Deer Creek, 14; Snowcatcher, 9

I was nervous about my first ride up Deer Creek Canyon since... Wow! March 12 the last time up! I was dreading our first official training ride since being drawn for Ride the Rockies.

I thought I'd have to pull over a million times to catch my breath. I thought I'd barely make it the first four miles. I thought I'd be so dead (and cold) at the end of the ride, I wouldn't be able to ride again the next day.

My goal for that first official training ride of the year was 6.5 miles because that's how far I pedal to the top of Waterton Canyon on a regular basis. Deer Creek Canyon is steeper, and in Waterton Canyon, I don't have cars speeding alongside me.

I hadn't anticipated how different it is to clip into the pedals on my road bike from what I've been accustomed to by riding mostly the mountain bike for the last year. I didn't anticipate how different the saddle of the road bike would feel. And I wasn't sure what to wear because I knew it could be cold however far up Deer Creek Canyon I got, but it could be pretty warm in the sunny spots on the way up.

I also forgot to grab my camera before I headed out the door. Darn it.

So no fresh photos. The one above is from 2015. We don't have as much snow this year. It wasn't as cold. I did okay in shorts, but I had two layers of jerseys, and one was long-sleeved. I carried full-finger gloves but did not wear them. I wore two pairs of wool socks.

I was plenty warm enough the whole entire climb. I got cold two or three times on the descent in the shadows, thanks to the wind. The wind was so bad, all the riders who passed me (of which there were MANY) commented on how difficult it was making the climb. Three times, the wind nearly knocked me off my bike.

But wind makes us tough. Wind makes us tough. Wind makes us tough. I didn't get discouraged. Can't say I liked the wind playing havoc with my bike, but I suppose that will make me stronger too, if it keeps up. (That is NOT an invitation!!!)

When I hit 6.5 miles, I thought I could go half a mile further. At 7 miles, I thought I could make 8. At 8 miles, I decided to try for 9.

I turned around at 9 miles. I had energy to keep going, but I was concerned about the potential chill in the descent. As the sun crept behind the hills, the temperature was going to drop. I also didn't want to be dead at the end. I wanted to be able to finish a quilt when I got back home. And plant the spent tulips my husband gave me for my birthday. And write my next snowflake pattern. And make healthy chocolate chunk cookies.

When I finished the ride, I was hungry but warm, and excited that I'd chiseled off all but the last five miles of the climb on my first try in nearly a year. Without stopping!

I had been worried this year's Ride the Rockies would really get the best of me because I haven't been training as much in the last year. Now I have high hopes that the "good base" my husband and cycling friends tell me I've built really is a good starting point. I have work to do; I had trouble keeping my bike straight on the steepest portions of the climb because I just couldn't get above 3.8 mph. As I recall, I was pushing for 5 mph on the steepest grades two years ago. I'm going to have to climb a lot to get back into that shape.

But I'm optimistic now that I can do it.

Deer Creek Canyon had me in miles this time around, but it did not beat me!

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The Art of Climb

Deer in dry, cold Deer Creek Canyon in March
My cycling goal for May was to climb Deer Creek Canyon twice in a day. My goal was to have 200 miles per week by May.

Non-stop rain has not made that easy. However, I did make it to the top of Deer Creek Canyon for the first time this year ahead of schedule.

I'd wanted to climb two miles higher each time I went up the canyon until I could get to the top. Surprisingly, I jumped from 17 miles to 23 miles (the top) the first Saturday in April after a three-week snow-forced cycling break back in March.

The Lizard took off at his normal pace. I climbed slow and steady. I stopped to eat frequently. And breathe. And stretch.

My goal that week should have been 19 miles. When we first started out, I thought I could make it all the way to the top. I was feeling pretty strong at the beginning. I did okay until Mile 17. Beyond that, oh, was it ever hard!

I kept wondering why the climb was so hard. I thought the steepest grade was another mile and a half away. I never dropped down into my granny gear because I thought I had another mile and a half of climb to reach that. Before I got to Mile 18, I almost turned around because I was so tired and out of breath. I allowed myself to stop as often as needed to keep going. I really had to force that 18th mile.

