My alarm went off at 4am, but I can’t say that’s when I woke up, because I never actually fell asleep. This was already shaping up to be a pretty rough start. I had just spent the last hour or two rehearsing what I was going to say to Chris so as not to stress him out. My groggy attempt at optimism did not turn out as well as I had hoped, and I could tell he was disappointed things were already going awry. I hated letting him down, but of course instead of saying that, I snapped at him. We weren’t starting off in the best mood.

It only took a few minutes to get ready, and fifteen minutes later my mom knocked on the door. I had already texted her to tell her how awful I was feeling. She asked if she should hang around Astoria for a few hours after the race started, implying that we could still bail if we wanted to. She looked sad, so I avoided eye contact and told her she could head home immediately.

I felt nauseated, dizzy, and feverish. My hands were shaking and my legs felt like jello. I suffered from a mysterious stabbing abdominal pain, painful swollen lymph nodes, and a searing headache. I was exhausted. I didn’t even know if I could get on my bike, but it didn’t matter. It was time to race.

My mom took a photo as we were leaving the hotel, and then she drove over to the starting line while Chris and I pedaled along the waterfront pedestrian path.  Once we were alone, we stopped and turned to each other to hug and apologize for our mutual grumpiness. Our tradition before big cycling events is to jokingly pre-apologize for anything we might say to each other while tired and stressed, and to remind each other that we do in fact love each other.  Even when the other person looks and smells like a moving dumpster.

That 2 minute slow roll to the starting line was peaceful.  To our right the sea lions, affectionately known to us by now as sea idiots, were all calling out at once through the dark mist. [Chris: Not without reason… there were dozens of the things living on the pier behind our hotel barking at all hours of the day]  To the left, the Astoria Column was shining atop the hill.  I took a deep breath in and tried to soak up the cool, crisp air. A brief pause to remind myself that I had made it.  We were here. We were surprised to find that we were some of the first people to arrive, so we set our bikes down and watched everyone else show up.  Some racers looked nervous, others looked like they had won the lottery. Not everyone likes this liminal period between race training and race start. There’s nothing more you can do to prepare, and you just want to see how the journey will unfold.  At least for me, in that moment I felt like a winner, if only temporarily.

As race director Nathan called us all to the parking lot entrance to begin the brief neutral roll out, I paused to fist bump fellow Seattleite Kyle Noyce and to hug Kymberly Byers.  She and I had struck up a friendship in the months leading up to the race, and I knew she had big goals for herself. Unsurprisingly, she was already crying right as the race began. She puts her whole heart into everything and I love her for it!  We chatted for a minute or two while we rolled through the mostly empty streets of Astoria, and like a huge dork I froze in a pose for a photo while she was actually taking a video instead.

As we rounded the last corner out of town, Peter Jackson called out to ask if we were feeling excited or nervous.  I mentioned I was sick again, and then as he rode off to pump everyone else up I regretted not sounding more optimistic.  I didn’t want to set myself up for failure.

It didn’t take long for the crowd to thin out.  A few miles in, we encountered what seemed like a blip in the map, where all of a sudden we needed to dismount and  hike-a-bike up a short gravel ramp to the road above. I was still feeling very shaky, so even that amount of effort was a challenge and I needed to pause at the top to let the world stop spinning.  After that, it was already just Chris and I, like the good old days and all our adventures.

After leaving Astoria, the route winds along sparsely populated and wooded country roads before heading out to the coast.  With hardly any traffic or other racers to distract me, I spent a few minutes grieving and letting myself cry. I was sad that things hadn’t turned out the way I wanted, after spending the last few months working so hard to figure out what was wrong with my body.  It’s a bit corny, but I thought about the touring vet from Inspired to Ride (the documentary about the first race) who said he was dedicating his trip to ‘the guys who can’t be out here. There are a lot of them’. I decided that even if I was in pain, I needed to be out here on behalf of the people who couldn’t.

A few miles up the road, we spotted a racer slowly climbing a hill with their seat bag swinging wildly behind them.  The larger-than-life Charles Meola! He told us he felt remorseful about bringing so much gear, and that he would drop off as much as possible when he found an open post office the next morning.  He was also very cold. Meanwhile – this grey and misty morning was a dream for us Pacific Northwesterners!

Since I had felt too nauseated to eat in the morning, I slowly nibbled on some goldfish and a sip of water here and there.  Just a couple crackers every few minutes. Chris and I rode next to each other when we could, and now that the race had begun his mood had improved.  With his encouragement and distractions, the miles started to roll by, meandering along the craggy Oregon coast.  

We passed the tandem team as they fixed the first of what became many flat tires.  We ran across our first dot watchers in Seaside and called out our hometowns as they recorded.  I witnessed ultra racing vet Dan Gravelle slow spinning up a hill, and realized that since everyone was saving their energy it evened the playing field a bit for me.  Surely I could keep moving all day if I went slow enough. Before we knew it, we had traveled over 50 miles.

We stopped at a small gas station outside of Rockaway beach to refuel. Due to my lack of appetite, I decided to pick up a pile of sugary drinks and see if they’d be any easier to force down.  I took off while Chris was still eating, knowing that he would very easily catch up to my snails pace once he was finished.  I prefer to eat and drink while moving, but Chris appreciates slightly longer breaks.

Outside of Tillamook, the route turns right and climbs up for a few miles through Cape Lookout State Park.  The sun had broken through the morning fog, so we stopped on the side of the road and I quickly discovered that my sunblock was far too thick to rub into my skin.

My accidental all-nighter was starting to really catch up with me, so as we began climbing I put on an oldies playlist to help pep me up.  Chris slipped away from view in front of me as I slowly trudged up the hill – this is how most extended climbs go, so I knew I would just see him at the top.

