Kyle Banerjee's Blog

I’m a sucker for tough rides, but sometimes it’s fun to go to an event where the scenery is the primary motivation for going and the ride is only a secondary (albeit important) benefit. With that in mind, I went with Bryan this week to take part the Crater Lake Century.

Historically, the Shasta is the ride I look forward to all year because it’s challenging and has fabulous scenery. However, the Crater Lake beats every other ride I’ve been on in the scenery department. And with only a tick over 7500 feet of climbing in 100 miles, the Crater Lake is more civilized and much less of an endurance contest.

I took the new bike Eric built for me. Part of me wondered how I’d do on old school steel since most other riders have crazy light rigs made from carbon fiber or titanium. I was also curious how my new steed would handle at speed on patchy pavement. I figured my geometry and heavy wheels would improve stability considerably. I guessed correctly — I left some good riders in the dust on a 44 mph descent over pavement rough enough to shake my computer mount apart. I’d never be able to take my racing bike over such a crummy surface at a speed like that.

The day ended on a very positive note. I rode the last 8 miles solo on the flats at 19-21mph into a slight headwind. No body parts hurt, and the only physical problems were some nausea issues I always have when I exert myself at altitudes over 7000 feet. Afterwards, Bryan and I soaked in a hot tub for about an hour and went out for a steak. The restaurant was good, but the service was slow — however, they more than made up for it by only charging for one glass of wine when I drank five.

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Every time I attempt a difficult ride, I learn something new. Despite the fact that I’ve done the Shasta several times, it’s still an educational experience every time. For those of you who like to cut to the chase, the most important lesson I learned is that hyponatremia is serious business.

This year, I’d done no training and only fun rides — the most I’d climbed in one day this year was 6,000 feet, and the most I’d ridden at once was barely over 100 miles. I figured that tagging on another 10,500 feet plus 40 miles in arid heat would make things interesting.

The riding plan worked better than expected. Although my pace was much slower than in the past, I was feeling great as I passed the 100 mile mark with over 10,000 feet climbed. As I approached the end of the final ascent, I was feeling the best I ever had at this point in the ride.

Suddenly, things fell apart. I started puking my guts out (there was only water in my stomach). I couldn’t perceive my surroundings properly or hold a straight line. One mile before a checkpoint 3 miles from the finish, I knew that if I didn’t stop immediately, I’d black out. I lay in the gravel at the side of the road and fell asleep.

I soon recovered to the point that I could advance to the checkpoint. I was still weak and disoriented, and the organizers suggested I cut my ride short. But given how fast I’d deteriorated, I figured that something was just out of balance.

A couple riders speculated I had a sodium deficiency due to the fact I’d been drinking plain water and hadn’t taken in any salt. It was hot, and I needed about 3 gallons of liquids to stay hydrated. If I force down more than a gallon of anything other than plain water, chances of puking are very high.

I ate some things containing salt, took in some more fluids, rested awhile, and felt good as I finished the last few miles in good form. In other words, had I simply taken a few salt tabs like some of the other riders, the day would have been flawless. Live and learn.

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I rarely stay off my bike for more than a few days, but there are certain rides like the Shasta Super Century that I look forward to all year.  It’s got everything — fabulous scenery, long climbs, and wicked fast descents.

I’ve done the Shasta several times now, and every year I’ve prepared for it by spending many weekends training on the side of a mountain as well as countless hours on the road and my trainer. Even with that kind of preparation, I often complete the final ascent with my leg muscles screaming and my head in a fog.

This year, I’m trying something a little different. I’m going to attempt the Shasta without working specifically on extended climbs. The guys at the bike shop think I’m nuts, but I think I might be able to make it about 25 min slower than normal if I manage my effort, hydration, and nutrition properly. My hope is to eliminate all preparation that even seems like work and just do fun rides.

Anyone want to bet on the outcome? Your guess is as good as mine.

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I ride all year, but I still look forward to cycling season. I may be addicted to my riding fix, but even I prefer tooling about in the warm sun to slogging through darkness, cold, wind, and rain — the predominant riding conditions in the winter.

In my own mind, the official beginning of riding season is a local event known as the Monster Cookie. It’s a metric century (62 miles), but I traditionally stretch it out to 100 miles because that’s the only type of century my purist side recognizes. The picture is of me resting at the halfway point — it was cold in the morning so I took my velomobile.

Unfortunately, work has really been getting in the way of my free time. For years, I averaged over 200 miles/week on my bike even in the winter. However, ever since I started a new job a couple years ago, I’ve been putting in barely half that and it shows in my condition.

