Racing - New Britain Crit, July 12, 2009

A few thoughts.

First, I need to figure out how to get nervous in a race. Scare myself. Give myself a little jolt.

Second, if I try harder, I should be able to do better.

The first relates to the fact that I rarely find myself feeling nervous or excited or super-ultra motivated in a race. I thought about it, and the last time I had a truly scary moment in a race was just as I hit the pavement in the Poughkeepsie Crit some years ago.

I find myself in one comfortable situation after another. With all the years of racing in the area, at a certain somewhat mediocre level, I've seen a lot of what one may see in a normal Cat 3 crit.

Therefore, everything is familiar.

When someone swerves a lot, I just ride around them. If they bump me, I revert to my "reacting to a bump" drill/habit. I've practiced touching tires (although not recently) so when I find myself slamming into someone's rear axle, I just deal with my habit/drill of "my front tire slammed into something". Slam a pedal? Automatically do the "slammed a pedal" routine.

There's only so much you can do on a bike in a crit, and therefore only so many situations you'll encounter in a crit.

If you've encountered the common ones multiple times, well, they become "non-situations". No adrenaline rush. No metallic taste in the mouth. No nothing. Just "la dee da" and keep riding.

"I just kept riding."

Fine, I admit that I no longer find myself interested in pushing tire adhesion limits in the wet. Wet turns scare me, and I don't feel the need to prove myself in them. If I don't trust my bike, yes, I back off. I had a few bikes before that got wobbles on fast descents - I stopped going fast on descents.

And when I'm hurting because of the pace, well, it hurts.

But touching a pedal (or slamming one), having someone's skewer or pedal end up in my spokes, getting slammed in a turn, or even touching wheels, they're all "normal" now.

And so it's hard to get worked up over them.

The second thing is a bit more important. I understand, as much as anyone can, that effort is not equal to results. And, in fact, "more work" can often lead to worse results.

So, technically, I don't want to just work harder. I want to commit myself 100% to an effort and carry it out.

I felt dehydrated since yesterday, drinking loads of Gatorade (from powder) and trying to stay reasonably cool at work. But when I drank two bottles during warm up and didn't need to pee, I knew that I had severely underestimated my lack of hydration.

Therefore, after overhearing someone nearby mention something about, "I want to pee before I reabsorb everything", I hit the john. I really didn't want to "reabsorb", whether that really happens or not.

Then, loaded with three bottles (ice water bottle in my back pocket, Ice Gatorade in one cage, Coke in another), I headed for the line.

I realized as I warmed up (involving raising my HR from 108 to 121 BPM) that I really, really wanted to do a good sprint. By good I mean a sprint that uses me up, that lets me cross the line and lets me say, "Dag, that was as hard and as good as I could go." I haven't done that in a while, for a long time, and I really wanted to do a soul-draining, mind-clearing sprint.

So, when we lined up for the start, I decided I would ride smart, make efforts when necessary, and do a tire melting sprint.

That doesn't sound very different from my normal approach to a race, but I rarely consciously think things like this before a race. Especially those involving a good sprint. I just sprint when I can, but to do a longer sprint would mean taking some risks.

I also steeled myself to make extraordinary efforts mid-race if necessary, efforts I last made in a serious race perhaps 3 or 4 years ago. I've been practicing them at East Hartford, at the races @Rent, but not in a "real" race.

With a somewhat fatigued field (many of the protagonists had done at least one previous race during the day, and many would enter the P-1-2-3 race), we did a fast first 10 laps.

Then someone turned the throttle to Low.

We were going so slow I'd have sworn up and down that we were going 15 mph. I looked to verify, and the SRM told me we were going 22.5 mph.

Lies, all lies.

We crawled around the course. It had to be 15 mph. My heart rate, with my new heart rate belt, seemed comfortably low. I drank my second large bottle of iced Gatorade, drank a bottle of Coke, and started splashing some of the now-lukewarm water on my body.

I started trying to keep track of laps. Usually what happens is I see like, say, "6 to go". Then I think, "It's 6 to go. 6. We'll be seeing 5 at the line. 5 at the line. 5 at the line. 5. 5. It's 5 to go... so we'll see 4. Look for the 4. 4. 4..."

Then I'll see 5.

"What? They showed 5 twice. Will it be 4 next time? Or 3?"

See how that works? Or how it doesn't?

So, when I saw 6 to go, I kept telling myself it's 6 to go. Reminded myself (literally, on the short backstretch before the hill) that I shouldn't graduate the number to 5, that I should focus on 6.

Otherwise I end up sprinting a lap early.

I found myself engrossed with this whole numbers thing. Luckily I sat at the back (after spending a few moments near the front in the first 5 or 6 laps), so my distracted riding didn't affect anyone.

We came up on what I was sure would be 4 to go. I looked right at the official's truck (a military sand-camo-painted enormous truck that would be camoflauged only if it were sitting next to the country's largest illegal tire dump), remembered, yet again, that the lap cards were on the left.

Looked left.

2 to go.

Two to... What? Two to go? My non-drifting mental calculations had proven it'd be 4 to go, and now it's 2 to go?

And here I am dwaddling at the back, doing caveman math (and doing it poorly), not making efforts, and even finding myself drifting off the back every now and then.

I mentally hitched up my pants, grabbed the drops, and started racing the bike.

Although I don't have visual proof (I unloaded the helmet cam just before the start, thinking it was a small field, but that was before about 30 guys rolled up, frantically removing their M30 numbers), I moved up much more aggressively than I usually do. I remember thinking, as I moved up, that it would be possible to win from a tailgun position at the bell, but it would be hard. Moving up now would make things much, much easier.

To my surprise, and probably to the missus's surprise, I sat about 5th wheel as we hit the bell. Really far in front, as far as I was concerned, because 4 of those guys would explode before the sprint, but I figured I'd ride from the front and keep tabs on things, move as the moves went up the road.

I got swarmed going into the first bend, the long left one. I dropped a good 20 spots, with a few sets of matching jerseys going by, leadout men and their sprinters.

The lower pace approaching the hill allowed me to move back up towards the front, especially by favoring the sheltered right side. I rode on the edge of the grass, knowing, hoping, that I could move up just a bit more.

Then, as we approached the final turn, I got around the last few people I could. A friendly rival snuck inside of me, nabbing a prime spot, and I relented, giving him his properly earned spot.

We dove left...

And the guy to the inside of the guy to the inside swerved violently outwards. Something happened, but the reaction seemed a bit excessive. The guy to my inside had to straighten out. I eased just a touch.

Facing a curb perpendicular to him while rolling pretty fast downhill, I could see the calculations flashing in his head.

"I might be able to make the left turn... 10% success predicted, with 90% probability of flipping over the bars and wrecking my bike when I smash into that curb."

"Veer right and go into that small parking lot... 95% success predicted, with a slight chance of nicking the curb."

