The Bike is Back

My bike arrived today, all in one piece and looking very welcome! More and more athletes are arriving and it seems that they've all cycled past our hotel at least a dozen times. I was feeling really antsy, wanting to get out there too. While waiting, we drove the course today. It was really quite lovely, with nice-looking road surfaces (except for one stretch near the turn-around), and much more rolling and curving roads than I had expected (I wasn't looking forward to 112 miles of flat and straight). The biggest hill is a bridge over the bay, but hopefully my hill-trained legs will still serve me well on all that mostly flat ground.

I picked up my bike late in the afternoon, and got to take it out for a short spin down the first part of the course. I was passed just outside the hotel by two serious-looking dudes who obviously thought I was slow-enough looking to dart drastically around me into traffic. For the next dozen miles, they kept looking over their shoulders to find me (apparently disconcertingly) still there, just spinning along behind them (politely far enough back not to be drafting). Ah, I just love being underestimated. Sadly, they treated the motorists around them with equal disdain, riding side by side well into the lane and blocking up cars behind them. No wonder half the drivers want to run all lycra-clad two-wheelers off the road.

This morning was a nice two-mile ocean swim, with schools of fish surrounding me and dolphins just out to sea a little ways sending larger fish leaping out of the water into the air. The water is a gorgeous turquoise with incredibly white sands. Wish I had my camera cables, I'd share a photo or two. It's just heaven to swim out there. And I'd forgotten how buoyant salt water is, it makes swimming almost effortless!

Tomorrow, Ironman Village opens. Whee!

Dispatch From Florida

After grueling day of transit yesterday on Bankrupt Airline (read: no food service other than "snacks", ancient seats that kill your back), I was more than ready to take a swim this morning. It's beautiful here and we're right on the beach. The ocean had more than a few wetsuit-clad swimmers churning along this morning. It was a bit colder than I thought it would be, especially when you get out past the shallows, and I think I'll be wishing for a full wetsuit instead of a farmer john style. But the water is really beautiful and it felt great to swim out there.

I have to admit, I get major butterflies every time I think about Saturday morning and standing on the beach with all those people. Heck, I get butterflies every time I see the Ironman logo on the back of another shirt (apparently, it's mandatory that if you've done an Ironman before, you buy enough Iron-logo'd apparel to wear for the whole Ironman week. It's only Monday, but the Iron-logos are walking around everywhere already.)

Tomorrow I'll hopefully get to pick up my bike and check out the rest of the course.

I Have a Number!

For those of you who have said you'd look in on me at Ironmanlive.com on race day, I have my bib number: 2323. That feels like a good number to me (though I am not normally a superstitious type), another good omen.

I went and had my last back-cracking yesterday (oh do I wish I could pack my chiropractor in my suitcase!) and a good massage, and slept so wonderfully last night as a result. I also had my fastest long-distance swim ever, doing the last 1,000 of my 4,000 in 14:20, for about a 1:26 pace. I am feeling good and ready, and we leave tomorrow morning! Now all I have to do is finish packing, ha. The list from the Ironman website of what I need to bring includes such items as "bike pajamas" (I wonder if I should also bring my bike a teddy bear in case he gets lonely in that transition area overnight), and reflective tape which is supposedly mandatory - great, one more thing I have to somehow find in all my spare time.

We're bringing a laptop along, so hopefully I will be able to update this blog while we're in Florida.

Bye Bye Bicycle

The UPS man came took my bike yesterday, the next time I see it will be in Florida! My sweet husband let me borrow his bike, which I actually used to use for a year after I wrecked my last one. Dang, it makes me appreciate my own bike so much. And it totally shows how much fit matters. I took his bike for a ride and it isn't quite fit to me, though he and I have about the same length legs, so I thought it would be fine. Now I'm sore everywhere, and my shins really hurt (a lesson in what not to do right before a big race!). I also really miss my Terry women's saddle with that lovely cut-out in the middle. Really, really miss it. 'Nuff said.

It's also suddenly gotten cold here (finally, though we've had a really lovely warm October so far), and biking means completely bundling up with leg warmers, arm warmers, ear warmers, full gloves, the whole mummy deal. It will feel so great to be back on my own bike, in the warmth with just some shorts and a short-sleeved jersey. I can't wait!

Good Omens

When our daughter was about two, she used to call almonds "omens". I would always ask her "are these good omens or bad omens?"

"Good omens, mommy," she would say with the utmost toddler seriousness, my humor flying over her head.

