I'm still coughing but starting to feel a bit better. Proof? I rode the bike today, although it was on the trainer and I only did about 20 minutes. But still, I rode.
This implies that I put my bike back together after the trip, and that's correct, but I decided that I didn't feel like moving the Giant off the trainer, so I just rode that. No SRM, no computer, no nothing. Likewise, with the DVD player upstairs and the TV in the van at race headquarters in southwestern Connecticut, I rode with music blaring from the tinny laptop speakers of my "office-threw-it-out" laptop (a powerhouse 700 Mhz machine).
So, for the first time in ages, we went out for dinner and some shopping. You can tell what our home life is like when we go and buy (and only buy):
210 pounds of cat litter
32 pounds of cat food
1 ream of paper (for Bethel)
3 folding chairs (for Bethel)
toilet cleaner
toilet paper
We even walked around the store looking for other things to get, but I passed on trail mix and the missus passed on some bowls.
Life, therefore, is cats, Bethel, and, um, life's necessities.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Bethel Spring Series - No Race but Sick
Snow cancels Bethel. Disappointing, yes, especially since it really hasn't snowed today.
But I felt exhausted during the day, like everything caught up to me all at once. Slept tons last night, ate a bit, slept more in the afternoon, and I still feel totally drained. I feel lucky that the weather allowed me to cancel the race because I'd have been a wreck if the race had been on. I mean, yeah, my actual riding would have suffered, but I think I'd have spent most of the day passed out in the van.
Speaking of which... Friday I picked up the van and it has heat, the defroster works (very well), and it drives "normal". I was told to put more miles on it (5k miles in 6 years?) so stuff doesn't stop working from non-use. At least I'd have had heat if we had the race today.
Now to try and find some health before next week.
But I felt exhausted during the day, like everything caught up to me all at once. Slept tons last night, ate a bit, slept more in the afternoon, and I still feel totally drained. I feel lucky that the weather allowed me to cancel the race because I'd have been a wreck if the race had been on. I mean, yeah, my actual riding would have suffered, but I think I'd have spent most of the day passed out in the van.
Speaking of which... Friday I picked up the van and it has heat, the defroster works (very well), and it drives "normal". I was told to put more miles on it (5k miles in 6 years?) so stuff doesn't stop working from non-use. At least I'd have had heat if we had the race today.
Now to try and find some health before next week.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Bethel Spring Series - March 1 CANCELED
With a heavy heart, numb fingers, and sand filled hair (and shirt and ears and mouth and pants and boots...), I've decided to cancel the race tomorrow. I tend to wait until the last minute to do things like this (like when ice starts forming on the registration tables), but this time I felt the need to do it now.
I'd told the guys sweeping that it's hard to cancel the race when it's sunny and blue skies out. Now it's overcast, the wind has blown in, and it's really cold.
Therefore no race.
This buys everyone another week to train, or recover, or get that final piece for the bike. Or, for me, to get better.
Even with snow on tap I decided that we should have the Sweep Day. I figured that all the sand and dirt would be caked on the pavement pretty well, and even though they'll be spreading more during the storm, I felt that starting with a clean slate would make next week easier.
A bunch of guys showed up, a good core group. Everyone really put their efforts into clearing the sand, and, if "time flies when you're having fun", then we must have had a lot of fun for about four hours.
We had a total of three power brooms (two bristle ones, one paddle one). Incidentally I learned why the pros like the paddle ones - paddles don't throw sand in your face. Bristles do.
We also had two wheeled leaf blowers and three backpack blowers. And brooms and shovels and buckets. Yep, we filled 10 five gallon buckets of sand.
I'm a bit dazed now, exhausted. I wasn't very coherent at the end of the Sweep, but I think some food and drink will help.
But first an important little task - take a ride in my brother's new (he got it while I was in SoCal) Civic Si.
I'd told the guys sweeping that it's hard to cancel the race when it's sunny and blue skies out. Now it's overcast, the wind has blown in, and it's really cold.
Therefore no race.
This buys everyone another week to train, or recover, or get that final piece for the bike. Or, for me, to get better.
