Now Reading
Singing in the rain

Singing in the rain

The first day riding in the AIDS/Lifecycle, if nothing else, made me an expert on California weather. The morning started off cold while the afternoon got hot. Even though my little windbreaker came in handy, once the sun came out it suffocated me. At least I could tie my arm and leg warmers around empty bar space on the bike.

Some of the veteran riders scoffed when camp announced that day two would have a 30 percent chance of rain. Just like I had predicted, that morning was cold which meant the sun would dominate any rain that may cross our paths. So I scoffed too, stuffing my windbreaker in the duffle bag.

Being one of the slower paced riders, I didn’t want to hold back any of my Colorado comrades. I told my partner, Luke, and the others to ride ahead and that I would meet them at lunch time.

About 20 miles into the day, the clouds gathered again. Sprinkles hit my handlebars and I smiled as my one–day expert training told me this was the most precipitation we would get. But the clouds didn’t clear and the sprinkles turned into drops. Lots of them.

Other riders began calling it quits, pulling over and waiting for the sag wagons to bus them the rest of the way. But I refused to quit. I had too many donations sitting on the completion of my ride.

My carefully–selected cycling outfit began to get soaked. The sun wasn’t making an appearance any time soon. And the winds picked up, coating me in even more cold wetness. The cycling gloves felt like bare ice over my hands. Mud flew up my back with each crank of the peddles. My predictions went from mishap to misery.

I pushed myself too far. By then the sag wagons were full. Pain surged through my body as the winds got colder. Alone and scared in a major rainstorm, I couldn’t think of anything else to do but put my head down and sing.

Only a few miles from the second rest stop, a fellow Coloradan pulled up behind me and shouted that I had a flat back tire. I pulled over only to realize that my front tire was flat too. I wanted to appreciate the irony of it all but I could barely stand up. He flagged down an emergency vehicle. Once I got in, they shoved candy in my hands, telling me the sugar would help. I couldn’t stop shaking as I tried eating 32 pieces of mini Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.

The ride shut down and everyone was ushered into a nearby church. I sat on a heater wrapped in blankets, sharing body heat with a stranger. The instant I saw Luke walk in, I began to cry. He huddled up with me, wishing he hadn’t gone ahead.

By the time we got shuttled into camp, the sun finally came out. I made a beeline for the shower trucks so I could warm up. As I walked to our tent, I felt light headed, my ear hurt and one pinky was numb. I knew I would have to visit the medics.

“You’re still hypothermic,” a nurse told me.

I never even knew I had hypothermia. She wrapped me up in heated blankets. The medics forced me to eat salty snacks and drink water for the dehydration. They threatened the possibility of an IV if I didn’t comply.

Luke and I spent the night with the medics until they cleared me to leave. The day felt like a dream but putting myself in danger was the reality. I may not have learned how to be an expert on California weather. But I certainly knew to never push myself like that again.

What's Your Reaction?
Excited
0
Happy
0
In Love
0
Not Sure
0
Silly
0
Scroll To Top