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Scott’s right to be pissed off. I did promise him I would engage in nothing extra-curricular in these last critical weeks, and then I went into a theatre to help out for a day… and then I ended up losing myself in the heady sweet/bitter swirl of live theatre production. So yes, I broke my promise, and yes I feel like shit about it, and yes this sort of thing really gets some values and goals clarified. Not great, but not all negative either. I hope.

I’ve ridden this ride six times. And, it’s true, I have never ended up riding every mile…. for a wide variety of reasons. The first ride I bonked thoroughly and completely on Day 2 because I had zero clue what I was getting into and had not yet dialed in the hydration and nutrition piece. Somehow I thought that when the next day began I’d suddenly regain my vigor, but I had not yet learned that the body doesn’t automatically reset. You have to actually feed it — a LOT — after every ride so it can recover overnight (hopefully) (at least enough to get past mile 13 the next day). The rest of the first year’s ride I actually just spent time riding what I could, riding in the RV with Roger and my friends (one of whom died a few years ago, and those little road trips with her and her husband remain a precious memory, riding down the 101 giggling like college kids off on spring break), and getting the hang of the whole seven day event.

Year 2 — I rode with my rockstar pal for life, Kim. In Santa Cruz after our long first day, she had a weird toe accident involving railroad tracks and lots of blood and my ankle was giving me fits. By the time we got to Salinas on Day 2, both our feet were throbbing and swelling and we couldn’t go on. So that was that for 2017 in terms of riding EFI (every fucking inch).

Year 3 — Me and Kim again. We did every mile up until Day 4, which has always been my nemesis day, mainly because of timing issues. There are a lot of ways to eat up your time on that day and it’s the one day I’ve never finished. On the 2018 Day 4, it was my hamstring. It spasmed mightily during the 20 minutes of fast cold descent after the halfway to LA point. By the time I got to the rest stop (and some Motrin) I couldn’t walk on it. And I couldn’t pedal on it. So Kim rode on and I took the SAG car. Finished the rest of the ride after some good sports med torture and a lot of tape.

Year 4 — No Kim. She was pregnant and, sure, I got it. No riding that year with her. But, with that sadness came much joy as I joined forces with two other great pals — Babak and Nick — and generally we stuck together. Babak was a first year rider and we’d bonded during training rides. He was staying in the same hotels as Roger and I were and he was going through some business stuff. He bonked on day 2 so I stopped in Salinas in support and to drive back to the hotel together.  Day 4 that year I ran out of time because of taking pictures and waiting for my pals. I consciously chose people over miles, and have not regretted it, ever.

Year 5 — Post pandemic. I rode with my pal Traci and Day 1 included 40 miles of cold, windy rain that nearly killed all of us. I made it through (even though, when I called Scott to cry and wimper, and he said there’d be no shame in stopping in the midst of that kind of weather) and I soldiered on. Day 2 I woke up, not unpredictably, stiff and sore and spasmy  from the neck down AND Scott warned me that he was seeing all kinds of unusual head wind activity coming at us during the 109 miles that day going into King City. He assured me that if there was a day to skip, it’d  be that one, and — while taking his advice was absolutely the right thing to do (even though it turned out there was no headwind) — that’s why Year 5 wasn’t EFI. (Basically, you read the subtext right: Scott’s fault.)

Year 6 — last year — everything was really going fine, until it wasn’t. My husband Roger came down with a nasty cold while we were driving up to the Cow Palace and I got whacked with it, hard, on Day 3.  Which also was a day of horrible rain and misery. I developed bronchitis and was told by Medical to take two days off. Then I went to Urgent Care in Santa Maria, got some prednisone by a doctor (who was also an endurance cyclist and got my imperative to get back on the bike), and then I nailed the rest of the ride (yay prednisone!).

So, I go through that in detail to make my point: I let myself off the EFI internal mandate hook years ago. I call this the “shit happens” ride — weather, injury, illness, helping others out — and I’ve learned in a very profound way that hitting these decision points is one of the greatest lessons the Ride can give you. Sometimes you’ve got to change plans. Sometimes helping a fellow soldier out is worth modifying your own personal goals. Sometimes you have to look at the bigger picture. And sometimes changing the path leads to far better outcomes than you could have expected.

The day I took off because of potential headwinds, I could have probably soldiered onward, but I didn’t. And because I didn’t I was able to make pictures of one of our dear fellow riders who came down with Covid at the Cow Palace. And because I didn’t, I was able to discover that our hotel reservation in Soledad was fubar’d beyond recognition and make other plans for us and several other riders who would’ve ridden into King City after 109 miles only to find they had no place to stay. Divine providence! It was the most amazing day off a bike for reasons I could not possibly have planned for.

Shit happens. This last week I ended up following a different path by getting involved in a show that — trust me — REALLY needed some help, in many ways I was specifically capable of providing. I got to work with some really great people and helped get us through a really bad situation. I got to help out a good friend — a brilliant writer, talented director, and an indefatiguable producer — and we have forged a partnership in a way I hope will take us forward into many (more sane) productions to come. It was  fantastic (and harrowing) to be back on stage, designing and running lights, working with a crew, taking a bare chaotic stage and helping to fashion it into an experience that will delight an audience. We ran last weekend to four very delighted audiences; it was a mess in many ways, but art happened. We created something as a team, and I was fine with missing one training ride to help run lights and see the show through.

AND … Scott is my team as well. I let him down. And it’s very difficult to have a fight with a friend that has been such a part of my life for so many years.

Will this theatre thing cause me to let him down on the Ride?  I don’t expect it will, but it could. He could be right. I could have failed him and disrespected the unbelievable amount of time, energy, money, and thought power he’s put into helping me along this year. That’d be terrible. And we’ll see. I know I’ll pour my heart into supporting him and Team Tandem with the goal of riding every fucking mile.

We have many many things in common, Scott and I. Most of the time we get along so well I can’t even believe it. But we are different people. We approach life and challenge in some fundamentally different ways. It goes back to the cultures that nurtured us a cyclists. Whereas he has been tempered by his life as a solo randoneur, pitting himself against the elements and other constraints, I see ALC as a celebration of a community, formed specifically to help other people.

I would love to ride EFI — and I strongly hope this will be the year I do it — but self challenge and endurance is not 100% of what this ride is all about for me. It’s about that but it’s also about how to deal with changing situations, about getting so deep into something that you learn fundamental truths. In many ways, this disharmony between us has given us one of the first big truths and (hopefully) wisdom about what we’re doing here.