What’s your dehydration/overheated story?
04-23-23, 10:47 AM
#26
Grupetto Bob
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04-23-23, 10:48 AM
#27
Grupetto Bob
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. HaHaHaHa! 
We are Seattle, 90°+ might stop us riding - what? 4 or 5 days in a typical year. Maybe 6.Sorry, not meaning to detract from heat probs. Just not an issue for year-round Seattle-ites. Still waiting for a 60° here on little Cougar Mt. - been 5 months, coming this week.....hopefully.
edit: East of the Cascades is our best mid-late Spring riding. Hot in summer over there.
That can be part of ‘my issue’. I am so used to cooler temps that I use the same hydration strategy on the occasional hot day resulting in a fail.
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04-23-23, 10:51 AM
#28
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I lived in Pueblo Colorado for about 7 years. It's generally a hot desert, with flat or rolling flat hills in every direction for 30 miles outside of town. It's almost always windy too. Once you have those 30 miles done, it's super steep. We're talking riding to the foothills of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. It's a fairly perfect combination to absolutely sap strength. Time trial into the wind, climb 3000+ ft in 10 miles or so, depending on the chosen route, gut it out on monstrous rollers, and try to get home in the heat. Aside from the Bishops Castle, there's nowhere to get water along most of the logical rides (sans filter).
Pretty much no matter what I did out there, I was overheated and dehydrated every time. It was basically an expected outcome of riding more than 3 hours.
One particular ride that comes to mind, north of the area I just mentioned. A 100 mile gravel ride in Fountain CO. The first 30 miles was a quick spirited pack on pavement. It flew by. I hadn't raced in years and I was loving the peloton again. I did like I did in my 20s's and kept to keep my nutrition up with GU. By mile 40, the short course and long course separated, the fast guys were ahead in the gravel, and I was generally enjoying myself alone. That's when I discovered that my 40 year old belly can't handle GU, gummies, or basically any maltodextrin "food" anymore. Open prairie for miles around, nowhere to hide, I basically had to get naked (yay bibs) and assault the ditch. This happened 2 more times before I hit the first toilet at mile 50. I did terrible things to that toilet.
I had pooped bad, with velocity, 4 times in 45 minutes. Any food or extra fluid in my body was gone. I might as well have been drinking GoLiteLy. I was doing a mid ride bowel prep is what I'm saying.
I was scared to put anything else in my body, lest it explode out.
I finished that ride without a single snack from the aid. Not a sip of water. Windy, dusty, temps in 80's fortunately, and not a cloud in the sky.
I don't know why I decided to finish, but I did. I didn't die. I finished about 3.5 hours slower than I was planning.
Pretty much no matter what I did out there, I was overheated and dehydrated every time. It was basically an expected outcome of riding more than 3 hours.
One particular ride that comes to mind, north of the area I just mentioned. A 100 mile gravel ride in Fountain CO. The first 30 miles was a quick spirited pack on pavement. It flew by. I hadn't raced in years and I was loving the peloton again. I did like I did in my 20s's and kept to keep my nutrition up with GU. By mile 40, the short course and long course separated, the fast guys were ahead in the gravel, and I was generally enjoying myself alone. That's when I discovered that my 40 year old belly can't handle GU, gummies, or basically any maltodextrin "food" anymore. Open prairie for miles around, nowhere to hide, I basically had to get naked (yay bibs) and assault the ditch. This happened 2 more times before I hit the first toilet at mile 50. I did terrible things to that toilet.
I had pooped bad, with velocity, 4 times in 45 minutes. Any food or extra fluid in my body was gone. I might as well have been drinking GoLiteLy. I was doing a mid ride bowel prep is what I'm saying.
I was scared to put anything else in my body, lest it explode out.
I finished that ride without a single snack from the aid. Not a sip of water. Windy, dusty, temps in 80's fortunately, and not a cloud in the sky.
I don't know why I decided to finish, but I did. I didn't die. I finished about 3.5 hours slower than I was planning.
04-23-23, 10:53 AM
#29
Senior Member
I posted this on a different forum back when it happened. This happened back in August of 2022.
Short version: End of last August, I was driving down to Santa Barbara for a triathlon when I had car trouble. Thought I could ride home. Under estimated the distance and conditions, overestimated my ability. The desert nearly killed me.
Full story:
Short version: End of last August, I was driving down to Santa Barbara for a triathlon when I had car trouble. Thought I could ride home. Under estimated the distance and conditions, overestimated my ability. The desert nearly killed me.
Full story:
Pop some popcorn and pour yourself a drink. This is a long story. You've been warned.
It all started Friday morning. I had an appointment in Vegas and after that I planned to head down to Thousand Oaks where I would spend the night at my aunt's house. The triathlon was Saturday morning so I figured I would probably get down there sometime late afternoon. That would give me some time to unwind and maybe do some studying before I went to bed. Solid plan, but as the saying goes, "no battle plan survives the first shot". And so it was.
I finished my appointment in Vegas, so far, so good. I get on the road to SoCal around 11am. Sonic is cruising right along, AC blowing cold, and I'm on schedule. I'm coming down the mountain into Baker, about 80 miles south of Vegas, very long down hill stretch, when all of a sudden, I hear a chime on the dash, look down and see the temp warning light. I immediately shut the engine off and coast to a stop on the shoulder. Jump out, pop the hood and the heater hose on the back side of the engine has about a 1/2" split in it. All the water is gone. ****.
I'm still about a mile from Baker which, fortunately, is downhill from me. I manage to coast the car, engine off, into town and park in a Denny's parking lot. For those of you who have never been to Baker, it's little more than a gas stop on the interstate between L.A. and Vegas. The total population is about 500 or so people. There's not even a dollar store, just some gas stations, couple tourist traps and a convenience store or two. No auto parts stores either.
But I look around and I find a short section of hose I left in the car from a repair several years ago. A-ha! Gold! I'll be back on the road in no time! I splice in my repair hose and then walk about 1/4 mile to one of the convenience stores and over pay for two gallons of distilled water. I walk back and it's now been about an hour since the first sign of trouble so the engine is cool enough to pour in the water. It takes a full gallon to get it up to level (only holds about 1.5 gallons when completely empty anyway) and I try to start it. Spins over very freely, as in no compression freely. Well **** all now, I'm hosed.
I have to formulate a plan B because I really didn't have one to start. I figure going in the back way, Pahrump is only about 65-70 miles (BTW, I was very wrong about this). I have plenty of water (wrong about this too) and I'm pretty well conditioned to this weather. I'll ride home, get my truck and trailer, come pick up the car and be on my way. So I load up a back pack with four bottles of water, my ID and keys and off I go.
As I'm rolling out towards the back way, I see a couple of San Bernadino County Sheriffs deputies in a parking lot, talking. I ride up and ask if they ever patrol up to the Inyo County line, about half way. I explain what's going on and one of the deputies agrees to run me up to the county line. Saved me a bunch of pedaling (and probably from dying). At my request, he drops me off at the Old Spanish Trail highway. I've only been out this way once before and as near as I could remember it was about 30 miles to the highway. That shouldn't be a problem, I do 30 miles all the time. What I don't normally do is climb 1800 feet in 15 miles and 105* weather. By the time I got to the pass, I knew I had made a mistake, but I didn't have a lot of options so I pressed on.
