Death by uphill

This past weekend, Delta and I participated in a 50-mile bikeride in the Jersey Highlands area. I'd meant to put up a picture or two from our glorious and victorious moments, but as it turned out we clean forgot to take any pics at all. Of course, could have had something to do with how we very nearly died trying to make it up those last hills, and let me tell you, when you're so close to death, taking pictures of yourself really doesn't seem like much of a priority.

So you'll just have to make do with my fumbling verbal description of the event.

The day actually turned out to be a beautiful one, cool enough, hot enough, a little bit of sunshine but not too much, basically, perfect conditions for biking. Unlike, of course, the last time we did this in May.

We started the ride with some very steep unhill, and somehow I convinced myself that we'd got the worst over with, and it would only get easier from here on out.

And then, for the next four and a half hours, proceeded to prove myself wrong. Again. And again. And again.

"I've driven out there before," Guster had told us before the ride. "It's really pretty flat out there. Nothing for you to worry about."
We shouldn't have believed him of course. It's quite easy for all the land to look flat and smooth when you're sitting comfortably behind the wheel of a beemer. It's safe to say Delta and I had never done a ride quite this difficult ever before. Every ten miles or so, we stopped for a break, and greedily downed the PBJs so lovingly made by all the bike support volunteers.

It was all ok until about mile 30, and then, all of a sudden, we rounded the corner to find ourselves at the bottom of (yet) another long and steep hill. And I suddenly knew that death was a near and distinct possibility. But somewhere there in the depths of my own misery, I realised I'm a competitive little bugger. Every time I saw another biker dismount and start to walk their bikes up the hill, it filled me with renewed determination.
I'm not going to be like THAT biker, I'd think to myself, and doggedly forge onwards.

And somehow, painfully, slowly, we made it to the end.
"I think I'm going to be quite miserable tomorrow," I said to Delta, grinning through my triumph, but knowing my quads would have a thing or two to say about this the next day.

But at that point, tomorrow was still a whole day away. At that point, all we had to was get back on the ferry and start our return journey home, relaxed and basking in our own personal triumph of what we'd achieved.