TSoNFR

The Springtime of No Results, that's what I'm already calling it in my head, and hoping that doesn't turn into the Summer of No Results, and worse, the Season of No Results.

I have a backlog of whingey race reports all written up, waiting to add a few pics--to visually enhance my lack of results, or possibly to screen them behind another round of oh-so-exciting midrace pics of me already in full grimace, before the big boys have even begun to play.

Rouge.  Two Battenkill races, the second on full tilt after dehydrating myself in the first.  Sunny King.  Tiger Lane.  Foothills.  The LAMBRA 2-Man TT.  I might be forgetting one or two...but that's all right--they were completely forgettable.  I'll post those reports up, because I always learn something from a race, but in the meantime, I just want to dwell a bit on the lack of results.  After a stellar winter--maybe too stellar--I saw inexplicably shabby form, infected road rash, and fitness shredded by travel and 99 different new and exciting kinds of work stress.  By late April, it was hard to find the time or motivation to ride a bike.  I wanted to want it, but then I wanted my job and to take my puppy for a walk, too.

Pup-pup!!! (Not shown:  small collection of chewed-up bike parts.  I mean destroyed.  Carbon.  Aluminum.  Hell, even hardened steel.  Rubber or plastic doesn't stand a chance.)

So I'll whine about all that soon enough, but for now, it's worth saying that I've just put together a solid five days of training, one of the first since the early-season plan ended (got to get that fixed soon--I have tended to self-coach, but that might not be working for me right now), and my legs are beginning to come back to life.

I think I have to give credit to two rides:



It doesn't look like much, but driving up from sea level, jumping out of the car, kitting up, and suffering up the local long climb, up Flagstaff's Snowbowl Road...that was actual fun.  My tongue was just hanging out halfway up, feeling about like a prickly pear, and I couldn't believe how fast and far my power numbers fell.  Or how I couldn't raise my heart rate.  Just no oxygen there, I guess.  And how much I disbelieved Jay when he called out that I had two more miles of climbing left.  Two?!?!  But I did make it.  And then there was the downhill...

Not my proudest effort.  But maybe what you get when you try to ride at altitude after a day's drive.

Rocky Mountain High.

And then a couple days later, this one:


"There are no achievements on this ride":  love it.  That's one reason, I guess, not to take Strava too seriously (along with the downhill KOMs).  This was, if nothing else, a ride of achievements for me.  And it certainly takes the scenery prize on a beautiful day in central Cali.  After watching the ending of stage five of the Tour of California, I was caffeinated and energized enough to jump on the bike for a couple hours before dusk.

Just in time for a group jersey photo-op

Local riders (from a San Luis Obispo advocacy group, I think) generously watered and directed me to a good local loop up and over See Canyon.  Once out of town, it put me on a long, steady, rolling climb, followed by two short stingers with a stretch of gravel for good measure...  I didn't quite push as hard as I might, but I remember thinking, now this feels right again...locked in, low-low gearing, just grinding away at a nice steady pace.  Occasionally standing, but not getting too crazy.

At the top, the view (or more accurately, the 50mph wind, the small herd of cows, and the two cars parked in the middle of the road) just about knocked me off the bike.

Not the best-composed shot, but you get an idea of the amazing light quality up there...

Photobombing my own scenic view.

And after a long gradual descent from SLO back toward Avila, I found myself on the finish of the day's tour stage, about where Jens broke away from the lead group for the win...it was an easy choice to turn right and pedal hard into Avila Beach, turning the three corners and tiptoeing past the post-stage breakdown crews to sprint past a bemused-looking woman in an official blue polo shirt.  I won, no doubt.

So now, listening to the Pacific wash the beach, digesting some sushi, and stiffening a little from the ride, I'm not very tempted to whine about the season of no results--I think I have some better things to contemplate...and just in time.

Fear and Loathing in Monroe

Race season officially opened for 2013, with a trip down to Monroe, Louisiana (Cajun Gawd's country) for the Vantage Health Plan/Team Colvin 20K ITT and Criterium.

Am I race-ready?  Not really.  Am I going to do it?  You bet.  Am I going to do it after riding Jackson's local tough guy Saturday ride?  Umm..sure.  Am I going to regret that choice?  Probably.  But was it worth it?

You bet!  How could I possibly miss the chance to ride vigorously around in circles, after riding vigorously out and back, on a Sunday morning?  Plus I would get to race with and cheer for my new teammates on Absolute Racing.