Ironically, I’ve been getting better bikes as I ride less. Just a couple weeks ago, I sold my trusty commuter. I’ve been trying to retire this thing for a couple years. It was a heavy beast, but it was so dang practical I kept pulling it out.

In the end, I realized I’d have to sell it if I ever wanted to get another commuting rig. So I went to Craigslist and to let people know a well maintained workhorse with over 50,000 miles on it was available. I got 8 calls in within 24 hours, and the first potential buyer gave me a full price offer.

It has a great new home. The guy who bought it really knows his bikes and appreciated the customizations I made, so it gets another lease on life as a hard core touring bike.

Before winter starts, I need to get a new commuter for riding in slop. I’ve narrowed it down to two choices, a cyclocross bike which I’ll get from my favorite shop or a custom built bike from someone who I know will do a great job. If you’re wondering why I don’t just go custom built, it’s because my tastes are more expensive than my budget, so I need to see what I can get for an amount that won’t break the bank.

But in the meantime, there are a lot of great rides to look forward to.

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Once in a long while, I go on a ride that is truly special. Last weekend was one of those times. Shirley and I drove to California so I could participate in the Everest Challenge. The Everest involves 29,035 feet of climbing on steep roads at high altitude.

The ride hardly could have gone better. I had a blast. Naturally, there was a bit of fatigue, but my legs felt good to the end. I had zero knee pain. Zero numbness. Zero problems with cramping. Zero times with my head in a fog. Zero times wishing it would just end. As I was climbing the last few miles where the average grade is 14%, I found myself thinking “it doesn’t get any better than this.” When you can hold a thought like that after riding so far, you know it must be true.

It has been over 25 years since I felt so good about a ride. When I was 15, I rode my first century — by accident. Although I now think of 100 miles as nothing, I have always regarded that day as one of my great rides because the experience opened my eyes to what was possible. As was the case back then, I didn’t ride the Everest that fast. But unlike most of the other riders who were hurting after finishing, I’m putting in about 200 miles this week.

The only thing that kept the Everest from being an absolutely perfect experience is that despite the fact Shirley provided great support, I drank only a fraction of the liquids I needed and ate practically nothing on the second half of the ride. That was stupid. Shortly after I crossed the finish line, my body decided it had enough so I wound up taking a nap in the gravel for 45 minutes. I wasn’t suffering — I felt as if I was in a feather bed. A few hours later, I had some food and fluids in me and was back to normal.

One thing I didn’t tell anyone is that I was carrying one of Keiko’s old tags for good luck. Despite the fact that my bike computer tells me I’m not nearly as fast as I used to be, this has been my best riding season ever. I’ve had a great time on some real rides, lost no time to injury (something that hasn’t happened for years), and I am dedicating my training effort as well as my performance on the Everest to her memory. There may be no outstanding successes, but there has been a string of consistently good experiences which remind me of why I ride in first place.

I haven’t quite figured out what I’m going to do next year. While I like a challenge, I find that riding slower so I can enjoy the experience speaks to me more than pushing my body to its limits. For this reason, I’m thinking of trying my hand at randonneuring (basically, self supported long distance riding). I’m toying with the idea of trying to pull off 600 km in one day. We’ll see.

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Starting sometime last year, I started having problems with heat exhaustion on longer, more challenging rides. The funny thing is that no matter how hot it is, it’s not an issue on shorter rides (less than 100 miles). Last week, I found out why.

In preparation for the Everest Challenge, I climb Mary’s Peak 3 times every Saturday or Sunday. Last week, I strapped on a heart rate monitor and rode the same as I normally do just to see how hard I was working. I discovered that even on extended rides, my HR is over 160 a lot of the time and practically never drops below 155 except when I’m going down a hill. That’s fine if I’m on my trainer in the garage for an hour (in fact, I’ll take my HR higher than that). But putting those kind of numbers up hour after hour? I had no idea I was doing that — no wonder I felt so bad.

Today I did Mary’s Peak again with the HRM strapped on and took it easy. I tried to keep my HR around 145 most of the time and didn’t spend much time over 150. It was a totally different type of ride. My second climb was faster than the first, and my third was faster than the second. Plus, I was able to enjoy the scenery.

The bad news is that my average speed that was 0.7mph slower than last week — that’s huge in cycling terms. Nonetheless, I was happy with the results. I could have easily done another lap. Just for the heck of it, I cranked up the effort near the end to see how much strength was left, and there was plenty of gas left in the tank. Even though I lost almost 18 minutes during the ride, I was in MUCH better shape afterwards, so I think I’d recover the lost time if I had to stay out much longer. Things are looking good for the Everest.

