Originally posted in cyclingnews.com. (This letter addressed mountain bikes but the same holds true for road bikes).
In response to Richard Rule's crank length letter:
If you are 6'2", 35.5" inseam, there is little reason for you not to buy 180's. Long cranks give you extra leverage and allows your muscles to exert power over a greater range of motion. If you're limited in training time, don't have the aerobic capacity of a pro, and just want to enjoy 1-3 hour rides, then I think longer crank arms are great.
I'm only 5'7" with a 29" (barely) inseam. I ride a 49-50 cm seat tube frame. I have decent speed/power, terrible aerobic capacity. Conventional wisdom would put me on 170's or shorter. By working for a couple months to overcome the tendency to push, I eliminated the one significant drawback of the longer cranks. With limited training, I found a dramatic increase in performance after switching to 175's. I first learned of long crank usage when Renault Elf put their riders on long cranks. Marc Madiot, riding a 55 cm frame, used 180mm cranks with success. I "re-discovered" the theory last winter when I rode a mountain bike with 175s and found myself riding as fast on it as my road bike. I made the switch soon after that.
Some precautions. Long cranks force your feet to make bigger circles and increase the distance your various leg parts travel for each revolution. Your knees go higher, drop farther, your foot extends forward more, your Achilles is stretched a little bit more. Long legs minimize a lot of those effects. Long cranks require adaptation time, which, if skipped, give rise to some "long crank arm" myths like the inability to spin and losing efficiency. Since the cranks drop further, you'll hit them (or your pedals) more often on rocks and such.
If you allow yourself time to adapt to the new cranks, you'll be able to spin fine. Switching off season helps - you can focus on regaining pedal speed instead of keeping up with your riding friends. After my November 2001 swap, my comfortable cadence dropped to just over 70 rpm's. However, my performance increased significantly due to increased leverage/power. By March 2002, my comfortable cadence was back at 100+ rpm's. To measure cadence, buy a simple cyclometer with cadence. Mine cost less than US$60 (and it has heavy duty wires for mountain bikes). You can also count rpm's for 6 seconds and multiply by 10, but this is less accurate and immediate. To see where you ride comfortably, simply ride without paying attention to your exact cadence. I find that my cadence climbs 5-10 rpms if I ignore it. You'll find that your cadence returns to a consistent range each time you do this on a given day or week.
As pointed out in other letters, "pedaling efficiency" has more to do with having a good form and discipline rather than crank length. If you can maintain form comfortably at 100-120 rpm's, whatever the crank length, you'll be able to maintain it at lower rpm's.
Losing efficiency in specific situations is a different matter. Long cranks don't help sometimes, particularly at very low cadences. On very steep climbs at low rpm's, they seem to lose efficiency (this is my personal observation). I attribute the efficiency loss to a combination of a longer "dead spot" in the pedal stroke as well as a higher output "power stroke". Long cranks also accentuate the difference between your lowest and highest output for each revolution. This causes the pedal to "stall" in the dead spots. When pedaling at a reasonable speed (70-80+ rpm's), the dead spot issue is moot. In fact, you'll find that you have significant more power on slight and moderate uphills - you'll be able to shift up a gear or two. Your flat land cruising speed will increase as well, as much as 10%. Your top speed will decrease for a given gear due to the larger pedaling arc - you'll find yourself using bigger gears when sprinting.
If you do decide to get the longer cranks, don't forget to adjust your position on the bike. Your position is determined by the amount your cranks point forward (for seat fore-aft) and down (for seat height). Check your seat height (lower for longer cranks), seat setback (this may not be necessary because lowering your seat will move it forward), stem height and length (lower and longer, usually). If you install 5 mm longer cranks, you'll need to move your seat forward about 5 mm and down about 5 mm. Remember to first maintain the seat-pedal relationship and then worry about the seat-bar relationship. Don't adjust your seat position to fix an incorrect stem or bar - this compromises your seat-pedal position. Instead, you should fix it by changing your stem or bar. In the case of 5 mm longer cranks, your stem will need to drop 5 mm and extend 5 mm.
