This past weekend I made a trip over to the Olympia area to ride in the first ever Capital Forest 50/100. That is the official title of the event and it turned out prophetic.
Having jumbled thoughts on this ride, please excuse the bullet points in place of the extraneous commentary that usually comes along with my ride reports.
- For a first time event, things were reasonably well organized, but could have been better. I have confidence the race organizer, who seemed like a very nice guy, will make the event better next year, so keep an eye out for it.
- The course is a 50-mile loop, done once or twice.
- The course is hard. It is fairly technical, fairly muddy in places even though it was considered "dry" by some locals, has a lot of vertical (about 5,900 ft each loop), and it is also hard. Oh, I mentioned that, didn't I?
- Course marking was very good except at a few key points where there was two way traffic, which included both aid stations out on the course, which resembled a figure 8 except that you stayed on the "outside" of it (does that make sense?).
- The volunteers could not have been friendlier or more helpful. No really, they couldn't have been.
- The ride time was billed at 6.30 am start with 8 pm close to the course. In the days before the event, they moved the start time up to 6.10 am. In reality, there wasn't enough daylight to start until 6.45 am and they had to close the course by 7.30 pm because there wasn't enough light to see after that.
- This is relevant for me because I wasn't riding fast enough to feel confident about riding the whole 100 miles, my intended distance, in the shortened time. My pace would have kept me inside 14 hours, but not confidently in 12.5 hours. Bummer for me.
- Crashing hard also took some spirit out of me. I had a stupid crash exiting a very slippery bridge after which there was an immediate rise to the left. I accelerated (I know it was stupid) with 5' of bridge left and managed to push my tire right out from under me. Hard hit on left side.
- My next crash (oh yeah, more than one) involved an upturned tree root grabbing my right arm and shoulder as I passed it too closely and ripping me off my bike in a painful twisting motion. As I rode away from this one, I could feel my shoulders, trunk and pelvis all pointing directions other than forward.
- My other crashes (yes, a few) were much more simple, but involved various tree roots and sticker bushes.
- Even though I rode whole thing with arm warmers and knickers, my arms and legs still have numerous scratches, small abrasions and I have a few king-sized bruises which are still surfacing two days later.
- The course, in addition to be hard and technical, was also beautiful. The Olympic Forest has 160 miles of single-track and the Friends of the Olympic Forest apparently volunteer to do most of the maintenance, so hats off to them. That much growth and greenery and mud must make it challenging to maintain.
- I recently read about a helmet mounted camera that is on my holiday gift list. I wish I had had it with me as this course was really beautiful in a "you have to see it believe it" way. Even the water/waterfall crossing where I thought I was going to die.
- While I am a long way from being an expert mountain biker, I was gratified to have guys who were experts talking about some sketchy areas or difficulties. It makes my assessment seem more reasonable.
- Did I mention that my rear hub failed? That didn't help. It would intermittently seize so that my chain was sucked into the wheel. When it was less bad, it barked at me like a loud, angry duck every other second. When it was bad, I literally could not coast for a single foot, having to keep tension on the chain continuously, which meant I had to brake downhill and had much less opportunity to move, stand or shift positions. When you can't, you get the idea of how regularly you stop pedaling on a mountain bike, even if for just a second or two.
- When I pulled into the start/finish area after my 50 miles, I was bummed that I made the decision to quit there instead of going for the second lap. I could have ridden more but with the 100% likelihood that I would have been pulled from the course at a later aid station, but there was a diminishing to non-existent return to this idea.
- Almost lastly, PW and I started out to ride this together; recognizing that PW would have to wait at the top of hills, and also at the bottom of hills, and also after technical sections, and probably some other times. He was a good sport about it, but it became apparent after less than auspicious start for me and then having a mechanic look at the rear hub (and suggested that I stop riding) that I was not on a schedule to do 100 miles, but PW still had a chance to do it if he took off on his own. I suggested we go with the Top Gear Rule - loosely translated as the failure of one to proceed shouldn't hold up the others - and wished him well.
- Remember when I said that the course marking was mostly good? PW got bad directions at the first aid station on his second loop, sent the wrong way and ended up at the Start/Finish area after 70 miles and a bit over 8 hours of riding. They wouldn't let him go back out since he couldn't finish another 50 miles and there wasn't a good loop for him to do another 30.
- Lastly, I spent the whole day feeling off my game, even before crashes and mechanicals. I thought that I would show up on the results list just before the DNF and DNS group and maybe a few other unfortunate types. I was therefore pleased to have finished in the top 2/3 of 50 milers and a full 30 places ahead of PW (no, that doesn't really make sense). To be fair, I averaged a meager 7 1/2 mph and PW was over 8 1/2 mph; still, that makes for a long, slow day.
In conclusion, I feel a bit better after having seen the results and realizing that there were people out there taking longer than me to ride the course. That's sad, in a way, isn't it, but it's also true. Final analysis - It was a hard day on a hard course. I'm ready to rest for a while.
Showing posts with label Suffering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Suffering. Show all posts
Monday, September 13, 2010
Monday, September 6, 2010
Midnight Century - Daylight Version
Faithful readers will note that I previously did a 100-mile mountain bike this summer. For brand new readers, please refer back to the War and Peace-length saga earlier this month of the Leadville 100. So, after finishing such a long and difficult ride, what would the natural and normal thing to do be? Take it easy, enjoy some casual riding, right? So what did I do? I went out to ride the Midnight Century course with the fastest MC rider in town. Was this sensible? No. Reasonable? No. Hours of endless gravel rollers? Yes.
A couple of quotes I heard this morning remind me of this ride. Nietzsche famously said, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Are they mutually exclusive? I don't think I died, but I certainly don't feel any stronger. Is it possible for something to both kill you and make you stronger? The other quote is actually a song lyric and no, I don't have to be embarrassed about it, I was listening to a Coldplay song. The line is something like, "no one said it was easy, but does it have to be this hard?" And that, my friends, regardless of your feelings for Chris Martin is a good motto for the Midnight Century course.
During the summer, Tom (who is the Head Mechanic at Two Wheel Transit (okay, currently the only mechanic)), helped me out by taking care of my bike, serving as a sounding board for numerous discussions of tires, wheels, etc., and may have saved my life during the 24 Hour Race (he helped me find the large and obvious wheel drag problem that plagued my 3rd lap: http://teamtwowheel.blogspot.com/2010/06/24-hour-race.html). Alongside the great wrenching and therapy sessions Tom offered me, we also discussed the Midnight Century and his preparations for it.
Tom had done numerous reconnaissance tours of the MC course in preparation for the actual event. While it is not a race, Tom was ready to go out and set the course record. Instead, because Tom is an incredibly nice guy he did two things on the night of the actual ride - he rode with and supported the efforts of two friends to help them have quick rides that night and he leap-frogged these riders to leave behind pine cone smiley faces for all the other riders. In other words, left to his own devices he clearly could have ridden faster than the 6 hours, 9 minutes that they finished together.
In my conversations with Tom, we had talked about doing a pre-ride of the MC course. I had wanted to go, but timing or my Leadville prep. schedule or something prevented it before I left for Colorado. I had considered doing the MC, which was the week before Leadville, but not being familiar with the course, I was concerned that it would be too much of an effort to recover from in a week's time. I was also cognizant of the additional danger of riding at night and didn't want to needlessly complicate or endanger my chances at Leadville. As a result, I put aside my desire to ride the MC and Tom and I agreed we would ride the course after I got back from my trip.
This did, however, pose a couple of issues. One, Tom, as mentioned above, was capable of a very, very fast ride on this course. While he will be very uncomfortable with me mentioning it, he is a previous Washington State Road Race champion in one of the Master's categories. As a result, I was a bit afraid of going with Tom because I didn't want to endure 9-12 hours of a) holding up Tom; b) patronizing comments from Tom like, "No, you climb really well for a fat guy" or "I was really looking forward to a 10-12 hour pace on the MC course - I get to see so much more going half the speed I normally do"; or c) finding myself laying in the midst of yet another gravel roller, crying on the road side and wondering why had I hadn't just rested on my laurels instead of tacking on another tough 100-mile mountain bike ride.
Despite my trepidations, however, I agreed to meet Tom at the Elk Saturday morning at 6.30 am for a trip around the MC course. We extended a couple of invitations to go along with us, but had no takers. I had no idea so many cyclists I knew would be having their hair done that morning. Nonetheless, the two of us headed out at the appointed time. In fact, my Garmin says we started at 6.32 am, which is remarkably timely for me. Doing it in the daytime has some upsides, like it means that without the lighting systems the bikes are lighter, the navigation is easier and you can show up feeling reasonably rested. Doing it in the daytime also has some downsides, like it is still a long, hard course full of mile upon mile of rollers and gravel roads.
Tom described the course generally like this, the first 25 miles are pretty easy and the last 25 miles are pretty easy, but the middle 50 miles are pretty tough. You could describe the 100 Years War in the same way (that middle 50 years was really something), but with just a bit less bloodshed. One of the interesting things about riding with Tom is that this description of the course may have been the only instance of him using understatement. In fact, Tom is a remarkably literal person. If someone asks me how far something is, I might say, "about 4 miles" which could mean anywhere from 2 to 8 miles, unless of course I have completely mis-remembered and then it could be somewhere between 100 yards and 10 miles. I don't mean to be inaccurate, but I'm okay with the idea of a range. That's why atomic clocks are of no particular interest to me. "About 4 pm" makes more sense to me than "4.01.53.002 pm" as a time. In contrast, when you say to Tom, "how long is this hill", his answer will be "it's about 1.1 miles" which translated means "it is almost precisely 1.1 miles unless I am wrong and it is really between 1.09 and 1.11 miles".
In terms of course descriptions, this is a great resource. Every time I asked about what was coming up on the course Tom had a full, complete and accurate answer, which is really nice when you aren't familiar with an area. On the other hand, it also means that when you say something like, "Sorry I am holding you up today," his response is not, "oh, you're not holding me up, I wanted to go slow today," and instead his response is more like, "Sure". Oh well, it is true that I was holding him up all day.
The MC course, at least the version we rode, which I think is the 2008 version, starts in Browne's Addition at Cannon and Pacific, heads into downtown and picks up the Centennial Trail to Stateline. We rolled along this portion of the course quickly and it did call into question the mountain bikes and giant tires we were riding. We covered this first 23 miles in about an hour and twenty minutes. Not blazing fast, but then again we were just riding and talking as opposed to racing.
From there, you hit your first substantial climb and then descent towards Liberty Lake, followed by the next climb out of Liberty Lake. At this point, all of the roads are still paved and I wondered about my cyclo-cross bike sitting at home. Shortly thereafter, however, the gravel roads start and the mountain bikes seemed like a better idea. We finished the first 1/3 of the course in something over two hours, but we had just started to get to the meat of the course (or, for you vegans, the "tofu" of the course). If you aren't familiar with the route, the best way to understand it is to go ride it, but second best is probably taking a look at this: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/47717598.
The next 1/3 of the course is mostly comprised of rollers, many on gravel roads and a few on paved roads, but through mile 58 you are either going up or down. I do not recall more than 100 feet of level road in this entire section (There might have been a level section, but I find that hypoxia limits my recollections). This section also involves the oddest part of the course, where at about mile 55 you take a right turn off of the gravel road, go around a fence and down a path into a ravine, across a charming wood bridge and back up the other side of the ravine. It is totally unexpected and I have to think it would be easy to miss in the middle of the night, not to mention a bit of rough riding. This is a portion that a cross bike would be a distinct disadvantage to a mountain bike. Rideable, but tougher. I am interested to go back and check this area out to understand the how and why this county-owned cut-off came to be.
Just after this, you then reach the major V in the profile. About mile 58 you start a 2-mile descent that takes you to Valley-Chapel road, but really to the base of this little valley. From there, however, you start climbing right back out of the valley including going up Spangle Creek road. In total, just after the 2 mile descent you have about 2.5 miles of climbing and an elevation gain of around 550 feet. I had never ridden up Spangle Creek road because I have always been at the bottom on my road bike and thought it turned to gravel just out of sight of Valley-Chapel Road. It turns out the climb is all paved, but it does turn to gravel for many miles before you can hook-up to a paved road again. This climb has grades as steep as 15% and it is, to use a crass term, a real ball-buster. For me, at least, this marked the period of waning strength. Tom was being very patient, but my back had been bothering me (which is a very unusual cycling problem for me) and I was getting tired.
From the top of this climb, you are about 2/3 done with the ride. Unfortunately, I was more than 2/3 done with my joie de vivre. We were at about 5 hours here, which I was surprised to realize was only about 15-20 minutes behind Tom's ride at the MC event. It was, for me, however, the closest we would be to that time. As we reached the open Palouse, we were greeted with increasing winds and an inverse proportion of strength from me. I gamely plowed along, but I was getting tired. I also didn't realize the way the course went and I thought that if I made it to Spangle then it would be an easy trip down the hill into town. I was wrong.
From Spangle, you cross 195 (tantalizingly down the hill to my house) and get on more gravel roads. These gravel roads, as all gravel roads on the Palouse, are rolling. The don't roll up and down as much as some of the prior roads, but nonetheless, they go up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down. And for our ride, they also went straight into the high winds for quite a ways.
You do, however, finally reach the point where the road is going mostly downhill and eventually intersect with the Cheney-Spangle road, leaving behind the gravel roads except for one tame stretch. The Cheney-Spangle road also rolls up and down a bit, but mostly down to the Fish Lake trailhead. From there, down the upper Fish Lake trail (where we had a nice tailwind finally and I sat on Tom's wheel for the whole length of it), a 3 mile section of ride-able gravel taking you to the lower Fish Lake trail, and then the final few blocks back to Browne's Addition.
I was seriously knackered for the last stretch and probably tried Tom's patience. He stopped a time or two, for a natural break and then for a couple of trail maintenance issues, and each time caught up to me surprisingly quickly. At least it surprised me. The old tortoise and the hare trick, except in this instance the hare was the one that was able to keep going and going.
And so, this story, much like the ride, peters out quickly. After the criss-crossing of fields, mile upon mile of road I have never seen, roller after roller and a very miserable wind that just blew stronger as the day went on, you then suddenly find yourself sharing the Fish Lake trail with families that just bought their bikes on sale at Wal-Mart. It is a bit of an odd transition and it feels like you should ride along next to them to say "hey, we started at 6.30 this morning and are just finishing a very tough ride, do you mind having a bit more respect?", but instead we just politely moved over to let the labradoodles and their owners have the trail. We rolled back up to my car after 7 hours and 13 minutes. As the Garmin tells the tale (succinctly compared to me), we were moving for 7 hours, 1 minute and 46 seconds. I wish I had realized so that somewhere I could have knocked off 2 minutes and booked a sub-7 hour time, but I guess that's why the road is still out there beckoning.
I am curious about how different it would be at night and I imagine it would be quite gratifying (as described here: http://26inchslicks.blogspot.com/2010/08/midnight-century-2010-my-view.html) to finish as the day is beginning. I can't guarantee that I will be there, but I will certainly try to make it next year to find out. Speaking of which, here is the link to the not-official ride information (since it isn't an official ride): http://www.midnightcentury.com/. Here are a couple of other links to ride information from 2010: http://100km.us/2010/08/22/midnight-century-2010-pt-1/ and http://100km.us/2010/08/25/midnight-century-2010-pt-2/ and http://cyclingspokane.blogspot.com/2010/08/midnight-century-preliminary-results.html and finally http://cyclingspokane.blogspot.com/2010/08/mc-results-mid-day-update.html.
In fact, the Midnight Century website and the Dean of Cycling Blogs are the best place to find out about next year's ride. It sounds as if Tom's cue sheet (found here: http://www.mechbgon.com/Midnight_century_cue_sheet.pdf) will be updated, revised and expanded upon to become the official cue sheet of the unofficial ride.
So, to sum it up. Midnight Century - No one said it would be easy, but did it have to be that hard?
A couple of quotes I heard this morning remind me of this ride. Nietzsche famously said, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Are they mutually exclusive? I don't think I died, but I certainly don't feel any stronger. Is it possible for something to both kill you and make you stronger? The other quote is actually a song lyric and no, I don't have to be embarrassed about it, I was listening to a Coldplay song. The line is something like, "no one said it was easy, but does it have to be this hard?" And that, my friends, regardless of your feelings for Chris Martin is a good motto for the Midnight Century course.
During the summer, Tom (who is the Head Mechanic at Two Wheel Transit (okay, currently the only mechanic)), helped me out by taking care of my bike, serving as a sounding board for numerous discussions of tires, wheels, etc., and may have saved my life during the 24 Hour Race (he helped me find the large and obvious wheel drag problem that plagued my 3rd lap: http://teamtwowheel.blogspot.com/2010/06/24-hour-race.html). Alongside the great wrenching and therapy sessions Tom offered me, we also discussed the Midnight Century and his preparations for it.