Even with snow on tap I decided that we should have the Sweep Day. I figured that all the sand and dirt would be caked on the pavement pretty well, and even though they'll be spreading more during the storm, I felt that starting with a clean slate would make next week easier.
A bunch of guys showed up, a good core group. Everyone really put their efforts into clearing the sand, and, if "time flies when you're having fun", then we must have had a lot of fun for about four hours.
We had a total of three power brooms (two bristle ones, one paddle one). Incidentally I learned why the pros like the paddle ones - paddles don't throw sand in your face. Bristles do.
We also had two wheeled leaf blowers and three backpack blowers. And brooms and shovels and buckets. Yep, we filled 10 five gallon buckets of sand.
I'm a bit dazed now, exhausted. I wasn't very coherent at the end of the Sweep, but I think some food and drink will help.
But first an important little task - take a ride in my brother's new (he got it while I was in SoCal) Civic Si.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Life - Traveling
Yesterday (Wednesday the 25th) was my last day in California on this trip.
I went for a ride, a pseudo recovery one after my Palomar ride the prior day. I got about a hundred yards down the road and seriously contemplated turning around. But with the sun shining (albeit with an extremely chilly breeze), I decided to keep going.
It took me an hour to warm up, literally and figuratively. I think it helped that I had turned around and the wind was behind my back. I had the GoPro but only captured a second here, a second there. The battery life in the thing is frankly terrible (45 minutes? Less than the memory, that's for sure) and since I couldn't tell if it was recording (no easy to see indicators), I couldn't verify that I was recording (or not).
I got home and spent some time bonding with one of the two kids. Both of them realized that I was leaving, but they're also young enough not to be able to express it. This meant both of them acted a little differently, one quieter than normal, one louder than normal. They're both terribly affectionate kids though, and it make it kind of easy for me to sit on the couch and watch TV (not Clone Wars, surprisingly) instead of doing laundry and packing my bike.
With a 7 PM pick up scheduled (shuttle to the airport), I only started the laundry at about 5, packing my bike at about 5:45. I got a bit stressed at the end, all my fault I know, but the bike was packed quickly (20 minutes?). I checked the dryer every few minutes and took out the dry stuff and jammed it in my bag.
The shuttle came and it was a Town Car (!). So I felt like a big shot. Too much of a big shot. I asked the driver if I could sit in front, because, well, it'd be weird sitting in back.
Plus the guy had a detachable steering wheel in the trunk off of his Integra.
The 35 minute drive went by quickly, chatting about the area, cars, and bikes. Apparently he spent much of the day (from 4 AM!) picking up folks with bikes who had come out to the area to watch The Race. He seemed perfectly alert though, and I got to the airport in plenty of time.
I found my gate, and with my cough still around, took my second last swig of Nyquil before I boarded the plane. The stress of the day, the fatigue from the riding, and the aforementioned Nyquil made me so drowsy I literally couldn't open my eyes for the take off (and I had a window seat). I listened instead, hearing the different pitches of engine noise as the plane accelerated, took off, turned, then throttled back.
I woke up over Pennsylvania, about an hour before we landed. I had to take my last bit of Nyquil to avoid coughing up a lung, and I managed to control my leg/feet discomfort until we landed.
Now just one more leg and I'll be at home. And then... well, I have a lot of things I have to get done.
Sigh.
I went for a ride, a pseudo recovery one after my Palomar ride the prior day. I got about a hundred yards down the road and seriously contemplated turning around. But with the sun shining (albeit with an extremely chilly breeze), I decided to keep going.
It took me an hour to warm up, literally and figuratively. I think it helped that I had turned around and the wind was behind my back. I had the GoPro but only captured a second here, a second there. The battery life in the thing is frankly terrible (45 minutes? Less than the memory, that's for sure) and since I couldn't tell if it was recording (no easy to see indicators), I couldn't verify that I was recording (or not).
I got home and spent some time bonding with one of the two kids. Both of them realized that I was leaving, but they're also young enough not to be able to express it. This meant both of them acted a little differently, one quieter than normal, one louder than normal. They're both terribly affectionate kids though, and it make it kind of easy for me to sit on the couch and watch TV (not Clone Wars, surprisingly) instead of doing laundry and packing my bike.