Today, the first week of my taper, I had a handful of good "omens" before setting out for a semi-long bike ride of 4 hours, with a half-hour run as a follow-up. The weather was stunning: Oregon autumn beauty at its finest. Vine maples and oaks turning brilliant red, and maples, walnuts, and alders turning gold, set against a blue sky. I biked up through the broad Willamette valley, picking as flat a course as possible to mimic Florida. Into the teeth of a typical north wind, I was only doing about 16 mph, but when I turned around, I flew home at 20 - 25.

All along my route, people kept giving me thumbs-up. Truck drivers, farmers, field workers, moms in minivans. It was as if I had a big sign saying "almost at the Ironman, cheer me on!" I'll take that as a good omen, and maybe when I'm out there slogging away in the Florida wind, I'll remember all those cheery Oregonians wishing me well.

Peaking

So this is it. I've peaked, I'm in the home stretch, in the taper, heading toward the starting line. I've done my last long bike, last long run, it's all downhill from here (well, until race day, that is). It hit me today when I was thinking about all of this that this is probably the peak of my life's fitness as well. I will never be as fit again as I will be in when I walk to the beach on Ironman day.

Sure, I trained for the Ironman once before, even had my entry number and hotel reservation. But that was when I was 25, young and impatient and too driven for my own good. By this time, three weeks before race day, I was a wreck. Overstressed, underslept, having been through a bout of shin splints, and suffering from ulcers and severe anemia, my doctor actually threatened to take a baseball bat to my bicycle if I dared to head off to the Ironman. So my race number has sat in the bottom of a drawer all these years, mute testimony to the fallacies of blind ambition, and a challenge to me to find a smarter way to train.

So at 25, I was not nearly as healthy, fit, and strong as I stand today at 40, mom of two (though I looked a damn sight better in a bikini back then). This, then, is it. The zenith of my power in this human body. A resting heartrate of 48, and more strength and endurance than I've ever experienced. I'm not planning on training for the Ironman next year, or the year after, or the year after that. It's too much of a time and resource drain on my family. Though I have thoroughly enjoyed the journey, it's not something I could put them through on a regular basis. I may revisit the Ironman again, perhaps at age 45 or 50, but the aging process will take its toll on me between now and then. Perhaps not much, but it will be there. I'll be a little stiffer, a little slower to recover, my muscle mass will be a little less, my endurance slightly reduced.

Yes, today I stand on the peak, and it is both exhilarating and slightly scary. But it's a damn fine view.

Why Ironman Blogs Always Stop About Now

Who has time to write? In the last week of peak training before my taper, I'm trying to get double workouts in every day. With the kids' homeschooling schedules, this gets mighty challenging. Up in the morning, go to Karate with the kids, son goes to friend's house, daughter goes to soccer. Bring bike along. Bike 1:15 while daughter is in soccer. Pick up kids, eat early dinner. Take kids to robotics team meeting on the tandem bike. Ride home by myself, ride my own bike down to work (coaching swimming). After swimming, get in 4,500 yards. Bike home. Collapse. Get up tomorrow. Do it all again.

Is it any wonder that most Ironman bloggers just stop posting right about now?

The Flesh Is Strong But the Stomach is Weak

I feel like I'm in tip-top form, all the muscles firing nicely. I can ride six hours, start running, and my legs hardly feel fatigued at all. I can picture myself making it through the Ironman without actually sitting down in the middle of the road and crying now.

There's only one major weakness that I'm worried about. My stomach. I guess I didn't encounter this particular bugaboo when I trained for the marathon and half-Ironman, because they don't last this long. Somewhere about 5 1/2 hours, my stomach just up and quits functioning, folds up shop, throws in the towel. I'm worried. I don't really want to crawl across the finish line, heaving my guts up. And I definitely don't want to DNF because my alimentary system is in shut-down mode.

So this week's long ride, in addition to being a gear check, will be to try a new policy: no solid food on the bike whatsoever, and I'm going to try taking a Dramamine before heading out. After reading about IM Florida seasickness issues on the BBS, I was going to try that out anyways. I'm notoriously green around the gills in the slightest oceangoing vessel (odd for someone who has flown in aerobatic airplanes without a hitch, but there you have it). So we'll see if the dramamine has the added benefit of quieting the queasies.

I Eat. I Sleep. I Train.