Tom had done numerous reconnaissance tours of the MC course in preparation for the actual event. While it is not a race, Tom was ready to go out and set the course record. Instead, because Tom is an incredibly nice guy he did two things on the night of the actual ride - he rode with and supported the efforts of two friends to help them have quick rides that night and he leap-frogged these riders to leave behind pine cone smiley faces for all the other riders. In other words, left to his own devices he clearly could have ridden faster than the 6 hours, 9 minutes that they finished together.
In my conversations with Tom, we had talked about doing a pre-ride of the MC course. I had wanted to go, but timing or my Leadville prep. schedule or something prevented it before I left for Colorado. I had considered doing the MC, which was the week before Leadville, but not being familiar with the course, I was concerned that it would be too much of an effort to recover from in a week's time. I was also cognizant of the additional danger of riding at night and didn't want to needlessly complicate or endanger my chances at Leadville. As a result, I put aside my desire to ride the MC and Tom and I agreed we would ride the course after I got back from my trip.
This did, however, pose a couple of issues. One, Tom, as mentioned above, was capable of a very, very fast ride on this course. While he will be very uncomfortable with me mentioning it, he is a previous Washington State Road Race champion in one of the Master's categories. As a result, I was a bit afraid of going with Tom because I didn't want to endure 9-12 hours of a) holding up Tom; b) patronizing comments from Tom like, "No, you climb really well for a fat guy" or "I was really looking forward to a 10-12 hour pace on the MC course - I get to see so much more going half the speed I normally do"; or c) finding myself laying in the midst of yet another gravel roller, crying on the road side and wondering why had I hadn't just rested on my laurels instead of tacking on another tough 100-mile mountain bike ride.
Despite my trepidations, however, I agreed to meet Tom at the Elk Saturday morning at 6.30 am for a trip around the MC course. We extended a couple of invitations to go along with us, but had no takers. I had no idea so many cyclists I knew would be having their hair done that morning. Nonetheless, the two of us headed out at the appointed time. In fact, my Garmin says we started at 6.32 am, which is remarkably timely for me. Doing it in the daytime has some upsides, like it means that without the lighting systems the bikes are lighter, the navigation is easier and you can show up feeling reasonably rested. Doing it in the daytime also has some downsides, like it is still a long, hard course full of mile upon mile of rollers and gravel roads.
Tom described the course generally like this, the first 25 miles are pretty easy and the last 25 miles are pretty easy, but the middle 50 miles are pretty tough. You could describe the 100 Years War in the same way (that middle 50 years was really something), but with just a bit less bloodshed. One of the interesting things about riding with Tom is that this description of the course may have been the only instance of him using understatement. In fact, Tom is a remarkably literal person. If someone asks me how far something is, I might say, "about 4 miles" which could mean anywhere from 2 to 8 miles, unless of course I have completely mis-remembered and then it could be somewhere between 100 yards and 10 miles. I don't mean to be inaccurate, but I'm okay with the idea of a range. That's why atomic clocks are of no particular interest to me. "About 4 pm" makes more sense to me than "4.01.53.002 pm" as a time. In contrast, when you say to Tom, "how long is this hill", his answer will be "it's about 1.1 miles" which translated means "it is almost precisely 1.1 miles unless I am wrong and it is really between 1.09 and 1.11 miles".
In terms of course descriptions, this is a great resource. Every time I asked about what was coming up on the course Tom had a full, complete and accurate answer, which is really nice when you aren't familiar with an area. On the other hand, it also means that when you say something like, "Sorry I am holding you up today," his response is not, "oh, you're not holding me up, I wanted to go slow today," and instead his response is more like, "Sure". Oh well, it is true that I was holding him up all day.
The MC course, at least the version we rode, which I think is the 2008 version, starts in Browne's Addition at Cannon and Pacific, heads into downtown and picks up the Centennial Trail to Stateline. We rolled along this portion of the course quickly and it did call into question the mountain bikes and giant tires we were riding. We covered this first 23 miles in about an hour and twenty minutes. Not blazing fast, but then again we were just riding and talking as opposed to racing.
From there, you hit your first substantial climb and then descent towards Liberty Lake, followed by the next climb out of Liberty Lake. At this point, all of the roads are still paved and I wondered about my cyclo-cross bike sitting at home. Shortly thereafter, however, the gravel roads start and the mountain bikes seemed like a better idea. We finished the first 1/3 of the course in something over two hours, but we had just started to get to the meat of the course (or, for you vegans, the "tofu" of the course). If you aren't familiar with the route, the best way to understand it is to go ride it, but second best is probably taking a look at this: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/47717598.
The next 1/3 of the course is mostly comprised of rollers, many on gravel roads and a few on paved roads, but through mile 58 you are either going up or down. I do not recall more than 100 feet of level road in this entire section (There might have been a level section, but I find that hypoxia limits my recollections). This section also involves the oddest part of the course, where at about mile 55 you take a right turn off of the gravel road, go around a fence and down a path into a ravine, across a charming wood bridge and back up the other side of the ravine. It is totally unexpected and I have to think it would be easy to miss in the middle of the night, not to mention a bit of rough riding. This is a portion that a cross bike would be a distinct disadvantage to a mountain bike. Rideable, but tougher. I am interested to go back and check this area out to understand the how and why this county-owned cut-off came to be.
Just after this, you then reach the major V in the profile. About mile 58 you start a 2-mile descent that takes you to Valley-Chapel road, but really to the base of this little valley. From there, however, you start climbing right back out of the valley including going up Spangle Creek road. In total, just after the 2 mile descent you have about 2.5 miles of climbing and an elevation gain of around 550 feet. I had never ridden up Spangle Creek road because I have always been at the bottom on my road bike and thought it turned to gravel just out of sight of Valley-Chapel Road. It turns out the climb is all paved, but it does turn to gravel for many miles before you can hook-up to a paved road again. This climb has grades as steep as 15% and it is, to use a crass term, a real ball-buster. For me, at least, this marked the period of waning strength. Tom was being very patient, but my back had been bothering me (which is a very unusual cycling problem for me) and I was getting tired.
From the top of this climb, you are about 2/3 done with the ride. Unfortunately, I was more than 2/3 done with my joie de vivre. We were at about 5 hours here, which I was surprised to realize was only about 15-20 minutes behind Tom's ride at the MC event. It was, for me, however, the closest we would be to that time. As we reached the open Palouse, we were greeted with increasing winds and an inverse proportion of strength from me. I gamely plowed along, but I was getting tired. I also didn't realize the way the course went and I thought that if I made it to Spangle then it would be an easy trip down the hill into town. I was wrong.
From Spangle, you cross 195 (tantalizingly down the hill to my house) and get on more gravel roads. These gravel roads, as all gravel roads on the Palouse, are rolling. The don't roll up and down as much as some of the prior roads, but nonetheless, they go up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down. And for our ride, they also went straight into the high winds for quite a ways.
You do, however, finally reach the point where the road is going mostly downhill and eventually intersect with the Cheney-Spangle road, leaving behind the gravel roads except for one tame stretch. The Cheney-Spangle road also rolls up and down a bit, but mostly down to the Fish Lake trailhead. From there, down the upper Fish Lake trail (where we had a nice tailwind finally and I sat on Tom's wheel for the whole length of it), a 3 mile section of ride-able gravel taking you to the lower Fish Lake trail, and then the final few blocks back to Browne's Addition.
I was seriously knackered for the last stretch and probably tried Tom's patience. He stopped a time or two, for a natural break and then for a couple of trail maintenance issues, and each time caught up to me surprisingly quickly. At least it surprised me. The old tortoise and the hare trick, except in this instance the hare was the one that was able to keep going and going.
And so, this story, much like the ride, peters out quickly. After the criss-crossing of fields, mile upon mile of road I have never seen, roller after roller and a very miserable wind that just blew stronger as the day went on, you then suddenly find yourself sharing the Fish Lake trail with families that just bought their bikes on sale at Wal-Mart. It is a bit of an odd transition and it feels like you should ride along next to them to say "hey, we started at 6.30 this morning and are just finishing a very tough ride, do you mind having a bit more respect?", but instead we just politely moved over to let the labradoodles and their owners have the trail. We rolled back up to my car after 7 hours and 13 minutes. As the Garmin tells the tale (succinctly compared to me), we were moving for 7 hours, 1 minute and 46 seconds. I wish I had realized so that somewhere I could have knocked off 2 minutes and booked a sub-7 hour time, but I guess that's why the road is still out there beckoning.
I am curious about how different it would be at night and I imagine it would be quite gratifying (as described here: http://26inchslicks.blogspot.com/2010/08/midnight-century-2010-my-view.html) to finish as the day is beginning. I can't guarantee that I will be there, but I will certainly try to make it next year to find out. Speaking of which, here is the link to the not-official ride information (since it isn't an official ride): http://www.midnightcentury.com/. Here are a couple of other links to ride information from 2010: http://100km.us/2010/08/22/midnight-century-2010-pt-1/ and http://100km.us/2010/08/25/midnight-century-2010-pt-2/ and http://cyclingspokane.blogspot.com/2010/08/midnight-century-preliminary-results.html and finally http://cyclingspokane.blogspot.com/2010/08/mc-results-mid-day-update.html.
In fact, the Midnight Century website and the Dean of Cycling Blogs are the best place to find out about next year's ride. It sounds as if Tom's cue sheet (found here: http://www.mechbgon.com/Midnight_century_cue_sheet.pdf) will be updated, revised and expanded upon to become the official cue sheet of the unofficial ride.
So, to sum it up. Midnight Century - No one said it would be easy, but did it have to be that hard?
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A rare race report
For those of you that follow our little blog, you may have picked up by now that I've had a less than stellar year of race results. The main reason for this, one could argue, is that I've started so few races.
So when I showed up yesterday at Liberty High School in the booming metropolis of Sprague, Washington, here's how I was greeted by another racer.
"Hey, how's it going? Haven't seen you out here in a while."
"Yes, well I haven't raced much lately."
"Been riding though? Tonight should be super fast."
"No, I'm kind of coming off of a three month rest block. So I should be nice and fresh."
"Seriously?"
Of course I wasn't being serious. Except for the three months part. I've had occasional rides, but nothing structured. Or particularly hard, save for some mountain bike rides where I had no choice. It's hard to go easy on a 25 minute climb.
So, I toed the line last night with a bit of, what? Foreboding? Fear? Not looking forward to tasting my stomach bile? Yes, yes, and yes.
In fact the race that our friends at Spokane Rocket Velo put on was outstanding. Super-fun course around the hills of the Palouse. Yes, it was all big ring. But who says going uphill in your big ring is easy?
Attacks started right from the gun, with Gabe Varela leading us through the "neutral" zone at 30 mph. You think I'm kidding? I'm not. It was fast enough that I forgot to start my Garmin unit, instead preferring to focus on things like, oh I don't know, breathing. And while I stayed among the front few guys early on, when I took a peek over my shoulder there were more than a handful of guys off the back, never to be seen again.
The race was fun though. In a whips and chains kind of way. A break went right from the gun, but unlike races earlier this season, the pack actually chased. We caught the break of Varela and Mike Gaertner about half-way through the 30 mile loop. For kicks I even took a few turns.
From there a flurry of doomed attacks went off and came back, until about 7K to go, when Gabe again lit it up. A tired pack hesitated, he opened a gap, and despite Rocket Velo's best efforts, Gabe only put more time on the group.
The finish was an uphill sprint. I actually felt OK going into it, but I unfortunately thought it would be good to lead out early. On an uphill sprint. You know, uphill, as in unless you're Andre Greipel, you're not going to do well by going early. Head and legs win races. I evidently had neither.
Oh well. I finished 10th or so. The results aren't posted, and even though there were maybe 35 or 40 people in the race, my guess is that I was far enough back that I won't make the results.
I also owe another racer an apology. Maybe. Although I consider myself a relatively smooth, and considerate, rider in the bunch, I had some feedback after the sprint alleging that I closed the door on said competitor (link). That is, I drifted from one side of the road towards something farther to the right, when I led out the sprint, making it impossible for him to get past me. Generally this is an unkind, unsafe and somewhat illegal maneuver.
For a drastic example of this, thankfully also without a crash as a result, here's a video to show what I mean.
If this indeed happened, my apologies. Although the race was held on a Tuesday, I certainly don't consider it the Tuesday Night World Championships. I really enjoy keeping my body and bike, and others bodies and bikes, in one piece. Especially when I'm sprinting for 8th place, or whatever.
Anyway, now that I have that off of my chest I feel better.
So overall, re-entry into the racing world could have been worse. And what a fantastic course. I absolutely loved it. Lumpy, fast, no traffic, good times. Although average speed in a race is among the worst ways to judge how hard a race is, we still averaged about 26 mph. So no, we weren't soft pedalling.
And kudos to Gabe Varela. Here's to being the most talented guy in the region right now, and to winning a race the hard way. Solo, off the front, after driving a break for most of the race.
If you're interested, here's a link to my Garmin file from the race. To see the gory details, click on "view details" on the image.
And I hope some of you can make the Two Wheel Transit shop ride on Thursday. 5:30 p.m.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Texas Tail Wind Post about Jens Voigt
If you followed today's stage, and honestly, everyone did, right?, then you saw the Hard Man of Hard Men suffering like a beast to help his team-mate. There can only be one guy at the top of the list of Hard Men and that guy is Jens Voigt. Now sure, you can make an argument for George Hincapie, and I heartily agree his a Hard Man, but none top the ability to turn himself inside out, the ability to work for the good of the team no matter what the circumstance and the reality of almost always sacrificing his own chances at glory for the good of others the way that Jens does.
A guy named Ben Cooper has a blog at texastailwind.wordpress.com. I don't know anything about Ben Cooper or his blog, but I do know that he put together a very funny list of "facts" about Jens Voigt. So, thanks to Ben and next time you think "WWJD?", you will know some of the answers to "What Would Jens Do?"
From Little Known Facts about Jens Voigt: For those of you who might not know Jens Voigt — he is arguably the toughest of strongmen of the peloton, known for his long, often successful solo breakaways, yet another of which, at age 36, attacking with 36 km to go, he pulled off the other day to win a stage of the Giro, dropping the likes of world champ Paolo Bettini and Italian superstar Daniele Bennati. He’s also unfailingly cheerful and friendly off the bike, perhaps the most well-liked member of the peloton.
Jens Voigt doesn’t read books. He simply attacks until the books relent and tell him everything he wants to know.
Waldo can’t be found because Jens dropped him on a hill training ride… on K2.
Jens doesn’t spin or mash the pedals… he kicks them into submission.
Jens Voigt puts the “laughter” in “Manslaughter.”
Jens Voigt climbs so well for a big guy because he doesn’t actually climb hills; the hills slink into the earth in fear as they see him approach.
If you are a UCI ProTour rider and you Google “Jens Voigt,” the only result you get is “it’s not to late to take up kickball, Fred.”
Jens was a math prodigy in elementary school, putting “Attack!” in every blank space on all his tests. It would be the wrong answer for everybody else, but Jens is able to solve any problem by attacking.
Jens’ testicles are bald because hair does not grow on a mixture of titanium, brass, steel, and cold, hard granite.
Eddy Merckx was actually a neo-pro at the same time as Jens, but Jens dropped him so hard that he shot backwards in time to the 1960′s, where he became a great champion.
Jens once had a heart attack on the Tourmalet. Jens counterattacked repeatedly until he kicked its ass.
Jack was nimble, Jack was quick… and Jens still drove him to quit racing bikes and become an ice dancing commentator on Lifetime.
If Jens Voigt was a country, his principle exports would be Pain, Suffering, and Agony.
If Jens Voigt was a planet, he’d be the World of Hurt.
Jens Voigt doesn’t know where you live, but he knows exactly where you will die.
Jens Voigt doesn’t have a shadow because he dropped it repeatedly until it retired, climbing into the CSC team car and claiming a stomach ailment.
Jens Voigt once challenged Lance Armstrong to a “who has more testicles” contest. Jens won… by five.
When you open a can of whoop-ass, Jens Voigt jumps out and attacks.
You are what you eat. Jens Voigt eats spring steel for breakfast, fire for lunch, and a mixture of titanium and carbon fiber for dinner. For between-meal snacks he eats men’s souls, and downs it with a tall cool glass of The Milk of Human Suffering.
Jens Voigt believes it’s not butter.
Jens Voigt can eat just one.
The first time man split the atom was when the atom tried to hold Jens Voigt’s wheel, but cracked.
Jens Voigt doesn’t complain about what suffering does to him… but suffering constantly complains about getting picked on by Jens Voigt.
Jens Voigt can start a fire by rubbing two mud puddles together.
Guns kill a couple dozen people every day. Jens Voigt kills 150.
Jens’s tears are so tough they could be the world heavyweight mixed-martial arts champion. Too bad Jens never cries.
