Cycling Sucks

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So, after months of planning and preparation I finally got in my first long ride of the trip, 123km to be accruate. Tire pressure: good, wheels trued: check, chain oiled: got it, weight evenly distributed between my 4 panniers: yes. Muscles trained and ready to ride with 60 pounds under my butt...DAMN, I knew I forgot something! Riding to and from work in downtown Seattle is one thing, even up Spring St. which I used to think was evil. Going for fully loaded one hour training rides in Kauai up Kawaihau Road is quite another...hot, sweaty and tiring. And riding into the country side that is southern Malaysia is a reality check. After 2 hours I was begging for the arctic Hawaiian breezes and dry air that the islands are known for. It's not that Malaysia down here is mountainous...and I can't even complain about headwinds. It's just freakin' HOT. And those training rides I longingly recalled as I was into my 3rd hour of the day? "Woefully inadequate" was the phrase that kept going through my sweat soaked head. "James", I heard that voice in my head that is part me and part drill sargeant call out "your training wasn't just inadequate, it was woefully inadequate". "Woefully inadequate". It sounded poetic almost. Eighteenth century English novelist language. "Woefully inadequate" could be Jane Austen maybe. Ah England, cool misty mornings, grey wet skies, a reason to be depressed...no, it wasn't working. I couldn't conjure the cooling effect of the more temperate climes. But that didn't keep me from trying. The mind does weird things when left to its own overheated devices and "woefully inadequate" became a sort of self-loathing mantra. "Why in the hell didn't I ride more before I took this trip"? "What am I doing here"? And yes, the classic, "Why did I leave Kauai" (without the dot com). My legs were starting to groan at the 5th hour of the ride but at least I hadn't made the mistake of not bringing food or water (I'm learning). But there are many mistakes to be made in this lifetime and it seems I need to learn a lot of them in a short period of time, and right now. This is the grape lesson. Most of us learn it by 6 or 8 years of age. Don't eat too many grapes at one time. They are really, really good, and juicy and sweet and when your'e riding all day long they are almost impossible to resist. OK they are totally impossible to resist when they are in your handle bar bag which is just inches from your fingertips and did I mention the heat. You don't even need to stop to eat 'em. Just pop them in your mouth one after another until...I think it was about the 7th hour into the ride when the stomache cramps began...and details at this point would just be fun for all my nurse friends so I'll mercifully change the subject from DIARRHEA to the road sign system in Malaysia.
It's actually excellent. Too excellent. In the spirit of 1930's American WPP and CCC projects the Malaysian government has created a jobs program that is clever and helpful if you drive a car. If you cycle, it's just cruel. Every kilometer there is a stone marker counting down the km's to the next big city. Great idea unless you drive at approx 20km/hr. "How could I have only gone 1 km?" became my new mantra not replacing but augmenting the old one. And seeing 78km to go, down from 83 km so long ago, doesn't really make you feel that good inside. Just about the same as the grapes. I have grown to hate good signage.
I really can't stress enough the power of the voices inside my head as I ride alone all day. The PDR pamphlet accompanying my mefloquine, anti-malarial pills, warns of severe depression and suicidal ideation as a not uncommon side effect. Remembering that did make me feel a bit better as the thought of slashing my wrists or just swerving in front of the next passing car kept occurring every time one of those #%@& km markers shimmered in the distance. I started to devise ways to avoid seeing the signs and forgetting the numbers on them. At first glance of something that could be a sign I would look in any direction but forward. Granted this might not be the safest of driving techniques but at least I hadn't commited suicide yet and that was saying something. Then I would try to think of random numbers or add things up in my head to try and forget what was indellibly etched into my memory...the number on the last sign. Pulling the conversion rate of the Malaysian Ringet to the US dollar to the 6th decimal couldn't erase the numbers on those stones. I was trapped in the hell of a tape loop counting down distances ever so slowly until a new equation entered my head. Did I have enough pedal strokes left in these once proud legs to see the km marker hit zero? This was Big Math and I didn't have it in me to do it. "Just ride like a machine" I thought, "keep those legs spinning and you will get there...I'm pretty sure of it". My mind is a fickle friend and can be a brutal enemy. At times feeling quite insane, and at others quite happy, riding solo has been a test for me and one I think I'm failing most of the time. I think of Willie Weir and all the other intrepid long distance riders out there. I think of the pioneers, of rock climbers, and Peary and the Arctic explorers. They weren't whining about a little heat and abdominal bloating! And if they did at least they didn't blog about it, begging the world for sympathy.
Eight hours after starting this ride, the mega-farm of palm trees that is southern Malaysia (so much for jungle and biodiversity) gave way to Mersing. It appeared like a long desired lover. Arms held wide and smiling she helped me off the saddle, fed me, and laid me down to rest. All the craziness of the day was washed away as I slipped into bed and slept like I haven't slept in years. More than the heat or distance (not that far really), more than the fatigue and more than my knee pain, it's my mind and its weakness that has me worried. I forgot to train my brain for this trip. No amount of research or planning or querrying of locals will help me with what ultimately comes down to...me.