So the weekend started with Davis, Ryan, and I making a nice Friday jaunt down to Jackson, stopping over to visit Davis's dad, and getting up early to ride a nice vigorous 75 from one of Ridgeland's local shops, The Bike Crossing.  Besides having a beautiful shop floor, a great range of road and tri bikes, and a crackerjack staff, Bike Crossing also sponsors Davis's new team, a bunch of up-n-comer go-getters, the future of Jackson's racing scene.  They are riding hard, goofing around, and getting faster every day.  ...Oh to be 22 again.  Actually, I would have been an awful racer as a 22-year-old, so never mind; being old and crusty has its benefits.  Anyway, that ride turned into an awful/delightful sufferfest, trying to hang onto the strong riders' wheels while coughing up chunks of lung.  At ride's end, Davis showed that he was completely willing to sacrifice race results for local glory, charging hard into the wind to cross the final sprint point first.  I'm pretty sure that was his most important season goal.

After a night generously hosted by Davis's mom, we packed up and split westward for the land of gators, gumbo, and a guaranteed hurtin', arriving a couple hours later in Monroe, Louisiana to find our teammates ready to go, a checkered flag announcing the start of the time trial.  I picked up my number, noted my start time, and got to warming up.  I was in no kind of mood--I was pretty sure I had fried my legs that week, especially the day before, and I was disorganized for the races.  It always takes one or two races to get my routine back in order.

Cycling Yardsale.

Clamping in a set of borrowed wheels (a beautiful set of deep-dish Mercury TT wheels--thanks, Tim!!--which were deepest I've ever run...more on that anon), I trucked myself over the levee to the start.  I was already at the disadvantage of using a road bike with clip-ons, plus I thought I was going to be late for my start, and that didn't help my mood any.  At least I had my aero helmet...wait...I remembered my helmet, right??  Gahhhh....

At the start, I settled into a nice rhythm--my heart rate monitor was not picking up my signal (so either it or I was offiicially dead for 28 minutes), but I knew ballpark where I should be.  I cranked.  I had a tailwind going out, and the course was pancake flat, only one or two easy angles, and just a little stretch of rough pavement.  I was moving, and I could tell it--I hit the turnaround in 13 minutes even.  It felt naughty.  And turning back into that (now) headwind, I was immediately punished for my bad behavior.  I skittered sideways, I bucked the wind, I lost my cool, and I lost two minutes on the return trip.  Gusts would occasionally kick my back disc wheel around, but by the end, I was a bit more comfortable with just letting the back of my bike wander all over the road, as long as I wasn't near any other riders.  Crashing?!? There's no crashing in TT'ing!!  I think my Garmin's distance reading was off, and I didn't realize I was as close as I was to the finish line, so after only a short surge I pulled through, coughed up one last chunk of lung, and cooled down.  I guessed I had done okay.  After we were all packed up, and as we were heading over to get lunch, they posted results:

Scanning up the row from some logical place in the middle, where I belonged, I couldn't find my name.  What...did I forget to pin my number on?  Was I DQ'd?  Did I somehow manage to screw up the only kind of race one has (more or less) control over?!?  Wait...what?  Second?  Overall?!?  If this was the Race of Truth, I felt like a liar.  As awesome as it might be to be closer to Frank Moak in a TT, I felt like I stole something.  Not many chances to sneak out of a LAMBRA TT in second overall.  And my only goal for the race (admittedly, with no good basis for my expectation) was to hit 28 flat.  Got it, and got a podium.  That, I thought, is a durn nice morning's work.  Made possible, of course, by Tim's wheels.  Third through sixth were so close just a little drag would have knocked me way down.

The crit, now, that was another (1/2/3) matter.  I've done my share of cat 3 crits, and I don't even like them.  Combined 1/2/3 races...Ugh.  So I wouldn't say that I was all fat and sassy (farthest thing from it), but I did enjoy the rare moment of having my name called out second at the start line.  That's okay--the cat 1s and 2s in the field were having none of it.  The pace started high, and even with a good warmup, Scott was making it hard for me to do anything but sit in.  When the early kicking started, I was a little out of position, and I couldn't jump until after two quick corners, and the attackers had gained a cool hundred meters.  Crap.  I came around, chased them down, and sat in just long enough to get ready to do it again.  I realized quickly that if anyone in an Absolute jersey were going to stand on the podium, it would be Scott, and I needed to keep him from doing too much work chasing.

Just so we're all clear...being on the front does NOT mean I'm doing awesome.

