An UnExpected Summer
Did you ever dig a hole so big you are sure you are never going to crawl out of it? I have. Some herniated disks, kids, life, career, the recognition of being self absorbed for the previous 20 years and always trying to be “race fit.” I’ll save you from the gritty details but I did manage to climb out to a place where I was pretty happy to swing a leg back over the top tube. I could “roll” again without totally embarrassing myself. My initial goal was to ride 50 miles without wanting to cry or needing days to recover. The real key for me was Zwift. I can preach about that later.
Fast forward to this June. Two years after getting laid off in the early days of Covid, selling our house, radically downsizing our cherished belongings and sending the kids off to their respective college cities we packed and our vintage RV and took off. We have been rolling around in search of stunning roads and new adventures. I have been feeling fit, riding well and knocking out some 250 mile weeks back to back. The first week of June we drove up to Portland to spend the summer Boondocking on some friends land to watch their chickens for the summer while they travel. A little freelance was coming in and there are post Covid job prospects on the horizon. All was tracking nicely. The first day we arrived I felt that tickle in the back of my throat. Razor Blades appeared there that night as I tried to swallow. Shit. It wasn’t Covid but a nice bout of Bronchitis. A good one. No riding unless I wanted to drive all that even deeper into my lungs. Again, I’ll spare you the details but it was pretty epic.
About three rainy ass weeks later I finally felt better and limped out for a nice 15 mile ride by myself as my wife and best buddy riding partner didn’t feel well. I felt decent but not great.
The next day a nice 25 miles. The ride was fine. I felt like I hadn’t lost all my strength. My calves forgot how to ride a bike and would scream at me for the next couple days though.
When I got home my wife was taking a nap on the couch. That isn’t good. She never takes a nap. She took a Covid test and was positive. I tested clear.
The next day I repeated the ride from the day before while Sam was tucked in bed. It Felt ok and my calves still hurt but what did I expect.
A couple hours after returning home my nose really started to run and I had a headache. Shite.
That was a hard evening and another test confirmed I now had Covid. Are you f’n kidding me??
Covid is no joke even when you have the Vaccine and a Booster. I tumbled quickly with the chills coming on. Being in bed under a ton of covers was the only thing that I could do. The second night was the worst. My head hurt and my sinuses felt like a brick that was trying to slide down the back of my throat. I spend the hours between 3am and 4am trying not to have a panic attack. All the time thinking if this gets any worse I am hospital bound. After walking around a bit the symptoms backed off and that was the worst of it. Over the next two weeks I sat or lay within arms reach of a bare minimum of two rolls of toilet paper and a box of tissues. Never in my life has my nose been such a faucet. Truly amazing. So amazing that I actually do have to share. I blew my nose one morning and had to look at just because I was chuckling at the sheer comical volume of it. What greeted my eyes was the most crystalline clear, sparkly faerie snot I have ever seen. I laughed out loud and after about 2 minutes of pleading was able to share the view with my wife. (That is true love right there and such a “guy thing” she told me.)
After a couple weeks my nose returned to semi normal and although we didn’t feel ourselves, we headed out for a ride in the woods along Leif Erickson trail in Forest Park. A must if you are ever in Portland. This was an unquantifiably bad idea. Our heads were not connected to our bodies anymore and the floating sensation was like an amusement ride. I went up one slight rise and applied a little pressure to the pedals. Something didn’t feel right. I looked down at my computer to see HR numbers sailing past the redline. The effort did not match my heart rate. We took the rare and hard to swallow decision to flip it and ride back. We never made it to the coffee shop, not even close. It was a supreme conscious effort to keep my heart rate under 130. It meant going ridiculously slow. We finally made it back and I lay down in the grass and took a nap. I could feel my heart in my chest and did not like it. I left my strap on as my heart rate skyrocket each time I got up to do anything. “I guess we are going to the hospital.” I thought to myself. I shared this information with a friend who had Covid and she told me about her recovery and Heart rate issues. Damn,… This is Covid thing. 5 weeks later she is almost normal.
Knowing that I had a longer haul than I thought possible I began to wonder how deep a hole I am really in. What I thought was going to be a fun summer of ripping around my old stomping grounds and riding with long lost friends is turning into something quite different. Fortunately I have an outlet. I like to draw and make things. While off the bike I have done a good bit of freelance design work, made a couple costume jackets, multiple leather bags and fun leather belt. I have also had way too much time to follow the news and be reminded about all the chaos going on right now. It also makes my personal struggle so minuscule in comparison. Even being sick, I am fine. Even though I can’t ride, I am fine. Even though we thought we would be on another path by now, we are fine. As I thought about this an image jumped into my head that I just needed to get out. That is the image you see here. Normally rolling out on my bike provides me with the endorphins to keep the darkness at bay but without that I have to literally “draw” out the poison. I am getting better, but more importantly, as I compare my situation to everything else going on I am perfectly fine and grateful. At the end of the day the only person that really cares if I can ride fast again is me. In the meantime I am going to do my freelance work, draw more and make stuff. The hole may be a little deeper by the time I ride again but I can still see the top and know the steps to get there. I think there is a box of Pop Tarts calling my name. I’ll see you out there soon.