Can We Talk About Failure?

I have been trying to wrap my head around my emotions since Saturday morning. And honestly, I am still in turmoil, so I apologize because this is most likely going to be a shit show of a write up. I woke up on Friday excited and incredibly nervous about setting out for the DC to Harrisonburg route of TransVA. This was to be a less than 48 hour 225 mile adventure by bike. I was set to leave my house at 1500 hours that afternoon, and arrive in Harrisonburg by 1400 hours on Sunday. Easy-peasy, right? It should have been. Three days of cycling (60-120-50) and two nights of camping sounded like the perfect way to spend the hottest weekend of the year so far. I should have been able to complete this with my eyes closed. Should have... Should have... But I failed.

Where it all begins...  

Before I get into the real heart of this discussion, let me run you through my mini adventure. Because it was fun. Well, until it was not. I left a little before 1500 on Friday. It was sunny, very warm, but the trails from my house to DC were fairly empty. It had been a few months since I had been downtown, so it was nice to cruise and see the sights. Not a whole lot has changed.

Ready to get this party started!

I hung around at the Lincoln memorial for about 10 minutes or so, waiting for 1600, which was when my Individual Time Trial (ITT) was scheduled to start.  As soon as my Wahoo showed the time, I rolled out slowly, since I was not 100% sure where the route was going to take me.  And sure enough, I was on the wrong side of the street and had to backtrack.  No big deal, sometimes the scenic route is the best route!

Fully loaded and rolling out!

After a few minutes of navigating the paths downtown, I was out on the canal.  It was flat, it was boring, but it was beautiful.  There were blue herons, turtles, ducks, song birds, gnats...  Nature was definitely thriving in our region's most beloved park.  At this point, I was feeling pretty good.  I kept having to remind myself to look around and enjoy the beautiful sights and smells around me (OH THE SMELLS!).  

Eventually I made it out past Great Falls and the foot and bike traffic on the canal diminished significantly.  It was not terribly crowded on the eastern side, but it was enough people to remind me that we living in a pretty large metropolis.  It was really nice to get out to the less populated sections and really just enjoy getting lost in the greenness of it all.  

Hey look...  Flat and straight.

There really is not much to say about this section of the ride other than I had forgotten how terrible riding long distances on flat surfaces can be.  I never really do it, so my body gets super fatigued at the constant stress of not moving around much on the bike and never really getting a break from putting out steady power on the pedals.  My feet, which had been fine for the past year and a half, started to ache about 40 miles in.  But I kept my head on a swivel and reminded myself how beautiful spring in the DMV can be.  

The cat tails were prolific! 

Somewhere between Riley's Lock and White's Ferry, a very large insect hit my chest.  Since the Brood X cicadas were out and about, I just assumed it was a cicada and tried to brush it off.  Well, turns out, it was a large hornet and I brushed it inside my jersey where it stung me three times before I could get the jersey unzipped.  OUCH.  No, seriously, OUCH.  That hurt.  And it continued to hurt for a few minutes until I realized that the stinger was still stuck in my chest.  Whoops.  So I stopped to scrape it out and had a quick snack before continuing on.  The stinging continued, but started to lessen after a few more miles.  

I had wanted to get to my planned campsite around 1930, but because of the unplanned bee stop, I was running about 10 minutes behind.  My feet were hurting, so I did not want to push the pace too much, so just cruised through the last few miles while watching the sun get lower in the sky.  It was so peaceful out there.  

Still flat...  Still rolling...  

As I rolled up to the Calico Rocks camp site, there were three tents already set up.  I had picked this site since it was closest to Point of Rocks (which is where I would exit the canal and head south into Loudoun County) and is not the most desired camp locations due to its proximity to Route 15 and a well used set of train tracks.  I tend to feel safer the less people that are around.  Especially when on a solo journey (Note: my friend Ken was meeting me later that night, but ended up not getting to PoR until almost 2AM).  

Luckily, all three were long-haul cyclists and were pretty awesome company.  I quickly forgot my aching feet and went about setting up my tent and making dinner.  Two of the guys were doing a full pull of Pittsburg to DC as a last hurrah before one of them left the country for a two year stint.  The other was a guy from the mid-west who was doing a modified, touring version of TransVA.  It was really fun hanging by the fire and just chatting about bikes and cicadas with them.  

A cicada emerges...  On my bike tire.  