Now the problem is where I was is seriously out in the middle of no-****ing-where. I went for more than an hour without a single car passing me. I genuinely began to worry that I could heat stroke, pass out and nobody would find me for a day or two. Once I finally got to the top of the pass though, I had a good 12-15 miles that was mostly down hill. I thought that I would be able to see familiar ground there, but I was in kind of a hidden valley. I got to a slight rise but I was so dehydrated I had to get off the bike and lay down. I mean literally lay down on the side of the road. Fortunately, I had cell service and I called in my "phone a friend" save. I called a local guy who's a member of another forum I belong to. He loaded up to come to my rescue. I drank the rest of my water and laid on the side of the road for about 15 minutes until I could stand up without getting dizzy. Guys, I'm telling you, no BS, this was a very dangerous situation I put myself in. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I got overconfident, I didn't respect the desert and it very well could have killed me.
After resting for a while and drinking water, I got to a point where I could walk without feeling like I was going to pass out. I could see a slight rise about a half mile and I knew that on the other side of that would be familiar territory. Feeling a little better and knowing I had help on the way, I very easily made it to the crest and sure enough, I had a good down hill slope to ride about another 10 miles. I was still really dehydrated and in pretty bad shape when my friend found me, but he loaded my bike up, gave me water and took me home.
So I finally got home, really about the time I had originally estimated, thanks to hitching rides, but I was certainly a lot worse for wear. Not only that, but I had an abandoned car in Baker and the triathlon in Santa Barbara. Things were going to have to go well for me to make all this work.
I ate some food, drank a crap load of fluids and packed a cooler. Then I hooked my trailer up to the Suburban, gassed up and off I went to Baker. Originally, I wanted to load the Sonic up and take it home, then head down to Santa Barbara. I really did not want the additional expense (gas) and risk of towing the Sonic to Santa Barbara and then home. But by the time I finally got the car loaded on the trailer the clock made the decision for me. Suburban, trailer, Sonic and I are all going to SoCal, drinking Gatorade and water the whole way.
Since I had to drive through Thousand Oaks to get to Santa Barbara anyway, I dropped the trailer off at my aunt's house. This was at 4am Saturday morning. I got to Santa Barbara at 5am. I picked up my packet, staged my gear and went back to the Suburban to try and get a quick power nap before the start. I got some rest, but didn't actually get any sleep.
The triathlon starts at 7am, I haven't gotten any sleep in 24 hours and I'm still wildly dehydrated from my misadventure the day before. I was genuinely concerned I would not be able to finish the swim, much less the entire event. But damn it all if I wasn't going to fight to the very end.
My wave got in the water at 7:25 and I wasn't half way into the swim before I started feeling pretty intense cramps in my legs. I was very worried if they persisted I would not be able to finish, but while they cramped almost the entire way, it was intermittent and I actually did finish the swim.
Once I got into transition to get on the bike, I sucked down another Gatorade and an energy gel. I knew hydration and electrolytes were the only chance I had at finishing this thing. Even so, as I bent over to put on my shoes, my abs cramped so hard I had to lay down and arch my back just to get them to release. Eventually they did and with some deep breathing and calming exercises, I was able to get on the bike and get going.
Once on the bike, the cramping eased up quite a bit. I did pretty well, but I was trying to remind myself to keep a pace so I had gas left for the run. But the course they had laid out was sadistic. I began to wonder if there were any more mountains they had for us to climb. I thought we were going to end up in Denver. It seemed like we just kept going up, and up, and up. The final mountain was at around mile 25. It was so steep and I was so exhausted I had to get off the bike and walk up. I positively hate that. It's as close to admitting defeat as I can stand. But I did get to the top and the remaining 9 miles were *mostly* down hill.
I got back to transition after the bike and once again had to battle cramping putting on my running shoes. I got put together and once again, downed a Gatorade and energy gel and off I went. Not exactly setting the world on fire, but I went. Now here's the biggest mistake I made of the event. All morning, it had been overcast and quite cool. I looked at my sunblock as I was putting on my running shoes, but gambled it was going to stay overcast. I gambled wrong. I made it about three miles and the sun began to burn off all the clouds and by the turn around point there was not a cloud in the sky. I tried to stay in the shade as much as I could but the rest of the way back was almost entirely in full sunlight. I ended up walking close to a mile towards the end, but I finished that race. I haven't seen the results yet, but I think, once again, I was the very last person to finish. And given everything it took me just to get there, I'm OK with that.
So after all this, I went back to my aunt's house and hooked up the trailer. I took a shower and crashed for a couple hours, then I hit the road. I left Thousand Oaks just after 7pm and made it home just before 1am. And I am quite happy to report the Suburban, which is something else I rebuilt, made the entire trip without a hitch. Hell, it didn't even break 200* at any point on the drive. Ran like a champ, which is more than I can say for myself.
But here we are now, two days out and I have to tell you, I'm burned and surprisingly, just aside from some soreness in my right hamstring, I actually don't feel all that bad.
So there it is. My near-death experience, the sad story of the Sonic and my triathlon all in one nifty 48 hour bundle.
It all started Friday morning. I had an appointment in Vegas and after that I planned to head down to Thousand Oaks where I would spend the night at my aunt's house. The triathlon was Saturday morning so I figured I would probably get down there sometime late afternoon. That would give me some time to unwind and maybe do some studying before I went to bed. Solid plan, but as the saying goes, "no battle plan survives the first shot". And so it was.
I finished my appointment in Vegas, so far, so good. I get on the road to SoCal around 11am. Sonic is cruising right along, AC blowing cold, and I'm on schedule. I'm coming down the mountain into Baker, about 80 miles south of Vegas, very long down hill stretch, when all of a sudden, I hear a chime on the dash, look down and see the temp warning light. I immediately shut the engine off and coast to a stop on the shoulder. Jump out, pop the hood and the heater hose on the back side of the engine has about a 1/2" split in it. All the water is gone. ****.
I'm still about a mile from Baker which, fortunately, is downhill from me. I manage to coast the car, engine off, into town and park in a Denny's parking lot. For those of you who have never been to Baker, it's little more than a gas stop on the interstate between L.A. and Vegas. The total population is about 500 or so people. There's not even a dollar store, just some gas stations, couple tourist traps and a convenience store or two. No auto parts stores either.
But I look around and I find a short section of hose I left in the car from a repair several years ago. A-ha! Gold! I'll be back on the road in no time! I splice in my repair hose and then walk about 1/4 mile to one of the convenience stores and over pay for two gallons of distilled water. I walk back and it's now been about an hour since the first sign of trouble so the engine is cool enough to pour in the water. It takes a full gallon to get it up to level (only holds about 1.5 gallons when completely empty anyway) and I try to start it. Spins over very freely, as in no compression freely. Well **** all now, I'm hosed.
I have to formulate a plan B because I really didn't have one to start. I figure going in the back way, Pahrump is only about 65-70 miles (BTW, I was very wrong about this). I have plenty of water (wrong about this too) and I'm pretty well conditioned to this weather. I'll ride home, get my truck and trailer, come pick up the car and be on my way. So I load up a back pack with four bottles of water, my ID and keys and off I go.
As I'm rolling out towards the back way, I see a couple of San Bernadino County Sheriffs deputies in a parking lot, talking. I ride up and ask if they ever patrol up to the Inyo County line, about half way. I explain what's going on and one of the deputies agrees to run me up to the county line. Saved me a bunch of pedaling (and probably from dying). At my request, he drops me off at the Old Spanish Trail highway. I've only been out this way once before and as near as I could remember it was about 30 miles to the highway. That shouldn't be a problem, I do 30 miles all the time. What I don't normally do is climb 1800 feet in 15 miles and 105* weather. By the time I got to the pass, I knew I had made a mistake, but I didn't have a lot of options so I pressed on.