Well, yeah, I also homeschool, shuttle my kids around to various activies, attempt to cook meals and keep the house clean (it's much harder to cook when you're always hungry, however) and keep a few minutes a day to connect with my hubby, but all extraneous activities have gone by the wayside. Forget renting movies because I fall asleep before watching them. Books? Haven't cracked one in a month or more (and that's an anomaly for me). Internet use is down to a few minutes here and there. I am loving this whole Ironman process, but I'm realizing that it's a sport for people who don't want to do anything else, and that's just not me. So while it is fun right now, and I can't wait for race day, I also can't wait for the day when my six year old doesn't have to say "Mom, you're going biking again???" as I head out the door, and I don't have to squeeze in a run while the kids are in their robotics team meeting, I can just hang out with them again and enjoy. And maybe pick up a novel or two...

The "Day Off" aka God I Must Love This Dog

Like every good athlete who doesn't want her joints and ligaments to tear themselves to shreds, I take at least one day off every week so that my muscles and stuff can recuperate. This week, a friend and I took our kids hiking to one of our favorite lakes, and as I have on every hike before, I brought my wonderful and faithful dog, Sabre. Except that Sabre is no spring chicken anymore, he's 13 1/2 years old, which in big dog years is very very old. About 95 I guess in people years. Although last year, he hiked with us just fine, now he can hobble about 1/2 mile down the trail and then he's just done.

So I did what any dog-loving nut would do, I decided to bring my Burley stroller, and when the old pup pooped out, I thought, I'd just push him along. That was the plan anyway. As it turned out, I took a slightly different trail than the one we usually take, because it looked flatter and less rocky. Which it was, except that it was also about a mile and a half longer! And while I was busy going on this trail, my friend and the kids backtracked to take our usual route. Except that they got lost and when I got to the peninsula where the kids like to play, they weren't there. Which meant that I more or less sprinted back to the parking lot, insanely pushing my dog over roots and rocks in the stroller. At 6000+ feet of elevation! And when they weren't at the parking lot, I pushed him back. Finally, we met up at the appointed spot.

Yep, my day off. Pushing a dog in a stroller for 5 miles on a bumpy trail at over a mile of elevation. Phew. Now I'm really ready for a day off! I might be tired, but they just don't make dogs better than this one.

Things I Didn't Need to Know (But Am Glad I Do)

Who knew that they made organic toaster pastries?? These things are awesome for long bike rides. Organic whole grain flour and organic real fruit filling, but they taste like those yummy Pop-Tarts of youth gone by. Now that's nirvana!

One Hundred Miles Down Memory Lane

My longest bike ride in over a decade was yesterday - 100 miles! About thirty miles of it was on this gorgeous bike path that skirts a lake, one of the many Rails to Trails conversions that have turned old, unused railroad lines into wonderful paths for biking and walking. As I was riding along, enjoying the amazing vistas out over the lake to the mountains beyond, I was struck by the fact that I had taken a train ride here on these tracks when I was a kid.

I thought back to that younger me, and pictured myself riding along in the railroad car, looking out at the scenery rolling past. That 11-year-old me in the train car was chubby, spectacularly uncoordinated, and the least likely person to become an athlete in my grade school class (I finished dead last in the 400 meter walk/run that year, if I remember correctly). I could not have predicted that almost 30 years later, I would be powering my bicycle along the path of those rail lines, mucles working smoothly together to travel over 100 miles under my own steam (don't you love how many of our cultural idioms still come from the time when the world was powered by steam?).

As a side note, several wonderful movies were filmed along this rail line, notably at the trestle that used to cross the river before it was dammed to form the reservoir that is now there. Here's an article about the filming of Buster Keaton's The General, in which a real steam locomotive was crashed off of the trestle (no CGI or special effects, they had only one take to do it in). The 1986 movie Stand By Me (rent this if you've never seen it, it's excellent) was filmed there as well. Here's one bridge that was in the movie, and here's a photo of it as a trail today. Emperor Of the North with Ernest Borginine was also filmed on this railroad line.

All of this proved a most welcome distraction from a pretty difficult ride. I think my legs are still recovering from last week's race, although I was able to ride two of the main big hills on my route staying seated, when just a few weeks ago I had to stand up to make it up and over. I love seeing all the incremental improvements that a body makes when it keeps adjusting to increased distances!

Who Knew??