Jens Voigt rides so fast during attacks, that he could circle the globe, hold his own wheel, and ride in his own draft. At least as long as he didn’t try to drop himself.
Jens Voigt nullified the periodic table because he doesn’t believe in any element, other than the element of surprise.
The grass is always greener on the other side. Unless Jens Voigt has been riding on the other side in which case it’s white with the salty, dried tears of all the riders whose souls he has crushed.
A guy named Ben Cooper has a blog at texastailwind.wordpress.com. I don't know anything about Ben Cooper or his blog, but I do know that he put together a very funny list of "facts" about Jens Voigt. So, thanks to Ben and next time you think "WWJD?", you will know some of the answers to "What Would Jens Do?"
From Little Known Facts about Jens Voigt: For those of you who might not know Jens Voigt — he is arguably the toughest of strongmen of the peloton, known for his long, often successful solo breakaways, yet another of which, at age 36, attacking with 36 km to go, he pulled off the other day to win a stage of the Giro, dropping the likes of world champ Paolo Bettini and Italian superstar Daniele Bennati. He’s also unfailingly cheerful and friendly off the bike, perhaps the most well-liked member of the peloton.
Jens Voigt doesn’t read books. He simply attacks until the books relent and tell him everything he wants to know.
Waldo can’t be found because Jens dropped him on a hill training ride… on K2.
Jens doesn’t spin or mash the pedals… he kicks them into submission.
Jens Voigt puts the “laughter” in “Manslaughter.”
Jens Voigt climbs so well for a big guy because he doesn’t actually climb hills; the hills slink into the earth in fear as they see him approach.
If you are a UCI ProTour rider and you Google “Jens Voigt,” the only result you get is “it’s not to late to take up kickball, Fred.”
Jens was a math prodigy in elementary school, putting “Attack!” in every blank space on all his tests. It would be the wrong answer for everybody else, but Jens is able to solve any problem by attacking.
Jens’ testicles are bald because hair does not grow on a mixture of titanium, brass, steel, and cold, hard granite.
Eddy Merckx was actually a neo-pro at the same time as Jens, but Jens dropped him so hard that he shot backwards in time to the 1960′s, where he became a great champion.
Jens once had a heart attack on the Tourmalet. Jens counterattacked repeatedly until he kicked its ass.
Jack was nimble, Jack was quick… and Jens still drove him to quit racing bikes and become an ice dancing commentator on Lifetime.
If Jens Voigt was a country, his principle exports would be Pain, Suffering, and Agony.
If Jens Voigt was a planet, he’d be the World of Hurt.
Jens Voigt doesn’t know where you live, but he knows exactly where you will die.
Jens Voigt doesn’t have a shadow because he dropped it repeatedly until it retired, climbing into the CSC team car and claiming a stomach ailment.
Jens Voigt once challenged Lance Armstrong to a “who has more testicles” contest. Jens won… by five.
When you open a can of whoop-ass, Jens Voigt jumps out and attacks.
You are what you eat. Jens Voigt eats spring steel for breakfast, fire for lunch, and a mixture of titanium and carbon fiber for dinner. For between-meal snacks he eats men’s souls, and downs it with a tall cool glass of The Milk of Human Suffering.
Jens Voigt believes it’s not butter.
Jens Voigt can eat just one.
The first time man split the atom was when the atom tried to hold Jens Voigt’s wheel, but cracked.
Jens Voigt doesn’t complain about what suffering does to him… but suffering constantly complains about getting picked on by Jens Voigt.
Jens Voigt can start a fire by rubbing two mud puddles together.
Guns kill a couple dozen people every day. Jens Voigt kills 150.
Jens’s tears are so tough they could be the world heavyweight mixed-martial arts champion. Too bad Jens never cries.
Jens Voigt rides so fast during attacks, that he could circle the globe, hold his own wheel, and ride in his own draft. At least as long as he didn’t try to drop himself.
Jens Voigt nullified the periodic table because he doesn’t believe in any element, other than the element of surprise.
The grass is always greener on the other side. Unless Jens Voigt has been riding on the other side in which case it’s white with the salty, dried tears of all the riders whose souls he has crushed.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Simulating Race Conditions
A couple of weeks ago while I was looking for bike racing on TV, I ran across a show produced by the Discovery Channel which picked two "average" cyclists to take to France to ride a mountain stage of the Tour de France. I missed the beginning of the show, but was compelled to watch the 50 or so minutes of the hour long broadcast.
Why did I feel compelled to watch? Because I have a sickness. You see, I became a cycling fan when there was no coverage of bike racing on television or media. You'll notice I didn't say "mainstream" media, because when I became a cycling fan, there was nothing that wasn't mainstream media. Basically we got our sports from Wide World of Sports or the newspaper. There was no internet and there were times when literally days or weeks would go by after the last stage of the Tour de France before I could find out who won. That seems unbelievable, doesn't it? But it was true. Let me tell you about the way we kept our food cold by putting ice in a box over the food, but if the river didn't freeze hard enough we would run out of ice late in the summer. But I digress.
So Discovery Channel picks these two guys, and in the weeks ahead of their Tour stage ride sends them to Trek for new Madones, sends them to Colorado for testing with Chris Carmichael, sends them to Spain to ride in the mountains with pseudo-pro Tom Danielson and his pro-rider wife, and then for dinner and a ride with Levi Leipheimer and George Hincapie, all in preparation for them to ride one of the very tough mountain stages.
Putting aside my jealously that two schlubs who don't know jack about cycling and took up the sport in the last few years are treated to this extravaganza, one thing stuck out as the most extraordinary thing in the whole program. One of these guys lived in Washington DC and commuted to work on his bike. The cameras followed him riding along a few sidewalks and trails on the way to work. He did not appear to ride on any "open" roads or places without stoplights, trail intersections and scads of pedestrians. Also, you should know that this guy was not small, as in, even I at my sizable girth would come in at a smaller waist size. He was also not an experienced cyclist, so I guess I should give him some slack, but then again, he did say one of the dumbest things I have ever heard on television about cycling - and keep in mind that I have heard cycling commentary from Al Trautwig, Craig Hummer and John Eustice hyperventilating so much he should pass out.
So, as he is describing his "training", which consists of him riding trails to work in Washington, DC, he said, and this is a very close quote, "I try to simulate race conditions whenever I can."
I would like for anyone who races to consider that for just a moment. In fact, I will repeat it and when you read it again, I would like for you to think about riding a loop on a sunny Saturday that consists of the Centennial Trail that starts at the Big Red Wagon and goes to the Rotary Fountain before looping back while you think about this, "I try to simulate race conditions whenever I can."
You know, when I am sitting in a parking lot with my car idling, I try to pretend that I am winning the frickin Firecracker 500, so I guess someone should give me a NASCAR race vehicle and a firesuit, eh? Can someone who has never raced a bicycle, and frankly appears to have NEVER RIDDEN IN A GROUP have any idea what "race conditions" are like? Seriously? I get that grade school kids pretend that buzzer is going off as they take a shot at the hoop, but does any adult who has never played in a basketball game go onto television standing at the free throw line at the neighborhood park and say, "I try to simulate the pressure of the playoffs"?! Could you have a little respect for what is involved in a local training race, much less at the Tour de frickin France where the best riders in the world work for years and years to just get to the start line and then pretend that you can simulate that on the greenbelt between stop lights and kids in strollers!
"We get no respect, I tell ya," quote from Rodney "Rider Three" Dangerfield.
Even professional bike racers will tell you that one of the reasons they race earlier in the season than their main objectives is that nothing duplicates the intensity or difficulty of racing, EXCEPT RACING.
Look, I know this guy was new to cycling, so his ignorance should be forgivable, but still, have a little respect. How about "I try to go hard", "I try to go as fast as I can," or even, "I try to ride with as much intensity as a racer," but not, "I try to simulate race conditions whenever I can" when you have no idea what a race condition is.
By the way, one guy made it over all of the mountains in the replicated Tour stage. One didn't. I guess he will have a little more understanding of the terrain at least, but I don't think you can understand what race conditions are like until you have done it at some level.
I think I need to take a few deep breaths before I start sounding like John Eustice.
Rider Three
Why did I feel compelled to watch? Because I have a sickness. You see, I became a cycling fan when there was no coverage of bike racing on television or media. You'll notice I didn't say "mainstream" media, because when I became a cycling fan, there was nothing that wasn't mainstream media. Basically we got our sports from Wide World of Sports or the newspaper. There was no internet and there were times when literally days or weeks would go by after the last stage of the Tour de France before I could find out who won. That seems unbelievable, doesn't it? But it was true. Let me tell you about the way we kept our food cold by putting ice in a box over the food, but if the river didn't freeze hard enough we would run out of ice late in the summer. But I digress.
So Discovery Channel picks these two guys, and in the weeks ahead of their Tour stage ride sends them to Trek for new Madones, sends them to Colorado for testing with Chris Carmichael, sends them to Spain to ride in the mountains with pseudo-pro Tom Danielson and his pro-rider wife, and then for dinner and a ride with Levi Leipheimer and George Hincapie, all in preparation for them to ride one of the very tough mountain stages.
Putting aside my jealously that two schlubs who don't know jack about cycling and took up the sport in the last few years are treated to this extravaganza, one thing stuck out as the most extraordinary thing in the whole program. One of these guys lived in Washington DC and commuted to work on his bike. The cameras followed him riding along a few sidewalks and trails on the way to work. He did not appear to ride on any "open" roads or places without stoplights, trail intersections and scads of pedestrians. Also, you should know that this guy was not small, as in, even I at my sizable girth would come in at a smaller waist size. He was also not an experienced cyclist, so I guess I should give him some slack, but then again, he did say one of the dumbest things I have ever heard on television about cycling - and keep in mind that I have heard cycling commentary from Al Trautwig, Craig Hummer and John Eustice hyperventilating so much he should pass out.
So, as he is describing his "training", which consists of him riding trails to work in Washington, DC, he said, and this is a very close quote, "I try to simulate race conditions whenever I can."
I would like for anyone who races to consider that for just a moment. In fact, I will repeat it and when you read it again, I would like for you to think about riding a loop on a sunny Saturday that consists of the Centennial Trail that starts at the Big Red Wagon and goes to the Rotary Fountain before looping back while you think about this, "I try to simulate race conditions whenever I can."
You know, when I am sitting in a parking lot with my car idling, I try to pretend that I am winning the frickin Firecracker 500, so I guess someone should give me a NASCAR race vehicle and a firesuit, eh? Can someone who has never raced a bicycle, and frankly appears to have NEVER RIDDEN IN A GROUP have any idea what "race conditions" are like? Seriously? I get that grade school kids pretend that buzzer is going off as they take a shot at the hoop, but does any adult who has never played in a basketball game go onto television standing at the free throw line at the neighborhood park and say, "I try to simulate the pressure of the playoffs"?! Could you have a little respect for what is involved in a local training race, much less at the Tour de frickin France where the best riders in the world work for years and years to just get to the start line and then pretend that you can simulate that on the greenbelt between stop lights and kids in strollers!
"We get no respect, I tell ya," quote from Rodney "Rider Three" Dangerfield.
Even professional bike racers will tell you that one of the reasons they race earlier in the season than their main objectives is that nothing duplicates the intensity or difficulty of racing, EXCEPT RACING.
Look, I know this guy was new to cycling, so his ignorance should be forgivable, but still, have a little respect. How about "I try to go hard", "I try to go as fast as I can," or even, "I try to ride with as much intensity as a racer," but not, "I try to simulate race conditions whenever I can" when you have no idea what a race condition is.
By the way, one guy made it over all of the mountains in the replicated Tour stage. One didn't. I guess he will have a little more understanding of the terrain at least, but I don't think you can understand what race conditions are like until you have done it at some level.
I think I need to take a few deep breaths before I start sounding like John Eustice.
Rider Three
Friday, June 11, 2010
Mad Dash 8 Hour Race
On Saturday, May 29 I rode/raced just short of 8 hours at Riverside State Park at the 24 Hour Race. For some inexplicable reason, a week later on Sunday, June 6 I decided to ride the Mad Dash 8 Hour Race, solo category. The term "a glutton for punishment" comes to mind. Also, WTF? comes to mind. I can and should blame combination mountain biker and lawyer DD, but I have to admit he didn't have a gun to my head, just the repeated and subtle suggestion that it would help me get ready for riding the Leadville 100.
In the intervening week between the 24 Hour Race and the Mad Dash, due to weather and work, the only riding I did was the Team Two Wheel Shop Ride. Admittedly that was an easy pace, but I felt fine and did not have any particular sensation in my legs that made me think that pushing pedals was a bad idea. Instead, I waited until the 15 minutes before the Mad Dash to have those feelings.
The Mad Dash race has 4 hour and 8 hour categories, as well as solo and team categories. The race is held in Farragut State Park, which is about halfway between Coeur d'Alene and Sandpoint, Idaho. It is part of "Adventure Week" which includes a bunch of adventure races and mixed sport events. I usually abide by the "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything" rule, but I will mention a couple of things. The course and ride information on-line could be a lot better. I was looking for distance and elevation information, along with a map or profile. There was a map, but it didn't show the direction or much else information. Also, when you are speaking to a group of bikers heading off for 4-8 hours of riding it is not that pleasant to say something along the lines of "if you get off the course, it is your own damn fault and if you get killed crossing the highway it is your own damn fault and you all signed the death waiver, right?" So, anyway.
The race started at 8 am and was scheduled to end at 4 pm, or whenever you finished your last lap after 4 pm. The race started in the boat launch area so that we had a paved uphill climb to spread people out a bit before we hit the trails. The uphill on the road, which lasted about 3-4 minutes, went well for me. After that we hit trails larger than single track but not a road, and went uphill for another few minutes before leveling off at the elevation of the main road. This also went well for me. It was just after that, about 10 minutes into the ride that I realized that I was tired and my legs were a bit dead feeling. I knew that Combo Rider/Lawyer DD was just behind me so I waited, thinking that I could draft him a bit, learn the course and get into a reasonable pace for the lap.
Good idea, no execution from the legs.
Instead, I drafted DD for 90 seconds and then watched him ride away, the last time I would see him until we were standing at the finish line. At the time I thought to myself, "well, you haven't recovered completely from last Saturday, so take it easy and you will warm up and warm to the task at hand."
Good idea, no execution from the legs.
My first lap of the 7.5 mile course wasn't tragically slow, but it was a bit slow and a bit cautious. I had never ridden in Farragut State Park and despite the excellent course information and terrain knowledge provided by veteran park rider and nearby resident Jeanna Hofmeister, I wanted to get the feel of the place before I pushed too hard. This turned out to be a reasonable idea since one harmless and flat corner led straight to a ramp across a ditch, another lead to a very steep and large, round rock strewn descent, one entry to single track led to a sudden switchback and, as with any mountain bike course, there were a few surprises around the course.
I will take this brief intermission to say that Farragut State Park and Bayview are incredibly pretty areas. The hills rise straight up out of the water and the views are much more dramatic than most of the rest of Coeur d'Alene or Pend O'Reille lakes. The mountain biking is also good and less traveled than Riverside State Park. The trails are a bit less hard-packed, there are more long sections of single-track and there are fewer rock-garden sections. All in all, I was very happy to have the chance to check out the park and terrain. I sense a family camping trip this summer.
Anyway, back to the race. At the end of the second lap, which I'm reasonably sure was the fastest of the day up to this point, I got a flat. I got my flat in a deeply wooded part of the course that had a bunch of small tree roots and some rocks. It was the most technical part of the course, but the thing that interested me is that I am fairly sure our racing uncovered a buried hydroponic line. Didn't take the time to figure out if that was it for sure, or where it went, but every lap I looked for it and was intrigued at what it meant.
But enough about the course. What about my flat? Well, it was a all-air-gone-in-sixty-seconds flat. Or more like 5 seconds actually. And, metaphorically speaking, it was also the moment of my racing day deflating. Oh, I kept riding for another 5 1/2 hours, but no more racing. I was just tired. I had the legs and/or energy to keep pedaling, just not fast. My gut bothered me from the time I woke up and it didn't really get better until the next day, so it wasn't just nutrition being wrong since it started well before the race. So combining tired legs and a iffy gut, it wasn't a great day.
I was still moving along around noon when the rain started. It sprinkled for a while and then it started to rain in a serious fashion. Thankfully the temperature was not too low, but it did make the course quite tricky. When I am "racing" I don't mind charging through puddles and what not - the point is to go fast, right? But I was already miserably slow, so it seemed pointless to just get that much muddier and wetter to save two minutes on incredibly slow laps anyway. And, the mud at Farragut Park is specially designed to be the slickest damn mud I have ever encountered. My tire selection and pressure didn't help, but others I talked to agreed that the course just got harder and harder to ride because of the mud.