He veered right.

I veered left, made the turn because I'd scrubbed off a lot of speed. Then, with a good 15 or 20 riders already having passed me, I decided that I better make this sprint count.

I accelerated, numb to the gearing. For all I know it was the 17, or it could have been a 14. I just shifted when I needed to, pointed at gaps, repeated. Watched guys sprinting and wondered if I should pass to the left or right. Then, as I approached the last big mass of riders (about 6 or 8 or 10 of them), I saw some daylight on the right side.

I blasted towards it, willing everyone to keep drifting left, to try and shut that huge open door on the left side, the windward side, the only side people thought would open up.

And I flew into that delicious, sheltered, right side.

The line came up way too quickly, but I did a mandatory bike throw. I'd rate it a 6 or a 7 out of 10, definitely not a great throw. More than a half-hearted lunge though, so not horrible.

I did a cool down lap. Found myself near Kevin, the NCC rider that I seem to see at all the races. He'd killed me in a couple sprints and he's a good barometer of what I could have done (since he seems to finish ahead of me all the time).

He looked at me quizzically, grinning a big grin.

I shook my head. "I was in decent position but then a guy swerved. And I had to sprint from way back. How about you?"

He nodded, smiling. "I got in there. I was pretty far back but I went up the inside." He gestured to the left, the windward side. "I got around everyone."

Jeepers. I got around because I was sheltered. He went into the wind and did the same thing. And he was in the money.

My mind wandered a bit. I stopped when I got to the missus, and Mr Parking Lot happened to be nearby.

"You okay? Nice save, by the way. I could see you thinking about trying that left"
"Yeah, I thought about it but I didn't want to crash, so I didn't try."

I turned to the missus. "See, we were, what, like 10th? 15th? going into the last turn..."

Parking Lot interrupted.

"I was THIRD wheel!"

I digested this for a second.

Third wheel?

I was fourth wheel?

With something like 300 meters to go?

Okay, I know this Zen thing is good, but when I don't even know where I sat going into the final sprint...

Enough.

Next week.

Naugatuck Crit.

(Epilogue: Kevin got 6th, in the money. Yours truly, on the other side of the mass of riders lunging for the line, got 8th. Race paid to 7 places... Arg.)

Helmet Cam - CCC Crit, June 7, 2009

So over a month ago I did the CCC Crit, and I've finally, in my mash of helmet cam edits, finished up with the clip editing. Rough, I think, compared to some of my visions of what it could be, but fun.

Without further ado...



A special treat - a second cammer raced in the crit, and he happened to be on my wheel going into the sprint. This is the first time I've seen clips of me racing from a cam point of view, so that's interesting.

Helmet Cam - Race @TheRent, June 2, 2009

Early in June I had the misfortune, I mean privilege, of doing a really hard race. Hard for me anyway. One of the frequent East Hartford Races @ The Rent.

I wrote about it a bit here, but, as you know, there's nothing like a more comprehensive description of the event.

So, calculated at 30 frames per second for 9 minutes and 59 seconds, there are about 17,970 frames, and therefore about 17,970,000 more words on the topic.

Roughly.

(I'm not counting the text in the 17,970 frames.)

Without further ado, a clip of a complete failure of a bike race by yours truly:



(Jeepers. 3 hours to upload a 318 MB clip. Maybe I'll post this tomorrow.)

Equipment - Gear Head?

I know of three kinds of computer users:

1. "I turn it on and look at the Internet. I dunno what kind of computer it is."
2. "I just want an inexpensive thing that works. I kind of know the specs, I don't care about the latest quad core CPU, I don't play the latest games or use the latest computer hog software (CAD/CAM etc)."
3. "Man, I would never use a computer with less than (name the latest CPU, but a couple of them, and server level with tons of L1 cache) and a gazillion GB of RAM. I have a umpteen megabyte video card that requires its own powersupply cable, my computer is liquid cooled, and I built it from scratch. When I turn it on the whole neighborhood dims. It rocks!"

I would only consider #3 a gear head. I think I'm like #2.

I am/was an IT guy for about 10 years. Worked on inexpensive arrays of cheap servers (max 32 GB RAM, quad core dual CPU). I built one PC and regretted it - too much figuring out. I buy remanufactured or open box PCs (typically HP), upgrade the video card by installing one, add some memory, and call it a day. Okay, yeah, I rebuilt things with Linux and stuff but not recently. I have to admit that Ubuntu has a spot in my "to do" list, but that's about it.

I simply don't care enough to do all that work. Burnt out. Was when I stopped. Still am.

Before that I was a bike guy for about 15 years. And I did everything, right down to swapping out derailleur pivot bolts (not recommended), replacing all of my brake hardware with SRP bolts (best justification: doesn't rust), rebuilding Ergo levers (key feature of Ergo levers), wheel building up the wazoo, and all the regular mechanic stuff. Okay, I didn't do brazing or frame building as I've yet to wield a torch.

I'm a recovering burnt out bike guy.

For a couple years I refused to do any work on my bike and didn't even change flats. I just changed the wheel if I cut a tire or a tube didn't hold air. With the number of wheels I had due to my wheel building inclinations, there were a lot of them. When I started to run out of wheels - it took a couple years - I finally changed a flat.

And kicked myself for using up some precious Vittoria CXs and CGs because I didn't want to spend less than 9 minutes (which was our time limit at the bike shop) to swap a $1 tube.

To top it off, I typically buy stuff like tubes in bulk, 10 or 20 at a time, so I had loads of them on hand. In fact, I just started using them up, 10 years later.

I know a lot of the bike gear out there. I'm behind the curve with mountain bike stuff, but road stuff, I've kept a surface amount of contact with shops and such, and so I have a brief understanding of a lot of what's out there.

It helps that there are virtually no new ideas - many of them are rehashed ideas first introduced a long, long time ago.

I understand what manufacturers claim. And although I have a nice bike now, I rarely owned cutting edge equipment once I was out of the biz. Okay, even during the biz, I owned the second tier stuff - the pay left something to be desired.

It took me a couple years after they hit the market to get 10 speed Ergo levers and the stuff you need to run 10 speed - a cassette, rear wheel, chain, and a rear derailleur (I promptly won my first field sprint in eons on that set-up).

I ran an Ultegra front for a long time - 7 years? - simply because that's what was sitting in my parts box when I put my bike together, and Ergo doesn't care what kind of front derailleur you use.

I like to think I buy smart, usable equipment.

To wit:

I don't own super light brakes but I own a light, stiff, and lower priced stem.

No carbon bars either, but I have a multitude of crit bend bars, bars which I need so I don't bruise my forearms too much in a sprint.

Many years ago, in the early 90s, I actually used, cracked, and ditched my carbon post before everyone came out with... carbon posts.

