California - Day Eight - Sprints

Last night I fell asleep tired and content. I was still recovering from my Palomar attack, and my "easy" day still left me dealing with some leftover fatigue. I had a nice talk with the missus, talked about training, life, the kitties. I guess it takes me a week to really start missing home. I never really missed it before so that's a good sign that I miss it now.

This morning I woke up a bit tired. I rolled over in bed. Something didn't seem quite right. Then I realized.

It was quiet.

My erstwhile roommate, a 2 year old boy, was already out of his bed. Crib. That thing. So I was alone in the room, sun trying to get in through the shades, murmurs of family life audible from downstairs.

I went to the bathroom and took my temperature. I started doing this regularly when I got sick earlier in the year. I'd been whining endlessly about my "fever", chills, and stumbled around dressed like I was about to go outside, drinking hot tea, and generally driving the missus crazy. Finally she and I went to a walk-in clinic and I was told that, essentially, I was hallucinating as far as my fever was concerned. The doctor measured me and told me I was "normal" at 99.5 degrees (or thereabouts).

So I told the missus I really wanted a thermometer. We went and got one and sure enough, I was at something like 99.5 degrees. Wtf?

What I found out as I got better is my normal body temperature is more like 96.9 to 97.4 degrees. So this year I did have a fever since my temperature was 2 degrees higher than normal. I highly, highly recommend a thermometer for normal, everyday monitoring purposes. 10 seconds and you'll have an idea if things are normal or not.

Anyway, I took my temperature as normal and it was 97.1 degrees.

Excellent.

After brushing my teeth and peering at my face in the mirror, I staggered downstairs, my legs pleasantly fatigued. For the first time on this trip they felt swollen, aching to push the pedals. I guess that's what easy days do - they make the legs feel ready to work again. I can tell when my legs feel sort of good because the muscles wobble (in a good way) when I walk.

I surveyed the fridge and finished off a few things that have been there for more than a day or two. This meant various containers of tortellini, Italian sausage sauce, shells and cheese, and a couple pilfered pieces of ham steak. Had a protein shake. Drank a lot of water. Coffee. Yogurt. More water. A typical breakfast while training hard.

My temporary roommate kept offering me grapes, one at a time (that's literally a handful for a 2 year old), so I had perhaps 5 of those.

I had some inspiration and worked on my project for almost three hours straight. Felt really good.

The temps pushed into the mid 70s so I started getting antsy about getting out there and riding. I started getting hungry but decided I should ride instead of eating for another hour or two. I figured that I could drink some of my Enervit drink and suck down some gel or what I've seen called the "crack pack", an appropriately named Enervit fluid glucose thing that really is quite addictive.

I headed out, my goal to get a bunch of sprints in my legs. I rode to the PCH but found the sea breeze chilling. I rode for a bit but realized that my chills made sprinting somewhat out of the question, so turned around after an hour to return to the 10-15 degree warmer "inland" climate - you know, like a mile away from the ocean.

I tried to do a couple one minute efforts, even going to the extent that I set a timer on my watch. Each time though I blew after 30 odd seconds, so I decided I'd leave the one minute efforts for another day. I could do about 600-730 watts for 30 seconds but I have no idea what I'd be able to put out for 60 seconds.

After recovering a bit, demoralized, I headed towards my happy hunting grounds. Wider roads, strategically located lights, essentially flat, and good sight lines. I felt like a street walker, waiting for vehicles to pass me, needing everything to be right. Not too fast, not too small, road can't been too uphill, etc., etc., etc.

Finally a perfect vehicle - I approached an intersection as the light turned green, a school bus in the right lane. As it started to roll away, I jumped super hard, shifted, kept going, shifted again. I never actually caught the bus but the carrot was enough to motivate me.

I turned around, repeated the sprint but this time simply chasing cars. Both times I reached about the same terminal velocity, a disappointing 40-41 mph, an even more disappointing sub-1400 watt sprint (I never broke 1400 today).

A little perturbed, I rode to the Bethel like hill. Longer, straighter, and preceded by a downhill, I could hit the bottom of the hill at about 27-30 mph, a perfect pretend leadout speed for an uphill sprint.

I did this sprint twice too, going as hard as I could up the slight grade (3 or 4%), both times in a 53x14, turning the gear nicely. 33 mph, but I had no comparison for whether this was good or not. Beats the 12-15 mph, the speed I normally climb this hill.

Ultimately, although I felt pretty good on the bike, my "feeling" and my speed didn't really match. I felt a lot faster than I actually was, but, I need to remember, it's February. And although Boonen and company are already spanking the Pro peloton at this early time, apparently my legs are not just there yet.

