Anniversary Ride

Ever have one of those days, that when they end, just as you're falling asleep with eyes that are smiling even half closed you think:  "That was a really amazing day, If I were stuck in Groundhog Day the movie and had to live one day of my life, over and over again, ad infinitum and the choice of days were mine this would be that day, or if not The Day, then certainly in the top five I can remember." ?  July 9th, 2015 was that day, or one of them, at least for me.  Given that fact, it seems only right to document it (in order to relive the day later through photos and firsthand accounts) in greater detail than the slapdash FB post that serves as our version of an online journal via social media.  I didn't plan on blogging about it but since I haven't written anything for Jenn for our anniversary, this will have to suffice.

Tradition (now in its sixth year) holds that on our Anniversary we ride together, preferably somewhere new, always somewhere interesting. This year, with the tour of Utah Ultimate challenge looming on the horizon deciding this year's route was easy (and bonus, it had a purpose).  Some of the route Jenn has already ridden in the (now defunct) women's version of the Rockwell Relay so she knows that terrain,  but the climb out of Park City up Marsac Ave. to Empire Pass and then over Guardsman is new ground* for her and having done this before (and after 23 years I am aware of how Jenn's mind works when it comes to races) I know she will appreciate knowing what she's up against and how to prepare (mentally and physically) for it.  So we opt to re-con the Ultimate Challenge route**, most of it anyway, 110 miles and 10K of climb worth, to mark twenty three years of marriage.  You won't find a century bike ride through three counties, past four State Parks/recreation areas and over two mountain ranges in any listing of  traditional or non-traditional anniversary gifts, but neither one of us is complaining.  It's a gift that suits us both.

*except it turns out it's not, she ran this route in the Park City version of the Red Rock Relay, but, as she will find out, doing it on a bike is a different animal altogether

**everything except Little Cottonwood Canyon, cause you don't want to open all your 'presents' early, plus this is supposed to be a fun ride.  In the perverse way that we find this fun.

Screen shot of the proposed ride.  I want to say on the flat screen it looks benign,
but even in a faux 3-D topographical rendering it looks formidable

So Thursday morning ~7am we roll out.  We've dropped the boys at Jenn's sister's house (yes, on one of my top five days we are kid-free, don't judge, for all you know the other four are all about our kids... yeah, how would you know) so we don't have to worry about how and what they will do to entertain themselves, what they will eat or how they will keep out of trouble. The original plan was to start as close to dawn as we safely could without wearing helmet lights.  Two weeks of 100+ degree weather will make you reluctant to ride much past 10am, and this ride is going to take the better part of the day, even if we are hustling, which, since it's not race day, is not our plan. Fortune smiles on us however (it's like Mother Nature wanted this to be a Groundhog Day candidate and was doing all she could to help) and the high temps for the day aren't expected to be above 75 (mid July, crazy).  I actually bring along arm warmers and debate a windbreaker because if it's that cool in the valley it's bound to be quite chilly at 10 thousand feet.  It's in the fifties when we finally get under way and I wear the arm warmers for the first hour of our ride.

Arm warmers?  Check.  Time to strap on your shoes and go dancing.

0715 mile 0 Old Mill Golf Course Park and Ride (and that's exactly what's on the agenda)

0815 mile 17 top of Little Mountain/Emigration Canyon I snap a few photos and notice I have a FB message from my friend Josh.  He's the guy that sold me the Ridley that I still adore and which constitutes the closest thing I have to an extramarital emotional attachment.  Josh is a bike guy.  He works in the industry, knows and or is connected to anybody and everybody who works in the industry locally.  He might not be The bike guy, but he's our bike guy.  So when he messages you out of the blue, it's generally going to involve a deal that's too good to pass on (or he wouldn't bother you).  Jenn's been talking about an upgrade for her faithful 6/13 for a while now but I guess I didn't think she was serious because when I read her Josh's message it's with a chuckle "that silly Josh, we're not buying a bike today or any time soon"

Hey I have a great deal on a really nice bike for Jenn if you are interested. It's a 2014 cannondale Team Synapse SRAM Red. Super clean.