Bryan wants to go riding tomorrow and put the hurt on me since he figures I will have ridden too hard today. I’m looking forward to it….

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This past weekend, I took part in the Shasta Super Century. It’s challenging, the scenery is fantastic, and its my favorite ride of the year. For the past two years, I’ve been using it as a training ride for the Everest Challenge.

A few minor snafus aside, most of the ride went well. I forgot to fill my water bottles on the day of the ride and dropped my arm warmers into the porta potty (ugh) at the top of the first mountain. Starting around mile 80, my left knee started acting up, but I cut through the first 100 miles in my fastest time yet by a significant margin.

As I started the final climb, things rapidly fell apart. Heat exhaustion symptoms set in and my legs started cramping. I didn’t take breaks on any of the other climbs, but I wound up stopping numerous times on the last one — including taking a half hour nap on the side of the road only 1.5 miles from the finish. I decided to scrub my plans for the Everest.

I often forget how tough the Shasta is — the whole point of rides like these is to challenge strong riders. The first year, I did the entire final climb in a stupor, my legs were screaming in pain when I reached the top, and I almost didn’t make it. Looking at my blog posting for the Shasta last year, I see I did better then I did the first year, but that pain and heat exhaustion were major issues.  I also see that despite all the problems I had yesterday, I did much better this year.

In short, the Everest is still on. There are 5 weeks to train, and too many things could happen before or during the ride for me to predict an outcome, but my chances at this point in time look decent.

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This weekend, we scattered Keiko’s ashes at her favorite place to play in the whole world. It’s near the end of the beach just north of Manzanita, Oregon at the foot of Neahkannie Mountain. Even though we routinely played fetch until my arm was sore and she couldn’t stand, she always resisted when it was time to go home. Today, I let her stay to play in the sand and waves with all dogs and people who go there.

The walk down to the beach made me a little sad. This is the first time in 11 years that I’ve gone to the beach without Keiko, and I can say that she was with me at least 90% of the times I’ve been at any beach over the course of my entire life. Games of fetch and long walks may have been the highlight of her day, but I’m sure I enjoyed it every bit as much as she did. Saying goodbye to all of that is hard, but I felt a strange weight lift from my shoulders when we let her go for good.

The rest of the weekend went pretty well. I’m preparing for a tough ride next weekend, so I rode just shy of 100 miles along the coast to test my legs and equipment. Bad luck could shut me down, but I’m feeling good about my prospects.

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Even if nothing had happened with Keiko, things would be unusually nutty. I’ve been out of town on work business for half of the past two weeks (with more time away planned), and I have some big rides coming up.

This weekend we’re taking Keiko’s ashes to the beach so she can be at her favorite place in the world. She always loved the beach and never wanted to come back, so we’ll take her to the area shown in this video. I doubt anyone watching it would guess she was 10 years old, blind, and very sick when that was taken unless they were told. On a related note, I’ve redone her slideshow so that it is shorter and has a better soundtrack.

While we’re at the beach, I’ll do a calibration ride for the Shasta Super Century. It will be interesting to see how that works out. On one hand, I’m riding much less than I have in the past and my cruising speeds are way down. However, I actually feel pretty good so I may be fine so long as I’m not in denial.

On weekdays, I try to to do something that will help me prepare, and every Saturday for the past 4 weeks, I’ve been climbing well over 10,000 feet by ascending Mary’s Peak three times. That may sound like a lot, but that level of preparation is barely adequate for the Shasta and marginal at best for the Everest Challenge.

However, I have some new wheels and gearing that should make a significant difference. Plus I have some ideas for how to motivate myself when things get difficult. On these tough rides, you need some strength and endurance, but it’s actually the mental part that’s hardest.

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Three weeks ago, I posted a picture of Shirley and me enjoying some skiing on Mary’s Peak. Well, today it was over 100 degrees, so I rode my bike up there to test my new climbing wheels and alpine gearing. I’m happy to report that the wheels and gears work great.
The cyclist is another matter. Despite having better equipment, I clocked the worst time I have in years going up and down the mountain twice. I would love to blame the heat, but I have good heat tolerance and today was no exception.I drank 8 large bottles of water (I hid water along the route so I could restock), and I felt good after the ride.

Although my speed was pitiful, my legs felt just fine afterwards so there is reason for to believe I’ll be able to get ready for the tough rides at the end of summer.

Incidentally, it was a gorgeous day and the view was exactly like this picture — minus the snow.

