m riding up to it, Penny, a person I had met the night before, she’s turning around. Which is awesome because I knew I wasn’t going to make it 60 miles at this point and I would have someone to ride back with.

Penny and I

So, I holler at her and she waits for me. I get my blood tested and I'm now 99. I'm still dropping. I take another CarbBoom and I join her and 2 others (Colleen and guy, but I can't remember guy's name). And we start our 15 miles back. This is where the ride was just mostly lovely, we had a tail wind...did I mention that I had a head wind for the first part of the ride, because I did, and now it was a tail wind. Good stuff, and it was kind of down hill. So we don't stop at any rest stops which was fine and we had a couple things happen to us that put a smile on my face.

The Golf Cart
We're riding along, going straight, no intentions of going any direction but straight and Penny almost gets taken out by a golf cart. It was as though the guy was trying to race us to the bike lane because he didn't want to get behind us. It was an old guy (that's no excuse for anything) and he wouldn't look at us, and he was trying to speed, and we're yelling at him, but he never responds. We passed him.

The Honking Truck Driver
About the time we're on a road and we lose our bike lane, we're still riding double, but we're tight. This truck comes up fast behind us and just lays into his horn. No bueno. It was uncool. But he got talked to by the cop that was just up the road directing traffic for the ride and when I passed him the cop was telling him about how at minimum if drivers honk at cyclists they get a citation. That excited me, you never see that happen.

So, we finished the ride as the winds were getting real evil. Which was awesome because I wasn't riding in evil winds.

After the ride I got an awesome massage, before last year at the NC Tour de Cure I never got massages because I'm ticklish and now I'm a fan. I'll try not to giggle as they're massaging my shoulders and neck. I'm a fan because it really helps loosen up my cramping or near cramped muscles.

While I was getting my massage I thought I heard the words “tortilla soup” so I popped my head up and said “did i just hear the words tortilla soup” and I got told that I was hallucinating and that no one had said anything about tortilla soup. It became the joke during the remainder of my massage. But then! There really was tortilla soup and I wasn’t hallucinating after all.

mmmmm…tortilla soup

And, I actually stuck around and ate, which is rare for me because my stomach is always jacked up real good at the end of a ride and I never want to eat. But this time, my stomach was golden since my blood sugars had leveled out and I didn’t put anything other than CarbBoom in there. So I ate, and I enjoyed it, and the company at the table and I had a great time socializing. I made my rounds, talked to just about everyone in a Red Rider jersey and then some of the people I had met the night before. Oh! And I got a gift, but that’s a story for another post because it’s so awesome.

And so I leave you with this accidental but cool pic.

P.S. If you’re wondering about the logistics of the ride: how the route was, the aid station, support, etc…don’t worry, you’ll get that soon enough, it was just too much to group it in with my story

Friday night saw the purchase of Sugar High!. Saturday saw his maiden voyage, can I even call it that, maiden voyage, I mean, he’s a he, maiden is a she…maiden voyage, that’s like for boats…are all boats shes? I digress.

So, Saturday morning, early in the morning, I’m at Walmart to get a new helmet because the old one has disappeared. It’s missing. You can’t go on a bike ride without a helmet.

Next stop was the train station, where we took the train from Albuquerque to Santa Fe. We being me and some my favorite Outlaw people (Baboo, GeekGirl, SWTriGal). It was a wonderful ride…peaceful and relaxing and beautiful and just soooooo nice…

And then we get off the train, we stop for a quick caffeine/breakfast/yummy chocolate milk moment and then we’re off.

The ride out of Santa Fe was nice. I felt good on Sugar High! he rode well. Then we’re on the backside of the mountain…and it was beautiful back there, but it was hot. and there was no shade. and it was hot…and there were hills. it was supposed to be all downhill…it wasn’t…but that’s ok, I was doing fine, right up until I had to climb out of Madrid (that town that’s in Wild Hog’s that movie, the one with John Travolta) and then it sucked…and I wasn’t doing well. It was miserable. I was miserable…I was so miserable, I wanted to cry, that’s not a normal Courtney reaction when I’m out there riding, I’ll curse the hills and whatnot but I keep riding and I get it done, I don’t cry…I almost cried this ride…

I was soooo thirsty, but I was taking in a lot of water, but I wasn’t surviving, I didn’t understand why because my blood sugars were perfect…it was a new experience…I got told that I was experiencing something that “normal” cyclists experience. Which was cool, I was proud of that, but it was miserable as well, not something I want to ever experience again…

…So anyways, a long miserable way from the hill out of Madrid to almost the next big major road…I was almost home, like 20 miles from home, and I couldn’t make it, I had to call for rescue.

I was so dehydrated my mouth was like cotton, and I was nauseous. So I made the pitiful come get me call (which I’ve only done once before and it was cause of low blood sugars) and saw my peeps off, and in between seeing my peeps off and waiting to be rescued, I was vomiting and all my energy was sapped, I had to work really hard to make my brain think properly. It was pathetic, I don’t think there’s a better word for it.

