Stupid Test Ride

Loaded up

Things didn't go exactly as planned on our little pre-trip testing weekend, which is why I began this post watching sheets of rain come down over Mt. Adams' foothills, typing a blog post in my parents comfy chair instead of cooking dehydrated camp food somewhere along the Klickitat River. The problems started with the weather.  We don't get thunderstorms very often out here in Oregon, but one decided to roll in.  Friday night, I was outside with my dad, in his shop, trying to finish up the last modifications on my new wheelchair carrying system for the handcycle and an easier-to-use wheel rack for the Bob trailer that Kelly will be towing.  First the rain came, then the thunder, an eerie orange glow in the sky and before long the power was out and my dad and Kelly were scooping trenches in the dirt to keep the shop floor from flooding.  The rain only lasted a half hour or so, but by that time the driveway was gouged from the gravel washing out.  Saturday morning the "chance of thunderstorms" for the weekend had been upgraded to flash-flood and thunderstorm warnings in the Kilckitat Valley (the result of two years of forest fires that have compromised the soil and ground cover in the area).  Over the last few years of doing bike tours, we've learned that if we're going to put ourselves in bad situations, we better have a good reason.  Generally, on a long tour "no other option" is the best reason to slog through nasty conditions.  But when you do have an option "because we'd planned to" is a pretty piss poor reason to do something.  The problem with weather is that you have no idea when and if warnings will actually turn into flash floods, but getting washed into the Klickitat isn't exactly how we wanted to spend our weekend.  We decided to change plans and do a day ride to test out gear, packing and towing systems, and bikes. 

A morning of last minute modifications and re-figuring how best to load up our bikes.  The wheelchair carrying system actually operated according to plan, which meant that I was able to load and strap down the frame of my everyday chair to the rear of my handcycle while Kelly loaded her bike and trailer.  The new system should save immeasurable headache and hassle as it's now quick and easy to load my wheelchair.  Before, on our Ireland trip, we were basically welding the wheelchair frame to the handcycle with bungee cords.  The system provoked a fair bit of fury as Kelly reefed on the bungee cords to get the connection tight enough that the frames wouldn't rattle apart.  In a bid to eliminate as many bungees as possible, an attachment point for my wheelchair was actually welded to the handcycle, and wheel receivers to the frame of Kelly's trailer.

Not on the road until after 11, things immediately started going wrong.  As soon as we got up the driveway my blood pressure had bottomed out and I spun through my gears trying to force blood into my arms.  After only a few miles of flat yet exceedingly difficult riding, I could tell that it wasn't just my blood pressure I would have to deal with.  My blood sugar was bottoming out as well.  We pulled off into Husum so I could down some candy and recover, not exactly a great start to our only test of the summer. It was an annoyingly-timed reminder that, as someone with Type 1 Diabetes, checking my sugars an hour before departure was too long before we left.  After 20 minutes I was ready to ride again.  As we pulled onto the road my bike had a bit of a gangsta lean and I looked back to see a brand new tire flattened against the asphalt.  "Stupid f-ing tube!" We spent another 20 minutes of cussing, talking ourselves down, and saying "this is why we're testing this shit now...better now than in 2 months," etc. before realizing that our brand new pump was not going to work on our presta valve tubes.  Either that or we simply couldn't figure it out, but same difference at that point.  "Stupid f-ing pump!" Eventually, with the help of a hand-delivered adapter from my dad (didn't take long, we were still only 3 miles away), we got the tires aired up and back on the road.  Unfortunately, it was now into the afternoon and the soupy air had gone from uncomfortable to suffocating.  Climbing shallowly but steadily, my temperature began rising, and Kelly started sweating.  By the time we reached the real hills the temperature gauge on my bike computer was reading in the 90's.  My body was attempting to override our foolish need to keep pedaling by shutting itself down.  "Stupid f-ing thermo-regulatory system!"  Pissed off and deflated, we decided to head home.

Already straining just getting out of the drive, I would be making this face a lot...

Heading back, the thick gray thunderheads were already streaming into the valley, but, knowing we wouldn't have to camp under them, the shade provided a welcome relief from the heat.  Slightly downhill most of the way home, I tucked in behind Kelly's trailer and drafted as best I could as Kelly battled the headwind pushing the storm towards Mt. Adams.  By the time we made it back to Husum the clouds had passed and the sun returned. I quickly overheated again as we pedaled the last few miles home. When we pulled back into the driveway Kelly immediately went inside to grab a thermometer and get an objective measure of what my "feeling hot" actually meant.  Rather worryingly, it meant I was effectively running a fever of 102.  I went inside to a cold shower.

It was a miserable ride, but more valuable than an easy one could have been.  Lesson #1: Our gear worked fantastic. the chair and wheel carrying systems operated exactly as they were designed.  These alone should save us 15 minutes of hassle every morning, and allow me to get out of my bike when we take breaks.  Kelly's bike, new pedals, and shoes were all brilliant, and she was able to spin up the hills in a way that'll keep her legs far fresher than they'd been in Ireland.

Lesson #2: Blood sugars and blood pressure are more important than any pieces of gear.  Of course I already knew this, but there's nothing like a not-so-subtle reminder 6 weeks before departure to prod me into refining how I go about keeping these where they need to be.

Lesson #3: I need a cooling system.  Periodically dumping water on my head isn't going to cut it when the heat gets really bad.  Continually pushing my body into fever territory would wear on my health quickly.  I need a system so I can spray my upper body regularly, and while on the move.  Luckily, thanks to the help of my rather clever friend Kevin at 20/20 Tropicals (thus the Facebook pic of my bike in a fish warehouse), a prototype system has already been developed and is performing brilliantly.  A refined design should be debuting sometime next week, more on this when it's finished...

Lesson #4:  There's a reason a trip like this hasn't been done before.  When you're dealing with quadriplegia and Type 1 Diabetes, nothing's as straightforward as it should be.  Not that's these things make a 10,000 mile bike ride impossible, everything is just more complicated and more difficult.  Just ask Kelly, who's going to be towing about 50lbs more than the average touring cyclist. 

All in all it was a stupid test weekend.  But sometimes that's just what you need to get things figured out.