the good

This is a long story - and really, it does go somewhere good. But go pee before you start reading...

I'll start with the fun part - I have a new bike. That's right, there's a new pony in the stable, and she is beeyooteeful!!

What? A new bike? Don't you have bikes already? Whatever for?! ...is what my spouse said when I started contemplating the new baby. Well, see, there's this Ironman I have kinda signed up for in 2010, that is kinda hilly. And by 'kinda hilly' I mean 'there's one big-ass hill that you have to go up and over twice'. And by 'big ass hill' I mean 20 miles up, 20 miles down.

Yeah. Take a moment, and just let that soak in. I've been ruminating on it for weeks now: 20 miles up hill. Twice.

Don't get me wrong, I love my tri bike, she's a wonderful beast. But she's built for going fast in a straight line -- that's what she does best. She's aero, and she's fast, but she's heavy and she is really not a climbing beast. her gears are go-fast-straight gears, not climb-up-a-big-ass-hill gears. Also, she's twitchy. Because the position on the tri-bike is way up in front, she doesn't descend comfortably. Twisty turny downhills are terrifying and slow on the tri bike. I'm anticipating that IMSG will also have some downhill to go with that uphill...

I have recently become part of another team - in addition to my beloved Outlaws Triathlon Team, I'm a member of a cycling team that is a cycling advocacy group. They're called Olev Rapido (which means I have something to write in that space that says 'team name' when I do cycling only events). It also means that I'm part of a group of some seriously big engines attached to some very fine individuals and an awesome local shop called The Kickstand. New team = new sponsorship = new bike. Oh, the timing could not be better.

Meet the new pony - she is a Kuota Kebel. The kindly Kuota North America people have informed us that it is not Kebel like 'rebel', it is Kebel like 'que BELLE' - which she is. She's full carbon everything, Ultegra S grupo, Reynolds carbon wheels, blah blah blah, with a compact double. She's a true weight-weenie bike, weighing in at a scant 17 pounds. Yes, I could have shaved off more ounces with a different grupo, but the price point for this grupo was my happy place, and it's pretty damned good.

So far, I've had her out 3 times. She's a dream to ride - she out sprints anything I've ever been on . It's like riding a ferrari - I put the pedal down, she goes fast. I took her up a long hill I know well and was pleased to see faster numbers on the speedo than I'm used to seeing -- consistently faster numbers - by 1 to 2 mph.

She's already a member of the family. My kids have been working on her name. I told them the bike tells us her name when she's ready, but we can guess. They've had lots of fun guesses - they've decided her middle name is 'speedy'. My naysaying spouse has been observed fondling her -- touching her hoods, and marvelling at her lack of weight. 'You know honey, I bet I could ride this,' he says.

Uh, no you can't.

But back to the story. Three times the Kuota has been out, and three times it has rained on us. This is highly unusual weather for these parts. It's far more normal for it to be dry than wet. I love that she stays clean, but detailing has become more than an inconvenience...this is distressing.

Sunday I figured I'd break the spell. I rode a fast 90 minutes in the morning, and then we saddled up for an afternoon ride. Heather Reu's memorial ride was scheduled for 4pm on Sunday, and me and Mr. Black and Mr. Woody figured we'd make a ride of it. We planned to set out from my house and head down the bike path to Rio Bravo, up 9 mile hill (which is not 9 miles, by the way), up to Paseo de Volcan to the start of Heather's ride. The ride to the start of the ride would be about 15 miles with a big-ass hill in the middle of it.

I admit that I've been thinking hard about Heather's ride since I found out about it. Heather's death has reminded me of my mortality, and the prospect of the memorial ride had a certain forboding. I have been worrying that I might be next. It's impossible to know when and where something might happen, who is out on the road and what they are thinking, and these unpredictable elements scare the crap out of me. I decided it was best for me to just work through it.

We left the house in the heat of the day - the forecast was for rain somewhere later, we had some ideas of where and when, we figured we'd play it by ear. As you do. Off we went.

As we headed west toward the big ass hill, we started to get a pretty good idea of where that rain would be coming in: large dark stormclouds were forming west of town on top of the mesa. My sense of forboding was peaking. As I climbed the hill, I felt the wind completely stall out. The breeze that had kept the heat off me suddenly disappeared leaving a windless vacuum.

That was probably my first sign that something was wrong.

We paused at the top of the hill and discussed the options. We could continue on to the start of the ride, to the North, along a straight flat road on top of a mesa that went along power lines. This seemed to tempt fate. I was invested in making it to Heather's ride, but it seemed like that option would get us zapped by lightning on the way to the start.

We watched the clouds to see if they were going our way - I wanted to stay and listen for a few minutes - we could hear the thunder all around us in the sky. It was eerily quiet but for the sounds of electrical activity overhead. Booming. Everywhere. As I watched, a funnel cloud formed behind Mr. Black, and then dissipated. In this photo you can still see a trace of it over his right shoulder.

Yeah, that was probably my second sign.

We decided to bag the Memorial ride and head home - it seemed the safe option. We turned around and started heading downhill. Rain started - a few fat drops fell on the pavement.

The guys headed downhill, and I admit I wasn't feeling speed-brave. I'm still getting used to carbon on carbon braking, I'm still getting used to how the new pony handles, but I'm feeling the sense of urgency on getting the hell off the high place.

