Alisa Armstrong

OK. There is a piece of the story I've left out for reasons of pride and ego and self-respect. Her name is Alisa, she's 28 years old and we've been cycling together since Chiang Mai. And before you gutterheads get the wrong idea...no it's NOT like that...at all! We met up in Bangkok about a month ago after she read my blog and sent me a hello. She was also hiding in an internet cafe while avoiding the pierced and tattoo'd dreadlockers that knuckle drag their way from Khao San Road to Soi Rambuttri in search of the next bucket of mixed drinks. She came across this blog and we were soon emailing and setting up a time to share cycling exagerations (which proves that this verbal diarrhea of a cycling blog hasn't been a total waste of time). She was solo cycling N.Thailand and as usual I had no solid plan. So we went our own ways only to meet up again unplanned in Chiang Mai. When we decided that it would be fun to travel together up into Laos, I had no idea that this woman was Lance Armstrong's twin sister! The fact that Lance is in his late 30's has no bearing on this discussion. Growing up with Lance was tough Alisa assured me. Always having to wait for her older twin on the hill climbs and having to listen to him complain about the headwinds grated on her nerves to be sure. But the testicular cancer period was especially hard as she not only saw him through the ordeal but watched as he got all the attention and became the media darling while her own superior cycling skills were never appreciated. I think that to this day (7 "stolen" Tour de France victories later) she secretly resents Lance.
There is nothing new in my experience of feeling inferior to people...men or women. In many ways, women hold a greater power over me than I can explain. And knowing that I give them this power doesn't seem to change its emotional impact. So it was a familiar yet defeated kind of sensation when Alisa and I headed out of the rice paddies and straight for the mountains. I have been priding myself on my physical abilities after months of cycling and thought that I was strong. As a 44 year old I was also beginning to feel like I have a handle on what kind of mental strenght it takes to solo tour S.E. Asia. As Alisa began to shrink into the distance ahead I started questioning both those assumptions. Instantly in my lowest gear and struggling, I could barely make out that she was still into the middle of her gear cluster and had tons of lee-way "for when the hills get difficult". It was a foreshadowing that I didn't need to hear. She just got smaller until she disappeared around a bend. When I finally got around one of the harder bends she was standing there eating a creme cookie and sipping water like we were on a picnic. The last thing I could have done was eat a creme cookie without barfing or inhaling the dry crumbs while catching my breath. That was day one. She would say things that were supposed to be encouraging like, "It takes more energy to push a bike up a hill than to ride it". "Huh", I would say, not letting her in on the fact that if I possibly COULD have ridden up the hill I would have! By the end of the day she saw I was truely struggling and realized that I was getting washed out. She would give me words of encouragement that somehow just didn't work. Things like, "I don't have nearly as much crap in my panniers as you do. No wonder you're going so slow". Or, "You're legs must have atrophied over the past 6 weeks of not cycling". Sitting here now I can see the remarks as they were intended. A way for me to save face without too much shame. At the time my ears heard things like, "What dumb-ass packs a plastic pet cat or 5 pound hatchet in case he comes across a coconut to eat?" Or, "God your legs are weak."
It turns out that Alisa is a professional bike tour guide back in Washington and is used to people doing stupid things and not being quite in shape for the rides they plan. She's seen it all before and my antics were not new to her. Even though I know this about her and about myself, it still sucks to get my ass handed to me by a woman! So the other day we crawled out of the mountains and hit some fine flat rolling hills of a river valley. Just after a noodle lunch I said we should kick it down a notch and just spin for the second half of the day. It was hot and we were dripping sweat in the full afternoon sun. She agreed and as we rode off I hit the gas with a post lunch blood sugar boost. Once out of the steep hills I started feeling great again as I could finally get off my lowest gear and make some time. It really felt great to power up and watch as Alisa shrank into a small dot in my rear view mirror and then disappeared. "Who's got too much crap in their panniers now sucka" I thought as I hit a cruising speed of 16 to 18 mph. Then up ahead I saw the first of the short but moderately steep hills. It took a lot of energy but standing up while pedalling I could keep the momentum from making me hit my lowest gear again. No Alisa behind and I was still good...until maybe 3 to 4 similar hills later. It was near the middle of one of these little soul stealers that I saw her coming up from behind. From a speck to a blob to a discernable cyclist to Lance's sister I could see her advancing rapidly. It was uncanny how quickly she was catching up and made me feel...well, slow. My pride was now attatched to the thought that "OK, maybe you're stronger than me on the hills but dammit I got you on the flats!" I was now peddling almost all out but it was no use. Training with Lance had given her all his competitive drive and she overtook me within a minute or two more. She smiled at me as she said, "Hey I thought we were gonna take it down a notch here!" Then she was gone...blowing up the next hill as I hit the well worn low gear and spun my way up. Anyone who has done any sport knows that a lot, maybe most, of performance is mental. Being in shape and training correctly are important to be sure but if your mind gets beaten...then you are beaten. I had just been beaten and at 85 degrees it was killing me. After a few more hills Alisa pulled over and waited for me while drinking some water. A bit of advice here for those who have just kicked some ass. Never ask the person whose ass you've just handed back to them how they're doing. The responses given can be wide ranging but I chose the face saving "good, good, good, no worries!" So off we rode and it was only a few minutes later that I realized I wasn't doing so well. My upper lip was sticking to my upper gums giving me that skeleton look. No matter how much water I'd drink I resumed my psycho smile...my lips were cracking and I had cotton mouth so I couldn't even swallow. I was dehydrating and couldn't keep up with the water I needed. At about the same time I bonked.
There is a funny phenomenon in cycling called bonking. Sorry again gutterheads but it has nothing to do with what you are thinking right now. Bonking is another word for hitting the wall... a.k.a. pooping out. The blood sugar high I had just been running on peaked and I felt like my legs had instantly turned to gel. There is a fatigue and weakness that occurs and though I got hungry and weak, the last thing I wanted to do was eat. As I rode more and more slowly Alisa pulled over and saw the bonk face. "You need to eat, dammit, follow me." We went to a roadside stand and drank coke and orange drink and I jammed cookies in my mouth while fighting the urge to throw it all back up. After 20 minutes the world became clearer and the edges of things lost their hazy sheen. Even though I was thoroughly beaten down, I was grateful that Alisa had come to my rescue and forced me to eat and drink. I have now lost all illusions that because I'm a man I should somehow be a better or stronger cyclist than a woman (though sometimes I look at her gear ratio and think I could be just as strong with that wimpy Mt bike set up!). That notion was unceremoniously kicked out of me a few days ago. But if you (male or female) ever get the chance to ride with Alisa...pack lightly.