Word vomit regarding Fleche NorCal 2022

We were supposed to ride 237 miles from Yosemite to San Francisco in 24 hours. Should I go? Should I not go?

I asked this question to countless friends leading up to the Fleche. I was looking for answers to my own life from other people. This is a constant theme and problem in my life. 

We all have our reasons for doing the Fleche. I believe most of us are searching for something during those 24 hours on the bike. Searching for purpose, searching for meaning, searching for answers. What was I searching for? What would I find out there?

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When I agreed to the Fleche, my life looked a little different, but the week leading up to the Fleche was exhausting. I was caught in emotionally draining conflicts at work that left me crying at the start and end of every day. I was reeling from a breakup that left me feeling depressed, lonely, and guilty. I was drinking with different friends every night to avoid sitting with the pain, and taking a cocktail of edibles, melatonin, and over-the-counter pills to help me sleep through the night. I turn to bikes because they are the one thing that I know I am good at, but even bikes were not bringing me joy. I was in pain.

Not to mention, an event like the Fleche is dangerous. Multiple close friends have had unfortunate luck on the bike recently involving motorists. During the Fleche, we would be playing with fire by riding bikes through mountain passes in terrible weather, and then through the night on country roads.

Between my personal life and the risk involved, I was not sure if it was the right time for me to do the Fleche. After consulting with everyone, except for my team, I told everyone, except for my team, that I was not doing the Fleche. I needed a weekend to relax, be with my friends, do some casual rides, and drink beers. My friend Jimmy practically begged me not to do it (his words, not mine). I have a habit of pushing myself too hard all the time, and this was going to be a practice in pumping the brakes and slowing down. Plus, it’s not safe. I shouldn’t do the Fleche. Or rather, this is what everyone was telling me when I asked them what I should do.

When I brought it up with my friend Mike, who organized our team, I was transparent about why I was dropping out of the event. I was dealing with the breakup and stress from work, and I did not know if I was ready for an event like this. He understood, but he also offered to talk through it with me. I was assured that it would be a supportive group, and we’d just be riding bikes and drinking beers the whole time. That promise of a supportive group was all I needed to know that this was the right choice for me. Something was calling me to do this.

I made my decision, and I had one day to prepare. I dashed around Oakland on Thursday to make sure everything was set (I would like to give a special shoutout to David, Tasha, Kev, and Teddie for the assistance, gear, and support).

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I found myself with my team at Jack London Square to catch the 7:36 am Amtrak on Friday, April 15. We took the train to Merced, where we transferred to the YARTS bus. Our hotel was outside of Yosemite Valley, but our driver was nice enough to take us all the way to the Valley, at no extra cost. This was the first of many kind strangers on this absurd journey.

We explored the Valley during the afternoon, and then rode out to our hotel. Pizza and beers for dinner, then off to bed. I slept terribly the night before, but was hopeful that would mean a deep night’s sleep before we began our ride. I was very, very wrong. I tossed and turned until about 2am, which left me with 4 hours of poor quality sleep before our alarms rang at 6am. Time to get up. We had a Fleche to complete.

It was 40 degrees and pouring down rain when we departed at 8am. I wanted to quit before we even began. I was tired, and I wasn’t sure what I was doing here. I had never ridden more than 116 miles in one go. What was I doing riding 237 on poor sleep? I could take the YARTS bus back to Amtrak, and meet my friends for beers in the evening. It would be easy to quit, so why didn’t I? Something was still calling me to do this. I had to keep moving forward.

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You could say that the ride was off to a rocky start. On the bus ride to Yosemite the day before, we scoped out a dirt road that paralleled our original route, and we thought that would be a better option because dirt is FUN and free of cars. Less than an hour into our ride, one of our teammates double-flatted on the dirt road. Long story short, it took us two hours to fix this. We were freezing cold, soaking wet, and lost valuable time right out the gate. “I could have taken the YARTS bus back home instead of dealing with this,” I grumpily thought to myself.

