Every year, on one of the weekends that bracket my birthday, I endeavor to ride twice my age in miles and triple my age in kilometers. This August past, that meant that I needed to ride 124 miles or 186 kilometers. Neither distance has ever been particularly difficult for me in the past and even thought I'm not a “speed demon”, I can usually complete the ride with a 14-15 mph average, (not including stops).

I've never had to train for such rides, even for my cross-country ride in 1995. I rode myself into shape for that one. This past August, knowing that I hadn't ridden as much as I usually do, I elected to ride a route with minimal elevation loss/gain. No big, sustained hills this time. “No sweat”, I thought.

So, I woke up that morning, got dressed, loaded up the bike, and drove an hour and a half to the start point at the northern end of SART, (Santa Ana River Trail). The trail extends from San Bernardino to the beach, in two segments with about ten miles of suburban road in the middle.

Finally hit the trail mid-morning, which was probably a little late, and was on my way. Did well to the beach. Going through Norco/Corona wasn't very pleasurable. First time that specific route, and the roads were awful. The pavement was very broken up and the vehicular traffic went way too fast for roads without any type of shoulder. Goofed around for awhile at the beach before heading back. Probably dallied too much at the beach, but the beach being the beach, it was a pretty nice place to spend some time.

The return trip was a different story. The wind assist at the beginning is always welcomed, but after thirty miles or so, the body really started protesting. I had to take more and longer breaks. Had plenty of food with me, but for some reason, I needed the extra rest, (and water). Getting closer and closer to Corona/Norco, I really started running out of steam. And, it was starting to get to dusk also. My lights are good enough. I could have completed the ride in the dark, if necessary.

But, I just didn't feel like I wanted to ride those crappy streets with the high speed traffic in the dark. My body was drained also and I wasn't moving as fast as should have. Based on the Strava data, my speed dropped several miles per hour.

Entering Corona, I had it. I just couldn't move anymore, so I made the “Call of Shame”. Thankfully, my sweet lady friend, Jane, agreed to drop everything and come and get me. She always has a difficult time getting something for me as a birthday gift, and she wanted to do this for me. So, there I sit, on the grass across the street from the In-n-Out burger joint waiting for an hour and a half for Jane to come. (We had several phone conversations because she took a couple of wrong turns.)

Jane took me back to my car and we headed home. I had ridden right at 100 miles that day and the next day, early in the morning, I rode another 24 miles, so I got my 124 miles in within a 24-hour period. Does that count?

However, something happened to me emotionally. Never in my life, after thousands and thousands of miles on a bicycle, have I had to have someone come and fetch. Since that fateful August day, I've gone on exactly four rides, two of them pleasure rides with Jane. The latest and longest was just this past Saturday, at slightly more than twenty miles in length. And at that, I had to force myself to get out. I didn't want to go, but told myself that I absolutely had to get out there and start riding again.

It did feel good to be riding again. It felt awfully good. I really hope I can get excited about riding again. Not only is it good exercise, but it is also a good time to do some thinking. And the things one sees from the seat of a bicycle. Perhaps my schedule will make it difficult. In addition to my day-time mortgage-paying job, I'm teaching three nights a week at the local community college this semester.
To meet the vanpool for work, the alarm is set at 4:15 in the morning. On the nights I teach, it is not until midnight when I can finally slow down enough emotionally to fall asleep. Four and a half hours of sleep just isn't enough for me. Mid-week rides will be difficult, but I may be able to get in a few, short miles in the dark on Tuesday evenings. No reason I can't get in a 50km ride sometime on the weekends. If only I can get my motivation up.

The next birthday ride isn't far off. I do know that I will NEVER make the “Call of Shame” ever again, (baring a catastrophic mechanical failure). I'll walk if I have to. Maybe I really should go with a 24-hour limit and make it two metric centuries, back-to-back. This year, I'll have to ride 126 miles and 189 kilometers.

I don't know what happened to me emotionally after that August day. I did not bonk, as I ate often enough and drank continuously. One commenter on the Strava site said that is was an extremely hot day. Can't remember exactly, but it didn't feel all that hot, especially the middle part near the beach. The concluding part was in the late afternoon, so the head would have eased by then. I'm not going to try to dwell on it too much. Some things just can't be understood, or isn't worth the effort figuring out.

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If you read this whole thing, bless you. How come you are not out riding?