Now the problem is where I was is seriously out in the middle of no-****ing-where. I went for more than an hour without a single car passing me. I genuinely began to worry that I could heat stroke, pass out and nobody would find me for a day or two. Once I finally got to the top of the pass though, I had a good 12-15 miles that was mostly down hill. I thought that I would be able to see familiar ground there, but I was in kind of a hidden valley. I got to a slight rise but I was so dehydrated I had to get off the bike and lay down. I mean literally lay down on the side of the road. Fortunately, I had cell service and I called in my "phone a friend" save. I called a local guy who's a member of another forum I belong to. He loaded up to come to my rescue. I drank the rest of my water and laid on the side of the road for about 15 minutes until I could stand up without getting dizzy. Guys, I'm telling you, no BS, this was a very dangerous situation I put myself in. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I got overconfident, I didn't respect the desert and it very well could have killed me.
After resting for a while and drinking water, I got to a point where I could walk without feeling like I was going to pass out. I could see a slight rise about a half mile and I knew that on the other side of that would be familiar territory. Feeling a little better and knowing I had help on the way, I very easily made it to the crest and sure enough, I had a good down hill slope to ride about another 10 miles. I was still really dehydrated and in pretty bad shape when my friend found me, but he loaded my bike up, gave me water and took me home.
So I finally got home, really about the time I had originally estimated, thanks to hitching rides, but I was certainly a lot worse for wear. Not only that, but I had an abandoned car in Baker and the triathlon in Santa Barbara. Things were going to have to go well for me to make all this work.
I ate some food, drank a crap load of fluids and packed a cooler. Then I hooked my trailer up to the Suburban, gassed up and off I went to Baker. Originally, I wanted to load the Sonic up and take it home, then head down to Santa Barbara. I really did not want the additional expense (gas) and risk of towing the Sonic to Santa Barbara and then home. But by the time I finally got the car loaded on the trailer the clock made the decision for me. Suburban, trailer, Sonic and I are all going to SoCal, drinking Gatorade and water the whole way.
Since I had to drive through Thousand Oaks to get to Santa Barbara anyway, I dropped the trailer off at my aunt's house. This was at 4am Saturday morning. I got to Santa Barbara at 5am. I picked up my packet, staged my gear and went back to the Suburban to try and get a quick power nap before the start. I got some rest, but didn't actually get any sleep.
The triathlon starts at 7am, I haven't gotten any sleep in 24 hours and I'm still wildly dehydrated from my misadventure the day before. I was genuinely concerned I would not be able to finish the swim, much less the entire event. But damn it all if I wasn't going to fight to the very end.
My wave got in the water at 7:25 and I wasn't half way into the swim before I started feeling pretty intense cramps in my legs. I was very worried if they persisted I would not be able to finish, but while they cramped almost the entire way, it was intermittent and I actually did finish the swim.
Once I got into transition to get on the bike, I sucked down another Gatorade and an energy gel. I knew hydration and electrolytes were the only chance I had at finishing this thing. Even so, as I bent over to put on my shoes, my abs cramped so hard I had to lay down and arch my back just to get them to release. Eventually they did and with some deep breathing and calming exercises, I was able to get on the bike and get going.
Once on the bike, the cramping eased up quite a bit. I did pretty well, but I was trying to remind myself to keep a pace so I had gas left for the run. But the course they had laid out was sadistic. I began to wonder if there were any more mountains they had for us to climb. I thought we were going to end up in Denver. It seemed like we just kept going up, and up, and up. The final mountain was at around mile 25. It was so steep and I was so exhausted I had to get off the bike and walk up. I positively hate that. It's as close to admitting defeat as I can stand. But I did get to the top and the remaining 9 miles were *mostly* down hill.
I got back to transition after the bike and once again had to battle cramping putting on my running shoes. I got put together and once again, downed a Gatorade and energy gel and off I went. Not exactly setting the world on fire, but I went. Now here's the biggest mistake I made of the event. All morning, it had been overcast and quite cool. I looked at my sunblock as I was putting on my running shoes, but gambled it was going to stay overcast. I gambled wrong. I made it about three miles and the sun began to burn off all the clouds and by the turn around point there was not a cloud in the sky. I tried to stay in the shade as much as I could but the rest of the way back was almost entirely in full sunlight. I ended up walking close to a mile towards the end, but I finished that race. I haven't seen the results yet, but I think, once again, I was the very last person to finish. And given everything it took me just to get there, I'm OK with that.
So after all this, I went back to my aunt's house and hooked up the trailer. I took a shower and crashed for a couple hours, then I hit the road. I left Thousand Oaks just after 7pm and made it home just before 1am. And I am quite happy to report the Suburban, which is something else I rebuilt, made the entire trip without a hitch. Hell, it didn't even break 200* at any point on the drive. Ran like a champ, which is more than I can say for myself.
But here we are now, two days out and I have to tell you, I'm burned and surprisingly, just aside from some soreness in my right hamstring, I actually don't feel all that bad.
So there it is. My near-death experience, the sad story of the Sonic and my triathlon all in one nifty 48 hour bundle.
04-23-23, 03:43 PM
#30
Senior Member
Water requirements vary by the person. When I lived out in Scottsdale Arizona in the summer I would pre-hydrate with water starting about 2 hours before the ride. On a 20 miler I would take three tall water bottles. That was usually enough, but one day it wasn't.
It was about 110/112 that day as I recall. It was freakin' hot. I thought about taking a 4th bottle but left it behind. Sure enough, about half way back on my 20 mile loop I ran out of water and out of gas a short time later. I limped home on this crazy hot asphalt, pulled in to the driveway and grabbed the water hose. Once I calmed down I took a temperature reading about 3 feet off the road surface. It was 132 degrees.
I learned my lesson, never go against your gut instinct. I knew I needed to take the 4th water bottle but just didn't "feel like" having two in my back jersey pocket "weighing" me down.
My best recommendation for the OP is pre-hydrate hours before the ride and take one more bottle of water than you think you need.
It was about 110/112 that day as I recall. It was freakin' hot. I thought about taking a 4th bottle but left it behind. Sure enough, about half way back on my 20 mile loop I ran out of water and out of gas a short time later. I limped home on this crazy hot asphalt, pulled in to the driveway and grabbed the water hose. Once I calmed down I took a temperature reading about 3 feet off the road surface. It was 132 degrees.
I learned my lesson, never go against your gut instinct. I knew I needed to take the 4th water bottle but just didn't "feel like" having two in my back jersey pocket "weighing" me down.
My best recommendation for the OP is pre-hydrate hours before the ride and take one more bottle of water than you think you need.
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04-23-23, 04:10 PM
#31
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hey, I 100% agree with all, esp as I cannot climb in the heat. I have spent nearly all my adult life near the Pacific. Living at the Left Coast (coastal San Diego, Santa Cruz, Seattle lastly) means life can be a no sweat occupation. I see no problem, but only looking in th mirror.
Best thing for me would be to lose 15 pounds and nearly 10 years.
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04-23-23, 06:32 PM
#32
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hey, I 100% agree with all, esp as I cannot climb in the heat. I have spent nearly all my adult life near the Pacific. Living at the Left Coast (coastal San Diego, Santa Cruz, Seattle lastly) means life can be a no sweat occupation. I see no problem, but only looking in th mirror.
Best thing for me would be to lose 15 pounds and nearly 10 years.
Best thing for me would be to lose 15 pounds and nearly 10 years.
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04-23-23, 06:56 PM
#33
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I later talked to someone who went west from Winthrop during the height of summer. He said the climb up from Mazama was brutally hot.
