During a 206 mile ride, there’s time for a lot of thoughts to cross your mind. I thought I’d share a few of them with you here.
About 9 hours into my ride, I was climbing Mt. Hamilton when suddenly I was gripped by fear about my qualifying exam. Of course, it was irrational, as I am very well-prepared and capable of doing a great job. However, a nagging doubt filled my head, “What if I fail?” I’ve put so much work into my preparation, sacrificed so much, and compromised a lot of what I value about being a well-rounded, balanced individual. The prospect of being told that my best efforts are not good enough filled me with disgust and anxiety. The cycling was hard already, but the added psychological burden made it feel truly oppressive. But then a thought occurred to me, “What is the worst that could happen?” I could actually fail and leave the program; what would that mean? Well, then I wouldn’t have to write a dissertation, which will surely involve tremendous amounts of suffering before all is said and done. In that case, perhaps failing wouldn’t be so bad after all. I think I could handle that just fine. With that, my fears began to dissolve.
Then my thoughts led to broader questions: “What are my goals in life?” If my highest goal were to become a professor, then there would be a lot to be afraid of. Qualifying exam members, dissertation advisors, hiring committees, and fellowship organizations all have powers to decide whether I continue on this path or not. I am constantly being judged and evaluated, and the pressure never seems to abate. What kind of goal is this, if it will be accompanied by such misery?
Then it occurred to me that I could formulate my goal in another way, one that allowed for much greater flexibility and spontaneity: “To follow God wherever it leads me.” What I mean by this is not some trite spiritual platitude. I am thinking specifically of the life of the apostle Paul, an incredibly well-educated intellectual who traveled all over the known world, meeting new people, taking up impossible challenges, getting into shipwrecks and other tight spots, all why he was developing deep, lasting friendships with a variety of men and women. I am thinking of the life of Martin Luther King Jr., the life of Alexander von Humboldt, hell, even the fictional life of Indiana Jones. To me, a life without adventure is not worth living. Pursuing a Ph.D. and academic tenure is too myopic and unfulfilling for me. If I happen to get them along the way to a larger goal, then that’s great, but if not, that’s fine, too. Life is far too special to get absorbed in such trivialities.
My perspective changed significantly while I was climbing Mt. Hamilton on Saturday. People wonder why I spend so much time on my bike, attempting ridiculous athletic challenges. One of the reasons is that I frequently find myself a prisoner of my own mind, plagued by worries, doubts, and disillusionment. I cherish my opportunities to pursue something tangible, to strive with a singleness of purpose, to strip everything down to utter simplicity. In that purity of my pursuit, I find a sense of peace, no matter how fleeting.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Devil Mountain Double Century
Nick and I started our ride at 5am, when it was pitch dark. I was a little nervous, especially considering how long the ride would be, but once we reached Mt. Diablo, I settled down and began to enjoy myself. The air was perfectly still and unusually warm, making for a surreal experience as we climbed the 3,800 ft. mountain. Coming around a turn, we had a beautiful view of the sunrise, and I felt that all was well.
After a nice, long descent, we worked hard to catch a pack of riders that could shield us from the wind. One of the guys in this group, named Steve, was riding a fixed gear. Since these bikes can’t coast, he had to work just as hard on the downhills as the uphills. He was very likeable, but we thought he was completely crazy for his choice of equipment.
We rode with the group at very fast pace up Morgan Territory, Altamont Pass, and Patterson Pass. Though I got pretty tired and dehydrated at this speed, it was nice to knock out a lot of miles in the early going. After reaching Patterson, Nick and I decided to ride on our own and save our energy for later. The last section before lunch was Mines Road, a long, hot, undulating road. Having sweat so much already, I began to feel out of whack, and I slowed to a crawl. Nick went on ahead of me, and we agreed to regroup at lunch.
While I was lumbering along at a snail’s pace, feeling sorry for myself, a guy named Curtis came by. He was a former Triple Crown Champion, which means that of the people who completed three of these races in one year, he had the fastest overall time in all of California. Having started an hour after me, he had already overtaken me, but he was looking pretty cooked at this point. He was kind enough to let me draft off him, and after 45 minutes, we caught up with Nick. All of us limped in to lunch looking like we had spent a couple of hours in the sauna.
The lunch stop was rejuvenating, and although we had already done 115 miles, we were ready to go again. As we were approaching the 4,400 ft. Mt. Hamilton, Nick and I were joined by another rider. When we turned to see who it was, we were surprised to meet a 75 year-old retired Berkeley professor. He was looking good out there, despite the fact that he was older than Nick and me combined.
