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.

A month's worth of fretting over RAGBRAI preparation

I can always find something to worry about. This blog is jam-packed with proof of that, if you've somehow missed every race-run-up post.

RAGBRAI is no exception, and some of the folks I ride with are good at — inadvertently, I'm sure — feeding that tendency.

One participated in the RAGBRAI pre-ride, so he has plenty to say about the extreme hills at the end.

Another waxes dramatic about the lack of long rides he's gotten in and how the ones he has done have knocked him out, sending me on a frantic mental search of lengthy rides and how fatigued I was after them.

Recently, yearly mileage started to be tossed around. Comparisons were made, to each other and to the suggested 1,000-plus threshold to attain before RAGBRAI.

By that point, all the negativity from others (but mostly my own self) had worn me down to where I couldn't even be bothered to work up a panic over my mileage.

Then the humidity broke, and I rode for nearly 50 miles at my own pace with plenty of water. And I started to wonder just how many miles I'd put in.

As it turns out, that ride put me around 900 for the year, if I've been accurately reporting my mileage on Daily Mile.

How many more times do I have to tell myself?

RIDE YOUR PACE.

ADJUST TO CONDITIONS.

This year, hopefully, Independence Day means freedom from turning what used to be a beloved holiday into a source of frustration and fuel for self-criticism.

RAGBRAI training report, two weeks in

As I mentioned last week, RAGBRAI crept up on me while I was fretting about Dam to Dam.

So I'm happy to declare today that I feel positive about the state of my seat, about two weeks into training.

I did download the training plan; I do look at it; I do write down my mileage; and I have compared my weekly totals to what the plan suggests. Key word — suggests.

Here's my approach so far:

* Go on a long ride each week.

* Get a ride in the day after that, if possible.

* Incorporate a hill in most recreational rides.

* Design loops to avoid trail fatigue.

* Ride to places far away at which you need just one, portable thing. (Examples thus far: produce from a quarter-share in a CSA from a Johnston apartment complex; medicine from a pharmacy at 100th and Douglas in Urbandale.)

* Invite people to join at least portions of the rides.

It's only two weeks in, but I feel comfortable with this attitude, and I feel comfortable in my fitness level. It's not perfect, but it's good enough, and it'll get better.

What's helpful is having done RAGBRAI last year, and with the same people I'm doing it with this year — I know their tendencies, and this time I'll know how to balance my own with theirs.

Basically that means ride my pace, rather than struggle to keep up, because I don't like prolonged stops anyways. Let them get their first beer out of the way before I hop off the saddle.

Our long ride on Sunday — 75 flat miles — was critical to both realizing I'm on the right track, fitnesswise, and to reminding me of my riding preferences versus others'.

The next test: not falling off the wagon over the next two weeks, which are fairly busy with nonbiking commitments.

You know nothing, Little Runner!

Last Wednesday, I congratulated myself for what seemed to be a RAGBRAI trial run: a ride with a lunch stop in the middle and a little bit of heat/wind at the end. I've totally got this.

Um, not quite. The 65-miler lacked humidity, 90-degree weather, more than a few hills, more than a few stops, fried food, frozen treats and beer.

But don't worry. I got all of that in Sunday, and I can handle it. Mostly.

I rode with several of my RAGBRAI companions from the Principal Riverwalk up to Big Creek and back that day, which was everything I've come to expect from July in Iowa. Throw in the hills on the Neal Smith Trail, plus some residual fatigue from the previous day's run, and I was a little uncertain about how well a 50-plus-miler would go.

The first prolonged one came at Latitude 41, and the idea of lunch had me positively giddy. I ordered a Summer Shandy and a catfish strip basket and tucked right into both.

It was so delicious ... and so greasy. Did we really have to get back up and keep riding north and then turn back around? We couldn't just nap? No? UGH.

The next seven or so miles were not the easiest miles I've ever done. My first all-fried-food meal in months sloshed around, and the beer's carbonation didn't bring me any relief until well into our next stop (at Big Creek).

Almost as good as the relief from the grease? The 25-cent Fla-Vor-Ice I got at the air-conditioned concession stand. So much welcome coolness.

When we trusted that the rain on the radar had passed, we hopped back on and flew. The hills were mostly down; the wind, mostly at our backs. I felt strong, cheerful and grateful for second-half momentum — and then we stopped again. Latitude 41 was still there and still open.

At the time, I would've rather kept going. But that's not what we're going to be doing in a few weeks. In a few weeks, we'll be riding only long enough to build up a thirst and a hunger. So it was good that we stopped for another beer and another few glasses of ice-cold water.

And really, come to think of it, our stop-and-go riding was done during the sunniest part of the day. After that beer, we stopped only for a bathroom break on the 16 miles back to the starting apartment, under a sky only just bright enough for my sunglasses to still help, not hinder.

So how did I feel upon our return? Surprisingly, just sweaty and of average fatigue/hunger. Not dehydrated, sunburned or queasy. And most of all, content with how my stomach handled a true RAGBRAI simulation.

Still to be determined: how my legs and seat will handle RAGBRAI.

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. 

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.