So, as I approached the start/finish area at 3 pm, having ridden 8 laps (59 miles +/-) in 7 hours (8.5 mph avg overall), I crossed the line and told the timer that I was done for the day. Interestingly, as I stood there talking about 5' from the finish line, it stopped raining. Don't worry, though, it wasn't enough to get me to start up again. I chatted with a couple of people and figured that DD would finishing a lap up on me soon, so I was going to cheer him on to his last lap, but instead he decided to call it a day also. I think it helped that he knew he was a lap ahead of me.
I didn't stay around for the awards after the race and instead headed home. That was my mistake, however, as I was surprised to learn later that I had placed 3rd in my age division. Funny, I thought there only two of us who started. No, I actually don't know how many started, but I strongly suspect it was three and if it was more than three, the only reason I got third is that I rode another lap or two in the rain while all of the sensible people got off the course and headed home. DD was nice enough to get my medal and mail it to me, so I am sitting here gazing at it and thinking that it is the least well-deserved prize since Floyd Landis stopped racing.
To sum up - Farragut State Park - Cool place to ride; Adventure Week Organization - Still needs improvement of logistics and attitude; My own race assessment - Too soon after my last 8 hour effort and not trained to do that; Third place medal - Woo Hoo!
Rider Three
In the intervening week between the 24 Hour Race and the Mad Dash, due to weather and work, the only riding I did was the Team Two Wheel Shop Ride. Admittedly that was an easy pace, but I felt fine and did not have any particular sensation in my legs that made me think that pushing pedals was a bad idea. Instead, I waited until the 15 minutes before the Mad Dash to have those feelings.
The Mad Dash race has 4 hour and 8 hour categories, as well as solo and team categories. The race is held in Farragut State Park, which is about halfway between Coeur d'Alene and Sandpoint, Idaho. It is part of "Adventure Week" which includes a bunch of adventure races and mixed sport events. I usually abide by the "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything" rule, but I will mention a couple of things. The course and ride information on-line could be a lot better. I was looking for distance and elevation information, along with a map or profile. There was a map, but it didn't show the direction or much else information. Also, when you are speaking to a group of bikers heading off for 4-8 hours of riding it is not that pleasant to say something along the lines of "if you get off the course, it is your own damn fault and if you get killed crossing the highway it is your own damn fault and you all signed the death waiver, right?" So, anyway.
The race started at 8 am and was scheduled to end at 4 pm, or whenever you finished your last lap after 4 pm. The race started in the boat launch area so that we had a paved uphill climb to spread people out a bit before we hit the trails. The uphill on the road, which lasted about 3-4 minutes, went well for me. After that we hit trails larger than single track but not a road, and went uphill for another few minutes before leveling off at the elevation of the main road. This also went well for me. It was just after that, about 10 minutes into the ride that I realized that I was tired and my legs were a bit dead feeling. I knew that Combo Rider/Lawyer DD was just behind me so I waited, thinking that I could draft him a bit, learn the course and get into a reasonable pace for the lap.
Good idea, no execution from the legs.
Instead, I drafted DD for 90 seconds and then watched him ride away, the last time I would see him until we were standing at the finish line. At the time I thought to myself, "well, you haven't recovered completely from last Saturday, so take it easy and you will warm up and warm to the task at hand."
Good idea, no execution from the legs.
My first lap of the 7.5 mile course wasn't tragically slow, but it was a bit slow and a bit cautious. I had never ridden in Farragut State Park and despite the excellent course information and terrain knowledge provided by veteran park rider and nearby resident Jeanna Hofmeister, I wanted to get the feel of the place before I pushed too hard. This turned out to be a reasonable idea since one harmless and flat corner led straight to a ramp across a ditch, another lead to a very steep and large, round rock strewn descent, one entry to single track led to a sudden switchback and, as with any mountain bike course, there were a few surprises around the course.
I will take this brief intermission to say that Farragut State Park and Bayview are incredibly pretty areas. The hills rise straight up out of the water and the views are much more dramatic than most of the rest of Coeur d'Alene or Pend O'Reille lakes. The mountain biking is also good and less traveled than Riverside State Park. The trails are a bit less hard-packed, there are more long sections of single-track and there are fewer rock-garden sections. All in all, I was very happy to have the chance to check out the park and terrain. I sense a family camping trip this summer.
Anyway, back to the race. At the end of the second lap, which I'm reasonably sure was the fastest of the day up to this point, I got a flat. I got my flat in a deeply wooded part of the course that had a bunch of small tree roots and some rocks. It was the most technical part of the course, but the thing that interested me is that I am fairly sure our racing uncovered a buried hydroponic line. Didn't take the time to figure out if that was it for sure, or where it went, but every lap I looked for it and was intrigued at what it meant.
But enough about the course. What about my flat? Well, it was a all-air-gone-in-sixty-seconds flat. Or more like 5 seconds actually. And, metaphorically speaking, it was also the moment of my racing day deflating. Oh, I kept riding for another 5 1/2 hours, but no more racing. I was just tired. I had the legs and/or energy to keep pedaling, just not fast. My gut bothered me from the time I woke up and it didn't really get better until the next day, so it wasn't just nutrition being wrong since it started well before the race. So combining tired legs and a iffy gut, it wasn't a great day.
I was still moving along around noon when the rain started. It sprinkled for a while and then it started to rain in a serious fashion. Thankfully the temperature was not too low, but it did make the course quite tricky. When I am "racing" I don't mind charging through puddles and what not - the point is to go fast, right? But I was already miserably slow, so it seemed pointless to just get that much muddier and wetter to save two minutes on incredibly slow laps anyway. And, the mud at Farragut Park is specially designed to be the slickest damn mud I have ever encountered. My tire selection and pressure didn't help, but others I talked to agreed that the course just got harder and harder to ride because of the mud.
So, as I approached the start/finish area at 3 pm, having ridden 8 laps (59 miles +/-) in 7 hours (8.5 mph avg overall), I crossed the line and told the timer that I was done for the day. Interestingly, as I stood there talking about 5' from the finish line, it stopped raining. Don't worry, though, it wasn't enough to get me to start up again. I chatted with a couple of people and figured that DD would finishing a lap up on me soon, so I was going to cheer him on to his last lap, but instead he decided to call it a day also. I think it helped that he knew he was a lap ahead of me.
I didn't stay around for the awards after the race and instead headed home. That was my mistake, however, as I was surprised to learn later that I had placed 3rd in my age division. Funny, I thought there only two of us who started. No, I actually don't know how many started, but I strongly suspect it was three and if it was more than three, the only reason I got third is that I rode another lap or two in the rain while all of the sensible people got off the course and headed home. DD was nice enough to get my medal and mail it to me, so I am sitting here gazing at it and thinking that it is the least well-deserved prize since Floyd Landis stopped racing.
To sum up - Farragut State Park - Cool place to ride; Adventure Week Organization - Still needs improvement of logistics and attitude; My own race assessment - Too soon after my last 8 hour effort and not trained to do that; Third place medal - Woo Hoo!
Rider Three
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
24 Hour Race
A few blog-worthy things have happened since my last post. I rode part of the 24 Hour Race, we had a Team Two Wheel Shop Ride and I rode the Mad Dash 8 Hour race. Two of these things also involved my new bike, a Gary Fisher Superfly. And despite all of this, I was not once accused of motorized doping. I guess I need to work on that.
So, without further ado (ado being a naturally occurring substance which I am too polite to discuss in this blog), here are some of these tales of these events in chronological order.
24 Hour Race
It was a cold and dark morning, with wind whipped clouds on the horizon . . . Not, actually, it wasn't. The 24 Hour Race, put on by the incomparable Wendy Bailey and Gino Liesicki (and lots of volunteers and helpers), is a mountain bike race held in Riverside State Park and which runs from noon Saturday until noon Sunday on Memorial Day weekend every year. This is the 11th year of the event, although I would have guessed it was 20 or more. This race can be done Solo, Single Speed Solo, or on teams of various sizes ranging from two to ten. This event has continued to grow and it attracts several hundred people who participate, volunteer and otherwise camp and hang out around the race course area starting on Friday before the race. All in all, it is a great event and any organizer who wants to understand how things should run should take the time to check out this event, from course set-up and marking (clear, obvious and safe), logistics and support (excellent) to food (all provided by Mark Starr and the David's Pizza Emergency Support Vehicle) This race is a lot of fun.
This is my second time participating, the first was in 2007. The same thing precipitated my involvement both times: Leadville 100. A subject for another time, but the point is that I am "training" for the Leadville 100 and it seemed in 2007 that riding/racing my mountain bike for many, many hours was a good idea. So, in 2007 I signed up for the solo division and rode from the start at noon until around 6 or 6.30 pm and then went home for the night and came back to ride two more laps in the morning prior to the Sunday noon cut-off. I had slightly more ambitious morning ride intentions, but it was my anniversary so breakfast with my wife of then 18 years seemed like a good idea.
So, this year when my Leadville 100 aspirations came up again, I thought a good long mountain bike race might be in order again. I recruited two stalwart souls to join me in our self-described "daylight division" and we once again set out with the pack at noon and rode until Wendy said we would have to have lights on in order to head back out. This year that meant stopping about 7.40 pm after 6 laps, or about 86 miles.
Lap 1 - This lap is the high-excitement-of-the-start lap, but also the lap with the g-damned Le Mans start, which means running "to" your bike the way car racers at Le Mans used to, except this involves an uphill out and back run. Now, I don't fault them for it, as it does a good job of separating the pack out so there isn't a crunch as people get out on the course, but damn it all, I ride a bike because I hate running, so starting out my bike race with my bike shoes and running 600 yards up and then down a hill is not my idea of entertainment. By the way, this is the only time I saw Stalwart Soul PK until after he had finished his 7th lap and we were all ready for a beer. The first lap is also the lap where everyone's adrenaline is pumping and the people on teams are laying tracks as fast as they can. It is hard when you are planning to do eight hours (and I can't imagine doing 24 hours) to just settle into your day-long pace and not get sucked into racing at their pace. This gets better as the day goes on because a couple of hours into the day I just didn't have what it would have taken to even try to keep up with some of the fast folks doing single laps at a time. Anyway, this lap went reasonably well and the results tell me that I was 2 min 45 sec behind PK and 1 min 20 sec behind PW, the other "Daylight Division" riders also training for Leadville. Since I lost this much time to them on the Le Mans start alone, this wasn't a bad beginning.
Lap 2 - This was the lap in which I had a flat. I have had a couple of pinch flats before and they tend to be quick deflation affairs. In this case, the air was slowly draining and I was able to make it back to the pit area before stopping. I did this because I had a spare tube and pump available and somehow it made sense to me. I lost more than 10 minutes on my comrades this lap, but not bad considering that I rode gingerly for the last part of the this lap and then changed my flat.
Lap 3 - The lap from hell. As I started up the hill that starts the 14.something mile course, I realized that I couldn't shift into the largest cog in the back (largest cog = smallest gear, does this make sense? Yes, but still). I attributed this to the banging through the prior lap's "rock garden" sections. By the way, I have had to switch to using the term "rock garden" exclusively as my wife objects to the term "baby heads" to describe the infant-noggin size rocks that inhabit portions of this trail. Anyway, new bike and cables that might still need adjusting, right, so I figured I would just drop down into the "granny gear" in the front (speaking of jargon, does anyone still use that term for the tiny chain-ring) and make due. While I rode this lap, however, I started feeling miserable. I was really dragging. I couldn't get up to speed on the flats, I was notably slower uphill and it all started to get to me mentally and physically. Also, my right knee started to get sore, which is not something that would normally bother me, even on a long, hard ride. About half way through the third lap I had mostly decided that I would just struggle through one more lap and call it day. I had started out with the goal of riding six laps (about 86 miles), but if four laps (57 miles) was all I could do, I needed to be realistic and re-think my fitness for Leadville.
The last section of this course has a fast downhill section and then flats, so I shifted into the smallest cog in back to take advantage of the speed and instead was greated with the chain dropping between the cog and the frame. Not good. Very kindly, Tom, the mechanic from Two Wheel Transit who had prep'd the bike for the race, told me that he would be racing that weekend and if I needed anything he told me where to look for him. Tom and his crew had cheered me on prior laps so I decided to stop by and was hoping that we was not out doing one of his incredibly fast laps and instead could help me get the bike shifting correctly.
Thankfully, Tom was sitting course-side and graciously offered to take a quick look at the bike. And, indeed, all it took was a quick look as he immediately noted that when I put the rear wheel back on after changing the flat, that I had done so without putting the part of the rear hub that fits into the drop-out on one side, so that it was sitting on the skewer on that side. This meant that it wouldn't shift correctly since the whole thing was pushed sideways. A few of you will have immediately tripped to the other issue. Yes, the rotor for the brake was also pushed sideways, so that it was firmly and solidly against the brake pad. Do you think this might have contributed to the feelings I was having on that lap? Yes, you are right. You are very perceptive. In fact, riding a 14+ mile lap with your brakes "on" is really a bad idea and it makes me ponder my relationship with reality. How could I have not noticed? How could I not have spun the wheel after it was back in the frame? I don't know the answer to either of these things, but I did a quick change on the tire and it was apparently at least 15 seconds too fast since I didn't check that.
I was really glad, however, that Tom was there and had offered to help. Don't know when I would have noticed otherwise. Maybe when the brake ignited something?
Lap 4 & 5 - At this point in the race, things are less distinct in my memory. The good news is that nothing traumatic happened and the bad news is that also probably indicates that I needed to eat and/or drink more to keep the brain sugar levels up. My legs were definitely feeling the impact of my idiotic brake-pad fiasco from lap 3 and it really took these two laps to work them out so they felt good again. My right knee stopped aching and just went back to feeling normally tired above and below it. Interestingly, my 5th lap of the day was 15 seconds faster than my 2nd lap of the day. I had to slow down and baby the corners on my 2nd lap as the tire was getting low, but still that indicates that I was doing all right even five laps and more than 70 miles into the race.
Lap 6 - I came into the pit area after Lap 5 and saw PW. I was feeling pretty good for being 6 1/2 hours into a mountain bike ride and I finally felt like the crampy/stressed feeling from Lap 3 was finally gone, so I was planning to get in a 6th lap and call it day just as lights were required to be mounted on your bike to continue on the course. PW was getting a piece of pizza so I grabbed some sandwich I had brought and we agreed to ride the last lap "together". You would think that this word has an agreed-upon usage in the English language, but that would indicate that you don't know PW. "Together" in this instance meant that I should ride slowly when he wanted to go slow and that at the end of the lap when he felt sparky and got around a couple of riders, I should just hope to see him after the finish line. Oh well, you wouldn't have friendships that lasted 25 years if you didn't overlook this type of behavior, right? Maybe it's good there weren't blogs 25 years ago.
Post Lap 6 - I felt remarkably good after riding around Riverside State Park for nearly 8 hours. I knew I would be sore the next day, and I was, but I wasn't in the shot/knackered/wasted category. I was just in the good old-fashioned tired category. I was also very, very fortunate that my pal Mark was right next to my pit area and he had some cold beer, Papa's Pale Ale from the Coeur d'Alene Brewing Company (brewed in honor of the Centennial of Father's Day which was founded in Spokane (Proof of this claim and places to get Papa's Pale Ale on tap - just click). It is hard to remember a time when a beer tasted so good and it felt so good to sit down. So, I sat a bit, had another beer and then PK (who had snuck in a 7th lap - putting him at an amazing 90 miles in 8 1/2 hours)(also, did you know the correct term is "sneaked" and that "snuck" is not actually a word?), PW and I headed to the Steam Plant Grill to meet my family, PW's daughter and to have a burger, another beer and an end to a great day.
Last thoughts - Solo - When you get your race number for your bike in the solo category, you also get a small tag to hang on your seat that says "Solo". This is so team racers give you some respect as they bomb past you on their fresher legs. Since I was only ever intending to ride 7-8 hours and almost every other Solo was there for 24 hours, I felt bad every time someone passed me or I went through the tent and got kudos for being a solo. People who stick it out 24 Hours do deserve recognition, so I felt guilty taking any of it from them. I will ask Gino and Wendy for a "Daylight Division" sticker to go on my Solo badge next time.
Women - Any male who thinks they are superior to women by dint of their equipment, should come out to a race like this. I saw women flying around all parts of this course, uphill/downhill/technical/flat/volunteering, who outclassed me at every point. There were solo women, team women and women on co-ed teams all dishing it out better than a lot of men, so guys, let's put aside the junior high attitude that all men are somehow better athletes or more hard-asses than all women, cause it just ain't true.
Finish - It was a great day and it is a fun race. I saw a lot of friends and was reminded of why I like Spokane so much. Tom gets a shout-out for being the mechanic who saved my day and Mark Starr at the David's Pizza truck deserves special mention for his food and logistical support.
It made me tired just to type this up. That's why it took so long.
Rider 3
So, without further ado (ado being a naturally occurring substance which I am too polite to discuss in this blog), here are some of these tales of these events in chronological order.
