Out of shape, out of (my) mind...

Saturday the Beast drove over from Georgia and we met up at Oak Mountain State Park for some fun on the red trail. I was worn out from Friday's 9 hour shift on the Scout Christmas Tree lot, where I had shoved my hip out of joint hauling a tree, (leaving me unable to walk for about an hour).

Jeff and I hooked up at the south trailhead parking lot and began our ride clockwise, with 7 Bridges as our first section. The air was cold. And by cold I mean that I didn't bother to shed my arm warmers or tights for the whole ride. Unusual because you warm up really fast mountain biking without the wind to keep you cooled off. But there was very little "warming up" to be done.

We had a pleasant ride through 7 Bridges, and The Chimneys over to the North Trailhead, where Doug was waiting for us.

The 2.5 mile climb up to the ridge on the fire road hurt. I gave serious thought to the possibility that I might actually be certifiable for riding with these two while I was in such lousy shape. My HR was constantly over 180 for the entire climb. Pain. Lots of pain. Lots and lots of pain. (to be followed by the way, by another 9 hour shift on the tree lot).

Jeff and Doug would pull ahead on the steep sections, then I would close the gap down on the easier parts, then ahead again, and pull it back again, all the way to the BUMP Trail, where the fun really begins. Miles of downhill singletrack, twisting and winding through the trees as it traverses down the mountain side again.

It's been about 2 years since I've ridden at OMSP, and I could tell that I needed more experience to relearn the twists and turns, and most importantly, the proper line past Blood Rock. Past that, Johnson's Mountain and Mister Toad's Wild Ride are always a ton of fun, and I didn't have much trouble keeping up with my two ride partners, except on the uphills.

The one thing that is clear is that I'm going to need to ride more than once per week if I expect to even maintain any conditioning.

The Silver Shoe Dilemma

Cycling culture is a vicious circle of do’s and better-not-if-you-don’t-want-to-get-laughed-at’s. For example, the question of what kind of tires should you ride is always plagued by that nagging voice in the back of your head...”if you show up with your otherwise expensive equipment shod in cheap wire-bead tires, you’ll be the laughingstock of the pack tonight. On the other hand, if you show up with expensive kevlar belted, ultra-light folding bead tires, you run the risk of being derided as a “poseur”. (Note, nobody really knows what kind of tires you're riding, the bead is hidden within the rim and only an expert, which every cyclist fancies himself to be, could know the difference. Especially on the move).

Another example: Do I carry one water bottle, two water bottles, or no water bottles on the ride tonight? If I carry two, I should have plenty of water, but risk being called a fred who doesn’t care about the all important extra grams I’m hauling around. If I carry none, I look cool until I get dropped. Then I’m just the foolish fred who forgot or ingored the importance of hydration.

The antidote to this dilemma, of course, is speed. If you have it, nothing else matters. If you don’t, nothing else matters. Another example. I have friend with whom I occasionally ride. Doug doesn’t really care what anybody thinks and has no problem hauling around every tool known to mankind in his oversized fanny pack, and does so on cheap wire bead tires of dubious lineage. Doug realizes that if you’re keeping up with him, you’re going to be wheezing too hard to make any comments about his cycling accoutraments. And if you can’t keep up with him, when you do see him again, you’ll look pretty silly criticizing his style, since he’s still clearly faster than you. Again, speed trumps everything.

I could go on and on with example of how speed can make up for a multitude of style and/or equipment faux pas, but then I’d never get to the point of this post...so...

A few years ago, I went shopping for new cycling shoes. I had worn out my old (circa 1987) colorful Look shoes (how I loved those genuine leather baby’s!). I had my heart set on a pair of Sidi Genius shoes. While the leather is faux, they still feel like slippers on a foot and I knew after trying on many pairs that this was the shoe I had to have.

There was just one problem. The only pair in town in my size was silver. Buying silver shoes is perfectly okay. It’s the actual wearing of them where you get into trouble. You see, in cycling culture, if you wear shoes of a color other than black, you’d better be able to back it up. Wearing silver shoes screams “hey everybody, look at me, I’m fast!!!”

I begged the shop owner to order a pair of black ones for me. Can’t do it he said, next season’s shoes are all I can get and the price has jumped considerably because they’re an “improved” model. “But it’s okay” he said, “I’ve seen you on the Pain Train. You can wear silver shoes.”

So I went ahead and bought them. And nobody gave me a second glance until I started to neglect my training this year. Now every time I get dropped, I wish I’d spray painted my shoes black before the ride.

So I’ve thought about this all season long and I’ve come up with some options.

I could buy black shoes, but I can’t afford the current model of the shoes I have now, so I’d have to downgrade to do that. And my wife would kill me if I bought new cycling shoes while she is searching through the closet for shoes of just the right shade of blue to wear to church on Sunday.

So that option won’t fly.

So now we’re back to the only real solution. Speed. Remember, it trumps everything. I need to get fast again. Meanwhile I’ll print up a sign that I can pin to my back before every ride that says:

I am not a poseur. I was fast when I bought these silver shoes. I know I’m still wearing them and I’m not fast now, but I hope to be fast again some day. To that end I’m investing money in a training program instead of black shoes. Please be patient with me and don’t laugh. By the way, can I borrow a water bottle?

Humberto is a blowhard

Friday, September 14
Last night as I was trying to adjust Kenny's bike, I discovered that the lower bearing race on the steering tube had not been installed properly, and so I couldn't tighten the headset up properly. So I took the whole thing apart and hauled the offending fork/steerer tube down to the shop to be repaired. I had just finished putting his bike back together when The Beast arrived from Atlanta to pick me up for our trip to Huntsville for the Century tomorrow. Who would have thought that you could fit two bicycles, and two passengers with attendant bedding and clothes and all the gear you have to haul for a bike ride into a Volvo S40? We even had room left over.

We stopped at Surin West for a dinner of Sushi and assorted high carb Thai dishes, and then hit the road. We were on our own because Kenny and his friend Chris were staying behind in Birmingham to go to their respective school's football games (it was the big Spain Park vs Hoover HS (of Two-A-Days fame). Chris' dad would drive them up the next morning, leaving Bham at 4 am to get them to the start in time.

We stopped at Calogipi's brother's house for the night, where we were too late to see the kids. I was told that my niece had cried because she had to go to bed before she got to see me. The boys apparently, couldn't care less. They're boys after all.

September 15, 2007 4:30 am
It's one of those mornings where you keep having that dream that you're waking up, getting dressed and about to eat breakfast, when suddenly you realize that you're dreaming and go back to dream about something else, only to have a repeat of this previous dream (more realistic this time) a few moments later. This process is repeated until you actually physically move from the bed.

I hate mornings like that.

5:30 am
I decide that it's time to finally wake up and get moving, though my alarm isn't set to sound for another 15 minutes. I grabbed my new iPhone and text-messaged my son (K) to find out where they were. When it took him 40 minutes to respond I became worried that he might have missed his alarm and be snuggled all warm and cozy in his bedroom back in Birmingham.

We arrived at Madison County High School where the ride start and finish was located. Kenny and Chris got their things put together and took off an hour ahead of the scheduled start. Neither of them had ridden 100 miles before, so they wanted to give themselves plenty of time.

8:00 am
As the ride start was just minutes away, we rode up to the front of the group and when things got underway, The Beast and I were at the front. The wind was blowing 15-20 mph dead into our faces and so I decided that I'd just go ahead and let each of the others take their pulls now. After all, we have 50 miles of Tropical Storm Humberto's headwind ahead of us. There'd be plenty of time to pull later. It was cold, but sunny and except for the wind, you couldn't have picked a better day for this ride. The forecast high was 79 degrees. But as I found out later, you can still get a nasty sunburn, even when it's cool.

For the most part, people were content to let things go easy for a mile or two, but gradually the pace started increasing until a large group (perhaps 100 strong) were rolling along at 24-25 mph. Having not ridden much at all since Cherohala, and certainly very little speedwork, this effort was taking a lot out of me. At 13 miles into the ride, I felt the first twinges of a cramp in my left calf. Purely an "effort cramp" as the weather was still very cool. We made a turn to the west which brought us broadside to the wind and we broke into echelons across the road while the pace ramped up to 29-30 across some sizable rollers. After 3 miles of this crosswind leg, we turned back into the wind and immediately started another sizable roller. Being nowhere near the front, I saw The Beast make the turn in the first 5 riders and kick the pace up another notch. As he tells it, a second after that, a professional triathlete on a Scott Plasma when to the front and dialed it up to 33...climbing the hill. I don't dispute that account, because when I finally got to the corner and made the turn, I had to sprint as hard as I could at 35-36 (because of the "accordian effect" of being at the back of a group) to catch the back of the riders ahead of me. But by the time I got back on, I couldn't say. I was deep, at 188 bpm of heart rate and I knew I was cooked, with 80 miles still to go.

