Kawaihae is a dirty little place, and I seem more snake bit by it than usual this year. Situated at the crossroads east to Waimea and the road upcountry over to the Hilo side of the Island, south to the Kohala resorts and Kona, and north to Hawi, it seems to exist primarily as the only deep water port on the east side of the Island. So it is littered with the detritus of the shipping industry. Semis and other trucks pulling containers, oil tankers, and a collection of massive pickup and hot rods fill the narrow two mile section leading out of town.
Not only is that road a choke point for diesel spewing behemoths, but the shoulder of the highway narrows to four feet, from the luxurious 12 foot wide boulevard serving bikes on the Queen K. And, for some reason, the road engineers have seen fit to stamp the rumble strip – death to bike wheels and tires – down the middle of the shoulder, rather than next to the fog line immediately to the right of the traffic lane. So there is literally no safe place to travel.
On race day, this is not really a problem, as we can take over the highway, but for training days, it creates a miserable experience. I have had three flat tires this week, all of them in this little two mile section. Day one, I was heading downhill into town, and felt my rear tire go slowly soft. After changing the tube, I abandoned the planned ride to Hawi, and went back towards my care, parked near MP 72. I rode ten miles past that, turned around and sailed the breeze for a 1 hour 50 minute ride.
The next day, I returned to Kawaihae, this time determine to avoid the nasty grade and its bike eating shoulders. I pulled into a little community lot, used during the day for a “Farmer’s Market” and on weekend evenings by a seedy looking night club. A few small palm trees line the lot, and I parked under one, hoping to return to a somewhat cooler car after my planned two hour ride.
A little Filipino man, wearing a purple shirt and long blue shorts, emerged from under the Market tent. He pointed at my car, and ten towards the middle of the lot.
“Why you park there? Maybe something happen? Maybe you park here?” He seemed pleasant enough, and I knew immediately what was on his mind.
I did some pointing of my own, at the palm tree. “Shade” I said. Because my voice lacks a certain, say we say, strength nowadays, I have to get closer to people than I normally would to make myself heard. I also talk slower, to make sure I get the words through my larynx at all.
“Maybe you can park here,” again pointing to the sunny far end of the lot.
“”Oh, I see, you’re worried about your customers. I respect that. But all I wanted was a little shade while I rode. And I left plenty of room next to your place for them to park.”
He smiled a merchant’s false grin of hope. I could see he was really worried that somehow my parking there might scare away his customers. I’ve stopped at this fruit stand several times, and driven by it many more. I’ve never see more than one car parked by the tent at one time, ever. Also, it’s quite possible that my car parked near his tent might actually attract people in (there are no real signs indicating his presence).
But I saw no reason to make a bigger deal of it than I already had, so I moved my car to the base of the one palm in the middle of the lot, hoping I’d return to a less skin searing interior. My ride went well (see previous post), and after I loaded up and changed my shirt, I went over and bought a Mug Root Beer and a pineapple. “Give me your best one,” I asked the tradesman’s wife. She charged me $6, which was a little strange, as they cost less than $2 over on Maui. As I left, I tried out my two Tagalog phrases one her – “Merry Christmas”, and “I love you”, which, as always, got a wan little smile from her.
Whatever karma I got from moving my car and showing my gratitude by overpaying for a pineapple was clearly gone the the time I returned, two days later. My intent was to ride from Waikoloa (@ MP 76) down to Kawaihae (MP 67.5, then starts a new set of MPs, from 1.5 to 3.5 before the turn up to Hawi), then on up to Hawi, flip it at MP 21, and return. This would be close to 60 miles, and doing it in 3:10 would be a good sign for race day.
I was making great progress down through the dreaded winds from Hawi, and across the sauna bake of the lower rollers. I was steeling myself for the trip up out of Kawaihae. Besides the bad road, the climb goes from sea level @ the port to 280 feet two miles later – a climb which one is simply not expecting, after all the work through the hills on the road to Hawi. It just doesn’t seem fair, and many folks try to hammer up, crushing their legs when they’ve got the winds and further climbs out on the Queen K in the final 34 miles awaiting. I determined to take it easy – avoid the gravel, glass, and metal bits on the shoulder, easily pedal up to the right turn ahead, when I noticed my rear wheel sliding around. Curses, unrepeatable here.
There’s a tiny little National Park at this spot.. In 1790, King Kamehamea built a heiau on the bluff over looking the ocean here. It’s basically just a big rectangular pile of rocks, but it apparently served as a giant alter from which he could seek support of the gods on his qwest to conquer the other islands. It must have worked, as a few years later, he had consolidated the chain, thus making things much easier for the Americans when they came in 40 years later and took over the place – just one guy to intimidate, not a whole series of tribes.
Anyway, I found a small shady spot in the deserted parking lot, changed my tube (cursing quietly all the while), and took off back up the hill, at the same measured pace. The next few miles on the Queen K replicate the rollers, and is also the place where the cramps hit me big time in 2009. My inner thighs turned to stone, and I felt as if I could not stamp on the pedals without literally breaking my abductor muscles. Bad memories here.
To which I can add – a second flat, in the front wheel. Since I was now about 6-7 miles out from the car, and I would have had to try and patch the tube, I just rode on in on the flat. The tube balled up inside, causing a “thump … thump … thump” every time it made a revolution and hit the swollen spot.
I had been doing well with my hydration/nutrition, talking Perform faithfully every ten minutes. But I stopped on this segment (just to hard to let go, and I wanted to finish), and my heart rate crept up from 104 to 122. I arrived dehydrated, sweaty (I was going slower, so less breeze), and totally down. Besides the two flats I’d have to investigate back home, I also had been experiencing shifting problems, probably due to cable lengthening from the heat compared to Colorado. So that had to be fixed as well.
The tires took about 45 minutes to fully fix. Without all the gory details, suffice it to say that I was glad I brought two new tires ( I use a different one on the front and rear). I’m out this morning to ride the first 15 miles through town, and will take the opportunity to fine tune to shifting. I’m hoping this will all be stored in the “get it out of the way before the race” file, and I can return to my work here, which is now starting to consist of getting my mental framework steeled for Saturday. Although the words don;t fit for the most part, I keep humming an old Tom Waits’ song while I ride, “The Heart of Saturday Night”: “…this’ll be the Saturday you’re reaching your peak…”