With a 7 PM pick up scheduled (shuttle to the airport), I only started the laundry at about 5, packing my bike at about 5:45. I got a bit stressed at the end, all my fault I know, but the bike was packed quickly (20 minutes?). I checked the dryer every few minutes and took out the dry stuff and jammed it in my bag.
The shuttle came and it was a Town Car (!). So I felt like a big shot. Too much of a big shot. I asked the driver if I could sit in front, because, well, it'd be weird sitting in back.
Plus the guy had a detachable steering wheel in the trunk off of his Integra.
The 35 minute drive went by quickly, chatting about the area, cars, and bikes. Apparently he spent much of the day (from 4 AM!) picking up folks with bikes who had come out to the area to watch The Race. He seemed perfectly alert though, and I got to the airport in plenty of time.
I found my gate, and with my cough still around, took my second last swig of Nyquil before I boarded the plane. The stress of the day, the fatigue from the riding, and the aforementioned Nyquil made me so drowsy I literally couldn't open my eyes for the take off (and I had a window seat). I listened instead, hearing the different pitches of engine noise as the plane accelerated, took off, turned, then throttled back.
I woke up over Pennsylvania, about an hour before we landed. I had to take my last bit of Nyquil to avoid coughing up a lung, and I managed to control my leg/feet discomfort until we landed.
Now just one more leg and I'll be at home. And then... well, I have a lot of things I have to get done.
Sigh.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Training - Palomar, For Real
On Tuesday I took action on a plan to attack Palomar. I know I climbed Palomar on Saturday, but I felt that it wasn't a "true" climb because I didn't ride to the base. I wanted to fix this little detail before I left for home. With questionable health (as in I slept all day Monday) I wasn't sure if I could even make the attempt, but with Tuesday my last full day here, if I was going to make an attempt, it had to be that day.
The weather forecast went all over the place - 50s on the mountain, mid-60s down a bit. But with clouds starting in the early afternoon, this would cool down the mountain a bit (40s?), and the sunny morning would add a perceived 10 degrees or so to the "lowland" temperatures.
To avoid carrying too much gear, I decided on wearing only a long sleeve jersey on top. Normally I wear a short sleeve jersey as a "base layer" but I felt too warm when I suited up like that. I also set aside knickers but decided instead to wear shorts. I brought my rarely used knee warmers "just in case".
I learned the descent off of Palomar is very manageable and comfortable with windproof long finger gloves and a wind vest, so I brought those along too. A thicker headcover works well too so I brought along a nice thick Descente skull cap thing.
And, because I have them, I brought my brand new shoe covers, bright blue imprinted with Connecticut Coast Cycling. I didn't wear them on the way out because, frankly, I climb like I'm stuck in molasses, and I didn't want to embarrass myself wearing such race-day gear. But I can descend like mad and they'd be appropriate for the long TT back home.
I packed other gear as well. I brought along the GoPro camera. After reading the brief manual I decided that the camera shut off after a random time (7 minutes and change) due to a low battery. I made sure that it would stay on, thought I cleared the memory on the card, and decided I'd buy batteries at two spots - top of Palomar and, if the batteries quit before the bottom on the way down, at bottom of Palomar.
I brought three of my FiberOne bars, two bottles of Nuun electrolyte water, and a Ziplock bag with a credit card, license, and about $15.
For the bike I left the GoPro in its spot where the Superflash blinkie would normally go, and I took the precautionary step of mounting my flashing headlight under the bars. The Superflash went into my pocket - if I got caught in the dark, I wanted to be able to make it home okay. And since virtually all the streets have bike lanes, and since many of them are lit, I'd be okay with just the minimum of lights.
With my corset-like jersey zipped up, I left feeling just a slight bit overloaded. I had the Superflash and my cellphone in one pocket (the "battery" pocket). In the middle I had the long gloves, vest, kneewarmers, and at some point the skullcap thing (the "bulky" pocket). On the right sat my three bars and my little money pack (the food plus "no battery" stuff - didn't want to wipe out the strip on my credit card by packing it with batteries).
I set off a bit late due to some stomach issues. My legs didn't feel too good, I couldn't eat very much in the morning (basically 2 eggs, 2 strips of bacon, two pieces of bread, and coffee, all of it about 2 hours before I left), and when I went up the first little hill, my legs loaded up right away.