At first, I was stopping every quarter of a mile. But then I couldn't make it a quarter of a mile, so I said, "Okay, just make it to the next curve." I couldn't make it to the next curve. So I said, "Okay, just make it to the next sign." Then, I asked out loud if the shadow of the sign touching my wheel was far enough. It felt like I was moving only a few feet or even a few inches each time.

I rounded the next curve, and I realized I'd just finished the steepest part of the climb. THAT's why it was so hard. Knowing I'd just survived the most difficult portion of the climb energized me. I decided I could make it to Mile 19. I was able to keep going, stopping only every quarter mile.

That's where The Lizard caught me on his way down. I was so tempted to turn around. I was close to 20 miles, so I told him I was going to keep going another third of a mile. I told him I was quite done and very tired.


Deer near wet, lush Deer Creek Canyon in May
I stopped just beyond 20 miles with every intention of turning around. I leaned over my handlebars to stretch and rest, and The Lizard massaged my arthritic hips. It felt wonderful.

"Jukebox Hero" was playing on my little stereo. Just as The Lizard finished massaging me, Lou Gramm sang, "Someday he's gonna make it to the top."

I thought, "Not someday. Today."

I asked The Lizard if there were cookies at the top. Volunteers typically stock a rest area at the top of the climb with bottled water, bottled Gatorade and fresh, homemade cookies, but only during the warmer months. I didn't really want a cookie; I wanted an egg or a protein drink. But I thought a cookie might give me motivation to keep going.

The Lizard said cookies were indeed at the top. I told him I would keep going. From that point on, he kept encouraging me: "You're almost there! You're doing great! You're stronger than you were last spring! I know you can do it!"

I stopped for pictures of a run-down house I pass each time I do make it to the top of the canyon. I've always wanted to stop and shoot the skeleton shack because the way it looks is sort of what it feels like to me to climb to the top of the canyon. I've never stopped because I wouldn't have been able to keep going. This time, I stopped, and I was able to get back on my bike and finish the climb. Now I finally can show how it feels to be so depleted!


I've been pretty worried this year I might not be ready for Ride the Rockies because weather has kept us off our bikes. I'm turning into a wimp. I have had real difficulty this year getting back into three or four layers once I had my first shorts and short-sleeved ride of the year, in search of pink blossoms early in April. (The blossoms weren't ready yet, and we got snow again the next week.) We ended up riding 56 miles that day, my longest ride of the year until Santa Fe in mid-May.








We'd signed up for the century route in Santa Fe long before we knew what the spring weather would bring. As we headed south, I worried I would not be able to pull off 100 miles with so few miles in the saddle so far.

The trip back to my home state was adrenalizing like driving to Castle Rock in Colorado for Elephant Rock or driving to the Ride the Rockies start line; so many other cars on the highway going the same direction were equipped with obviously beloved road bikes. More than 2,000 riders were heading to the very same place as us for the very same reason!

It snowed in Santa Fe the day we arrived. Oh man! One of the reasons we wanted to ride in New Mexico is because the weather would be much warmer than it is in Colorado!


In spite of a very chilly start, the temperature warmed up within about 15 minutes of crossing the start line, and I had a whale of a first 40 or so miles. I felt so good, I thought I could do the whole century!

I didn't stop to take any pictures along the way because I thought if I stopped too much, I'd never finish the whole route. I carried the camera with me, but not once did I stop for a photo, even though the landscape sometimes deserved more attention than I was giving it.

Although I am from New Mexico, I was not familiar with the century route. I knew from the elevation profile where the big climbs would be, particularly Heartbreak Hill, a 16% grade. Until Heartbreak Hill, I thought the Santa Fe Century was easier than Elephant Rock in Colorado, another season-opener for which I signed up for the full 100 miles this year. Heartbreak Hill sort of put Elephant Rock climbs to shame. Elephant Rock is more difficult overall, but I don't think any of the Elephant Rock climbs are as steep as Heartbreak Hill. Thank heavens!

When Heartbreak Hill first came into view, I thought I could do the whole thing without stopping because it was only about half a mile up. I made it a third of the way up before I had to stop. Many cyclists were walking their bikes up. I intended to pedal all the way to the top. After I rested for a minute. But the grade was so steep, I couldn't get the bike going again!

