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.