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I became a real cyclist in the summer of 1999. My friend Trena took me on several "mercy rides" along the San Leandro-San Mateo bike path and bird sanctuary. Feeling confident that I had ridden enough that spring (I never hit the hills by the way), I joined Trena on a metric century in Marin County. Beautiful scenery, plenty of food every 20 miles, a well designed route sheet, and tons of gorgeous men with great legs whizzing by me all day and I was hooked!
On my 6th metric century, the Riverbank Wine & Cheese, I began to chat up the man sitting next to me. Quiet, short, unassuming in his baseball cap, he looked exhausted. As he should be after 120 miles of cycling. I discovered he had done nearly 18 centuries already that year, so I asked him to e-mail me information about them as I was new to centuries and would love to know which ones were good.
The next day, I received an extensive e-mail with details about route, inclines, food, weather, location and everything else that you may or may not want to know. This guy was good! I didn't think much more of it as the season was nearly over until I discovered there was a late November ride under the full moon in Death Valley. How cool would that be? Wondering just who I could entice to drive the distance with me for a weekend, I immediately thought of Michael, the quiet geeky hard-core cyclist from Saratoga. I propositioned him and he said yes, because the ride offered a double century and he was ready for that challenge.
With a few glitches in our plans (I had a car accident 3 days before we were to depart and had to rent a car), we were off. I brought my entire cd collection and several books on tape, just in case Michael and I had nothing to say to each other. Turns out, we did, as we talked nonstop for 10 hours down and 10 hours back. That was a relief. We arrived late on Friday evening and set up our respective tents in Furnace Creek. My father's old 1960's dilapidated and saggy orange tent must have looked sad next to Michael's bright new REI all-weather tent. We had a nice meal and got to bed early, hydrating appropriately, or so we thought.
The "regular" century and double began the next morning and the moonlight century participants could sleep all day and start at dusk. Rest stops were open throughout the day and night.
Michael, fit, trim and decked out in all-weather gear and riding a sleek high-end bicycle (Lord knows if I could remember the name of it), took off before sunrise with a handful of other maniacs to complete the 200 miles. I woke up at my leisure, ate a hearty breakfast prepared by the century lords, packed my milkcrate with watercolors, sketchbook, diary and camera, and pedaled away on my clunky old mountain bike. I had my own plans for the day and they did not involve burning 12,000 calories, zooming past the cactus to get to the other side.
How amazing the desert can be as the sun slowly meanders overhead from one side to the other. The colors were magnificent, the changing hues brought to life the incredible array of plants and animals in the desert. I never knew how colorful a desert could be until I was up close and in the midst of it. Had I been cycling at 25 mph without stopping but to rehydrate, like the 200 milers were doing, I would have missed the experience.
I stopped often, once to sketch a bit, a few times to take photographs and of course, the silence of the desert allowed me to listen to the thoughts in my head and to write in my journal. Funny, I can't seem to find that journal today. I stopped at the first rest stop and replenished my fuel supplies, carrying plenty of fruit and cookies with me for the day. It was nearly 5 p.m. and I was back on my bike, riding out to the 50 mile mark (it was an out and back 100 miles), when my thoughts wandered off into the horizon and my front tire slid into the sand on the side of the road. Bam! I fell and fell hard, wondering whatever would I do out here now. Fortunately, a car did come by and took me to the rest stop. I spent a few more hours icing my leg and my bruised ego, munching on the goodies which should have been reserved for those who really deserved them, and wondering if I would make it to dusk and cycle under the moonlight, which was my entire plan from the start.
The only sag wagon for the day was a burly man with a white beard and a minivan. He came by on his way to the last 200 mile rest stop further out along the lonely 2 lane highway, and said he could pick me up on his way back. I asked him if he would mind taking my milkcrate of art supplies as I wanted to lighten my load for the return trip. I decided to cycle back and thumb a ride with him as he returned.
It was beautiful. The moon rose and the sun set, the breeze was delightfully warm, but not hot. My cateye was not necessary and I enjoyed the quiet isolation, the sound of my own self flying through the wind along the road back to camp. I focused on my in breath and enjoyed the meditative moment in the dark, the lowrise mountains of the desert silhouetted like gentle giants on the horizon, looking much more powerful in the dark than they did during daylight. It must have been about 15 miles into the return that headlights of Lee's minivan caught up to me. We both pulled over and it seems like he had a full house of tuckered and sweaty 200 miler souls strewn about on the seats. He managed to squeeze me and my bike in, joining the milk crate that hitchhiked a ride earlier in the day. The group remained jovial and the return was fast and furious, the distant memory of my meditation now lost amidst the silent chorus of reflective thought and breathing inside the minivan.
Dinner was welcoming and I wondered what ever became of Michael, my carpool companion from the day before. I hadn't seen him since we said goodnight 24 hours earlier, and I soon became a bit worried. It was after 11 that he cycled in. Looks can be deceiving as he appeared to be solid and alert, but in reality, had managed to bonk and dehydrate due to his own unexpected encounter with several thousand feet of climbing. He barely managed to crash in his tent that evening, and we both awoke, a bit stiff and thirsty the next day. At the local diner in Furnace Creek, we replenished our bodies and minds and prepared for the 10 hour drive back to the Bay Area. Most of the day was spent discussing our respective experiences with Death Valley. It was certainly a century I will never forget and Michael could be proud of completely his first double century, albeit not in the best shape ever. Thanks to Lee and the other wonderful volunteers, this was most definitely a memorable weekend.
Congratulations to Lee Mitchell, who has been inducted into the ultracycling hall of fame! Thanks Lee, your recent induction inspired me to write this story this morning. Thanksgiving Day 2004