But at about the same time, I bought Zipp deep profile rims when they first came out. I have owned and raced aero wheels pretty consistently since the late 80s.

I didn't get STI levers when they hit the market in the late 80s, but I didn't need to - I ran a right-side bar-end lever, enabling me to shift while sprinting. That shifter was cheaper, lighter, and already dialed in. It took until 1992, when Campy hit with Ergo, that I finally stopped using that bar-end shifter.

Having said that I now have a Record SystemSix Cannondale, with an SRM Power System and Reynolds carbon wheels.

Hoity-toity, right?

Well, not really.

I swapped out the bar (to non-carbon), stem (fit), post (to non-carbon), and swapped out wheels (sold them to help pay for the bike). The frame was already a year out of date, the SRM about to be out of date (wired), the wheels I put on were first generation (heavier, different hubs), and only the Record brakes (unchanged for the last couple years) could be considered "current".

And my front race wheel is... a Zipp rim from the early 90s, built around a Campy hub from the late 80s.

Yes, I appreciate the latest technology. But I carefully balance functionality and price.

The part has to be reliable, usable in all conditions. It needs to be "field-serviceable", meaning that if you have a problem while on a ride, you can make it home. A Reynolds wheel may not seem "field-serviceable" and it isn't, but it is strong enough to ride home with a broken spoke or two. However, a snapped carbon bar is not field serviceable.

Broken frames and forks don't count - if that happened, I'd be worried about other things, like my head.

It also has to be fiscally responsible. $6000 for a frame? Um, sorry. $2000 for one wheel? Pass.

There's that saying, "You can have Fast, Cheap, Good. Just pick any two."

Meaning you can have it Cheap and Good, but not Fast.

That's me.

I don't have any cycling aspirations that are age-defined, i.e. turning pro by age 21. So I can wait, literally, a year or two to get a wheelset or a powermeter. And, with my advanced age (heh), I have the patience to wait that long.

A year in a 21 year old's life is 1/3 of their adult lifetime. For me, it's about 10 times less significant.

So I figure out what I want and then carefully keep an eye out for such a thing. I'll research, figure out the market price, and buy what I think is a fairly priced, good condition item.

So I don't know, am I a gear head?

(Original drafted March 23, 2008, updated at post date)

Racing - Radios or No Radios?

Note: I drafted this up in Feb 2008 but never posted it on the site. The recent decision to ban radios from two stages of the Tour has brought the topic to the forefront again.

The question once again: Radios or no radios?

Specifically, we're talking about radios between riders and directors. There will always be radios for the race caravan (when applicable), but it's the ones the riders carry that have caused some ruckus.

The UCI recently (in Feb 2008 it was recent) passed a rule banning radios for U23 racers.

This made me pause for a bit. I grew up following races with domestiques rolling back to the car to confer with the director while hanging onto the car, leaning into the window, because "they can't hear really well".

"What did you say? And can you drive a bit faster?" Fignon, definitely not a domestique, talking to his director Cyrille Guimard, and getting a "slight assist" from the Renault.

But the last whatever years, a common sight in the pro peloton is that of a newly formed break, rolling along, and after a minute or two, each of the pros grab their jersey and talk to their zipper, asking for instructions from the director hiding in there.

When radios first became legal for use, radio supporters cited a number of safety factors to help convince the authorities that radios were a good thing.

Directors wouldn't risk life and limb and vehicles to pull up to their riders at the back of the field to tell them to chase the break or something. There were stories of team cars going 90 mph over blind hill crests, blasting over grass shoulders, and slewing on and off the road as the average-skilled driver tried to regain control over their overloaded, top heavy steed.

In addition, by making relative instant communication possible, radios would make for more exciting racing. Instead of chasing everything a few minutes after they're gone, racers would have instant access to break identities, flat tire victims, and even the odd deal or two. If someone attacked while the field was kind of rolling along, an alert director could holler "Go, go, go!"

And his guys would go.

They could also tend to a flat-tire-stricken team leader, or adjust leadout positions on the fly, or whatever they needed to do which required some intra-team communication.

Finally, radios, and their instant communication, would allow better emergency responses - if someone went down, presumably someone would say something like, "Hey, someone fell off at the left curve - they flew off the cliff." And then they'd find Johan Bruyneel who actually did plumment down a steep mountainside in 1996, luckily in the presence of both TV cameras and other vehicles.



All that stuff sounded pretty good, and with cycling becoming more sophisticated, radios seemed like a natural progression.

So radios it was.

I felt that some of the spontaneity of racing went away though, that whole argument of "robots on bikes". Racers had less of a say on when to go. Instead, they waited, poised, ready to smash legs. Then the director would do a virtual "Hut, hut, hike!" and the team would spring into action.

Although well utilized, I think the following gets us a bit far away from "racing":

I read a story about a particular director being worried about a very good climber who had attacked early in a mountain stage. The attacker quickly gained ground and looked to be on the way to either a spectacular escape/win or an equally spectacular explosion. The director called an "expert" (who wasn't at the race - in fact, he was at his desk job or driving around his car or something) that liked calculating vertical meters per minute and the like. The director asked for this geek's opinion on whether this racer could sustain such an effort. The expert ran some quick calculations and replied that no one, not even this excellent climber, could maintain the vertical ascension rate he currently held.

The mollified director told his worried racer to stay put.

Sure enough the climber blew and the race came back together. The director's racer waited and attacked, winning the race.

What would have happened if there were no radios? Would the racer have panicked? How about the director? Would teams have mounted a fruitless chase? Would the race have ended differently?

Of course we don't know. Things ended the way they ended, and the director, one Johan Bruyneel (you just saw him tumbling off a cliff just above) guided his one and only Lance to yet another Tour victory.

Does this imply that radios are bad?

Not if you don't use them.

Baden Cooke tells a story of some Patrick Jonker's last race in Australia. Cooke was riding without a radio and didn't know who was up the road - some break was up a minute or so and didn't seem to be coming back, and lots of guys in the field were riding so it wasn't like the field was just sitting around.

Cooke asked the soon-to-retire Jonker if he knew who was up there (Jonker was in the leader's jersey of the stage race and therefore had some interest in making sure things were "just so"). Cooke figured the leader of the race would have a radio on him and could just talk to his jersey zipper to find out who had ridden away from the field.

Instead Jonker stands up and rockets away up the road. After a couple minutes he comes back, a little winded but definitely not hurting, and reels off a list of numbers to a very surprised and awestruck Cooke.

I have a love/hate relationship with radios. When they first came out (Motorola had them, naturally), I tried to make my own with FM broadcasters and transistor receivers. I started testing a very short range set (effective range about 20 feet - I justified it by telling myself no one could overhear the conversations). I probably spent a very anxious and excited week working on my pair of radios.

The USCF promptly made them illegal for racers below Cat 2 so that project got junked.