24 Hour Race
It was a cold and dark morning, with wind whipped clouds on the horizon . . . Not, actually, it wasn't. The 24 Hour Race, put on by the incomparable Wendy Bailey and Gino Liesicki (and lots of volunteers and helpers), is a mountain bike race held in Riverside State Park and which runs from noon Saturday until noon Sunday on Memorial Day weekend every year. This is the 11th year of the event, although I would have guessed it was 20 or more. This race can be done Solo, Single Speed Solo, or on teams of various sizes ranging from two to ten. This event has continued to grow and it attracts several hundred people who participate, volunteer and otherwise camp and hang out around the race course area starting on Friday before the race. All in all, it is a great event and any organizer who wants to understand how things should run should take the time to check out this event, from course set-up and marking (clear, obvious and safe), logistics and support (excellent) to food (all provided by Mark Starr and the David's Pizza Emergency Support Vehicle) This race is a lot of fun.
This is my second time participating, the first was in 2007. The same thing precipitated my involvement both times: Leadville 100. A subject for another time, but the point is that I am "training" for the Leadville 100 and it seemed in 2007 that riding/racing my mountain bike for many, many hours was a good idea. So, in 2007 I signed up for the solo division and rode from the start at noon until around 6 or 6.30 pm and then went home for the night and came back to ride two more laps in the morning prior to the Sunday noon cut-off. I had slightly more ambitious morning ride intentions, but it was my anniversary so breakfast with my wife of then 18 years seemed like a good idea.
So, this year when my Leadville 100 aspirations came up again, I thought a good long mountain bike race might be in order again. I recruited two stalwart souls to join me in our self-described "daylight division" and we once again set out with the pack at noon and rode until Wendy said we would have to have lights on in order to head back out. This year that meant stopping about 7.40 pm after 6 laps, or about 86 miles.
Lap 1 - This lap is the high-excitement-of-the-start lap, but also the lap with the g-damned Le Mans start, which means running "to" your bike the way car racers at Le Mans used to, except this involves an uphill out and back run. Now, I don't fault them for it, as it does a good job of separating the pack out so there isn't a crunch as people get out on the course, but damn it all, I ride a bike because I hate running, so starting out my bike race with my bike shoes and running 600 yards up and then down a hill is not my idea of entertainment. By the way, this is the only time I saw Stalwart Soul PK until after he had finished his 7th lap and we were all ready for a beer. The first lap is also the lap where everyone's adrenaline is pumping and the people on teams are laying tracks as fast as they can. It is hard when you are planning to do eight hours (and I can't imagine doing 24 hours) to just settle into your day-long pace and not get sucked into racing at their pace. This gets better as the day goes on because a couple of hours into the day I just didn't have what it would have taken to even try to keep up with some of the fast folks doing single laps at a time. Anyway, this lap went reasonably well and the results tell me that I was 2 min 45 sec behind PK and 1 min 20 sec behind PW, the other "Daylight Division" riders also training for Leadville. Since I lost this much time to them on the Le Mans start alone, this wasn't a bad beginning.
Lap 2 - This was the lap in which I had a flat. I have had a couple of pinch flats before and they tend to be quick deflation affairs. In this case, the air was slowly draining and I was able to make it back to the pit area before stopping. I did this because I had a spare tube and pump available and somehow it made sense to me. I lost more than 10 minutes on my comrades this lap, but not bad considering that I rode gingerly for the last part of the this lap and then changed my flat.
Lap 3 - The lap from hell. As I started up the hill that starts the 14.something mile course, I realized that I couldn't shift into the largest cog in the back (largest cog = smallest gear, does this make sense? Yes, but still). I attributed this to the banging through the prior lap's "rock garden" sections. By the way, I have had to switch to using the term "rock garden" exclusively as my wife objects to the term "baby heads" to describe the infant-noggin size rocks that inhabit portions of this trail. Anyway, new bike and cables that might still need adjusting, right, so I figured I would just drop down into the "granny gear" in the front (speaking of jargon, does anyone still use that term for the tiny chain-ring) and make due. While I rode this lap, however, I started feeling miserable. I was really dragging. I couldn't get up to speed on the flats, I was notably slower uphill and it all started to get to me mentally and physically. Also, my right knee started to get sore, which is not something that would normally bother me, even on a long, hard ride. About half way through the third lap I had mostly decided that I would just struggle through one more lap and call it day. I had started out with the goal of riding six laps (about 86 miles), but if four laps (57 miles) was all I could do, I needed to be realistic and re-think my fitness for Leadville.
The last section of this course has a fast downhill section and then flats, so I shifted into the smallest cog in back to take advantage of the speed and instead was greated with the chain dropping between the cog and the frame. Not good. Very kindly, Tom, the mechanic from Two Wheel Transit who had prep'd the bike for the race, told me that he would be racing that weekend and if I needed anything he told me where to look for him. Tom and his crew had cheered me on prior laps so I decided to stop by and was hoping that we was not out doing one of his incredibly fast laps and instead could help me get the bike shifting correctly.
Thankfully, Tom was sitting course-side and graciously offered to take a quick look at the bike. And, indeed, all it took was a quick look as he immediately noted that when I put the rear wheel back on after changing the flat, that I had done so without putting the part of the rear hub that fits into the drop-out on one side, so that it was sitting on the skewer on that side. This meant that it wouldn't shift correctly since the whole thing was pushed sideways. A few of you will have immediately tripped to the other issue. Yes, the rotor for the brake was also pushed sideways, so that it was firmly and solidly against the brake pad. Do you think this might have contributed to the feelings I was having on that lap? Yes, you are right. You are very perceptive. In fact, riding a 14+ mile lap with your brakes "on" is really a bad idea and it makes me ponder my relationship with reality. How could I have not noticed? How could I not have spun the wheel after it was back in the frame? I don't know the answer to either of these things, but I did a quick change on the tire and it was apparently at least 15 seconds too fast since I didn't check that.
I was really glad, however, that Tom was there and had offered to help. Don't know when I would have noticed otherwise. Maybe when the brake ignited something?
Lap 4 & 5 - At this point in the race, things are less distinct in my memory. The good news is that nothing traumatic happened and the bad news is that also probably indicates that I needed to eat and/or drink more to keep the brain sugar levels up. My legs were definitely feeling the impact of my idiotic brake-pad fiasco from lap 3 and it really took these two laps to work them out so they felt good again. My right knee stopped aching and just went back to feeling normally tired above and below it. Interestingly, my 5th lap of the day was 15 seconds faster than my 2nd lap of the day. I had to slow down and baby the corners on my 2nd lap as the tire was getting low, but still that indicates that I was doing all right even five laps and more than 70 miles into the race.
Lap 6 - I came into the pit area after Lap 5 and saw PW. I was feeling pretty good for being 6 1/2 hours into a mountain bike ride and I finally felt like the crampy/stressed feeling from Lap 3 was finally gone, so I was planning to get in a 6th lap and call it day just as lights were required to be mounted on your bike to continue on the course. PW was getting a piece of pizza so I grabbed some sandwich I had brought and we agreed to ride the last lap "together". You would think that this word has an agreed-upon usage in the English language, but that would indicate that you don't know PW. "Together" in this instance meant that I should ride slowly when he wanted to go slow and that at the end of the lap when he felt sparky and got around a couple of riders, I should just hope to see him after the finish line. Oh well, you wouldn't have friendships that lasted 25 years if you didn't overlook this type of behavior, right? Maybe it's good there weren't blogs 25 years ago.
Post Lap 6 - I felt remarkably good after riding around Riverside State Park for nearly 8 hours. I knew I would be sore the next day, and I was, but I wasn't in the shot/knackered/wasted category. I was just in the good old-fashioned tired category. I was also very, very fortunate that my pal Mark was right next to my pit area and he had some cold beer, Papa's Pale Ale from the Coeur d'Alene Brewing Company (brewed in honor of the Centennial of Father's Day which was founded in Spokane (Proof of this claim and places to get Papa's Pale Ale on tap - just click). It is hard to remember a time when a beer tasted so good and it felt so good to sit down. So, I sat a bit, had another beer and then PK (who had snuck in a 7th lap - putting him at an amazing 90 miles in 8 1/2 hours)(also, did you know the correct term is "sneaked" and that "snuck" is not actually a word?), PW and I headed to the Steam Plant Grill to meet my family, PW's daughter and to have a burger, another beer and an end to a great day.
Last thoughts - Solo - When you get your race number for your bike in the solo category, you also get a small tag to hang on your seat that says "Solo". This is so team racers give you some respect as they bomb past you on their fresher legs. Since I was only ever intending to ride 7-8 hours and almost every other Solo was there for 24 hours, I felt bad every time someone passed me or I went through the tent and got kudos for being a solo. People who stick it out 24 Hours do deserve recognition, so I felt guilty taking any of it from them. I will ask Gino and Wendy for a "Daylight Division" sticker to go on my Solo badge next time.
Women - Any male who thinks they are superior to women by dint of their equipment, should come out to a race like this. I saw women flying around all parts of this course, uphill/downhill/technical/flat/volunteering, who outclassed me at every point. There were solo women, team women and women on co-ed teams all dishing it out better than a lot of men, so guys, let's put aside the junior high attitude that all men are somehow better athletes or more hard-asses than all women, cause it just ain't true.
Finish - It was a great day and it is a fun race. I saw a lot of friends and was reminded of why I like Spokane so much. Tom gets a shout-out for being the mechanic who saved my day and Mark Starr at the David's Pizza truck deserves special mention for his food and logistical support.
It made me tired just to type this up. That's why it took so long.
Rider 3
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Say What? Version 2
It's been a long time since I could legitimately say or write these words: I won a bike race. I'm not talking about an imaginary Alpe d'Huez or a city limit sprint. No, I am referring to a real, live, honest-to-goodness race with more than three people.
Yes, it's hard for me to believe too. I texted Rider One with the news since I had to leave the race venue before his race was over and his voice mail response was, "Are you kidding?" I called back and left a message for him with some details and when he returned my call his first words were, "Are you kidding?" So, that would indicate that a) I am a kidder, I kid; and b) I am an unlikely winner of a bike race (at least in Rider One's eyes). And, to give him his due, it is hard for me to believe also.
I'm going to share a secret with you, though. I wasn't the fittest or strongest rider out there last night. No, this win was not a Fabian Cancellara/Tom Boonen show of strength. It was more of a Salvatore Commesso style bit of wily riding combined with some experience. That was particularly true when I won the night's prime. Oh, I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Yes, I am pleased to report that I also won that (accidentally).
Would you like a moment-by-moment, corner-by-corner recap of the race?
Oh. You would prefer I keep it short. Okay, if you insist.
The race in question was the Baddlands Tuesday Night training race, this week held at the Spokane Raceway Park, and my win came in the "C" Pack. With all due respect to my fellow riders, my buddy PW ("Half Man-Mostly Weasel") says that winning a C Pack race is like winning an award for being the Tallest Midget in the Circus. Now that I think about it, though, my buddy PW is kind-of a pain in the arse, so let's ignore that perspective and focus on the nobility of the competition and effort, shall we?
The race was on the 2.5 mile road course that incorporates the drag strip. We raced clockwise, which means that the finish is a LONG slightly uphill drag into a head wind, while the back side of the course, which has an S-curve and a little elevation change, was mostly with a tail wind. The race was largely "negative", which means that no one really wants to work the race, work that was done was to shut down efforts rather than make them, and at times everyone was content to sit in no matter how slow the pack wound down.
This is all relevant to set up my prime win and race win. As the pack comes out of the last corner at the bottom of the course there is a very long way to the finish line. People who haven't raced out there or who can't control their race emotions ALWAYS start the rush for the line too early. With the prime, I had no intention of going for it, but after sitting on a few wheels that were all starting to sprint 400-500 meters too soon, a Vertical Earth racer came by (sorry, don't know his name) and got a gap. I jumped (or more like, crawled) up to his wheel with about 300 meters to go. He had already been sprinting into the headwind for at least 100, maybe 150 meters. Predictably, he slowed down. I sat on his wheel and looked around and realized that we had a gap. As he slowed more, I sat on his wheel. Then, I moved over and with 50 or so meters to go, while the guy who pulled me up there was spent, I accelerated (mildly) and easily won the prime.
I would feel worse for the guy I did this to, but I have also done exactly the same thing and led others to their victory, so my guess is that he will notice what happened and be much less likely to do the same thing again. Particularly since he did the same thing to help me win the race.
The finish a few laps later was similar. Someone "went" for it on the backside, the group started pulling him back, as we headed up the start of the drag strip to the finish line a number of riders sprinted way too early. I waited, jumped on wheels and stayed out of the wind. Finally, to my surprise, the same Vertical Earth guy got the gap and was hell-bent-for-leather for the finish. Unfortunately for him, he started too early again. I was on his wheel and Dave Simmons was on mine. A similar scenario played out where the VE dude went for it, started to fade, Dave went on my right and I went to the left. The VE dude moved around a bit, which caused a moment of worry, but we stayed apart and it became a drag race between the three of us with Dave and me having the advantage having stayed out of the wind. Dave got the early jump, but thankfully the finish line wasn't 10-20 meters sooner since I managed, somehow, to keep accelerating just enough to get a couple of wheels ahead of Dave. I think the VE guy hung on for third, but I'm not absolutely sure about that.
So, for the first time in a number of years, like maybe five, I won a bike race. Just like that.
It feels awesome.
A couple of race notes for anyone interested in racing better. First, figure out how far you can really sprint, which is usually in the 200-250 meter range, but could be more, but definitely can't be 400-500 meters. Second, a race with a lot of headwind takes more patience than one without (usually). Third, it is possible on a windy day for 3+ riders to get off the front, but unless your only goal is to keep the pack together, you might think about working your ass off if you get into a group of 3-5 with a gap of even a few seconds; 90 seconds of effort could put you into a smaller group where you are no longer competing for the top 20 spots, but instead the top 3-5 spots. And lastly, think about and maybe talk with your teammates about whether you want to chase down your own teammates when they try to get away. For some, a team jersey is just a jersey, and while no one in the A, B or C pack is on the way to the PRO's, we could try to think about and use team tactics a bit more to help our team and the quality of racing.
In conclusion, thanks to Baddlands for putting on the race and yes, I may only be the Tallest Midget at the Circus, but I am smiling from ear to ear about it.
Yes, it's hard for me to believe too. I texted Rider One with the news since I had to leave the race venue before his race was over and his voice mail response was, "Are you kidding?" I called back and left a message for him with some details and when he returned my call his first words were, "Are you kidding?" So, that would indicate that a) I am a kidder, I kid; and b) I am an unlikely winner of a bike race (at least in Rider One's eyes). And, to give him his due, it is hard for me to believe also.
I'm going to share a secret with you, though. I wasn't the fittest or strongest rider out there last night. No, this win was not a Fabian Cancellara/Tom Boonen show of strength. It was more of a Salvatore Commesso style bit of wily riding combined with some experience. That was particularly true when I won the night's prime. Oh, I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Yes, I am pleased to report that I also won that (accidentally).
Would you like a moment-by-moment, corner-by-corner recap of the race?
Oh. You would prefer I keep it short. Okay, if you insist.
The race in question was the Baddlands Tuesday Night training race, this week held at the Spokane Raceway Park, and my win came in the "C" Pack. With all due respect to my fellow riders, my buddy PW ("Half Man-Mostly Weasel") says that winning a C Pack race is like winning an award for being the Tallest Midget in the Circus. Now that I think about it, though, my buddy PW is kind-of a pain in the arse, so let's ignore that perspective and focus on the nobility of the competition and effort, shall we?
The race was on the 2.5 mile road course that incorporates the drag strip. We raced clockwise, which means that the finish is a LONG slightly uphill drag into a head wind, while the back side of the course, which has an S-curve and a little elevation change, was mostly with a tail wind. The race was largely "negative", which means that no one really wants to work the race, work that was done was to shut down efforts rather than make them, and at times everyone was content to sit in no matter how slow the pack wound down.
This is all relevant to set up my prime win and race win. As the pack comes out of the last corner at the bottom of the course there is a very long way to the finish line. People who haven't raced out there or who can't control their race emotions ALWAYS start the rush for the line too early. With the prime, I had no intention of going for it, but after sitting on a few wheels that were all starting to sprint 400-500 meters too soon, a Vertical Earth racer came by (sorry, don't know his name) and got a gap. I jumped (or more like, crawled) up to his wheel with about 300 meters to go. He had already been sprinting into the headwind for at least 100, maybe 150 meters. Predictably, he slowed down. I sat on his wheel and looked around and realized that we had a gap. As he slowed more, I sat on his wheel. Then, I moved over and with 50 or so meters to go, while the guy who pulled me up there was spent, I accelerated (mildly) and easily won the prime.