Let me know if you want to look at it

I share the text with her only because she asks what I'm doing.  Jenn tells me to get more details, mainly the cosmetic ones because, like eating gourmet food, you ride a bike first with your eyes.  If it doesn't appeal to that first sense you're unlikely to let it have a shot at the other four, despite the fact that this is Josh and he doesn't deal in anything but top (top) end equipment.  It may or may not pass the curb appeal test but unless you are under contract to ride professionally, it will definitely be an enviable machine, no matter what your current mount is. We're running a little behind schedule (that and I don't take Jenn's interest as anything more than polite inquiry) so rather than respond we hop on our bikes to drop down to Mountain Dell Reservoir (Jenn's favourite part of the Big Mountain ride) and head to the first real climb of the day, the 5 miles and 2000 feet of Big Mountain that take you to the Salt Lake County line.

0900 mile 26 summit of Big Mtn (7600 feet) we reach the edge of Morgan County snap a few photos

and find a kindly older cyclist resting on the guardrail to shoot a few photos of both of us

Yep that's fog in the valley below.  It would be hard to draw up more
perfect conditions for a day-long bike ride

And then, almost as an after thought I shoot Josh a text:

You got a photo? Also, paying for your kids' education = overrated

Also-Also, what colour is it?

Back side of Big Mountain/Morgan County, uncharted territory for us but beautiful.  We'll have to do it again... and I guess we will in less than a month. 

Apparently he didn't get the fourth off and now he's taking it out on our bike ride
Thanks sheepdog.  I thought you guys couldn't get enough of chasing the flock. 

0945 mile 35 East Canyon Reservoir and State Recreation area.  We encounter a good sized flock of sheep and a sheep dog who is having a moment to which every parent of teen-agers can relate.  I sympathize completely but pedal carefully.  I've had run-ins with wild life on my bike.  Assuming the fauna in question weighs more than fifty pounds the exchange generally ends worse for the cyclist than the creature on four legs.  

With serious climbs like Big Mtn, Empire and Guardsman passes in front of you it's easy to dismiss the minor bumps that show up on the elevation map.  This 1.5 miles of double digit grade hill is just such a climb.  Looks even steeper and more menacing from the seat of your bike. 

It rhymes with Jennifer

1015 Mile 45 we make it to Henefer in exactly three hours. Ultimate Challenge Day (ideally) we will be here by 9 am, before the heat becomes a factor at all.  Our pockets are still full of food (energy bars, chews, gus and baked potatoes, so food of a sort) but our water bottles are running low.  The plan is to hit a gas station/food mart in Henefer, get some chocolate milk and maybe some Gatorade and have a snack, but we take the wrong turn out of Henefer (away from the business district, if indeed there was one) and soon we are well on our way to our second Lake/State Park.

Echo Lake, still smiling cuz perfect bike ride so far.

More Echo Lake.  Are those clouds?  Probably nothing to worry about.

1100 mile 55 we arrive in Coalville just as our water bottles run dry.  We've covered half the distance and more than a third of the climb in just under four hours.  Time for a break.

Chocolate milk, olive oil roasted potatoes with salt and parmesan, 
pancake sandwiches with almond butter and jam
and gatorade.
You could ride across the country on that (and it feels like we almost did).

We find a convenience store with outdoor patio furniture for retirees (of which we met more than a few in our brief visit to Coalville) and as I scroll though our photos I notice Josh has responded to my text.  I forgot we were pretending to be in the market for a new bike.

I will get one for you

The bikes get a rest in the shade.
Jenn's (first) Cannondale is blissfully unaware that it is about to be
 given emeritus status 

I would say "who even wears them?" but I've only spent 15 minutes here
and I've already received my answer... several times

There's only one way in and one way out of Coalville, but that doesn't mean that either of them is the right way, so Jenn checks google maps and gets us pointed in the right direction.