I hung my head and began walking my bike, which was just as difficult as riding, in my opinion. I watched some of the riders who were making it all the way to the top, thanks to zigzagging back and forth across the mostly carless road. At about two-thirds of the way up the hill, I thought I could get the bike going if I copied what those slaloming riders were doing.

I got on my bike, and I pedaled toward the opposite side of the road instead of trying to go straight up, and then I wove back to the other side, back and forth, back and forth, and by golly, I made it to the top!!! I learned something new in the process!

The next 15 miles were a breeze, literally. The tailwind carried me speedily across the flat, high plains. And then with another left turn, bang, I was in a crosswind. I tried to position my body like a sail, a technique I've read about in RBR magazine. One more left turn and oh, my gosh. I had difficulty keeping my speed at 6 miles per hour in the headwind I'd have to fight all the way back to Santa Fe.

From that point on, I kept chanting my motivational wind mantra out loud to myself.

"Wind makes us strong! Wind makes us strong! Wind makes it hard! Um... Oops. Wind makes us strong! Wind makes us strong!"

Each rest stop, I told myself I could make it to the next rest stop. Each rest stop, it was more difficult to convince myself I could make it to the next rest stop. At mile 80, I realized I didn't have another two or three hours left in me. I was devastated at first; I'd really wanted to be able to tell all my co-workers I'd done my third century ever. But when the reality of arthritis took its toll, I realized 80 miles in a day after a longest ride of only 56 miles more than a month earlier was pretty darned good and nothing to be ashamed of, particularly after successfully climbing the top portion of Heartbreak Hill on my bike instead of walking.

My bike and I took a SAG (support and gear) wagon into Santa Fe with a woman from Philadelphia who was riding with her entire family until she couldn't go any further and, at the next rest stop, another woman who had just ridden 94 miles for the first time in her entire life after never having done more than 30 miles in a day. (She said she got the century out of her system, and her saddle was so sore, she'd never try that again. The Lizard and I both wonder if she'll be like me and ready to try again next year for the next Santa Fe Century.)


I marked how far I really got on the first Cyclemeter printout


the updated Cyclemeter route


My phone lost signal before I reached where I stopped, so it appeared Cyclemeter didn't record my entire ride. My odometer on my bike, the old-fashioned way of keeping track of miles, did! Then suddenly, a week after the ride, Cyclemeter unexpectedly sent me the full ride route the next time I turned it on to record a ride. Bizarre!

The day after the Santa Fe Century, The Lizard took me back along the first portion of the route before we headed home so I could snap photos of the scenery I didn't take the time to shoot during the actual ride.












I get one more chance to try for a century before two very long, big climb Ride the Rockies days. I don't know if I'll make it a full hundred miles for Elephant Rock (or during either of this year's Ride the Rockies centuries), but I'm going to give it my very best shot.


Proof of my second century ever, 12 June 2013, during Ride the Rockies

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Missing Marvelous

I was still experiencing wildflower withdrawals when I rode up Deer Creek Canyon and then around Chatfield Reservoir to build mileage recently. I didn't realize I was experiencing hot air balloon withdrawals, too!

Balloon withdrawals because at one time, Chatfield Reservoir hosted a wonderful balloon rally every August. Sponsorship was lost when the economy tanked, and only private concessionaires fly at Chatfield now. When the wind isn't blowing... Which it was this day. Leading to an early landing.


My heart soared when I saw the top of a balloon above the trees!


I had to get closer!






NO! NOT YET!!! I'm not done taking photos!!!


This little lady ran alongside the cyclist ahead of me for quite a good distance up Deer Creek Canyon. We'd just watched "Dances With Wolves" the night before. So this day was "Dances With Deer."




Mrs. Micawber wondered during the MS-150 last month what the tall, white flowers alongside the road might be. I had to look them up.


Prickly Poppy. With an unwelcome houseguest.