Tomorrow is the Tour de Palm Springs, a 55 mile fun ride. We'll be leaving at "o'dark hundred" and returning late. The upside? It's supposed to be 80 degrees there. And there are food and rest stops.

I hope they have a lot of food.

California - Day Seven - Base Miles

I alluded towards a possible Palomar attempt for Friday, tomorrow, depending how I felt today, the day after my last Palomar attempt. Key phrase: "Depending how I felt today."

Let's just say I'm going to wait until Monday to do my next attempt.

It's not that I felt horrible or extremely sore or whatnot, it's just that, well, I was tired. I ate a couple times in the morning. With the mega hours of training I've been doing it seems I need to double up my meals. It seems to be a source of funnies since after we eat dinner, I inevitably state "I'm hungry" right after the dishes are put away. Anyway, after my breakfasts I cleaned up a bit, and then went out for a nice, sunny, warm ride.

(I'm just rubbing it in for those back at home).

Shorts, short sleeve, vest, and long sleeve as backup. About 5 minutes into the ride I stopped and put the long sleeve on.

So much for backup.

Seems that I get pretty cold pretty quickly. I guess running a caloric deficit does this to you. I actually felt hungry when I left, and although I gobbled down some Enervit Gel and some electrolyte drink, the somewhat weak feeling never totally went away.

Since I did feel a bit fatigued after spending almost 6.5 hours yesterday on the bike (about 20 minutes of it at a food stop), I figured I'd go easy today. And when I say "easy", I mean easy. I mean everyone and their little sister was passing me. But did I start pedaling faster?

No.

Because easy means easy. That's what Bjarne Riis said in this interesting (and R rated for language and content) article at Competitive Cyclist. Not medium, not hard, easy.

Until, 20 minutes into the ride, that big, slow 18 wheeler went by.

Yeah, easy my ass. Actually, except for three spontaneous and somewhat powerful jumps, I really did take it easy. Twiddled little gears, rarely broke 250 watts, mainly stayed in the mid 100s, and felt my legs slowly regain their full range of motion. Although they still feel swollen with fatigue, my legs seem to be coming around. Meaning from a general point of view, not just recovering from yesterday.

In fact, after my first jump (to go with the aforementioned truck), it took a long time to do my second jump (an effort to cross essentially a highway, yes highway, lane). My last jump felt pretty good, especially considering it happened almost 3.5 hours after I started my ride. A moderate uphill drag, it really replicates Bethel nicely. It was my hardest jump, the longest one, and I managed to drag out a little over 1300 watts and hold about 1000 for 20 seconds or so. My legs were pretty fatigued so I blew pretty quickly but the numbers seem promising.

I think tomorrow, instead of going and hammering my head against Palomar, I'm going to wander around and look for places where I can do massive sprints over and over again. My relatively easy ride today sort of sets me up for such efforts, and my legs are aching to do some speed work. All this 18 mph stuff isn't that exciting, even if it's gotten me in decent form (for me).

When I first started racing everyone talked about getting in "base miles". Since I didn't really have a clue, I figured my 200 miles or so was fine. And, to be honest, it probably was. I just filled in the rest of my base miles during my summer riding.

When I went to school I'd been racing two whole years. At the time most racers acknowledged that it takes three years to hit about 80% of your potential. The first year is spent learning about stupid, new racer mistakes, like forgetting your shoes at home, maybe a wheel, or your shorts or something. Or figuring out that you really shouldn't eat McDonalds food you got at the drive thru two blocks from the race.

The second year is a bit more advanced. Now that you can get to the races on time, you aren't forgetting critical gear, you can actually race. And, man oh man, is racing different from anything else out there. Where else will every single person you're competing with yell at you when you make a mistake? You've learned that the "Breaking Away" pump in the spokes business doesn't happen in real life. The reason is that there are a lot of other ways racers can intimidate you, and the more subtle ones are best utilized when, for example, it would be bad form to take out half the field to teach a newbie a lesson.

The third year, well, now you're talking. You can get to the races, you have your bike and stuff, and when you line up, you actually know (sort of) what you're doing. Well, at least from a bike handling point of view. Racing wise, tactically speaking, you are clueless. But it takes this long to figure out how much more you really don't know. Before you were blissfully learning what you thought you needed to learn. Now you realize that there's a whole new world out there that you didn't even know existed.

What's my point. I don't know. Actually, I do know. Base miles. The third year was the first year I did any semblance of base miles, maybe 500, maybe 750. But it was all because I rode with a guy who awed and inspired me. The CC article linked above talks about how close the pros ride from one another. It's true. It really, really is. And you don't have to ride with a pro who races for CSC. Just ride with an ex-pro. Maybe one that raced with Coppi.

