First it was the pale skin. Then it was a bit of dizziness and feeling weak.

I was getting the message.

But then I thought I saw a bar in the middle of nowhere and told myself I was going to stop there and see if I could buy water.

That’s when I realized I was in big, big trouble.

It was early June in 1989.

I was bicycling from Lincoln to see my sister in Chico.

I was taking backroads up into the hills through Marysville, Oroville and then Paradise before descending down Skyline Drive.

The route was just over 95 miles. My return route the next day down the middle of the Sacramento Valley around the western edge of the Sutter Buttes would be slightly longer at 113 miles.

I was on a racing bicycle with a handlebar bag carrying a change of clothes with basic first aid and wallet, a large water bottle mounted on my down tube and small two smaller ones along with a spare tube and patch kit/repair items in the pockets on the back of my jersey.

The forecast for the day was 102 degrees.

I was acclimated to cycling in heat given I hadn’t missed a single day bicycling at least 15 miles in more than 14 months.

My pit stops for more water and food? It’s safe to say I appreciated the old “oh, thank heaven, for 7-Eleven” advertising slogan.

Before I left Oroville around noon on a lightly traveled road in the direction of Table Top Mountain, I had topped off my water bottles.

Everything was going fine until on a downhill after taking a curve at 25 mph I came upon the remnants of about a half dozen glass beer bottles across the roadway.

I couldn’t stop in time to avoid bicycling through the broken glass.

I ended up getting leaks in both 700cc tires.

One was a quick fix as I had the spare tube.

The other was more than problematic.

I ended up going through two bottles of water trying to find the various spots needing patches on the inner tube that was in the best shape. I also needed water to clean several cuts from the glass.

Between that, the fact I still had a fair amount of climbing ahead, my tendency to sweat easily, the lack of shade for the 45 minutes or so it took me to get the tubes fixed, tires back on the rim and pumped, I ended up running out of water.

I made a decision when I came to a crossroad to change my route and drop back down into the valley instead of continuing northward into Paradise.

There was a point when my skin felt clammy, prompting me to stop cycling and head for some shade under a scrub oak near the road. It wasn’t all that great.

I stopped sweating a few minutes after I got back on the bicycle. A bit later I became lightheaded.

That’s when I was sure I saw the bar.

I was more than just stunned when I got closer and realized there was no bar.

As luck would have it, as I honestly had no idea as I went off my route, there was a convenience store four miles later literally in the middle nowhere.

The first thing I did was buy a 32 ounce cup of ice and a 16 ounce Gatorade. Then, after I wiped those out I used a pay phone to call my sister to see if she could come get me. (Remember this was 1989 BC, before cellphones).

I also asked her to bring ice water.

Then I went back inside and bought another 32 ounce cup of ice and another 16 ounce Gatorade.

On the drive to Chico, I polished off the water.

After I took a bath, we made plans for me to treat everyone to dinner at a Chinese restaurant.

I stepped on the scales before I dressed and was stunned to see I weighed 5 pounds less than I did when I left Lincoln.

My body clearly lost a lot of body weight via water.

The episode prompted me to double down on efforts to condition myself to the valley heat in order to live with it.

I also made it a point to always be as prepared as possible for dealing with temperatures — both hot and cold — especially for my tendency at the time to do long distance solo cycling and in later years hiking solo in the Sierra and Coastals as well as the mountains of Death Valley in the dead cold of winter.

And, yes, I did bicycle back to Lincoln the next day.

Crazy?

Perhaps.

I was 32 and had slept like a log that night.

And I wasn’t about to let worrying stop me from getting back on the proverbial bicycle.