Quite a few of these come up in our rennovated front yard garden. They came with the dirt. Along with various varieties of thistle and dandelion, curly dock and wild sunflowers. Initially, I didn't know what these leaves were, so I waited for the first blooms before pulling them. Before the blooms came, I realized the leaves were clover. I decided if they were pink, they could stay. They were white. So I pulled them. More are growing now. If any this shade come up, they get to stay.


I want to dye with bull thistle. I've heard I will be thanked if I cut off all the seed heads I can find. But I will need at least a couple of pounds of them! What color do you think they will produce?

(That's why I am still attempting to dye with plants. Final color mysteries present just the right degree of excitement.)

And oh, how I long to dye yarn and fabric the color of chicory! One of my favorite colors in the wild!

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Return to Cold Shivers

Cold it was not. And yet perhaps more powerful than last time.

With only one partial climb of Deer Creek Canyon this season beneath my belt, I took on Cold Shivers, Colorado National Monument and summer-like temperatures last weekend.

And once again, Van Halen knew just when to pop onto my iPhone playlist. Sammy Hagar crooned again just as I reached Cold Shivers.

"We'll get higher and higher
Straight up we'll climb
We'll get higher and higher
Leave it all behind
So, Baby, dry your eyes
Save all the tears you've cried
Oh, that's what dreams are made of"
-Eddy Van Halen, Alex Van Halen, Michael Anthony, Sammy Hagar
Last time I did this climb, I had not done any physical therapy. Last time I did this ride, I wanted to know if I could. Last time I did Cold Shivers, we did a shortened version, called the Monument Loop. We started at the bottom, pedaled all the way through the Monument, and returned to the starting point for a total of 33 miles. I hurt at the end. Shoot, I hurt all the way through the ride! But the elation of successfully making the climb dulled the pain and heightened my emotions.

This time, I knew I could do it. I have better posture and a stronger core, thanks to PT. This time, we'd just received our periodic Pedal Points newsletter from Ride the Rockies, emphasizing riders should be focused on climbing by now. "You didn't sign up for the flattest ride on the planet," the email read. This time, I still have pain, but it's much more manageable.

And this ascent of Cold Shivers Point, I did it in 55-mile style. No shortcuts.

I had completed 60 miles back in January, before I finished PT. Pain and discomfort increased steadily the last ten miles, but the adrenaline of pedaling 60 miles once again powered me to my goal.

When I reported to the physical therapist, expecting to be congratulated for reaching my goal, instead I was mildly chastised.

"Maybe that's your body telling you you're not ready for 60 miles yet. Why don't you stay under 45 miles for now and try to work up to 60 slowly?" she instructed.

So I have stayed under 38 miles for the very few rides I've been able to do since then, thanks in part to our wintery spring but thanks also to front yard renovations. Ever since we were drawn for Ride the Rockies in March, I have been able to avoid overwhelming feelings of discouragement and self-doubt by continually reminding myself I will be able to participate because I've always been able to finish the ride each of the four times I've done it, come what may.

An amazing thing happened when I stopped focusing on 60 miles each month. Riding became more fun. I can ride where I want when I want, and I don't have to stick with whatever route will give me a specific number of miles. I unwittingly reclaimed a part of my life by sacrificing a renewed 60-mile-ride-a-month streak.

My lone 38-mile training ride since then came a week ago with my first climb of Deer Creek Canyon in many a moon. Deer Creek Canyon is a challenging climb. I knew if I could still climb, I might still be able to do long rides. I knew if I could climb and do long miles, the only Ride the Rockies preparation challenge I would face with my abbreviated training schedule would be consecutive days in the saddle.

Deer Creek Canyon proved I can still climb. And now Cold Shivers Point has proven I can still ride long miles.

Now I just have to develop that saddle callous in three and a half weeks.

I thought I was higher than a kite. But things were about to get better.

As we headed home, I got my first-ever Mother’s Day phone call.

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Deerly Trained

Weather has hampered nearly every weekend since my cast came off, but the saddles have been occupied nevertheless. Deer Creek Canyon has been one of my best teachers this year.

