I normally don’t wake up remembering dreams, just vivid emotion. To be able to revisit the actual content is a rarity and something I can’t shake right now.
And I don’t WANT to shake it…. well kind of.
In 1992, Dad and I did a few training rides for my upcoming solo RAMROD. The first ride consisted of a super long and hilly ride around Hood Canal starting from Port Orchard which hurt pretty bad. He and I both barely made it home as we hammered the South Shore pretty hard forgetting the hills coming out of Belfair and the headwind that usually accompanies it. The second was the Penninsula Metric Century course that winds from Southworth, through Port Orchard, out to Gig Harbor, Ollala and then back to Southworth. We did the rout twice, once clockwise than counter clockwise. I remember bonking that day pretty hard coming out of Purdy, stopping for a Coke and a Snickers bar at the gas station. Dad took the time with me I needed to feel better and then we headed on out. Our third ride, 1 week before RAMROD, was from the base to the top of Hurricane Ridge (next to the climb to Paradise this is one of my favorite routes) and dad and I planned on not racing to the top but pretty much hitting it as hard as we could. The stretch to the Ranger station hurt pretty bad and I remember telling him that my legs didn’t feel so good, maybe lack of a decent warm up. He backed off a little until I found my legs and then we were off.
It was a great tempo.
This is how climbing should be, setting pace for each other, encouraging words, a longer pull to give the other a breather when you can. I was feeling great.
but then I did something completely stupid. I surged and dropped my dad. I looked behind me and didn’t see him around the last corner. I hesitated for a second but then pressed on. In my mind it was a training ride for me so I should make the most of it. Looking back, it was probably more than that for him. He just wanted to ride with his son.
I got to the top where mom and Evan were waiting for us with food. Obviously mom was a little worried about where dad went so I turned back around and headed down for him. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the ride back up or through lunch. In fact He blew my doors off on the way down and I couldn’t even touch his descending skills.
Ive lived with that almost everytime I touch my bike now. It hurts. I would give anything to have that day back and finish the climb with him. Not everything is a race
Well last night, in my dream, dad and I finished together. Every turn, every pull, until that last corner to the top when he dusted me at the sprint to the RV sign by the picnic tables.
Thanks for the ride dad… We’ll have to do it again soon