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I enjoy challenging myself physically, so last weekend I went on a 200 mile bike ride. It just so happens that this ride passed a few blocks from our house so Bryan and I popped by for a short visit around mile 130.

I felt great all day, but around mile 170, one of my knees hurt so bad I couldn’t bend it without causing excruciating pain. I thought about bailing since abusing knees is a great way to permanently injure them, but when you’ve come that far, you really don’t want to quit. I popped some ibuprofen and tried to compensate with the other leg, but within a few miles, the extra strain led to massive cramps which forced me off the bike. Fortunately, it took only a few minutes for me to get a handle on the knee pain and continue to a good finish.

This ride worked out well, but the question still remains on how you know when it’s time to concede things won’t work out they way you hope. Anything worth doing requires perseverance and sacrifice. At the same time, if you refuse to exit with grace when you reach a point where all the willpower and effort in the world can’t help you, the line between dedication and delusion is crossed.

Knowing where these boundaries are is not just an academic exercise. For example, Keiko’s condition has been deteriorating steadily. As recently as a few months ago, we walked 4 miles a day. Now we walk 2 blocks. I’ve been sleeping on the floor with her for the past 2 months because she can’t climb stairs and needs to go out several times each night. She’s lost a huge amount of weight and is in constant pain from a giant and rapidly growing tumor.

You’d think that would make the decision obvious, but it’s not so easy. Her appetite is strong and she enjoys eating. I’ve been feeding her bacon and eggs for breakfast, and at night she’s been eating things like cheeseburgers, pizza, steak, meatballs, etc. She is content when she’s asleep. She’s been a very tough girl her entire life, so we will not give up until she indicates she’s not interested in hanging around anymore.

People who’ve known Keiko become sad when they see the fading shadow she’s become of her former self. At some point, there won’t be enough left for her, and we will have to let her go.

Dr. Lindsay and the other staff at the vet have been truly impressed with Keiko’s resilience, and he tells me that she will let me know when it’s time. I hope he’s right.  Even doing what I know is right will rip my heart out, so it’s really important to get this right.

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Oregon may have a reputation as a cycling Mecca, but the reality is that the weather is pretty crummy for most of the year. It’s cold, windy, and rainy. The good news is that once the sun finally comes out, it stays out.

This year, I’ve not been able to put in nearly as much saddle time as I normally do and I’m paying the price. My bike computer tells me that even on a good day I’m not as fast as I was on a bad day last year. When I first realized beyond any doubt that I wasn’t being slowed by the weather or other factors, it was a bit depressing.

Last week, Bryan and I did the Strawberry Century. Like me, he’s also not been putting in enough riding time.We’re accustomed to being pretty speedy, but instead, we got to watch people that we should have been blowing by pass us up. It was crystal clear to me that there’s no way I have a chance of finishing my favorite rides unless I get my act in gear. At least we had some nice scenery as you can see in this photo.

Now that the weather is finally clearing up (though it would be nice if the morning temps could crack the lower 40’s), riding season can begin in earnest. The Watermelon is this weekend. It’s 200 miles in one day, and I’ll extend it a bit. Then, I can start working on Mary’s Peak — that’s where Shirley and I went skiing last weekend. I’ve got quite a bit of catchup to do, but there’s still enough time to be ready when the really challenging rides start up in August.

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This past weekend, I took part in the Everest Challenge. It’s a bicycle race in the Sierra Mountains that’s over 200 miles long with a total elevation gain over 29,000 feet. Even though I was just there to finish and not to race, it’s the most difficult ride I’ve attempted.

It was unusually cold and stormy during the ride. We rode through heavy wind, rain, hail, and driving snow. The weather for the second half of the ride was much better, but it was still very cold. As I started the final climb, I started thinking about why I was out there. I was exhausted and in pain. The straw that broke the camel’s back was I was tired of freezing. I bailed.

The whole point of endurance rides is to challenge yourself physically and mentally. However, it’s also important to have fun and enjoy the scenery. When an event turns into a masochistic exercise in pride, it’s time to think about stopping because it’s not fun anymore and you won’t get any physical or mental benefit either.

Despite not finishing, I’m very satisfied with how things turned out. I rode well for all but the last few miles. I developed a new appreciation for what the other riders go put themselves through to achieve their results.

With the time I saved, I visited the ancient bristlecone pine forest where there are trees over 4000 years old — I’ve wanted to see them since I was 10. And frankly, I’m glad I chose to see the trees rather than spend an extra 2 hours and change torturing myself. They were literally a few yards from the finish line, but I wouldn’t have been in any condition to notice them if I had been too pigheaded to know when to quit.