Yuck.
I mentally went over my schedule. 2 hours to the base. 2 hours to climb (based on Saturday's time - I hoped I'd be better, but I'd be more tired since I rode there, and I didn't want to crest totally wasted). 35 minutes to come back down. 2 hours back home.
My semi-functioning mind didn't remember food stops at the base, at the top, and maybe one more stop, nor the stops to check the GoPro, nor the stop to swap the GoPro for the tail light. So although I left with just enough time to make it back at dusk (5:45 PM), I really didn't.
I prefer oblivion sometimes (especially when watching a new, super-hyped movie) and today my lack of mental acuteness helped me along in many ways. With no clue that I rode on borrowed time, I happily pedaled away from home base.
I took the most direct route, hoping that it would lead me along some flat valley roads. But no, I faced a long slog up some road we (I) drove just the other day. Ten minutes into the climb I remembered having to let the car slow a bit so it wouldn't shift down at 60 mph. No slouch, this rise, and it's the hill I rode when I first came out here - but back then it was still under construction, one narrow jersey-barriered lane wide, with me sprinting frantically from one pull off to the next (and lots of patient vehicular traffic following me).
On one of the flats I ate Bar #1. I hoped that it'd be 30 minutes before the climb and I could use some blood sugar then.
I reached the base of the climb a few minutes ahead of schedule, and I hadn't even finished both of my bottles. I took this as a good sign because Saturday, with a fever raging, I drank like a fish. Today, not so much.
I stopped at the little store at the base (good for non-secured bike shopping), picked up a Diet RockStar, and left. The climbing starts right away and I settled into a reasonable rhythm. Saturday I'd started out going 250 watts consistently, but today I tried to keep it down a bit. After a while I just ignored the SRM - I couldn't ease up anymore because I'd just stop.
45 minutes later, I made it to the turn off to South Grade. Saturday it took 45 minutes as well, so I was doing fine. This day I rode conservatively because I wanted to ride a bit better up SG, and I had to keep in mind that I couldn't be wasted at the top because I'd basically turn around and zip back down. In my "crested" state Saturday there was no way I could have descended well - it took about an hour before I could form coherent thoughts.
Saturday I downed a lot of my remaining fluids, but I ran out before the top. Today I drank more conservatively, helped by the fact that suddenly I didn't like RockStar. I debated eating Bar #2 but decided I'd have it on the climb if I really needed it.
It really helped that I knew some of what to expect on South Grade. I rode it Saturday, rode it vicariously on Sunday (in 32 minutes!), and now it felt familiar. I passed the two open spots where I stopped Saturday, the mesh O-ring net holding up one cliff, and, at some point, the 4000 foot mark. I knew there'd be a 5000 ft mark, and I knew the top was a bit further than I thought after the 5000 ft mark.
I also got to experience some (faded) chalked notes scrawled on the road. My somewhat tired mind noted that Levi and Lance shared the bulk of the messages, Hincapie got a few, and very little else. I did note that I saw only three painted messages, and I think two were official state things (like for where to put a pipe or something).
I also realized that at the speed they climb, they would not be able to read anything shorter than 3 foot tall letters which were at least 6-8 inches wide. I think a sprayer (garden sprayer or some pressurized thing) full of chalk dust would work better than chalk sticks.
I made one "attack" when I heard a pair of motorcycles (they made about 6 passes before they went to get gas or something) approaching. I was just entering one of the long switchbacks, I was on the inside, and I didn't want to have one of them apex through my rear end. So I sprinted, briefly hit about 600 watts, went as fast as 12 mph, and made it through the corner. The two bikes zipped by and I shifted down and tried to recover.
4000 feet came pretty quickly, but that's when my legs started to go. My cadence dropped into the 30s, the cooler air didn't really inspire me to climb faster, and I just slogged away. No weaving though, no pauses at the top of each pedal stroke. Just push and push and push and push. I felt better than normal, but I worried about time.