So, Sugar Rush!’s maiden voyage went well as far as he’s concerned. He was a good ride. I broke him in good, we fell over, his wounds not nearly as damaging as mine which is excellent because I wasn’t so much worried about me as I was about him. I do think I need a different seat, I discovered that there are bones in my rump. And I was feelin’ them as I was riding along.

Oh, did I mention that there was a pro cyclist riding with us, the highlight of my day was the fact that I made it a couple miles further than him, he had to call for rescue before me…

If I had gone cycling yesterday, “Cold, Wet and Windy” would’ve been the title. But I didn’t go cycling yesterday, or Saturday for that matter, because it was cold, wet, and windy. But I did go cycling last Sunday and it was cold and windy. I was very tempted to not ride too. And so was Misty. We were grumbling. It was cold. We didn’t go down the big hill. We did get to the top of the big hill though. Where my tire went flat. With 2 holes.

One of the holes filled up with slime because it was a small little puncture wound, but then the other hole, there was no filling it up, it was the size of a small rock. And, after some consideration, I decided that it was because I didn’t patch the hole from the prior week, I just let the slime fill it, put more air in it, and went on my way. In retrospect, that was stupid, and I will never do it again (at least, I have no intentions of ever doing it again.)

So, it was cold and windy, and I had to fix my rear tire. And then we decided to mosey back home, at a slow happy conversational pace. And, things would’ve been interesting had there not been a post in the sidewalk that saved me from falling. But there was a post, so I didn’t call, so there was nothing interesting.

I think we maybe rode 15 miles. It was cold and windy, but it was a happy ride. (and as a side note, my blood sugars were decent)

I’ve been a sloth. Yes, a sloth. It’s the truth. I’ve done nothing that can even remotely be considered exercise since my marathon in January. And while there was a period of time when I wanted to be able to do something but couldn’t because of my injury, that desire to get out and do anything was faded by the time I was released back into the wild able to run or bike or whatever else I wanted to do that involved using my foot.

3 months have passed since my marathon.

4 months have passed since I was last on a bike (because I took a break from cycling to train for my marathon…and it got cold outside and I can’t bike in cold weather).

So, after weeks of making excuses as to why I couldn’t get out and cycle (everything ranging from it’s cold, it’s windy, my blood sugars are whack (which really isn’t so much an excuse but the truth, but still) I went riding on Saturday thanks very much to Misty. And yes, I tried to weasel out of it. But regardless, I showed up, and we rode, and for not being on a bike in 4 months, I did pretty well. The only complaint I have is my aching butt.

The ride was good. For not being on a bike in 4 months I did a whole lot better than I thought I would’ve. At first I wasn’t sure if I remembered how to ride a bike, I felt unstable on the pedals. But then I was happy to be back in the saddle. It felt soooo good to have the wind in my face. To be able to speed down hills, and to make it up the hills.

The most exciting part of the ride was flying down the big hill. I mean flying, according to my speedometer I went 64.5mph down the hill. I love speeding down hills. But, I did almost get a flat flying down this hill, but my slime tubes saved me. But having to slam on my breaks so that I could stop and check my tire was slightly discomforting. I don’t even want to think of what would’ve happened if I hadn’t decided to stop and the tire had gone all the way flat. That would’ve been bad news. But I would’ve had some gnarly wounds to show for it, that might’ve been cool.

The other exciting thing was that I didn’t have to stop to get up this hill. Which was a far cry from the last time when I went up this hill and it was absolutely horrible and I had to constantly stop. But there was no stopping this time. I’m proud to report that I only stopped on my own accord twice and it was to check my blood and it was on a flat both times. Any other time I stopped was because of stop lights.

Here, see the hill, it’s the one in the middle, the one I got to fly down, and crawl back up (seriously, crawl, i was in my most sissiest gear available and had I had a more sissier gear, I might’ve been in it)

Diabetes Notes:
2 hours before the ride I reduced my basal rate to 70%.
1/2 hour before the ride I ate a powerbar, consuming 44 carbs and not taking any insulin
at ride time, my blood sugar was 196.
a half hour later i was 107. I slightly panicked at how quickly my blood sugar was dropping, I took in 40 carbs, and readjusted my basal rate to 50%
an hour and a half later i was 183. I almost crashed because I was bolusing while on my bike, I bolused .4U
During the ride, I consumed 100 carbs in fluids
after the ride I was 209, I took in another 40 carbs in the form of a peanut butter and sugar free grape jelly sammich. It was yummy.
2 hours after that I was a wonderful 116.

All in all it was a good ride, I’ve just got to figure out how to not drop so rapidly, which has always been a problem, but I didn’t technically go low so that’s a step up from where I was when I was riding last fall.

There was progress. And I was on a bike, and I guess that’s all that matters

So today, I did a 50 mile ride and it was on a route that I’ve been avoiding like the plague because of a 6 miles long hill that’s a 4-5% grade (depending on where you are). That is not my idea of fun. Well, not going up it, that’s no fun, coming down is another story.