Not on a Coppi.

With Coppi.

And not against Coppi.

He worked for Coppi.

Now based on my previous mutations of actual memories and facts, I'm probably melding a number of racers together into one. I think this guy is for real though. He was helping coach some guys at UCONN when I got there, and although those guys graduated and went on to bigger and better things (one was the top placed amateur behind Davis Phinney at the Boston Mayor's Cup race), I did manage to get a ride or two in with this old guy.

Of course, as a two year veteran of the sport, I was a bit skeptical of the whole thing. Base miles. Ex-pro. Ex-pro is like saying "I used to be a Cat 2". I mean, c'mon. What's the point of training with him? Just an old fuddy-duddy who has some good stories and talks with a cool accent (one of the British Isles ones but I couldn't tell you if it was Irish, Scottish, Welsh, or whatever else there is).

Oh, wait. He was (is) Australian.

The other British Isle.

Anyway, one brisk winter day we all went out for a ride. Base miles. Easy. Not medium. Not hard. Easy. And since the coach wanted to talk to everyone, I found myself riding next to him.

Actually, he wasn't really riding next to me. He was sort of riding in my personal space. His left elbow was pretty much directly in front of my heart, his bars almost bumping my right thigh, and he was leaned over so he could talk at a normal level instead of yelling across a 3 foot gap into some wool covered ears.

So he's telling me about something, I forget what, virtually whispering in my ear at 20 mph, when suddenly he burps.

Like loud.

"Whisper whisper whisper BOOOP!"

He laughed. "Sorry about that. I think you got that full on, you can probably tell I had bacon and eggs and coffee for breakfast!"

Yeah, with two sugars and one cream in the coffee.

I was at once appalled and impressed and awed and everything. This guy was for real. He was riding so close he was virtually riding my bike, and we kept bumping things, bars, thighs, straps, but nothing phased him. Nothing. He'd bounce off an inch or two and keep talking.

I started thinking of Coppi (who I've never really seen on tape, just pictures). How at some point he'd say to the guy, "George (or whatever that translates to in Italian - Giorgio?), get me some wine." And George would scamper into a roadside store, take a bottle or two of wine, say it's for Coppi, smile at the awed store owners, get back on the bike, pedal furiously to get back into the group, and then proudly display his selections.

"White or Red, Fausto?"

My imagination aside, George always emphasized base miles. His proteges are still all over the place - many of them raced for Richard Sachs, back in the day. There's something to be said for the base miles thing. What, I don't know. I just think base miles can't hurt. They get the racer fit enough so that they can do more strenuous work.

I've been looking for signs that my body is ready for more strenuous work. In the past years I've come here to train, I left without ever feeling that I was ready to do speed work. I always felt like I needed to train more before I'd be ready.

This time is different.

Today, finally, my jumps demonstrated to me that I'm ready to start doing some more aggressive work on the bike.

Finally.

California - Day Six - Palomar Attempt

Today I was supposed to meet up with some folks and do a big ride, something like 100 miles. Luckily for them (and for me too) I managed to get lost on the way and missed them. I did manage to get to the meet point and recognized the road, so with a call to home base, I got a basic set of directions to get to the base of Palomar Mountain.

I didn't feel too good for the next hour (a lot of it was uphill) and thanked my lucky stars that I didn't meet the group. I think I'd have had a significant detrimental effect on their pace (and mood and patience etc etc). But slowly my legs started coming around.

The idea was just to ride to the base of Palomar, make a U-turn (they're legal virtually everywhere in California), and RTB ("return to base", from watching Blackhawk Down recently).

Only I got there and I didn't want to turn around too soon. My legs started coming around, I could do some nice surges, and I didn't want to waste the opportunity to climb at least a little of the mountain. So, checking my watch and doing some mental calculations, I gave myself 90 minutes to climb, 30 to descend, and a couple more hours to get back home. 90 minutes brought me within 2 miles of the summit (I started at about 16 miles to go). On the way I picked up a rock laying in the middle of the road and tossed it to the side. It disintegrated into nothingness when it hit the ground.

I keep forgetting that Southern California is not like New England. It's dry, hot (or at least warmer), and the land crumbles at the slightest provocation.

Anyway, after my climbing time budget ran out I stopped, put on my vest and LS jersey, turned around, and started back down. I scared myself around a few turns, almost bounced off my bike rolling across three cattle guards, but was okay otherwise. 21 minutes later I was at the market located just after the base of the descent. So little time to undo so much climbing.