Finally I got to 5000 feet (there is a sign there). I had 300 feet to go, but the mountain loomed above - it went up so steeply you couldn't see the top. I finally peeked at my watch - it was 3:15, four hours after I left. And one turn later I saw the Yield sign painted on the road. I'd made it.
1:15, after checking the files. 15 minutes faster than Saturday, and I'd ridden 2 hours prior to the climb.
I did my normal stop, got a quart of Gatorade (drank some, filled one small bottle), a postcard, two AAA batteries for the GoPro, and some peanuts because I was convinced I'd get hungry. I ate Bar #2 too.
Sitting there, with almost no one around, it seemed a totally different world from Saturday. The clouds had rolled in too, and I felt chilly. I slipped on my long finger gloves, zipped up my LS jersey, put on my vest, put on my knee warmers, and put on my skull cap thing.
A guy walked by, asked how much my bike cost. I told him ones "like" it would be a couple thousand dollars. Ends up this guy is one of the owners of the general store (named, appropriately, the General Store). He talked about how inspired he felt to see the "bikers" on Saturday, then on Sunday. He talked about how he used to ride, but now he doesn't. He lives up at the top of the mountain so he could even ride his bike to work.
(Later I thought about where he could go to train - every ride would entail descending some crazy distance and riding back home. He'd either be a great climber or quit.)
Another guy walked by and stopped to chat to the General Store guy.
"I think you have to be crazy to want to ride a bike up the mountain", he said, grinning and looking my way.
Hopefully I could register a grin on my tired face. Apparently I did because the other guy kept going.
"You know, Sunday was crazy. I ran out of hamburgers at 10:30 and I just made hot dogs for the rest of the day. At least business was good."
The talk went to business for a while, then the non-General Store guy had another observation.
"I noticed something about the bikers. No litter. After Sunday there was almost no litter to clean up."
I smiled to myself. I am proud of you cycling fans! I really am. No litter and basically one spray painted sign (and hundreds or thousands of chalked ones). Good job!
With the feel good stuff flowing through my blood I figured I should get going. I went to the post office to send off another post card, my fourth ever, to the missus. My hands were like icicles and I could barely write. I scrawled something on the card and walked up to the desk.
"Hey! You're back!" the clerk greeted me.
Feel good stuff just went up another notch.
I noticed, for the first time, that they had about $5 in pennies in their penny thing, and I saw lots of silver there too. You could go shopping on that money, and I mentioned that to the clerk.
A postcard stamp is 27 cents. I took out two quarters from my Ziplock bag.
"Sorry, I don't have pennies."
"Um, we have those pennies you just talked about."
"Oh. Right." <- Oxygen debt + fatigue = forgets things in 2 seconds.
One quarter and two borrowed pennies later, my second card was on the way. I swapped the batteries in the GoPro and started down the mountain. At the 5000 foot mark, just after all the wet pavement (melting snow), I stopped, wiped off the lens, and started the camera. I hopped on quickly, wanting to capture every second possible. I quickly got into a rhythm, slamming into the turns, letting the bike accelerate on the straights.
Palomar, on South Grade, is an awesome descent. Switchback after switchback (21 of them, according to the race reports, but I've never counted them), S-curves, and maybe three or four spots straight enough to sit up for a second or three. It's not fast either - I never really break 40 mph, at least not significantly, but I never get to spend so much time leaned way over.
Luckily, today, the GoPro captures the whole South Grade descent. I stopped once to check if the red light was blinking (means it's recording), and it was, so I quickly hopped back on and took off.
I push my luck and keep going down 76, the 45 minute "pre-climb". Here there are less curves, more straights, and no corners as sharp as South Grade. I didn't feel like sprinting up to speed so I topped out at only 45 mph, although in years past I've gotten well into the 50s. I couldn't tuck as low all bundled up so 45 will have to do it for me.
I stopped at the bottom to check the camera - it captured the whole thing! I debated stopping for food but didn't feel the need - I had my peanuts, Bar #3, a small bottle of Gatorade, and a half bottle of RockStar. I took the vest and kneewarmers off but left the shoe covers and skull cap - it was warm but not hot.
I started going, and the rest of the ride was pretty much anticlimactic. I felt pretty good and kept pushing, pushing, wanting to get home before it got too dark. My normalized power went up for the last two hours, almost getting back up to my starting average. My legs would fall away after short efforts though, and I think that's where a lot of training makes a difference - you can go and actually hold the effort.