So I made it my business, and put my head down and closed gaps whenever I could.  It made everything simple and fun:  don't worry about hurting, don't worry about results, just close the gaps.  I did a far from perfect job, but I was pleased with myself for grabbing a serious wheel or two when they took quick flyers, and after Moak took a turn off the front, I pulled for a full three minutes chasing him down.  I'm not saying I pulled him back, but I guessed someone was going to have to do it, and it wasn't going to be Scott.

After that last pull, I almost got dropped, and watched as Scott led four riders into the race-winning break.  My work done, I sat up, popped the parachute, and was joined by Woz.  At that point, we were only concerned with making sure Scott felt secure in the break, and since Herring Gas had a rider in the break as well (the sprinterly gent who eventually won the race), this was not too tall an order.  There was a little surging after that, and we let one other strong HG rider get away, but we didn't think he could bridge up at that point, or I guess it would have been head down again and grind away to see if we could bring him back.

The end results:  Scott on the podium, Woz and I survived to the group finish. All in all, it was a good leg-opener, a nice TT result, and (not sure I'll get to say this too many times in my life) and an awesome post-race dinner at O'Charley's...

Congrats to the other Absolute racers, including the handsome and charming Wozniak, who took 2nd with a strong effort in the cat 3 TT.  Thanks to Monroe's local cycling community and the USAC officials who all spent a good part of their Sunday out in the chilly morning and windy afternoon...without those folks, we cyclists would have much less fun on these early spring weekends...

Roller Derby

It's been a long time since my last ride on the rollers, and tonight's endurance ride seemed like a perfect opportunity to get back on the instrument of mental torture that is The Kreitler.

Don't get me wrong; I love to suffer, maybe more than most--I paid for those Sufferfest videos that everyone pretends to like on FCBK, and even went so far as to watch one (it was only an hour long.  I'm not really sure that's enough suffering for me)--but I find the rollers inflict pain of an entirely different order.  If you're an avid cyclist, or just hoping to see an awkward faceplant into the nearest coffeetable, then you might have seen that one legged roller-riding dude online.

 

It's important to note that he is absolutely unlike me.  As a relative newby to the rollers, I lack the experience, the fine motor skills, the confidence, and the righteous rock'n'roll mullet of this fellow.  I had a good run of beginner's luck learning to ride them, but no way I'm going no-hands, much less one-legged no-hands.  Nevertheless, we all know the rollers are good for balance and handling, and really helpful in retraining your legs to pedal circles again after a few weeks with, say 50% of my riding time indoors (yeah, our winters are that harsh).

So, having scheduled my wintersession course and procrastinated on prep until the only riding time is after dark on a rainy Wednesday, I set out for the busiest 30 minutes of my week, which goes something like this:

Clip in, desperately clutching the doorframe with right hand, hold brake with left. Crank a few times.  Exhale, settle onto saddle; relax.  Crank.  Watts need to come up, cadence only at 80.  That's not riding.  Ed Show on TV--can't really watch, not if I want to remain rubber side down.  Cadence coming up; time to upshift.  Better.  Cadence coming up into the range.  Getting a little warm.  Crap--didn't turn the fan on.  Dismount, fan on, remount.  Drink.  Restart:  everything comes to a grinding halt.  What?!?  Takes me a minute before I realize the t-shirt that was sitting on my handlebars got sucked into the front fork.  Dumb.  Restart.  Get that heart rate up.  Let's go.  Settle in again.  Good.  Can't keep looking at the wattage, but I can listen to the tone.  I imagine it's high C.  C-sharp is 15 more watts.  Try to keep the tone steady, pedal circles, keep the pressure steady.  Slide hands out to end of the hoods, slide forward and settle lower over the top tube.  I can feel the back end weave gently.  Whoa!  A little twitch to the right and I lean back to the left, trying not to overcorrect.  I did that once and ended up chipping the paint off a chainstay.  Toes up, flex ankle, toes down and around.  Circles.  Look ahead, not down--watch roller frame in lower peripheral vision; look a little farther ahead.  There's a Utah lady schoolteacher on TV wearing a jumper and talking about packing heat in the classroom.  Teachers actually wear jumpers?  Of course all teachers wear jumpers.  She doesn't think her middleschoolers' parents ever need to know there's a Glock under that jumper.  Focus.  Circles, circles.  Relax arms.  Legs underworked yet strangely sore.  Ankles.  Exhale.  I've been pedaling for...how long?!?  8 minutes?!?

I did get a half hour on the rollers before I latched back into the fluid trainer to finish my ride.  I guess there is one thing about the rollers--they definitely make you feel more alive.  If you survive.