TD 2010 Entry #3: Unspoken Advice From a Turtle

Looking back on it now, the start of my Tour Divide did not go exactly as I’d pictured.  In my fantasies months before the race, I had pictured myself laughing, fist pumping, hootin’ and hollerin’.  In reality, I was a nervous mess.  As I entered the trailhead, I was fidgety and uncomfortable in my saddle, and formless worries were clouding my mind.  I saw Mike Dion, producer of Ride the Divide, kneeling down off to the side of the trail filming the start of the race, and I managed to produce a false fist pump for his camera.  

Over the next few hundred yards or so, I tried a slew of mental tactics to settle myself.  I focused on the beautiful scenery, which I’d been in awe of since I’d arrived, but my anxiety blurred it all up as if it was liquefying before my eyes.  I watched other riders out in front of me, but when I saw one of them lose a piece of gear off their rig, it sent a new batch of worries into my mind about my own setup.  I briefly fumbled with my mp3 player, thinking maybe some music would settle my nerves, but the rugged terrain would not allow me to operate the buttons, and then I frustrated myself trying to put the stupid thing back in my handlebar bag.  “Geez,” I told myself out loud, “you’re really battin’ a thousand there, Huston.”

By the by I caught up to Eric Bruntjen and the Mountain Turtle, Kent Petersen, whose leisurely conversation and easy pace were in stark contrast to my inner turmoil.  I managed to dribble out a few words, which probably sounded stupid to them, before we split, with Eric zooming quickly out of sight and Kent dropping behind me.

Since I was still on edge with no end in sight, I figured I’d try picking up my pace and letting the physical exertion take my mind off my unhelpful worrying.  The beginning of the GDMBR is upwards trending, rugged, and pretty damn steep in some places.  I started hammering down, telling my brain to shut up and ride harder.  However, the going seemed much tougher today than it had been on my pre-race rides on this same trail.  Maybe it was all mental, but today just seemed much more taxing.  After nailing it for a while and passing a few riders, a water bottle ejected itself off my rig and rolled off the side of the trail.  ”See!” my brain shouted triumphantly, “This is only the beginning!”  I turned around into traffic to retreive the unruly bottle, and while I was stopped, my overactive brain pounced on the lapse in exertion and assaulted me with every bit of nervous vexation it could muster.  In a matter of seconds I was a shambling mess again, involuntarily consumed by a thousand negative thoughts.  I wondered if I was just going to mentally suffer like this for the rest of the race.

And then, Kent Petersen rode by, as casual as a picnicker on Sunday.  He was whistling. 

I stopped fumbling.  I stood still.  I watched him drift up the trail as if he hadn’t a care in the world, until he crested a hill and disappeared.  As the sound of his whistling faded away, the world focused around me.  My anxiety melted.  My sanity returned, and my haze burned off.  Once again, the beauty of my surroundings became apparent, as if they had just reappeared from darkness.  A couple other riders leisurely rode past.  I found myself wondering just what in the heck I’ve been so nervous about.  I’m riding a bike.  I’m just riding a bike.

I smiled.  I clipped in.  I rode.  For the first time that day, I began enjoying the moment.  I began enjoying the race.  I was finally at ease.   Now my Tour Divide had begun.  Thanks Kent!

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