However, I'd taken that step. My actions indicated that I'd prefer to have a radio for myself.

However, I've seen some really funny (to me) confrontations between other teams' teammates over radio air time, usage, what to report, and why they didn't mention that break of 8 that lapped the field until the break lapped the field (or whatever).

I've also seen some of the stupidest tactical moves made based on observers on the sidelines radioing ridiculous recommendations to their racers. Since they were not my teammates I just kept my mouth shut. Then I waited for the fireworks after the race when the frustrated and tired racers demanded to know exactly why the observer told them to do this or that.

I don't like when pros, with 2 k to go, in a two man break, radios back to his director for instructions. Like dude, it's one on one. If the director has something to say, he'll say it, but don't go crying to mama every time you're in a situation that requires a little.. thinking. You need to be able to figure out what to do in such a tactically straight-forward situation.

Finally, although not a good excuse, I like hearing the directors leaning out the windows with megaphones yelling at their riders. Usually this happens in time trials. That advice is interesting to hear because it's what they want to tell their rider. I like to hear if they're telling the truth or not, what sort of things they yell, etc.

"Encore, encore, encore! Allez!"

Head shaking. Tsk-tsking.

"Allez allez allez!"

You could smell the defeat in the air.

Beats a very flat toned, "You're up 10 seconds at that last check point. Left curve coming up, 53x13, watch the manhole cover on the exit. Remember to drink. Hands lower, remember the wind tunnel tests. Elbows in. Chin down. Lower. Okay, good."

Plus it makes for cool pictures.

Since I can't use radios I can't really say if radios really would have helped me or make racing safer or whatever. But I think racers having to read their own races, or at least a delay in figuring out who is where, makes racing more exciting.

Racers without radios get frustrated, flustered, and caught off guard. I certainly do - I've sprinted for the line not knowing there was a guy that almost lapped the field, and I've also sprinted for the line thinking we were going for 8th when, in fact, the break had broken up.

I've also asked (yelled) for help from the sidelines, splits, numbers of riders, whatever, and usually get virtually nothing. Partially because of the Doppler effect (I hear "EERrrrrsssssss" when someone yells "It's all together, just wait for the sprint!"), partially because I can't hear well, and partially because it's hard to yell at someone if you can't focus your voice at him because you can't find him because he's hiding behind a bunch of wheels.

Phew.

There's little enough of this tactical chaso as it is and some more of it would be good for those of us watching the racing.

Personally?

I'd prefer if there was no radios.

We'll see what happens in the Tour.

Joe Parkin - Blog and Twitter

Joe Parkin is an ex-pro, raced in Europe, essentially a domestique, but a guy who has witty insight and a great writing style.

Blog

Twitter

Why I think this is significant: his book.

And my brief venture into that world; just a skimming of the world, like a meteor on its way elsewhere, glancing off a strange world's atmosphere.

Racing - Prospect Park, 17 June 2006 - Helmet Cam

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Okay, it's not Star Wars. Or any of its Clones.

It's an old helmet cam tape that I resurrected. Back then, when I started doing helmet cams, I wanted success, a story, something big to grab the viewer's attention. Apparently, back then, I felt that a broken spoke and a wild field sprint was... not big enough.

Once I left the clip behind, working on others instead, it aged quickly. I had the original 90 degree lens, not the 120 that I have now, so we're in the "butts and ankles" mode. In addition to that, the lens protector had a yet-to-be-discovered crack in it, causing the lower left part of the clip to be obscured by a big, fuzzy, banana-shape (I discovered it after the Prospect race and replaced it shortly thereafter).

Nonetheless the race was a good one.

As an added bonus, this is the first time I've been allowed to upload a larger-than-100 MB file. So the original file, if you select "HQ", will be some not-as-compressed version of the 268MB file I've uploaded.

That day, June 17, 2006 (more than THREE years ago! Can you believe that?) started out at Dark O'Clock, about 4 or 4:15 AM. Crazy, but to make the start an hour away, we had to be on the road by 4:45 or so. I went with a long-time teammate nicknamed Merto (to give you an idea of how long ago it was, he's now married with a newborn baby girl). We knew each other literally two decades or so, but we only started hanging out a few years ago.

He did the 4s while I did the M35+.

I'd placed in the top 10 or so the previous Prospect race, winning the field sprint handily, so I came with some expectations. I had no illusions as far as breaks went, but if it came down to a field sprint, well, I'd be there, duking it out.

The race started normally, but then...

About a half hour into the race I heard a loud "Ping!" Then a metallic flopping sound, that of a steel spoke bouncing off of a carbon fiber fork leg. One of my spokes had let go, in my front wheel.

Unpleasant.

I eased a bit, checking the wheel. The bike felt solid but I didn't know how a 15 spoke DV46 would hold up. I went to the back, not wanting to take anyone out if the wheel spontaneously collapsed.

Lap after lap the wheel seemed normal. I could climb the hill, gingerly standing after doing the thing seated for a couple laps.

The bike seemed fine.

I also let the bike accelerate down the descent. Even doing an aero tuck over the front wheel, a few descents later.

Fine again.

With two laps to go I decided to contest the finish. I moved up aggressively, getting as far as about 15th spot before going backwards on the hill. Exhausted, I almost gave up, but the ringing bell urged me on.

Although the last climb wasn't too bad, I had to ease near the top, trying to conserve some of my sprint. Luckily the pace wasn't too bad, and by the time we'd descended onto the final flat mile, I was in decent position.

Then, as I conservatively stuck to my plan (follow a guy that beat me in some recent sprint), guys kept going around him (and me). I got a bit boxed in, got leaned on really hard twice, and waited and waited for an opening.

Finally it came, and after the briefest of sprints (about 7 pedal strokes), I managed to place 7th.

I turned around immediately, praying the wheel would make it to the parking lot. The wheel made it. Ultimately I rebuilt it with DT Revolutions, lightweight round spokes with beefy ends, and I still race it today.

Merto didn't realize exactly what I'd dealt with during the race until I twanged the floppy spoke, on camera even. His exclamation was short, succint, and enough.

About two seconds later the tape ran out. Or the battery died. Either way, the tape ended.

Phew.

As the saying goes, "All's well that ends well."

And to all a good night.

Racing - @TheRent, June 30, 2009

For the past week or so, the weather forecast for the area has been sort of similar each day: 10 more days of scattered thundershowers. The percentage chance of precipitation varies from 30 to 50%, and weather.com has ominous pictures of grey clouds with lightning and such, but with the sun peeking out from behind it.

Welcome to Connecticut in June!

Although we've had some bad weather, including an unusual tornado touching down nearby, the weather hasn't followed up the forecast very well in the past 4 or 5 days. Okay, I admit we got dumped on for a while, but Sunday, for example, turned out to be a great day. Same with Monday. And Tuesday.

