M
Monique Y. Muda
Guest
Sistahs rides are mellow in temperament, and often in
terrain. Last night, though, we did the one Hall Ranch ride
of the season. Most of the beginners disappeared for this
one; that left me as the beginner representative.
The plan was this: ride for an hour. Wherever you are after
an hour, turn back so that you don't end up stuck on
unfamiliar terrain at night. Seemed reasonable.
Hall Ranch is gorgeous, and it is *way* more difficult than
anything I've ever attempted. I managed to scrabble over
some stuff I never thought I'd clear; still, there were a
number of sections I didn't feel bad for walking. (If one of
you can show me how some of these sections are even
*possible*, I'd love to see it. I'm sure they're doable -- I
just can't imagine how.) I can't imagine getting up enough
speed to clear some of the turns, which seem to require a
very precise angle to avoid being chomped by the rocks at
either side of the path.
Anyway ... the ride. I biked what I could and walked what I
couldn't. Towards the top, the ride gets more mellow
technically, but I was starting to feel the slippery edge of
exhaustion. One of the other women and I agreed to make it
at least to the loop ... I slowly lost her, though, and
eventually I just kind of ... stopped pedalling. I told two
guys who passed, "Tell the girl on the shiny yellow bike
that I couldn't make it." A couple of gasps later, I realize
that they've stopped not fifty feet ahead to chat with said
girl, so pride drags my sorry butt onto the bike and I pedal
on up to the fork.
Some discussion ensues -- we have about 10 minutes till an
hour will have passed. I'm promised that the climb is short;
the descent sweet. Okay. Off we go.
I quickly realize my error. Not only has my bike stopped
allowing me to use my two grannymost gears, but my body
isn't really all that ready for more climbing. I keep going,
gasping and panting like it's the first ride of the year.
Slowly, I lose sight of the other two women doing the loop,
but that's kind of comforting. I no longer worry about
keeping up; instead, I set my own pace, my breathing gets
regular, and I just keep trucking. Eventually, I do start to
head downhill, and yes, it is sweet, but it's getting long,
it's getting dark, and I don't see any other riders about.
Finally, I get back to the beginning of the loop, and the
girl who had done the loop with me asks if I'm okay. I tell
her I'm fine, just tired, and she scoots off. It seems like
I start after her right away, but she might as well have
vanished in a puff of smoke. I'm alone.
Well, okay then. I'm a bit grumpy because there was supposed
to have been a sweep rider, but then, I'm out about half an
hour past quitting time, so whose fault is that? I resolve
not to challenge myself *too* much; sure, it's getting late,
but it's better to get to the trailhead after dark than to
hurry and break an arm or something. That's my thought,
anyway. As I get to the technical sections, I get more and
more nervous; I'm afraid to try them without eye protection,
but I don't have clear lenses and the shades are making it
hard to see. I walked quite a lot of the way down, unwilling
to ride what I couldn't make out. Fortunately, even hiking
the bike, the way down was a lot faster than the way up. One
of the experts coming down from above asked if I was okay; I
told him my deal, and he offered to ride down with me. I
declined, not wanting to hold him up, but really appreciated
the offer. He did tell me that there were still a few riders
up top, so at least I knew that, if something did happen,
someone would find me before daybreak.
So, down I go, mostly walking, sometimes riding. I swear
that I can hear snatches of conversation from the women at
the trailhead. Eventually, I make it to the easier bit at
the bottom and start riding to the trailhead in earnest. The
girl on the shiny yellow bike rides up to me; she'd realized
I was way behind, so she rode down to get a light and come
back for me. As it turns out, I'd made it just about to the
trailhead by the time she got started again. Nice of her,
though. Everyone's happy to see me in one piece; I guess
previous rides at Hall have been more ... bloody.
Despite the fact that it's way out of my league, I really
liked Hall. I'd like to go back some time when I don't have
to worry about night time creeping up and see how I do.
--
monique
terrain. Last night, though, we did the one Hall Ranch ride
of the season. Most of the beginners disappeared for this
one; that left me as the beginner representative.
The plan was this: ride for an hour. Wherever you are after
an hour, turn back so that you don't end up stuck on
unfamiliar terrain at night. Seemed reasonable.
Hall Ranch is gorgeous, and it is *way* more difficult than
anything I've ever attempted. I managed to scrabble over
some stuff I never thought I'd clear; still, there were a
number of sections I didn't feel bad for walking. (If one of
you can show me how some of these sections are even
*possible*, I'd love to see it. I'm sure they're doable -- I
just can't imagine how.) I can't imagine getting up enough
speed to clear some of the turns, which seem to require a
very precise angle to avoid being chomped by the rocks at
either side of the path.
Anyway ... the ride. I biked what I could and walked what I
couldn't. Towards the top, the ride gets more mellow
technically, but I was starting to feel the slippery edge of
exhaustion. One of the other women and I agreed to make it
at least to the loop ... I slowly lost her, though, and
eventually I just kind of ... stopped pedalling. I told two
guys who passed, "Tell the girl on the shiny yellow bike
that I couldn't make it." A couple of gasps later, I realize
that they've stopped not fifty feet ahead to chat with said
girl, so pride drags my sorry butt onto the bike and I pedal
on up to the fork.
Some discussion ensues -- we have about 10 minutes till an
hour will have passed. I'm promised that the climb is short;
the descent sweet. Okay. Off we go.
I quickly realize my error. Not only has my bike stopped
allowing me to use my two grannymost gears, but my body
isn't really all that ready for more climbing. I keep going,
gasping and panting like it's the first ride of the year.
Slowly, I lose sight of the other two women doing the loop,
but that's kind of comforting. I no longer worry about
keeping up; instead, I set my own pace, my breathing gets
regular, and I just keep trucking. Eventually, I do start to
head downhill, and yes, it is sweet, but it's getting long,
it's getting dark, and I don't see any other riders about.
Finally, I get back to the beginning of the loop, and the
girl who had done the loop with me asks if I'm okay. I tell
her I'm fine, just tired, and she scoots off. It seems like
I start after her right away, but she might as well have
vanished in a puff of smoke. I'm alone.
Well, okay then. I'm a bit grumpy because there was supposed
to have been a sweep rider, but then, I'm out about half an
hour past quitting time, so whose fault is that? I resolve
not to challenge myself *too* much; sure, it's getting late,
but it's better to get to the trailhead after dark than to
hurry and break an arm or something. That's my thought,
anyway. As I get to the technical sections, I get more and
more nervous; I'm afraid to try them without eye protection,
but I don't have clear lenses and the shades are making it
hard to see. I walked quite a lot of the way down, unwilling
to ride what I couldn't make out. Fortunately, even hiking
the bike, the way down was a lot faster than the way up. One
of the experts coming down from above asked if I was okay; I
told him my deal, and he offered to ride down with me. I
declined, not wanting to hold him up, but really appreciated
the offer. He did tell me that there were still a few riders
up top, so at least I knew that, if something did happen,
someone would find me before daybreak.
So, down I go, mostly walking, sometimes riding. I swear
that I can hear snatches of conversation from the women at
the trailhead. Eventually, I make it to the easier bit at
the bottom and start riding to the trailhead in earnest. The
girl on the shiny yellow bike rides up to me; she'd realized
I was way behind, so she rode down to get a light and come
back for me. As it turns out, I'd made it just about to the
trailhead by the time she got started again. Nice of her,
though. Everyone's happy to see me in one piece; I guess
previous rides at Hall have been more ... bloody.
Despite the fact that it's way out of my league, I really
liked Hall. I'd like to go back some time when I don't have
to worry about night time creeping up and see how I do.
--
monique