After Coalville we roll through Hoytsville and take a detour (literally) that seems like the right way but turns out to be an interesting and bucolic (ok, more bucolic) side trip.  We stop roadside, Jenn checks the smart map on her smart phone and we're back on course, if not on schedule, which we have no schedule other than the gathering clouds of which weatherunderground  tells us are 50% likely to be full of rain and thunder (and 50% not) pretty much starting at 2pm.  So we hustle down the road to Wanship and head east.

1300 mile 70, Rockport Lake and State Park, wind is kicking up (the first thing even remotely resembling inclement conditions so far) but we tuck into the drops and power on.

1335 mile 75 Brown's Canyon Road.  It's a five mile double dip climb that is easy compared to others we have and will encounter.  It's on this hill that I think of how much lighter the Ridley (there's a reason the model name is Helium) is than the 6/13.  It's not the reason Jenn is dropping back on the hills (I've told her about the nightmare that awaits us after Park City and she is wisely conserving) but it certainly doesn't help.  I love, love this bike.  Jenn loves her bike too, but is it possible there's room in her heart (and our garage) for another?  I mull it over in my mind not because I seriously think it will happen but because you have to do what you can to keep your brain engaged when you're in the sixth hour of your ride.

1345 mile 80 Summit County, just outside Park City clouds are gathering and the higher we climb the more serious they look.

We roll into downtown Park City about the time weatherunderground said we may or may not be getting wet.  We stop at a Maverick, eat the rest of the food in our jersey pockets and I check the route map to make sure we don't climb the wrong street.  Every road in Park City is steep and we've already done 6500 feet of climbing, no need (and no energy) to ride up a dead end road.  That's when I see that Josh has dutifully tracked down some photos of Jenn's suitor.  

I show her the picture and she makes the sound you make when you see a puppy, only minus the tenderness and with a bit of lust... OK there was no puppy, it was all wanton desire. This bike spoke directly to Jenn's id.  If she was still resisting the idea, that resistance was token at best.  I didn't have time to consider the wisdom (or lack thereof) in showing Jenn that text from Josh, we had other things to worry about, mainly the darkening skies, the not-so-distant thunder and the nine (mostly vertical and mostly 10-15% grade) miles between us and Guardsman pass.  We get back on our bikes and get to it.

We've been praying that the rain would wait and mostly it did.  Marsac avenue was steep, wet and windswept but it could have been much worse.  The road goes for about 2 miles at 10% grade then pitches to 12% just before the Deer Valley/Empire pass junction.  After that things are manageable (there's even a brief descent) for a mile then the real misery begins.  Two miles of 12-15% grade. It's road so steep you can't bear to look at it so you just look at your cranks and tell your feet to keep turning them, your lungs to breathe regularly and your heart not to seize in your chest, and it all works even though at the time it feels like it can't, not for one more minute. 

The bridge tells you you're almost there, just 50 agonizing meters to the switchback.  An 8% grade has never felt so inviting as now.

1440 mile 90 Top of Empire Pass 9000 feet.  Jenn just climbed one of the worst stretches of bike-able pavement in the state and cleaned it (without weaving) and that after 90 miles and 7000 feet of climbing on the odometer.  It is strong work and impressive.  It's also very cold and very windy.  Glad we brought the arm warmers.