Showing posts with label Letters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Letters. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Letters - Sprinting
This letter first appeared in cyclingnews.com. I decided to republish it as it's been quoted in full on a different site and I think it helps describe why I like sprinting. I wrote this letter in response to someone who claimed there's more to life than just sprinting.
There's More to Life than Sprinting
I couldn't stay away from this one. I suppose I'm the antithesis of a climber so I figured I'd give the other point of view. With all due respect, by the way - I've learned the hard way how much hurt a climber can put on someone when things go uphill. And then they attack. Egads.
Climbing focuses on a combination of power to weight ratio and a high aerobic capacity. I liken this to being a triathlete or a runner - being very fit is critical to performing well for these athletes. Sprinting emphasizes tactical astuteness and fast-twitch muscles - it's hard to sprint well without those two traits. Well that and a bit of the need for adrenaline. Although the pro sprinters have to be fit, in the real world of Cat 4's and 3's, sprinters do not have to be as fit - they just need enough fitness to get to the finish.
I tend not to be fit and I have a decent jump. I absolutely love strategy and tactics (bikes, cars, games, whatever). Being a sprinter is a natural outlet for this combination. Given the choice between a long climb in a road race and close quarters, elbow to kneecap, skewer to pedal riding in a crit, I'll always take the latter. I can't climb to save my life - I've tried and failed miserably at that (ditto time trialing).
My two favorite training rides are based on sprinting. One now-defunct ride was the SUNY Purchase Tuesday night sprints. Imagine doing a sprint per lap on a 2 mile circuit for two and a half hours (!). Cat 1's to Cat 4's (there were no 5's back then) would show up in a field of 100 or more. Teams would practice leadouts and on the "nice wind" days, speeds would exceed 45 mph (75 kph) in the sprint. The other ride is one that we sometimes unofficially have, the Summer Street Thursday Night Sprints in somewhere in Connecticut. We'd ride at some odd time, like 10 or 11 PM, and do a couple hours of laps on a (coincidentally) 2 mile loop. With all one way streets (or two ways with medians), you never have to worry about oncoming traffic. And with a 35 mph speed limit, you can use cars, trucks, or even police cars as leadout men (the latter judiciously).
But in the end, it's all to go sprinting at a race. There is nothing like the last lap of a crit where the field is together - it is one of the most intense experiences one of us regular racers can have in a bike race. Everything about the race is to be decided - it's not just a formality. The actual selection is about to happen. So there's that building of anticipation as the laps wind down, where (as a sprinter) you pray that all breaks fail. Then, as your prayers are answered, you're in a gruppo compacto at the clanging bell, with the cheering crowd, friend screaming at you to "move up! move up!", the unique sound of chains and tires humming along, noise and confusion inundating your senses. There's the frantic fighting for position, the nudges, the racers diving suicidally into non-existent gaps. The rat-at-at of skewers and spokes (and the pause where everyone waits for the crash, but when it doesn't happen, everything just keeps on going). The occasional politeness ("sorry 'bout that" or non-verbal "let me in that gap" look). The desperate 100% attacks followed by eager opportunists, teams trying to line up leadouts, sprinters hollering at their leadout men, the field snaking across the road as leadout men respond to final attacks and other leadout train surges.
And all the mistakes that everyone makes tactically, it's incredible. Racers go too early, too late, let gaps open up - lack of commitment is a big weakness in close quarters racing. The zen-like instant decisions - Follow my leadout man? Will he blow? What about that leadout train? Where is that big blue sprinter guy? How did I get here? Blasting through the last couple corners, feeling the tires digging in and sliding just that bit, feeling the pedals just touching the pavement, racers yelling, the burnt rubber smell as someone miscalculates and locks up a tire, chains just slamming into gears as people shift under 100% load. There is that incredible speed that racers find in their legs when a few minutes ago they were struggling to hang on - just how did they find 36 mph (60 kph) in their legs?!