Preparing for the Everest is a lot of work and it’s a long way away, but I hope I can do it again next year. One thing is certain though. If I ever try it again, I’m doing it with alpine gearing.

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After a disappointing performance on the Oregon Ultimate earlier this year, I was eager to do well on a big ride. This past weekend, I took part in the Shasta Super Century. Basically, you ride to the top of four mountains in one day. The roads are steep, so it’s challenging.

Having learned from my earlier DNF, I formulated a strategy for completing the Shasta and stuck to it. The first half of the day couldn’t have gone better. I moved right along and felt like a million bucks. Somewhere on the third mountain, I started feeling sick and actually took a 5-10 min nap at the top (something the other riders found funny). For most of the final mountain, I was in a daze and experiencing heat exhaustion symptoms even though it wasn’t hot.

Although I completed the ride with time to spare, midway through the final climb on the Shasta, I thought about scrubbing my plans for taking part in the Everest Challenge (my riding goal for the year). The Everest is roughly as bad as two Shastas spread out over two days.

Ever since I got my new job, I’ve been riding half as much as I normally do, and the resulting loss of conditioning was hurting my performance. As I slogged through the final 2 miles of the Shasta, I calculated that I might be able to complete the Everest, but even under the best circumstances, I’d probably feel the worst I’ve ever felt on a ride. Since I already felt terrible as I thought about this, it didn’t sound very tempting.

After I finished the ride, I realized that completing goals requires us to go well beyond our comfort zones. By definition, anything in our comfort zone is something we know we can do, and there’s not much point in setting goals if there’s no doubt about the outcome — it’s hard to get much sense of accomplishment from shooting fish in a barrel.

It’s much more satisfying to try things where the outcome is unknown. If I do my best to prepare for the Everest, formulate a good riding and nutrition strategy, give my best effort, and am willing to possibly feel worse than I ever have on a ride before, I might be able to finish the Everest. I’ll be pretty happy if I can pull that off.

I won’t feel bad if I don’t make it to the end. When you explore your limits, you find what you’re made of, and you can use the knowledge you gain to improve yourself whether or not you succeed. Besides, plenty of strong cyclists in their 20’s and 30’s don’t reach the finish. I’ll have lots of good company regardless of the outcome.

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Well, it finally happened — I failed to complete a ride. Yesterday, I attempted the Oregon Ultimate Road Ride. Basically, it’s 215 miles in the Cascade mountains. The ride had it all — distance, tough climbs, great scenery, scorching heat, and wind. 18 people attempted this year.

Many things went right. I had a great time and met a number of people I hope to ride with again. Weather was decent. I felt good and rode with the big boys until mile 60 or 70. Although they dropped me, I passed the 100 mile mark 6 hrs after I started. That’s a respectable time even on a flat route, let alone one that involves thousands of feet of climbing. Although I’d been using more of my legs than I should, I was on track to a strong finish when I passed the halfway mark.

At mile 125, I was riding slower than my usual pace but still feeling good. Just a couple miles later, heat exhaustion hit me like a load of bricks — it was all I could do to not pass out while riding. I took off my helmet to cool off, but around mile 130 I was in a total daze and barely able to move in my lowest gear. I felt so bad that I considered  lying on the shoulder of the highway and falling asleep. Fortunately, Bryan was nearby, heard from another rider that I looked terrible, and he rescued me.

My first reaction when I knew my day was prematurely over was to question the rest of my riding schedule. I wondered if maybe I wasn’t kidding myself about my physical condition and need to face the fact that I belong with smaller fish in a smaller pond. However, once I got some fluids in me and began feeling normal again, I remembered that people much better than me have bad days — some of whom also failed to complete the Ultimate. I knew that I could have finished this ride, but just not this time.

Normally, my strategy is to ride my ride and let others ride theirs. I don’t attempt to catch or drop anyone. This time, though, I got caught up in the moment. I rode too hard and didn’t pay enough attention to hydration. I don’t regret trying this. One of the things I’ve always wondered is if my normal strategy is too conservative and if maybe I should ride harder. Apparently, my regular plan is spot on.

I think I’ll still attempt the Everest Challenge, though I think I need some more training in high desert. The problem with riding in the high desert is you don’t feel like you’re sweating, so you can get dehydrated easily.

In a strange sense, failing the ride yesterday may have been a good thing. Today my left knee hurts like heck — apparently a combination of painkiller and adrenaline kept me from realizing how bad it was yesterday. Better to bail early and still have a chance of healing up in time for some great rides in August than trashing my knee and being out for the rest of the season.

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