Within seconds - I'm not kidding, it really was seconds - the rain went from a few fat drops to a downpour. A fast, cold wind came down from the sky, blowing heavy gusts. I'm guessing they were up to 50 mph gusts. There were a few of those roadside signs on the shoulder that are spring mounted - the wind flattened the signs straight to the ground. I'm going downhill on my fancy new bike, and watching the wind blow the rain in sheets, and the signs going horizontal, and the wind is catching my aero wheels with the super deep rims and blowing me around on the road. This was a real wrath-of-God storm.

I had poor visibility, I had poor control, I was going downhill at speed, and I was aware that there was road traffic - with poor visibility and iffy braking in the rain. I was suddenly very sure that if I continued I would be somebody's hood ornament.

So I stopped. I remember not being particularly freaked out by the rain - I'm thinking, well, I guess I'm wet. Oh well, this is not new (this is now 3 for 3 of biking in the rain with new girl). I'm not freaked out by the alarming speed of this storm - this is the Southwestern Desert, home to all manner of unpredictable weather. I'm not bothered by this. I'm not really bothered by the wind.

Then the hail started. I'm still not freaked out by hail, but I'm finding this uncomfortable and it feels a little dangerous. It is just hail, but I have no shelter. The hail is going through the vent holes in my helmet, though my head is mostly protected. I'm grateful for the helmet. I think to myself, OK self, it's raining, it's windy, it's hailing. I can't ride, it's not safe. I can stand here and be a target, or I can make forward progress in the rain. I got off the bike and started to walk downhill, holding the stem.

Then the wind picked the bike up like a kite and nearly blew it out of my hand. The tires were skidding along the pavement as the wind shoved it away from me. The hail is getting stronger. I'm getting pelted all over. The gusts are getting stronger, now I'm having trouble holding me up, and the bike is getting blown away.

I'm still not freaked out, but I realize now that walking is out of the question. The guys are long gone, they can't help me. It's been maybe a minute or two since the storm initially started.

At that moment, a large SUV pulls up behind me, and then next to me. Relief washed over me. The window opens, and a woman beckons me inside.

I'm filthy, I'm wet, I don't want to leave my bike outside. Also, I don't know these people. It's enough for me that they're there on the road, sheltering me from the worst of it, being visible to oncoming cars. I figured if they stayed there for 5 or 10 minutes, the rain would pass (as it always does), and then I could continue on my way. I tell them thanks but it's OK, I'm OK outside, I'm already wet and getting in their car won't help.

They move further onto the shoulder for me, and the hail keeps coming. I'm getting pelted harder with big cold rocks of ice. I'm hearing thunder, it's loud. She gets into the back seat and opens her window and beckons me into the car, tells me to get in the front, and I can hold my bike.

I'm shiverring now, it's cold. This is not stopping. I decide to get into the car.

I rest the bike up against the car, and open the car door. It's awkward - I'm in the mud, deep puddles around me. My hands are slippery. I reach for the door with my left hand and a large spark forms between the car body and my hand. An arcing spark. About a second later an almighty loud boom sounds behind me, a little bit up the mesa.

That was loud.

That freaked me out.

I got into the car and explained to them what just happened. Cars are big Faraday cages - electricity just rolls over it off and grounds out on the big rubber tires. Inside the car they would have felt nothing, but I had just connected with electricity in the air, going through their car. Corona discharge just before lightning strike.

The woman in the back seat held a shivering chihuahua wrapped in a towel. She was beautiful and young. The driver of the car was a young man. Both of them were far younger than me, they had no reason to stop for me. I didn't know them. They didn't have to stop.

I reassured the dog, told them I'd just been caught at a bad moment, that I couldn't go any further downhill because the wind was blowing me down. That soon the rain would stop in its New Mexican way and I'd be on my way. I told them about Heather, about the ride we were meant to go to.

The ditch next to the road was an angry river of chocolate colored water. By now maybe 10 minutes had elapsed, a huge quantity of water had fallen.

Eventually.

The rain slowed. I said goodbye. I picked up my now filthy Kuota (she'd fallen over in the mud - had to happen). And I left the SUV. I said, "thank you so much for stopping, you saved my life."

And they said, "God bless you."

In my grief and need for self preservation, I've been fixated on all the drivers out there who are mean to cyclists, all the drivers who are scared of cyclists and lash out at us, all the drivers who aren't paying attention, all the drivers who scare the shit out of us.

This young couple made up for all of those people. They didn't have to stop. They didn't have to let a wet, muddy, salty person dressed in spandex into their car, to drip all over their dog and their nice dry car. But they did - for no reason other than to do a good thing for a stranger.

I didn't realize how close a call that had been until later. Standing out there on the road in the rain, on the mesa, I was a sitting duck - for cars or lightning. The lightning really did almost strike me - had it not been for that car, I was the tallest thing out there. I was likely to get barbequed. Those drivers really did save my life.

And when I picked my way down the rest of the hill, dodging more scary noises and a few more raindrops, we eventually dried out, and the sun came out in its typical New Mexico way. By the time we got home the sky was sunny and beautiful again, the roads were completely dry and it was if nothing had happened, except for my soggy, soggy socks.

I didn't make it to Heather's ride - but I got something I needed. Heather's death is proof that people can be responsible for terrible things, or at a minimum, negligent. Now I have proof people can be responsible for good things. I believe in the good in people. I love the good in people, and I will always support the good in people. The person behind the wheel of the car could just as easily be someone who does give a shit about you - who wants to support the good in you. I have to believe that, if I want to keep enjoying my two-wheeled time. I now know that good people are out there.

Meanwhile, my bike has found her name.

She's called 'Lucky'.