After a while, we decided to head to bed, since we had a pretty long day on the bike planned for the next day.  This is where things got weird.  Remember how I said that Brood X was emerging after 17 years underground?  They were starting to emerge in the campground (a few days behind the ones back home) and were crawling all over my feet while we were hanging out by the fire.  Which, is fine, I guess, I just picked them off and tossed them towards the trees.  Well, after I had gotten ready for bed and laid down in the tent, I realized that my tent tarp was blocking the ground.  (Well, obviously!)  This would normally never even be considered an issue.  But that night, I could actually hear the (not so little) cicada nymphs scurrying under ground trying to figure out a way to get to the surface.  It was SO creepy.  Between the cicadas scratching at my tent tarp and the trains, I got almost zero sleep.

A newly shed cicada drying out.

Ken showed up around 0200.  Along with one of the dozens of trains that came throughout the night.  I got up to welcome him and use the bathroom, then went right back to my tent to listen to the scurrying cicadas until morning.  

They really loved hanging onto my tires.

     

Waking up, there were cicadas EVERWHERE.  They apparently really loved my bike tires.  They are such interesting creatures with such long lifespans.  I wonder if the nymphs can remember when they dropped from the trees and what has changed since they last saw the aboveground world.  

I hung out at the campsite for about an hour past when I wanted to depart, waiting for Ken to wake up.  I had already eaten and fully re-packed the bike.  I hated to just leave without chatting with him to figure out a plan for the day, but I really wanted to make my planned campsite (Wolf Gap) before dark.  Luckily, just before 0800, he got up.  I told him I would wait around at Bluemont if he thought he was only going to be a half hour behind me.  With that, I rolled out, crossed the tracks and left the canal behind.  

All packed up and ready to roll.

Crossing the bridge on Route 15 over the Potomac is never one of my favourite things to do, but it does take you to one of my favourite roads, Furnace Mountain Road.  My good friend, gravel mentor, and just amazing person, Pete Beers took me on this road for the first time about six years ago.  I remember that ride vividly, since one of the guys on the ride actually grew up on Furnace Mt Rd.  (Hi Rob!)  In fact, Pete introduced me to almost every single gravel road in Loudoun County.  And this ride was partly being done to honour his memory (he passed in August of 2020).  

I was feeling great at this point.  I had Pete in my thoughts and in my heart.  The sky was a beautiful shade of cloudless blue.  I was riding my bike on some very lovely gravel roads.  And even though I got a later start than I wanted, I still had not been passed by the leaders that left with the grand depart earlier that morning.  Life was good.  

Heading down Purcellville Road, I got passed by a gentleman that started at 0430, about an hour and a half before the grand depart.  I chatted with him for a bit, until he hung back to wait for his buddy.  A few miles later, they blew by me as I was chugging along eating a snack.  My right knee was starting to ache a bit and I was starting to look forward to a brief respite from pedaling in Bluemont.  As I started to roll into Purcellville, I heard the lead group behind me.  They were all super chipper and friendly as they passed me by.  I love gravel adventure folks.  They really do have the best souls.  

I rolled on through Purcellville, looking forward to deviled eggs and whoopie pie at Bluemont Store, which would be in about 15 miles or so.  A couple miles outside of Purcellville, I hear a bell ring and a rubber ducky (?) squeak.  The lead group was passing me AGAIN.  I think it was Abe that said I passed them while they were in the store and that was a good move.  I countered with I was holding out for whoopie pie at Bluemont and wished them well on their journey (Abe smashed the course record with an elapsed time of 55 hours and some change.  WHAT?!).  

A little bit after that, I was climbing up a hill, out of the saddle, when all of a sudden I felt a pop in my right knee.  Uh...  What was that?  Pedaling became relatively uncomfortable and soon, it became pretty apparent that something was very wrong.  I knew I needed to bail, but I am stubborn and felt like I could at least make it to Bluemont for my long awaited for treats.  Those were very VERY long miles, soft pedaling as much as possible.  By the time I got to Bluemont, my knee was noticeably swollen and tender to the touch on the inside.  I went inside, got my snacks and a ginger beer and sat down.  I knew then that my ride was over.  There was no way I was going to be able to make the climbs up and over (and up and over) the ridge.  I also remembered one of the most important lessons that Pete taught me over the years: Listen to your body and live to adventure another day.

Deviled eggs, whoopie pie, chunk of cheddar, and a ginger beer.  
YAY Trash Panda!

I was contemplating my next move, when a local LoCo/VeloPigs friend rolled up hoping to catch myself and Kasey Clark before we climbed up and over Route 7.  John hung out and chatted with me for a bit and really lifted my spirits.  By the time he headed out to go meet up with Kasey, I felt like I could at least ride home easy to finish out my day with some semblance of pride.  I called my husband to tell him about my change of plans, but he was at a group ride/birthday bash event and was pretty distracted.  I told him I would be fine and would see him later.