1520 mile 92 Guardsman pass 9800 feet. All our climbing (Ten thousand feet worth) is done.  Time to raise the bike in triumph only the wind (of which there is not a little) won't cooperate.  It's all down hill from here.  Jenn gets on her bike and goes all Canadian Bodsled team power tuck on me.  Watching Jenn descend is oddly gratifying.  As her husband I know I'm supposed to feel envious, maybe even threatened but I don't, far from it. Jenn is never more in harmony with her bike than when she is going downhill fast.  If the 6/13 is making an argument against being replaced this textbook descent is a strong one.  I pull myself from the revery and decide I'm ready for the ride to be done.  We've been going at it now for more than eight hours.  I make Jenn and her rapidly disappearing bike my carrot and I get serious about getting speedy but no matter how small and aero I make myself on my bike, how late and light I get on the brakes in the turns or how much I pedal when the BCC descent flattens I can't quite catch her.  She stays in my sights but just out of reach and would have surely beaten me to the bottom were it not for construction that held her up.  We finish the last two flattish miles of the canyon together, pedaling into violently gusting winds that push us all over the road.  Glad they waited till the last five minutes of our ride to make an appearance. 

1600 Mile 110 No matter how much you love riding your bike, few things feel as good as removing your cycling shoes after a long, hard ride.  

1800 4500 calories.  Not on our plate but burned on our ride today.  The best thing about riding that far, that long and burning that many calories is finding rewarding ways to replace them.  We opt for our favourite Thai place, Mekong Cafe.  Chances are we would have wound up here on our anniversary date regardless.  It's just nice to not feel conflicted about how much we are eating and would have eaten even if we hadn't spent the entire day sweating for our supper.  It's while we are waiting for our food that we talk seriously about the lime green elephant (greyhound would be a more apt metaphor) that Josh stuck on my phone.  Jenn tells me she was planning on getting a new bike by next season anyway and though Josh generally has a deal lined up on a monthly if not weekly basis, I know him and he wouldn't be pitching this bike to Jenn if he didn't know it would be perfect.  Josh sends me one last text telling me he's bringing the bike to Thad's so Jenn can test ride it.  And of course so Thad can tells us we'd be fools not to buy it.  So we go and unlike the 6/13 which has always been 1/2 a bike size too large for Jenn, the Synapse suits her down to her shoes. Even the seat post is set perfectly when she gets on it, cause that's the way Josh rolls.  The bike itself is art on wheels and Jenn is past infatuation and has move on to smitten heading  on a crash course for completely whipped.  

It wasn't the way I had planned for our day to end and it certainly wasn't what I planned for an anniversary gift.  But this is much, much better and honestly the only way to improve upon what has already been a day I would look back on fondly for a long time.  We've reached a new level now.  Almost Groundhog Day worthy.  Only way to top it would be to make out on the couch like teenagers while eating the perfect boysenberry pie and catching up on stages of the Tour de France that we've missed.  Which is exactly what we do.

As the day ends I ask Jenn how did we get so lucky.  How did we end up together, perfect for each other.  And (because according to our oldest daughter Jenn is enlightened while I'm a romantic) she responds.  It's not lucky, it's a lot of work.  I know what she's saying. We've earned this happiness and it hasn't come easy.  At times it was like climbing Marsac Avenue when all you could do is grit your teeth and try to maintain forward momentum but on nights like tonight (and so many other fortunate nights past and to come) it feels as natural and easy as reaching over and stroking Jenn's hair before we turn out the light.  

So  thank you Jennifer for 23 years.  You are a part of every one of my top five days that I would gladly live over and over again

Happy anniversary.

xome

Epilogue

Unlike Relays from years past we arrive at the finish line in time to go shower up before the awards ceremony.  No we won't be making any appearances on the podium but we have a history of great performances in the post-race raffle.  One year I won a T-shirt and a bike based baby carrier that allows you to use your child (along with your helmet) to prevent head injuries from front end collisions on a bike.  Too bad Jennifer and I are out of the baby-business. Maybe use it on the grandkids? 

The I-bert bike carrier:
Really questionable technology
or idea whose time has come? 

Another year I got bibs and two free entries into the Tour de St George.  Kim, in fact, is wearing a pair of shorts that Thad won at last year's raffle( the raffle doesn't know your gender or size, only that you're a winner), so given our history we want to be present.  Also we would like to know how the speedy teams, the riders we want to train ourselves into being and whose finish times we aspire to match, finished.  Unfortunately our best efforts on the road allow only for showering, not for napping.  Probably a good thing, at this point if we actually allow ourselves to slip into R.E.M. sleep we probably won't wake up until Sunday evening.  