My hardest efforts took place during the sixth and last hour of my ride. I had to jump hard to clear an intersection with no bike lane (and lots of traffic) and another time I spontaneously rode at 550 watts. I pretended I was told to close some imaginary gap and motored along, doing my best imitation of a domestique told to go "fetch".

30 or 40 seconds later my dream went poof. I sat up.

The latter effort really toasted my legs and it really wasn't a big effort. It made me think about the pros and sprinting at the end of 4 or 5 or 6 hours of racing. I guess a lot of us could probably sprint with most of the pros. I think it's like comparing 0-30 numbers for different cars - they're all so close it's sort of pointless. This means when you're in your Nissan Pathfinder, you'll be able to accelerate to 30 mph in about the same time as the Nissan Altima Coupe in the next lane.

Think of this as doing a sprint at the beginning of a ride.

Now make the task more difficult. For cars, it's accelerating past 50 or 60 mph, the aerodynamic barrier. Let's choose 75 mph since Edmunds tests to that speed. This is where the Altima, which is a lower, more aero, and more sporty car, shows itself - it'll beat the Pathfinder to 75 mph by about 2.4 seconds. The difference will only get bigger as the speeds increases.

That's like sprinting against a pro, but after 5 hours of racing (or more).

It's being able to do those massive efforts after 5 or 6 hours of racing which makes the difference.

I tried drinking more Gatorade. Maybe the lack of glucose was causing me to fatigue quickly. I always find myself running out of water when I ride out here. It's probably because one of the things about Southern California is that it's... desert. It means things are a bit different than back home.

For example, last night I did some laundry, specifically some bike gear I knew I'd use today. I was going to put them in the dryer but, as Rich pointed out, we're in the desert.

Seven hours later everything was dry.

Back at home it'd be getting mildewy.

When I'm riding it's sort of the same thing. I find myself needing more fluid than normal, salt crystals forming on my face sooner. This helped abort my attempt today because I ran out of fluids 4 hours into the ride. At home I've done 4 hour rides where, 5 minutes from home, I take a few gulps from one of my bottles so that when the missus asks if I drank, I can say yes.

Having only two regular bottles didn't help, but hey, they're lighter when they're full. After that fast descent off the mountain I stopped to replenish my supplies. Afterwards I sat outside the market. I leaned against the wall, stretched my legs out, drinking and eating and letting the sun warm and relax me.

A slightly perturbing thing was watching a particularly nonchalant truck driver - he carefully turned into the market's parking lot and then drove straight over a few curbs to park his truck directly in front of me. A guy hopped out and pointed at me.

"Hey, you know that wall has wet paint on right, don't you? The guy was painting it this morning."

Um....

I checked my back. My very precious wind vest looked untouched. My sleeves were fine too.

The guy check my back too.

"You're lucky, it's already dry."

Right.

We're in the desert.

California - Day Five - Pro Siting

I woke up this morning with a start. I guess I'm still on Eastern time. It was dark, about 9 AM.

Eastern Time.

That's 6 AM local.

The little boy whose room I'm sharing also woke up with a start. Or maybe he was just waiting for me to wake up, I don't know. Anyway, he jumped up, flipped over his pillow, got his light saber, and stood up, waiting for me to pick him up and out of his crib.

Just so you know, I'm sleeping next to the crib on a futon.

Anyway, I figured if he was awake, it was because that was the schedule. I picked him up, put him down, and then realized I really needed to go to the bathroom. By the time I got out, he'd run to his parents.

45 minutes early.

Oops.

After recovering from this unannounced schedule change I decided to do what I normally do. Cook some pasta and sauce, eat and drink, and go for a ride.

I hadn't had any Italian sausage sauce and pasta since getting sick, and since the missus taught me how to cook it (take it out of the casing first), I made myself a batch. Easy ingredients - one package of Italian sausage (no sweet stuff available so only got hot), one jar of sauce, and one box of Barilla pasta. Shells, for this example. I made the batch and immediately ate a bunch of it.

For breakfast.

Remember how I lamented my lack of anaerobic fuel yesterday? Well, apparently it consists of chicken, sausage, pasta, and perhaps a half gallon of orange juice. I know this because that's what I ate and today I felt at about 60% or so. I figure more of the sauce, pasta, orange juice, and maybe some yogurt and salad (the latter two eaten separately) will top me off.

The ride itself reminded me how vulnerable the human body can be when it is ill. I felt most of my anaerobic threshold completely gone. Aerobic stuff, fine, a little more than yesterday. Today I could go a bit more, do some work over 300 watts. But as soon as I needed to dig, I hit rock. I'd have to ease up and sit back down.