So I settled in with the other dozen riders who had been dropped and we began working together to get through it with some help. The Beast eventually noticed that I wasn't there anymore and dropped back to find me. I was a couple of hundred yards back. So he hooked in with my group and promptly strung it out to the point that there was no chance to work together anymore.

So I made him pull. He did it willingly. He'd spent the past 4 years living in Plano, TX and Tulsa, OK. This wind was nothing to him, and it was beating me to death so I sat on his wheel and stayed there until the first big climb at mile 38 (following the downhill where my friend Katie crashed out last year).

When I arrived at the feed stop, Kenny and Chris where there, having just arrived 2 minutes ahead of me. After reloading fluids, we left together and descended into The Valley That Time Forgot, where you find the toughest climb on this ride, the road leading up to the ridge called Mars Hill. I remembered that it was steep, but it took The Beast, Kenny and Chris by surprise. Kenny flew, and I mean FLEW!, up that hill! We finished the loop through the valley which brought us back to the feed station we had just left. Kenny and Chris were behind us a few minutes so we decided to make it a relaxed stop and get some food. Now, as food goes, most commonly you'll find bananas, and grapes, fig newtons, raisins, and trail mix along with water and gatorade, at these stops. But this stop went even further. They had all of these, plus, watermelon, hot dogs, coolers full of Go-Gurts (surprisingly tasty during a ride), coolers of V-8, Mountain Dew, Sprite, Coke, and bottled water. And the best of all, a barbeque grill churning out bite sized pieces of bacon-wrapped filet mignon as fast as you could eat them! We ate our fill without gorging ourselves and a couple of minutes after the boys arrived and announced their intention to rest a while, we took off again.

A mile or two later my left knee started to pop as I came around on my pedalling stroke. As the miles went by it got worse. When we arrived at the rest stop at mile 75, I told The Beast that I was going to have to get some ibuprofen and ice it down for 15 minutes. After that was done, we left again, but it really didn't feel a whole lot better. I was reduced to shifting into my small ring on any medium or larger roller and spinning up without loading my leg. Thanks to liberal portioning of Endurolytes, the cramping problems I worried about early in the ride weren't bothering me though. So that was a positive note.

At mile 88, The Beast announced that he had a flat tire, so we stopped to fix that. When I could see that he was in good shape I started off again, knowing that he would catch me. He did and we began a two man time trial to the end. We were flying along pretty well and even though I could only spin up the final steep hill, we finished the ride together in 5:42:20 for 102 miles.

Last year, I did this same ride in 5:18, but I had put in many more miles last year than I did this year, so I'm proud of that 5:42. Kenny and Chris finished a while later, their time being 7 hours, 15 mintues. Pretty good for their first 100 miler. Fact is, I'm prouder of them for finishing than anything else. Kenny is light (hence his ability to fly up a hill), and the 50 miles into Humberto beat the living daylights out of him.

But they (and we) finished. And that's what it's all about.

Saturday

The Beast will be picking me up tomorrow afternoon (driving from Kennesaw to Hoover) and we will head for Madison to spend the night at relatives before riding the Huntsville "All You Can Eat" Century on Saturday. I just checked the weather, a high of 79 and sunny. The air should be good and clean as well, after the collision of the remnants of the latest hurricane meet the storm front that moved in this afternoon, dumping tons of rain, which will continue until tomorrow evening.

Kenny and his friend Christopher will be doing the ride as well, so it should be a good report when it's all said and done.

Right now I have no delusions over my abilities. I was shelled from the front pack 20 miles into the BBC Century last weekend and didn't have the legs left to stay with anyone in the second group either. It was a disappointing day. Last year I finished the Huntsville event strongly...this year I just hope to finish.

A New Columnist in Bham

Our local cage liner has a new columnist...those who've read my blog for a while will recognize the name of the author, Doug Daughetee as one of my friends and riding partners. Doug reminds me a bit of Patrick O'Grady. I'll look forward to reading his column every other week.

http://www.al.com/sports/birminghamnews/ddaughhetee.ssf?/base/sports/1189607406232690.xml&coll=2

Still Hot

It's now the 10th consecutive day with temperatures over 100 degrees. They say it's going to be at least 12 before we can even think about things cooling down.

This is putting a real crimp in my training. It's just too hot to excercise safely. K's cross country team is cancelling practice everyday because of the heat.

I'm starting to wish it would start raining. At least then I could ride the rollers in the garage.

Holy Cow It's Hot!

When my alarm sounded at 5:30 am today, the weatherman reported that it was currently 83 degrees.

Think about that a second, the sun hasn't risen yet and it's already 83 degrees!

When it hits 100 degrees today, it'll be the 8th consecutive day of 100 degree heat in Birmingham, tying a 27 year old record.

I must be insane because I'm planning to ride the Tuesday Night Pain Train this afternoon. Or at least a portion of it. I'll see how it goes and how I'm feeling. I'm still a little congested from this virus that's been dogging me.

Un Jour Sans

last Tuesday...

legs, energy, snap...speed of any kind.

The only thing there was plenty of Tuesday was heat. It was like riding in a blast furnace. The heat index was in the 120's. I decided to ride anyway. I started out with a sore throat, and rode only because I needed to do something after taking a recovery period the week before. As it turns out, it really wouldn't have mattered because I was sick enough by Thursday to stay home from work, and Tuesday's miles were the only miles I got in this week.

I was dropped before we got out of the neighborhoods in Irondale.

Oh well. Everyone has a bad day. I'll blame mine on whatever virus was gearing up to knock me down for a couple days.

I'm looking forward to redeeming myself next Tuesday.

Huntsville's a month away and I have serious doubts about my ability to ride more than 70 miles right now.

Cherohala 07-Part IV

After gobbling down several Advil for my back, I climbed back aboard the bike and pointed the front wheel upwards...next stop, 8 miles and 2500 vertical feet distant. For some reason, the first mile after this 4th feed area is always the toughest spot on this ride for me. I don't know exactly why this is, but I suspect that it has to do with putting enormous stress on my muscles, then stopping to let them cool again, then jumping right back into a 9% gradient with no warm-back-up. That's why this year I kept my stop as short as possible, just long enough to refill empty Heed, aquire said Advil, and shove a banana down my throat. It helped a little bit to ease the suffering, but it still hurt.

The real heartbreaker on this climb is that after all the climbing you've done so far, at mile 77 you begin descending. It's just 1/2 mile, but you lose a couple hundred feet of hard won elevation and you're forced to reclimb those meters of vertical. At mile 79 climb makes a sharp hairpin and begins climbing steeply for the last 3 miles of this section. From mile 77, the road after this hairpin is visible across the cove you are circling and it's so high above your current altitude that you can't help but despair knowing how steep the road has to be to reach that spot where it cuts through some rock and disappears. At this point I don't think I've ever wanted to climb off my bike and quit so badly. Even in 2005 when I had a seperated shoulder that prevented me from using the handlebars for any leverage, and I had to walk some of the steep parts, I didn't want to quit. 2007 took every bit of motivation I could muster to keep from stopping.

I made my way slowly up through the cut, where the road then shifts to the south side of this mountain range and began the final mile and a half of climbing that would leave me at the highest point of this ride, Santeetlah Gap at 5390 ft. I'll just mention here that the Cherohala Skyway is the road with the highest average elevation east of the Mississippi River.

I made it to the top, again refilled my water bottles, took a couple more Advil, and struck out for the finish, 30 miles and 4500 feet below me. But I was spent. My efforts in the first 40 miles had drained any reserve that I might have had and I could only descend at whatever speed gravity would allow. On the climbs sprinkled amongst this long descent, I had no choice but to use my bail-out gear and make it to the top as best I could. I simply had no legs left for climbing. I felt a little better though as I saw people climbing into the support vehicles at the foot of these short climbs. I've never seen people quitting on the descent of the Skyway before. That let me know that while I was suffering like I never had before, so was everyone else. Undoubtably the heat and humidity were playing a role in all of this.