Then finally the first jump goes, a huge jump, the one that is supposed to gap a surprised field right away, immediately followed by all the counters (by non-surprised racers waiting for it) fighting to get onto this last (now suicidal) leadout's wheel. The momentary pause tactically as everyone goes all out after this upstart. Then the surges on the sides as the field quickly goes from strung-out to curb-to-curb then squeezing and expanding as racers try and close doors all over the place. The quick calculations - should I go again now? Wait? Why can't I shift up - am I already in my 12? Can I fit through that gap? Squeeze a bit to the right to shut down the guy there. Jam the brakes as someone does the same to you. Jump again, swearing so much to yourself that Howard Stern would censor you, thinking to yourself that you'll never be that careless again. Duck under that elbow as you pass a behemoth on a bike. Scoot past that shoulder (of a blown leadout guy) coming towards you so fast he might as well have hit a wall. And then, when you are ready, you commit yourself and totally punch it, almost lifting the bike off the ground you're pulling up so hard on the bars, trying to keep the back wheel on the ground, Conti's scrabbling for traction. It always comes up in slow motion, everyone's positions around you burned into your memory like a watercolor, the sprint taking longer and longer, time slowing down. Legs just don't seem to turn any faster no matter what you try to do to them. Then finally the last few meters goes by and you're throwing the bike at the line no matter what because your mentor told you to never ever take a sprint for granted and then time accelerates and you're 200 meters past the line breathing hard and replaying everything over and over, planning what you'll do the next time you're here.
Jeez my heartrate is kinda high just thinking about all this.
Monday, March 8, 2004
There's More to Life than Sprinting
I couldn't stay away from this one. I suppose I'm the antithesis of a climber so I figured I'd give the other point of view. With all due respect, by the way - I've learned the hard way how much hurt a climber can put on someone when things go uphill. And then they attack. Egads.
Climbing focuses on a combination of power to weight ratio and a high aerobic capacity. I liken this to being a triathlete or a runner - being very fit is critical to performing well for these athletes. Sprinting emphasizes tactical astuteness and fast-twitch muscles - it's hard to sprint well without those two traits. Well that and a bit of the need for adrenaline. Although the pro sprinters have to be fit, in the real world of Cat 4's and 3's, sprinters do not have to be as fit - they just need enough fitness to get to the finish.
I tend not to be fit and I have a decent jump. I absolutely love strategy and tactics (bikes, cars, games, whatever). Being a sprinter is a natural outlet for this combination. Given the choice between a long climb in a road race and close quarters, elbow to kneecap, skewer to pedal riding in a crit, I'll always take the latter. I can't climb to save my life - I've tried and failed miserably at that (ditto time trialing).
My two favorite training rides are based on sprinting. One now-defunct ride was the SUNY Purchase Tuesday night sprints. Imagine doing a sprint per lap on a 2 mile circuit for two and a half hours (!). Cat 1's to Cat 4's (there were no 5's back then) would show up in a field of 100 or more. Teams would practice leadouts and on the "nice wind" days, speeds would exceed 45 mph (75 kph) in the sprint. The other ride is one that we sometimes unofficially have, the Summer Street Thursday Night Sprints in somewhere in Connecticut. We'd ride at some odd time, like 10 or 11 PM, and do a couple hours of laps on a (coincidentally) 2 mile loop. With all one way streets (or two ways with medians), you never have to worry about oncoming traffic. And with a 35 mph speed limit, you can use cars, trucks, or even police cars as leadout men (the latter judiciously).
But in the end, it's all to go sprinting at a race. There is nothing like the last lap of a crit where the field is together - it is one of the most intense experiences one of us regular racers can have in a bike race. Everything about the race is to be decided - it's not just a formality. The actual selection is about to happen. So there's that building of anticipation as the laps wind down, where (as a sprinter) you pray that all breaks fail. Then, as your prayers are answered, you're in a gruppo compacto at the clanging bell, with the cheering crowd, friend screaming at you to "move up! move up!", the unique sound of chains and tires humming along, noise and confusion inundating your senses. There's the frantic fighting for position, the nudges, the racers diving suicidally into non-existent gaps. The rat-at-at of skewers and spokes (and the pause where everyone waits for the crash, but when it doesn't happen, everything just keeps on going). The occasional politeness ("sorry 'bout that" or non-verbal "let me in that gap" look). The desperate 100% attacks followed by eager opportunists, teams trying to line up leadouts, sprinters hollering at their leadout men, the field snaking across the road as leadout men respond to final attacks and other leadout train surges.
