Santa Cruz to King City (108 mi.)
"The Quadbuster"
For some reason I'm finding it very easy to draw on early childhood experiences to illustrate my feelings and experiences with Curtis' adventure on the AIDS LifeCycle. I guess that makes my adventure this week trying to figure out the reasons for that, so check in on Saturday as he crosses the finish line in Westwood, Los Angeles and as I cross the publish line for my last post of this series.
...
Remember that feeling on your first day of elementary school each year? How you aren't sure which you're more excited for: to show off your new clothes and the latest TrapperKeeper or to see who your teacher will be and who is in your class? It's a cocktail of excitement, nerves, hope of a fresh start, relief to see old friends, anticipation of upcoming challenges; sometimes served straight up, others on the rocks, some with a twist. Mom wakes you up, adrenaline gets you out of bed, enthusiasm carries you to school. Once you get there everything is shiny and new; classrooms smell like new carpet with a hint of fresh paint, the rulers and erasers on the desks are clean and unmarked, the name tags crisp and upright. And the excitement lasts through morning, and depending on your class, through the afternoon, until you realize the long 9month haul that awaits you. What's this? What's this quivering emptiness in my stomach? What's this mild strain in my heart? The weight suddenly on my shoulders? Dread. Dread that there are 9months of early mornings, homework, tests, bullies, conferences, report cards...
These first-day-of-school-jitters overwhelmed me upon waking up on Day Two of the ALC (though the dread hit much earlier when I realized that I had no new clothes to show off or new classmates to look forward to, and that reality was I had another long unfulfilled day at work ahead of me complete with dried out highlighters, malfunctioning printers, rapidly approaching deadlines). Before my feet even hit the floor, I glue my cell phone to my hip anxiously awaiting my morning text message that the second leg has begun. I fantasize about the ALC campsite pre departure: motivational speeches over a carbo-loaded high-protein breakfast with a side of adrenaline and a glass of anticipation, roaring cheers from warrior-like men and women with sweat already dripping from their snarling faces after an intense warm up of sprints, jousting and the caber toss; they rush the field to their stallions, screaming and chanting; a scene reminiscent of the final battle in "Braveheart". I think about the rest stops filled with pie and cookies and sugary snacks, served by plump women with silver hair and rosy cheeks, whistling show tunes as bubbles in the shape of music notes float through the air. I think about the campsite at the end of the day's ride with clouds for massage tables and a Viking's feast in a circus tent beside a bonfire crackling the tune of a jig... I crack a smile at my ridiculousness, swish the rainbows and butterflies from my mind's eye and continue on with my morning, when the nerves start to creep up my spine. Knowing he has a long day ahead of him a brief panic sets in, supplemented by an incessant worry. I hope it doesn't rain. Then the dread sets in. The dread that we still have 108mi. to go. And when I say "we", I mean that he has 108mi. to ride, and I have 108mi. to worry.
6:27am - "Omg this is so cold."
11:00am - "Just got to lunch. 50 more miles to go today. I'm keeping pace with two san deigo dudes."
1:00pm - "40 more miles to go."
2:22pm - "Mile 77."
3:48pm - "15 more to go".
4:50pm - "just made it to camp."
5:02pm - "I gotta shower and head to the medical tent. Don't worry, I just have a lot of aches."
5:43pm - "Ok! I gotta do some things so i'll call you when that's over!"
7:35pm - called to chat
9:06pm - "goodnight."
