Reflections on a ride

Did two nice rides on the weekend, nothing killer. No timed efforts. Still, felt it in the legs and it showed on the power meter. So we took it easy on Monday and Tuesday. Then Wednesday gets here. It is oppressively hot and humid. The sun was out first thing and it was warm from the get-go. Felt really lethargic and sleepy. Didn’t even feel like doing my strength-training workout. Didn’t feel like moving. Sitting upright was a lot of work. The plan was for Paul to do the Bike Depot shop ride Wednesday night; I was planning my assault of the shorter side of Mohonk, a nasty insidious climb that starts out fast and gradually it creeps up to 12 per cent. On paper, it doesn’t sound bad but it’s really tough. But the forecast doesn’t look promising so Paul goes out for a short ride. Gets back and doesn’t it cloud over and start to rain. I missed my opportunity. The rest of the day was a write-off.

And the worst part is, Thursday was supposed to be worse. But by Wednesday evening, the hourly forecast shows only a slight chance of rain in the morning so I think, okay, all is not lost. We can get out for a short one at least.

Thursday arrives: it's sunny and hot when we get up. We have breakfast and head out, no dilly-dallying, toward the short side of Mohonk. The legs don’t feel as rested as they should. We get to the base of the climb in around 35 minutes. Paul strips off his jersey, removes water bottles and helmet, hiding them in the bushes and takes off up the hill. I am just behind him. We set the timer at the sign post. As I suspected from riding to the start, my legs are not crazy about the idea of all this effort. I continue on fighting with myself not to get too disheartened. Fourteen plus minutes later I am over the top. Paul is waiting on the horse carriage bridge that crosses the road at the top.

I loop around, pull up beside him and tell him my story of woe, and he has a similar one. I have to admit it helped that he had a bad climb also. We’ve been coming here for 20 years, and it still baffles me how unpredictable the body is. Reasonable fitness, plenty of riding interspersed with plenty of rest, reasonable nutrition, stretching and yoga, and still impossible to explain the lack of ability to perform at crunch time. I'm suspecting the weather plays a part.

At the top of Mohonk, there is a golf course of all things, and the entrance to Mohonk Preserve. A booth to pay to enter. As we circle and choose our next course of action - head back before the rain or gamble on doing a longer ride - we see another rider, a triathlete and he says hi and strikes up a conversation, which isn’t hard with Paul. His name is Jim Bacon and he lived at the bottom of the hill, on the other side of Mohonk. Turns out he has a sister who lives in Ottawa. He’s a judge. Same age as me. Nice guy. Quite dazzled by Paul's knowledge of bikes and aerodynamics versus weight. His nickname is Data for a reason. Jim goes on to tell us about a run they have up the mountain on the summer solstice. They meet their spouses at the top for dinner at Mohonk Mountain House. He also told us about a popular triathlon they run in the area on the Labour Day long weekend. Gets sold out within minutes of it being announced in October, eleven months prior! He said they swim in three lakes, running from lake to lake. Sounded very cool, if you were into triathlons. We exchanged email addresses.

While we were chatting, the sky got darker and then bright again, so we settled on riding down the far side and doing a bit of a loop back up the Shawangunk ridge. It was hot and Paul suggested stopping at the store at the bottom of the climb to get a drink. I said “Did you bring your wallet?”. He said, “No, didn’t you bring any money?” I said, “Three bucks!”  Ever since riding with my friend Vicki and ending up in Burritt’s Rapids with no money between the two of us and no bars or gels, I told myself to always bring money. But that morning, I was thinking we would be chasing back home to avoid the rain, with no time to stop and buy anything. Apparently Paul thought the same thing… or was packing light for the climb, or both. Anyway, we stopped and bought a Gatorade for $3. They had a special on: two for four dollars. So I figured I could afford one. But one cost three dollars… plus tax! When the guy at the cash told me about the deal, I said, I only have three dollars. So he gave me a break on the tax.

Drinking the Gatorade outside at the picnic table, the heat was intense! One lady gave us the thumbs up and asked us if wasn’t too hot. I said, it’s worse when you stop, which is true. No breeze. Anyway, onwards we went up the mountain. No clocks running. Just climbing.

On the way back we pass a swimming hole. I said to Paul, I think I want to get in the water. So we stop and the water is cold but felt amazing. While I was standing on the rock before getting in, a man says to me, "Are you from Canada?" (He must have spotted the Canadian flag tattoo on my arm.) I said, “Yes, Ottawa”. He had a French accent and said that he and his wife were from Quebec City. She asked me if I knew about “this place” before, the swimming hole. I said "yes, we’ve been coming here for 20 years". She said they just discovered it. They were there for the rock climbing. Small world.

We set off for home, the skies still mostly clear. But as we ride through the tiny hamlet of Accord very close to our resort, the roads are soaking wet. After that, Route 209 leading to the resort is starting to dry in the sun. The resort itself still very wet as the trees keep the sun off. It’s 2:00 and the sun is still shining. We didn’t get wet (well I did but not my bike). Bonus hours of sunshine. All in all a great day. I hope the legs make an appearance sooner rather than later on this trip. Three friends from Canada arrive tomorrow.