At Indian Boundary Road, where the road flattens somewhat and becomes more rollers than anything else, I became like a horse who smells the barn and decided that I could take it easy and suffer, or I could suck it up and work hard and suffer. The latter would just last a shorter time, so I threw a couple of Endurolytes in my mouth and chewed them rather than swallowing, washing them down with a little Raspberry Hammer Gel, put my head down and started to suffer. The larger rollers that have always given me a little trouble in the past were barely noticeable and didn't really slow me down much. There is one particular little hill that marks the end of this section, a steep little roller that forces you to get out of the saddle and power climb it...but once past, you round a bend and descend down a steep little hill that begins following a little river the last 7 miles into Tellico Plains. When I see the river, I know that I've made it. The only thing remaining to conquer is the last 1/4 mile 10% climb back to the finish line at Tellico Plains High School. Crossing the finish line in 7:50:23, my day at the Cherohala Challenge was over.

For the first time in any time I've done this ride, I still had actively planned to skip it next year. Usually, even though I hurt, I am already making plans for how I'll improve the following year before I'm out of the showers at TPHS. This year though, until Wednesday I was planning to skip the 2008 edition. But as of today, if it doesn't conflict with a family reunion scheduled for next June, I'll be back again. Hopefully stronger and faster.

Did I mention The Beast got a new job selling EPO?

Cherohala 07 Pt. 3

Leaving the 2nd feed area, we began the final descent out of Deal's Gap (Tail of The Dragon) and were delighted to discover that the previously rough chip and seal pavement had been replaced with a nice smooth ribbon of brand new asphalt. This is a 12% grade which winds it's way down the mountain for 3 miles, so combine this with a new smooth road and you have a recipe for fun! We flew down the mountain, past the Tree of Shame, Crossroads of Time, and Cheoha Dam, arriving at Fugitive Bridge and started the 10 mile gentle climb through Tapoco Canyon up to the 3rd feed area at the entrance to Joyce Kilmer National Forest.

Last year I was on my own in this canyon and found the headwinds combined with the gradient to be a difficult test. The headwinds were there again this year, but I had a small group which allowed us to move considerably faster than I had on my own previously. Sharing the work, we arrived at the feed area, reloaded, relieved, and returned to the road.

Upon entering Joyce Kilmer National Forest, the road becomes rough. It's a chip and seal surface, with trees growing close to the road. The roots of these trees have grown under the road in spots, causing the pavement to heave. It's bumpy and rough ride that can easily sap more energy than you planned to expend if you're not careful. Fortunately, the rough road doesn't last but a couple of miles (and a few short climbs) before you pass Santeetlah Lake and return to the smooth pavement as you begin the two and a half mile climb up to the Cherohala Skyway.

It's not a steep climb, but it's not easy either, rising at a steady 6-7%. But it begins at mile 70, following the Tail of the Dragon and Tapoco Canyon, so you've already gone quite a distance, with considerable effort spent in climbing so far...and the tough climbing hasn't even started yet.

Halfway up the climb I again realized I was riding too hard trying to match The Beast, so I eased off and let him go. He gradually pulled away from me and eventually I could see him make the right hand turn onto the Skyway before disappearing for good. My back began to ache badly (I knew I should have been doing sit ups this year, I'm too old for this kind of riding without extra core fitness). As I made the turn onto the Skyway I realized that it was time for an Endurolyte capsule, but couldn't dig them out of my pocket, so I stopped to get one out and reorganize my pockets, tossing some empty Hammer Gel packets into a trash can at the overlook area where I was stopped.

With my load lightened somewhat (what do empty Hammer Gel packets weight? A half a gram each? Less?) I struck out for the next water and food stop, 3 miles of steep climbing in the distance. The sky was partly cloudy, and we were above the humid layer of air that had dogged us for the first 45 miles. When the sun was shining, it was hot. I mean HOT! But then a cloud would cover it and the temperature would seem to drop 20 degrees. I prayed for big clouds.

My pace on this part of the climb was slow...almost 2 mph slower than last year, and the last mile leading to the Feed area at Chute Cove (9%) was agony. I found Doug and The Beast there, nearly ready to leave, but more importantly, I found Advil for my aching back.

Tomorrow, (or the day after) Part 4

Cherohala 07- Pt. 2 - Blood on the Shores of Lake Chilhowee

Our group fell apart as several of the members swung through the first feed area (at mile 20) to gather food. I was, unexpectedly, the owner of an empty water bottle due to the early heat, and so I stopped to fill up as well, knowing that it would be 34 more miles with lots of climbing before I'd get the chance to fill again. Leaving in ones, twos, & threes, several riders eventually gelled into another group and within a few miles we were moving at a good clip along the foothills that lead to the flat flat flat section of US 129 that runs alongside Lake Chilhowee.

The Beast was up front putting the hurt on everybody with a pace that could only be intended to shell the weaker riders from the pack, but alongside the scenic lake, with a headwind blowing, everyone was willing to go cross-eyed to keep up. Seeing that the tough pace wasn't working, he slowed a bit and we settled in at 20 mph as we passed the boat ramps and fishing areas.

I was riding in the middle of the peleton, and we were cruising easily. No hard efforts being expended when 2 rows ahead of me, a rider suddenly swerved, clipping the front wheel of the rider behind him and knocking down that rider, who also took down several others with him. The rider to my right began to swerve into me to avoid the pileup, leaving the two of us as the likely next victims. Luckily the rider to my left had moved into the lane of oncoming traffic opening up a gap between him and the pile of twisted bikes and bodies for me to shoot through safely. The rider to my right didn't make it and became the next addition to the pile.

We all stopped and while we waited for our hearts to stop racing from the near miss, we tried to help sort out the pile, extracting bicycles and helping fallen riders to the side of the road. The motorcycle support that was following us was on the scene right away and helping as well. Despite a few bleeding elbows and knees, and a broken spoke or two, there was no serious injury and we were quickly on our way again.

I resolved that I was going to stay up front where this sort of thing doesn't happen and so I picked my way through and found Doug's wheel, with 5 miles left until the climbing began at Tabcat Creek, the entrance to the Tail Of The Dragon.

Now, I'm not the fastest climber in the world. When Cathy and I were first married, I weighed nothing and had a tremendous strength to weigh ratio and could fly up a hill. 19 years later, I'm considerably heavier and weaker, so when the road tilts up, my normal response is to let the group go on and set my own tempo, the result of which is that I watch as the group disappears up the hill ahead of me. This time however, I found that for the time being, I could match the pace set by Jeff and Doug. Noticing this, the Beast (Jeff) upped the ante and got a wheel length on me. He said to me, "thanks for leaving me in the parking lot, I won't forget it". I began to plead for mercy, but he was showing none and despite my best efforts, each time I matched his speed, he'd raise it again. About 2 1/2 miles into the first climb I finally lost sight of him for good as he rounded a corner.

The Tail Of The Dragon is my favorite part of this ride. As they proudly announce on their website, this portion of US 129 has 318 curves in 11 miles. A good video of a motorcycle riding this road is here:



Smooth roads and lots of curves keep the climbing portions interesting and make the downhill sections nothing short of thrilling. Think of rolling down a hill at 35 mph with consecutive 90s and 120s and you don't have to hit your brakes, just keep increasing the lean and you shoot right through.

Anyway, I rolled up to the 2nd feed station about 4 minutes behind The Beast, but 8 minutes slower than last year, and feeling pretty spent. I had serious doubts that I would continue the ride past the 3rd feed area. I had gone too deep, too often, too early to have much hope of finishing.

Tomorrow, What Joyce Kilmer didn't know about Trees.

Cherohala 07-Tellico Plains Pain

Saturday was the big event...well, maybe no big to any of you, but it's the one I plan for all year. I'd like to say that in addition to planning for it all year, I also prepare for it all year, but life gets in the way and somehow, the preparation is never quite what I hoped it would be. Throw in a few last minute changes to the routine and you are quickly stirring a recipe for disaster.

The first change was losing two weeks of training to a trip with the Boy Scouts to the Florida Keys. I wouldn't choose to not go again, but losing those miles can really hurt.

The second change is that I'm heavier than I was last year. For some reason the weight just has really been stubborn this season and I can't seem to make it go away.

Third, my 10 year old is playing baseball. I have surprised myself by getting caught up in his joy in discovering a sport to love and let many precious Saturdays (when I usually log an 80-100 mile ride) slip away whilst I sat in the bleachers watching him shut down batters foolish enough to hit one his way at 2nd base. Yeah, I could have been riding, but I wouldn't have enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed watching him.

