Chipseal, Cobbles, and Pedals

After I was informed about the collapse of Montaubaun’s finances and my own funds were also withering away; I had to make a decision of whether or not to stay and try to get into some races or go home and start working.  I thought about it for many days, somewhat losing sleep over it.  Chris caught me one morning on the street and confronted me about the issue.  Immediately I swelled up with tears. “Don’t cry,” he said sympathetically, “it’s not the end of the world. Just do what you want to do and don’t worry about the money.” That afternoon I returned from a ride and suddenly caught a glimpse of myself in a full length mirror.  I had hardly seen my reflection over the summer, so I stopped and stared at my reflection.  I looked older than the person I saw two months ago.  I appeared tough and confident; like the women I used to be intimidated by.  But I could see straight into my eyes, and deep in there I saw that I was tired.  Sixteen days of elite level racing in under eight weeks, thousands of miles traveling by car, train, and plane, and hours upon hours of training during the week. The bike had become my companion over the summer, and we shared many wonderful adventures, adventures I once had dreamed of when I was a little girl.  When I looked into my eyes, I realized that it was time to go home, time to start preparing for next season.

                                                                                   Off on my adventure!

So with the decision made and my tickets changed, I headed up to the Pyrenees for a quick backpacking trip as I would be returning to the States on Sunday.  I borrowed some backpacking gear from a few Kiwi friends and Chris loaned me a car, so I took off for a night under the stars in the mountains.  The Pyrenees were only a few hours drive with most of it through beautiful narrow gorges and windy roads. I stopped in Les Angles, a ski village where I parked the car.  I began hiking up the ski trails, knowing that I’d eventually run into my trail. It turned out that the trails were close to one another, running parallel to each other as one was below a steep grade of the hill.  I decided to think like my brothers would, skip the back-tracking and cut straight down the steep hill through the trees and thick brush. It appeared to be the shorter and faster route but took ages as the brush was so thick and the hill so steep.  My legs were getting so scratched I started to bleed a little, but finally I made it safely to the trail. My shoes were dirty and my hair a wreck.  I began to chuckle at the success of my genius idea and why it might justify my mother worrying about me. I walked up the road and soon found a spring where I took off my pack, washed all the grime off my limbs and filled my bottles.

                                                                                                                               This is the steep hill I decided to cut through…and the path I finally found.

Before coming, I had imagined myself climbing to the top of peaks but soon found how tired I was.  Instead, I found a lake, hiked to a rock near the water and sat there for hours, soaking my feet, thinking, reading, and eventually sleeping.  I must have been pretty tired to sleep on a rock, but it was comforting with the warm sun beating down.  I felt like I was back home, camping in the Big Horns, everything looking so similar to that mountain. The only reminder I had of being in Europe were the nude swimmers across the lake.

                                                                           My campsite. I picked it near the rocks in-case of rain, then I could get some shelter.

                                                                                     I could use some coffee.

Eventually I awoke and hiked further along the trail until I found the perfect spot to camp. I ate my dinner; packaged chicken and a can of beans and then read until the stars came out. I could hear the clanging of the cow bells in the distance, but soon they faded away and I began my restless night under the stars.  I awoke at dawn, ate my muesli and began hiking about an hour towards the spring to fill my empty canisters.  As the clouds were hovering over the mountain, I decided to hike to the lake near Les Angles, so it wouldn’t be far to walk if it started raining. 

                                                                                                           The lake from up above.

After my adventurous hike, I drove out of the mountains to Bugarach for my last meal of the delicious Catalan lamb, rinsed down with the traditional pourou. The meal was most welcoming after a night of “roughing” it. But on the drive back to Limoux on a full stomach, I knew that I would be back; another great season of racing, another season to become a better cyclist and live my youthful dreams.

Bon voyage France! Se bon!

Hello America!

Last Thursday, Chris decided that I needed to do a little work for my keep.  It was pretty rough but I managed to survive as it has been nearly five months since I have had a job. This is the story of my day that one day I will tell my children and grandchildren, “back when I was your age….” so they know of all the sweat and pain I suffered.

 Chris owns a hotel business where he picks up a group of about 10 guests who are either cyclists or artists from Canada or the States and gives them a wonderful package that I don’t think you could find anywhere else in the world.  They are picked up from the airport, taken to Limoux where they stay in a hotel that is a renovated monastery.  Every day Chris will drive them to some wonderful place, decided upon day to day, based upon the weather, and they can enjoy the rich ancient history and beauty of the area by either cycling or painting.  The group we had were a bunch of lovely ladies from Canada who came to enjoy spreading their vibrant paints over the canvas to capture the rich area.

We drove to the ancient town of Minerve that was built atop a beautiful gorge. I drove the air-conditioned car and Chris drove the van.  This ancient city had a dark history of genocide as the Crusades has passed through many years ago.  A group of Cathars had occupied the area and when the Crusades came smashing through the village, the Cathars were told to convert to Christianity or die.  The Cathars refused to convert and were slaughtered; thrown off into the gorge or burned.

While the guests spent the day painting, I was again tortured into hiking through the beautiful gorge where I discovered an old Roman bridge and mill.  Back in the day, the area was used for farming the there were roads for people to take their carts full of grain to the mill to be ground.  Under the bridge there was a stream that had formed many natural Roman-style baths.  My “work” day suddenly became challenging as I had packed a towel and swimsuit as I proceeded to take a dip in the fresh clear water where little waterfalls surrounded me.  “How stressful this is!” I thought as the water was relaxing the muscles throughout my body.

                                                                                                  This is my version of heaven.  See the bridge up top and all the little baths are formed below the waterfalls.

