All posts by Mike

Garmin messed up so not much credit for a stronger-than-expected ride

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So today made three strong rides in a row, which is a very unusual situation for me this time of year.

Kevin and I weren’t sure where we’d be going until we got out towards Woodside. The only thing we knew for sure was that we were riding over Jefferson, then heading South. It was tough passing up Old LaHonda but, with quite a bit of fog visible on Skyline, it seemed like maybe not the best day to ride to the coast. So instead we did the Redwood Gulch, Skyline & return loop.

Redwood Gulch. Why. Every time you do it, it’s why. Curiously, today I was moving better on the climb than Kévin, finishing more than a minute ahead of him. Not that it mattered though, since the Garmin didn’t record it. I did have the video camera on though, so I figured out the time from that. 12:16, which I haven’t done for a year or so.

Climbing the rest of the way on 9, I was thinking how many times I thought we were further up the hill than we actually were, and postulating that, each time that happens on a climb, it takes a little bit out of you. We eventually got to the top, only to confirm our belief that Mr Mustard is no longer to be seen.

The run north on Skyline netted us a PR, which surprised me, but I was pulling pretty strongly. That very rare day I’m able to pull Kévin along. I was seeing pretty good power numbers too.

Could be that I’m getting used to, and seeing the advantages of, weighing a bit less than last year. My weight is stable (so not indicative of any continuing health issue) and I’m beginning to get back that twist-the-throttle-and-go feeling that I’ve been missing the past couple of years. We’ll see how long it lasts.

He would have been 88 today. Hard to believe I’m 6 years older than my Dad when he died.

Personal stuff

This should have been my dad’s 88th birthday. Unfortunately, the genetics on my dad’s side of the family don’t seem to mirror that of my mom’s, or at least the women on my mom’s side. My dad died way too young; it’s just weird thinking I’m living through a time in my life that my dad never saw. In my mind, my dad will always be older and wiser than me. But he never got the chance, passing on May 25th, 1988, not quite getting to his 57th birthday.

He did, at least, get to spend some time with my daughter, Becky, who has born 4 months prior. It was a big thing, sneaking her into my dad’s room at Kaiser Hospital here in Redwood City, shortly before he died. Might have even been the night before.

I still have days where I feel like he’s around and I need to run something past him. More often are the times when you wish he was here. After 30 years, those times occur less often, but there are many triggers that bring those memories back to life. I remember very strongly a bike ride I took after hearing from his doctor that he had, if I recall correctly, about 4 months to live. I was riding through Portola Valley, descending Alpine towards Arastradero when it really hit me. This wasn’t hypothetical in any way, shape or form. There was an end game in play and nothing I could do to change it. You grow up believing that success is at least partly defined by being able to change outcomes, and this was an outcome I couldn’t affect.

Pre-Google, I couldn’t even go wild with research; you’d hear about quack cancer cures (laetril anyone?) and clinics in Mexico that desperate people would spend both their hope and money on, because someone had written a story about miracles happening and how could you not want to believe? I remember all that. And I remember in the last month, when the doctor told us it was time to discontinue treatment, and I’m thinking how can you do that? How can you give up all hope like that? But I realized that any treatment at that point would have been because of my need to do something, as opposed to doing something that might make a difference.

Of course, as long as I can remember my dad, he’s still with me.