Sunday Bonk

Bonk or hitting the wall describes a condition when the athlete suddenly loses energy and fatigue sets in, usually caused when glycogen stores in the liver and muscles are depleted, resulting in a major performance drop. wiki

I haven’t bonked since the Crested Butte 100, giving up all hope trying to get back over Kebler Pass from the Dyke Trail. I knew that I was not going to make it back to Crested Butte. Until Jefe rolled by and exhorted me to keep pedaling.I heard through the chat-vine that jefe and Chris were in a car crash this morning en route to the AZT. All healing karma to both of them, heal fast and heal well.

flash forward to Sunday, April 13, 2008, 1:15pm. Kern River Bike Path. 76 miles down, 4000 feet of climbing and I as seven flat miles from home. Temp of 94 F. I sat on the grass in the shade, pulled off my helmet, removed my camelback (yes I wore a camelback on a road ride). Then committed another faux pas, pulled out my crackberry to call Chela. We had tentative plans that afternoon to go to LAX and I had to let her know that I should be home by 2 (it’s normally only 20 minutes home from there, but the way that i as riding, it might take an hour). From the sound of wind over the phone, i quickly realized that she was still riding somewhere. Plenty of time. A sound behind me grabbed my attention, and I turned to see her riding her bike towards me, talking to me on the phone, laughing at my patheticness. Bonked I may have been, but still able to think. A quick question, and now I had a ride home, as she was parked less than a mile away. woohoo.

an hour earlier, I was pretty sure of myself, saying goodbye to the morning’s ride partners, still feeling strong, 25 miles to home. Seven miles of rollers, 18 miles of flat. I pushed up the hills, thinking of smooth circles, keeping the cadence high, standing to power through the steeps. All systems go.. The rollers behind me, new headwind in my face, I hit the flats and settled into a rhythm; forearms on my bar, fingers curled comfortably, loosely. King of Pain on my IPod. Then I was freewheeling, absent-mindedly. As the freewheeling sank into my consciousness, I shook off my complacency, picked up the cadence, and settled back into a good rhythm. Three whole minutes. and I was freewheeling again. “Houston, We have a problem.”

water, gu, water, pedal.

almost two minutes.

freewheeling.

fuck.

The next ten minutes was an exercise in misery. I tried to maintain a decent cadence. failure. I tried standing. failure. I cursed the wind. failure. Then, salvation. Salvation in the form of two tri-geeks in flourescent yellow jerseys. Two big tri-geeks in flourescent yellow jerseys. I could see the lack of wind on their wheels. I could see what could pass as motivation to pedal just to stay in that lack of wind. I needed that motivation. I really needed that lack of wind. The miles flew by. I apologized for not pulling through. I turned myself inside out not to be dropped.

They turned off at yokuts park, a mile later I was sitting by the path.

Two hours earlier I was with these riders… Eddie, Melissa, and Alan, up near Cow Flats on Breckenridge Rd.

The climb had been pleasant, my legs felt pretty good considering they had 111 miles and >7000 ft in them from Saturday. It wasn’t as warm Saturday, but I had still consumed eight bottles. Knowing that refill opportunities were nonexistent on Breckenridge Rd, the camelback and two bottles of cytomax were a necessity.

California poppies gave the hillsides a golden color

Despite the bonk, a fine training weekend, suggesting that I’ll survive this weekend’s Alta Sierra Challenge 100 miles, 10k climbing (essentially my Saturday ride with one additional climb), with an extra 20 miles added by riding from home.

home. it seems that Bakersfield has become home.

also: happy birthday (one day late to h)