THEN IT HAPPENED.

gurgle gurgle gurgle.

What started as the slightest cramp in my abdomen turned into a full blown, 4-alarm fire within the space of about a minute.  At that moment I remembered why I usually had a rule about not consuming sugary beverages on long rides.  

Suddenly, I had a flashback to a few days prior, when I had made Chris stuff our pack of tissues into his frame bag because my bike had turned out heavier than his.  I looked down at my GPS and saw I still had over a mile left on the climb, and knew there was no way I’d see him before the top. I tried to pedal faster, but that made the cramping worse.  I had a very crappy situation on my hands (yuck yuck). 

I frantically searched my surroundings, but I appeared to be surrounded by a cliff above me to the left, and a steep dropoff to my right.  There was nowhere to “go”. Suddenly on the left around a curve I noticed a short length of guard rail and a massive tree stump just behind it.  This might be my only chance and I had to take it. I leaned my bike against the railing and made a beeline for the stump.

My exorcism complete, I quickly finished the climb and to my dismay I saw Chris was at the top of the climb chatting with another dot watcher.  I tried to play it cool as I came up and introduced myself. Dennis Howe was handing water bottles out of his trunk at the top of the first significant climb of the day, and I got one of the last ones.  He told us that we made his physical therapist heart happy, because we had already applied kinesio tape in the places where we tend to experience issues (knees for me, ankles for Chris).   Hopefully as we become stronger, smarter racers and dial in our fits, we’ll stop getting injured constantly. 😉

We lingered for several minutes and then moved along.  As we descended, the tree cover receded a bit and I felt around for my sunglasses.  I couldn’t find them, so I called out to Chris to stop before we got too far into the descent.  

This didn’t make sense, I had JUST been wearing them.

Suddenly, it dawned on me that my sunglasses might have fallen out of my jersey pocket when I had pulled it off in a rush during my off road adventure.  We waffled back and forth about the merits of re climbing a huge hill just to retrieve a silly pair of transition lenses, but ultimately decided that it was MUCH TOO EARLY to be losing important equipment.  The loving and devoted husband that he is, Chris offered to make the journey himself so that I could avoid re-climbing and save my limited energy. There was no way in hell I was THAT shameless yet, so I set off alone.

It took a while, but I did find the crime scene and my sunglasses.  Unfortunately a number of bewildered racers watched me descend in the wrong direction while I was searching.  

Having righted the wrong, we finally descended Cape Lookout with one more brief pause to recover a taillight that flew off of Chris’s bike.  I was feeling strangely better physically, and after encountering the media car I even felt like a bit of a badass.  

Look at me go, I’m racing the Trans Am!

We rode along the water at sea level for a few minutes.  At this point the sun was shining brightly, and we watched Kevin Wheeler run barefoot carrying his bike across a beach as we passed, on his way to dip it in the ocean.  We pulled into Pacific City around 2 PM – my early bail out option for the day. Suddenly I was engrossed in the beauty of the day and… it would be really silly to stop here, right?!  Surprised and excited, Chris asked if I wanted one of my frequent ditch naps before we moved on. Instead I opted for a lightspeed snack stop, fearing that if I sat too long I wouldn’t be able to get going again.  

At this point the route turns inland, and it wasn’t long before we diverged from our previous summer’s Pacific coast route into brand new territory.  I took another moment to reflect, and this time my mood had made a complete 180. This didn’t seem too hard after all! If I could do this much while sick, maybe once I recovered we would really start flying and I could finish in 25 days!  I daydreamed about reaching the finish line to the cheer of a hundred fans (fake news! That never happens to any racer!), hugging my family, and being interviewed about overcoming immense physical challenges to succeed. I wasn’t looking too shabby despite riding 4000 miles, and I had lost 15 pounds!  My pink hair was brighter than ever! Who would have thought!

My mood and energy did not last for very long.  

As we stopped for liquids one more time at a convenience store before the turn onto Highway 18, I could barely keep my eyes open.  I had briefly entertained the idea of shooting for Monmouth or Corvallis, hoping to keep up with the center of the pack. Chris saw my exhaustion, and coaxed me into overnighting at Grand Ronde instead.  It would only be 140 miles for the day, but we’d be able to get extra sleep and go for an early start in the morning.

The last handful of miles to Grand Ronde took absurdly long, and Highway 18 was roaring with traffic.  This was clearly an evening rush home from vacation destinations. The shoulder was decent, but as RVs rushed past me in a blur I became concerned about my level of fatigue and the safety of continuing to ride.  I was using every ounce of strength that I had to hold my head up and I was moving pretty slowly to keep from swerving. Poor Christopher is the most patient person ever, sometimes.  

I watched the last few miles drag on for ages… 3… 2.5… 2… and then thankfully the Spirit Mountain Casino appeared on the right.  It was just after 6 pm, and I wasn’t sure which was worse: the fact that we were stopping for the day while it was still broad daylight, or the fact that it had taken me until 6 PM to finish those last few miles.  

In any event, we were here, and Chris ran off to find us dinner while I showered.  He returned from the cafe with a burger for him, a french dip for me, and some of the saddest salads I have ever seen.  I still didn’t have an appetite, but I forced down what I could. We prepped everything we could so that we could hit the ground running the next day, and set our alarms for 4:30am.  We hoped that nearly 9 hours of sleep would be enough to reset my system. I fell asleep feeling at peace, marveling at how much adventure we had already experienced.

We were doing it!

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Astoria, Oregon to Grand Ronde, Oregon: 140 miles.