3 of 4 AND 4 of 4: "Race like you train, except when you don't train, because you still have to race."

We hopped a bus out of Spain, leaving almost as quickly as we came.  Our general feeling was of such pure contentedness that we more or less forgot to say goodbye to Spain.  And that, it seemed, was the major theme of our trip.  We were there (there meaning each and every unique place we passed through) for no more than mere moments.  We were traveling with a motive. Four countries in two weeks.  I had never before traveled in such rapid motion. And now that I'm back I dont really feel that I can even claim to have been to Spain or Italy - the days spent were so few and the hours mostly passed inside of trains or some other method of travel, there was hardly time to look around.  People, nature, language, arcitecture, traditions, music, food, all new and waiting to teach me something but more or less neglected.  Where most of my learning came from was myself and Dave and what it is to travel in fast forward.  I am a go-to-one-place-stay-for-as-long-as-I-can sort of traveler.  I thrive in the transition between being lost in a new village and slowly learning its ways until it feels like a home and THEN picking up and going somewhere else.  Creating small lives for myself all over. But Dave and I, we conquered differently.  We went full to the brim with motivation and we didn't stop until we had finished our tasks.  And oh, how we suceeded. Yet as rapid and rushed as it was, I enjoyed every moment. 

So we were leaving Spain.  We had about a week to be back in Greece, and all we needed to do in the meantime was bike up the most vicious climb in the Tour de France.  Go time.  We arrived in southern France, just over the border, to a small town with amazing landscape views, old forts, good pizza and better cider.  We camped a night, near a river, and it rained on us and I woke up proud of my 18 Euro tent - serving me much better in a french rainstorm than any fancy REI tent ever had in Humboldt County.  I thought back to one particular night waking up in 5 inches of water and leaving to make a driftwood fort on the beach cursing my tent the whole way and becoming intensely soaked by that rain.  A bonding experience for an interesting time.  Different story. Anyways -

After a serious night of sleep, catching up on the hours and hours we had been missing, we woke, donned soaked sneakers, and made our way to a train station as the sun rose slowly.  Train after train, until we reached Grenoble, France.  Our final destination.  We unloaded, navigated unfamiliar subway routes (one of my favorite activities) and made our way to our couchsurfer's house.  WHO happened to be incredible - a garden full of cacti and tomatillos, "bringing mexico to france", he claimed, as well as home cooked food, an abundance of books, good music and a blow up mattress on a hardware floor.  Paradise.  That night we slept like royalty.

The next day was spent with preparations: navigating, purchasing, bicycle renting, and a little bit of fear for the pain I was about to be in.  The lack of training was setting in.  Maybe I should've ridden a bike, at least once, in the past few months. But here's what Dave said on the matter, as we sat drinking the best beer I had had in maybe a year at a street side cafe under an umbrella trying to hide from the sun:

    "Okay, here's my plan.  Don't train.  Go to Europe.  Drink a lot of beer.  Eat horribly. Start biking up the mountain and by about the tenth kilometer I will be so delirious with pain and exhaustion I'll be convinced I'm riding an escalator to heaven.  It will be easy from there on out.  I don't see how what could be possible go wrong." 

So in that I found faith, and the next day we woke early, even after a late night barbeque and some homemade liquor tasting.  We were ready, we were dressed, on our bikes, full of carbs, two water bottles each, all yellow and orange from powdered electrolites.  I had a small bag with a camera, some food, and a can of white spray paint.  I took one last look at my legs, and knew they wouldn't feel this good again for a long time. 

lookin reeeaalll good. check out davie's shoes for a good laugh.

As soon as we started ascending I felt I had made a mistake.  This felt horrible. WHY would anyone in their right mind volunteer for this.  It didn't help that the first two switchbacks were the most difficult by far, the longest and steepest.  But Dave was right, after we got going it was easy to become so delirious that a rhythm pedal after pedal, foot down after foot down moving slowly but steadily upward became second nature.  My mind was somewhere else and willingly I let it stay there and I just kept moving forward.  We took copious breaks, every two or three switchbacks, but it didn't matter.  There was no stopwatch and we had all day to make it to the top.  A few times I thought I might just keel over, just fall over the edge of the mountain, but then there was Dave to sing to me and get me going again.  Other times I felt I could go on in that manner forever, felt fantastic and proud of my body and pushing every limit of what I am capable of.  I do love a good challenge, and this one surely took the cake. 

21 switchbacks and 2 1/2 hours later we made it to the top.  A lovely couple from San Jose bought us lunch and we downed those victory beers.  Sitting there in glorious satisfaction while simultaneously dreading what my legs would feel like when I did stand up.  Thinking about the descent.  And where to spread the ashes.  And sleeping.  I was exhausted. I looked at my hands, made a fist, and then stretched my fingers out long, and slowly back to a fist, contemplating how all the little muscles in my hands and fingers, and how they would hold up with the breaking while going back down the mountain.  When we did finally stand up (more painful than I thought) and sit back on those saddles (horrible. SERIOUSLY horrible. I understand now why people wear those padded biking shorts) and begin to descend, all the pain was more or less erased, replaced with an overwhelming sense of achievement.  We went down to the switchback #1, and stopped.  The view was fantastic, there was a green hill with purple and yellow wildflowers, and space on the street to leave some writing.  If you've ever watched the Tour de France you know the way the streets look, all covered with messages for the riders, for family members, anything anybody could think of to write, or draw, was there on the course.  And we were going to add to it.  In between the traffic, the cyclists, we snuck onto the road shaking that can and writing letter by letter "kick kaas" as big and legible as we could muster. 

The story of Kick Kaas is a little lost to me.... but something about my dad being at a meeting and someone misspelling his first name, "Kirk" putting a c instead an r and there it was Kick Kaas, and I can just imagine him laughing to himself thinking that is the perfect nickname.  He later had a bike with Kick Kaas written on the side and my entire family now has shirts with his face in a caricature fashion that read Kick Kaas and all in all it is an inside-outside family joke, now written there on the course for all Tour de France racers to contemplate... while we were writing it one cyclist came by an exclaimed "Kick Ass! It's the same in every language!" and I smiled.  He understood.  And after it was written I scampered up the little green hill, contemplating the view and kneeling among the wildflowers.  There I left the ashes, where he would watch riders cross over his name, while looking at the view, seemingly spreading out for ages in front of him.  It was perfect.  Easy and at peace.  I left him there, mounted the bike one last time, and made my way from clouds to town. 

The end.




And one more time, just to clarify:

-Visit Denali State Park
- Visit the pyramids in Egypt
- Run with the bulls in Pamplona
- Visit Australia, and New Zealand
- Hike the Pacific Crest Trail 
- Visit the great wall
- Go to France and ride the Alp D’Heuz
- Race in Ironman Hawaii in Kona
- Live on a beach.