M
Monique Y. Mudama
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
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