I've been looking over my heart rate data for the race last weekend. Not having had a heart rate monitor ever before, I've never seen just exactly what a heart does in those kind of circumstances. Who knew that you could keep your heartrate about 160 for 2.5 hours!!! You'd think it would blow up or something. It's really pretty amazing. I know I'm supposed to be getting all technical about it, but I find myself using the monitor more like a fun toy. Hey look! My heart is beating! Amazing.

Ironman Stress Dream #2

I am taking my bike to the transition area (for some reason, it is race day morning) when I realize that I haven't put the pedals on yet. They're not in my race bag, nowhere to be found. So I go back and look in the car for them. The car is full to the roof with our camping gear, however. I am still frantically plowing through sleeping bags and flashlights when I wake up...

So Much For a "Practice Race"

I don't know how people do that "Practice Race" thing anyways. All the books and articles say that as you move toward your "A" race, you should do several practice races. Supposedly, you just "train through" these races and don't go as hard. I just don't seem to be able to do that. This does not bode well for the Ironman, I'm afraid. I need to figure out how not to let all the energy and excitement and all those swimming arms and zooming bikes go straight to my adrenaline glands.

On the bright side, I did the Black Hills Triathlon in Washington last weekend. It's one of my all-time favorite races, one of the oldest in the Northwest (this was the 27th year), and it's just a beautiful race. It's especially good for strong cyclists because it has a long bike relative to the swim and run (distances are 3/4 m. S, 30 m. bike, and 5 m. run.). It's also great for not-so-strong runners like me, because all of the run is on trails through the forest. The beautiful scenery is a terrific distraction, and all the ups and downs and rocks and roots means that those jackrabbit-fast runners can't get quite such a leg up on me.

Overall, I had a really strong race, placing first in my age division, and 3rd woman overall, with the 2nd fastest woman's bike time (remember I said I couldn't keep myself from over-amping and going fast!). I think I beat my old bike time by 4 or 5 minutes (I've been doing this race every couple of years for 16 years now). It rained the night before, and it was windy on the course, very similar to the omnipresent headwind that we often get in my area (all the valleys and hills make the winds swirl, so just when you think you'll be getting a tailwind, you don't!)

I had the worst swim I'd ever had in a triathlon though. One of the bouys was right in the sun, and by unfortunate coincidence, there was a swim area in the lake on the left, also with bouys. So I ended up headed toward the wrong bouy and found myself in the swim area. I heard several folks talking about this after the race, so I guess I'm not the only misguided swimmer to end up over there. But it blew my swim time, which is usually my strongest, and by the time I was out of the water, there were several women from my wave/age group out ahead of me.

The bike course ended up being my saving grace though, because with all the miles in for Ironman, I had strong bike race. By the time I neared the end, the course marshalls told me there were only two women ahead of me (from my wave and the waves in front of me). I managed to pass one of them in the run (a first for me! people are usually passing me on the run), and one woman from behind me passed me, leaving me still in 3rd at the end.

All in all, the strongest finish I've ever had on this course, and a good race. Just not a "practice race".

Ninety miles. Ninety degrees. Ninety hills

Well, maybe there wasn't really ninety hills, but it sure felt like it by the end!! I don't know how I managed to forget exactly how many hills were on those last few roads I took. I rode part of that route three years ago, surely the hills haven't grown since then?

Seriously though, it was a beautiful ride. It's a blessing to be able to ride here in this most lovely corner of the world. I started out rambling through some rolling hills in the foothills of the Cascades. All felt well, it was cool and breezy and the forest smelled refreshingly sweet with the morning dew. The first big hill, one I go up regularly, I just cruised up (usually I have to start standing and huffing and puffing halfway up). A good omen.

About 35 miles in, I turned away from the forest and headed west across the Willamette Valley. Into the wind. Of course. A few more hills along the way and then I was out into the flatlands of the valley. I took some new backroads, past fields of mint, head-high corn, and hay waiting to be baled. At about mile 45, there was a standoff with a great horned ram of some variety of extremely curly-haired sheep. I wish I had my camera (and some good Western showdown-at-main-street music for the background). Fortunately, as I had no intention of slowing down, he ambled off to the side of the road.

On the other side of the valley, it was starting to heat up. I called my support crew (aka husband and kids) and put them on standby to head out to meet me (I just love not always having to bike in loops or turn around and come back the way I went out). Now the hills started getting big again, and numerous. I was in the foothills of the Coast Range now, and I stair-stepped up and over one big one and then rolled down into Oregon wine country. If I had been a little less hot, I would've appreciated the scenery more. A few trees were dropping golden leaves around me as I wove around the hills, but there was scant shade out on the blacktop. My heartrate pushed over 150 and wouldn't drop back down, even on the flats.