Fourth change, and more immediate to the ride at hand was that my family ended up not joining me (my two older boys were planning to ride, but never got around to training adequately (my fault...baseball again)) and so I opted to stay in town for an All-Star game and then drive to Tellico Plains rather than drive up in the early afternoon and relax around town as I did before last years successful Challenge. Instead I arrived around 12:30, climbed into the bunk in the cabin my friends had secured and set my alarm for 5:30.

My goal this year, originally, had been to improve on last years time and set a new PR for the ride. This gradually became less of a goal and more of an "it would be nice, we'll see how it goes" as the Saturdays passed without me piling on miles. Nevertheless, this was on my mind Saturday morning as I finished suiting up and waited for The Beast and Doug to finish putting their gear together. We were laughing and giving The Beast a tough time because he'd forgotten his sweatband for his head which meant nobody would want to ride behind him and get "rained" on. The sweatband was important because, unlike last year's cool start, it was already about 80 degrees at 7:30 am. It was sometime into this Abbot and Costello act that I noticed that we were standing around by the car alone. Everyone was gone. The start line was clear and I could see bikes heading out over the hills northeast of the town.

For anyone not familiar with mass start events, let me explain something...it's always, ALWAYS!!, better to start near the front of the group and be riding with them when they leave, and not just because of the obvious reason that it's no fun to start out 5 minutes behind a pack and have to chase them for miles on end at the limit of your ability on the off-chance that you might catch a group to ride with. No, the best reason to be up front is that when "selection hill" comes along, as it always does on any group ride and the group is blown into smaller groups, you can easily choose a large enough group to make sure that you are delivered to the foot of the real climbing relatively fresh.

Now, on a ride with 450 other people, it's a given that if you're reasonably fit, you will catch some of them. The problem is that few of these stragglers will be working as a group, and if they could ride as fast as you are anyway, you wouldn't have caught them, would you? That's why they are "stragglers" and not riding in that pack that you're burning all your matches trying to catch somewhere up the road.

Thinking that The Beast and Doug were right on my wheel I took off and built up speed, settling into my drops and doing my best imitation of a time trial, watching my heart rate repeatedly go through 175 bpm as I did my best to find a group that would stick. I eventually caught up to a group after 15 miles of chasing that looked solidly large enough to stay together and not disintegrate on the rollers. Though they were moving a touch slower than I wanted to go, I decided to sit in and let my HR moderate some and try to recover. I looked around and saw the Beast and Doug catching onto the back of the group...I had left them solidly behind at the start, (Beast hadn't even put his shoes on yet...who knew?) and they had buried themselves to catch me. We all decided we could use a breather for a while and settled into this group of 20 or so (a small group yes, but large enough to get a little recovery time before the climbing started at mile 43).

to be continued...

coming tomorrow, Blood on the Shores of Lake Chilhowee, and why you shouldn't make the Beast angry by leaving him in parking lot.

Translating

I learned an Indian word on Saturday. The word is Winnetaska. The first three syllables (Win-ne-tas) means "whip your...um...backside", the last syllable, "ka" means a thousand, so Winnetaska=whip your backside 1000 times.

Because that's what Camp Winnetaska road did to me on Saturday, 35 miles into my 75 mile ride. It's a hilly road, though if you're riding with other people, testosterone takes over and it's ridden as though it is flat. This was okay, and in fact, I wasn't struggling badly, staying near the front of the group having casual conversation along the way. This was my undoing...not paying attention, I suddenly found myself on a shortish, but very steep climb in the wrong gear (much much much too large) and by the time I had unknotted my legs from the effort of getting up that hill, I was all set to suffer the rest of the ride. And I did.

But I finished up and took today off. Yeah, I should have ridden, after all, Cherohala is just under 21 days away, and I'm due to be in Florida sailing about the keys for a week, which will cut mightily into my training. But I've been feeling a bit overtrained lately, and unwilling to take it easy and let myself recover properly, so it's probably a good idea to take it easy. And I don't think I'm too worried, between Cherohala 2K6 and now, I've ridden nearly 1000 miles more than I did between Cherohala 2K5 and Cherohala 2K6. So I'm probably not going to add a whole lot to the mix by doing anything extra at this point.

I'll ride the Pain Train on Tuesday night and that will be it until June 9. The P-32 theory of fitness will undoubtably come into play. The real question will be, can it be recovered in one week? I guess I'm going to find out.

Tuesday World's Redux

So Tuesday night rolled around as it does once each week. Always between Monday and Wednesday. And always (except during the winter months) with a group pain festival in which to partake if you feel the need.

As I mentioned before, the A's have started to ride with us lately, and this fact makes Tuesday nights tough. This week was more of the same. The only real difference was that the smoke from the wildfires in Okeefenokee swamp was blowing through, which made all of Bham smell like a campsite.

We rolled off through Mountain Brook and through Irondale at a pace with which I was unfamiliar. Recognizing that my best chance to save energy was to suffer enough to stay near the front, I picked a solid wheel and stayed on it. Since this was a rest week, I knew I wanted a short high intensity interval that would simulate the final miles of a race and so I told myself that I would stay near the front all the way to the end of Ruffner.

Now Ruffner road is a unique experience in that it begins with a climb on which the group accelerates the whole of the rise. At the foot of the hill, we might be rolling at 15mph, but at the top, we were running 20. By the time we got over the top and on the flat beyond, we were at 28 and still going harder. As the rollers started, I was about 10th wheel and looked back to make sure I had nobody half-wheeling me when the rough road started and everyone scatters like cockroaches when the lights come on.

There was no-one behind me. In fact, there was a 50 meter gap and it was growing. I was up front, last in the first selection of riders, who, in a demonstration of the biggest difference between "A" and "B" riders were riding harder on the down-side of the rollers than they were on the up-side. ("B" riders like to go hard up the hill, but then recover on the downhill, "A" riders just go hard with no recovery). This worked perfectly into my plan for the night. I struggled and suffered, but made it to the end of Ruffner in the 4th wheel position and hit my lap button...20 seconds faster than last week's new best time.

Surprising myself, I decided that I hadn't quite spent all my energy yet, so I decided to hang as long as I could on John Rogers Drive. "As long as I could" translated to about halfway to the top beyond the light that marks the gradient change. The rider in front of me let a gap open and I just didn't have the legs to close it. So that was it for me, ride over. As the "B" group caught me, I tried to hang on to them for a while, but we were climbing 78 and I was too spent. So I took it easy and spun my way home, satisfied that I had just spent an evening with intensity that I hadn't approached in a while.

A lot of fun, and a good workout besides. Can you ask for more?

Race Tactics 210

Welcome back...this week we'll look at how to race successfully after mastering the art of shaking the unwanted wheelsucker.

Step 1
Suffer. For example, just running through the warm up this past Tuesday night, I knew it was going to be tough. I felt like I was still looking for my legs after my successful, but difficult 100 miler 10 days earlier. They ached and moaned on the flats. I gave serious thought to dropping out of the TNTP, but opted to stay in for a while longer to see if the pace would drop when the group started splitting up.

Step 2 (Post Warm Up)
Suffer more. The pace past the ball fields on Ruffner was definitely higher than normal and my entire body did not fail to notice this fact. When the hammer really dropped, it was all I could do to withstand the initial onslaught of speed, but, as I had anticipated, things eased off just a touch and I was able to hang in the middle of the pack all the way to the end of Ruffner. Even though the pace eased a touch, we still did the fastest Ruffner leg of the year by 10 seconds, averaging 25.4 mph for the duration.

Step 3
Yet more suffering. On John Rogers drive they decided that I must be on the ropes and that now was a good time to finish me off. We hit the bottom of the hill (the steepest section) like a runaway freight train and flew up to the traffic light (which despite my best wishful thinking is never red). Digging deep into what Paul Sherwin calls the "suitcase of courage" I gritted my teeth and hung on for all I was worth. Slowly the riders came past me, but by the time we got to the light I was still firmly entrenched in the middle of the peleton. And even though the speed increased, the gradient decreased and so although I was wheezing like an old pipe organ, and my eyes were crossed, I made it over the top with the group and managed to keep up on the downhill back to highway 78. This isn't as tough as it might sound because on downhills, gravity likes me better than the flyweights that shoot up the hills at the speed of sound.

