Things left to do

Every day we see new donations on our page. At the risk of gushing, we are astounded at the generosity of those we know, and even more with those we've never met. I sometimes have a jaundiced view of humanity and the cruelty we mete out on one another. Then, through the ripple effect of shared experience, I'm reminded of what we all have in common.

All our flights, motels and hotels are booked, equipment gathered and ready to go. Dad found an RV spot near where we are taking off out of San Diego, so the pressure is off to figure out how we'd get around, pick up the bikes, get to a hotel, on and on. We also take off on a Sunday, so it should be a quiet exit out of the big city. Someone once said that a plan is nothing but a good idea. Most plans go off without a hitch, but the chance of the universe butting in and grabbing the steering wheel always exists. It is funny how this works.

When I did this ride in 1999 solo, I remember JRA (just riding along) in east Texas, flat land, clear, dry day. I reached down to adjust my waist pack or some such thing, oversteered into the curb and as my front wheel caught the concrete edge, I slammed down onto my right lateral knee. I got up, looked down and watched the hematoma raise into a swollen peak, just like a cartoon character's noggin smacked with a frying pan. Here is the best part; as I brushed myself off and regained some composure, I looked up and less than 10 yards in front of me stood a street sign, arrow pointing to the right, with the word "hospital" underneath the arrow. I felt this strange sensation that I'd stumbled into a scripted rehearsal. I paid a quick visit to the ER and they were nice enough give me antibiotic soap, an ice pack and bandage, minus the check-in process. You might say I was a freelance ER patient. That was the only time I hit the deck on that ride, just like I'd planned it.

The last ingredient integral to the ride is energy food. Chris got started on Hammer products a while back, stemming from a desire to improve performance on the bike. I don't use gels and powders due to the cost, but Hammer products work. We have no vested interest in this company, but our ride to Mt. Saint Helens last summer proved their effect. We did an 84 mile, out and back ride from Toutle, Washington to Johnston Ridge Observatory, 5.5 miles from the crater of Mt. St. Helens, at 4314 feet elevation. Hammer makes a gel you consume from little plastic flasks. We did the round trip on just the gel plus a tiny bagel shared at the parking lot turnaround. I felt fine the entire distance, until the last two miles or so, when the bonk swooped down like a vampire bat. When blood sugar leaves the building, all you want to do is get off the bike and go straight to BurgerVille. The bonk makes you a bit loco as well, or more accurately, it makes things matter less than they normally would, things like pride, image and your sense of self-containment.

Years ago while living in Canada, I woke up one Sunday morning with the idea of getting some miles in before breakfast. I headed out with no food or money, thinking I'd be gone no more than an hour or two. After riding out to a small town and back, twice as far as I'd planned, I found myself about 15 miles away from home, totally depleted of energy. Just turning the pedals became an exercise in concentration, while the grassy ditches along the road beckoned me to get off the bike and lay down for a nap. As I looked up the road, I saw a woman loading her kids into a minivan. Kids meant food. I stopped, leaned my bike against the telephone pole and approached her with pleading and sunken eyes. I asked if she could spare a piece of fruit; an apple or banana, anything. The look of horror on her face told me everything. She then added, "why don't you just get back on your bike and head on down that road," while pointing in the direction I was headed. My only response was a shrug while I choked on a delirious giggle. I cannot blame her, I must have looked like a corpse. It felt like all the blood in my body was swirling around in my legs.

Back on the bike, a managed another five miles when I saw a pizza place getting ready to open. I stumbled in and slowly explained my plight. The cheese sandwich on white bread with a Coke chaser transported me to a place I needed to be at that moment. I could actually feel my eyes beginning to refocus.

Bonk once, shame on me; bonk twice, shame on the soccer mom who won't give me a banana.

over and out