I did manage a few things.

- I drafted a truck (too slow, too short, too easy).
- Jumped pretty hard to get into the correct lane without disrupting traffic. A few times.
- I got caught by a lot of riders. What's the deal with that? One went so hard to pass me I couldn't help but coast back up to him. He finally ran a light and got a good gap, then turned off the road at the next intersection for good riddance.
- One rider that passed me was a mountain bike rider. He politely stayed behind me until I pulled off to make a call.
- Averaged 343 watts for a minute on a hill. Then blew, sort of. And had to climb for another seven minutes to get to the top of the hill.

And, for the coup d'etat, I had a Pro siting. Yes, a Pro siting. I have no clue who it was but he was a Quick Step rider. No, it wasn't Tom Boonen. Nor was it Bettini (unless he somehow wasn't wearing his world championship colors). If it was either of those two I'd have chased them to get a camera pic of them with me. Alas it was a small stature pro that I didn't recognize.

He did a double take when he saw me though. I thought of a few reasons why he did this.
- "Wow, that guy looks like he could take on Tomeke - and win!"
- "That guy must be a pro, he has matching knickers on."
- "I thought Liquigas was wearing green and white, because that bike looks like a team bike but the rider doesn't."

And probably the real reason - "I didn't know you were allowed to ride down that road, I thought it was closed to traffic."

Yeah, well, although I can't say I've ever raced my bike in Qatar, I did manage to befriend a rider long enough to learn the cut through road.

Anyway, I rode a bit harder in the third and fourth hours of the ride, trying to get a feel for how my recently ill body would react. Not too well, unfortunately, but not horrible. I knew I wasn't good because the burn would spread pretty quickly, shutting down efforts that weren't even that hard. But the good part was that the efforts were actually pretty good, at least compared to last year.

I had another distraction while I was riding along. With a huge naval base here, the west coast Marine base, and who knows what else, you constantly see military things moving around. And as a boy, well, such things have a fascination for me.

The first day I saw a six wheeled armored car, thought about drafting it, and decided against it. Then, after my first "after sickness" ride, Julie asked if I heard "it".

Thump.

Thump.

I almost looked around to see if a T-Rex was coming because it sounded exactly like Jurassic Park. But further away.

I looked at her questioningly.

"Ordnance."

Oh.

Like guns. BIG guns. Big because they were 20 or something miles away. And we could hear them firing.

Today I saw a couple Chinooks (transport choppers) flying in formation. Okay, that's not too exciting. I did see two F-22s (I think, as I know they're out there and it was too "thick" to be an F-18). That's exciting, the new Joint Task Force fighter.

Only thing is I can't draft such vehicles.

If I can chow down enough fuel and I feel a bit better, I may do a group ride tomorrow. We'll see. People to draft, and people to drop me on hills.

At least I'll have a cool bike.

California - Day Four

These last few posts don't seem like cycling posts, more like whining about being sick. Today I skipped riding, because, well, it was raining, I was still a bit uncertain about the condition of my stomach and therefore unwilling to stray too far from a restroom. I found myself getting serious chills every now and then too, even though my temperature had returned to my normal 96.9 degrees or so.

I did walk into the garage and look at my bike. Picked it up, tapped the brake levers, because it's still the first things I want to do when I pick up a bike. I feel like I'm dreaming when I look at it because I think it's so cool and yet, incredibly, it's mine. One of those "Wow, do I really own this bike?"

Yes, I do.

So the Giants won the Super Bowl today, quite an upset. I was taught to be a Giants fan back when Walter Payton was a big star so I naturally gravitated towards rooting for them. And although a bit like doping, where things may not be how they seem, the whole "Spygate" thing sort of turned me off the Patriots.

I haven't been following too much of the pre-game hype, but the clips they played before and during the game made the Pats seem a bit... arrogant.

The Giants, in the meantime, just did their job. They played a virtually clean game, their one big error being the pass interference call which cost them an eventual Pats touchdown. But otherwise they seemed by the book, no real penalties, no real interceptions, and some very fine, sometimes lucky, plays.

It's always been in me to cheer for the underdog. It might be a natural thing, or maybe it's because I've never been the favorite when I race. Some probably consider me a marked rider, but never a favorite. Even when I was strong (for me) I was always thinking of my main rivals. Never winning a summer race probably didn't help my status either. And my rivals were all very, very good racers, many of them winning multiple races during the summer time, some of them multiple time national champions. Naturally this pushed my own status back down to "underdog".