Step 4
A brief recovery. Highway 78 up to Old Leeds Road gave me a little time to recover, though it always gets very hard just where the hill stops climbing. It's as though I'm riding through wet cement. But by the time we make the turn onto OLR, I'm good to go again.

Step 5
Return to suffering. See this is was bike racing is all about. Suffering. Realizing that when you dangle off the back and a gap opens in front of you, that the headwind your riding into isn't going to be your friend. You have to do whatever it takes to stay on someone's wheel, or else you'll be doomed to fight the wind on your own. It takes more effort and it's slower than riding with the group. So I lost concentration and found myself letting gaps open, 10 yards this time, 20 yards next time and so on. Each time, I had to put my head down and pedal harder to get back on. By the time we got to the fire station, where the sprint to the top of the hill starts winding up, I was feeling much better, and really flying. It was about this point when I was coming up in the work line that "Mr. No-Gap-Is-Too-Small" decided to reach out and try to grab my handlebars. I really have no idea what this jerks problem is, but I'm sick of his antics. When he missed my bars, he tried the next guy in line and the next after that. Luckily he didn't get any of us, but I think someone's going to have to tell this accident looking for a place to happen that he's just not welcome to ride with us any more if he's going to be pulling that garbage. I heard quite a bit of complaining about him on the cooldown back through Mountain Brook.

Step 6
Getting home with no legs. Somehow I managed to climb Smyer and Shades Crest and make my way across and back to home. It was overall a good ride and I was extra pleased that I had forced myself to stay with it and push through when I wanted to give up and just go it alone. Yes, my legs still hurt tonight, but that's okay. They needed a wake up call, and last night's ride was just the ticket.

So the key to this lesson is suffer, and when you don't think you can hang on any longer, suffer harder. And harder still if you need to. Eventually you'll be done and the suffering will be over.

3 States, 3 Mountains

Saturday was the first century of the year for me. It was a mixed bag, but overall I'm happy with what I did.

Friday Afternoon
I loaded up the van with 3 Boy Scouts that I was dropping off at an Order of The Arrow Ordeal at the Boy Scout camp just off the road between Birmingham and Chattanooga. All the hotels in Chattanooga were sold out, since a lot of the 2500 riders who do this century are from out of town. In fact, places like Germany, Niger, and Toronto were represented (as was Salt Lake City, Oregon, and California).

Anyway, all the hotel were booked months ago, and so my plan was to sleep in my van (remove seats, use a pad and a blanket and pillow, sleep in the van). But my wife had expressed a concern that sleeping in the car in a strange and possibly dangerous part of town wasn't the smartest thing I could do, so when I got to the Scout Camp I asked a leader (who is in our ward) if there was a place at the camp where I could crash for the night. He said to just go use one of the bunks in his cabin. So I dropped the kids and headed to bed...early...because I needed an early start to cover the 60 miles between the camp and Chattanooga, as well as the time zone change along the way.

I had been asleep about 3 hours when I was awakened and due to noise issues, couldn't get back to sleep. I realized that if I left right then (about 1am) I could get to Chattanooga, and be asleep in my van (plan A) in time to still get a good night's rest before the ride started at 8:00. So I left camp and arrived at the Bob Finley Football Stadium in south Chattanooga. I noticed that Dirt Dog and K2 had their camper already in the lot and so I pulled up and shifted seats and started back to sleep.

It's tornado season in the south, what could I expect?
Plan A, which by now was plan C started out well enough, but just as I was drifting off to sleep, thunder and lightning began and rain started to fall hard. This slowed down my falling asleep somewhat as I pondered the implications of thunderstorms on the ride later that morning. Just as I was dozing off, the tornado sirens started up. And they didn't stop until about 4:30. So I was sitting in my car, trying to sleep, in the middle of a large open area (a stadium parking lot), with tornado sirens sounding all night. If it hadn't been for the noise, the terror would have kept me awake anyway.

Morning has broken
Occasionally, as the time went by, more vehicles started arriving, their occupants trying to catch up on sleep. One of the great things about spending the night this way was that in the morning, my car was parked right next to the start line, as close as I could get to the stadium facilities (toilets, showers, covered and warm areas, etc).

When morning finally arrived, it was cold. Much colder than I ever thought it could be in May in the south. I gave serious consideration to biting the bullet on a pair of tights and arm warmers but decided that I should bear the cold as punishment for not bringing my own.

Having made that decision, the rain began again.

This was a good thing...you see, I had my Goretex rain gear with me. All I needed was an excuse to wear it. I decided that it wasn't raining hard enough to worry about my legs or feet, and just went with the jacket. Later this would prove to be the smartest thing I'd done all day (I could have been smarter and skipped the jacket altogether, but I'll get to that in a minute).

BANG!!
I got my act together just in time for my sleep deprived shivering body to arrive at the start and push my way in as the ride officially began.

I've done some large rides before (Rosarito-Ensenanda, 10,000 riders; Solvang, 4,500 riders; Tour De Sewer, 3000+) but I've never seen a mass start begin more slowly than this. We crawled north through downtown as people worked their way into position and up and down the pack looking for friends and likely riding companions. The rain falling may have had an effect on the pace as well, since people seemed to be extra cautious in corners and crosswalk areas.

Suck Creek Mountain
Eventually we left the downtown area (said area actually being a very nice and pleasant downtown area, btw) and continued northwest toward the Cumberland Plateau. After about 5 miles, the rain stopped and by 10 miles out the roads were fairly dry as well. Coincidentally, this is also where the first mountain begins. (I probably should mention that the theme of this event is 3 mountains in 3 states.) This first mountain is Suck Creek Mountain, in Tennessee. About 200 yards into the climb I realized that I was going to have to shed the rain jacket as I was overheating and just having it open wasn't enough. So I pulled to the side to remove the jacket, pack it away into its pocket and strap it to my waist.

Suck Creek Mountain was a very pleasant climb. It lasts a touch over 5 miles and averages about 5%. I noticed on the side of the road, a little creek rushing along, obviously swollen from the rain of the past several hours, similar to the creek that follows the road to Sundance from Provo Canyon. I was impressed with how scenic this climb was. I climbed at a comfortable pace, being passed by probably a hundred riders, but passing that many more myself. Before I knew it, I had reached the top and started down the other side. I'll just say right now that the descent from the top of Suck Creek Mountain is worth the price of the ride by itself. 5 miles of non stop 40mph descending through big sweeping curves and hairpins that drop out from underneath you like an elevator will put a grin on your face that it would take a disaster to remove. (oooh...foreshadowing...oooh)

This is not a mountain
From the bottom of Suck Creek Mountain, you begin traveling south southwest, eventually skirting along the shores of Nickajack Lake on the Tennessee River. Along the banks of Nickajack Lake, having turned west onto the south side of the lake, you begin climbing a relatively steep little grade, probably 7-8% that last a mile or so. The organizers, with typically sadistic organizer humor painted on the road the words, "this is not a mountain". Well, technically I'm sure they are correct. However, it certainly felt like a mountain and I for one consider their painted comment needlessly antagonistic...after all, one rider's "roller" is another hill slug's mountain.

Sand Mountain
Turning south away from Nickajack Lake, we crossed into Alabama and the roads immediately went to h.e. double hockey sticks. (insert rolly eyes here, as lousy pavement is a hallmark of rural Alabama life) Fortunately, this beat up pot-holed corncob that passes for a rural super-speedway didn't last but a couple of miles and then we turned off this teeth rattler and onto smoother pavement. On a less positive note, turning off this road also signaled the start of the second mountain (in, if you are keeping track, our second state), Sand Mountain. Yes, the very Sand Mountain made famous in the book Salvation on Sand Mountain...Snake Handling and Redemption in Southern Appalachia (we've got all kinds of strange things down here that kind of make the phrase "y'all come back now , ya hear!?" more of a dare, than an invitation).

Anyway, keeping a careful eye out for hill people who might want to redeem my sin racked, lycra covered soul by tossing a copper-headed-water-rattler at me, I settled into a pace that would let me finish this 7% 3 mile long grade with something left for the final state, mountain, and 40 miles. Like Suck Creek Mountain, I really enjoyed the scenery as the road wound its way up through the forest of pine and hardwoods. It was a smooth road with several switchbacks and well shaded. Had the day been hot, it would have been a pleasant place to be. Unfortunately for me, it hadn't started raining yet, which meant I still have my rain jacket tied around my waist, and it kept slipping down which meant I was trying to ride and keep the jacket adjusted at the same time.

