After the carnage, I found myself in a zombie-like state at the finish with Mt. Whits. My foggy recollection has us discussing how calm and nice it was in that very spot. It seemed impossible that just around the corner there was a shit storm of raging wind.
The day started with me loading up my TT bike into my rig. The weather forecast was encouraging. The usual worst-case-scenario (NWS) showed 5-15 mph for wind and temperatures in the 40s. Great! Perfect day to time trial on Foothill where wind at a lowly 15 mph is a bonus. The one forecast that is usually right in the Grande Ronde Valley is the wind forecast. Not today, because Foothill was bringing his A-game. Shortly after arriving at work, Leviathon began rearing his ugly head out of the swampy waters near Ladd.
Seven of us launched our suicide missions against the impossible. Going out was an exercise in futility. The east-west section of crosswind over to the turnaround was scary. For the first time ever, I had to abandon the aero position for several minutes during a TT. A couple times I feared a visit to the ditch. Finally, when I got turned downwind I was able to get my bike rolling. But, Foothill had already instilled too much fear. I didn’t enjoy the trip back because I began worrying that an elk or some endangered specie would impale on my aerobars.
All too quickly, the fury was over when I hit the line. I was glad to have escaped unharmed. I lived to fight another day, and another day I will fight.
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