Heat, Asphalt, an Offer for my Hand

It was 65 degrees at five in the morning when at least 600 riders were already out trying to get the first 100 miles under their pedals before it reached 100 degrees. The brutal hot winds we had this week were mercifully spent, but that meant there was nothing, no breeze, to move the heat off the roads until around twilight.

One guy drove up from San Diego and another down from Oregon the day before, deciding to register for the ride. The registration czarina made them say unequivocally they understood what the predicted temperatures were going to be the following day. Hmm, they said.

Our brief was rest stop 5 (of 11) followed by sagging the course forward to Davis. The rest stop was supposed to close at 2:00 pm; we got out of there at 4:30. But with Numenius taking his turn monitoring the radio in the car, I helped hose down riders — which is when I got the offer of marriage. (Lest this be construed differently, I should say a) this person couldn’t even see me, his head was down and flowing in salty water that was turning unsalty; b) the other hoser-downer got a similar offer twenty minutes earlier. It’s an occupational hazard, getting proposed to on hotter than hell Double Century days.)

Many people needed rides back to Davis or at least over the big mountain. One broke two spokes early and we had to get him up toward the lunch stop; he’d been the captain of a container ship (which doesn’t offer much opportunity for cycling) and since retiring had taken up cycling with a passion. A second had run out of water between rest stops, spaces roughly 25 miles apart, and had ridden in the heat for five miles without water. He just was never able to recover from the dehydration; we picked him up four miles out of Rest Stop 5. He’d only really been riding for two years, but this was his fourth Double. Why? After he recovered from a brain tumor, he figured he needed to do something positive. (!) Finally, we picked up a DC veteran, someone who’d ridden this event 36 — that’s thirty-six — times. He’d never been sagged in before, but was unable to move because of heat cramps. His heart was certainly willing and able to keep going, but his legs just couldn’t function anymore.

No shame at all in calling it quits in this heat, chaps. No shame. I’m just glad you figured it out before someone needed to get you to the ER.

Today, I’m gardening and birding.