Something else I should mention. So far, since September, I haven't put in more than 40 miles in a single ride. This fact alone conspired with the Sand Mountain climb to create an aching in my lower back that still haunted me through Fast and Testimony meeting yesterday. Calogipi said she was proud of me for staying awake during the meeting. What she didn't know was that I was in too much pain to fall asleep, (the chairs are not comfortable on a good day, let alone a day when you're already hurting). So anyway, though my back was hurting by the time I got to the top of Sand Mountain, I had successfully climbed the second mountain, and avoided reptile inflicted redemption. Unlike Suck Creek Mountain, once atop Sand Mountain, you have to cross the plateau before you get the payoff and get to descend the other side. In the case of Sand Mountain, this is about 25 miles of rolling roads that never let up. But somewhere along the way, I noticed that we had passed into Georgia (with 42 accompanying signs explaining the traffic laws that are unique to Georgia). Finally across the top, the descent was steep, winding and fast, but not as fun as the first descent back in Tennessee.

Lookout Mountain
Now in our third state, and again in the valley, we crossed under I-59 and though dreading the last climb, it came up quickly enough. Right after crossing under the interstate, there is an incredibly steep, but shortish hill to climb. This only gets you over a ridge and you drop right back down again. A few miles later you reach a food stop at the bottom of the Lookout Mountain Climb. This climb is the same one that the Tour De Georgia used a couple of weeks ago for their Individual Time Trial. It lasts for 2.5 miles at a steady 9%, with the final 3/10's mile at 18% over Burkhalter's Gap. While this hill was a whole new level in sheer torture and agony (my knees had joined my lower back in protesting the abuse being heaped upon them), I noticed something that I had noticed a couple of years ago while climbing Brasstown Bald at the Tour De Georgia...the energy you get from a crowd. Because there were crowds up in Burkhalter's Gap, and they were cheering and ringing cowbells and had written with sidewalk chalk all over the road, and it gives you energy. Somehow all their enthusiasm and energy is shared with the riders and you dig deeper and get going faster than you ever could do on your own. I actually smiled as I suffered up that last 1/3 of a mile.

From the top of Lookout Mountain, it's much the same as Sand Mountain in that you have to cross the rolling top of the mountain before you get to descend. In this case, you reach the top of Burkhalter's Gap at 83 miles into the ride, and begin descending back into Chattanooga at 93 miles. Like Suck Creek Mountain, the Lookout Mountain descent is fast, not too steep, and fun. The final miles through town back to the stadium were pleasant and I enjoyed the fact that I had finished what I had set out (but not prepared properly) to do.

Some quick notes and conclusions:

1. This event is very well organized. Every intersection on the route has police directing traffic, giving cyclists the right of way. That's almost unheard of for events this long.

2. I'm glad I chose to leave my rain pants in the car. I was annoyed most of 90 miles by the jacket hanging from my waist and I can't imagine how frustrated I'd have been having to schlep paints around as well.

3. I really like large events. The huge number of cyclists makes for interesting conversations and except for a brief period of time right after the turnoff for the metric riders, I was never out of sight of another rider. I enjoy that type of ride.

4. This isn't the hardest ride I've done, but I enjoyed it as much as any other. The variety in terrain and scenery, the event organization, and the weather all combined to make this a very enjoyable day.

5. I am definitely going back next year. And taking people with me. Calogipi wants to come and I want her to see it. The Beast will want to ride, and maybe I can bring Russ out of retirement to try another century (they'll have to let him out of France first, but there's a possibility).

6. Fun. Tired. Sore. Those all add up to a day well spent.

7. Oh, and that "foreshadowing" thing earlier...naw. I had a great time.

Race Tactics 110

Welcome to beginning race tactics. Sure, this will be remedial for some of you, but others may learn something new that they will want to try when the opportunity next presents itself. So, there's the gun, and we've all clipped in...off we go!

Today's lesson is on how to drop a rider, or group of riders, that you would prefer not be sucking your wheel. These "wheelsuckers" are a drain on your energy because they let you stay up front in the wind while they consererve energy and get a good meal while they sit in your draft. When someone doesn't want to work, it's best to get rid of them, pronto. Here are some time honored, tried and true methods for shucking that wheelsucker.


The Shake And Bake
This technique was demonstrated by Kevin Costner in the movie, American Flyers (co-starring Rae Dawn Chong and the virgin, Connie Swail...you know that had to be a box office smash). In this manuever, you swerve suddenly and violently to one side of the road and back in an attempt to catch the wheelsucker unawares, quickly depriving him of your draft, forcing him to suddenly have to put down his sandwich and au jus and start pedaling if he doesn't want to find himself on his own in no man's land. I thought they might have been trying this move on Ruffner road last Tuesday, but it turns out, they were just dodging potholes.

The 2 for 1 Gap
No, this isn't a sale on overpriced clothes at the mall. To work this extraordinarily effective move, you need a teammate along with you, or someone you can talk into playing Curly to your Larry, and your opponents Moe. Maneuver your teammate (or "friend") so that he is between you and the person(s) you want to drop. When you give the signal, he immediately should start applying his brakes. This allows a gap to open and you are on your own, off the front. If you have an emergency, bring your friend up alongside you, accelerate quickly and suddenly, opening up a 2 foot gap between you and the rider behind. Your friend should without any warning at all jump into that gap and slow down. This is probably more effective than the first variation as it will certainly cause a thinning of the peleton due to various fractures and equipment malfunctions ocurring behind.

The Snot Bomb
This little trick works best during allergy season, or anytime that you have a head cold. Simply turn your head, close one nostril with your thumb, and forcefully expel any stored fluid through the other nostril. If you miss and the undesired wheelsucker is still clinging on, just remember you have another barrel you can use if need be. Another important tip, if you're low on ammo, combine this move with the Shake and Bake to increase your chances of a direct hit. And remember, you don't have to actually hit the rider for this one to work. If you leave a little shrapnel on the mouthpiece of his water bottle, for example, it'll have the desired effect when he gets thirsty. Just be patient.

The Fake Snot Bomb
If you find you have neither allergies, nor a head cold, don't fret. You can still use the Fake Snot Bomb to your advantage. Simply turn your head, and in the instant before you accelerate, yell loudly, "Snot Bomb!". Be sure the road ahead is clear because you'll want to watch the fun as they scatter behind you. This particular tactic is a favorite of my friend, Jeff Mills, who has perfected its use to a remarkable degree.

The Ego Method
Lastly (and I don't recommend this for everyone), is the Ego Method. Using this requires an ego that says "I'm stronger than you, and I'm going to prove it." It goes without saying that if you're going to attempt this, you better have the legs to back it up. I last saw this technique put to use on Tuesday evening, during the group ride, when at the end of Ruffner road (with several incidents of either pot-hole dodging, or Shake and Bake behind us), Ricky Bobby Bubba went to the front at the foot of the hill on Dog Track and set a pace up the hill that strung the bunch out before we got to the first crossroad. By then, there were of us left, Ricky Bobby Bubba, Mallory, Dirt Dog, and myself. Dirt Dog and I were cross-eyed with effort to stay out of the wind and on his wheel, and the farther we went up, the faster he pulled. When it was over, we had caught remnants of the group that started 10 minutes ahead of us, and the carnage among our group was spread out over a quarter mile down the hill behind us.

Yes, Ricky Bobby Bubba pulled off the Ego Method. I was impressed. I can't pull that fast...I can only suck wheel that fast.

A Night At The Races

I want to ride my bicycle...I want to ride my bike...

Yesterday was Tuesday here in Birmingham. That means that in the evening you can join the Tuesday Night Pain Train and get all you can take of suffering.

For me, this was my first attempt at hurting myself. In previous weeks I'd been coming off this nasty respiratory infection sweeping through Birmingham, and had family commitments, so I had cut my rides short before the real pain began. Not so last night. Things were relatively moderate as we worked out way out through the neighborhoods to the east side of town (Irondale), and I found myself near the front thinking (hoping?) that things wouldn't be too hard later.

Jaws was never my style, and I don't like Star Wars

Well, I did like Star Wars, but anyway...when the hammer dropped on Ruffner Road, my legs were quickly re-aquainted with their enemies, aches and cramps. Ruffner was fast. And sloppy. Between one rider ( a triathlete) who insisted on riding in her aero bars (a huge group riding no-no) and another rider who would jump out of the recovery line into anything remotely resembling a gap in the work line (which makes everyone behind the psuedo-gap slow up to avoid a pile-up, never mind what it does to the recovery line) it was a nervous, and skittish return to racing.