After a long climb, we had a frigid descent to Pony Expresso. Do you know how good hand dryers feel after you’ve been in ice cold rain for five and a half hours?! I found God in the Pony Expresso bathroom. Despite the forecast, the weather cleared as we sipped our lattes and refueled on pastries. As we set out for the road, the sun began to peek through the clouds. We were cold and wet, but soon we would be warm and dry. Nothing is permanent.

We cruised out of the foothills before stopping for tacos and beers in a town with a name I can’t remember. We were feeling full, energized, and not concerned for time at all. One teammate was feeling so good that he switched to his fixed cog!

Details get a little fuzzy when you ride a bicycle for that long. Along the ride, I remember being chased by angry dogs multiple times, seeing lots of almond farms, and feeling bad for the cows at factory farms that we passed. At some point, it started to get dark. The sun goes down, the moon comes up. Nothing is permanent. Time for lights!

With 7 miles to go before our dinner stop, we ran out of water, so we took a pit stop at Love’s. I don’t know if you have ever been to a Love’s, but it is going to be my new go-to stop on road trips. We were so excited for Snickers, Fritos, Coors, yogurt parfaits, and American Spirits that we spent an entire hour there. Would we have time for our real dinner stop? Definitely not. Was it a waste of time to spend it all at Love’s? Absolutely not. 

As we rolled out of the parking lot, my front fender twisted in a way that nobody had ever seen before. A stranger walked over with a multitool and offered his assistance. As it turns out, he used to work at a bike shop we had passed a few miles up the road. Another kind stranger on this absurd journey.

We continued into the night as the temperatures rapidly dropped. One of our teammate’s knees started acting up, so we slowed the pace to make sure we could all cross the finish line together. My teammates were chatting away, but I was so cold, I couldn’t form sentences. When we stopped to put on more layers, it became obvious that our teammate would not be able to continue with the condition their knee was in. We were running out of time, but we needed to get them home safely. We called Mike’s partner to pick up our teammate at a Taco Bell a few miles off of our original route. More time lost, but this is what a team is for.

With one of our teammates homeward bound, we had four people left on the team to complete the event. You must finish a Fleche with at least three riders, but we were confident at the time that all four of us could complete the route before 8am on Sunday. We only had to maintain a 12.5 mph average. Even with stops, this would be easy! Or so we thought.

Then came the Altamont Pass headwinds. Turns out, there is a windmill farm there for a reason. I do not know how strong the headwinds were, but I do know that I was pushing in my hardest gear on descents in order to move at 10mph. At the top of the climb, there was the Altamont dump. Nice. The climb had warmed us up, but we began to freeze as we ate snacks and chugged water. Nothing is permanent.

Altamont Pass was a breaking point for the team. Mike nearly bailed at the first La Quinta in Livermore. I promised him that I’d buy him the entire franchise if he finished the event, so he kept riding. Our team got into a groove, until Sean ran over a huge nail right before Pleasanton. The last thing any of us wanted to do in a busy intersection at 3am was replace a tube, but there we found ourselves.

Against our disbelief, it continued to get colder, and even with all of our layers, we were having a hard time regulating our temperatures. When we reached Dublin BART, it was the end of the road for my three other teammates. Should I keep going? I still found myself looking to others for answers. They could not answer this for me. I knew what I wanted. I wanted to complete the course. I was sad to leave them (you bond quickly with people during challenges like this), and I was sad that they were unable to complete the event. I was scared to finish the final 80 miles alone, but something was still calling me to do this. I had to listen to my heart.

I continued solo at 3:30 am, and this is where the games really began.

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My eyelids were heavy as I headed towards the Iron Horse Trail. Was this a terrible idea? What if I got mugged on the trail? What if my lights died? What if I got hit by a car? What if I had a mechanical that I couldn’t fix? What if I cramped while out of food and out of water? What is a lone female doing out here at this time alone? A friend of mine lives in Pleasanton. I could ride to his house and sleep on his couch that night instead. 

I knew the risks. But no matter what happened out there, I knew that I was listening to my heart, and I knew that nothing is permanent. Nothing is permanent.

