Cleaning up after the KMC.

Things started well, miles disappearing and the rhythm coming on quickly. I was enjoying the ability, with gears, to push the subtle downs. After eight miles you get a massive gravel descent, the first mile very steep. On the tricky curve, I noticed one fat groove off to the side, ending just short of the ditch.

The pavement came and went quickly, and a theme for the day arose when the gravel after proved much chunkier and slow than I recalled. The low point canyon was nice and scenic, the climb after skinny and steep. I continued to be impressed with the course; it was more fun to ride than drive.

So now that it’s come and gone, what now?

Mark, Craig, Brian, and Fred in the lead, heading out. Could the first two bikes be more different?

After a while, swooping through the junipers, I couldn’t help but wonder when the end was in sight. Soon thereafter, two unfortunate things happened: my barend shifter came loose, and I realized why my water tasted odd. The former could be fixed with a 5 minute stop and a wrench, the stale Cytomax would poison my stomach slowly over the next hours, and needing water it was an intractable problem. I kept riding.

Blair, Harris, and the rest.

The end of the section snuck up on me, a quick left downhill while I was looking at the next ridge. Mary and I rode together for a while, when Harris blew by between us with his head down. I was too preoccupied with figuring out who it was to say anything. How the hell did that happen? (Wrong turn and polarized lenses that blank out the GPS, apparently.)

Soon we caught Fred, held up by unplanned exploration and a flat tire. We three stayed together hiking up 272, then Fred took off up the gradual climb.

Another theme for the day.

Who’s got the mixed up wheels?

I found the Rainbow by myself, and rewarded myself with a PopTart and Doubleshot (thanks Dave!). Good pacing and rationed drinking (too much and the stomach would go) got me through the 18 miles of wonder in a bit more than 2 hours. By then it was day in earnest, and my stomach and right knee were not cooperating. I had a little crappy water, and would use it all dealing with the many surges in the gently climbing miles to come.

And yours truly in the rear, to keep tabs.

I could only think of cold water, and because of the nagging knee had already decided that my race was over. The Brooks was also not behaving itself.

Suffering. Walking. Shade breaks.

Brian left a mostly full gallon of water on the ledge outside the store. I, with no money, looked furtively around and grabbed it. The rest is history, and relatively fun after my legs stopped feeling like concrete.

So?

I’m hooked. After the malaise of the KTR, I’ve made a full recovery. My body has not. So I’m rolling on, checking out gyms and buying DH’s fave core training book. If I’m going to put in gym time, I want to come out stronger and faster.

The Rim Ride was definitely the competitive high point of the year thus far. My most predominant thought: how can I do this well with such poor training? I’ve done ok, time and experience being somewhat on my side. Dedication and precision leave much to be desired, so I’m going to be more scientific. First, my knees have to be more cooperative.

We shall see.