The Giants today were an example though. They did things by the book, worked really hard, and made some spectacular individual efforts. And, against all odds, they triumphed. I hope that in some way I can emulate even a little bit of that. The underdog out doing the big dogs and walking away with the prize.

This doesn't happen by just talking or thinking about it.

So tomorrow I plan on getting back on my bike, again, finally. Doing a couple hours easy, spinning, not worrying about being strong, not worrying about readying for a maximum 60 second effort. With nicer weather forecast for later this week, I hope to do a huge mini-cycle to catch the near 70 degree temperatures forecasted in a few days. If that works it'll help salvage what's been a somewhat unproductive "training camp".

Okay, I did watch five Star Wars movies, in order, and perhaps will catch the sixth in the not-so-distant future. But Star Wars won't help me win bike races.

Training will.

California - Day Five

Back on the road to recovery. I finally got out there on the bike and pedaled around for a bit. I didn't get sick, didn't have to stop for a bathroom, and could actually get the bike moving. Nice sun, really windy (felt like Bethel), and the bike still felt light and responsive.

Only thing was that it became obvious before I went a hundred yards that I had been sick. I could make easy efforts (under 300 watts) fine, even those going uphill, so aerobically things are okay. But when I accelerated "briskly" away from a light (500-1000 watts), my legs loaded up with lactic acid in about three pedal strokes. Apparently whatever anaerobic fuel I had is totally and completely gone.

Since I have no idea what "comprises" anaerobic fuel I figured I need to eat some more food after the ride. The breakfast of champions I had didn't seem to do the trick - ribs, pasta, hot dogs, coffee. So for dinner I decided that I'd have something a bit healthier. Ribs, pasta, hot dogs, and coffee... no, no, no.

I skipped the coffee.

Okay. Seriously, I had chicken, coleslaw, some baked-on-demand rolls, and about 2/3 of a carton of orange juice. Maybe 3/4. Fortified (or, in my drowsy conversation with the missus, "reinforced") with vitamins and stuff. I really craved the orange juice so my it had something my body needed. Hopefully it helps for tomorrow.

Now the ride itself was no big deal. I started out with a relaxed hour pedaling around with Julie, then after she returned to work, I did another hour loop. The first hour was a nice reintroduction to cycling, my legs getting used to the motions. Being truly outside for the first time in what seems like a week felt great. I made the discovery that lactic acid was at my beck and call.

During the ride Julie asked me if I'd been adjusting my pace to her or if I'd been riding at my pace. We talked a bit, stayed silent on the busier or narrower spots, and after an hour she peeled off and I continued on.

Unlike Day Two, when this "I'll spin around for an hour or so" turned into a 6 hour marathon (I rode the 35-40 minutes to the Pacific Coast Highway, went north for a bit, then went south for a couple hours, then rode home), I really did just spin around for an hour or two. I experimented a bit with my legs, pedaling a bit too quickly down a hill, trying to turn a big gear going up another. Pretty much everything that involved making an effort failed, my legs weak and wobbly from whatever took me out of commission for the last few days. Before I could even reach the Pacific Coast Highway I turned around - my legs were spent.

On the way back I stopped at a local post office to mail my absentee ballot and by the time I was rolling up to the house I was chilled to the bone. No fuel, no energy, no heat. Chilled.

But at least I was on the bike. So my goals are a bit more ambitious for tomorrow. I hope that my legs gain back some of their strength. I'm still aiming for a big day on Thursday, another on Friday, and then, after a reasonably long Sunday, two more leg breaking days on Monday and Tuesday.

This makes tomorrow, Tuesday, a build up day. And Wednesday as well.

Crossing my fingers.

California - Day Three

Still recovering from my unexpected stomach ailment. Yesterday I could barely drink two cans of soda (aka "sugar water") - in fact, I found drinking water next to impossible. Probably because of that, as well as my epic long ride the day before, the time zone change, and various other things, I was pretty much delirious all day.

Today started out about the same - I gargled with water since I felt like I couldn't swallow it without getting sick. Of course that prompted an "Are you getting sick in there?" remark, but luckily for me and the bathroom, it was just gargling. Suddenly, some time in the late morning, my body alerted me that it could eat. I started out with some nice natural yogurt (figure I needed to replenish some of that good bacteria) and by the end of the afternoon I had eaten a few small plates of food.

I passed on riding though, my head pounding a bit, extremely dehydrated (orange urine), and probably most significantly my insecurity of being more than 15 or 30 seconds away from a bathroom. I never had any such bathroom "alarms" today so I think tomorrow, weather and body permitting, I'll be able to go out for a short spin.

