Knowing when to quit. Or not.

I am not a Turnbacker. I get swept up in the moment, defined by the ride, consumed by the hunt and I do not give up when I should, when any rational person would say, well that's quite enough adversity for the day, thank you, I think I'll go sip an ice-cold liquid delicacy of some sort, knit a sock or two, and plan how better to seize the day tomorrow. No, I put down my head, block out the possibility of ditching and grind stupidly on, a cog eager enough to get bent out of shape by the wheel as long as the job gets done, rah rah sis boom bah. And so when the 50-mile hill ride went horribly wrong early on, when riding up the first hill I discovered that the derailleur was somehow out of whack from being transported on the back of the car and that half my gears wouldn't shift; and when my attempts to fix it only made the other half moan and complain, obviously I should have taken Polly's advice and stopped, gone back to the car with my little tail between my legs, snuffled my way home and taken my other, working bike on a shorter, shadier ride. But I rarely make the right call when I am on a bike, on the ride already bejeezus. And so Lou stuck more closely by than normally he would, and we finished the ride, all 47.22 miles, a not small portion of it uphill in the sun with the temp off the road at 102 and one of the not-insignificant hills hitting 12% grade twice before topping out. I have exercise-induced asthma that gets worse in the heat, and I did stop and use my inhaler several times. Honestly, I was ok until we got back to the car and I tried to get off my bike and suddenly couldn't breathe for several panicky moments without painful wheezing. Which was very odd to me -- how was it that I was OK riding uphill on my bike in the heat until I reached safety, and then collapsed? The human condition, I suppose, that keeps us striving upward and onward, that pushes babies to stand and then to walk, that keeps curious minds searching for God or meaning in the universe, the hand behind the pattern. That is what grander minds aspire to; I am plain pig-headed, too prideful to admit when I have bitten off an insanely big mouthful for myself. No, I'd rather choke to death on it than turn back and do the rational thing. But it was nothing a cold pepsi and some blasting a/c couldn't fix. And so I live to ride another day. My three most recent rides: Friday, May 18 -- 28 miles for me -- pump house to Boston, then a few miles on the yough, and back, accompanied by the delightful Lisa and Christina. Gorgeous day, terrific company. I suckered Lisa into the ride by picking one of her favorite routes, and she rode with us to McKeesport and back to start easing back into biking season. Like a rational person! We all have to build back up into last summer's shape, and I was really impressed with her for sticking to her plan though I know she was itching to ride all the way. Chris and I rode on through dead man's hollow, then past Boston for a picnic before heading back. At McKees point, Chris says, uh-oh, I have a flat. Having changed two flats, nearly successfully, in that week, I felt excited and confident about getting us on the road again. Except that she didn't have an extra tube (I had two, but the rocket has dual 20s, and Chris's has 26s.) Bad, Chris. Still, I had scabz patches, so I got the wheel off, took the tire off the rim, found the hole, patched it and reassembled it and it didn't really take all that long. Except that then I heard the tire still hissing. Patch didn't work and we were 4 miles from a bike shop (other direction). And I had to be at work. So I raced the six miles back to my car and drove back to get Chris, who hung out outside the eatn park waiting for me and reported that people in McKeesport are really hospitable. Nice to know, but Chris, next time bring some tubes. Saturday, may 19. 50 miles on the yough river trail. I get tired of always riding to the start of the yough trail and then back. It's a great ride but really I miss the trail, which is a pretty great, wooded, riverside ride. So Lou and I drove to cedar creek and rode to connellsville and back. I took the fuji, and it was my longest ride on a regular seat in quite awhile. So around 35 miles my butt started getting kinda sore. And I decided last-minute not to wear my helmet -- I always wear my helmet, thanks to Craig at work who tells me how stupid it is not to. And I almost wiped out bad twice last week. But on the trail, leisurely paced, not crowded and with the likelihood of unexpected hazards being microscopic, I forwent the helmet but didn't have a cap, so the sun was killing me. Stopped at the rivers edge campground right outside connellsville and bought a hat so that made the ride back much more pleasant. We poked around in connellsville for vegan food and found a Mexican restaurant, El Canelo, where the sole guy (waiter, cook and cashier -- undoubtedly bottle-washer to boot) made me a perfect taco with lettuce, tomatoes, rice, beans and guac. Lou had a jumbo chicken burrito and with drinks the whole thing (sit down and all) cost $13. Unbelievable. Lou gave him a twenty, no change necessary. Great place. Very friendly to vegans! Sunday, may 20. 47 miles in wash county. Above-mentioned ride in the heat and the hills and the non-compliant gears. Still, all in all a pretty spectacular ride. Four deer, two herons, two hawks -- one of my highest wildlife counts in quite awhile. Few obnoxious frack sites, good company with the meetup bike group called Grupetto organized by Bob Miller, a good guy to wipe out in the mud with. Note to self -- 50 miles in the heat and hills is about 15 miles too much for me. Next time, at least consider this. Or not.