04-23-23, 07:33 PM
#34
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some guys I rode off road with back in the day did the 24 hours of Canaan
one guy passed out - could not be revived (initially) - and was taken to the hospital ... severe dehydration
story can be found here :
https://chroniclesofmccloskey.com/20...urs-of-canaan/
.
one guy passed out - could not be revived (initially) - and was taken to the hospital ... severe dehydration
story can be found here :
https://chroniclesofmccloskey.com/20...urs-of-canaan/
.
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04-23-23, 09:13 PM
#35
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While mine is nowhere near as epic as VegasJen's, here's my heatstroke story.
Set the Wayback to June 1994. As a 3rd-generation Arizona desert native with thousands of hot-weather miles under my wheels even back then, I figured I was ready for anything. I was coming off a disastrous relationship*, and I wanted a long ride to settle my thoughts. I had a meeting in Prescott, and my boss said he'd have no problem with me riding my bike there, as long as I took leave time on the extra days needed to ride. About 100 miles and 5,000 feet of climbing - nothing I hadn't conquered already.
I loaded up the Schwinn cruiser set up as a touring bike and left at 5:30 AM two days early just in case. It got hot fast, but I did great to Wickenburg and an early lunch (and guzzling tons of water). Even picked up a spare Big Gulp and put it in the basket.
Started the climb to Congress and noted it was already about 100 degrees but low humidity. I did take a couple cool breaks by scampering down into available box culverts, looking for rattlers or scorpions- none seen. Got to Congress, topped off the water in my 4 bottles plus the quart spray bottle I'd been using abundantly to keep me cool, and started up the serious uninterrupted 2000 ft climb to Yarnell in early afternoon.
Normally, this climb wouldn't get the best of me, even with a heavily-loaded bike (with wonderfully low gears) on a southern exposure with zero shade and 103 degree heat. But the wind was out of the west at 5-6 mph, and I was traveling east at 5-6 mph up the 7-8% grade, so I had zero net airflow. None. And no culverts to crawl into for a break.
About a mile from the top, as I emptied my last bottle (the Big Gulp and spray bottle long gone), I started to mentally check off the symptoms of heat stroke, including dizziness and a severe dropoff in sweating. Then the throbbing temples as I forced the pedals into the final climbing, realizing dully that not only was I not making Prescott tonight, but that I might not even make it to tomorrow.
The road leveled off and descended slightly as I wobbled my way into Yarnell. I saw a motel on the left and was barely able to stop, dismount, and stagger toward the office. The clerk looked me up and down and tossed a key at me. I fumbled myself and the bike to the door, fall in, and somehow make my way to the sink and shower.
Many plastic cups of water and a 20-minute cold shower later, I felt muuuuch better. Paid gratefully for the room, had a great dinner at a local diner, a sound sleep after watching some Rangers team win some cup, and was up well before dawn for a hearty breakfast and a very early start in the cool altitude air, and knocked out the remaing 2000 ft of climbing and was in Prescott before noon - with a newfound healthy respect for how circumstances can try to kill you, even if well-prepared.
*She left me for someone faster. Happened every time...
Set the Wayback to June 1994. As a 3rd-generation Arizona desert native with thousands of hot-weather miles under my wheels even back then, I figured I was ready for anything. I was coming off a disastrous relationship*, and I wanted a long ride to settle my thoughts. I had a meeting in Prescott, and my boss said he'd have no problem with me riding my bike there, as long as I took leave time on the extra days needed to ride. About 100 miles and 5,000 feet of climbing - nothing I hadn't conquered already.
I loaded up the Schwinn cruiser set up as a touring bike and left at 5:30 AM two days early just in case. It got hot fast, but I did great to Wickenburg and an early lunch (and guzzling tons of water). Even picked up a spare Big Gulp and put it in the basket.
Started the climb to Congress and noted it was already about 100 degrees but low humidity. I did take a couple cool breaks by scampering down into available box culverts, looking for rattlers or scorpions- none seen. Got to Congress, topped off the water in my 4 bottles plus the quart spray bottle I'd been using abundantly to keep me cool, and started up the serious uninterrupted 2000 ft climb to Yarnell in early afternoon.
Normally, this climb wouldn't get the best of me, even with a heavily-loaded bike (with wonderfully low gears) on a southern exposure with zero shade and 103 degree heat. But the wind was out of the west at 5-6 mph, and I was traveling east at 5-6 mph up the 7-8% grade, so I had zero net airflow. None. And no culverts to crawl into for a break.
About a mile from the top, as I emptied my last bottle (the Big Gulp and spray bottle long gone), I started to mentally check off the symptoms of heat stroke, including dizziness and a severe dropoff in sweating. Then the throbbing temples as I forced the pedals into the final climbing, realizing dully that not only was I not making Prescott tonight, but that I might not even make it to tomorrow.
The road leveled off and descended slightly as I wobbled my way into Yarnell. I saw a motel on the left and was barely able to stop, dismount, and stagger toward the office. The clerk looked me up and down and tossed a key at me. I fumbled myself and the bike to the door, fall in, and somehow make my way to the sink and shower.
Many plastic cups of water and a 20-minute cold shower later, I felt muuuuch better. Paid gratefully for the room, had a great dinner at a local diner, a sound sleep after watching some Rangers team win some cup, and was up well before dawn for a hearty breakfast and a very early start in the cool altitude air, and knocked out the remaing 2000 ft of climbing and was in Prescott before noon - with a newfound healthy respect for how circumstances can try to kill you, even if well-prepared.
*She left me for someone faster. Happened every time...
Last edited by RCMoeur; 04-24-23 at 08:52 PM.
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04-23-23, 09:26 PM
#36
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some guys I rode off road with back in the day did the 24 hours of Canaan
one guy passed out - could not be revived (initially) - and was taken to the hospital ... severe dehydration
story can be found here :
https://chroniclesofmccloskey.com/20...urs-of-canaan/
.
one guy passed out - could not be revived (initially) - and was taken to the hospital ... severe dehydration
story can be found here :
https://chroniclesofmccloskey.com/20...urs-of-canaan/
.
Due to some intransigent agencies, last year's Tour de Mesa could only locate one aid station on a 2-lap route. I was doing Bike Patrol, and if I had a dozen spare water bottles I could have given every one of them away to other thirsty folks on the climb up Usery Pass. I did fine, but I came upon one guy sprawled in the dirt about 2 miles from the finish with cramps so agonizing they were making me feel horrible watching them. My bike doesn't have a pickle juice dispenser, but I did have magnesium and potassium pills he eagerly took. But he was getting worse, so we called the paramedics. The rider insisted he wanted to try to finish if the cramps let up (they didn't), and when they saw his electrolytes were very dangerously out of whack, he was packaged and sent to the hospital, and we arranged for his bike to get to his house.
Although they tried to meet the demand for holding this event, PBAA has wisely decided to suspend holding it indefinitely until permits can be gotten for a lot more aid stations along the route. Alas, the agencies aren't budging, so no TdM in 2023.
Last edited by RCMoeur; 04-23-23 at 10:20 PM.
04-24-23, 04:41 AM
#37
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My first two century rides did not go well from the perspective of properly hydrating and pacing.
On the first one, I went out too fast and didn't hydrate properly. At around the 75 mile mark, I stopped to have a clif bar and I recall it tasting like sawdust - not because it had gone bad but I had just not been drinking enough. I felt like I learned what 'bonking' meant. I made it to the next rest stop at around 80 or 85 miles and tried to mentally and physically regroup. I did make it/limp to the finish (was actually around 105 miles total). In the latter part of the ride, I swore I'd never put myself through the torture of riding a century again. But, soon after I finished, I started thinking maybe if I paid more attention to pacing, hydration, and nutrition I could do better. This was a September ride in 2011.