I would feel worse for the guy I did this to, but I have also done exactly the same thing and led others to their victory, so my guess is that he will notice what happened and be much less likely to do the same thing again. Particularly since he did the same thing to help me win the race.
The finish a few laps later was similar. Someone "went" for it on the backside, the group started pulling him back, as we headed up the start of the drag strip to the finish line a number of riders sprinted way too early. I waited, jumped on wheels and stayed out of the wind. Finally, to my surprise, the same Vertical Earth guy got the gap and was hell-bent-for-leather for the finish. Unfortunately for him, he started too early again. I was on his wheel and Dave Simmons was on mine. A similar scenario played out where the VE dude went for it, started to fade, Dave went on my right and I went to the left. The VE dude moved around a bit, which caused a moment of worry, but we stayed apart and it became a drag race between the three of us with Dave and me having the advantage having stayed out of the wind. Dave got the early jump, but thankfully the finish line wasn't 10-20 meters sooner since I managed, somehow, to keep accelerating just enough to get a couple of wheels ahead of Dave. I think the VE guy hung on for third, but I'm not absolutely sure about that.
So, for the first time in a number of years, like maybe five, I won a bike race. Just like that.
It feels awesome.
A couple of race notes for anyone interested in racing better. First, figure out how far you can really sprint, which is usually in the 200-250 meter range, but could be more, but definitely can't be 400-500 meters. Second, a race with a lot of headwind takes more patience than one without (usually). Third, it is possible on a windy day for 3+ riders to get off the front, but unless your only goal is to keep the pack together, you might think about working your ass off if you get into a group of 3-5 with a gap of even a few seconds; 90 seconds of effort could put you into a smaller group where you are no longer competing for the top 20 spots, but instead the top 3-5 spots. And lastly, think about and maybe talk with your teammates about whether you want to chase down your own teammates when they try to get away. For some, a team jersey is just a jersey, and while no one in the A, B or C pack is on the way to the PRO's, we could try to think about and use team tactics a bit more to help our team and the quality of racing.
In conclusion, thanks to Baddlands for putting on the race and yes, I may only be the Tallest Midget at the Circus, but I am smiling from ear to ear about it.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Say What?
This morning I did something that I have not done in 25 years of riding my bike. I decided yesterday that I would meet the Morning Ride guys at 5.45 am this morning. I haven't been out for a couple of weeks due to wheel/bike/schedule/life/work issues, but on the days I am not riding my bike to work, I would like to be sure to get a ride in and the morning is the best time to ensure that happens. Add in on Tuesdays that I drop my son off at school, which means a slightly later start for me every Tuesday, and it seems like the perfect day to get up at 5 am, ride my bike up Hatch so that I would have the privilege an hour later of watching 20 guys ride away from me up Hatch. Sounds like a good plan, no?
At 5.08 am this morning I woke up and looked at the clock. That is as late as I can get up and still hope to ride the 20+ minutes to join the ride. I was held up by various issues, the biggest being the thick, dense fog that was firmly settled into my brain that would not clear. I checked the outside temperature and noticed that at my elevation on the valley floor there was great visibility but about halfway up the bluff there was a layer of fog similar to that in my brain. No problem, though, so I got dressed a bit warmer to accommodate the cold, moist air, including putting on a light cap that fits under my helmet. Made my way to the basement to check air pressure and roll away.
As I was putting on my shoes I realized my brain was engaging in a round of yes/no. Yes I should ride; no I should not ride. Yes I needed to get in some miles; no I did not feel like going. Yes I would enjoy the ride eventually; no I did not want to go outside. Yes I have riding goals this summer that will be well served by riding; no I wasn't feeling like riding. Yes, the concrete floor did look comfortable for sleeping; no, I hadn't had a cup of coffee yet but could use one. Yes, it was still early enough to go back to sleep; no, that didn't seem like a bad idea at all.
You can see that this was a struggle. Normally I am happy to be getting on my bike, but this morning I could not muster that feeling at all. This was exacerbated by the time, which was looking more like I would be missing the ride start even if I climbed Hatch like a pumped up Marco Pantani (or Vinokurov if you are looking for a more recent example). Nonetheless, I put on my shoes, booties, gloves, pumped up the tires and rolled away from the house.
I have to ride along Highway 195 for about a mile and a half to get to Hatch. My brain was fuzzy and the air was seeming very wet and cold. I was still not enjoying myself, but at least I had stared down the negative thoughts and gotten out there. I was just a bit before Hatch when my brain started to very slowly process something. My thoughts went something like this, although to really get the feeling, pretend that you are reading this the way a 78 rpm record sounded when you put it on 33 1/3 rpm. In other words, like the words are translated through molasses.
Hmmm. Sommmethhhhinnnng is nnnnnoooot quiiiiiite rrrrriiiiight.
Whhhhhyyyyy doooooeeeessss mmmmyyyyy hhhhheeeeaaaad ffffffeeeeeeelllll diiiifffffeeeerrrrrreeeennnnt?
There is more wind on my head, I think, or it feels different, or maybe not.
I wonder if I put a helmet on this morning. No, that can't be right. I never ride without a helmet.
I wonder if I can see my helmet with my eyeballs if I look up. No, maybe not. I wonder if I should feel my head to check for a helmet. Yes, that is what I should do.
What. I don't have a helmet on my head. How can that be. What does that mean. Where is my helmet. Why am I riding down Highway 195 with semi's blowing past me while I have no helmet. Oh right, like a helmet is going to mean jack-squat if one of these 18-wheelers mows me down. But I should have a helmet. I wonder where there is one. I suppose back at home. Why don't I have a helmet. What does this mean.
You can see that these thoughts were moving very slowly in my cranium. I think that normally 1) I wouldn't leave without a helmet and 2) if I managed to do that, I would have an instantaneous "oh crap!?" reaction that would be jolt rather than a slowly dawning realization.
At that point, I started wondering whether this had been a subconscious sabotage of my ride. Part of my brain was saying "ride" but clearly some part of my brain had been putting up a valiant "no ride" fight. "Ride" had won the battle of getting out the door, but clearly "no ride" had won the war.
I turned around at Hatch, feeling a bit naked and vulnerable, and rode slowly back to my house, wondering all the time what had happened and what I should do next.
What I ended up doing was putting my bike back on the wall, taking off my cleats, and going up the the family room to lay down on the couch. Hopefully my head and body will get together for the next ride and I will cover more than 3 miles before 6 am.
Rider Thhhhrrrreeeeee.
At 5.08 am this morning I woke up and looked at the clock. That is as late as I can get up and still hope to ride the 20+ minutes to join the ride. I was held up by various issues, the biggest being the thick, dense fog that was firmly settled into my brain that would not clear. I checked the outside temperature and noticed that at my elevation on the valley floor there was great visibility but about halfway up the bluff there was a layer of fog similar to that in my brain. No problem, though, so I got dressed a bit warmer to accommodate the cold, moist air, including putting on a light cap that fits under my helmet. Made my way to the basement to check air pressure and roll away.
As I was putting on my shoes I realized my brain was engaging in a round of yes/no. Yes I should ride; no I should not ride. Yes I needed to get in some miles; no I did not feel like going. Yes I would enjoy the ride eventually; no I did not want to go outside. Yes I have riding goals this summer that will be well served by riding; no I wasn't feeling like riding. Yes, the concrete floor did look comfortable for sleeping; no, I hadn't had a cup of coffee yet but could use one. Yes, it was still early enough to go back to sleep; no, that didn't seem like a bad idea at all.
You can see that this was a struggle. Normally I am happy to be getting on my bike, but this morning I could not muster that feeling at all. This was exacerbated by the time, which was looking more like I would be missing the ride start even if I climbed Hatch like a pumped up Marco Pantani (or Vinokurov if you are looking for a more recent example). Nonetheless, I put on my shoes, booties, gloves, pumped up the tires and rolled away from the house.
I have to ride along Highway 195 for about a mile and a half to get to Hatch. My brain was fuzzy and the air was seeming very wet and cold. I was still not enjoying myself, but at least I had stared down the negative thoughts and gotten out there. I was just a bit before Hatch when my brain started to very slowly process something. My thoughts went something like this, although to really get the feeling, pretend that you are reading this the way a 78 rpm record sounded when you put it on 33 1/3 rpm. In other words, like the words are translated through molasses.
Hmmm. Sommmethhhhinnnng is nnnnnoooot quiiiiiite rrrrriiiiight.
Whhhhhyyyyy doooooeeeessss mmmmyyyyy hhhhheeeeaaaad ffffffeeeeeeelllll diiiifffffeeeerrrrrreeeennnnt?
There is more wind on my head, I think, or it feels different, or maybe not.
I wonder if I put a helmet on this morning. No, that can't be right. I never ride without a helmet.
I wonder if I can see my helmet with my eyeballs if I look up. No, maybe not. I wonder if I should feel my head to check for a helmet. Yes, that is what I should do.
What. I don't have a helmet on my head. How can that be. What does that mean. Where is my helmet. Why am I riding down Highway 195 with semi's blowing past me while I have no helmet. Oh right, like a helmet is going to mean jack-squat if one of these 18-wheelers mows me down. But I should have a helmet. I wonder where there is one. I suppose back at home. Why don't I have a helmet. What does this mean.
You can see that these thoughts were moving very slowly in my cranium. I think that normally 1) I wouldn't leave without a helmet and 2) if I managed to do that, I would have an instantaneous "oh crap!?" reaction that would be jolt rather than a slowly dawning realization.
At that point, I started wondering whether this had been a subconscious sabotage of my ride. Part of my brain was saying "ride" but clearly some part of my brain had been putting up a valiant "no ride" fight. "Ride" had won the battle of getting out the door, but clearly "no ride" had won the war.
I turned around at Hatch, feeling a bit naked and vulnerable, and rode slowly back to my house, wondering all the time what had happened and what I should do next.
What I ended up doing was putting my bike back on the wall, taking off my cleats, and going up the the family room to lay down on the couch. Hopefully my head and body will get together for the next ride and I will cover more than 3 miles before 6 am.
Rider Thhhhrrrreeeeee.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Joy of Racing
There are lots of tomes on the "Joy of . . ." Best known, or at least first, there was the Joy of Cooking, and later the follow-up book, the Joy of Sex. Like "____ for Dummies", you can find this title repeated on lots of topics. If you include the Joy of Cycling with those other two you actually have a lot of important life issues covered, but I wanted to share a thought or two on the Joy of Racing.
For some reason I have recently discussed my riding proclivities with a few civilians. In other words, rather than just gabbing with other riders about riding topics, I have been drawn into conversations with non-riders who have asked questions about specific cycling issues or rides. At some point this leads to either a stated or unstated question from these non-riders, "Why does your "fun" involved so much suffering?"
It's a reasonable question and not one that is easy to answer. I definitely didn't come by it naturally. My mother's most repeated quote on all subjects involving sports or exercise is "Sweat kills." Very pithy, eh? My father isn't as emphatic, but it is safe to say that sports have not been an important part of his life (If, by the way, that is not a safe thing to say, I will hear about it, right Dad?).
But somewhere along the line I picked up a love of some sports. The last football game I sat through all the way was the Seahawks in the Super Bowl, so spectating is not on the top of my list, but I like participating. I like the hard work and the sense of joy mixed with exhaustion that comes from a long bike ride. Last Sunday was one of those days where it was just the right mix of hard work and satisfaction, but without the misery that comes from going too far or too fast. But that is bike "riding" or even "training", and those are very different feeling than racing.
I haven't raced as much as Rider One or Rider Two, so I would be interested in their view on it, but here are my thoughts on the joy of bike racing. One, I look for chances to race as long as I can be "competitive". For me, that does not mean winning. It just means that sometimes I think I can "race my way to fitness" and that is one of the most self-delusional things I have ever thought. If, however, I have some fitness and can keep up with the group, then I look for opportunities to race. Two, there is only one part of the race that I enjoy: finishing. I like crossing the finish line and that is true whether I am first (and, yes, I have had that joy, although winning in the C pack has been described to me as the same honor as being the tallest midget at the circus) or whether I am pack-fodder or even behind the pack when that choice has been mine rather than forced on me.
For example, at the Frozen Flatlands Sunday road race, I was with the group for 22 or so of the 24 miles, but as we came up to the last two big rollers back into Cheney I realized that I didn't have the legs for a sprint that was likely to put me in the top ten (or twenty probably), so I made the conscious decision to let the group go and just ride the last couple of k's in by myself. I was completely contented when I crossed the finish line as I had raced reasonably smart, had the power to stay with the pack and made the decision to drop off rather than getting dropped (as I had the day before). (An aside. I realize that riding on my own is harder than just staying with the pack up until the finish, but I have a high degree need to finish with "the rubber side down", aka, not "crash" in a field sprint. 18th or 38th doesn't make much difference in my life or my bragging, so eliminating that 1-in-15 pile-up is well worth it.)
I also enjoy the time after the finish line. The feeling of satisfaction from racing and being done is really significant. Really. It is a nice feeling to have sweated out the pre-race tension, the during race tension and hard work and then crossing the finish line. I can't think of another thing that feels the same way as finishing a race, particularly one that went well. It is uniquely and deeply gratifying and the harder the race, the better the feeling. I am sure that the riders who finish the Grand Tours all end up with a smug feeling of satisfaction that lasts for many, many years.
I also enjoy the time before a race. I like training; I like having my equipment cleaned up and tuned up ready for a race (no, it doesn't always happen, but it is nice when it does); and I like the sign-up and bullshitting that goes on at the race ahead of time. There is a sweet and bitter tension that you have before a race. I know that some people get so nervous they don't like to race, but I think I get about the right amount of nervous - the kind where it makes you alert and tense, but in a good way.
So know I have covered the pre-race and post-race, but how about the Joy of actually racing, the during-the-race part of the race? Here is my take on that - There is none. At least for me.
Racing is hard. It is physically hard and it is mentally hard. In order to race well you have to be paying attention to at least a couple dozen things at the same time. The other riders, the road, the road to come, the weather, the wind, your exertions, your hydration/nutrition - in other words, everything that is happening or might happen. And, you have to do it will riding your bike fast. Sean Yates said that the Tour de France is a three-week long, 1,500 mile ride that you do 2 miles an hour faster than you want to ride. That really is the essence of most racing. It all takes place at least 2 miles an hour faster than is comfortable. That may not seem like much, but if aren't a racer, try going out to do a hard 30 minutes at the fastest pace you can sustain, whether that is 14 mph or 19 mph (and I'm not saying the fastest that is comfortable; I am saying the fastest you can sustain). Now, go 2 miles per hour faster. You can probably do it if you dig in and really try, but it is hard. It is physically taxing and mentally taxing just to sustain that pace. Now, picture that effort in the middle of 20-50 other riders doing the same thing and you start to get the sense of what it's like to be in a pack.
So, if it is not fun, why do it? Well, the answer isn't that simple. The time during the race is taxing and there isn't a way to call it "fun", but it is fully engaging in a way that real life doesn't offer very often. It is also satisfying to be in a straightforward competition, where there are clear rules about how the race goes, which is unlike real life where there are so many permutations of the written and unwritten rules that it is nice to be in a black-and-white arena. And there is a level of satisfaction that comes from doing any job well, or completing any hard task, that is amplified when you add the element of physical exhaustion. So, while this blog post is running a bit long, it is because the answer is not straight-forward. Is there joy in racing - yes. It is like the joy of riding hard, but on steroids (oops, not a good cycling analogy, but you get the idea). It is not "fun" per se while you are actually racing, but it is fun, kind of. There is joy, it's just hard to explain. If you have raced, and keep racing, then you know exactly what I am trying to express. And if you haven't raced, or tried it and don't like it, well then, you can always turn to the Joy of Cooking or the Joy of Sex. Your choice.
Rider Three
For some reason I have recently discussed my riding proclivities with a few civilians. In other words, rather than just gabbing with other riders about riding topics, I have been drawn into conversations with non-riders who have asked questions about specific cycling issues or rides. At some point this leads to either a stated or unstated question from these non-riders, "Why does your "fun" involved so much suffering?"
It's a reasonable question and not one that is easy to answer. I definitely didn't come by it naturally. My mother's most repeated quote on all subjects involving sports or exercise is "Sweat kills." Very pithy, eh? My father isn't as emphatic, but it is safe to say that sports have not been an important part of his life (If, by the way, that is not a safe thing to say, I will hear about it, right Dad?).
But somewhere along the line I picked up a love of some sports. The last football game I sat through all the way was the Seahawks in the Super Bowl, so spectating is not on the top of my list, but I like participating. I like the hard work and the sense of joy mixed with exhaustion that comes from a long bike ride. Last Sunday was one of those days where it was just the right mix of hard work and satisfaction, but without the misery that comes from going too far or too fast. But that is bike "riding" or even "training", and those are very different feeling than racing.
