No trail left behind

I have been a somewhat lazy blogger, but I've been a relatively ambitious biker. You win some, you lose some.

As I mentioned recently, the mileage is certainly adding up, and I am happy to say I've been able to vary my routes — even in spite of recent flooding.

Trail fatigue was a problem for me last year, so that's why I'm patting myself on the back for exploring new trails.

Here's what I would've crossed off my Des Moines biking bucket list, if I had such a thing.

* Great Western Trail, south of Cumming. I was surprised by quite a bit about the Cumming-to-Martensdale portion of this trail.

It's hillier than the north chunk — not truly hilly, but definitely with more inclines. It's in rougher shape, too, despite being so rural.

And man, is it rural. The roads are neither straight, nor on a grid, nor paved. I've definitely become a city slicker.

* Raccoon River Valley Trail complete loop. I'd never been north of Panora or north of Minburn until the BACooN Ride.

Since I'd done large chunks of it before, nothing necessarily surprised me, but I was glad to have conquered the entire loop. (Still unclaimed: the northern stretch from Herndon to Jefferson.)

Especially on a day where I felt pretty blah physically and mentally, and where I seriously feared I'd melt in the humidity. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!

* High Trestle Trail. My most recent exploration came when Cory and I rode from Ames back to Des Moines, after returning a truck we borrowed from a buddy who lives there.

After 12 hot, hilly, humid miles, we picked up the High Trestle and did it all — and it was totally worth that first challenging portion!

I don't think photos do the bridge justice (especially not my sweaty smartphone selfie).

Conditions weren't great for lingering over the perfect shot.

I can't wait to go back along that smooth, spacious pavement, maybe take a detour to Snus Hill Winery, and hang out on that overlook ... after putting bug spray on.

RAGBRAI simulation was successful

When I decided to tackle a 65-mile ride in two separate outings, I did so to avoid carrying a lunch and to venturing so geographically far that surprise storms/mechanical issues could turn me into a cautionary tale.

But, duh, it dawned on me much later that I'd also accidentally planned a mock-RAGBRAI day for myself.

My route took me from my apartment to the Cumming Tap and back (no, I did not stop for a drink), good for 40 miles, and then from my apartment to the Raccoon River Valley/Walnut Creek/Clive Greenbelt trails, for the remaining 25.

Overall, I'd give this adventure a B+ — mostly successful, with a few spots for improvement.

Unsurprisingly, my spirits stayed higher when I had fewer miles to contemplate doing at once. Hooray for manageable chunks!

Surprisingly, my legs rebounded fairly well from the hour-plus stop. I did a few stretches, but nothing out of the ordinary, and not even my complete post-workout routine.

The second ride did end up being noticeably slower, though. I blame a third of that on increased wind/warmth; another third on stops to figure out where I was and where I needed to go; and the last third on minor fatigue.

On the plus side, I was walking just fine that evening. I'd forgotten the magical powers of lying on the floor with legs propped up against the wall. Hopefully now that I've exercised them (ha!) again, I won't make that mistake again.

My sweaty clothing mostly dried off. I'll just leave it at that. The hair definitely did. Hooray for pixie cuts!

The midday reapplication of sunscreen seems to have prevented me from burning. I'm cautiously optimistic, because the majority of my riding came before the fiercest hours.

And now for the biggest mistake I made: heading out too fast after lunch, out of fear that my legs would just lock up. I probably let my food digest for about 30 minutes tops, and I felt it slosh around for about that same length of time during the ride. I tasted it even later than that (thanks to heartburn, not vomiting).

Now that I know my legs won't petrify if I stop for a while, I'll give my stomach more time to settle. But I'll also have far more time on RAGBRAI than on a day when I had early-evening plans. 

Encounters of the furred kind

I spent almost 26 years living near farm country — towns that were suburbs of a midsize city, or in the case of my college town, the biggest clump of humanity in bufu — so I'm familiar with wildlife near/on roads.

Most of said experience, however, tended to be from a distance: the creature dodging my car, for example; or me dodging its corpse as I ran/biked along country roads.

The past few weeks in Des Moines have changed that dynamic.

I've already mentioned the deer that I flushed out along the Raccoon River Valley Trail; I repeated that experience on the Jordan Creek Trail with a pair of rabbits last Friday.

One was smart and went straight across the path, from weed patch to weed patch; the other would have been smart if I were a hunter and shooting at it, because it did the zigzag pattern one is supposed to use to avoid gunfire.

As it turns out, zigzagging is much less effective when trying to elude someone who is also trying to dodge you. (No, I didn't hit the rabbit. I just swerved enough where a casual observer would've thought I was a daredevil showoff or a drunk.)

So that particular incident was scarier for the four-legged creature than it was for me — however, earlier last week, I had the opportunity to be more freaked out than the other animal was.

I was on Douglas Avenue, not far from Homemakers (i.e., still in a more-urban-than-rural area), when I saw a gray-brown blob on the path. As I approached, I expected it — a possum? a groundhog? — to dart away, like rabbits, squirrels, deer and chipmunks do.