And that brings me to Tuesday@TheRent, or EHaw, aka The East Hartford Training Races at Rentschler Field.

I came into the day a bit tired, with a race on Sunday and a longish group ride on Monday. The latter included some relatively significant climbing, one hill extending for 10 or so minutes of leg-breaking, steadily declining (500w -> 220w) effort. I also made some significant short efforts, trying to learn how hard I can go after a way-anaerobic effort. The hardest was a jump after a string of slower moving cars, did an extended hard effort, then tried to make it up this kicker of a little hill. I managed to turn the pedals over until I could breathe again so that was a good sign (first time I could do that on that hill).

After two harder days on the bike, I feel either leery or expectant. Leery because my legs are shot, or expectant because I'm starting to feel good.

This time I felt expectant.

As soon as I got home from work, the missus and I packed up and rushed off to the race. I scarfed down a banana, drank some Gatorade, and hoped that the pasta I had at lunch would hold me through the race until dinner. I hadn't "unconfigured" my bike from the Monday night ride, so it still had my seat bag, tail light, and Down Low Glow light setup. Although I took the tail light and bag off later, I'd leave the DLGs on while I warmed up.

I grabbed a brimmed cap, a "training cap", because I like the look of a brimmed cap under a helmet. For racing I usually use a brimless cap because then I can see forward while my head is in that "I'm hurting" looking down pose. Today, though, was more for training, so it was brimmed cap time.

At the race I used a recycled Bethel number (I'd been assigned 286 for the Rent Series so I found an unused 286, cut off the Bethel references, and am using that number), using 9 pins (!) to hold it to my jersey.

Which reminds me, I want to do a post on pinning. But that's a different topic.

Anyway, I registered and went warming up with some of the guys I met and raced with on Sunday. One of the guys was SOC, the guy who I tried to help that day. He seemed as cheerful as ever, and he wanted to do a good ride at his second (?) Rent race for the year.

Just before heading back to the start line, one of guys rolling around with me asked me what those silver tubes (the DLG) were on the bike. To illustrate I plugged in the battery, lighting them up. And since this was a flat race, and therefore battery weight really doesn't matter, I decided to race with the lights on.

(Note: I've raced with the feathery weight lights themselves since prior to the CCC Crit at Bethel. They're kind of a pain to take off so I've just left them on.)

The usual threats, Aiden and Tim, were there, but the third leg smasher, Eric, wasn't. This gave me some hope that the race would be a bit more suitable to someone like me. When the three leg smashers start smashing legs, I fall victim pretty quickly. When one is missing, the other two tend to smash a little less, and that lets me actually race a bit.

In this case Tim launched a hard attack at the start, literally standing up on the pedals for something like half a lap. After two or three hard laps he finally sat up, and the cursing field sat up with him.

Except for one of SOC's teammates, who promptly launched a counterattack.

He got a gap pretty quickly, tempting others to bridge, but with his team CVC literally everywhere in the field, it'd be up to one of maybe 8 or 10 riders to make the effort. I did a little pull, closed a little gap to a group of four racers, but nothing significant as far as the race was concerned.

For me, though, bridging that little gap was pretty significant because I went hard to do it, promptly got caught, and then managed to hang on when the pace picked up again.

Of course, as luck would have it, I timed it all wrong. With attacks and counterattacks collectively tiring the fields' legs, it was an ideal time to launch a muderous attack.

And when it finally came, it came just as I got caught. Of course it had to be Tim. He took with him two or three riders, quickly got a 40 or 50 meter gap, and then one of SOC's teammates bridged.

After a lap or three of pulling, the break sat well clear of the field, reshuffled to include just Tim, one of Aiden's CCNS teammates, and one of SOC's teammates.

I groveled in the hurt pit for a while, hanging on. At about this time I started regretting choosing the cool looking brimmed cap. I couldn't see well without lifting my head up, but I was so tired I didn't want to lift. So I shoved my cap up, helmet down, trying to rearrange stuff, but nothing worked. I had to keep peering up to see what was going on.

Note to self: use brimless caps in any race situation.

When a few of SOC's teammates rolled off the front, I felt obligated to chase, or, as I prefer, bridge (brimmed cap or not).

See, if you chase all the time, you're only helping the field. Great if you're trying to help someone in the field (like a teammate or a friend), but usually it's just a collosal waste of energy.

Instead, I like the Bridge. This involves launching a somewhat hard jump, like 2/3's of a sprint, then following it up with a leg-searing (for me) 450-500 watt effort. With a Bridge effort, you gap the field, not drag it along, so anyone who wants to go with you has to make the same initial jump effort.

And no one else benefits from your work.

By now Tim and his two break companions were well up the road, about 1/2 to 3/4 of a lap clear. I hadn't seen SOC for a few laps so I figured he may have flatted, or, after the race Sunday, and doing a little instructional racing in the earlier B race, he had sat up. I still felt obligated to race though, and I decided that if he wasn't in the field, I'd race for myself but take more "effort chances", i.e. bridge and stuff. You know, test my legs and such.

SOC's teammates, numerous as they were, did an honorable thing - instead of blocking and blocking and blocking and blocking, they decided to do a parallel pursuit type effort, keeping the pace high enough to discourage attacks but low enough that they didn't chase down the break.

They actually set a pretty hard pace, one that got guys in difficulty. One by one guys got shelled. I sat near the back, struggling a bit, but when the guy in front of me let a gap go, I couldn't do anything about it. I should have, but my stupid cap was in the way and I didn't realize what was happening until it was too late. I did one of my "periscope" checks, saw pavement, and immediately kicked myself (mentally of course) for wearing the brimmed cap.

One guy rolled around me, and I realized I was in an Australian Pursuit like position. I was sitting on a guy's wheel and I had to calculate when I should go, balancing three important variables: recovering, wind direction, and the escaping field. The more I sat, the better recovered I'd be when I finally went. I could only go in certain sections of the course so I could use the wind to my benefit - in the headwind bit I'd explode quickly if I went there, so I'd have to wait until a more gentle section of the course. The whole time I thought about this the field steadily rolled away - I didn't have all day to think about my problem.

Finally, with the field at the edge of "reachability", my legs about as good as they'd get, I went pretty hard. I think the guy wasn't very happy with my jump (I think he was expecting a gentle pull), but I knew it was either jump or get lapped, and I wanted to try and get back into the field.

I pedaled furiously, trying to bridge before the headwind section. The missus, surprised to see this third big effort, screamed in support as I cranked by her.

And, miraculously, I made it back into the field.

But my legs weren't happy at all, I started to twinge a lot, and I couldn't catch my breath. A lap later, my legs sort of went numb and I sat up. Guys rolled by me, mainly solo, time trialing behind the field. I moved way over, off the racing line, when the break rolled up to me. Tim plugged away at the front, the CCNS guy sat second wheel, and SOC's teammate rolled by in third spot.

