This little park (they actually call it a warming station) is full of weary cyclists and Mexican family reunions but no Linda and Sarah. Could they have passed us while our heads were down? Not likely. I send Katie to backtrack because someone needs to stand here and wait.
7 minutes later Katie returns with missing family in tow. They had stopped back a ways on the trail thinking it was the cut off point to head up to the bridge and didn’t want to cover any unnecessary ground or double back once we realized our mistake. There was no mistake, before me coiled like half mile snake was the road to the bridge and I’m not sure but I think I saw a mountain goat dead on the side of the road. We had a family pow-wow, I explained that we didn’t have to actually cross the bridge, we saw the bridge and that was good enough. But it was no use, I could see it in their eyes . . . must cross bridge.
Like Pickett’s last charge we mounted up and prepared to take the summit. Linda and I got about 200ft before our handlebars (not to mention our legs) shook uncontrollably and we had to dismount and start walking. Sarah and Katie disappeared around one of the 57 bends. It wasn’t long before we spotted them ahead walking their bikes along the side of the road while being rudely passed by BMWs and Tour de France wannabes.
Once the terrain leveled out to just uphill, we swung a leg over and started peddling again. We assumed the position – heads down thighs burning and pressed on. Katie and Sarah once again passed us by but this time we kept riding. Finally I saw Katie stopped ahead on a “landing” waiting for us. When I reached her I looked around and, you guessed it, no Linda and Sarah. One should have been ahead of me one behind but no sign of either. Just as I was about to take my post waiting and sending Katie to look for them, we spotted them walking their bikes up the hill.
Apparently Sarah turned off at a parking lot. Linda suspected as much and turned off looking for her. Sarah just needed a little privacy for a technicolor yodel. Perhaps clam chowder wasn’t the best choice.
We were almost there! We could smell the exhaust. Finally we roll onto the bridge, cyclists whizzing by us in both directions, we take in the view, we are high but apparently not high enough – it’s all uphill to the other side. Did I mention it was windy? Well, we made it, it’s all downhill from here . . . . right?
My thighs are burning just reading it!