If you're gonna bonk, do it right.

I would like to start with noting that I've never really bonked before, I've had rides where I've gotten tired or just haven't been feeling it and been on the edges of a bonk but never really bonked hard.  Take for example the last time I rode Pumpkin Ridge (65 miles or so) near the start of base miles.  It was one of my first rides back and I probably should have started with something a little shorter/easier but it seemed like a good idea at the time.  The last 10 miles up Thompson were rough; gear-grinding, teeth-clenched and then I got passed by a couple of 60-year olds...  Regardless, at the top I caught my second wind and made it back just fine.  Not today.

Today started like any normal Saturday ride:  get up, eat the normal breakfast, pull on the team kit, throw the normal food and equipment in the pockets and take off.  It didn't end like one.

It's Portland.  It's January.  Of course, it rained but at this point that's to be expected.  The team rides goes awesome, about 20 people and a really good showing of new people, then for the ride home.  I knew I was in trouble when Will started telling a story about a fairly recent ride when the group was riding home and everyone was on the verge of cracking/killing each other.  Then I started to feel the creeping feeling.  It started in my chest and slowly spread.  You know the feeling, the hollow crushing emptiness that creeps into every corner of your body and slowly sucks every molecule of energy from your body and discards it ungracefully into the gutter.  By the time we hit the base of Thompson I knew I was toast.  I looked up to see my riding buddies floating away, legs pumping effortlessly as I had done so many times.  When I looked down I saw a jerky mess of leg, road grime and a falling speedometer.  Hello Bonk, it's about time we met.

I wouldn't have even made it off
the bike today before collapsing

Slower and slower still.  I crawled my way up Thompson.  I gave the guys the go-ahead to take off without me so I knew it was just Bonk and me stuck out on that hill with no food and pounding rain.  I start dreaming of burritos, quesadillas, and all forms of Mexican food (why?  Hell if I know).  I stop.  I start.  I stop again and drape myself over the bike.  I somehow start again, knowing I have to finish this ride.  As I round yet another bend I look up to see the guys waiting for me.  Crap, I thought it was just me.  Now they know.  As I pass by, Eli hands over a peanut bar which I shred the wrapper all over the road just to get at that salty and sugary goodness.  10 seconds, it's gone.  The psychological boost from that bar got me to the top, a whole 150m away.

At this point we part ways, Will and I go left, Eli and the other guy straight.  I try and try but no matter what I do I can't hang with Will, and he's soft pedaling.  He knows what's happening and passes over a gel containing more than my average monthly dosage of caffeine and I pour the entire syrupy mixture down my throat.  By now I'm nothing more than an empty shell, if I could safely do it my shoulders would be draped over the handlebars and I would just pedal along in my 39-25 until I finally got home.  Somehow I mustered the energy to brake during the Germantown descent and drag my sorry butt over the bridge and back home where I promptly collapsed into 2000 calories.

me post-ride

In short, I didn't just crack, I shattered.  Eli and Will, you guys are saviors.  There's not a whole lot else to say but thank you.

If you're looking for another bonk story head over here to read a much more amusing/better written piece.