We started out from Laudelino Cubino’s hotel. His garage is my favorite on the planet. No cars just several dozen bikes, and racks for dozens more all along the wall and filling the space on the floor.

Our group got spread out and of course I was at the back after stopping to lend my pump to a group of guys on mtn bikes and then stopping for more water. Not wanting to hold up our leader who was waiting up for me, I stepped it up a bit. Caught a few people in our group and continued on. It was a pretty hot day. Not extraordinary though. It would get much hotter by the time the racers climbed the hill.

There were all kinds of people on the road. Little kids and teens and adults of all ages on bikes of all kinds riding up this hill, and just as many or more walking up, to stake out a good spot to watch the race go by later in the afternoon. I passed by three older men hiking up with hiking boots and hiking poles. The hairest one with the belly was wearing nothing but a speedo. Ooooh, eeew, no one should have to see that. Several people had set out much earlier and had already staked out their spot of choice and were painting in the road or shouting encouragement to everyone riding by. There was at least one group with the complete camp site set up with tent, lawn chairs, TV, a card table and a brunch spread. Clearly for these fans this one hill of this one stage was a multiple day, multi-faceted adventure. On the pavement of one rather steep switchback was painted "20%". What! No way. A couple of men happened to be right there at the side of the road as I rode over it, so I asked them, "¿Es verdad, veinte porciento?" I think they answered in the affirmative, but with my less than basic Spanish skills I didn't catch their exact comment. The next switchback seemed like an excellent spot for a pause and Clifshot. Two teens on mtn bikes that I’d just passed also paused there. I asked them the same question about the grade. One of them responded that yeah, more or less it’s true, you know, the grade varies. So even though it’s not three blocks of Fillmore, a few feet of 20% grade was kinda cool.

Just before the 6km to go mark there was a bit of a traffic jam. I made my way past the line of stopped motor vehicles and just as I got to the bus at the head of the line it surged ahead and I got a lungful of exhaust. Aww, thanks, but I think I would have preferred a cigarette. I decided that was a good opportunity for another little pause since I haven’t quite mastered the skill of riding while not breathing. So, I walked a bit till all the vehicles and their accompanying exhaust went by and then rode on. One of the guys who had just set up the km marker was bouncing off of it like it was a vertical version of a bounce house, which it kinda is. He looked like he was having fun anyway, slamdancing by himself.

The grade flattened out considerably by the 3km to go, and yet I seemed to be going even slower than when it was a steep grade. The legs were going around, but I didn’t seem to be moving forward. Ahh, this would be the bonk. There were very few people at the side of the road at this point because of course the race would be speeding by in a blur on this relatively flat section. But a couple people who were still making their way to the finish shouted encouragement. I didn’t find out til later that they were shouting "Ánimo" not "Animal". Either way I appreciated the encouragement but it wasn’t helping me to move faster than a tortuga. I actually started to wonder if I would make it all the way to the end. I wondered which element exactly of this sensation I was feeling was the lactic acid that I’ve heard so much about and yet still don’t quite understand. I tried to remember what the Spanish word for empty was. How does one say I’m totally tapped? I thought if there was a "Beyond the Bonk Award", I could be a contender. And figuring that the appropriate award would be a Clifshot and a Coke, (European version with real sugar not any of that cornsyrupcrap) I would be really happy to win it. I wondered what racers think about when they’ve got a difficult stretch to get through, and do they really remember, or do they just have to make it up when the interviewer inevitably asks what they "were thinking about during that 160 km solo breakaway". I thought of all kinds of random, inconsequential and unmemorable things, though I do recall getting a horrid repetitive children’s song stuck in my head and successfully removing it by trying to remember the lyrics to a Modest Mouse song. And then amazingly enough I was beyond the 2km to go marker and just ahead of me were two mates from my group! Lucky for me they had stopped to walk a bit. I could not have gone any faster no matter what.

Together we got to the very end and ahead I could see the finish. There was yellow plastic tape strung across, but I sooooo wanted to cross the finish. There was a man holding it up to let himself and a few others out, so I just kept riding towards it and said to him, "Para mi, para mi tambien?!" So he held it up for me to ride under. "Whoo hooo!!" Oops. Ok that was brief. There right in front of me was a very angry cop hollering at me. I quick made a U-turn and headed back under the tape, which that guy was still holding up so I could get out. The cop was yelling at him for letting me in! The guy was responding "but she told me…" I apologized as I rode back under the tape, "Gracias, disculpame," I am sorry for getting him in trouble but Ha! I’m so thrilled. That was so much fun! I took a few enthusiastic spins around an empty bit of parking lot. Now how is it possible that I was just barely moving a few kilometers ago?

After navigating through the increasingly thick clog of buses, vans, trucks, cars, etc., we started our descent. It was fast and fun! Not nearly as sketchy as I’d anticipated given how steep it seemed on the way up. Ok, dodging that bus was a bit sketchy, but getting around all the people painting in the middle of the road and walking 6 abreast up the hill wasn’t a problem. I just sang out "Oye" all the way.