I haven't raced as much as Rider One or Rider Two, so I would be interested in their view on it, but here are my thoughts on the joy of bike racing. One, I look for chances to race as long as I can be "competitive". For me, that does not mean winning. It just means that sometimes I think I can "race my way to fitness" and that is one of the most self-delusional things I have ever thought. If, however, I have some fitness and can keep up with the group, then I look for opportunities to race. Two, there is only one part of the race that I enjoy: finishing. I like crossing the finish line and that is true whether I am first (and, yes, I have had that joy, although winning in the C pack has been described to me as the same honor as being the tallest midget at the circus) or whether I am pack-fodder or even behind the pack when that choice has been mine rather than forced on me.
For example, at the Frozen Flatlands Sunday road race, I was with the group for 22 or so of the 24 miles, but as we came up to the last two big rollers back into Cheney I realized that I didn't have the legs for a sprint that was likely to put me in the top ten (or twenty probably), so I made the conscious decision to let the group go and just ride the last couple of k's in by myself. I was completely contented when I crossed the finish line as I had raced reasonably smart, had the power to stay with the pack and made the decision to drop off rather than getting dropped (as I had the day before). (An aside. I realize that riding on my own is harder than just staying with the pack up until the finish, but I have a high degree need to finish with "the rubber side down", aka, not "crash" in a field sprint. 18th or 38th doesn't make much difference in my life or my bragging, so eliminating that 1-in-15 pile-up is well worth it.)
I also enjoy the time after the finish line. The feeling of satisfaction from racing and being done is really significant. Really. It is a nice feeling to have sweated out the pre-race tension, the during race tension and hard work and then crossing the finish line. I can't think of another thing that feels the same way as finishing a race, particularly one that went well. It is uniquely and deeply gratifying and the harder the race, the better the feeling. I am sure that the riders who finish the Grand Tours all end up with a smug feeling of satisfaction that lasts for many, many years.
I also enjoy the time before a race. I like training; I like having my equipment cleaned up and tuned up ready for a race (no, it doesn't always happen, but it is nice when it does); and I like the sign-up and bullshitting that goes on at the race ahead of time. There is a sweet and bitter tension that you have before a race. I know that some people get so nervous they don't like to race, but I think I get about the right amount of nervous - the kind where it makes you alert and tense, but in a good way.
So know I have covered the pre-race and post-race, but how about the Joy of actually racing, the during-the-race part of the race? Here is my take on that - There is none. At least for me.
Racing is hard. It is physically hard and it is mentally hard. In order to race well you have to be paying attention to at least a couple dozen things at the same time. The other riders, the road, the road to come, the weather, the wind, your exertions, your hydration/nutrition - in other words, everything that is happening or might happen. And, you have to do it will riding your bike fast. Sean Yates said that the Tour de France is a three-week long, 1,500 mile ride that you do 2 miles an hour faster than you want to ride. That really is the essence of most racing. It all takes place at least 2 miles an hour faster than is comfortable. That may not seem like much, but if aren't a racer, try going out to do a hard 30 minutes at the fastest pace you can sustain, whether that is 14 mph or 19 mph (and I'm not saying the fastest that is comfortable; I am saying the fastest you can sustain). Now, go 2 miles per hour faster. You can probably do it if you dig in and really try, but it is hard. It is physically taxing and mentally taxing just to sustain that pace. Now, picture that effort in the middle of 20-50 other riders doing the same thing and you start to get the sense of what it's like to be in a pack.
So, if it is not fun, why do it? Well, the answer isn't that simple. The time during the race is taxing and there isn't a way to call it "fun", but it is fully engaging in a way that real life doesn't offer very often. It is also satisfying to be in a straightforward competition, where there are clear rules about how the race goes, which is unlike real life where there are so many permutations of the written and unwritten rules that it is nice to be in a black-and-white arena. And there is a level of satisfaction that comes from doing any job well, or completing any hard task, that is amplified when you add the element of physical exhaustion. So, while this blog post is running a bit long, it is because the answer is not straight-forward. Is there joy in racing - yes. It is like the joy of riding hard, but on steroids (oops, not a good cycling analogy, but you get the idea). It is not "fun" per se while you are actually racing, but it is fun, kind of. There is joy, it's just hard to explain. If you have raced, and keep racing, then you know exactly what I am trying to express. And if you haven't raced, or tried it and don't like it, well then, you can always turn to the Joy of Cooking or the Joy of Sex. Your choice.
Rider Three
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Weekend Ride Report
I rode my bike this weekend. That makes it different than last weekend. I already told my wife all about the rides and probably most of the people who care very much were actually ON the rides, but I still want to share a couple of highlights from my rides this weekend.
Saturday - Mountain bike ride. Bad weather, great ride.
To elaborate, I met Rider One, Jake B. and Jon H. for a two hour plus mountain bike ride that crossed the south hill bluff, crossed Hatch and H-195, went up a trail that I did not know existed past White Road and then was aborted, for me and Rider One, so that we missed the Fish Lake and back up the South Hill portion of the ride. This was my first semi-serious mountain bike ride of the year and the guys I was following, and I was most certainly following them the whole time, are serious riders. Jake is strong like an ox and handles a mountain bike like it is an extension of himself. Rider One is so fluid on a mountain bike it makes me want to stop riding them altogether because I have never for one moment been that graceful on one. I don't have much experience riding with JH and there were precious few moments when I had enough oxygen pick-up to be very discerning about his riding; I just know he was in front of me on a single-speed and I was working all my gears hard to keep him in my sights.
With Jake leading on a route that he and Jon have done many times, they lead me down a few things that I had never ridden on the bluff, including one section that was as steep and twisty as anything I have ridden. I did chicken out on one long, very straight, very steep trail section, choosing instead to run my bike down. In hindsight this was a bit silly since the corkscrew was more technical and really all I had to do was ride my rear brake down the hill, but the fully exposed length gave me pause.
I should also disclose that I am 1-for-1 on my mountain bike ride to bike crash ratio. I managed to plant my pedal firmly and solidly against a rock causing the bike to come to a full, 100% immediate stop. Guess what happened next? Yes, good guess. A body in motion will continue in motion until acted upon by outside forces and all. In this case that force was gravity that brought me in contact with the ground a few feet in front of my bike. Fun stuff. And also fun was the fact that less than 100 yards from my fall was a section of trail that was literally the 12" along a rock bluff with a 15-30' drop. Have you ever had a fall shake your confidence on a bike? Me too.
All in all, though, it makes me want to ride my mountain bike more and soon. I will also let you in on a little secret. I am hoping to be riding a new mountain bike soon. I won't tell you what, but I will give you a hint: 21" Gary Fisher Superfly. And no, I don't deserve it, but I still hope it works out.
Sunday - Road Ride. Decent weather, awesome ride.
To elaborate, I joined Rider One and six other MR riders for a windy three-hour ride. We left the Rocket on 14th, rode up the Fish Lake Trail (both sections), along Salnave to Clear Lake, then Medical Lake, Four Corners and home along Westbow and Thorpe. To put it in terms that the eight of us who were there will recognize better: Head wind, head wind, head wind, cross wind, head wind, cross wind, head wind, head wind, cross wind, head wind, OMG a glorious tail wind!, cross wind, tail wind, cross wind, tail wind, tail wind, tail wind, tail wind, tail wind, fish ladder home. I personally skipped the fish ladder for a more direct route home, but the rest of the description is accurate.
The head wind wasn't too bad on the Fish Lake trail because it is a bit protected. We rode in a double pace line with everyone taking pulls and riding a moderate pace. The Salnave section was tough. It was very, very windy, but after we crossed I-90 and turned right towards Clear Lake we were suddenly very happy with that wind that we had been cursing in the prior miles. The trip back was fast and it felt great. At one point Rider One and I were in front of the double paceline talking about those glorious moments when riding feels tiring but great, hard but wonderful, and the speed seems to be leaping out of your legs. Sure it was the tailwind, but it was great. We may have gotten a bit silly along Westbow (okay, sure I may have contributed to it), but it is rare that a group of riders in our age group gets to wind it up that fast and spin out our biggest gears and have it feel that good. A fun day.
Sunday - Mountain bike ride. Decent weather, great ride.
Hey, wait a minute. Didn't you just describe an exhausting three hour ride from Sunday? Why yes, I did. After I got home I told my wife that my road ride was one of those days where the ride lasted just exactly the distance I had the strength to ride. Another three miles and I would have been dropped by the group so hard and fast you would think we had been going uphill. In other words, I was completely, totally, 100% spent.
Just a few minutes after describing this to my wife, my 12-year old asked me if I would go on a mountain bike ride with him. I am truly fortunate to have two great kids and I don't have enough chances to ride with them, so on a very, very rare weekend when I didn't have work or chores demanding my time, I didn't feel right turning him down, so I changed my clothes and headed out on my mountain bike for another ride. We had a fun ride (at a pace more suitable to my condition than following Jake) and one particularly note-worthy moment. My son had ridden up the long climb from our house towards the Highlands without stopping, which is a sometimes yes, sometimes not thing. A while later, we had a 100-200 meter pitch that was fairly steep. As we approached it, I said, "just ride up what you can", hoping to encourage him to give it a shot but also "knowing" that it was a bit too long and steep for him to make it. It was one of the few times I was in front that day so I started up the hill pondering where I should stop to help out my son. I decided to ride to the top, stop and walk back to push his bike or offer some encouragement. As I slowed at the top I looked over my shoulder and to my surprise, he was right on my tail. He had cleared the length of it and I needed to keep moving to not block his way. Now, I love my son regardless of whether he rides a bike or how he goes about it, but it was one of those moments that forces you to pause and reconsider what you think your kids are capable of doing. They keep growing, changing and amazing me.
To sum it up: Weekend Riding - variable weather and multiple reminders of why I like riding bikes so much.
Saturday - Mountain bike ride. Bad weather, great ride.
To elaborate, I met Rider One, Jake B. and Jon H. for a two hour plus mountain bike ride that crossed the south hill bluff, crossed Hatch and H-195, went up a trail that I did not know existed past White Road and then was aborted, for me and Rider One, so that we missed the Fish Lake and back up the South Hill portion of the ride. This was my first semi-serious mountain bike ride of the year and the guys I was following, and I was most certainly following them the whole time, are serious riders. Jake is strong like an ox and handles a mountain bike like it is an extension of himself. Rider One is so fluid on a mountain bike it makes me want to stop riding them altogether because I have never for one moment been that graceful on one. I don't have much experience riding with JH and there were precious few moments when I had enough oxygen pick-up to be very discerning about his riding; I just know he was in front of me on a single-speed and I was working all my gears hard to keep him in my sights.
With Jake leading on a route that he and Jon have done many times, they lead me down a few things that I had never ridden on the bluff, including one section that was as steep and twisty as anything I have ridden. I did chicken out on one long, very straight, very steep trail section, choosing instead to run my bike down. In hindsight this was a bit silly since the corkscrew was more technical and really all I had to do was ride my rear brake down the hill, but the fully exposed length gave me pause.
I should also disclose that I am 1-for-1 on my mountain bike ride to bike crash ratio. I managed to plant my pedal firmly and solidly against a rock causing the bike to come to a full, 100% immediate stop. Guess what happened next? Yes, good guess. A body in motion will continue in motion until acted upon by outside forces and all. In this case that force was gravity that brought me in contact with the ground a few feet in front of my bike. Fun stuff. And also fun was the fact that less than 100 yards from my fall was a section of trail that was literally the 12" along a rock bluff with a 15-30' drop. Have you ever had a fall shake your confidence on a bike? Me too.
All in all, though, it makes me want to ride my mountain bike more and soon. I will also let you in on a little secret. I am hoping to be riding a new mountain bike soon. I won't tell you what, but I will give you a hint: 21" Gary Fisher Superfly. And no, I don't deserve it, but I still hope it works out.
Sunday - Road Ride. Decent weather, awesome ride.
To elaborate, I joined Rider One and six other MR riders for a windy three-hour ride. We left the Rocket on 14th, rode up the Fish Lake Trail (both sections), along Salnave to Clear Lake, then Medical Lake, Four Corners and home along Westbow and Thorpe. To put it in terms that the eight of us who were there will recognize better: Head wind, head wind, head wind, cross wind, head wind, cross wind, head wind, head wind, cross wind, head wind, OMG a glorious tail wind!, cross wind, tail wind, cross wind, tail wind, tail wind, tail wind, tail wind, tail wind, fish ladder home. I personally skipped the fish ladder for a more direct route home, but the rest of the description is accurate.
The head wind wasn't too bad on the Fish Lake trail because it is a bit protected. We rode in a double pace line with everyone taking pulls and riding a moderate pace. The Salnave section was tough. It was very, very windy, but after we crossed I-90 and turned right towards Clear Lake we were suddenly very happy with that wind that we had been cursing in the prior miles. The trip back was fast and it felt great. At one point Rider One and I were in front of the double paceline talking about those glorious moments when riding feels tiring but great, hard but wonderful, and the speed seems to be leaping out of your legs. Sure it was the tailwind, but it was great. We may have gotten a bit silly along Westbow (okay, sure I may have contributed to it), but it is rare that a group of riders in our age group gets to wind it up that fast and spin out our biggest gears and have it feel that good. A fun day.
Sunday - Mountain bike ride. Decent weather, great ride.
Hey, wait a minute. Didn't you just describe an exhausting three hour ride from Sunday? Why yes, I did. After I got home I told my wife that my road ride was one of those days where the ride lasted just exactly the distance I had the strength to ride. Another three miles and I would have been dropped by the group so hard and fast you would think we had been going uphill. In other words, I was completely, totally, 100% spent.
Just a few minutes after describing this to my wife, my 12-year old asked me if I would go on a mountain bike ride with him. I am truly fortunate to have two great kids and I don't have enough chances to ride with them, so on a very, very rare weekend when I didn't have work or chores demanding my time, I didn't feel right turning him down, so I changed my clothes and headed out on my mountain bike for another ride. We had a fun ride (at a pace more suitable to my condition than following Jake) and one particularly note-worthy moment. My son had ridden up the long climb from our house towards the Highlands without stopping, which is a sometimes yes, sometimes not thing. A while later, we had a 100-200 meter pitch that was fairly steep. As we approached it, I said, "just ride up what you can", hoping to encourage him to give it a shot but also "knowing" that it was a bit too long and steep for him to make it. It was one of the few times I was in front that day so I started up the hill pondering where I should stop to help out my son. I decided to ride to the top, stop and walk back to push his bike or offer some encouragement. As I slowed at the top I looked over my shoulder and to my surprise, he was right on my tail. He had cleared the length of it and I needed to keep moving to not block his way. Now, I love my son regardless of whether he rides a bike or how he goes about it, but it was one of those moments that forces you to pause and reconsider what you think your kids are capable of doing. They keep growing, changing and amazing me.
To sum it up: Weekend Riding - variable weather and multiple reminders of why I like riding bikes so much.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Rookie Mistakes
I am currently reading Johan Bruyneel's book "We Might As Well Win". Well, I'm not "literally" currently reading the book since I am obviously speaking words into your brain right now, but you know what I mean.
I will save the book review for later, but one of the chapters I just read was about the sayings in cycling that seem so simple and yet are so important, like "eat before you are hungry, drink before you are thirsty"; "stay out of the wind", "only ask a witness for the prosecution a question when you already know his answer", stuff like that. Johan's point is that these things seem simple, but it is hard to remember them in the crush and rush of a bike race.
I should have read that chapter before my weekend at Frozen Flatlands, then I wouldn't have had to make a bunch of rookie mistakes, or as someone said this weekend, "What a Cat 5 boner that was!" Again, not literally.
Here is my list of stupid things I should not have done to get more benefit out of my racing experience at Frozen Flatlands.
Spend time with any equipment you are going to race. As previously blogged, I was traveling for most of the week ahead racing. I put tires on my race wheels, a cogset on the rear wheel and wiped down the time trial bike after dinner on Friday. I got on the bike for the first time in over two years on Saturday morning in the 60 minutes before the event. I then remembered what I was going to do to the bike after the last time trial - replace the handlebars that put me in an excruciating position and that have a tendency for the arm supports to unexpectedly give way and rotate on the center post. This was stupid.
Dose your efforts. On the long road race, I was, sadly for me, dropped by the front of the pack on an uphill surge. I knew this might happen, but I was hoping it wouldn't until the Williams Lake hill and I figured it was training no matter what. After getting dropped, I managed to claw my way into the wind and catch up to another rider. The two of us worked together to catch up to a third and then the three of us did the same to catch two more. At that point, we had two groups of three that we could see ahead of us with the remaining lead pack ahead of them. I thought that if we could put together a pack of 11 we might not see the lead group again, but we would get around the course in decent fashion and pick up the second dozen spots in the race. Not great, but nothing to cry about. So what did I do? I took a monster pull to get my group up to the next three on the road just as we turned a corner into the teeth of the wind and a short climb. Instead of moving to the back of the group and latching on . . . I opened a 5' gap, that instantly turned into 10', 20' and then a few seconds . . . and then I was screwed. Instead, I could have taken shorter turns, paid attention to the hills coming up and dosed my efforts. That was stupid.