  

Case in point, the winners of the Co-ed competitive category (team SBR-WBR aka Fat Cyclist) slept through the awards ceremony.  So we arrive at the park scrubbed but still sleepy and mill around with the other dazed riders and snack on the wraps and cupcakes that Rockwell has provided.  Jenn can't eat any of it, so instead she drapes herself on me, literally.  I feel like I'm wearing her as a mink stole.  She hasn't been this comfortable with public displays of physical contact since we were engaged and for briefest of moments I tell myself "she's seen my prowess on the bike and now can't get enough of me" until I realize that she has actually lost the ability to support her own weight.  If this post-race malaise were a medical condition I would call it 'Relay Rickets'.  It's fatigue on an elemental level, where your bones go bendy, but not at the joints.  I'm reminded of a science experiment I did in third grade that involved a chicken bone left in vinegar for three weeks.  The acid leached the calcium out of the bone giving it a rubber band-like consistency.  That is Jenn (and Thad) right now, they are Cyclists as rendered by Salvador Dali, melting into the St George Sunset.

Photo Bomb courtesy of Cort's wife.  Rockwell Relay staff have been awake
for the same amount of time the riders have, driving the route instead of biking it.
They are undoubtedly tired too, but caffeine can still have this effect on
them.  We, on the other hand, are past that point.

As predicted, we clean house in the door-prize portion of this event.  Let's call it leg thirteen of the race and we own it.  Kim gets a $200 gift certificate from Hyper Threads (all four of those teams, wearing their own apparel of course, finished in less than 28 hours) which should make Kim hyper-fast when she's wearing their kit.  Thad scores some blue tooth based ear buds for riding, I won an equipment bag and we all scored Gnarly* energy supplements and Gnarly* protein powders.  Not a bad haul at all.

*not an adjective but the product name.  Which, yeah gnarly is not a word I associate with something I put in my mouth, so probably a pass.

Sure the riders who finished fastest got a trophy shaped like a sprocket,
but really who are the real winners here?

The awards ceremony gives you a chance to track down riders you met and with whom you became (literally) fast friends as they shared in your season of suffering out on the road. Jenn spots the rider she dubbed 'the Green Machine' who is actually 50% of team Broken Spoke Bikes a pair of cyclists that split those 525 miles and 25 thousand feet of climb two ways.  I'm beyond impressed as I recall the look on Kim's face as she arrived in Hanksville, how broken I felt when I crawled onto the back seat of the truck in Torrey, how exhausted and relieved Thad looked when we came back to him with one last bottle.  How spent he and each of us looked and felt when our three shifts in the saddle finally came to an end.  I double all that 

The spokes may be broken but they are not.

suffering in my mind and go to shake their hands, slap them on the back and give them their well earned propers.  What they have accomplished is a first for the Relay.  It will likely inspire others to make the attempt, just as likely those individuals will be first-timer Rockwellers because I'm having a hard time believing that a rider knowing what's out there would come away thinking "that was great, but do you know what would be even better...?" Then again, these are avid cyclists and endurance athletes we are talking about, crazy feats of strength and suffering are kind of their thing, so maybe look for a new competitive category in 2016?  Just don't look for my name on that list, next year or any year. 