And all the mistakes that everyone makes tactically, it's incredible. Racers go too early, too late, let gaps open up - lack of commitment is a big weakness in close quarters racing. The zen-like instant decisions - Follow my leadout man? Will he blow? What about that leadout train? Where is that big blue sprinter guy? How did I get here? Blasting through the last couple corners, feeling the tires digging in and sliding just that bit, feeling the pedals just touching the pavement, racers yelling, the burnt rubber smell as someone miscalculates and locks up a tire, chains just slamming into gears as people shift under 100% load. There is that incredible speed that racers find in their legs when a few minutes ago they were struggling to hang on - just how did they find 36 mph (60 kph) in their legs?!
Then finally the first jump goes, a huge jump, the one that is supposed to gap a surprised field right away, immediately followed by all the counters (by non-surprised racers waiting for it) fighting to get onto this last (now suicidal) leadout's wheel. The momentary pause tactically as everyone goes all out after this upstart. Then the surges on the sides as the field quickly goes from strung-out to curb-to-curb then squeezing and expanding as racers try and close doors all over the place. The quick calculations - should I go again now? Wait? Why can't I shift up - am I already in my 12? Can I fit through that gap? Squeeze a bit to the right to shut down the guy there. Jam the brakes as someone does the same to you. Jump again, swearing so much to yourself that Howard Stern would censor you, thinking to yourself that you'll never be that careless again. Duck under that elbow as you pass a behemoth on a bike. Scoot past that shoulder (of a blown leadout guy) coming towards you so fast he might as well have hit a wall. And then, when you are ready, you commit yourself and totally punch it, almost lifting the bike off the ground you're pulling up so hard on the bars, trying to keep the back wheel on the ground, Conti's scrabbling for traction. It always comes up in slow motion, everyone's positions around you burned into your memory like a watercolor, the sprint taking longer and longer, time slowing down. Legs just don't seem to turn any faster no matter what you try to do to them. Then finally the last few meters goes by and you're throwing the bike at the line no matter what because your mentor told you to never ever take a sprint for granted and then time accelerates and you're 200 meters past the line breathing hard and replaying everything over and over, planning what you'll do the next time you're here.
Jeez my heartrate is kinda high just thinking about all this.
Monday, March 8, 2004
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Doping - How Do Dopers Live With Themselves?
This letter first appeared in cyclingnews.
How do dopers live with themselves?
What do doper's friends and family think of the doping rider? I think it depends on the family and friends. However there are a couple ways of answering and I think that most of these riders receive support from the people who surround them.
1. Denial. Mark Hacking's (pleaded guilty to killing his wife Lori) father came out on TV and said he honestly believes his son had nothing to do with Lori Hacking's disappearance. Only when confronted with overwhelming evidence did the father step back from his strong convictions. It's very easy to convince yourself that your son/daughter/whoever is "right". I'm sure there are dopers out there who believe they did nothing wrong with friends/family that think the same.
2. Acceptance. Unconditional love means just that. There are riders out there who can barely walk due to the amount of performance enhancers they used (in particular I think of a US cyclist who needs a cane to walk due to heavy steroid use). In a situation like that would you abandon your child or spouse? Probably not. You may not agree with what they did but that's in the past. If your parents got lung cancer because they smoked (and maybe quit but still had the undercover smoke here and there) would you abandon them? You might be upset that they smoked but that won't stop you from visiting the hospital.
3. Support. If a rider could make more money by cheating, and I'm talking a serious amount more (say 100 times more - imagine getting your annual salary every three days!), maybe the rider's family/spouse would understand and help support what they do. If said rider could go from making $50,000 a year to $5,000,000 a year, it might be easy to justify cheating. Or in the case of some white collar criminals, maybe they'll make $500 million or more (Enron, WorldCom, etc). I don't think their families complained too much till they got caught ("No, I don't want another $20 million house" or "no, I really don't want you to hand me down your Ferrari, I'm perfectly happy with my Honda."). Rumsa's wife was supporting someone with all the drugs she had in her car, whether it was her mom or her husband.