Training this time of year can seem monotonous because I often must ride the same path day after day. The goals to pre-hydrate, continually build mileage, develop callouses in all the right places to avoid contact pain, breathe efficiently in thinner and thinner air, fuel properly, hydrate, remember to frequently reapply sunscreen, and climb without tipping the bike over as a result of pedaling too slowly can seem fruitless and unending. Focusing too much on trying to be fit steals the joy of riding and inhibits the urge to stop and take pictures of the flowers.

Until finally, the moment arrives when I must accept that I've done the best I could. The object is to have fun. Not stress, worry, fret, sob, surrender and doubt.

I had not been to the top of Deer Creek Canyon this year. My partial ascents, however, had been non-stop. I had high hopes I'd conquer this 4,000-foot beast of a climb because I've worked hard. Yes, I lost five weeks, and yes, snow, ice, gravel and high winds have subtracted training opportunities. But I felt stronger.

Someone ramped up the road, though, and made it steeper on this, my final big climb training ride before the real things begin. Someone was playing games with me, treating me to an amusement park thrill, or is it a scare? Perhaps even a dare?

I couldn't keep going. I needed to stop. I needed to breathe. I needed to stretch. Others in training passed and voiced choruses of encouragement.

"Don't stop!" "You can do it!" "You're doing great!"

It's the cyclists' creed. Cyclists want other cyclists to succeed.

Less then a mile further, I had to stop again. I melted over the handlebars, partly to stretch my back, but also to rethink my goals. Why was I doing this? Wasn't it because I love my bike? I love the mountains? I love being able to silence that stupid little voice inside? The one currently whining, "You'll never make it up Pikes Peak. You're going to be last every day in Ride the Rockies. Elephant Rock is going to crush you. The MS-150 is going to melt you."

Yes, the MS-150 will melt me. Always does. Usually on Day 2, and usually in the last 20 miles. But I always make it across the finish line. Takes more than 90 degrees to turn me into an asphalt puddle of sweat.

I'm not giving up yet. And that's that.

I mounted the bike again and pushed off several times to enable my body weight to force the pedals down on the steep slope and get the bike moving again.


The Lizard typically finishes his ascent and meets me on the steepest portion of the climb during his descent. If he's having a good day, he turns around and rides up again with me, at my pace, cheering me, believing in me, willing me to succeed.

If he's having a bad day, I graciously offer to turn around and go down with him because, heck, I've worked hard, I don't need to get all the way to the top. I've done well. I convince myself a portion of the climb is as good as a whole climb, and I'm ultra relieved when he accepts my offer.

Today he is nowhere to be seen. I'd told him before we left home I have to get to the top today. This is my last chance before the official rides begin. I can't give up. I have to keep going. Today was summit day for me.


Today was summit day for The Lizard, too. We'd finally received our tax refund, and I'd promised him a helmet cam for his birthday nearly a month ago. Today was his first time using it on the road bike, with two mountain bike test rides under his belt to make sure everything was set properly. He likely had reached the summit of Mount Evans by now, and he was probably making his way toward Pikes Peak.

He knew I'd turn around when he met me, and he knew that was not an option. So he waited on top. Until worry got the best of him.

About a mile from Pleasant Park − The Goal − he met me on his descent to find out if I'd turned around and gone home.

"Are you going all the way up?" he asked, surprised but Pleasant Parkly pleased to find me.

"Darn tootin' right," I replied. "I want my cookie."

He smiled, then chuckled, then headed back up with an irresistable teaser: "They're fresh out of the oven. The chocolate chips are still melted. You're almost there!"

And that's all I needed to hear. I would make it. Didn't matter how long it took. Didn't even matter if the cookies cooled off by the time I got there. I would make it. Period.


The one-room Pleasant Park School at the top of the climb was built in 1894, and kids attended school only during spring and summer because the snow was too deep in winter. The Pleasant Park Grange #156 bought the property in 1956 to preserve and protect it, and in 1996, the schoolhouse was added to the Colorado State Registry of Historic Places.


The Grange, or residents of the Deer Creek and Pleasant Park area, maintains the school and property, as well as a Port-a-Potty, in part with optional charitable contributions on the honor system by grateful cyclists and sometimes even truckers who make use of the rest stop at Pleasant Park. Coolers filled with water, sports drink and even pain reliever offer comfort and refreshment for tired legs and weary muscles. Women of The Grange make homemade cookies throughout cycling season to further support cyclists training for all ranges of rides, including the rides in which The Lizard and I participate.


