Alumni Magazine - Summer 2008 - (Page 58) “You’re doing well,” she said. “This road’s steeper than it was 20 years ago,” I said. I’ve decided to retrace that route, to ride it again. I work at convincing myself that in some ways it’ll be easier now. I know more, can better take care of myself. I’m banking on wisdom to make up for the lard. “Do you think I can do this?” I ask the nurse. “I think you better do something,” she says. How Not to Begin S ATURDAY, MAY 7. I said good-bye to Joan and my parents, wobbled down the driveway, pedaled to the end of the street. … I rode for about a mile, but the seat wasn’t set right, so I stopped to adjust it. After placing my tools back into the front pocket of my rear pannier, I neglected to cinch it. As I pedaled, the strap caught in my spokes and ripped. Then I realized that my cyclometer wasn’t working. Not used to the altitude, or the climb, I was already panting. I hadn’t ridden for nearly three weeks, was in probably the worst shape of my life, and it was clear I’d packed too much gear. I stopped to catch my breath and tried to decide what to do about the cyclometer. I didn’t want to ride without it, and I wouldn’t be near a bike shop until Breckenridge, maybe three days away. Best to get it fixed now, I thought. I struggled to the Cliff Dwellings entrance, where I called Joan. “How’s it going?” she asked. “Never felt better,” I said. “How far have you gone?” “’Bout a mile and a half. And I’ve only stopped to rest twice,” I said. “Might as well pace yourself,” she said. “Can you come get me?” I said. “I’m having trouble with my speedometer.” Because it was early and the bike shops weren’t open, we drove into Manitou, where we sat at an outdoor cafe sipping coffee in the sun. Joan drove me to Old Town Bike Shop, where I bought a new cord and mount for the Sigma. Then she drove me back to the highway. She said she’d leave for the cabin at noon, and she’d pick me up wherever she found me. She wished me luck, and then she drove away. I took a deep breath and started to pedal again. Ute Pass was named after the Ute Indians, 58 Georgia Tech Alumni Magazine • Summer 2008
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