Reaching the summit of Mt. Hamilton was fairly tolerable, but we were looking forward to a rest stop. Once we finally got there, I was pretty exhausted. I ate about 70 tortilla chips to replace all the salt I had lost, and declared myself fit to ride again. The next challenge would be Sierra Road, a really steep, 3 mile climb, made harder by the fact that we had biked 155 miles already. I was confident that I could do it, as I had low gearing (36-25), but I thought that this would prove to be Nick’s demise, since he was riding a 39-23.
The sun was beating on my back as we went up, and it got so hot that I could feel sweat literally streaming down my legs, leaving long white salt streaks. During the last five minutes of the climb, I was pleading with God to get me to the top before I exploded. At last I reached the crest, where I pulled to the side and crumpled into a heap, fighting the compulsion to throw up. To my utter shock, Nick arrived several minutes later, looking pretty good. He asked me, “What do you want to do?” Now that we had gone this far together, I simply said, “Let’s finish this thing.”
From there on out, we rode at a blistering pace, thinking only of the finish line as the sunlight was waning. We didn’t really have adequate lighting for riding by ourselves, so I figured that if we went fast enough, we would catch somebody who had more foresight than we did. Luckily, just as we crested Palomares Road, we found two nice guys that agreed to lead us through the darkness. Though we went slower than Nick and I would ordinarily go, it made the last 15 miles really pleasant, kind of like a cool-down after a long day in the saddle.
We finished at 9:30pm, which was 16.5 hours, 206 miles, and 20,000 ft of climbing after we had started. We sat down for a nice plate of lasagna and congratulated each other on a job well-done.
We took a few photos after our ride. You can check them out at the following site:
http://berkeley.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2163197&l=7c831&id=1219341
After a nice, long descent, we worked hard to catch a pack of riders that could shield us from the wind. One of the guys in this group, named Steve, was riding a fixed gear. Since these bikes can’t coast, he had to work just as hard on the downhills as the uphills. He was very likeable, but we thought he was completely crazy for his choice of equipment.
We rode with the group at very fast pace up Morgan Territory, Altamont Pass, and Patterson Pass. Though I got pretty tired and dehydrated at this speed, it was nice to knock out a lot of miles in the early going. After reaching Patterson, Nick and I decided to ride on our own and save our energy for later. The last section before lunch was Mines Road, a long, hot, undulating road. Having sweat so much already, I began to feel out of whack, and I slowed to a crawl. Nick went on ahead of me, and we agreed to regroup at lunch.
While I was lumbering along at a snail’s pace, feeling sorry for myself, a guy named Curtis came by. He was a former Triple Crown Champion, which means that of the people who completed three of these races in one year, he had the fastest overall time in all of California. Having started an hour after me, he had already overtaken me, but he was looking pretty cooked at this point. He was kind enough to let me draft off him, and after 45 minutes, we caught up with Nick. All of us limped in to lunch looking like we had spent a couple of hours in the sauna.
The lunch stop was rejuvenating, and although we had already done 115 miles, we were ready to go again. As we were approaching the 4,400 ft. Mt. Hamilton, Nick and I were joined by another rider. When we turned to see who it was, we were surprised to meet a 75 year-old retired Berkeley professor. He was looking good out there, despite the fact that he was older than Nick and me combined.
Reaching the summit of Mt. Hamilton was fairly tolerable, but we were looking forward to a rest stop. Once we finally got there, I was pretty exhausted. I ate about 70 tortilla chips to replace all the salt I had lost, and declared myself fit to ride again. The next challenge would be Sierra Road, a really steep, 3 mile climb, made harder by the fact that we had biked 155 miles already. I was confident that I could do it, as I had low gearing (36-25), but I thought that this would prove to be Nick’s demise, since he was riding a 39-23.
The sun was beating on my back as we went up, and it got so hot that I could feel sweat literally streaming down my legs, leaving long white salt streaks. During the last five minutes of the climb, I was pleading with God to get me to the top before I exploded. At last I reached the crest, where I pulled to the side and crumpled into a heap, fighting the compulsion to throw up. To my utter shock, Nick arrived several minutes later, looking pretty good. He asked me, “What do you want to do?” Now that we had gone this far together, I simply said, “Let’s finish this thing.”
From there on out, we rode at a blistering pace, thinking only of the finish line as the sunlight was waning. We didn’t really have adequate lighting for riding by ourselves, so I figured that if we went fast enough, we would catch somebody who had more foresight than we did. Luckily, just as we crested Palomares Road, we found two nice guys that agreed to lead us through the darkness. Though we went slower than Nick and I would ordinarily go, it made the last 15 miles really pleasant, kind of like a cool-down after a long day in the saddle.
We finished at 9:30pm, which was 16.5 hours, 206 miles, and 20,000 ft of climbing after we had started. We sat down for a nice plate of lasagna and congratulated each other on a job well-done.
We took a few photos after our ride. You can check them out at the following site:
http://berkeley.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2163197&l=7c831&id=1219341
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