Fast forward to July of 2012 and I embarked on my second century ride. I was much more conscious about pacing myself and hydrating. But the day ended up getting well into the 90's with high humidity. Getting near the end of the ride, the heat was really getting to me - I imagine that's what heat exhaustion feels like. Again, I swore I would never do anything as ridiculous as riding my bike 100 miles in a single day. And, again, soon after the ride I told myself "with a few more tweaks to my training/pacing/hydration/etc/etc, I could really do this".
I ended up doing 15 or 16 more centuries over the coming years - and felt much better at the end of the rides. No more than really tired legs but pretty quick recovery. But, I would not do one on any day where the forecast was for extreme heat!
On the first one, I went out too fast and didn't hydrate properly. At around the 75 mile mark, I stopped to have a clif bar and I recall it tasting like sawdust - not because it had gone bad but I had just not been drinking enough. I felt like I learned what 'bonking' meant. I made it to the next rest stop at around 80 or 85 miles and tried to mentally and physically regroup. I did make it/limp to the finish (was actually around 105 miles total). In the latter part of the ride, I swore I'd never put myself through the torture of riding a century again. But, soon after I finished, I started thinking maybe if I paid more attention to pacing, hydration, and nutrition I could do better. This was a September ride in 2011.
Fast forward to July of 2012 and I embarked on my second century ride. I was much more conscious about pacing myself and hydrating. But the day ended up getting well into the 90's with high humidity. Getting near the end of the ride, the heat was really getting to me - I imagine that's what heat exhaustion feels like. Again, I swore I would never do anything as ridiculous as riding my bike 100 miles in a single day. And, again, soon after the ride I told myself "with a few more tweaks to my training/pacing/hydration/etc/etc, I could really do this".
I ended up doing 15 or 16 more centuries over the coming years - and felt much better at the end of the rides. No more than really tired legs but pretty quick recovery. But, I would not do one on any day where the forecast was for extreme heat!
04-24-23, 05:30 AM
#38
Senior Member
I did a nearly 200km ride in August in the Florida Everglades. I had packed lots of water and salty snacks, expecting to sweat a lot during the ride, but not enough. The ride started out pleasantly enough, but as the sun climbed higher, so did the heat and humidity.
A bad thing thing about the Everglades, or at least my route through them, was the lack of any trees or shade. Hot and humid air, added to burning sunshine makes for an unpleasant ride. After 70 miles my cycling clothes were turning white with salt, and I had salt crystals forming on my shins, cheeks, and arms. I approached a place with a few trees hanging over an irrigation valve, and stopped to get out of the sun, but was immediately covered with mosquitos, so I got on my bike and started moving again.
When you are on a bike riding in the heat and humidity, the passing air keeps you somewhat cool. But if you stop, your body temperature can spike suddenly, and this can cause you to faint from heat exhaustion. If I rode slowly, I could feel myself getting a little dizzy, so I had to ride just fast enough to keep my body cool,
One thing about South Florida in summer afternoons is frequent thunderstorms. After some 5 hours of suffering from miserable sunshine and heat, it suddenly became cloudy, then a thunderstorm blew up seemingly out of nowhere. Instead of burning up with heat, and covered with dried salt, I was completely drenched with rain, freezing cold, with lightning falling everywhere. I finally made it to a highway overpass which marked the boundary to civilization, I waited underneath to escape the pouring rain and lightning, and then limped the last 20 miles home.
A bad thing thing about the Everglades, or at least my route through them, was the lack of any trees or shade. Hot and humid air, added to burning sunshine makes for an unpleasant ride. After 70 miles my cycling clothes were turning white with salt, and I had salt crystals forming on my shins, cheeks, and arms. I approached a place with a few trees hanging over an irrigation valve, and stopped to get out of the sun, but was immediately covered with mosquitos, so I got on my bike and started moving again.
When you are on a bike riding in the heat and humidity, the passing air keeps you somewhat cool. But if you stop, your body temperature can spike suddenly, and this can cause you to faint from heat exhaustion. If I rode slowly, I could feel myself getting a little dizzy, so I had to ride just fast enough to keep my body cool,
One thing about South Florida in summer afternoons is frequent thunderstorms. After some 5 hours of suffering from miserable sunshine and heat, it suddenly became cloudy, then a thunderstorm blew up seemingly out of nowhere. Instead of burning up with heat, and covered with dried salt, I was completely drenched with rain, freezing cold, with lightning falling everywhere. I finally made it to a highway overpass which marked the boundary to civilization, I waited underneath to escape the pouring rain and lightning, and then limped the last 20 miles home.
04-24-23, 05:52 AM
#39
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got caught off guard two Fridays ago when in early April we had a 93 degree, very dry day in central CT. We set out fully loaded for just a 43 mile dirt rail trail ride to a campground. I drank 7 large water bottles and a coke and still could not hydrate. My buddy kept stopping to dip his neck wrap thingy in streams. We spent the next day in camp doing nothing but recovering.
04-24-23, 06:11 AM
#40
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Not overheated, but dehydrated for sure.
Winter, low 20's (°F, so about -5°C), 18" fresh powder, solo xc skiing, out and back, breaking trail the whole way out, ~6hr of skiing with 1 liter of water. Didn't see another person on the trail the entire day.
It was a really nice day, ate my lunch sitting on a log and watching some juncos (a type of bird, somewhat smaller than sparrow size) eat hemlock (I think?) seeds that were on top of the snow. Beautiful snow on the trees, explored an abandoned mining site, etc. On the way back, maybe an hour from my car, I started to feel (well, notice: I put previous intimations down to fatigue) mental confusion, dizziness, exhaustion, etc. I finally made it to my car, and sat down in the car seat feeling pretty unwell. I had salt deposits all over my fact, as I noticed in my rear view mirror - I was never overheated, never felt sweat on my face. I had never felt all that thirsty while skiing - it was fairly humid (for low 20's), so my mouth didn't feel particularly dry. I eventually made it to a convenience store and got some drinks.
I was in my early 20's, young and not too smart. Lesson learned, I haven't been dehydrated since.
Winter, low 20's (°F, so about -5°C), 18" fresh powder, solo xc skiing, out and back, breaking trail the whole way out, ~6hr of skiing with 1 liter of water. Didn't see another person on the trail the entire day.
It was a really nice day, ate my lunch sitting on a log and watching some juncos (a type of bird, somewhat smaller than sparrow size) eat hemlock (I think?) seeds that were on top of the snow. Beautiful snow on the trees, explored an abandoned mining site, etc. On the way back, maybe an hour from my car, I started to feel (well, notice: I put previous intimations down to fatigue) mental confusion, dizziness, exhaustion, etc. I finally made it to my car, and sat down in the car seat feeling pretty unwell. I had salt deposits all over my fact, as I noticed in my rear view mirror - I was never overheated, never felt sweat on my face. I had never felt all that thirsty while skiing - it was fairly humid (for low 20's), so my mouth didn't feel particularly dry. I eventually made it to a convenience store and got some drinks.
I was in my early 20's, young and not too smart. Lesson learned, I haven't been dehydrated since.
04-24-23, 11:15 AM
#41
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The thirstiest I remember ever being in my life came when I was about 10 years old.
My friend/next door neighbor Roger and I hopped on our bikes and headed out for an adventure, as we did most summer days. I had what Sheldon Brown calls a wheelie bike: the banana seat, riser bar, coaster brake style that was pervasive for kids in the 1970s-80s.
Most days we would ride to a park or trail in our own neighborhood, seldom more than a few miles away. For some reason, on this day Roger suggested we go all the way downtown to the building where his father worked. Roger was a year older and a lot tougher than me, and his parents allowed a lot more liberty; mine were pretty strict. So he didn't see any problem with riding into the city, but I should have known better. The route goes down a short, steep hill and then continues on flat ground another three or four miles. I was already getting thirsty by the time we met his father and was hoping he might buy us a drink, but that didn't pan out. We may have gotten a drink from a water fountain; I don't recall.