When he got next to me my adled, oxygen-starved brain did some calculations. Deep profile wheels, red Cannondale frame... it wasn't SOC's teammate. It was SOC himself!

Well now.

I was glad I never chased, not that I could have, but still, you know, I'm glad I didn't. It's hard restraining that kind of power, you know :)?

I stopped by the missus and Mrs SOC so I could watch the final bit of the race unfold. Tim had been pulling like a mofo, CCNS too, and SOC, well, he looked good but I think he was the least experienced of the three riders.

I said to the missus that Tim knew what to do, so did the other guy, but SOC, he'd be happy just to be in the break, and he may do too much work in the last couple laps.

Plus, I thought silently, Tim can throw down a world of hurt, something that SOC probably has never experienced.

I hollered at him to build reserves, but the Doppler effect meant he heard, "Errrssss". Then I told him to keep alert, which he heard as, "Errrssss."

I figured Tim would go at around 2 to go, and sure enough, 150 meters before they saw the 2 to go card, he launched a hard attack. SOC tried to go, as did the third rider, but it took a good 250 meters for them to come close to closing the gap.

Another 250 and it was all together. The third rider launched just after the bell. I screamed "RIGHT!!!!" and this time, because they were already passed us, no Doppler. SOC looked right and jumped hard. Tim went too, sitting on, watching, lurking.

Oh man. It's like watching a cat crouched on the floor, tail wiggling, digging in its claws, preparing to launch.

Tim was the cat. And the other two would be dead meat.

On the backstretch, just as SOC rolled up to the escapee's wheel, Tim went.

Bam.

The CCNS gamely went after him, SOC struggling to hold his wheel, but that was it. Game over.

Tim could spend some time raising his hands, time he almost needed as he was recovering from a tough crash a couple weeks ago. SOC came around the CCNS guy for second, a great two laps of effort.

After the obligatory post-race chatting, the four of us (SOC and his wife, me and mine) went out for some dinner.

I felt pleasantly fatigued, pleasantly tired. Legs a bit sore from this third day of hard riding.

SOC related a funny story. Tim is a well known local, a bronze medalist at Elite Nationals, a really, really strong racer. And though SOC knew of Tim, he's never met Tim, didn't even know what he looked like. So after the race, Tim rolled by and complimented SOC on his race. SOC, polite and cheerful as ever, introduced himself.

"And your name is...?"
"Tim."
"Um.... Unkert?"
"Yeah."

(SOC: mental calculations)

"Oh."

We all laughed. Then I relayed one of the many Tim stories I like to tell, the one about him getting the bronze at Nationals.

SOC looked at me.

"I'm glad I didn't know that before the race."

We got to watch as a dark thunderstorm rolled over the parking lot, dumping some good amount of water all around. Then, as we finished dinner, the sun set and the skies cleared up.

Good food. Good company. Good times.

Racing - Keith Berger Crit 2009 or The Failed Leadout

My preparations for the race on Sunday went pretty poorly, even for me. Okay, I did manage to ride on Tuesday. I didn't race Wednesday. Or ride Thursday. Or Friday. But I planned on riding Saturday.

And...

Well, let's say Saturday was a long day for me, no longer than normal, but somehow I felt much more tired than normal. I came home, lay down, pet one of the grown kittens a bit (Hal usually craves attention, but it may have been Tiger), and...

Woke up TWO HOURS later.

So Sunday, hopefully well rested, I gathered some gear, ate some bacon and eggs, and drove off to the Keith Berger Race with the missus.

I wanted to get a decent warm-up in, but it was hot, I didn't feel too energetic, and I only did a couple laps of the course before the officials lined us up.

The last time I did this race I either got totally shelled or I exploded just before the sprint. Either way I didn't feel too good about the whole thing. Too hard, too fast.

However, this is SOC's team's race, so I decided I'd come race to both support his team as well as support SOC himself in the race. He'd made the trip to Bethel to help me out so I felt it natural to return the favor.

From past experience I knew my help would be limited so I laid out my comprehensive plans.

"Okay, start looking for me at 2 to go. If I'm feeling good, I'll be around at 2 to go. If not, look for me on the backstretch on the last lap. I'll try and launch you so you can jump out of the last turn."

Real optimistic, right?

The flat, four corner course usually meant a strung out field, but with a lot of horsepower turned off, a strong crosswind on the back stretch, and a lot of sprinters looking for a bunch finish, the field mainly stayed together.

To experience the front, the wind, and to get an idea of what I'd have to do on the last lap, I moved up to the front on a prime lap. I saw two guys from Central Wheel at the front, a long time friend(-ly rival) John on their wheel, and decided to slot in just in front of John. I'd lead him out for the prime.

Trouble was that when I stood to go, my legs didn't go.

Feeling totally embarrassed, I buried myself to bring the front of the group back together after the sprint, apologizing to John the whole time.

I really felt bad and slunk back into the field, kicking myself the whole time.

A bit later I saw a four man break take off. Lo and behold, John was in it. Therefore, although I felt some obligation to pull a bit for SOC, I felt I had to give John a chance, so I watched as various riders countered and others blocked.

One of the riders who launched was one Secondo, a guy I actually trained with one day (however briefly) and a really good guy. He's another guy that, if I'm not racing for myself, I'll gladly race for him, even if he doesn't know it. I've done that in the past, and I'm sure I'll do it in the future.

Anyway, after a couple laps of insanely difficult solo chasing, he exploded out there somewhere in no man's land. You could almost see bits and pieces fly everywhere, and he shot backwards like he was shot out of a cannon.

A bit concerned, I kept an eye on him, even asking if he was okay. I had iced Gatorade, water, whatever, but he could barely focus on what I said.

He was in trouble.

After we took a corner, he seemed lethargic accelerating up to speed. I sat up on the windward side, trying to give him shelter, but when the gap grew to 20 or so feet, I knew I had to take some action. I eased a bit, let him pull up next to me, and gently reached out, checking my immediate six to make sure no one was overlapping my wheel.

And shoved him across the gap.

He actually had to brake, I shoved him so hard, and in a couple pedal strokes I rode into his windward side again.

Ends up that the one shove made all the difference and he managed to finish the race.

My good deed for Secondo done for the day, I started looking around for SOC. He'd been diligently sitting on the sheltered side on the back stretch, moving up when necessary, not fighting unecessarily for position. A good, solid ride, saving it for the finish. His team kept making efforts, chasing if necessary, attacking if the opportunity popped up, and generally rode a respectable race.

With two to go I found SOC.

I tried to stay sheltered, trying to stay out of the wind, saving my one match for an acceleration 200-300 meters from the third turn.

We hit the bell, maybe 20 back, SOC on my wheel. I moved up a bit, riding in the middle of the field, and tried to set up to be in the middle on the backstretch. I gambled on finding an opening halfway down the backstretch, even if it was on the left, and then launching SOC for the line.