Teams, those that were slower than us (and that percentage went up quite a bit this year) continue to roll in as the awards ceremony progresses.  These teams (and At Dawn We Ride--At Sunset We Finish is among them) have been going at it for almost thirty six hours. I feel their pain, because I have been there, multiple times.  When I hear them call out At Dawn's' team name I go over to talk with them because I know they are first timers and I also know something of what they have experienced over the last day and a half and I'm curious what their opinions and thoughts are about the last thirty six hours of their life.  I ask what they think and would they do it again?  Rider #4, the one still straddling his bike and dripping sweat gives me the 'too soon, way too soon' look that I anticipated, two of the other four give me a frightened look, like I just threatened them as opposed to making a friendly inquiry but the fourth rider gives it some thought and then nods his head, slowly at first and then more emphatically and says "Yeah, yeah I'd do it again, but only with these guys." Pretty soon all four heads (including the one dripping sweat from under his helmet) are nodding in agreement and there is a chorus of "yep, but only with these guys".  Score one more Rockwell Relay team bond forged in the furnace of Utah's southern desert.  One can only guess at how much and how closely they trained prior to the event, but they've shared six months worth of cycling memories compressed into two days time.  And though it hardly compares to actual combat they've fought together in the proverbial trenches and have now probably seen each other at their best and worst, at their extremes of stress and fatigue, physical as well as psychological. It's an experience that will not soon be forgotten.  I'll be surprised if we don't see another At Dawn We Ride team in 2016, albeit a wiser, more seasoned, more prepared and yes faster version of the team that joined the Rockwell graduating class of 2015.

The award ceremony over, we head out for a well earned victory meal and like a hungry pride of lions we are interested in one thing and one thing only: meat.  We've given our muscles about eight hours worth of serious pounding and now our body craves protein above all else.  Kim suggests ribs and maybe steak.  Perfect.  We drive to the sports grille she recommended and as we are walking across the parking lot, Jenn, with the same slightly confused look on her face common to nearly every Rockwell participant we've seen in the last two hours, says "I'm freaking out, we're in St George, but I don't know how we got here. I mean... I... Know how I usually get here... but... how did we get here?"  The sotto voce quandary is just the last in a series of surreal moments that began about the time the sun dropped behind the horizon Friday night.  Each one of us hears what she is saying, all the words make sense but none of us can formulate a plausible answer, or if we can it will take too much effort.  In the restaurant we are handed menus that appear to be written in Hebrew and for some reason our server will only speak to us in Portuguese.  We are four well-educated, literate adults and between us we can't remember how to order food in a restaurant. Fortunately the encrypted menu has pictures and the pictures are of meat. Stacks and stacks of meat.  We point to a few, and the Portuguese waitress brings us food, which we consume, greedily and the world slowly begins to make sense again.  The rest of the evening passes in the same dream-like fog to which Jenn gave voice with her existential  'where am I and how did I get here' soliloquy.  At some point we must have gone to Nielsen's frozen custard and purchased two pint sized and one quart sized containers of custard, the flavours of which, how, when, and by whom they were consumed is still a matter of debate as the only evidence that it happened at all were the empties we found the next morning. 

Collectively we wake from our coma sometime mid-morning and head to the traditional Sunday brunch spot that Thad (a frequent visitor to SG) introduced us to several Relays ago.  It looks like a dive from the outside and like the Patio in Blanding, the cover of the book is a pretty good indicator of what you will see inside as well, but man the food is great.  If you're looking for a delicious omelette (no waiting) I don't know why you would go anywhere else. With ten straight hours of sleep under our belts we're able to semi-lucidly evaluate our performance and crunch the numbers.  The results are mixed.  On the one hand we logged the best finish time ever in five tries and not by just a few minutes either.  On the other hand, of the eight co-ed competitive teams that registered we finished sixth and only seven competitive co-ed teams actually posted an official time.  So kind of a feather in the cap/slap in the face sort of scenario.  Regardless of how we finished in the pecking order, we had a great time. I think Thad and I both were wondering what to expect.  The idea of riding it with our spouses was a bit of a lark, one I think we didn't anticipate actually happening. Rockwell Relay is generally a four day bro-out with a bike race as a backdrop (and our previous results have reflected that) but after last year's debacle we decided we'd had enough of that.  Riding with our wives would assure us of a team that would come fully prepared to ride but there was no guarantee that it would be entertaining or even the least bit fun.  We assumed it would but (as earlier and frequently stated) lots of things can happen in 500 miles of constant riding and many of them can be bad.  Bad with buddies you can leave on the road and go back to your life when it's done.  Bad with your wife goes home with you, sleeps next to you and is angry at you on the couch and at the dinner table.  The flip side to that is if it turns out well (which it did, and then some) it's about as good as it can get.  What we ended up experiencing was the ideal:  near perfect riding conditions, an unbelievably enjoyable ride with a team that worked well together, supported each other in suffering and laughed, lots (and lots and lots).  If there was one missing piece it was the fact that we didn't compete.  With the exception of one crew, every other similarly staffed team was done racing for more than an hour by the time we crossed the finish line.  Even over omelettes, without all the results available it was evident that there was room for improvement, things that could be done better, more efficient training, different leg assignments that might better match team member's strengths, more regimented nutrition, more focused workouts all with the aim of improving our performance.  But Thad and I are both still feeling a bit cagey, we've done this before and we know better than to make 'we'll get 'em next year' pledges while still firmly in the grips of the Relay hangover.  Better to reminisce about the ride, relive the high points, lament the missed opportunities and (before split times are posted and collated) congratulate ourselves on our strength in the saddle.  