Finally, at 89.5 miles, my crew rolled up in the minivan. I told them to park a half a mile down the road and I'd meet them. Then I ran for a mile or so, just to feel how wonderful the first mile of the Ironman will feel (ha ha). Actually, not too bad! That was encouraging after the heat and the hills.

I wound down the afternoon by hiking up a local peak with my hubby and the kids. A run the next morning revealed very little soreness and tiredness, so I'm thinking that I might actually be close to ready to do this Ironman thang after all.

Open Water Swimming: Tougher Than It Looks

I did my first open water swim competition yesterday, a US Masters event. The lake is about 30 miles from my house, so like a true Ironmom, I decided to get up early in the morning and bike up there in my tri suit to do the swim. Unfortunately, I didn't take into consideration the fact that the sun is rising later and later. It didn't get light enough to set off until almost 6:30, and the registration closed at 8:30. The lake is up in the hills a bit, so that gave me about 1:45 to make 30 mostly-uphill miles, with a climb up and over a local ridgeline to start off. I really had to hoof it to get up there in time, and I pretty much toasted my legs even before the swim.

I've never done an open water swim that wasn't at the start of a triathlon before, so this was all new to me. At first, it felt pretty much the same. I got in the water, scoped out which set of feet I wanted to follow, and we took off at the horn. I got a good draft for awhile behind a fast guy built like a tank, but he was zig-zagging too much and so I took off on my own. As I rounded the last buoy, with about 500 yards to go, that's when things got strange. As a triathlete, I'm used to cruising in to shore, trying to relax and warm up my legs for the bike, and stretching out my arms and back. But in an open water swim, things are different. People started speeding up, really speeding up. The realization slowly dawned on me. This it it! There's no bike or run coming up. I have to finish strong. I started to kick it in. Then that bike ride came back to bite me. I had no kick to kick in. A woman passed me, leaving me 3rd woman back. Then another passed me, leaving me in 4th. That was too much, so I tagged onto her toes and did the old Nascar slingshot maneuver at about 75 yards out, swam all the way up the ramp (as other people got up to run/slog through the water) and beat her out at the finish line. So I was 1st in my age group and 3rd woman overall, with no legs to speak of.

A couple of hours later, a memorial race was held for a local woman triathlete who was killed by a logging truck earlier this year. She had a terrific sense of humor, and was a super strong butterflyer, so they put on a 500 yard open water IM (medley of all the strokes) in her honor. I don't know about you, but swimming 125 fly in the pool is tough. Swimming it in open water, in the afternoon when the waves have started to kick up. Damn near impossible! After drinking half the lake, in the first 50, I started alternating one-arm fly so I could breathe to the side. Then, the backstroke was hilarious. We are all over the pond on that one, with people swimming breaststroke back from the second buoy weaving around the backstrokers. It's hard to laugh while swimming, you get water up your nose. All in all, a great time, and a great way to remember a friend and fellow triathlete.

80 Miles!!

That's my long bike ride for the week. 80 miles is a long ways to ride by yourself, I'm just saying. Fortunately, I always seem to find a person or two at the right pace somewhere out on the backroads. Last week's 67 miler, I ran into a guy training for Ironman Canada. This week, it was a couple who like to do centuries. So I get 30 or 40 miles of companionship at the least. I would schedule rides with some of my biking friends, but with my husband's sporadic schedule and my kids' commitments, I just squeeze my rides in when and where I can. Fortunately, I live in an area with lots and lots of backroads cyclists, so I frequently get to bike with some very nice strangers.

When God Tells You to Go Home

Oh yeah, it was one of those days. One of those runs. The kind where God himself (herself?) tells you to just Go Home. Well, I didn't hear the big thundering voice or anything, but it couldn't have been more obvious. I started out on my long run yesterday. At about 4 miles in, a hornet hit my face and somehow got trapped under the brim of my running hat. As I did the Crazy Hat Dance trying to get the thing off, it stung me several times above my right eye. Now I'm always out and about in nature, so I get stung a few times a year and have not had any bad reactions to bee stings. So I didn't think much about it other than "Damn, this hurts like hell!" and I kept running. Maybe I shouldn't have cursed. Maybe I could've avoided what came next...