On the ride back, especially going up the steep hill, I thought I was going to die on that hot summer day. I got home and immediately got myself a drink, and I remember it tasting so good. I must have looked dehydrated, because my mother seemed concerned. When I told her where I'd gone, she was pretty upset. That evening I got a lecture from her and Dad about always telling them where I would be and definitely not going into the city without permission.
Thinking back, I believe that was probably the most epic adventure I'd had up to that point in my life. I've done countless excursions in the 40+ years since. On some of them, I got very hot, cold, hungry, thirsty, exhausted, lonesome, fearful for my safety, or some combination of these. Many of them involved travel by bike or motorcycle, but some were on foot. These adventures stand out as my fondest memories, the times when I felt happiest and most fulfilled. I don't ever think back and say to myself, "That time I sat on my couch for three days straight sure was great," or "I feel so alive when I sleep in a soft, warm bed, eat four meals a day, and watch lots of TV."
Here's to getting a little dehydrated, sunburnt, blistered, borderline hypothermic, or maybe even a little bit lost! Here's to venturing out with less than 100% chance of a safe and comfortable journey!
My friend/next door neighbor Roger and I hopped on our bikes and headed out for an adventure, as we did most summer days. I had what Sheldon Brown calls a wheelie bike: the banana seat, riser bar, coaster brake style that was pervasive for kids in the 1970s-80s.
Most days we would ride to a park or trail in our own neighborhood, seldom more than a few miles away. For some reason, on this day Roger suggested we go all the way downtown to the building where his father worked. Roger was a year older and a lot tougher than me, and his parents allowed a lot more liberty; mine were pretty strict. So he didn't see any problem with riding into the city, but I should have known better. The route goes down a short, steep hill and then continues on flat ground another three or four miles. I was already getting thirsty by the time we met his father and was hoping he might buy us a drink, but that didn't pan out. We may have gotten a drink from a water fountain; I don't recall.
On the ride back, especially going up the steep hill, I thought I was going to die on that hot summer day. I got home and immediately got myself a drink, and I remember it tasting so good. I must have looked dehydrated, because my mother seemed concerned. When I told her where I'd gone, she was pretty upset. That evening I got a lecture from her and Dad about always telling them where I would be and definitely not going into the city without permission.
Thinking back, I believe that was probably the most epic adventure I'd had up to that point in my life. I've done countless excursions in the 40+ years since. On some of them, I got very hot, cold, hungry, thirsty, exhausted, lonesome, fearful for my safety, or some combination of these. Many of them involved travel by bike or motorcycle, but some were on foot. These adventures stand out as my fondest memories, the times when I felt happiest and most fulfilled. I don't ever think back and say to myself, "That time I sat on my couch for three days straight sure was great," or "I feel so alive when I sleep in a soft, warm bed, eat four meals a day, and watch lots of TV."
Here's to getting a little dehydrated, sunburnt, blistered, borderline hypothermic, or maybe even a little bit lost! Here's to venturing out with less than 100% chance of a safe and comfortable journey!
Last edited by Broctoon; 04-24-23 at 11:53 AM.
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04-24-23, 11:47 AM
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Too many to share them all, I'm apparently a slow learner.
What most of them have in common is early summer, first hot ride that also happens to be too long for my heat adaptation, and poor judgment or bad luck as far as getting adequate fluids. As long as I remember those, I have a chance of avoiding a recurrence. Of course, the mental fog that comes along with hyperthermia makes remembering what I need to do ... well, problematic might be a polite way to put it.
What most of them have in common is early summer, first hot ride that also happens to be too long for my heat adaptation, and poor judgment or bad luck as far as getting adequate fluids. As long as I remember those, I have a chance of avoiding a recurrence. Of course, the mental fog that comes along with hyperthermia makes remembering what I need to do ... well, problematic might be a polite way to put it.
04-24-23, 02:13 PM
#43
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You've made me resolve not to live in Arizona. For a twenty-five mile summer ride in my area, a 24oz bottle should be sufficient, and a pair should be good for fifty. Longer, I carry I third in my jersey unless I know of regular water stops. Making sure I have enough quick energy not to bonk on the longer trips requires a bit more thought.
04-24-23, 08:18 PM
#44
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But then you miss out on riding on beautiful days all winter, with its brutal 65 degree days and dreary sunshine.
We adapt by reversing our riding seasons, and some of us ride year-round with good judgment. In mid-September, the mornings get nice and the humidity drops. October starts peak riding season, which generally runs through March into mid-April (held over this year due to continuing nice weather - I put in 70 miles over the weekend). In May and early June it can get into the 100s in mid-afternoon, but the mornings and evenings are usually nice. Mid-June through early September are our "character-building" months - it's not the 115° high that gets to you, it's the "low" of 85° to 90° - and it just goes back up from there and never cools down for a couple months straight (except briefly during drenching monsoon thunderstorms - we're the people who run outside when it rains). But no need for studded tires or many layers, and you don't have to shovel or scrape it. Early morning rides in the depths of summer are typically tolerable, along with short afternoon rides that end at a swimming pool or cold shower. And I typically have my longest-mileage day at the very pit of the off-season - the overnight "12 Hours of Sun City" from 8 PM to 8 AM in late July where one can easily log 100+ miles at a relaxed social pace with good support and gallons of water as long as you bring plenty of batteries for the lights.
We adapt by reversing our riding seasons, and some of us ride year-round with good judgment. In mid-September, the mornings get nice and the humidity drops. October starts peak riding season, which generally runs through March into mid-April (held over this year due to continuing nice weather - I put in 70 miles over the weekend). In May and early June it can get into the 100s in mid-afternoon, but the mornings and evenings are usually nice. Mid-June through early September are our "character-building" months - it's not the 115° high that gets to you, it's the "low" of 85° to 90° - and it just goes back up from there and never cools down for a couple months straight (except briefly during drenching monsoon thunderstorms - we're the people who run outside when it rains). But no need for studded tires or many layers, and you don't have to shovel or scrape it. Early morning rides in the depths of summer are typically tolerable, along with short afternoon rides that end at a swimming pool or cold shower. And I typically have my longest-mileage day at the very pit of the off-season - the overnight "12 Hours of Sun City" from 8 PM to 8 AM in late July where one can easily log 100+ miles at a relaxed social pace with good support and gallons of water as long as you bring plenty of batteries for the lights.
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https://www.richardcmoeur.com/bikestuf.html
04-24-23, 08:32 PM
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1. Note the location for later cleanup.
2. Assess the condition of the rider. Vultures and a sense of smell can assist in this regard.
3. Strip their bike of anything useful you might need. They probably won't need it that day, and if they survive you can always mail it back to them.
We think they were joking, but you can never tell...
These days 40+ years later, some of the segments are actually more difficult, as
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04-24-23, 09:12 PM
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You've made me resolve not to live in Arizona. For a twenty-five mile summer ride in my area, a 24oz bottle should be sufficient, and a pair should be good for fifty. Longer, I carry I third in my jersey unless I know of regular water stops. Making sure I have enough quick energy not to bonk on the longer trips requires a bit more thought.
04-25-23, 04:16 AM
#47
Senior Member
July 1999.
It's hot. Hazy, hot and humid, so hazy that later this very day JFK Jr. will fly his airplane smack into the surface of the ocean, because the air and water appear to merge seamlessly. My day won't be THAT bad, but it will suck.
