On Failures

Me:  If I ride to a certain point, rather than an out-and-back, you can meet me at the other end with the other dog.  

She:  Maybe.  That would involve driving.

Me:  Oh lord.

I've been away awhile.  My apologies to the one or two of you who read this.  If any typos get through my proofreader (me), I offer apologies for that too.  I'm typing with one glove on.  More on that later.

I failed again.

I lost.  I failed.  I did not meet a challenge.  I could not accomplish a goal.   And it hurt in more ways than one.

But it also helped.  Failure helps.  Failing is part of life.  The greatest hitters in baseball history make an out 70% of the time.  The pitcher with the most wins in history also has the most losses.  We all fail. A lot.

So, yeah, I failed.  On several levels.  At the planning stage and during execution, I failed.

Saturday was my long ride day, and I was really looking forward to it.  I'd mapped out a nice gravel road route from the lake up to Valparaiso, where I'd hop on the cursed Oak Creek Trail and finally conquer it, then ride back to the lake.  About 42 miles total, and I'd also finally get the Oak Creek monkey off my back.  Last week I had installed new WTB Riddler gravel tires on the bike, and she was rarin' to go!

When I arrived at the lake and pulled the bike down off the car, I immediately noticed my first mistake.  I'd forgotten my water bottles.  They were still in the fridge at home.  Luckily, anticipating a hot afternoon, I'd brought spares that were in my Revelate Designs Viscacha seat bag.  I could just stop in town later and buy some more.  Failure #1, but a relatively minor one.

Then hills. Very. Steep. Hills.  I'd meticulously planned this route, poring over maps, avoiding all paved roads and, therefore, most traffic. But I had neglected to review the elevation profile. Failure #2.

1,108 feet of climbing over the course of 26 miles is a bit more difficult than an intermediate ride.  It was certainly substantial to me.  It wasn't the length of the hills, but their gradient.  They were so f'n steep!  I'll admit, I hiked up some of them once my granny gear wasn't even easy enough for me to manage it.  Failure #3.

By the time I arrived at the road crossing for the Oak Creek Trail . . . wait, forgot one.

I rode right on by where the trail crossed the road.  Not just a little bit, either.  I rode two and a half miles past the trail!  And most of the road past the trail had been nice and speedy downhills.  Now I had to climb back up those same hills to get back to the trail. Failure #4.

By the time I arrived (back) at the road crossing for the OCT, I was tired and hungry and wondering how so much had gone wrong.  But at least I was on the trail, with its comparatively flat profile and less demanding terrain.  I stopped for a few minutes, had a snack, then hopped back in the saddle for my date with destiny.

Five miles down the road--Failure #5.  I finally admitted it was becoming ever more clear with each passing mile that if I rode all 24 miles of this trail, then still had to navigate the hilly gravel roads back to the car, that I'd have no energy left with which to make it.  I had to bag it. I regrettably turned around and headed back to the road.

I stopped again so I could text Christa and update on my (lack of) progress.  I stepped into the intersection of the trail and the road and looked toward my intended direction of travel.  Straight up.  All I could do was shake my head and pedal.

I think on the way back to the car I actually hiked more uphills than I rode.  I didn't really have a choice, did I?   I had to get back to the car.  I mean, sure, I could have called the in-laws, and they'd gladly come rescue me.  But I figured I got myself out here into this mess; I'm getting myself out.

Let's fast forward to the next evening.  Tucker needs some training before we can take him on the big trip next year.  He needs a lot of running miles before he can tackle a trip that long.  He needs to be comfortable running next to a bike.  He needs to be comfortable in the trailer I'll pull behind the bike.  And he'll need to get comfortable jumping in and out of the trailer while I'm moving.  It's a lot to expect from the boy, but we think he's up to it.

Sunday evening Christa (reluctantly--see above) and I put both dogs into the car and drove to a local trailhead.  I don't like running the dogs in our neighborhood.  Too many distractions.  

Did I mention Tucker needs some training?  We rode/ran about a mile down the trail, and with another dog approaching our way, I decided it was time to turn around.  Then we were trapped.  There was another dog coming the other way!  Tucker decided he wanted to meet this dog up close, so across my path he ran, and, being tethered to the bike, brought me down hard.  Ouch.

I shredded the skin on the back of my left hand fingers and have a Frisbee sized patch of road rash on my left shoulder.  (There's a glove covering the bandages on my left hand--thus the fear of typos.) Except for some other minor scrapes on knees and such, I'm basically okay.  Nothing broken; no head injury.  I'd been wearing traditional fingerless bicycle gloves.  Had I been wearing the full-finger riding gloves that were already in the Amazon cart (!), I'd have at least avoided that injury.  Failure #6.

We fail.  We lose.  We stumble.  We make mistakes.  We talk out of turn or say something offensive.  We hurt others' feelings or neglect to act out of love.  We fail.

And yes, I'll check the elevation profile next time.  I'll make a pre-ride checklist that includes my water bottles.  From now on I'll probably stop with Tucker, and hold his leash while another dog passes.  Those are the easy lessons.  What are the hard ones?

That night at dinner--a wonderful tomato soup and peach pie my mother-in-law offered so I wouldn't have to cook--I remarked that after all of the trials and troubles I'd had that day, and despite the fact it was 8 o'clock at night and I'd probably spend the next few days snacking on ibuprofen, I'd still rather be riding, even at that very moment.  Because I love it.

As you know, the recurring theme of our parallel blogs has been: Take this motorcycle-loving artist who is poly and has ADHD, and this bicycle-riding sports fan who is monogamous and plans everything to the point of anxiety.  Can they tour together--with their dog--but separately on their respective two-wheeled vehicles of choice without driving themselves and each other mad?  Is Moto-Cycling Pawsible?

I get that the obvious and easy answer is "Of course. You just have to make it work for the two of you."  But the real answer doesn't come from the energy and intention with which we set the goal or from the curt and almost trite answer "Of course you can."  The real answer comes from the mundane, daily grind of planning for the goal, of working toward it.  The truth is generated from realizing that riding 26 miles of very steep hills today plays a small part in making the dream possible 9 month from now.

So we fail.  We fail at marriage.  We fail at parenting.  We fail at communicating.  But we keep going.  We keep being married.  We keep trying to prove that Moto-Cycling is Pawsible.  Because we love it.