Yes, I try to avoid sugar, but by golly, when I get to the top of Deer Creek or Mount Evans or Vail Pass, I deserve a cookie or a Rice Krispie Treat or a brownie!


During Ride the Rockies, one vendor who built his own grill and batter-squirting system offers fresh, butter-melting hotcakes and pure maple syrup at the first rest stop of each day. Yes, you betcha, I devour!

Riding up Deer Creek Canyon (or Mount Evans or Vail Pass) on the weekend isn't like trying to get to work on time during the week and trying to get home before dark and without getting squished during rush hour. I don't need to put more pressure on myself. What I was doing is exactly what I will be doing during Ride the Rockies, and I can stop as often as I need. It's not a race. It's a ride. And reaching the top CAN be fun.

Upward and onward I pedaled, trying to inhale the aroma of the fresh cookies surely awaiting me. I tried to feel and taste the ice cold water I'd be able to pour down my throat. And then I saw a sign offering something I craved even more.

Protein. That's what it's all about. That's what I need when I'm working hard.

I know I'm not the typical cyclist, and I know no one is going to make a fortune off the idea, but why doesn't anyone offer fresh scrambled eggs at the summit?

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He did it!

The Lizard successfully completed the 2011 Deer Creek Challenge, "the toughest century ride in America!"

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First Climb of 2011

The ice and snow are mostly gone, and my new derailleur is in place! Only I guess it's not "new" anymore. It has a tough 45 miles on it after Saturday!

We went up Deer Creek Canyon. I also did Deer Creek Park because it's steep; I thought a primer climb of that little road might make the canyon seem easier. (These photos are from Independence Pass a couple of years ago, not Deer Creek Canyon last weekend.)

I hadn't done the Park in several years. Last time I did it, I wasn't as strong as I am now. I had to stop twice on the way up back then. I remembered it being about 5 miles longer back then than it was Saturday! (It's about .2 of a mile. It seemed so, so much longer and harder back in about 2007 or 2008, when my back hurt much more all the time than it does now.)

The Lizard told me the new derailleur would really make a difference. I thought it would just shift smoother. I am stunned by how much the silky shifting improves my ride! I don't have to lean into squeezing the shifters with all my weight and then hold the lever to make sure things clicks into place anymore. Just one little flick of two fingers, and keep pedaling. I had forgotten how good a brand new road bike feels, and that's exactly how my bike feels! I bought this bike in 2004. The derailleur I lost last summer was original equipment. I got a lot of miles and years out of that thing!

The Lizard also said I had more stretch in my old chain than he's ever seen. That's why the chain was skipping, not so much because of the mountain bike derailleur that was installed last summer so I could finish Ride the Rockies. I have no idea what causes a chain to stretch out, other than use and age, but apparently a stretched-out chain affects performance as much as an inappropriate derailleur. I also have a shiny new chain and cassette now, and boy, do they ever purr!

I had not been up Deer Creek Canyon since August. I have not climbed at all since September. I thought I'd lost all my climbing ability because I haven't done the stairs much since August either, and the last time I did them, in February, I couldn't go all the way up without stopping. I had to stop every 20 floors to breathe, and even 20 flights at a time seemed an airless vacuum.

I had never been all the way to the top of Deer Creek Canyon on my bike. Last year, up until my friend Shonna went Code Blue in August, I was trying to increase my climbs by at least a mile each ride. I got to within a couple of miles of the summit on my last ride, but I couldn't make it to the top. I spent as much time as possible with Shonna instead of my bike after we nearly lost her in August. No regrets.