I'm still exhausted though - I lay down to read or watch some TV and find myself waking up an hour later, groggy and disoriented. Obviously my body is still working on getting back onto even footing.

A bonus is that, thanks to two fervent young fans living in the house (ages "almost 3" and 6), I've now watched Star Wars Episodes I-V completely, with only Episode 6 left. Since we also watched some of the special features, I think I've watched about 12-14 hours of Star Wars so far.

If only I could train this much.

During the Star Wars breaks I've watched some of the 2007 Giro, praying that my lack of eating for a day will help me look a little more like the guys scampering up the big climbs. Not the healthiest way of losing weight, but as the saying goes, when given lemons, make lemonade.

I hope tomorrow to have a nice little pitcher of delicious lemonade.

And not a bowl of lemons.

California - Day Three

Sick.

Shortly after I posted Day Two, I realized I wasn't feeling too well. I spent most of the night in the bathroom, sitting or hunched over the bowl. I crawled into bed, shaking and chattering, hot but strangely chilled, and passed out.

A few hours later I woke up. After drinking a bit of fluids, I stumbled first to the couch, then to the bed. I'm sure I've felt this bad in the past but for the life of me I can't remember when. I guess we really do forget pain.

Obviously my body is trying to rid itself of something that I took in yesterday. I have no idea what it is, but I'll try and give it fluids and let it flush itself out.

I guess the positive bit is that I'm getting the sick bit done at the beginning of the trip. And I did a big ride yesterday so I can "recover" from that, so to speak.

Back to bed.

California - Day Two

My day started pretty normally except for one thing. I woke up, sat up, and, through my bleary unfocused eyes, saw a little blonde haired boy sitting in his crib.

Right.

I'm not in Connecticut anymore.

I picked up said boy, put him on the floor, and let him run to his mom. I guess he'd woken up during the night but I never knew.

I went for a nice prelim ride with Julie. With a paid registration for the Tour de Palm Springs (55 mile), my hosts both need to get a few miles in to get used to the bike again. I typically go overboard the first day I'm here and planned on doing maybe 3 easy hours to ease myself into the radically different weather and the 3 hour time difference.

I was pleasantly surprised with the weather. For the first time this year I put on just shorts, a short sleeve jersey, a long sleeve one, and a vest.

After an hour of riding and talking, Julie returned home to work. I kept going, thinking I'd get in maybe two more hours. After shedding the LS jersey I rode north into Oceanside, dropped by Pacific Coast Cycle, talked a bit. I got a bit cool so put the LS jersey back on and started back south. I figured I'd ride south past Carlsbad, turn around after a bit, and head back to make my 3 hour easy ride.

I kept catching riders going easy and being passed by those going, well, faster than me. I wasn't feeling very social so I'd sit up and let both the caught and the catchers pull away from me. Alone again, I'd start rolling, periodically looking at the SRM to see my wattage, heart rate (i.e. effort), and sometimes speed or cadence.

The wattage took some new significance. The other day I read the SRM manual and they talk about checking some number every time you ride. I hadn't for a while so I checked. The number the SRM wanted: 249. The number in the SRM: 487.

I put in 249.

My wattage jumped up a bit.

Actually it jumped a lot. I found my steady state efforts were 300+ watts, not 200. Yet my softer efforts still remained well under 150 watts, and my half hearted jumps weren't exceeding 1200 watts. It seemed to be correct but my threshold number seemed to be higher than I originally thought.

(Either that or I'm getting in shape).

My speeds were a bit higher than "normal" (i.e. the beginning of the base miles). I found I was breaking 30 kph when just cruising along, not getting stuck at 28 or 29 kph. I also noticed my little "roll the gear a bit harder" efforts were netting perhaps 40-45 kph.

Unfortunately no 50-55 kph speeds, the ones I like to see.

I met up with a guy Andy. He caught me so he was one of the faster ones, but he also held back, not intruding on my riding space. At one point the lane ended and I looked back to see if it was okay to move over. I heard a "It's clear" from behind me. Even in my unsocial state, this struck a chord. Here was a polite, friendly, and respectful rider.

He finally pulled up and asked how I liked my bike. It's virtually a rhetorical question because the bike is so good, but when I looked over, he was riding a CAAD9 (I think). I told him I liked the bike, we got talking, and then he told me he was thinking of doing a crit.

Ah.

If there's one thing I love doing, it's talking to polite, friendly, respectful riders who want to race a crit.

So, although I'd been on the bike for over 2 hours after Julie returned home, I didn't turn around. I kept riding and talking to this guy. I told him some of my standard tips (some of which are contrary to "popular" tips), we talked tactics, and then, after a lot of talking, we hit some PITA hill.

