TD 2010 Entry #2: Grand Depart

June 11th, 2010, 6 AM.  The alarm on my Freestyle watch chimed needlessly.  I’d been awake for an hour, lying next to my slumbering wife, eyes staring at a ceiling that could have been the sky on Mars for all I knew.  I saw nothing.  My mind was living in a world three hours in the future.  A bevy of emotions belied my immobile body as my conscience meandered around in this future world, where men and women like me, of apparent unsound mind and questionable priorities, chewed up gorgeous, vertical mileage with their twenty nine inch wheels while fully stuffed gear bags swayed to and fro.  It was a dream world I had visited a million times over the previous two years, but the dream was much more vivid today.  I had met the characters of that dream in the flesh the night before.  I had ridden some of the mileage of that dream in the previous few days.  I’d gawked at real mountain scenery that evoked a primal desire to never leave.  As such, this morning’s vision was much more than the same hazy promise of dreams past.  This morning, the dream was real.  This morning, the Tour Divide would begin, and I would be in its midst.

Adrenaline-laced excitement and fear of the unknown waged war with one another for sole possession of my psyche as I contemplated the unimaginable task I was to begin that day.  I could not decide what to do.  My brain was whirring with incoherent abstraction.  A decision as simple as whether or not to get out of bed was strangely paralyzing.  I could not follow any single train of thought all the way to its conclusion, as simple as it should have been.  And thus, I lay there until Amy woke up half an hour later and spoke to me, jarring me out of my trance. 

Once again an inhabitant of this world, I eventually made my way through all of the actions required of me that morning.  Dressing, eating, last minute gear checking…I found myself taking deep breaths to relieve the anxiety that I wished would just go away.  Soon, perhaps sooner than I would have liked, it was time to make my way to the gathering of riders at the YWCA.

Since Amy had no means of transport other than her own two feet, I walked my bike alongside her to the YWCA.  As we approached, I saw that most of the riders were already there, and as I walked up, I was a bit dazzled by the explosion of color that they were.  I mentally likened the motley assortment of rain jackets, gear bags, helmets, and bike frames to a rainbow with 96 fat tires.  Everyone milled about, talking, laughing, smiling…they certainly seemed more at ease with what was about to transpire than I did.  I was becoming more and more nervous.  I tried calming myself…I reminded myself how hard I had trained, how meticulous I’d been, how calculated my decisions were.  I knew I had little to worry about, but irrational fears were dominating my psyche.

Chatting with Jon Billman and a few other riders temporarily suspended my nerves, but inside, the anxiety continued to build.  My breathing became a little more rapid…it was almost time to depart.  Random thoughts began shooting through my brain, rapid-fire style, leaving me incapable of considering one thought for more than a split second.  I could feel my eyes darting around nervously.  I caught sight of “Crazy Larry” walking around video interviewing people.  Matt Lee was helping someone with their SPOT messenger.  I saw Jeff Kerby’s face paint and wondered, only for a nanosecond, if what I was seeing was real.   

“Calm down,” Amy urged, and I just tried to focus on her.  It was a massive comfort to have her there with me, and now, with the Grand Depart only minutes away, the thought of being “out there,” away from her, for 3 or 4 weeks in the wilds….it hit me.  It hit me hard.  I broke down and let the tears flow into her hair, and wondered if I would even be able to get into the saddle.

Somehow, the race started.  Being in somewhat of a haze at the time, I don’t actually recall how we knew to roll out.  I assume Matt Lee had given the signal, and guys began whizzing by me as I looked at Amy one last time and slowly mounted up.  It was the most reluctant, and yet most exciting clip-in I’d ever experienced.  My face still wet with tears, I turned the pedals and thrust myself headlong into the most unlikely adventure of my life.

The Grand Depart was underway, and 47 riders paraded behind Matt Lee through southern streets of Banff towards the GDMBR trailhead.  This short ride was an early indicator of who was gunning for an immediate lead and who was content to hang back, as some riders jetted towards the front of the pack with a purpose.  I took a good look at them, knowing I’d probably never see them again. 

We meandered through the streets a bit, looping around at one point to ride by a roaring waterfall, and soon came upon The Climb.  I call it The Climb with capital letters because 1) it was very steep 2) I had no idea it was coming, and 3) it forced me to blow my wad to keep pace.  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I thought to myself as I churned the cranks.  Minutes before the race would actually start, and before we had sufficiently warmed up, I had to expend a ton of energy climbing the steepest road I’d ever ridden.    I was in full granny gear and looking for a 0 and even a -1 on my shifter.  This is what we flatlanders called a “walker,” but I’d be damned if I was about the get out of my saddle.  On the plus side, my nerves settled, if only, temporarily, because I had a clear focus. 

That would not last.  Finally cresting The Climb, I continued to the trailhead, huffing and puffing, and I was thankful to see that I was not the only one feeling a tad brutalized.  My nerves returned though, and as I rode into the small cheering throng of fans at the GDMBR northern terminus, I had difficulty resetting my odometer.  I stopped, trying to make my fingertips push the buttons, but for whatever reason it wasn’t happening.  Riders flew by me as I fiddled with it, and my anxiety increased.  “I’m having a gear failure at the fucking trailhead….fucking wonderful.”  Not wanting to mess with it any longer, I said screw it…I would just mentally subtract a few miles from my odometer when I referenced it until I got to point where I could investigate further. 

With that, I clipped back in, and I nervously entered the trail.  My Tour Divide had begun.

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