My first mountain.

Nothing could have prepared me for today. Being from the Midwest where the biggest hills come in the form of highway overpasses, I knew my first day riding on real mountains was going to be interesting. We left Folsom straight into huge rolling foothills, then shortly after into mountains.  In the morning Valerie and I stayed mostly on a nice, gradual uphill bike path.  After a few peanut butter sandwichesSydney and I took off, hit a 10 mile descent, took a break to swim in a river and then started to do the real work.  I spent more time in my granny gear than I thought possible, stayed upright at speeds that were physics defyingly slow, and climbed more vertical feet than I see in a year of riding in Illinois.

By the end of the day, after rolling in to South Lake Tahoe 12 hours later, I was more than happy to inhale a heap of pasta and asparagus, celebrate my first mountain ever with some (a whole bottle of) $3 wine and pass out in the little vacation home about 10 miles off of the lake that some friendly strangers very graciously let us crash in.

I've been to Tahoe more than a few times before with family and friends, but I've always taken on the mountains in a car or bus. While the ride was incredibly difficult physically, it gave me an even greater appreciation for how beautiful that area is. Today gave me an awesome new perspective on one of my favorite places in the world, defined my boundaries as a rider, and left me feeling amazing.  I conquered my first mountain ever, and could not feel better. Well, maybe I could with a massage.