On Being Excessive

My thoughts wandered as I passed the towering redwoods on today's ride. The age of the trees, the age of the planet, the age of the universe, the age of the cyclist having these thoughts.

On a recent visit to the local library, I spied a copy of Half the Road on a rack and checked it out. A documentary I had meant to watch, then forgotten.

Not being a runner, I didn't know the story of K. V. Switzer, the first woman to register successfully and run the Boston Marathon. There were shots of the race manager physically accosting her, trying to pull off her race numbers—women were not allowed to run more than 800 meters, much less a marathon. In 1967. I remember 1967.

Our group was heading for a 65-mile ride with some 6,800 feet of climbing, and that was more than I wanted: more distance, more climbing. I hatched an alternate plan that would shave off some distance and elevation. My ride partner, working to rebuild endurance after a hiatus off the bike, trusted me.

The film also told the story of an angry letter from the chauvinistic UCI to the organizer of the Women's Challenge bicycle race, refusing to sanction the event because it included excessive climbing. Excessive stage distances. Excessive number of stages. Excessive duration of event. Women weren't allowed to climb that many feet, cycle those distances, ride that many days. In 1990. In 1990, 1967 was 23 years ago.

To say that I had miscalculated our alternate route would be ... an understatement. It was how far from the park's headquarters to Boulder Creek? [Uh-oh.] And I'd thought we'd climb just a couple of miles back to the intersection that had led us to the park. [It was nearly eight miles.]

The film was inspiring with stories of strong, determined women. And here we were: not racing, but headstrong and determined to finish. “Where's my chauffeur?” joked my ride buddy. “Send the limo!”

My ill-conceived route entailed 64 miles with 6,180 feet of climbing. I got home in time to return the DVD to the library. By bike.