November 17, 2002 -- I had been kicking the idea around of buying a road bike for a couple months. My wife, Marissa, has been a member of BCI for a couple years, and I was starting to miss her pretty face on weekend mornings when she was off on one ride or another. After doing a bit of research, I found decent bike on sale at Supergo and took it home…where it sat in the garage for a week. You have to realize, I hadn’t been on a bike in over 30 years (wow … has it really been that long ?), and I was a wee bit apprehensive. After another trip to Supergo to buy the obligatory accessories (shorts, jersey, computer, shoes, etc.), I was finally ready to hit the roads.

My first bike ride since the Nixon administration was on a Saturday morning. I spent about 20 minutes or so riding around my condo complex parking lot, just getting used to the gears and pedal cages (clip-ins were WAY too scary at this point), not to mention the seat. Who’s bright idea was that, anyway? It felt a lot softer in the store. I headed out of the parking lot and to the Santa Ana River bike trail, about a quarter mile away. I decided that dealing with traffic was a lesson best left for another day, and after all it was a BIKE trail. I rode about five miles or so (actually got up to 23 MPH) took a quick break and turned around … into a nasty headwind.
No wonder I felt go good going out. Oh well, it was only 5 miles. I pulled up to the condo, with Tour de France visions dancing in my head … and promptly fell over. Is this how Lance and Greg started? No harm no foul … I laughed it off and went inside to brag to my wife. She had already done about 45 miles that day. Not impressed.

The next day, I met a couple running buddies in Irvine for a “leisurely” ride to Newport Beach and back. I managed to hang with them through Back Bay and into Corona del Mar for a coffee break. I then noticed they were whispering and pointing in my direction. When I asked what was up, they said, “We’re going down PCH for a bit”. No problem … I was feeling confident at this point. After a couple miles, I saw what they found was so amusing earlier … the left turn on to Newport Coast. I managed to make it all the way up without walking and discovered what a “granny” gear was. When I got home to do my usual bragging, I found out Marissa had signed us both up to do the Death Valley Century. A quick peek at the calendar revealed it was only 5 weeks away.

“Don’t you think that a bit ambitious?” I asked. “I’ve only been riding since yesterday.”
“Don’t worry. It’s an out and back course. You can turn around any time you feel like.”

The next few weekends went by pretty fast. I got introduced to BCI in mid-October and managed not to embarrass myself too much … with the possible exception of the first time I tried out the clip-in pedals. Falling over in the parking lot twice while trying to clip out should have given me a clue. I had adjusted my pedals way to tight to fit my new shoes. I finished the ride … but the last 15 miles or so was spent on top of my pedals, not clipped in at all for fear of losing it in traffic. After falling about half a dozen times and getting lost twice (by this time, the group was about 45 minutes ahead of me), I managed to catch up at the rest stop just as Marissa and a few others were leaving.

The weekend before the century left me feeling pretty confident. I rode my two longest rides to date, 41 on Saturday with BCI (Thanks Susan!), and 42 on Sunday with my running buddies with no mishaps. I was finally getting the hang of the pedals, my endurance was getting better (thanks to the Monday 90-minute spin class that my darling wife signed us up for), and my butt was slowly becoming one with the seat. Up until then, my plan was only to do 50 at Death Valley … but I was starting to think I could do the whole thing. We bought a bike rack for the car (our last big purchase) and made plans to drive down the day before with our friend Terry Thorrens, another BCI member and veteran tri-athlete.

The drive down was pleasant. We stopped in Shoshone for lunch, did some touristy shopping and had a pre-race burger at the only café in town. A passing wagon train (really!) made for a nice photo-op. The scenery was nothing short of spectacular during the descent into Death Valley. It was getting towards late afternoon and the colors of the surrounding hillsides and mountains were changing almost every second. We got a chuckle out of the “Sea Level” sign perched on a cliff high above Badwater. At 280 feet below sea level, it’s the lowest point in the Western Hemisphere. We cruised into the Furnace Creek Ranch around 4:30, checked in and headed over to the steakhouse for dinner. Marissa loves her filet the night before a long run (or ride);I opted for the salmon. I should have figured something was wrong when the waiter asked how would I like my salmon cooked. Surprised, I mumbled something about not wanting it raw. It came out tasting like a pencil eraser. Maybe there is something to this “carbo”-loading on steak the night before a race.

The day of the ride dawned clear and cold. I had some minor equipment glitches the night before, but they were easily solved by some duct tape