June 1, 2022
Abort, abort!
Pulling the plug, in the name of sense
"A man's got to know his limitations."
Clint Eastwood as "Dirty" Harry Callahan, Magnum Force
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THE DAY DAWNED clear and cool. Waking up to the serenade of the early morning birds is such a pleasure.
Knowing that the day's plan was to cover less than 40 miles, and much of that through easy rolling countryside in Adams County PA, I wasn't overly concerned by the lateness of my start (around 8:45). I should have been.
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2 years ago
The first four miles took an hour; examine the ride profile and you'll see why. They were mostly on US 30 though there were a couple diversions onto Old 30, which brought Mr. Ed's Elephant Museum and Candy Emporium to my attention.
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Finally cresting the hill, I got my well-earned payback, and the next few miles flew by. But even that came at a price: I could not get my helmet to stay put. It became increasingly annoying, then irritating to the point where something had to be done.
I finally concluded that the problem was my sun brim, an add-on to the helmet, intended to shield the wearer's face and the nape of their neck from prolonged exposure to the sun. That it does, and does well, but it was also causing my helmet to slide all over the place and rendered the situation untenable. So, off it came. Removing DaBrim also eased what had been mounting tension and pressure in my neck and shoulders, so it was a good choice even at the cost of more sun on my neck.
Struggling along on pleasant, lightly-trafficked roads I passed through Cashtown and noted with pleasure the neatness and solidity of the older buildings. Whether this is peculiar to this particular area or a general feature of rural Pennsylvania, I can't say but it's certainly pleasant to look upon.
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By late morning I was beginning to have serious misgivings about the wisdom, advisability, and feasibility of continuing. It was, once again, HOT and even a gentle tailwind wasn't helping me as much as I needed. Each stop simply weakened my resolve by just a bit more. The roads, which should have been a lark to ride, just weren't. Where I should have been bowling along at 14 or 15 miles an hour and freewheeling, I was suffering to get to and sustain 10 mph and even that quickly dropped to 8, then 6. Shade breaks became more urgent, and more closely spaced.
"Are you okay?" a passing motorist stopped to ask during one such pause. "I'm a nurse, if you need help." She had seen me a moment before, sprawled and prone alongside the road in the shade outside an historic home that had served as a field hospital in the aftermath of the Battle of Gettysburg. Noting that I wasn't moving, she had turned around and come back to check on me. By the time she got to me I had sat up and was moving around. "Yes, I'm just taking a shade break." was my reply. "Okay! Stay hydrated!"
Entering Gettysburg from the northwest took me through a section of the battlefield that I don't normally get to. I live only about an hour's drive away, but usually stop at the area where the third day's decisive action took place so I'm less familiar with the Day One tableau, though I know from history what happened.
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I didn't have the energy to wander the battlefield. I wanted to find a bike shop to make a more lasting adjustment to the loose headset that I had temporarily taken care of on Monday, and then it was lunch time.
While at lunch I made the preliminary decision: if things weren't materially better after 45 minutes of rest - and a bunch of fluids - in the air-conditioned restaurant, it was going to be time to call it quits.
Three miles, and nearly an hour, later the decision was made. I called home and announced to my wife that "I'm done. Please come get me."
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In the final analysis I firmly believe it was the right decision, for a variety of reasons. It was (and still is) HOT: potentially life-threateningly so. It's amazingly easy to get dehydrated, even when you're trying earnestly not to.
Secondly, and probably related, although I seemed okay when actually riding, I had experienced several dizzy spells and mild disorientation during my rest breaks. That's never a good sign, and it's a certain indication that things could go seriously south in a very short time and with little warning.
Finally, not only was tomorrow's ride going to be much lumpier than today's, there's a high probability of thunderstorms in the forecast. I dislike riding in the rain, and riding in thunderstorms is simply not a good idea. Why put myself in the position of dealing with it?
Throughout my professional career I developed a risk management strategy predicated on identifying, evaluating, and avoiding needless risks; the same has served me well in my personal life. Why change that philosophy now?
In the end I'm fine with the choice I made. Now I need to decide what that means for the summer's tour, although I think I already know. I'll encounter bigger, longer, steep hills.
I'll encounter sustained temperatures as high, and very likely much higher, than what I ran into this week. (The midwest in August, when I'd be passing through, can easily get into the 100-110 degree range, and in many places there is no shade in which to hide. On top of that, where it was cooling into the 60s at night on this ride, it often "cools" to the mid-to-upper 80s in Kansas, Missouri, and Illinois. Unless you're indoors in air conditioning there's no relief.)
Quite apart from other factors (chances of wildfires, tornadoes, severe thunderstorms, hail) the two things above- which got tested in the past three days- are enough to give me serious pause about my readiness to make such a long trip.
Today's ride: 22 miles (35 km)
Total: 126 miles (203 km)
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What if you switched directions on your route? If you started in the west, would you then hit the humid areas when they are more hospitable? That's a big change, but, could it help?
2 years ago
My plan was to start in the west- Bend, OR, to be exact. The choice of start point, along with the timing, was dictated by the family reunion I'll be attending in three weeks; I had planned to ride home from there once the reunion ended.
Thankfully the weather here was not terribly humid (by mid-Atlantic standards at least) but 90+ is 90+ no matter how you slice it.
2 years ago
Maybe that still wasn't enough, or I was missing something else.
2 years ago
2 years ago