Two guys immediately filled the gap to my left, maybe three guys sitting to my right. And a lot of guys in front. SOC faithfully followed me. I started getting a bit less optimistic about this "left side gap".

Someone started going pretty early, halfway down the backstretch, and the line strung out a bit. Now I had two guys to my left and two guys to my right.

A slight opening in front, the guys on my left started accelerating, and I found a lane to the outside of the third turn. I took it, trying to find big wide lanes, but guys were automatically closing up behind me.

SOC lost my wheel.

I kept going a bit, too far back for anything, but I had to keep going. Maybe he'd rocket up to me, or maybe I'd see a huge opening, but whatever, I just kept going.

The final turn, faster than normal, and the guys at the front were way up there. I watched as guys fought for the win, watched as all hope of a top 10 for SOC faded to nothing. I did a semi-sprint, half-hearted, disappointed in myself for letting SOC down. It was his race, not mine, and my fear of the wind kept me from finding an advantageous position for SOC at the most critical juncture.

If only...

Thinking about it afterwards, I knew I could have done a bunch of things.

First, I could have moved up aggressively before the backstretch. With the race over and my normal post-race mulling, I realized that if I'd made even a brief effort out of the first turn, I could have gained a few spots, maybe tucking into 15th or 20th position. This would have changed my approach to the backstretch, but it may have left me in a different position going into the third turn.

Second, even if it meant that I couldn't actually lead him out, going into the wind just after the second turn, when the wind blew the strongest, would have let me get SOC into perhaps the top 7 or 8 spots. I'd have to depend on his superior aerobic strength for him to hold that position, but it's different fighting to maintain position as opposed to fighting to gain position. Usually it's easier to maintain position, especially with half a lap to go.

Third, as the field flared out when the wind started easing, I should have gone left, even waving SOC to my right, so I could shelter him directly. Then I could move at will, letting him follow in the wind vacuum to my right.

My ultimate mistake was to give up the inside line on the backstretch - I felt it would be too risky, that we'd get totally boxed in. But the field naturally veered left before the third turn, setting up for it, and therefore the inside would have opened up. I should have thought of that.

A hard, aggressive move up the inside could have netted a good 10-12 spots, slotting in to maybe 6th to 8th position. At that point it'd have been a full committed effort to the last turn, across the brief 100 meter third stretch, and cornering just as hard as possible.

I'd have flared out a bit, letting SOC scoot up the inside, and watched as he sprinted for the line.

Whatever he'd have done, it would have been better than losing him with two turns to go.

After the race I cooled down with him, Hob, and a few of SOC's teammates. We had a great talk about the race, coulda-woulda-shoulda kind of talk. It reminded me of the old Carpe Diem Racing squad, the hyper-excitement building until even I was swearing to emphasize points.

Like over and over again.

And I really don't swear that much.

All in all, a decent race. I felt much better during the race. No cramps (I've been drinking Gatorade - back to that, now that I found a place selling mix - Frost flavor???), no undue pressure, no popping off the back. I could even help out some others.

So, next time, a bit more aggressive riding, a bit more sacrifice. It's hard being a helper teammate for me because I'm not used to hammering in the wind. It's unnatural for me to leave openings behind me, for someone to follow. And I have to remember that someone is glued to my wheel and trying to do everything I do. I start second-guessing moves, re-calculating what's possible so that I factor in a second rider, stuff like that.

It's hard.

And it's a lot of fun.

Training - How NOT To Do A Group Ride

I should apologize.

Actually, I did, to the guys that organize the ride. See, the other evening, I changed my ride goals from that of a reasonable, cooperative rider to the Group Ride's worst nightmare: The Pace Shifter.

Let me explain.

There's a no-drop ride on Mondays, one that varies in route but is ultimately meant to be a reasonably paced ride. Because of the local geography, it must go over a climb or two. Other than those inevitable bumps, the terrain makes for a generally pleasant ride, easy to monitor, easy to control.

After the bumps, or any time we get to a reasonable regroup point, the ride usually regroups. Any place works - big intersections with parking lots to the side, a quiet intersection where we can just sit, or even a flat bit of road at the top of a particularly difficult climb. The ride organizer is good about doing this, and if things get too bad, i.e. the pace differential causes some impatience, he'll even tell the group to go ahead, and he rides with the slowest folks.

Of course, with any group, we all had to be a bit more conscious about things like traffic, mechanicals, things like that. That particular evening, I had an additional responsibility - a guest rider from the West Coast, riding on my Giant TCR (my now-primary back up bike). I had to keep him from getting lost, make sure he didn't get dropped, and all those good things one ought to do when introducing a new rider to a group.

That day I rode in a larger group numbering in the 20s. We definitely had to be conscious of other road traffic, careful not to obstruct or otherwise impede faster traffic.

With the latter in mind, when we turned onto a long, straight stretch of road, I increased the pace a bit. The previous time we'd ridden this bit of road, the group took advantage of the 1.5 bike wide shoulder and the slow pace by doubling up. Since only one rider could ride in the shoulder comfortably, the other ended up in the busy and fast "main" lane. By keeping the pace a bit higher, and stringing out the group, I hoped to keep things single file.

My ploy succeeded - the whole group strung out nicely, single file, West Coast behind me, not obstructing any traffic. I kept pulling around a bend.

Then looked up.

Long steady climb. No respite. Smaller shoulder. And cars rolling by regularly. Every time I looked to pull off I saw cars coming up, so I tried to maintain some reasonable pace. I knew I was digging myself into a hole aerobically, and I just hoped I could make it off the lead before I blew.

Finally I could pull off. I looked back and surveyed the others. The group had predictably disintegrated on the lower sections of the climb, but everyone seemed to have found their pace, their group, and things looked fine. If we sat up at the top and stopped for just a minute or two, we'd be together.

That's a big "If".

I let some others take the pace (I'm technically not a ride leader). I eased, expecting everyone to stop somewhere shortly after the climb, but as driveway after driveway passed, I realized that the riders in front were just soft pedaling, rolling along at a very easy 17 or 18 mph. Instead of waiting, the riders at the front simply kept pedaling.

So what's the big deal?

Now, it may seem like it should be easy to catch someone going, say, 17 or 18 mph. Pros latch back on after flats or crashes while the field's averaging 28 mph, so it's got to be pretty easy to get back on to someone going 10 mph slower.

Right?

Well... there's the pros and there are the mortals. And for mortals, it's not so easy.

If you've ever been in that "dropped" situation, you'll know that it's nigh near impossible to bridge up to a soft-pedaling group. Look at the factors working against you:

1. To catch a waiting group (soft pedaling, not stopped) in any kind of expedited fashion, you'll need to move along at 25 or more mph.