It's somewhere in the midst of this discussion that Jenn throws out "You know, if you ever want to get on the podium you're going to need us."  Followed by a slightly uncomfortable silence.  It's likely a true statement.  As a men's competitive team we have never been closer than 8 hours from the eventual top contenders, as a co-ed crew we are less than two hours away, that would mean shaving 10-15 minutes per leg which seems imminently doable.  I can almost hear Thad mulling it over.  He's far from committing to anything but at the end of the day he's a competitor and a numbers guy and these numbers intrigue him. Whether or not Jenn knows this or intended to do so she has planted a seed in the most fertile part of Thad's race focused mind, the part that tracks watts and functional thresholds the way investment bankers track bond prices and prime interest rates.

Confusing pop art or cautionary tale?

It's about this time that I excuse myself to use the men's room and I reacquaint myself with Pugilistic Utah In a Santa Hat (oil on canvas)  I forget about this painting every year till we return to Jazzy's Java and Juice (and Rock and Roll Diner) and every year it troubles me because, what does it mean and perhaps more to the point is it possible I am just imagining it (it's so bizarre)?  Is it a visual hallucination brought on by Relay stress, like the Zombie-walkers on Boulder Mountain which were actually observed by dozens of race participants and quite real, the only question being why were they there? Similarly, why Angry-Fightin' (but still festive) Utah in the Jazzy Java water closet?  In light of the conversation I left at the table I see it in an entirely different context.   Granted, the only context I previously attributed to it was 'that's gotta be the best white elephant gift ever' but now it seems to carry a deeper meaning and message. If in a year I want to be back here completely satisfied with my Rockwell experience on every level (including competing for a podium spot) it's going to be a fight.  No hibernating for the winter.  Come the Holidays I'm going to have to pass on the egg nog, say 'no thanks' to the second helping of Christmas ham and when I do indulge in the season's culinary traditions I'm going to have to match that indulgence with an equal portion of firepower on the trainer and in the gym.  The Relay Race that bisects the state every June is a brawl, better put on your gloves and your game face and get to work, starting now.  

I return to the table to find Thad silent as sphinx but Kim and Jenn are already planning next year's race, critiquing their individual performances, mentally trimming their weight, increasing their leg and core strength, improving riding techniques, eating like an athlete, and plotting training regimens.  That talk continued as relaxed our weary muscles in the hot tub, while we packed for home and pretty much the entire drive north.  They may have only planned on nibbling at the Rockwell bait but ended getting deeply hooked.  They want more. I suppose neither Thad or myself should be surprised.  Whether or not there is a reprise of our performance remains to be seen.  One thing's for certain, no matter what happens:  The Honeymoon's Over*.

*next up: Tour of Utah Ultimate Challenge.  Saturday, August 8th.