Now I can't say I've never made it to the top of Deer Creek Canyon on my bike anymore! I made it to the top on my first climb of the year! I had to stop only three times on the way up, and one of those was to shed my ear warmers and fleece gloves. I'd realized about three miles up the canyon I'd accidentally forgotten my pack, which contained extra layers for the descent, which I was certain would be frigid. Climbing makes me sweat, even in 40 degrees, so removing some of my protective barriers was warranted, but the main reason I did it was to get used to the temperature and wind chill. I knew the descent would be downright cold without my extra layers, which were in the backpack hanging on the doorknob back at home. Thank heavens I had food in my jersey pockets and water and a no-sugar-added mixture of orange juice and cranberry juice in my bottles, which I had remembered to put on the bike.

As I reached the switchbacks, the steepest part of the climb, I realized I could make it to the top because I was having a phenomenal day. I felt good. I'd set a goal last September to make it up Pikes Peak this August in the allotted amount of time, and that means I need to train more precisely than ever. I need to keep going an extra mile or two on every training ride this year to condition myself to keep going when I want to quit.

The Deer Creek Canyon switchbacks did get to me Saturday. That's where my second two stops came in. Even worse, The Lizard came into view on his descent, and I thought he'd be climbing up a second time with me, which always kicks my adrenaline up a few extra notches. Unfortunately, he wasn't having a good day. His legs were cramping. He said he would go down and wait for me. My heart sank. Deep down inside, I knew I could make it, even if I was alone, so onward I pressed.

When I reached the highest point where I'd turned back last year, I looked at my odometer. I had climbed almost 22 miles. I didn't know how much further I had to go, but I knew there was one more steep section because The Lizard warns me each time we go up. The Pikes Peak climb is 24.5 miles. The 100-mile Deer Creek Challenge is rated as one of the three most difficult climbs in the country. I will never be able to do that 100-mile course, but Saturday's climb is still significant.

Pikes Peak has nearly double the amount of climbing of a single ride up Deer Creek Canyon, and the highest elevation of Pikes Peak is nearly 6,000 feet higher than Pleasant Park. Nevertheless, Deer Creek Canyon is excellent training ground. If I can master climbing 23 miles, I thought, I CAN do Pikes Peak. I'll be practicing on Mount Evans quite a few times this year, and that DOES reach 14,000 feet. Deer Creek Canyon is perfect training until Mount Evans is rideable later this spring or early summer.

After I finished the next steep section, I hoped it was the one The Lizard had warned me about. If it was, I had it. I knew I had it. I would make it to the top, and nothing would stop me.

Sure enough, after a long section of easy climbing, Pleasant Park came into view. I'd made it. I'd made it!!!

I was wearing three layers on top, two layers on the bottom, and two pairs of socks. The layers closest to my skin were wet, so I couldn't stop for long because I needed to maintain what warmth I still had for the descent. The wind had picked up, and cloud cover had moved in. It was going to be a chilly 3,310-foot descent.

I quickly put my ear warmers back onto my helmet straps and then pulled my fleece gloves back on. Oh, how I wished I had my mountaineering gloves and balaclava that were in my pack back home. I used the music-playing iPhone (with mini speakers, never on headphones on the bike, ever) to snap a photo of my bike at Pleasant Park, swallowed two small mouthfuls of Hammer gel and two sips of water, then quickly began the descent.

I'd stopped three times on the way up. I stopped nine times on the way down to warm my hands!

The Lizard met me at the switchbacks. He was feeling better and had climbed back up again. Every time I stopped all the rest of the way down, he rubbed my gloved hands to warm them up. He also let me have his light Triple Bypass jacket because I was really cold.

Back at home, I downed two cups of sugar-free hot chocolate before laying down in bed. The Lizard pulled me back up and told me I had to eat. What you put into your body in the first 30 minutes after a tough workout determines whether you will have a two-hour recovery or a two-day recovery. I knew The Lizard was right. I knew I needed to eat. But I was tired. I wasn't hungry. Just cold and tired. Oh, and stiff.

After a bowl of hot, cheese-drenched pasta with chicken, I did feel better. If I hadn't eaten, I probably wouldn't have felt like doing much of anything the next day. I would have been run down, and I probably would feel tired and achy, possibly even for a couple of days.

Every success I have builds my confidence. That's half the Pikes Peak battle. I can't go into the ride scared and worried I might not make it. I have to go into it knowing I CAN do it.

I am not fast. I am not powerful.

But I CAN make it to the top.

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