The morning began and I’m riding along trying not to get killed, because with 400 people on the river trail and all kinds of breaking going on, the chances were high that I was eventually going to be unable to avoid a wreck and get into one (luckily, I got lucky, and I didn’t ever crash, but all kinds of peeps that were in front of me did). And so at about 8 miles, I was desperately trying to talk myself out of doing the full 50 miles. I was telling myself how 25 was ok (and it’d get me out of having to ride up that monster of a hill). But then, Miguel, one of my Outlaws pulls up beside me and tells me that I should ride the whole thing. It was kindof difficult for me to say no because I had to do a 50 mile ride today.

And so, I conquered the hill, if I can call it that. Conquering that is. I went up it at a measly 5.5-8 mph depending on where I was or if I had just started after stopping (because I had to stop often, because I had no desire to continue going up this hill, but I did continue going because the only way I could feel good about going down the hill was if i rode all the way up it. So, I struggled up the hill, but I made it, and then I was happily going along a flat portion when I had to turn and go 2 more miles up an even steeper hill. That was even worse because I was just completely exhausted. I was ready to go home, but I also wasn’t going to quit, I had come 20 miles, I was going to finish it. And I did, I went the 2 miles up the hill.

And then, I got the joy of going down that 2 mile hill, which was great, because that was the only time I’d get to tuck into my most streamline-est position, spend a few moments pedaling my heart out and then enjoying the speed of 37mph. That just got me more excited because I knew that going down Tramway (the big hill) I’d get to go even faster. Except that my excitement turned into disappointment when I was met with a headwind.

I tucked myself, pushed my gears to the most rockstarish gear (as opposed to the granny gear I was in when I was going up the hill), and hammered away. Most the time I wasn’t even looking in front of me, I kept my head down so that I was arrow dynamic. The fastest that got me was 30mph. I could’ve coasted down that hill at 40 miles an hour if there had been no wind. So I was very bummed about the headwind. I didn’t get to go nearly as fast as I wanted to.

All in all though, the ride was a good ride. It made me realize that if I’m ever going to not mind hills that I need to train on hills so that I get better at riding hills and then I won’t mind them as much.

It had been 3 days short of a month when I got on my bike this past Saturday. I was only going to ride for an hour because my knee has been bugging me and my energy has been sapped since my half marathon over a month ago.

I figured that since before I took a cycling hiatus I was able to keep up with my Outlaws for the first hour at which they’d ride between an 18-20mph pace, that I’d still be able to do it. It didn’t happen, and it was largely pathetic.

Within 15 minutes I went low and fell from the pack. Of course, I didn’t think I was low, and the low wasn’t confirmed till about 20 minutes into the ride. I went from 18 mph to 13 mph, they were all waiting for me, I pricked my finger, and ate a GU and we continued on.

I still couldn’t keep up with them, and this is where I decided it was more than just my low blood sugar, this was the consequence of not being in the saddle for almost a month.

I told Dread Pirate that I was exhausted and that I was going to fall back and she said “we’re almost there, come on, get up here” That was with like 4 miles to go.

It wasn’t the greatest ride, and it whipped me in a bad way. I’m not usually exhausted after 17 miles, this day, I was. I was just beat. I did 17 miles in an hour 7 minutes.

What I realized is that I can’t take hiatus’; it costs me. Big time.

I’ve started looking forward to my Saturday morning rides with my Outlaws. When I wake up I initially think about how I’d rather be in bed sleeping in, but once I’m up and then at our meeting place, I’m always glad that I got up and went out. It’s always good to ride with them. I build speed that way. And I always am able to keep up with them for about 10 miles (at a pace of 17-19mph) and then I get dropped off because I can’t hang onto that pace (at least not yet).

This weekend was no different. I got up, I went down and met them, had the lovely time of changing another tire because I blew mine up while pumping it (something about these tubes not liking 130psi and me not remembering that I need to stop at 120psi), and then we were on the road. I love riding in a pack with them, it’s just cool to be right behind them and have someone right beside me.

So, I was with the pack for about 8 miles, and then I got dropped, but it was all good because I could still see their jerseys. Or so I thought. At about 12 miles when the jerseys I were following turned onto a dead end road (that looked like it was a cul-de-sac that didn’t have houses around it yet) I knew I was following the wrong jerseys. I asked them if they were Outlaws and they just looked at me like I was crazy and then asked if I were part of a group and I said yes and they said, “no, we’re not your outlaws”.

So, I went back the way I had followed them, and then, not knowing where to turn, I kept going all the way back to the beginning (because that’s the only way I knew to go).

I was out for 1:44:14, I went 26.39 miles, I averaged 15.1mph, and I went a max of 22.5mph. It was a good easy spin considering I had a half marathon to run the next next day.

After I was done loading my bike, Matt (I think that’s his name) convinced me to run out and back 7 minutes each way, he said doing so will help me in my transitions during my tris so I went out and back, at an easy walk/jog pace and that was the end of my Saturday workout.

This weeks lesson was “make sure you’re following the right jerseys or you’re gonna get lost.”