Dose your efforts. On the long road race, I was, sadly for me, dropped by the front of the pack on an uphill surge. I knew this might happen, but I was hoping it wouldn't until the Williams Lake hill and I figured it was training no matter what. After getting dropped, I managed to claw my way into the wind and catch up to another rider. The two of us worked together to catch up to a third and then the three of us did the same to catch two more. At that point, we had two groups of three that we could see ahead of us with the remaining lead pack ahead of them. I thought that if we could put together a pack of 11 we might not see the lead group again, but we would get around the course in decent fashion and pick up the second dozen spots in the race. Not great, but nothing to cry about. So what did I do? I took a monster pull to get my group up to the next three on the road just as we turned a corner into the teeth of the wind and a short climb. Instead of moving to the back of the group and latching on . . . I opened a 5' gap, that instantly turned into 10', 20' and then a few seconds . . . and then I was screwed. Instead, I could have taken shorter turns, paid attention to the hills coming up and dosed my efforts. That was stupid.
Show up with a racing jersey. Oh, wait. That wasn't me. That was an unnamed teammate.
So, the Frozen Flatlands wrap-up? First, thanks to the officials and the men and women of the Baddlands Cycling Team. They put on a great event (although could we talk about a later date on the calendar?) and they single-handedly pulled road bike racing through the doldrums so that there is a growing group of people putting on more and more events each year. Second, they say there is no whining in bike racing, so I won't whine. I accept the blame for my own fitness and my own rookie mistakes. Will I look to change a few things next year? Yes. Will I hope for better weather? Yes. Will I try to avoid any stray dogs on the course? Yes. And will I try to avoid making rooking mistakes? Yes, I will try.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Uncle Larry
Even in this age of information, we humans still like to play a game similar to "telephone", the nursery school game in which one person whispers a word in the ear of the person next to him or her and then the word is whispered from ear to ear around a circle. It rarely, if ever, gets back to the person who started it without the word changing, sometimes multiple times.
In the case of an accident, the same thing happens and it happened again at Frozen Flatlands. Let me be clear, I don't think that anyone was making things up or trying to not be completely truthful, but it is interesting to hear the various stories.
Here is what I heard straddling my bike before the Sunday race: Uncle Larry was involved in a bike crash with three riders which was caused by Larry hitting a dog. Larry was badly injured and is going to need reconstructive surgery on one of his hands.
Here is what I heard a few hours later: Uncle Larry hit a dog while he was in a group of riders and was involved in a bad crash which resulted in serious injury to one of his hands and a broken arm that was going to require surgery.
Here is what I heard after mixing a few tequilas and post-race dehydration: Uncle Larry was taken in a space-ship for human testing and using manipulation of the time/space continuium the aliens put Larry back into the race pack approximately one second behind himself causing him to crash into himself at which point the aliens, again using manipulation of the time/space continuium, place a dog at the scene of the crash causing everyone to assume that the dog caused the problem instead of Larry running into the mistimed version of himself.
Here is what I heard when I e-mailed Uncle Larry and asked him what happened: I was approaching the 3k to-go sign at the intersection of Mullinex Road and Dover Road when a space alien . . .
Let me start again. Here is my paraphrasing of Larry's e-mail: I was approaching the 3k to-go sign at the intersection of Mullinex Road and Dover Road. I was overtaking another rider in my class (50+) at 35 mph. I had a big tailwind and had just looked at my cyclocomputer when a dog came out of cover on the left and crossed the road in an attempt to bite a rider. I had about one second between seeing the dog and running into it. The dog was taller than the front axle because if it had been lower the bike would have vaulted but instead I did a superman flight off the bike (Larry knows these things since he is an engineer). Another rider in his group, a teammate, then ran into and over Larry.
The result was road rash from Larry's left knee up to his left elbow, including his armpit (I'll bet Larry shaved his legs, but I doubt any male cyclist thought to shave his armpits). His hands took the first big hit resulting in one dislocated and fractured finger and missing skin the size of a 50-cent coin on the palm/heel of each hand. He also has an assortment of bruising, sore ribs and various aches and pain. Not surprising at all.
Being a cyclist, Larry also reported on the condition of his bike. This is the sort of thing that non-cyclists don't understand at all, but readers here will understand. Larry is a bit of a gear-nut, with a constant rotation of bikes. In this case he was riding his Trek Madone 6.9 and you will be glad to hear that the initial survey is that the frame and fork are fine. I don't know what wheels Larry was riding, but the front wheel also appears to be fine. There were some scraps and dings on the bike and shifters, but surprisingly little serious damage considering the speed and impact.
Lastly, before you ask, I don't know the status of the dog. I know that Larry was not charitably disposed towards the beast, who appeared intent on putting his chompers into a bit of cyclist flesh just before the impact, and I know that I don't feel charitable towards the owner of this dog, but I don't have any other information on the poorly timed Kujo.
So, thankfully, Larry will rise to fight another day, although it sounds like it will be in the warmer weather and unfortunately losing some of his hard won fitness that he was carrying into the spring. The good news is that he won't be facing surgery and the aliens got everything they need so they won't be back soon.
In the case of an accident, the same thing happens and it happened again at Frozen Flatlands. Let me be clear, I don't think that anyone was making things up or trying to not be completely truthful, but it is interesting to hear the various stories.
Here is what I heard straddling my bike before the Sunday race: Uncle Larry was involved in a bike crash with three riders which was caused by Larry hitting a dog. Larry was badly injured and is going to need reconstructive surgery on one of his hands.
Here is what I heard a few hours later: Uncle Larry hit a dog while he was in a group of riders and was involved in a bad crash which resulted in serious injury to one of his hands and a broken arm that was going to require surgery.
Here is what I heard after mixing a few tequilas and post-race dehydration: Uncle Larry was taken in a space-ship for human testing and using manipulation of the time/space continuium the aliens put Larry back into the race pack approximately one second behind himself causing him to crash into himself at which point the aliens, again using manipulation of the time/space continuium, place a dog at the scene of the crash causing everyone to assume that the dog caused the problem instead of Larry running into the mistimed version of himself.
Here is what I heard when I e-mailed Uncle Larry and asked him what happened: I was approaching the 3k to-go sign at the intersection of Mullinex Road and Dover Road when a space alien . . .
Let me start again. Here is my paraphrasing of Larry's e-mail: I was approaching the 3k to-go sign at the intersection of Mullinex Road and Dover Road. I was overtaking another rider in my class (50+) at 35 mph. I had a big tailwind and had just looked at my cyclocomputer when a dog came out of cover on the left and crossed the road in an attempt to bite a rider. I had about one second between seeing the dog and running into it. The dog was taller than the front axle because if it had been lower the bike would have vaulted but instead I did a superman flight off the bike (Larry knows these things since he is an engineer). Another rider in his group, a teammate, then ran into and over Larry.
The result was road rash from Larry's left knee up to his left elbow, including his armpit (I'll bet Larry shaved his legs, but I doubt any male cyclist thought to shave his armpits). His hands took the first big hit resulting in one dislocated and fractured finger and missing skin the size of a 50-cent coin on the palm/heel of each hand. He also has an assortment of bruising, sore ribs and various aches and pain. Not surprising at all.
Being a cyclist, Larry also reported on the condition of his bike. This is the sort of thing that non-cyclists don't understand at all, but readers here will understand. Larry is a bit of a gear-nut, with a constant rotation of bikes. In this case he was riding his Trek Madone 6.9 and you will be glad to hear that the initial survey is that the frame and fork are fine. I don't know what wheels Larry was riding, but the front wheel also appears to be fine. There were some scraps and dings on the bike and shifters, but surprisingly little serious damage considering the speed and impact.
Lastly, before you ask, I don't know the status of the dog. I know that Larry was not charitably disposed towards the beast, who appeared intent on putting his chompers into a bit of cyclist flesh just before the impact, and I know that I don't feel charitable towards the owner of this dog, but I don't have any other information on the poorly timed Kujo.
So, thankfully, Larry will rise to fight another day, although it sounds like it will be in the warmer weather and unfortunately losing some of his hard won fitness that he was carrying into the spring. The good news is that he won't be facing surgery and the aliens got everything they need so they won't be back soon.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Shop Ride Review
Despite the looming bad weather, 19 hearty souls appeared for the 2010's first Shop Ride from Two Wheel Transit. We really should credit the ride with 20, but I will get to that in a moment.
As previously reported, the first shop ride of the year was set for 5.30 pm on April 1. Let me repeat a couple of important points there: "5.30", "pm", "April", "1". Even though it is in the past, it is still important for our story.
So, as I said, there were 19 (or possibly 20) people who showed up for the shop ride. All three members of Team Two Wheel were in attendance, one of the owners of Two Wheel (Geoff), a couple of GU cycling team members (one of them 2nd in last week's Bellingham race - didn't catch K.C.'s finish), a couple of Baddlands riders and that left the majority as guys (sorry, no ladies on this trip - they may have been more mindful of the bad weather) who like to ride.
It was a good and compatible group, but I think that there were really two stand-out heroes of the day. The first shall be known as "D". D did a couple of triathlons last year with a 12-mile bike portion. He is interested in improving his cycling speed and fitness and thought that a group ride would be a good way to do that. He is relatively new to town and also wanted to meet some more riders and learn a bit about the routes around here. I think that part all went well, but a combination of a prior work-out that day, a rubbing brake pad that wasn't detected and fixed until late in the ride, and a more vigorous pace and distance than he was used to and D found himself struggling whenever the route headed upwards.
Now, every cyclist knows what this feels like. There really is a special kind of misery that goes with that sinking feeling as your legs and lungs refuse to cooperate as a group of riders seems to effortlessly ride away up a hill (I expect to have that feeling this weekend at Frozen Flatlands at Williams Lake!), but I also think that it takes a special reservoir of courage to keep with it and keep trying no matter how fruitless it appears. And that, my friends, is exactly what D did. No whining, no complaining; just kept riding the best he could and giving it what he had. He kept a good attitude and finished the ride.
His reward was pizza waiting for us at Two Wheel Transit. The benefit to having Geoff along, besides his pace setting and breaking wind, wait, I mean, anyway, at the end of the ride Geoff had arranged to have some pizzas delivered to the shop so that everyone who wanted was welcome to come in and have a bit of refreshment and hang around for a few minutes. It was a nice way to end a cool, but not wet, first shop ride of the year.
Now, about our mysterious 20th rider. This rider is a well-known, well-liked, fit and fast cyclist. He has a respected profession and, in fact, I recently saw him in Spokane Coeur d'Alene Living Magazine in a "Best of" story. In light of the cycling and community stature of this individual, I don't want to embarrass him, so I will simply refer to him as Dr. SJ. So, why, you ask, does Dr. SJ get to be a counted/not-counted member of the ride and how, you ask further, does that make him a hero of the ride? Well, my friends, Dr. SJ showed up for the shop ride on April 1st, at 5.30. Unfortunately for both him and us, it was 5.30 AM and not PM.
We should let that sink in for a moment.
For those of you around Spokane, you know that it was dang cold at 5.30 am yesterday. You also know that it was dang dark at 5.30 am yesterday. You also know that not one other sane person was on the street, much less on a bicycle, at 5.30 am yesterday. Nonetheless, Dr. SJ heeded the call for a ride and showed up at what he thought was the correct time. I'm not sure how he thought pizza fit in for the 6.30-7.00 am finish time, but you can't let little inconsistencies get in the way of a man's desire to ride his bike in a group.
So, to a ride hero who kept riding when he felt like stopping, and to a ride hero who went riding when no one else was looking, we salute you and thank everyone who showed up for the ride.
We will be having shop rides on the first Thursday of the month for the next several months, so put it on your calendar for Thursday, May 6 at 5.30 PM (please note the correct half of the day!).
See you at Frozen Flatlands this weekend!
As previously reported, the first shop ride of the year was set for 5.30 pm on April 1. Let me repeat a couple of important points there: "5.30", "pm", "April", "1". Even though it is in the past, it is still important for our story.
So, as I said, there were 19 (or possibly 20) people who showed up for the shop ride. All three members of Team Two Wheel were in attendance, one of the owners of Two Wheel (Geoff), a couple of GU cycling team members (one of them 2nd in last week's Bellingham race - didn't catch K.C.'s finish), a couple of Baddlands riders and that left the majority as guys (sorry, no ladies on this trip - they may have been more mindful of the bad weather) who like to ride.
It was a good and compatible group, but I think that there were really two stand-out heroes of the day. The first shall be known as "D". D did a couple of triathlons last year with a 12-mile bike portion. He is interested in improving his cycling speed and fitness and thought that a group ride would be a good way to do that. He is relatively new to town and also wanted to meet some more riders and learn a bit about the routes around here. I think that part all went well, but a combination of a prior work-out that day, a rubbing brake pad that wasn't detected and fixed until late in the ride, and a more vigorous pace and distance than he was used to and D found himself struggling whenever the route headed upwards.
Now, every cyclist knows what this feels like. There really is a special kind of misery that goes with that sinking feeling as your legs and lungs refuse to cooperate as a group of riders seems to effortlessly ride away up a hill (I expect to have that feeling this weekend at Frozen Flatlands at Williams Lake!), but I also think that it takes a special reservoir of courage to keep with it and keep trying no matter how fruitless it appears. And that, my friends, is exactly what D did. No whining, no complaining; just kept riding the best he could and giving it what he had. He kept a good attitude and finished the ride.
His reward was pizza waiting for us at Two Wheel Transit. The benefit to having Geoff along, besides his pace setting and breaking wind, wait, I mean, anyway, at the end of the ride Geoff had arranged to have some pizzas delivered to the shop so that everyone who wanted was welcome to come in and have a bit of refreshment and hang around for a few minutes. It was a nice way to end a cool, but not wet, first shop ride of the year.
Now, about our mysterious 20th rider. This rider is a well-known, well-liked, fit and fast cyclist. He has a respected profession and, in fact, I recently saw him in Spokane Coeur d'Alene Living Magazine in a "Best of" story. In light of the cycling and community stature of this individual, I don't want to embarrass him, so I will simply refer to him as Dr. SJ. So, why, you ask, does Dr. SJ get to be a counted/not-counted member of the ride and how, you ask further, does that make him a hero of the ride? Well, my friends, Dr. SJ showed up for the shop ride on April 1st, at 5.30. Unfortunately for both him and us, it was 5.30 AM and not PM.
We should let that sink in for a moment.
For those of you around Spokane, you know that it was dang cold at 5.30 am yesterday. You also know that it was dang dark at 5.30 am yesterday. You also know that not one other sane person was on the street, much less on a bicycle, at 5.30 am yesterday. Nonetheless, Dr. SJ heeded the call for a ride and showed up at what he thought was the correct time. I'm not sure how he thought pizza fit in for the 6.30-7.00 am finish time, but you can't let little inconsistencies get in the way of a man's desire to ride his bike in a group.
So, to a ride hero who kept riding when he felt like stopping, and to a ride hero who went riding when no one else was looking, we salute you and thank everyone who showed up for the ride.
We will be having shop rides on the first Thursday of the month for the next several months, so put it on your calendar for Thursday, May 6 at 5.30 PM (please note the correct half of the day!).
See you at Frozen Flatlands this weekend!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Suffering
Take a look at Micheal Rogers at San Remo last weekend. Now go back and really, really look at Mick Rogers. Look at the dirt on his face, the lines and crags and suffering on his face. Look at his legs. Look at his posture. But mostly, go back and look at his face again (If you click on the picture, you can see a larger version).
If you have ever raced your bicycle you can probably empathize with that look. If you are reading this blog post you probably haven't ever been paid to ride your bike and you probably haven't raced up the Cipressa or Poggio, but that doesn't mean you can't understand the look on Mick Rogers face and at least get a glimpse of what it feels like.
Keep in mind that if Mick Rogers stopped by any of the local races, say anywhere in Washington, Idaho, Oregon, Montana, British Columbia or Alberta, he would toy with every single racer who showed up and then sprint away whenever he felt like it. It is not unfair to say that he is other-worldly when it comes to the gap between us mere mortals and the professionals. And yet, here in his work place he is attempting to ride away from the entire professional peleton to snatch glory in San Remo. Unfortunately, you can tell from the look on his face that it was not going to happen (and it didn't happen).
He may be suffering under team orders, or to "test his legs" or just to take his chances, but no matter the reason or the result, that dude is suffering.
One last thing that jumps out at me about that picture. When the pro's are fully kitted out, they look "cool" sort-of, but they are primarily traveling billboards. The contrast of the yellow advertisement covering his body and bike is a stark contrast to the look on his face and his suffering. It's like putting a clown costume on someone right before you torture them.
What a strange and horrible way to make a living.
Don't you wish you could?
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