Oh no. Not this creepy little rodent. It held its head high and may have even bared its buckteeth at me. For a brief moment, I wondered whether giving it a wide berth would be protection enough for my rabies-vulnerable flesh.

Thank God the sidewalk/bike path is spacious. I zoomed around it, not chancing a look to see whether it had lunged at me, and let out a shudder of revulsion and relief once I'd passed it without being bitten.

Between this and last summer's possum sighting, I've had enough visits with wild rodents to last me a while.

Seen while riding: Critters and cranky kids

I didn't stop to take photos on my Monday long ride, but I did see a few things that made me smile (or in, one case, jump a little bit).

* Right as I reached Linden on the way out, a deer raced across the path. I will insist with my dying breath that I'm not one of those obnoxious city kids who think deer are novelties, but I'm not used to seeing them in human settlements ... just country fields.

* I encountered another Bambi just north of Linden as I doubled back; this one, I apparently flushed out, and instead of hiding in the woods, it bounded along the trail ahead of me for about a minute.

* Two maintenance trucks were on the trails; the first one arrived as I was daydreaming, and therefore its oncoming headlights scared the crap out of me. Also, when you're on such a rural, wooded trail, seeing another biker surprises you — let alone a pickup truck.

It was the best chance I've had to admire their leaping abilities — I'm used to them dashing out across dark country roads at night and having to worry about hitting them/being hit by any cars behind me.

* A duo that I will call a grandmother/granddaughter pair, though I have no such evidence, stopped me north of Linden. (That's where ALL the action was yesterday, apparently.) "How far are we from Linden?" the grandmother asked.

"Not far," I said.

"Less than a mile?" I hesitated so that I could think back to my odometer's reading, and the grandmother continued. "Just say yes."

By then, I'd gathered my thoughts and told them I really did think they were that close, and the grandmother turned to the little girl (maybe 6 years old?). "See? You can make it that far."

She turned back to me. "We walked here from Panora. Her idea." The look on the girl's face indicated that she didn't think this was such a great idea any more.

According to a sign I'd passed after leaving Linden, that was six miles away. Holy cow. I hope they indulged in ice cream and a nap after that hike.

* And my favorite sight: a cow just standing in a creek, the bridge over which wasn't all that high. After squealing with delight, I glanced past my bovine buddy to see a whole herd of them, just hanging out, not even fenced in.

I don't care how dumb, smelly and/or bug-ridden cows are. I'm 100 percent city girl in that I think they're adorable, and I highly appreciate their contributions to the human diet. (Mmm, cheese ... ice cream ... milk ... cream ... yogurt ... butter ... and, yes, steak.)

Yawning at milestones

Yesterday I rode 50 miles on the Raccoon River Valley Trail, going from the Waukee trailhead just past Linden and then back.

I was very happy with this effort for a number of reasons.

* First, I actually got out of bed and the apartment to do the ride. Motivation was not strong yesterday morning.

* I managed to head straight west on the trail without having a weather crisis.

* During the vast majority of the ride — I'd say about 80 percent of it — I felt strong ... and this even included a few windy-in-my-face stretches.

* I finished much faster than I'd expected: 3 hours, 23 minutes (plus a few breaks, but not many, and not for long). I'd prepared myself for about four. That's good for a 14.8 mph average.

* And I didn't acquire any new sunburns! (OK, a lot of the trail was shaded, but still, my diligence in applying and reapplying should be applauded. Positive reinforcement here, folks.)

It wasn't until I got back to my apartment that it dawned on me that none of my pride involved the fact that I'd ridden 50 miles. The distance was no big deal, except that I'd successfully blocked out the time needed to fit that much riding in.

Thinking back to the weeks since "biking season" began, I realized this shrugging-off of distances was a long time coming. A few times, I'd caught myself dismissing the shorter rides as "only" 20 miles.

"Only" 20 miles? Remember what a sweaty effort that was on your previous bike — a perfectly nice hybrid? It wasn't impossible, by any means, but I considered that a pretty significant workout. (Granted, with the hills I encountered out in the country, I was justified.)

But just like how, relative to past rides, 50 is long, 50 is short compared with what I'll be doing for the rest of June and July — 55, 60, 65 and 75 are all on the schedule.

So it's probably good that I didn't start bragging about my accomplishment on every social media outlet that I could. If I thought 50 was the world's biggest deal, then that would likely mean I wasn't mentally and/or physically ready for the serious training and for the main event.

(One tiny brag, though: This and my early May 50-miler have doubled the number of times I broke the 50-mile barrier from April 2011 through April 2013. To be honest, I don't even know how often I broke 40 miles during that stretch.)

I worried about the wrong crises

I set out on what was supposed to be a 45-mile bike ride Wednesday, with a handful of minor apprehensions.