When lunchtime finally rolled around, I hiked back up the hill and found a café where I could eat. It was very hot that afternoon and many flies were hopping around as it was the beginning of the wine harvest.  After lunch I was sweating from the heat of the sun so I strolled back down into the gorge for another swim.

We left Minerve at 5:30 and drove to a nearby village where we were served a wonderful dinner in an old artist’s studio. On the way back to Limoux, when the sun was starting to set, we stopped off onto a dirt road and visited an ancient structure similar to Stonehenge.  The sun was setting shone through the rocks like a spectacle!  It was so beautiful and I marveled at the brilliance of the human mind as the stones used to build this structure were not from the near area.  The sun faded away as we drove home. 

I let out a big yawn.  “Tough day at the office.”

After a few unexpected, but not surprising turns in the my originally planned racing schedule for the remainder of the season, I decided that this weekend I should race as if it were my very last race.  And I did.  I arrived to the race in style with freshly painted nails; my toes were Raging Raisin, and fingers Love Her Madly.  I thought a little attitude might make this the best race ever.  But being that I rarely paint my nails, I was inspired by Cathy, my future mother-in-law.  She sent me a package with some polish and a card that read, “Life is tough.  I recommend getting a manicure and a really cute helmet.”  Inside she wrote, “Melissa, I know you have a cute helmet, now get busy with your manicure and pedicure because then you’ll be able to race faster!”  I was painted and ready for battle.

Saturday’s race went very well for me.  I did end up getting dropped but I spent a lot more time working at the front and taking part in some of the action.  In the beginning I was sitting in the mid-back of the peleton.  Edwidge Patel, a teammate of Jeannie Longo and winner of a few stages in last week’s tour, looked over at me, said something in French, and motioned with her head to say, “come here.”  I followed her wheel to the front and managed to stay up there for a long while, taking some good pulls.  This was a great position for me as we suddenly turned onto a muddy and narrow road.  Everyone was fishtailing including myself and I could hear ladies yelling as if there might be a few crashes.  My back wheel had been acting funny and I became a little paranoid that I had a flat.  In actuality my tire pressure was a little too high for the wet conditions so I was more sensitive to feeling the road.  But because I was worried about my wheel, I lost position and ended up getting dropped into a headwind.  I chased and came close to catching on but was looking at the cars ahead and accidentally missed my turn.  Immediately a man pulled over and hollered at me so I quickly got onto the right path.  A group of ten riders came along and immediately I noticed that only 2 or 3 of us were doing any work at the front.  This frustrated me a great deal, so I accelerated, broke away, and with only 15 Ks to go, I rode my heart out, catching people along the way.  I was 50th overall, but results don’t matter.  I thought my racing skills had improved for this race.

Sunday we awoke bright and early to a humid and cloudy morning. The time trial started at 9:30 so we were stuffing our faces by 6:30.  For any normal and working person, this is a common hour to have breakfast, but for a cyclist, it seemed terribly early.  The time trail was a little over 6 Ks in length and I was able to catch the girl who started a minute ahead.  I was 38th overall.  The road race started in the same town but not until later in the afternoon so I decided to take a snooze after lunch.  I was aroused by Sebastian, “Mélissa, it is time to get ready.”  Soon I was chamiosed up and we marched up to the podium for the team presentation.  This announcer was particularly enthusiastic and introduced each rider as if they were the French champion, “La champion du France!”  When he came to me, he asked if I was American and then proceeded to place the microphone at my mouth. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say to all the French onlookers by my French teammates leaned over and whispered in my ears, “American.” So, with my best French accent I said “American” loud and proud and smiled as my face turned a few shades of red.

                                                                   Me walking off the podium…boy do I look goofy walking in cleats!

We started the race making a loop around the church, where many families had gathered for a picnic and to enjoy the race. The 80 K loop started and ended on the road where the time trial was held.  I felt confident and aggressive as the speed was high and the road a bit windy.  But it wasn’t far into the race when the field became strung out from the wind and I was struggling to hold onto wheels.  My confidence vanished as I became separated from the peleton.  I was with a small group of girls but they too didn’t want to take turns pulling so I separated myself from them.  The team cars started passing us and for a moment the the thought of dropping out crossed my mind.  Once I thought of this, visions of my brothers and younger siblings (ages 6 & 9), went through my head and I knew I had to be a good example for them so I told myself sternly, “Finish what you start!”  At that moment the New Zealand car drove by and Andy yelled out the window, “Melissa, get behind the car!”  I became determined with rage as I was moto-paced closer to the group and began hopping from one car to the next until finally I caught back onto the group. My jaw hung down low as I was trying to inhale as much air as possible.  This was the first time I had successfully used the cars and caught back onto the peleton, so my confidence went from drowning to soaring.  I immediately stormed up to the front of the group, just in time for a points sprint. I tried sprinting and finished about 7th and a break-away group of 6 riders formed ahead with me in-between them and the peleton. I tried bridging to them but was caught by the riders behind. I fell back a ways to rest as I had just put in a ginormous effort.  It was sunny and hot and I had forgotten to apply my sunscreen as it was humid and cloudy earlier in the day. I began craving lots of water.

The remainder of the race was fast and challenging as we were headed into the wind.  A couple of times I tried to move to the front but realized my legs didn’t have much juice so I tucked into the group.  With 10 Ks to go, the girl in front of me was suddenly falling off her bike as it appeared the wheel had locked up.  My tires skidded as I thought for sure there would be a collision.  But lucky me, I stayed upright and chased back to the group.  The last 5Ks was fast on the windy time trial road and I forced myself to stay close to the other wheels.  The sprint was on a slight uphill and the first 10 ladies sprinted while the rest of us coasted in as we were in a jam.

 Afterwards I said my goodbyes to my teammates with the custom kissing motion on each cheek.  “Ciao Mélissa!  Next summer we see you!”