Or the rider's friends/family may not care if the rider is cheating or not as long as the rider did well. A friend of mine was a teacher at a private school. If a student cheated, she could not say the student cheated. She had to say something positive like "David has creative problem solving skills". The student's parents would typically sue the school if a teacher or staff said something negative about their child. How can you expect such parents to disapprove of doping?
4. Rejection. Unless the doping rider's family/friends are extremely naive, I can't see this happening. Most people have some understanding of the Machiavellian tendencies seen in business. And a pro rider is a business, riding to make money. A measure of success is how much money the rider makes. So maybe the odd rejection occurs but most racers' friends/family would accept "everyone does it and I did it to stay in the game."
Overall I would think that most "cheating" riders would actually have either support during their cheating or support in the aftermath of getting caught (if they get caught). If true there is little to be lost by doping. The hypocrisy of doping in other sports (like baseball - your first positive gets rewarded by education?) isn't helping matters. This makes it all the more difficult to tether and subdue the practice.
How do dopers live with themselves?
What do doper's friends and family think of the doping rider? I think it depends on the family and friends. However there are a couple ways of answering and I think that most of these riders receive support from the people who surround them.
1. Denial. Mark Hacking's (pleaded guilty to killing his wife Lori) father came out on TV and said he honestly believes his son had nothing to do with Lori Hacking's disappearance. Only when confronted with overwhelming evidence did the father step back from his strong convictions. It's very easy to convince yourself that your son/daughter/whoever is "right". I'm sure there are dopers out there who believe they did nothing wrong with friends/family that think the same.
2. Acceptance. Unconditional love means just that. There are riders out there who can barely walk due to the amount of performance enhancers they used (in particular I think of a US cyclist who needs a cane to walk due to heavy steroid use). In a situation like that would you abandon your child or spouse? Probably not. You may not agree with what they did but that's in the past. If your parents got lung cancer because they smoked (and maybe quit but still had the undercover smoke here and there) would you abandon them? You might be upset that they smoked but that won't stop you from visiting the hospital.
3. Support. If a rider could make more money by cheating, and I'm talking a serious amount more (say 100 times more - imagine getting your annual salary every three days!), maybe the rider's family/spouse would understand and help support what they do. If said rider could go from making $50,000 a year to $5,000,000 a year, it might be easy to justify cheating. Or in the case of some white collar criminals, maybe they'll make $500 million or more (Enron, WorldCom, etc). I don't think their families complained too much till they got caught ("No, I don't want another $20 million house" or "no, I really don't want you to hand me down your Ferrari, I'm perfectly happy with my Honda."). Rumsa's wife was supporting someone with all the drugs she had in her car, whether it was her mom or her husband.
Or the rider's friends/family may not care if the rider is cheating or not as long as the rider did well. A friend of mine was a teacher at a private school. If a student cheated, she could not say the student cheated. She had to say something positive like "David has creative problem solving skills". The student's parents would typically sue the school if a teacher or staff said something negative about their child. How can you expect such parents to disapprove of doping?
4. Rejection. Unless the doping rider's family/friends are extremely naive, I can't see this happening. Most people have some understanding of the Machiavellian tendencies seen in business. And a pro rider is a business, riding to make money. A measure of success is how much money the rider makes. So maybe the odd rejection occurs but most racers' friends/family would accept "everyone does it and I did it to stay in the game."
Overall I would think that most "cheating" riders would actually have either support during their cheating or support in the aftermath of getting caught (if they get caught). If true there is little to be lost by doping. The hypocrisy of doping in other sports (like baseball - your first positive gets rewarded by education?) isn't helping matters. This makes it all the more difficult to tether and subdue the practice.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Letters - Greg Lemond and ITT's
I like writing letters to cyclingnews.com. Here's the latest one (commenting on a letter written the previous week on how Lemond's 1989 TT could still be near the top of list).
Greg LeMond and record ITTs
I read the above letter with a bit of dismay. Not because of the various accusations (what else is new) but because the writer didn't seem to do much research into his suggestive letter. It is true that LeMond has had the fastest non-prologue TT in the Tour. It is true that this record is coming up on 20 years old. And it is true that There have been some spectacular advances in time trial technology.
So why is Lemond's TT record still around?