They were the usual concerns: What if I get a flat tire? What if I missed a new pasty-white patch of skin while applying sunscreen? What if the winds keep whipping across the open fields surrounding the Raccoon River Valley Trail? What if I run out of water on this hot, humid day?

As the trail entered a wooded stretch on my way west, I stopped fretting about most of these factors and began to enjoy myself. The only niggling doubt I had was why no one else was on the trail, but then again, it was early Wednesday afternoon.

Still, as the miles piled up, I decided to quit while I was ahead and turned around somewhere in Adel, after I'd gone 15.5 miles from my apartment, intending to make up the miles elsewhere.

A little before mile 20, I noticed a dark blob to the southwest. Hm. I decided to keep pushing myself instead of letting the wind push me east.

However, a few miles later, my sunglasses became unnecessary. Just make it to Waukee, and you'll have refuge in case of the thunderstorms Weather.com assured you will not arrive for another few hours, I repeated.

The winds stopped propelling me forward and started pushing me sideways. The air grew drastically cooler. Rain drops fell, then barreled down.

Only five miles lay between me and my apartment, but I chose the cautious route and pulled into the Caribou Coffee. This was the right choice, as I soon found out.

Another biker, named Tim, had sought refuge there, and no sooner had I propped my bike up did the storm hit with a vengeance.

Over the shrieking of the wind and clatter of the rain, as precipitation seeped down the walls and under the doors, we shared amused frustration at the lack of warning about this weather. Another customer — I didn't catch his name, so I'll call him Winterset, because that's where he said he lived — showed me the belatedly updated radar and its promised series of severe storms.

But, oddly enough, this is where the story turns cheerful. I bought a latte to warm up and chatted with Winterset, who expressed regret that he'd brought his car, not his truck, to town and thus couldn't help me get home; meanwhile, Tim, much less optimistic about the weather, called over that his wife and/or daughter would come fetch him, and I was welcome to a ride home, too.

Was this the safest thing to do? Realistically, no. But I accepted. I'd trusted the hairs on the back of my neck in Adel, despite the sunshine; I'd stick with the hot hand. (Also, as Winterset and I each concluded, "wife and daughter" made the situation seem safer ... though once I got back, I realized how nonsensical that was.)

Tim's family arrived, in a blissfully warm Jeep (wet clothes in an air-conditioned building, brr!). It turned out that they lived mere blocks from me — though it wouldn't have mattered where I lived, they said; I still would've been able to ride with them — and Tim even insisted that I stay in the car until he'd taken my bike totally off the rack.

I thanked Tim again, tried to offer to do a good deed to thank him, and he shook me off. Instead, he urged me to stop by the family's house sometime and say hello. He even told me the street address.

"Iowa Nice" isn't just a joke or an excellent Scott Siepker video. It's a real thing.

Also, in addition to the kindness of Winterset and incredible generosity of Tim, there was the sympathy from the Caribou Coffee employees. I think one even asked Tim whether he needed a ride home. No judgment, no eye-rolling at the mess we likely caused.

Sunburn update

A nerve-racking week-plus without riding made me determined to build two solid rides into my "weekend" (Sunday and Monday, my two days off from work).

I did 30 out-and-back miles Sunday morning, starting on the Clive Greenbelt trail and turning around at the SW Fifth Street pedestrian bridge. All conditions — temperature, wind, elevation, restedness — were optimal; until one final uphill struggle, I was averaging 15 mph.

A chunk of this ride followed the Hy-Vee Half Marathon route, but I am happy to report that I was actually in a state of mind to appreciate the trails rather than wonder angrily why I was even doing this.

Sunburn acquired: a set of parentheses on my shoulder blades, facing like this ) ( . It's the spot where a racerback tank top exposes skin, but where straining sunscreen-covered hands can only swipe awkwardly.

On Monday afternoon, I squeezed in 40 miles, taking the Greenbelt trail to the Raccoon River Valley one. I absolutely loved how quiet, new and rural the stretch from the Waukee parking lot to Minburn was; I was less enchanted with the wind that day.

Still, because it was an out-and-back, what the wind took from me at points, it also gave back. Legs that were tired from the previous day's effort and the current day's 20 mph winds managed to average a 14 mph pace.

Sunburn acquired: several irregular splotches on my legs. This one is deeper than the parentheses, probably because it was on skin that rarely receives direct sunlight ... let alone for three hours. I'll just share photos, for your amusement/commiseration.

I have shorts on, though you can't see them. What you CAN see, however, is the outline of a Band-Aid around a cut I received Sunday night. Evidently I protected not just the wound itself but also the inch or so of skin surrounding it. 

Evidence of the shorts ... and the sunshine hitting my parallel-to-the-ground thighs directly. 

How did this happen? I wore running shorts instead of the knee-length shorts that keep my skin from rubbing awkwardly against the seat and, apparently, from being roasted in the sun.

I never want to be sunburned, let me make this clear, but I'm taking a very optimistic outlook on these burns. Better to find all the weirdly sensitive spots now so I can slather them in sunblock during RAGBRAI.