At the end of Ruffner, I had a quick 30 seconds to recover before we turned onto John Rogers Drive (aka Dog Track) and the speed wound up again. Only this time, it's faster. And uphill. I spent most of JRD yo-yo-ing off the back of the main group into no man's land and catching back up again. Mr. "I'll jump into any gap, no matter how small" nearly took me down as I was winding up for the sprint to the bridge. I was quite annoyed. A crash at 30 mph would have been painful.

D2 and Rick went to the front on 78 and so the pace going up the hill to Old Leeds Road was reasonable, and I had a good 3-4 minutes to recover before the pace skyrocketed and my leg cramps returned. So I slowed a bit as I dug some endurolytes out of my pocket and sucked them down. Then I had to chase to get back to the group, fighting the cramps until the magic capsules did their work and I could return to full power.

Well, if I thought Ruffner was fast, Old Leeds was considerably faster. But Old Leeds was re-paved last year, so it's smooth and fast, where Ruffner is potholed and nasty rough for large sections. Anyway, speed was high and the legs were hurting, but I kept remembering that I was nearly finished for the night and I just had to stay with them through the sprint to the top of the hill, then I could rest on the 40 mph downhill before the rollers around Mt. Brook Country Club started up.

Results

Unofficially of course. There are no results to these "races" except, did you hang? Or did you get shelled? For me, the satisfying answer is that while I struggled on Dog Track (no surprise there, climbing hills at 20mph+ is not my forte), I was never in any real danger of getting dropped unless I decided to quit. This means I am considerably more fit than I was at this point last year, despite a month of feeling lousy and not getting more than 20 miles a week in.

It's also clear that most of the cool kids are also stronger at this point this year than last, as the pace was high and painful.

I have a new century I'm doing the first weekend in May, in Chattanooga, TN. It's got plenty of climbing, and I'm hoping that it will be a good building event for Cherohala 5 weeks later. But I've got to be able to finish it, and so I'll suffer on Tuesdays, even though I'd like to take it easier this early in the year.

Bottom line, I'm feeling more confident today than I was yesterday. Of course it could all come unhinged next Tuesday. One thing I'm definitely noticing is that each year it's a little harder physically, but I have an easier time digging mentally. Maybe what age takes away in one area, it gives back in another.

Daylight Savings Time

My health returned this week, along with Daylight Savings Time, and the corresponding Tuesday Night Worlds ride. It's been a miserable few weeks, as I was dealing with allergies, that became a sinus infection, leading to a bronchial irritation that had me coughing and just plain miserable. Worse, I'd wake up feeling good one morning and ride to work and back, and be back to misery the next day. This kept up for several weeks, until I got a Z-Pack and killed off the Sinusitis, which immediately improved my overall feeling of "I'm finally on my way out of this". In fact, today is the 4th day in a row that I've felt healthy...so I'm happy.

Tuesday night was the first "kill your grandmother and sell your firstborn to get ahead" ride of the year. I was still pretty worn out from being sick and so I didn't know what to expect. Besides, I'd only ridden 20 miles a week for a month. With a family commitment keeping my available ride time shorter than the full ride, I knew I had to make the hour I had count. Riding out, up the first absolutely inconsequential hill (and I mean tiny tiny tiny), my legs ached. An ache that didn't stop until long after the ride was finished. But I rode at the front for 35 minutes, and then by myself back into wind for 25 more. I wasn't unhappy, just sore. But mostly just glad to be out with the club again.

So yesterday when I woke up, I debated with myself whether I needed a rest from the night before (trying to avoid relapsing into sickness), but decided that I needed the miles more, so I suited up and rode into the office. It wasn't bad, especially considering that I had no winter clothing of any kind on whatsoever (yea, it's getting warm now). Last night's ride home was even better...even though it felt like I was hurting badly, I made very good time on my climbs, staying in tough gears to put pressure on my legs. This is my strategy for improving my climbing this year...train in bigger gears on the climbs to build leg strength.

Anyway, two consecutive days of riding and I'm not sick today (though it's raining pretty hard, so I won't be outside). I'll get out the rollers for a nice recovery spin tonight and get a long ride in this weekend.

Woohoo!! It feels good to be back on the bike again!

Sick, Tired, and Cold

My wife, Calogipi, was complaining on her blog that nobody is writing lately, so I've gathered myself for a stab at it tonight...if for no other reason than this blog is sort of like a journal for me, and since I loathe the thought of actually keeping a journal, this works for me.

I started out this "rest week" with the intentions to put in the small number of quality hours that I was scheduled to ride, and to meet this goal. Having a scheduled goal to work toward works best for me. I like to say "I'm going to ride 8 hours this week", and then keep track of each workout as I watch the hours add up. There's a definite satisfaction in meeting a goal.

Tuesday night I hit the rollers and put in a 90 minute workout in the garage. Wednesday I was sick. Sore throat, stuffy head. The usual February sick that I get. To make matters worse, it got cold. I mean, down in the 20's in the morning cold, which ruled out doing any riding at all anyway, even if I wasn't feeling miserable and experiencing the corresponding lack of energy.

Plenty of rest and plenty of meds later, this morning, I left the house at 6:00 am feeling pretty good. Though that didn't last, and by the time I got home at 10 minutes of 7 tonight, I was pretty wiped out.

So my hope for this coming week...by Wednesday at the latest, I'm able to get back on the bike and hit it hard. I've been doing Spinervals DVDs (I have 6 of them) and they're great for an indoor workout. I'll start off with the Base Builders this week to get some of what I've lost this week back. My goal for the week is 7.5 hours. Hopefully I'll get a long ride in on Saturday to help meet this goal.

A Bad Decision

Saturday I was scheduled to be at Winter Youth Conference with the kids from the ward. The site was about an hour from here, and offered two ride opportunities with unique characteristics to choose between. Ride 1-To the top of Mt. Cheaha (the highest point in Alabama) and back. Lots and lots of climbing on steep grades. Ride 2-The Chief Ladiga Trail...a Rails to Trails project that extends nearly to the state border shared with Georgia (later this spring the final 8 miles of the trail will be complete, connecting the CLT with the Silver Comet Trail which will enable a rider to go from Jacksonville, AL to Atlanta and back).

Unfortunately, late Friday night, I chose a third option, no ride. I just decided it would be too much hassle to load all my bike stuff on the car and haul it for an hour, not really knowing what the opportunity to ride might be.

Shortly after arriving at the conference site, a friend from another ward in the stake (Bishop F) arrived with his bike on top of his car. He dropped the kids off and went to ride the CLT.

Now I'm kicking myself because it's been two weeks since I've ridden and I'm going crazy. The weather is colder than normal and so if I'm to get any riding in this week, it'll be on the rollers. Meanwhile, Saturday, which was a nice day, was wasted.

Bummer.

The Windeater

Yesterday Jeff was still in town thanks to the storms in the Midwest that kept him from leaving for home. So we hooked up and did another ride. The weather wasn't as nice as Saturday, in fact, it threatened to rain all morning, but a ride under threatening skies is better than no ride at all.

Leaving Indian Springs, we swung past Doug's house and the three of us headed down Cahaba Valley Road toward Leeds. Along the way, the discussion went like this:

Jeff: So, where are we going to ride?
Me: I don't care, as long as it's flat today, I'm feeling a bit worn out.
Doug: I'd kinda like to keep it flat too.
Jeff: So, why don't we go over Hugh Daniels Drive then past Shoal Creek and then over 25, back down 119 and then home.
Me: Why don't you go up Hugh Daniels Drive, turn around, and come back to the bottom and meet us there. Then we can just do Jeff's suggestion in reverse.
Doug: That sounds good.
Jeff: I'll just skip going up HDD and stay with you guys.

Now, a note about Hugh Daniels. Hugh Daniels was a sadist. His road climbs over Double Oak Mountain (mountains such as they are in the south) in a stair step fashion, climb for 1/4 mile at 12-14%, then level off for a bit, then climb another 1/4 mile at 14-15%, then level off for a bit, then repeat and repeat until you reach the top. This doesn't sound too bad when you see that there are little sections, maybe 2/10's of a mile long that are "level". But "level" is compared to what you have been climbing, and in this case, "level" is still a 8-10% grade.

Jeff knows that I hate (in fact, while I don't like the word "Hate", it isn't a strong enough word to describe my deep utter loathing for Hugh Daniels Drive) this climb. He always suckers me into riding it, then he goes home and yuks it up with his wife about how he got me again.