At about 12 miles in, a woman with one of those little punter dogs on the 89 foot extendo-leash lets it run right in front of my feet. I swerve left to avoid it, run off the path and straight through a stand of waist-high nettles. Did you hear me screaming in your town? I wouldn't be surprised. Wow. The Pain.

Surprisingly, that still wasn't enough to convince me to Go Home Now. So God decided to send one more little messenger. At mile 16, I was running under a big horsechestnut tree. If you don't have these in your town, let me explain what they are like. Horsechestnuts look a lot like chestnuts, except on steroids. They're big and round, and they come encased in these extremely sharp spikey things that look a bit like land mines. Here's a great photo of one.. So I'm running under a big horsechestnut tree, and these things start dropping on my head like spikey bombs.

That was when I turned for home. Yep, God, you're right. I shouldn't be running today. By the time I got within a mile of my house, my right eye felt strangely puffy. When I looked in my bathroom mirror a few minutes later, I was starting to resemble Rocky Balboa, and within several hours (even after a dosing of Benadryl), both eyes were swollen shut.

Over the next few days, I've gone through some really interesting facial incarnations. At first, I couldn't even go out of the house. The worst thing about your eyes swelling shut is that you can't even read a book or watch a movie. You just have to sit there. Fortunately, my friend took pity on me and came and picked me up and took me to her house for tea and conversation.

By day two, my eyes were open somewhat, but looked strangely slanted and without signifigant eyelids. My lower face had turned puffier. Since I'm a homeschooling mom, I don't really get time off and so I had to be out and around town doing errands. Apparently, I looked enough like I had Down's Syndrome to cause several people to treat me really strangely. I wonder why people think if they Talk Really Loudly and Slowly that it helps anything at all.

On Day 3, my eyes were mostly open, but my lower face was still puffed, giving me a vaguely Godfather-like look. I couldn't smile, and the slight puffiness above my eyes made me look continually angry. A driver who swerved close enough to my kids while we were walking to make me turn around and look at him suddenly shouted at me: "You don't have to give me that sourpuss scowl, missy! I was just avoiding glass on the street." I want to tell him, in my best Vito Corleone voice, that I'm going to send him to swim with the fishes. So many people turn to stare at me that I vow never to give even a second glance to anyone who looks out of the ordinary, ever again.

By Day 4, I look almost normal, but with a more round face and some eye puffiness. Basically, I've turned into my mother. I return to running. It's amazing to me that even with this slight facial distortion, it effects how people treat me. Normally, other runners smile or act friendly toward me. Now, they turn their heads away. A guy who normally flashes me a grin on every lap suddenly finds interesting things in the distance to look at. Apparently, just the appearance of being a weightier, older runner is enough to put me into the "not cool enough" category. This makes me feel really sad, and I vow to smile doubly brightly at every old or chubby runner I see. I guess I always assumed that runners were just friendly to all other runners, but now it feels like more of an "in club".

So I guess, not only did God tell me to Just Go Home, he gave me some things to think about, and maybe even a homework assignment. I certainly learned something about how others are treated, and have a lot more compassion now for those who look even slightly out of the ordinary.

How to Train, Get Filthy, and Have a Good Time

A friend and I have been planning a week's camping trip to the area around the John Day Fossil beds with our kids for months now, and we finally got the time to do it. The kids had a blast digging thundereggs and finding fossils, and we all got very dirty, dusty, hot, and tired. It would have to be the hottest week of the year (106 in the shade, of which there is not much in the desert).

But, like the faithful triathlete I am, I took my bike, wetsuit, and running shoes along. Unfortunately, I didn't take into consideration how many gravel roads we'd be traveling on. My bike got more than filthy, and there just aren't that many bike shops in the middle of nowhere. Or, 50 gravel road miles from the middle of nowhere, which is where we were. I did stop in a small store and get some WD-40 and clean up my chain and cogs as best I could. The nice part is that I got to swim in the John Day river and in beautiful Walton Lake, at the top of the Ochoco mountains (4500 feet of elevation does something to your breathing in your stroke though!). I had also forgotten the wonderful hospitality of Central Oregon drivers. Almost everyone who passed me gave me a wide berth on the road, and most waved or tipped their hats to boot. I got to run by all of the fire crews and helicopters (much to my husband's distress, since we were out of cell phone range, we were camped in the middle of several big fires), and take a bike ride to the Ochoco summit. It doesn't get much better than that (even if I was beyond filthy by the time I got home).