I put on Third Eye Blind’s self-titled album and sang to myself as I coasted through darkness and solitude. I wanted to preserve my lights, so I relied on the full moon to light the path in front of me for the next 25 miles.

I wanted to and needed to test the limits of my resiliency, determination, and grit, but I was drained. I was not hydrating properly, but I kept urinating: a telltale sign of low blood sugar. I wanted to finish by 8am, which I knew I could do if I maintained my pace, but I also knew I risked bonking. I stopped to drink the last of my water at the end of the Iron Horse Trail, and this was when I realized my ears, face, toes, and fingers had gone numb from the cold at some point. Also, my rear end was chapped. I loaded on chammy cream, but it was no use. My bum was going to burn for another 55 miles. I was cold, alone, hungry, thirsty, and scared. This area is not remote, but nobody was coming to save me at 4am if something went wrong.

When I reached the stretch of road that would get me to the base of the East Bay hills, I turned on my lights. I was maintaining 16-18mph, a fast clip at this point in the ride. Unfortunately, I had not studied the course, so I was caught off guard by the grueling climb out of Orinda. More lost time, as I couldn’t climb faster than 6mph with a loaded bike and 180 miles under my belt. I started to question it all. I. Was. Exhausted. I stood no chance of making it by 8am. What was I doing? This was when I received a text from Tasha expressing her love and support for me during this crazy event, and it reinforced what I already knew: I could do this.

When I dropped out of Orinda, gas station stores began opening. I stopped in a Shell for a Snickers, Goldfish, and water. Breakfast! The female attendant seemed concerned, so she offered me access to the employees-only toilet and showers. I told her I didn’t need a shower, but I’d happily use the toilet. Another kind stranger on this absurd journey. I ate half of the Snickers and half of the Goldfish, then took off for the Wildcat climb. I was hungry and thirsty, but now I was full and quenched. I was following my heart. Nothing is permanent.

During normal hours, the roads to Wildcat are filled with fast-moving cars. I was worried my rear light would not last until the twisty Wildcat climb, where I figured I’d need it most, so I did this stretch with a front light only. Dangerous, scary, and probably stupid. I pulled off the road anytime I saw headlights approaching behind me to avoid the possibility of an accident.

The Wildcat climb is a climb I have done hundreds of times, but this time would be the hardest by far. At 5:45am, after nearly 22 hours of riding, I was convinced I had turned onto the wrong road because the grade felt too steep for Wildcat. I felt delirious, so I kept checking my map to make sure I was indeed on Wildcat. I didn’t believe my eyes when the map confirmed every time that yes, I was on Wildcat.

This climb was where things started to come together for me. I joke about doing difficult rides instead of going to therapy, but I’m starting to believe in the service of a good, hard ride. With the full moon in one direction and the sun rising in the other direction, I felt some clarity for the first time in a long time. I came on this ride for nobody but myself. To explore my limits and my capabilities. “To taste, and to touch, and to feel as much as a man can,” as Johnny Cash said.

I wondered about love, companionship, partnership, community, and purpose on this climb. Coming out of the breakup, I felt that these were all lacking. I wondered about my purpose, and what I was doing with my life. I felt like a failure at work, and I felt I had no purpose. What does love mean to me? What does community mean to me? What does purpose mean to me? Why do I feel like all of these are lacking? Why was I thinking this way, and why was I making myself miserable in doing so?

I had no answers at the time, only questions. Why was I doing this? Something was calling me to do this. I knew that the remaining miles would be hard, but they would not be permanent. I was following my heart. I kept moving forward.

Before reaching the Richmond Bridge, Mike’s course included a surprising and incredibly steep climb through Kensington. This opened into a descent that included unobstructed views of the full moon setting over the Golden Gate Bridge with cotton candy skies. I wanted to stop to take a picture, but decided to soak it in. This was beautiful, but it wasn’t permanent.