So as we approach the beginning of Hugh Daniels Drive, Jeff turns onto it, and Doug follows him. Now you might be saying, "what a fool you are, TKP, for following them when the plan was to skip it and go the other way". I'd have to agree, but you see, I knew all along that there was no way we weren't going to be riding up this beast. I knew it Sunday evening when Jeff called and said he wanted to ride. There was no way he was going to drive back to Tulsa without having ridden his favorite hill. So, like the sucker that I am, I followed them. Yes it hurt. No, I didn't enjoy climbing it any more than ever before. I dislike this climb as much as I ever did. So, yes, I'm a fool. But you do what you have to do.

We then climbed back over Double Oak Mountain on 25, then turned and found that they'd repaved my favorite road in all of Birmingham, Bailey Road. This road climbs up over a little ridge seperating Cahaba Valley and Sicard Hollow, and is windy and twisty and turny and just a lot lot lot of fun. Unfortunately, I haven't ridden it in at least 2 years because the surface was just so beat up and nasty. So that was fun, riding one of my favorite roads all nice and smooth with fresh pavement.

Turning back the way we came to head home the wind picked up significantly as the forecasted storm front began moving into our area. As a side note, the Matabele tribe (Africa) used the phrase "Eat the Wind" as a war cry, and their warriors were appropriately known as "Windeaters". Luckily for us (Doug and I), Jeff is a wind-eater, having lived and ridden in the land of never ending wind (Tulsa) for the past two years. This meant that all Doug and I had to do was settle in behind Jeff, and let him knock a hole in the wind for us to move through. A theory that works exceptionally well when the pulling rider (Jeff in this case) can move through a headwind at 20+ mph. Hey, I can't do it, so I might as well let him pull. :)

All in all, it was a good ride, my legs were sore, but I remembered to eat before leaving home and I drank and fed myself consistently along the ride, so I never had any impending energy problems. I was slower climbing the hills than I wanted to be, but it's early in the season, and if I start putting in the effort, the vertical velocity will return.

As I loaded my bike on the car to drive home, the first raindrop fell and it rained the remainder of the day. I'm glad I got a ride in.

Shorts and Short Sleeves in January

Yesterday Jeff Mills was in town (technically he's still in town today, but we're not riding today) and we hooked up and went riding. Jeff showed up at my house a few minutes earlier than I was expecting him and so I neglected to eat breakfast, a mistake that would haunt me later. We left the BBC and headed for the hills of Mountain Brook. There were about 15 of us at the start, but the group whittled itself down as we climbed Dell, then Smyer, then Old Brook Trail. Eventually there were 8 of us left.

Heading east on Sicard Hollow, I felt the initial bonk halfway up the first hill. I lost contact with the group, but caught back on at the foot of the second hill. The pace up this hill was more than my nutritionally challenged legs could manage and I bonked hard. By the time I crested the hill, there was nobody left in sight. I gritted my teeth and struck out to just make it to the end of the road, 6-7 miles distant, where we had agreed to regroup. Eventually I caught sight of Jeff, who noticed I was leading from the rear and dropped back to assist me. With his Tulsa-trained wind breaking skills, I was able to suck wheel, and remember to begin eating some Hammer Gel and eventually we caught back up to the group. The Hammer Gel was taking effect and I began to feel pretty good, as we continued up and over the rollers. Jeff rolled off the front on his own, and we let him go, as we were running 25 mph and didn't feel much like going harder. But from the back came the triathlete of the group (doesn't every group in Birmingham have a triahtlete?), training for Ironman Brazil, flying past us. I looked at Doug Daughetee to see if we were going to give it a go...and he was already gone. I responded as best as I could and got on Doug's wheel. We caught the Ironman but could only hold on as we began the last mile of Rex Lake Road and passed Jeff at 34 mph.

At the Chevron mini-mart where we were re-grouping, I grabbed a banana, and a powerbar to try and bolster my efforts to fight back the bonk that would surely be coming if I let up at all.

Leaving the mini-mart, we headed back west toward Birmingham, and then turned north toward Trussville on Floyd Bradford road. I love this road. It rolls and is very very fast, especially with a group to share the pulling load. I struggled at times to keep up on some of the harder rollers as my legs were starting to feel the effects of earlier bonk and I was fighting that "cramping" feeling. On Queenstown road (after a tough climb), again, it is very fast, but at the end Queenstown, it has a set of descending 90 degree turns that are just as fun as anything you can imagine...

Unfortunately, the farther we went (but at least closer to the end) the more my legs began cramping, until riding up at short climb near the end I had to stop pedaling for a minute to let the cramp seizing my upper thigh subside.

Clearly my big mistake was not eating before riding, but it's easy to lose the good habits you build on long rides (eating and drinking frequently, eating before leaving, etc) when you spend months where your primary riding experiences are only 30-40 minutes long.

On a positive note, I had a great time riding with Jeff and Doug, and the weather couldn't have been nicer. The 14th of January. We had no winter clothes on at all, no tights, no wind vests, no long fingered gloves, no warm under-layers. It was 72 degrees. It's tough to top a day like that.

On the other hand, I've obviously got a bit of work to do before June.

My date with destiny

Okay, that's probably just a little dramatic, but hey, it got you to read didn't it?

June 16, 2007. Tellico Plains, Tennessee. The Cherohala Challenge. My goal? 7 hours or better.

Now that it's in writing, I'm committed. (Heck, I've even been known to write down, as goals, stuff that I've already done, just to have accomplishments written down...so take that for what it's worth).

My rollers are calling me..."...come let us hurt you, we'll make you strong, we'll make you efficient."

That's nice, but I'm really just hoping you'll make me faster. Because if I'm going to finish CC in under 7, I'm going to have to fly on the 40 miles before the climbing starts, and still have strength left for the other 75 miles.

Training in earnest starts yesterday.

A Most Dangerous Christmas Gift

Rollers.

My mother gave me, for Christmas, a gift card to Performancebike.com and I spent it buying rollers. Since I chose what I spent it for, I can't blame the end result on her, and that's okay, because I'll happily give her (and my wife who chipped in the balance that the card didn't cover) the credit when my balance is top notch and my spin as smooth and efficient as a RR engine.

Yeah, that's a bit over the top, but you know what I mean.

In the interim however, there's this problem of learning to ride them properly. Once I got the rollers assembled, I threw my bike on and gave them a try. Ooops! I knew what to expect, and yet, I was still surprised to find myself sideways within one half second. Using the beam support post in the garage, I was able to spend 5 minutes (dressed in jeans and a t-shirt) trying to get the feel of them. It didn't happen, and I was no closer to riding without holding onto support than I was before I got on.

The next day I decided to give it another try, this time following a Saturday club ride. I got home put the bike up on the rollers and immediately was hugging that support post with both arms as I began to shoot straight off the side. So maybe trying to learn rollers after being fatigued isn't such a good idea either.

Monday morning seemed cold and wet-ish outside...the perfect day to learn to ride my new rollers! I set them up, this time in a doorway, put a water bottle on my bike (prematurely feeling a bit cocky that I was going to need that fluid after mastering this new skill), and mounted up.

Boom! Left shoulder straight into the door jamb. But I'm still up and turning the cranks. Slam! Right shoulder bumps the other side of the door opening, and richocets me straight back over to that left side again, which is still smarting from the bump it received 1.5 seconds ago.

So I swallowed my pride and decided to start over, this time holding on with one hand until I could ride relatively straight. This was mildly successful at first...but I was still moving around too much, so I concentrated on smoothing out my pedal stroke. This brought a much quicker improvement and emboldened, I let go of the door jamb to put both hands on the bars. This also was accomplished with the bike only moving to the edge of the rollers, and not off of them completely.

Now I was feeling really smug and decided to try for that water bottle.

I should have been wearing a helmet, because it wasn't my shoulder that struck the door jamb this time. But...I kept upright and got things back under control. At this point, I'd been riding about 5 minutes. Leaving the water alone, I decided that I'd do 30 minutes and just concentrate on spinning smoothly and looking ahead instead of down. I made it through the rest of the ride with only one further incident and came away feeling pretty good, and looking forward to the next opportunity to spend some time with my new toy. A busy schedule kept Tuesday out of the mix, yesterday I opted to ride to work and back, taking advantage of the good weather. But today is drizzly and cold. The perfect weather to spend the evening with a Tour DVD and my bike.

I can't wait to get home.