I've worked a 13 hour all night shift, gone home, and quickly changed. And now I've joined several buddies on a bike tour that will take us across Long Island and on to Bridgeport CT via the cross-Sound ferry, along the CT coast to New London, and back via another ferry to Orient NY and home. My daughter is not yet 3, so sadly my wife won't be joining in on our tandem. Just as well......
I'm tired. It was a long night. Didn't have time for much of a breakfast, and don't feel that great anyway. We nonetheless shove off in high spirits, into the heat. I have a tendency to sweat heavily, and saltily, and to develop hyponatremia when things are this oppressive. Got to stay hydrated and be careful to get enough electrolytes in. Tired, not at the top of my game, unable to find favorite lemon/lime Gatorade at our stops, I've done neither.
Mid afternoon finds us 85 miles into an 86 mile ride but, in the days before IPhones, unable to locate our motel. We stop at a Dodge dealership, and send Liz in to ask for directions while we wait in the parking lot. The sun beats down.
Suddenly I feel.... not well. Faint, and just rational enough to realize that capacity for rational thought is leaving me. All I can think about is get out of the sun, GETOUTOFTHESUN! So I do what my fried brain says is the obvious. Without a word to my aghast companions, I start crawling under this here pickup truck. "Joe, where the F are you going?", I am asked. I continue my crawl.
Forthwith the manager comes out, all smiles, happy to help the pretty lady and her friends. He announces "You folks are only a mile from your motel!" One of my companions, who has a very Clint Eastwood-esqe persona, points down at me. Only my feet are visible. Clint says, deadpan, "I think he has pedaled his last mile".
The manager's smile evaporates, visions of a dead man at his dealership, and all the attendant paperwork, filling him with dread and horror. Under the truck, wracked by leg cramps, I mumble incoherently.
The manager instantly says "I'll drive him! Get him out!" I am dragged from my lair even as I claw at the asphalt in futile resistance. Like I said, brain fried. He appears with a nice silver convertible, top down, as Liz dumps water over my face, restoring some minimal mental clarity. As my bike is de-wheeled to fit in the trunk, I'm lifted to my feet but found to be unable to stand. They prop me up against the car as they futz with the bike, trying to get it into the trunk. Like I mentioned, the sun is hot and the convertible top is down. So the black rubber weatherstrip I'm leaning my forearms on has been baking and is, oh, HOT. I'm burning the crap out of my forearms as I support myself, legs cramping massively. Everyone is oblivious to my torture, focused on the bike.
Finally the bike is in and I am loaded into the car like a sack of fertilizer. The friendly Dodge dealer asks how I'm feeling. I answer truthfully and tell him I'm not too bad, cramps are easing, except for this odd tunnel-vision thing. He envisions the paperwork attendant to a dead man in his car, and floors it. The convertible has impressive horsepower. I ask "Have you ever driven an ambulance?" He answers "I have now."
At the motel I'm propped in front of an air conditioner and force fed Tums and salty potato chips by Liz who has appointed herself my guardian angel. After about half an hour I think I'm functional enough to shower. Liz positions a chair right outside the bathroom door and says "if I hear your head hit that tub, I'm coming in." "OK, Liz. I promise not to fake an incident." "Shut up and get in there, you idiot."
I managed OK except that I suffer a huge cramp in my right forearm, so my hand is bent at a 90 deg angle and I can't straighten it out for about 20 minutes. Liz is spared the appalling sight of me in the shower with an oddly bent arm.
The next days were just as hot, but I was better rested and very careful to drink enough and get enough salt into my body. A couple of the others had some difficulty with the conditions but nobody else had so spectacular a meltdown. We completed the ride. I still occasionally get into trouble when it's really humid, and I still get ribbed when we ride past Dodge dealerships.
_
It's hot. Hazy, hot and humid, so hazy that later this very day JFK Jr. will fly his airplane smack into the surface of the ocean, because the air and water appear to merge seamlessly. My day won't be THAT bad, but it will suck.
I've worked a 13 hour all night shift, gone home, and quickly changed. And now I've joined several buddies on a bike tour that will take us across Long Island and on to Bridgeport CT via the cross-Sound ferry, along the CT coast to New London, and back via another ferry to Orient NY and home. My daughter is not yet 3, so sadly my wife won't be joining in on our tandem. Just as well......
I'm tired. It was a long night. Didn't have time for much of a breakfast, and don't feel that great anyway. We nonetheless shove off in high spirits, into the heat. I have a tendency to sweat heavily, and saltily, and to develop hyponatremia when things are this oppressive. Got to stay hydrated and be careful to get enough electrolytes in. Tired, not at the top of my game, unable to find favorite lemon/lime Gatorade at our stops, I've done neither.
Mid afternoon finds us 85 miles into an 86 mile ride but, in the days before IPhones, unable to locate our motel. We stop at a Dodge dealership, and send Liz in to ask for directions while we wait in the parking lot. The sun beats down.
Suddenly I feel.... not well. Faint, and just rational enough to realize that capacity for rational thought is leaving me. All I can think about is get out of the sun, GETOUTOFTHESUN! So I do what my fried brain says is the obvious. Without a word to my aghast companions, I start crawling under this here pickup truck. "Joe, where the F are you going?", I am asked. I continue my crawl.
Forthwith the manager comes out, all smiles, happy to help the pretty lady and her friends. He announces "You folks are only a mile from your motel!" One of my companions, who has a very Clint Eastwood-esqe persona, points down at me. Only my feet are visible. Clint says, deadpan, "I think he has pedaled his last mile".
The manager's smile evaporates, visions of a dead man at his dealership, and all the attendant paperwork, filling him with dread and horror. Under the truck, wracked by leg cramps, I mumble incoherently.
The manager instantly says "I'll drive him! Get him out!" I am dragged from my lair even as I claw at the asphalt in futile resistance. Like I said, brain fried. He appears with a nice silver convertible, top down, as Liz dumps water over my face, restoring some minimal mental clarity. As my bike is de-wheeled to fit in the trunk, I'm lifted to my feet but found to be unable to stand. They prop me up against the car as they futz with the bike, trying to get it into the trunk. Like I mentioned, the sun is hot and the convertible top is down. So the black rubber weatherstrip I'm leaning my forearms on has been baking and is, oh, HOT. I'm burning the crap out of my forearms as I support myself, legs cramping massively. Everyone is oblivious to my torture, focused on the bike.
Finally the bike is in and I am loaded into the car like a sack of fertilizer. The friendly Dodge dealer asks how I'm feeling. I answer truthfully and tell him I'm not too bad, cramps are easing, except for this odd tunnel-vision thing. He envisions the paperwork attendant to a dead man in his car, and floors it. The convertible has impressive horsepower. I ask "Have you ever driven an ambulance?" He answers "I have now."
At the motel I'm propped in front of an air conditioner and force fed Tums and salty potato chips by Liz who has appointed herself my guardian angel. After about half an hour I think I'm functional enough to shower. Liz positions a chair right outside the bathroom door and says "if I hear your head hit that tub, I'm coming in." "OK, Liz. I promise not to fake an incident." "Shut up and get in there, you idiot."
I managed OK except that I suffer a huge cramp in my right forearm, so my hand is bent at a 90 deg angle and I can't straighten it out for about 20 minutes. Liz is spared the appalling sight of me in the shower with an oddly bent arm.
The next days were just as hot, but I was better rested and very careful to drink enough and get enough salt into my body. A couple of the others had some difficulty with the conditions but nobody else had so spectacular a meltdown. We completed the ride. I still occasionally get into trouble when it's really humid, and I still get ribbed when we ride past Dodge dealerships.