Here are some interesting statistics. To summarize - it was a short TT, almost the shortest flat TT since then. It was a tailwind, downhill TT. It was a slower Tour - by 4 or 5kph compared to the Tour Where his TT record was broken. When comparable distances are raced by current racers, they go faster. Also circumstances put his particular TT in the spotlight (as opposed to something like Boardman's prologues or Zabrinske's record holding TT).
There have been no TT's that short in a long time - 25km. I believe it was meant to be a parade TT for the Yellow Jersey - hence its short length. Normally it would be simply too short to do any major damage to GC.
Back in the 1980's most TTs were a spectacular 1.5 hour affairs - like the 73km TT earlier in that 1989 Tour and the monster 87+ km TT in 1987. It was also the third ITT for the 1989 Tour (and there was a TTT that year). I don't see any other Tours since then where there is a third ITT.
Note that almost all the TT's I could find are virtually twice as long or longer as that famous 1989 TT. Sustaining that record ITT speed for 50km is out of reach of even the best vintage Lemond.
Here is a list (I couldn't readily find 1988, 1992) of the ITTs and their distances in past Tours. I don't include TTT's. Note any TT around 30km is an uphill one (distances in km).
1987 87.5km, 36.5km (uphill)
1989 73 km, 39km (uphill), 25km (3 ITT's plus TTT that year)
1990 33.5km (uphill), 45km
1991 32km (uphill), 61km
1992 ?
1993 65km, 55km
1994 64km, 46km
1995 64km, 54km
1996 30 km (uphill), 60 km
1997 55 km, 62 km
1998 58 km, 53 km
1999 56 km, 54 km
2000 58 km (prologue was 16.5 km)
2001 32 km (uphill), 61 km
2002 52 km, 50 km
2003 47 km, 49 km
2004 15 km (uphill), 55 km
2005 19 km (prologue - the first sub 25 km TT since 1989 - a few beat Lemond's speed), 55 km
2006 52 km, 56 km
2. When else do you get a downhill, tailwind TT? Sean Yates was blessed with some kind wind in one Tour TT and ended up climbing on the podium that day. He modestly attributed it to luck (i.e. weather which changed unfavorably for the later starters). The 1989 TT enjoyed a tailwind with a somewhat substantial drop in altitude at the start of the TT. This is a big advantage when making an intense effort over a short distance.
3. Keep in mind that the 1989 Tour was a pretty negatively raced one - it averaged about 37.5 kph. Compare this to the blazing 41.6 kph for 2005 and 40.8 kph for 2006. Tours back then were ridden differently. The peloton seemed to take it easier on the "easy" days (although I'm sure any racer in that Tour would protest). The easier pace on the flats meant that the favorites could hoard their energy for the crunch moments like time trials and climbs.
4. Delgado lost 2:40 because of a late start and then another 5 minutes in the TTT (not sure why he got dropped but he did). He finished the Tour 3:34 down. If Delgado had been more organized, he could have won the Tour by many minutes and Lemond's spectacular time trial would have been just a great TT win to earn, say, second place.
Lemond showed promise early on - as young as 16. Lemond won three medals at the Junior Worlds - RR gold (broke away on a flat course, got knocked off the course twice in the sprint by his break companion who was promptly disqualified), TTT silver (one US rider crashed and another didn't pull - apparently Lemond was doing 2+ minute pulls, and they lost to a specialist Russian TTT team), Pursuit bronze (basically his first time on the track, lost to specialists). When he turned pro, his coach/director Guimard promptly raise his saddle about 5 cm and told him that if he'd had the proper position, he'd have done better at the Jr Worlds, especially in the pursuit. In other words, Lemond was a special rider. His 1989 TT demonstrated that.
As far as why he comments on American riders? I can't answer for him as I don't know him at all. I do know that there are guys around here who say similar things as Lemond - but they're not public figures. Their emails or conversations don't get aired by Reuters. Lemond's do get aired. To me it seems that Lemond is simply a normal guy who acts normally. That includes saying things that probably shouldn't be said on record. The problem is that he isn't a normal guy - he's a retired cycling superstar who is quoted as soon as something interesting happens. So when he says something unusual, it ends up in print.
Friday, June 8, 2007
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