No idea what this guy's name was, but his bike was AMAZING.

Shortly after, more TransVA rides pulled up, including a teammate (and gravel goddess), Cyndi. She reiterated Pete's advice and even went further to say I should stop riding and find a ride home.  Some good samaritans offered a ride home in a van, but I declined (I feel like that is how horror stories begin).  In hindsight, maybe I should have risked it.  Ken showed up and I let him know that I was scratching (leaving the race, for those not familiar with the lingo).  I gathered up my things, put my bike into its easiest gear, and headed for home, with my head hanging low.  

One last glance over my shoulder before the ride of shame.

I got a flat a couple of miles later, and had a hard time getting the tire to seal.  I guess, when it rains it pours.  I finally shoved a bacon strip in the pinhole and added more air than I would ever normally have done and pedaled on.  About eight miles from Bluemont and a couple from getting back to Purcellville, the discomfort from my knee turned into screaming pain.  I knew at that point I was never going to be able to make it home (a little over 40 miles at this point).  I started scrambling in my head trying to figure out who I could call to come fetch me.  Luckily, a friend has asked my husband if he had offered to come get me (thank you, Madison!!!), and that seemed to spur him into action and he sent a text at the exact right moment asking if I wanted a ride.  

I called him, and told him I would meet him in Leesburg, which was about 10 miles away.  Normally this would take 35 minutes to ride.  It took me over an hour.  It was excruciating.  There may have even been tears.  But I made it.  A quick change of clothes and unladening the bike and we were on our way back home.  

It was official.  I failed.

I knew going into this that I was not in the best shape for a multi-day bikepacking trip.  I knew that life had thrown me some interesting curveballs over the past few months which has limited my ability to truly train for an adventure like this.  But I also knew that I had been riding hard every day.  I had the miles on my legs to make this happen.  

But it did not happen.

Can we talk about failure for a moment?  

Some of the greatest lessons in life come from failure.  Can you imagine what would have happened had Spencer Silver succeeded at his attempt to create a super strong adhesive?  There would be no Post-It Notes.  Jamie Link was in the process of working on very thin, multi-layered silicon chips when she accidentally shattered one.  That failure led to the development of "Smart Dust", which is changing the medical and chemical industries.  

So, what does failure teach us?  Failure teaches us that we are not the best, we do not know everything, we have more learning, training, exploring to do.  Failure also teaches us to never underestimate the adventure you are about to embark upon.  

In this particular instance, I was over trained.  Working from home full time has been a struggle for me.  As a full time bike commuter, I was at a loss when I no longer had a bike commute.  So, I looked to my trainer and Zwift to be a substitute for my morning commute.  I stopped taking rest days, since it was so easy to just hop on the trainer and ride for an hour or so.  That, and I am just unable to sit around and not do something active.  I have to have movement, otherwise my mental health suffers.

I did zero training with my bike fully loaded.  This was a big mistake because having a bike that normally weighs 22 pounds loaded with an additional 25 pounds worth of gear really changes things.  It changes the stresses it puts on your body, it changes how you stabilize the load, and it really changes your climbing dynamic.  

I did zero training on flat land.  I really should have done a couple of overnighters on the canal this spring to get those flat land muscles where they needed to be.  This would have also helped some with training with a fully loaded bike.

I also swapped out the pedals on my bike before heading out.  I bought a new pair of Time pedals with a bigger platform thinking it would help with rougher terrain and foot pain.  I honestly have no idea if this actually had anything to do with anything, but I probably should have put in a couple of shorter rides on the new pedals before attempting a 225 mile ride.  

Granted, what happened could have also just been a freak accident.  After a few days and a consult with my doc, it appears that I have a very mild, grade 1 MCL tear (no imaging is being required at this time, this is based on a physical exam).  He was happy that I stopped riding when I did, because it is possible it could have gotten a lot worse, very quickly.  I am taking it easy for a few more days (I can actually get back on the bike with flat pedals and easy spinning) until the swelling and pain diminishes.  I should be back in decent shape in a couple of weeks with some PT and continued rest.    

I know that there will be other opportunities to finish what I started here.  And while I am disappointed in myself and discouraged, I will be back out there.  In the meantime, I am looking forward to the GRUSK Venti route in July.  Needless to say, there will be a couple of overnighters between now and then.  

#WSGFABR

#WWPD

#BeMorePete

All smiles on the canal...