As I neared the Richmond Bridge, I knew I was going to make it to the finish. I would not make it before 8am, but I knew I was going to make it. My friend Anne called to see how I was doing, and I felt so loved. I also received a call from my friend Kiet. He was racing to catch up with me and ride with me to San Francisco. I later learned that he set a bunch of PRs, despite never catching up. Go Kiet! More love, more community. Tasha called next. She was ready to meet me at the finish with whatever I needed. I requested a bloody mary. Even more love, even more community. That love had been there this whole time, but how had I not seen it before the Fleche?

I cruised through Marin, and nearly got crashed out by a cyclist who pulled a u-turn without warning. I yelled, and I feel bad about that in retrospect. You can choose peace, or you can choose war, and I chose war. Maybe I’ll blame the lack of sleep.

At a stoplight before Sausalito, I downed the rest of the Goldfish and inhaled the Snickers. I did not want to risk bonking when I was this close to the finish. I knew the climb out of Sausalito would be heartbreaking, and it absolutely was. But nothing is permanent. I had to keep moving forward. I had to follow my heart.

As I zipped through the Presidio, I nearly got t-boned by a motorist who failed to stop at an intersection. Again, I chose war instead of peace, but perhaps it was warranted this time.

All that stood between me now was Golden Gate Park, the Panhandle, and a tootle up Cole St. I was ecstatic.

When I reached Crepes on Cole, I was greeted by my friends and teammates, and I felt more relieved and proud than I have in a long time. We enjoyed a meal together, and recounted our ridiculous stories from the past 24 hours. I did it. I was over the moon. I made a decision for myself, and I followed my heart the whole way. I felt an indescribable joy. I had just completed the longest distance of my life, and did ⅓ of it solo. What an accomplishment. But nothing is permanent.

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As we drove back to Oakland, the sinking feeling of returning to reality began to creep in. I had just experienced one of the most wonderful days of my life, but I was going back to my apartment alone. Is this it?

I began to feel how I felt before the Fleche. I felt alone, and my heart was in pain. I craved love, companionship, community, and purpose, but I was going back to what I temporarily left behind.

Why did I feel so empty after such an incredible accomplishment?

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Before the Fleche, I felt miserable, and I felt lost. I cried every single day. Kev can confirm that my apartment was a reflection of my mental state: it was a mess.

The ride was a rollercoaster. We were cold, we were warm. We were hungry, we were full. We were happy, we were frustrated.

Nothing is permanent. Pain is not permanent. Pleasure is not permanent. Comfort is not permanent. Discomfort is not permanent. Suffering is not permanent. Joy is not permanent.

I realized that in my day-to-day life, I was letting impermanent feelings dictate my reality. I felt lonely, therefore I was lonely. I could not see the love and support that was right in front of me. I felt like I had no purpose, therefore I had no purpose. I could not see that my purpose is whatever I choose it to be. I felt scared of what I wanted, therefore I rarely made my own decisions. I was looking to others for answers because I was too afraid to listen to my heart. I was deeply, deeply lost and unhappy because I was caught in the weeds of those feelings. I was chasing a permanent feeling of fulfillment, a permanent feeling of happiness, a permanent feeling of love. But nothing is permanent. Keep moving forward in spite of that.

I did not know it when Amtrak departed from Jack London at 7:36am on Friday, but what I was searching for on the Fleche, and what I found, was confidence to call the shots in my life and the acceptance that nothing is permanent.

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Thank you for reading my word vomit. I hope you found something funny, relatable, or interesting. If not, well, that sucks.

Thank you to my amazing teammates for the wildest 24 hours of my life. That was sick.

Thank you to David for installing fenders at the last minute and fixing my rear brakes despite the stripped bolt. You have made a lot of things possible for me on this bike.

Thank you to Teddie for the rain pants and encouragement.

Thank you to Jess for let me borrowing her pride and joy, her front light.

Thank you to Tasha for grabbing a bunch of stuff for me at REI the night before I left, and for unconditional support.

Thank you to Kev for being the sweetest human of all time.

Thank you to Anne and Kiet for the homestretch love.

Here’s to latex tubes, La Quinta, Love’s, Taco Bell, Coors, American Spirits…and…everything else.

Thank you.

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P.S. Mike, I’m really upset that the route took 8th Ave instead of Arguello. I will never forgive you for that.