2. You were dropped to begin with so you're already way behind the aerobic curve. It may be a struggle to maintain 18 mph for the first minute or two of the chase.

3. A long hill may leave you a minute or two behind. For the furthest groups, perhaps 3 or 4 minutes (I've typically been in those groups so I speak from experience).

Taking a best-case scenario for the group, let's say the group plodded along at 15 mph after it crested the climb. You arrive at the top of the hill 2 minutes after the front group, climbing at or above your threshold.

You're cooked.

You're also about a half mile behind the group. They've been riding away from the top of the hill for 2 minutes at 15 mph before you got there, and they're covering a mile every 4 minutes.

Even if you miraculously recover, enabling you to suddenly average 25 mph, you'll need to chase for three minutes to bridge up to them. If you can only go 22 mph, it'll take you longer - like over 4 minutes. And if you needed a minute to recover, add another minute or two to those times.

(Math folks and those who have done the SATs recently, feel free to pipe up on the math because every time I check it, it seems wrong.)

This means that if the group doesn't wait, and they go really, really slow, it'll be a good 4 or 5 or 6 minutes before everyone's back together again. And when the group is together, those coming up from the back will be totally shattered. The next rise or hill will simply repeat the scenario and magnify the problem.

From my own experience I know that when I explode, I do it 100%. Usually I'm plodding along at 4 or 5 mph on the hill and 15 or 17 mph on the flats. This means that if the group is just soft-pedaling, I rarely see it again before the ride ends.

On the other hand, a short regrouping stop, maybe 2 or 3 or 4 minutes, lets the faster riders recover a bit, take a sip of water, adjust whatever, and even circle back and help encourage or pace the riders in difficulty. A nice way of building group spirit.

Anyway, on this particular ride I stayed within myself, refusing to push myself over the edge to respond to the guys attacking one another. And, as the grade finally let off, I found myself on their wheels.

I eased pretty hard, intending to wait for the others. When I realized that I really didn't know where I was (we didn't go up the hill the last time we went this way), I decided to stop waiting. I hurried and caught back on to the soft-pedaling lead riders.

Ultimately a bunch of riders made it back, chasing furiously for 4 or 5 minutes, and our group swelled to maybe 15 or more riders.

But we'd left behind a good 8 or 10 riders, including the ride organizer (who stays with the slowest of the group).

I petitioned to stop at the next intersection in a large, usually deserted parking lot. It's a normal regroupment point, used almost every time we pass through the area. Incredibly, the riders zoomed right past it, and only when I protested somewhat vociferously did the group reluctantly pull over, 100 yards past the lot.

I had stopped in the lot, expecting the group to stop with me, but when I saw them pull over, I had to be satisfied for the moment.

We waited for a few minutes. I circled a few times, sat for a while, and circled a bit more. I put a foot down again, looking down the road for the straggling group. I glanced up the road, where the rest of the group waited, and...

Saw a few riders disappearing down the road.

What?!

I looked. No more riders. Just the three straggling ones. Accelerating. And I realized that the group had left without me. They didn't even have one guy holler or ride over or anything to tell me that they had decided to go.

Not knowing exactly where I was, and with a guest on the ride from the West Coast (following everyone else around and up ahead with the others), I immediately jumped on my bike and took off after the impatient group.

I chased furiously for a few minutes, dying a thousand deaths. I hadn't done the math from above, but I knew that I had to go really, really hard to catch them.

Luckily they stayed in sight. Slowly but surely I reeled them in, finally latching on after a few redoubled efforts. My bewildered guest sitting at the back, wondering where I was, wondering what us East Coasters meant by "no-drop".

I decided that if I caught on, I'd carry out a mission of destruction.

Finally, a mile or two later, I latched onto the back. I immediately thought about my plans for the group. Although definitely not the strongest, especially on the hills, I knew that I could leverage my racing "pain threshold", understanding of speed, as well as a bit of self-belief to bluff all but the best riders there. I wanted to use power hills and narrow false flats to shred the group.

I wanted to become The Pace Shifter.

I sat at the back, recovering, and let the group start to attack itself. Guys would roll off the front, others would join, then the rest would chase. I sat in, waiting for the right moment.

Then I saw my opening. We were approaching, appropriately enough, Hatchet Hill Road, a road with a trio of short rises, the first one just like the one at Bethel.

I bridged a small gap to the front 4 or 5, sat on until the hill, and then drilled it.

Hard.

My West Coast guest stayed on, he being much more fit than me (he's a runner and triathlete as well as a cyclist). Two other riders, nice ones both, eventually made it back, but I kept my body floored, forcing the issue. A matching couple, by far the strongest of the group, easily stayed with me. A couple more tagged on, making for a reasonable 8 or 10 riders.

I had already planned my next move. A sharp uphill turn would take us into a small village, with narrow roads, another hard turn, all on a long, grinding false flat. The last time I rode this bit with the group I'd been at the back, got slightly gapped on the first turn, and ended up exploding trying to bridge back up. I knew that if I could reverse the positions, I could throw down a world of hurt on the guys behind me.

Therefore I hit the front just as we set up for the hard turn. I took the turn relatively fast.

And drilled it.

Again, my West Coast guest stuck to my wheel like glue. I pushed hard, trying to get that demoralizing gap, and rolled hard through the next turn.

On the long grinder of a false flat, the matching couple bridged. Actually, they went right by me, and I had to bury myself to keep them within shouting distance.

As the road started heading down hill, the couple waited. I bridged to them, West Coast on my wheel. At some point another guy, a nice one, showed up too. Good company.

The pace eased.

I saw one of the non-waiting culprits trying to bridge, maybe 50 meters back.

I immediately went to the front, did a long, hard pull. West Coast, just trying to keep things rolling, pulled through. So did the other nice guy. And then the couple pulled through as well.

The non-waiter, the elastic between him and us stretched to the breaking point, still didn't give up.

I drilled it up another slight rise, turned onto the main road back to the shop, and kept the pace up. As we hit a series of short, grindy rises, all of us taking even pulls, we finally popped the last guy off.

A mile or two later, mission accomplished, I eased pretty hard. So did everyone else - the last 20 or so minutes had been hard and relentless, at least to me. I'd been strained to the max to hang on, but as soon as I found myself out of the red zone, I'd gone to the front again.

Merciless. Relentless. Mean.

After we finished I waited for the ride organizer. Apologized for my lack of civilty, my incredibly poor group riding methods. Explained to him why I rode the way I did.

He laughed. He understood, at least at some level. He didn't know what actually happened because he wasn't there, but in the end, it was okay.

We'll have to make sure folks know exactly what "regrouping" means, "no-drop", things like that. Make it clear what the procedure will be if someone flats, or someone less fit gets shelled early on each climb. Hey, I am that person a lot of the time, so I understand.

I got in my car, tired, and started on my way home.

Next week, another group ride. I hope it goes better.