The first hint should have been his slamming his bike into a super low gear. I doggedly rode my gear, shifted, slowed, shifted, slowed, until I was in some absurdly low gear.

Andy, politely, didn't scamper up the road. We rode side by side, both of us hovering around 290-300 watts.

Which, I realize now, is probably about my threshold. I'd told him earlier it was 255 watts, but that was a year ago and on a trainer. Now, with an adjusted SRM, some miles on my legs, it's closer to 290-300 watts.

At the top I told him I needed to turn around. I'd been on the bike for a while, been away from the house for 5, and I was, as it turns out, 2 hours away from home.

I suffered a bit on the way back, trying (unsuccessfully) to beat the dark, and rolled in a tad over 7 hours after I started. Sugar-wise I had an Enervit gel, an Enervit fluid pack, and a bottle of Enervit electrolyte drink. I drank most of my bottle of water, too, but that was it.

So much for taking it easy the first day.

California - Day One

I spent the bulk of the day traveling. The prior evening I packed what I thought would be necessary. Since, as I pointed out to the missus, I'm not going to a place like Somalia, I'd leave a lot of "necessities" behind, planning to buy them once out here instead. Usually my method of packing is to get the number of days away, multiply by something at least 1.5 or higher, then pack for the resulting number of days. An overnight trip would warrant 3 days of clothes, so a 2 week trip usually results in emptying my dresser into a tiny Tumi. I can proudly say that I have about as many clothes as I normally bring on a two or three day trip.

About 2 weeks worth, in other words.

Flying from a small airport 20 minutes away from the house made the morning much less stressful. Nonetheless I was up at 3:30 (6:00 alarm), and read and ate and stuff until 6:15. Then a flurry of activity and we were off for the airport.

The flights went fine. I read 772 pages of a pretty well written novel about (what else) fictional current Special Forces folks. I felt a bit self conscious as there were a number of real military type folks on the plane (I could tell because they were dressed in military type outfits - I'm very observant) and I figure they probably look at me and think, "Oh boy, another wannabe yahoo."

The stop over in Chicago was brief and cold. The first time I ever saw snow inside of those umbilical cord walkways to the plane. Yes, there was snow seeping into the edges of the walkway. Zero degrees Fahrenheit, or "brisk" as our pilot said.

I slept whenever I felt like it, almost but not missing the first take off, and drifting off well before cruising altitude on the second flight. I fly for take offs and landings - the one in San Diego being especially exciting since you can look out the windows and virtually into buildings next to the flight path - and missing them is a big disappointment for me. My friend Rich picked me up at the airport in nice, sunny, 60 degree weather. Key thing I noticed - he was in shorts.

I knew I was in California.

On the way back from the airport, tired and hungry, I decided not to pressure myself too much to get a ride in before going to sleep. So we stopped at a food joint for some California food and then a couple bike shops.

The latter never ceases to amaze me. Triathlons are a big deal here so everyone has the newest, coolest TT bikes. They always look impressive even if I won't ever be able to justify buying such a creature. I saw my first Cannondale TT bike, very cool. Also Time, Cervelo, the Specialized Transition (which, painted differently, might look like a bike they'd ride in Aliens or Star Wars), QRoos, and a bunch of others. I fondled a $900 Zipp crankset and a $599 aero TT bar setup (I guessed it was $500, Rich corrected me when he checked the tag). And various bikes and frames mentioned above. I figure I ran my fingers over $100-200k worth of bikes and frames and parts.

I suppose it would be more efficient simply to lay a finger on a Ferrari or something but I didn't see one around.

I did buy a few things from the shops, mainly mix, gels, and liquids for "in-flight refueling" of the cycling kind.

We arrived at his place, which, to be honest, looks exactly like it did last year, the year before, the year before that, and the year before that. Same fuzzy grass, same perfectly paved road, same driveway, everything. Picture postcard perfect. When you don't have overgrowing everything like in Connecticut, frost heave, mold, burrowing creatures, deer, tons of moisture in various forms, etc etc etc, the houses stay sort of frozen in time.

Then, after seeing the kids again, saying hi to Julie, and assembling the bike (in fine shape, thank you United), we set off to CVS on a mission to buy things that the TSA don't want you to carry onto the plane. I figure when I leave, I can stash some of it away, and it'll be there for the next time we're out there.

My bike seemed pretty tame compared to the sleek hardware I'd seen just hours earlier, but it was fine by me. I really like the way the bike handles and this is the first time I'll be able to ride it regularly, outside, for a while.

Now for the hard part.

Training.