_
04-26-23, 11:47 AM
#48
Junior Member
Several years ago, I spent a warm summer morning shoveling a ton or two of river stones instead of mulch around our flowerbeds. I didn’t realize then that I was getting dehydrated.
Finished with the shoveling, I set out for a typical (weekend) two hour ride. Normally, regardless of temperature, I need only one bottle of water for a ride like this.
Well, I was probably 75% done, completely out of water, and feeling weak and dizzy. I started getting “tunnel vision” where the edges of my field of vision were going dark. I sat in some shade for a bit and debated calling my wife to come get me but eventually pushed on home.
I was pretty out of it when I did make it home. I put my bike away and somehow managed to put my Garmin Edge 25 somewhere that I couldn’t find it when I got some water and rested. That Edge 25 has NEVER shown up, again. I still have no idea where I put it! 😂
Finished with the shoveling, I set out for a typical (weekend) two hour ride. Normally, regardless of temperature, I need only one bottle of water for a ride like this.
Well, I was probably 75% done, completely out of water, and feeling weak and dizzy. I started getting “tunnel vision” where the edges of my field of vision were going dark. I sat in some shade for a bit and debated calling my wife to come get me but eventually pushed on home.
I was pretty out of it when I did make it home. I put my bike away and somehow managed to put my Garmin Edge 25 somewhere that I couldn’t find it when I got some water and rested. That Edge 25 has NEVER shown up, again. I still have no idea where I put it! 😂
04-26-23, 12:37 PM
#49
Klaatu..Verata..Necktie?
Join Date: May 2007
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I've been careful to start out with enough drink on hot days as well as knowing where to refill bottles, so luckily I don't have a dehydration story - at least, nothing more than a 60 mile ride where I went through 6x 24 oz bottles and still weighed 5# less when I got home.
However, I have had a recurring experience, generally only once a year on the first warm (>80 degrees) ride of Spring - Heat Syncope. That is, feeling a dizzy and lightheaded on a warm day, even without any kind of heroic exertion. For example, there's a climb here that's the local benchmark (Old La Honda, for those who know). 3 miles of ~7% gradient. I started up it one warm April day and by the time I got halfway up I had to stop because I was getting lightheaded. I sat down by the side of the road (which doesn't have much of a roadside!) and sweat was running off me - way more than I'd expect for that temp. Eventually the feeling went away, the sweating stopped, and I felt mostly okay. I went back down, and gently rode to a place where my wife could pick me up, having made The Call Of Shame.
The next Sunday, with the temperature much the same, I went up the same climb with no problem, passing the place I'd stopped a minute ahead of the time I had done the day I had to stop. And I had no heat-related issues the rest of the year.
The next year, it hit me at about mile 12 of a standard Sunday ride, again on the first warm Spring day. Same deal - called for a ride. No repeat the rest of the year, even when it was in the high 90s. I figure it's lack of acclimatization, and once acclimatized I'm fine.
However, I have had a recurring experience, generally only once a year on the first warm (>80 degrees) ride of Spring - Heat Syncope. That is, feeling a dizzy and lightheaded on a warm day, even without any kind of heroic exertion. For example, there's a climb here that's the local benchmark (Old La Honda, for those who know). 3 miles of ~7% gradient. I started up it one warm April day and by the time I got halfway up I had to stop because I was getting lightheaded. I sat down by the side of the road (which doesn't have much of a roadside!) and sweat was running off me - way more than I'd expect for that temp. Eventually the feeling went away, the sweating stopped, and I felt mostly okay. I went back down, and gently rode to a place where my wife could pick me up, having made The Call Of Shame.
The next Sunday, with the temperature much the same, I went up the same climb with no problem, passing the place I'd stopped a minute ahead of the time I had done the day I had to stop. And I had no heat-related issues the rest of the year.
The next year, it hit me at about mile 12 of a standard Sunday ride, again on the first warm Spring day. Same deal - called for a ride. No repeat the rest of the year, even when it was in the high 90s. I figure it's lack of acclimatization, and once acclimatized I'm fine.
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"Everybody's gotta be somewhere." - Eccles
04-26-23, 12:52 PM
#50
LBKA (formerly punkncat)
Join Date: Jan 2010
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My overheating story has nothing to do specifically with cycling, but did teach me something to watch out for and help keep it from happening while doing so.
I have worked in the alarm industry for years. The first ten or so I was an installer and prewire technician. I worked with a fellow that had been doing so for years and was not only really good, really efficient, but worked like a darned mule. He didn't know slow at all. Like any construction based business you are working year round in pretty much whatever conditions were, so hot, cold, wet, snow, storms, didn't matter. We had one summer, in particular, where the temps were well above 100* for something like 45 days straight. Drank about two gallons of water a day...anywho...
We had a job in this custom home that was already built, so it was a retro install. Hard wood siding, no basement, nothing but a very low attic access for the whole house. Even getting in the attic was low, crawling around everywhere in the insulation, try to get up to the roofing nails in your head. The guy I worked with and myself were the most suited for the heat simply because we worked in it all day. We started out taking turns in the attic, but a couple of the other techs were pretty blown out by lunch and our supervisor wasn't going up. The job started bogging down and we had this big group of windows to still drill up to the attic and run a wire to. Wireless systems were still pretty early on and expensive, so that wasn't an option this homeowner was going to take.
I got up in the attic and just stayed at it so we could pull all the windows. Just about the time we were drilling the last one I suddenly got very dizzy and my heartbeat was full on strong in my head and ears. I grabbed the wire, pulled it back towards control and told the supervisor I had to come down, now. I crawled back over to the attic access, stood up to walk down the stairs. Next thing I know I am laying on the floor looking up at all the techs and the homeowner. They are asking if I am alright, and I wasn't sure what to say other than "how did I get here?"
Apparently about the time I took a step or two down and hit that cold air, I was out like a light for about a minute.
From that point forward I have been able to recognize the symptoms pretty well and work to avoid doing that again. Particularly while riding a two wheeled machine down the skin grinder.
I have worked in the alarm industry for years. The first ten or so I was an installer and prewire technician. I worked with a fellow that had been doing so for years and was not only really good, really efficient, but worked like a darned mule. He didn't know slow at all. Like any construction based business you are working year round in pretty much whatever conditions were, so hot, cold, wet, snow, storms, didn't matter. We had one summer, in particular, where the temps were well above 100* for something like 45 days straight. Drank about two gallons of water a day...anywho...
We had a job in this custom home that was already built, so it was a retro install. Hard wood siding, no basement, nothing but a very low attic access for the whole house. Even getting in the attic was low, crawling around everywhere in the insulation, try to get up to the roofing nails in your head. The guy I worked with and myself were the most suited for the heat simply because we worked in it all day. We started out taking turns in the attic, but a couple of the other techs were pretty blown out by lunch and our supervisor wasn't going up. The job started bogging down and we had this big group of windows to still drill up to the attic and run a wire to. Wireless systems were still pretty early on and expensive, so that wasn't an option this homeowner was going to take.
I got up in the attic and just stayed at it so we could pull all the windows. Just about the time we were drilling the last one I suddenly got very dizzy and my heartbeat was full on strong in my head and ears. I grabbed the wire, pulled it back towards control and told the supervisor I had to come down, now. I crawled back over to the attic access, stood up to walk down the stairs. Next thing I know I am laying on the floor looking up at all the techs and the homeowner. They are asking if I am alright, and I wasn't sure what to say other than "how did I get here?"
Apparently about the time I took a step or two down and hit that cold air, I was out like a light for about a minute.
From that point forward I have been able to recognize the symptoms pretty well and work to avoid doing that again. Particularly while riding a two wheeled machine down the skin grinder.
