See Di Fly: Welcome to Ajusco

Saturday we got to sleep in. It was 6:30am and the alarm rang. Ricardo cued up a little Guns N’ Roses, “Welcome to the Jungle.” We would ride Ajusco, a little hill just outside of Mexico City. We would be three, Ricardo, Manuel, and myself.

Usually it takes about an hour to arrive at our riding destination; but Sunday, it was quick. It’s literally, right outside of the city (I think it’s technically still in the city).

Ajusco: See south-west of the city

Ricardo had warned my that it might be cold (we would reach 3700m) so I dressed appropriately; wool socks, silk underwear (long underwear) … never mind – I had four layers on both top and bottom.

When we got out of the car, it was cold. I could see my breath kind-of-cold.

It has been a long time since I rode hill more than 5km; this one was 14km.

As we start to ride, my heart begins to thump. The blood starts driving through my veins, and my breathing rate increases. I feel my legs within the first 200 meters, and tiny sweat pellets start to form on my brow.

I love hills. I really do.

Ricardo holds back with Manuel who hasn’t been on his bike since October. I tried to keep up with a pack of four guys up ahead, and I stay in my big ring for the challenge.

By about 5km sweat is dripping in a steady stream off my forehead and my body temperature is steadily rising. This is good and bad. Good, because I am warming up and my hands aren’t numb; bad because I am going to arrive at the top soaking wet and then ride down slick. I don’t care. Sweat has never stopped me from going hard.

I continue with the pack of guys … Am I competitive? … until the top of the hill when my legs just won’t let me have it any longer. I Shift into my small ring and crank up the hill with more cadence and less power. Then I wait for Ricardo and Manuel; fully, completely, 100% cocky and proud.

We continue for about another 2km and then the prized moment, the turn-around.

Max speed – about 61.9km/h. You fly around the turns and use your breaks as little as possible, you hear nothing but the wind gusting into your ears. You scream “Whoooo Hoooo!” And you mean it with all your heart.

By the time we are at the bottom, we had ridden 32km.

Time to do it again.

Ricardo decides he won’t wait for Manuel this time. So he pedals off ahead. Following behind it takes me less than 300m to realize what I have done. I spent it all on the first climb. I worked so hard to keep up with the pack of riders and forgotten to ration my energy. Oh Dear!

You can’t have pleasure without pain.

I don’t even attempt to ride in my big ring. Instead I stay in my small and keep my easiest gear for reserve. My legs were jello, my heart was ripping out of my chest, and my attitude was sinking fast. I’m not in the lead anymore. I can’t keep up. It’s amazing what happens to your spirit when you fall back on the bike.

Is he getting better or am I getting worse? I used to kill him on the hills. What’s going on? Why am I here? Should I stop? I can’t breathe properly. Should I stop? I need water but I can’t breathe. Should I stop? What gear am I in? Should I stop?

Suddenly a distraction. Good, a distraction. Jeep after jeep after jeep after jeep roar past us. There must have been 25 in total. Jeeps, climbing up the hill for a joy ride. Some of them even had little jeeps on top of them for the little jeepers. But then they passed and I was back with my frienemy, myself. This is hard. I am not suffering! Anthony Robbins says that …. Should I stop? Oh look, a dog. That’s the one that barked at the dirt bike. I hope it doesn’t chase me. I have no legs. Heart rate increases even further.

I keep shoulder checking to see if Manuel is behind me, but he dropped off into the distance and I lose him around a turn.

All I can see of Ricardo is a black dot in the distance. I wonder how far he is ahead. I am going to count. I will count up to the street post he just passed. 1…2…3…4… my legs are killing me. Spit. Farmer blow. Drink. Gasp for air. Replace water bottle. Check gears. Oh my. How did this happen? I am in my smallest gear.

Being in your smallest gear is dangerous. There is nowhere to go when you are in your small ring. Nowhere at all. And when you realize you are in your smallest gear without noticing, your heart rate increases. Even more.

If I can do this, I can do anything. If I can do this, I can do anything. If I can … Oh that’s a cute little restaurant. I would like to come up here and eat sometime.

And then the clearing. A flat stretch of about 400m. My legs sing hallelujah in harmony and the corners of my mouth forms a curve. Everything is wonderful with the world again and I smile at the piles of hay in tepee formations. The trees in the distance are stunning and the sunshine illuminates everything (including my attitude). And I see the corner. Corners equal inclines.

Pleasure = pain

We continue riding up the hill and I catch up to the Jeeps that are turning right into the forest. Is this a Jeep club. Like a Harley club? Are they going to have a picnic? Who are they. I swerve in and out of them to continue climbing and only a few more self-defeating thoughts enter before I see Ricardo in the distance, waiting. We are at the top. Manuel makes it a few minutes after, and I am officially drenched through four layers.

The temperature is probably about 3^oC so I am in a hurry to descend. And we do. Fast. Ricardo is in front, and before we enter the clearing, our favorite places of the ride, he points to the right. As I approach at about 55km/h slowing down to see what he is pointing at. Right at the edge of the street there is a cow that looks just like a dog. It makes me laugh out loud because not only is it so super close to me … but because it’s a cow that looks like a dog. We continue on and I ask for a picture in the hay-tepee field.