Ignoring conventional wisdom

If there's one thing I know about preparing for major athletic events, it is this: Don't make big changes before the big day.

So literally a week before I begin RAGBRAI (I'm jumping in at the middle, remember), I went out and bought bike shorts and a sweat-absorbing headband.

I didn't become so much of a n00b that I failed to test these items out before the kickoff, though. That counts for something, right?

Thoughts from a 25-mile ride that began when it was 88 degrees (heat index in the 90s):

* My favorite part of the bike shorts may be how high-waisted they are, at least on this child-sized adult. I like my odds of preventing further tramp-stamp burns.

* My least favorite part of the bike shorts is wearing them when I'm not on a bike. I don't recall what wearing a diaper felt like, but I'm willing to bet that this is a very similar feeling.

* The shorts are an appropriate length, but wow, there is a LOT of incredibly pale skin seeing some direct sunlight. Will there be a vat of sunscreen into which I can be lowered before putting on my clothes?

* The Halo sweatband purchase will probably pay more dividends for me than the padded shorts. What sold me on it in the first place was the little ridge that diverts sweat toward your jawline instead of directly into your eyeballs; this is just about as good as advertised. (The corners of my eyes did catch a few sunscreeny sweat droplets.)

It's also a good thing I've resigned myself to tan lines instead of exposing maximum skin in hopes of an even skin tone, because with the Halo band and my sunglasses shielding the upper third of my face, I'm going to be a walking gradient for a while after RAGBRAI.

But put all this together, combine it with my hand-pump-bearing road bike and throw on some bike gloves, and I look like I belong on RAGBRAI. How far I've come from old college T-shirts and a hybrid!

The final farmers tan frontier ... for training

I'd been wondering whether and when this would happen: a tan line on my fingers from wearing bike gloves.

Late last week, it did. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light, but reinspection has shown me that I indeed have two-toned index fingers (and that the left one is darker than the right one).

It's not my imagination. It's there. However, if you can't see it, blame my poor photography skills.

But as fellow RAGBRAIer Regina pointed out, we've still got event wristband tans coming for us. The best, or worst, is yet to come, depending on how you view farmers tans. (In my case, with amused resignation, and gratitude that it's not a farmers burn.)

Where else can I acquire new tan lines?

I may never undo what will happen to my forearms and lower upper arms, because I fear for how scorched my back will become if I wear my tank tops -- they're racerbacks.

Sunglasses-inspired raccoon eyes are almost a given, if I'll be out in the sun more than half a day.

I might be lucky enough to see white stripes down my jaw line from where my helmet hid the skin, but I doubt I'll see any hue on my legs between beige and lobster.

Check back at the end of July to find out what a tie-dyed mess my skin has become!

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. 

The frugalista's bike jersey

I never bothered to ask anyone the point of a cycling jersey. It never dawned on me to think that they were functional as well as a fashion statement of sorts.

So when I registered for RAGBRAI and I had the option to buy a $50 jersey, I declined.

It wasn't until weeks later that, in an unrelated conversation, an experienced biker told me how jerseys are built with ventilation and pockets; and it wasn't until months later that another friend told me they're designed to have extra length to prevent tramp-stamp sunburns.

Oops. I might've missed out on an opportunity to look smart and stylish.

But fortunately, this is when being an undersized adult suddenly came in handy: All of those shirts that were unisex small, rather than women's extra-small or youth extra-large, are the perfect length to cover my lower back even as I lean forward.

Some of those shirts are high school ones — nothing says cool like "High School Class of 2004" or "Student Council 2003-04" — and some are race T-shirts. But hey, I've got a glut of them, and they've saved the small of my back from a third blistery burn.

The downside, at first, seemed to be the sleeves. The farmers tan on my upper arms, born of unseasonably warm weather in early 2012 onward and of wearing two identically cut T-shirts while running, has stubbornly survived the abnormally gloomy start to 2013.

Dangly, droopy sleeves on these outsized T-shirts were not helping the situation. But you know what did? Safety pins.

Cuff those sleeves about four or five times, use old race-bib pins to secure them, and the mid-upper-arm tan line will be gone by RAGBRAI. (Only to be relocated to the shoulder ... I know when to cut my losses.)

Yes, a cycling jersey is technically a better choice than a cotton tee that's nearly a decade old. I'm not trying to argue against them — pockets and wicking are awesome features.

Also awesome, though, is $50 extra for pastries and ice cream. I'm not humblebragging about frugality ... but I won't apologize for reusing shirts I already have, either.

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.)

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.

The evolution of my RAGBRAI fears

When I made my RAGBRAI announcement, I mentioned how many fears were swirling around my head.

Now that I've been biking for a couple of weeks, I wish I could say I'd put them to rest. However, it turns out that training simply changes the topic of my worries.

First, before I even signed up, there were the logistics questions, namely where I'd be staying and how I'd get back.

The former was put at ease by the friends who have a guaranteed hotel room — and therefore room on the floor — for me; the latter, somewhat eased (though not settled) by the same friends' breezy assurances that whoever's taking them home can take me, too.

Then came the fitness fears. I read the training suggestions on the RAGBRAI website and did the math on how far short I would fall. Hastily, I canceled one of my running days each week — I was still preparing for the half marathon then — and in response, Iowa canceled its springlike weather.

So once the race and my rest week were both over, I hit the bike with a vengeance. One Sunday, I did 52 miles with only water to sustain me; the following day, I logged 30 miles and did more than "just survive"; and a few days later, I went for what I found myself calling "only a 20-miler."

It was then that I realized my legs and seat region will be just fine for four consecutive days of riding. But you know what might not be? My skin.

I attributed my first sunburn to the foolishness of allowing a winter-pale Midwesterner to sit on El Bait Shop's patio for half an hour midride.

The next sunburn I got from biking — not my next sunburn, period, but the next bike-related one — was a bit of a puzzle. Sure, I'd been outside for hours with no sunscreen, but I was tilted forward on an overcast day ... must've been windburn, right?

Then came the "tramp stamp" sunburn, at which point I began panicking about how to ward off blistering during four whole days in the late July sun.

Sure, my skin will have had time to adjust by then, but I'll still need sunscreen ... and I'll still need to reapply throughout the day ... and I'll still need to figure out where to store it in a place where it won't melt.

I might just have to be the equivalent of the kid whose mom makes him/her wear a T-shirt to the pool over his/her swimsuits (yes, that was me) — maybe I'll just wear a burqa.