I stopped again at the top of Lake Wohlford road, a much shorter descent (it takes me 30 minutes to climb), not as crazy corners, but with a much closer edge (and drop offs). The GoPro gave up on that, capturing only the very top. I did manage to catch a pickup truck on the descent, and though he'd pull away on the straights, I was right there when he stopped at the light at the bottom. Yay.
A short time later I stopped to swap the GoPro for a taillight, put the vest back on, and finished up the ride home, lights flashing. I got back to home base, satisfied and tired. I never needed that third bar, nor the peanuts. I barely drank any more of that Gatorade and I couldn't bring myself to even sip the RockStar.
I had a lean meal (for me), and although later that night I had a bit more food, it was also a lean snack.
Later today I'll be going back home. I may ride if it's warm outside, but I don't feel the need. I have to pack and prepare for the trip. It's been good, even being sick the entire time, but, as I pointed out to one of my hosts the other night, it takes a week before I start missing home. I miss the missus. I miss the kitties. And though I may have lost some time in a delirious haze, it's well into Week 2 of my trip.
Of course Bethel is coming fast - it starts this weekend on Sunday, with a Sweep Day on Saturday.
Back to the real world.
The weather forecast went all over the place - 50s on the mountain, mid-60s down a bit. But with clouds starting in the early afternoon, this would cool down the mountain a bit (40s?), and the sunny morning would add a perceived 10 degrees or so to the "lowland" temperatures.
To avoid carrying too much gear, I decided on wearing only a long sleeve jersey on top. Normally I wear a short sleeve jersey as a "base layer" but I felt too warm when I suited up like that. I also set aside knickers but decided instead to wear shorts. I brought my rarely used knee warmers "just in case".
I learned the descent off of Palomar is very manageable and comfortable with windproof long finger gloves and a wind vest, so I brought those along too. A thicker headcover works well too so I brought along a nice thick Descente skull cap thing.
And, because I have them, I brought my brand new shoe covers, bright blue imprinted with Connecticut Coast Cycling. I didn't wear them on the way out because, frankly, I climb like I'm stuck in molasses, and I didn't want to embarrass myself wearing such race-day gear. But I can descend like mad and they'd be appropriate for the long TT back home.
I packed other gear as well. I brought along the GoPro camera. After reading the brief manual I decided that the camera shut off after a random time (7 minutes and change) due to a low battery. I made sure that it would stay on, thought I cleared the memory on the card, and decided I'd buy batteries at two spots - top of Palomar and, if the batteries quit before the bottom on the way down, at bottom of Palomar.
I brought three of my FiberOne bars, two bottles of Nuun electrolyte water, and a Ziplock bag with a credit card, license, and about $15.
For the bike I left the GoPro in its spot where the Superflash blinkie would normally go, and I took the precautionary step of mounting my flashing headlight under the bars. The Superflash went into my pocket - if I got caught in the dark, I wanted to be able to make it home okay. And since virtually all the streets have bike lanes, and since many of them are lit, I'd be okay with just the minimum of lights.
With my corset-like jersey zipped up, I left feeling just a slight bit overloaded. I had the Superflash and my cellphone in one pocket (the "battery" pocket). In the middle I had the long gloves, vest, kneewarmers, and at some point the skullcap thing (the "bulky" pocket). On the right sat my three bars and my little money pack (the food plus "no battery" stuff - didn't want to wipe out the strip on my credit card by packing it with batteries).
I set off a bit late due to some stomach issues. My legs didn't feel too good, I couldn't eat very much in the morning (basically 2 eggs, 2 strips of bacon, two pieces of bread, and coffee, all of it about 2 hours before I left), and when I went up the first little hill, my legs loaded up right away.
Yuck.
I mentally went over my schedule. 2 hours to the base. 2 hours to climb (based on Saturday's time - I hoped I'd be better, but I'd be more tired since I rode there, and I didn't want to crest totally wasted). 35 minutes to come back down. 2 hours back home.
My semi-functioning mind didn't remember food stops at the base, at the top, and maybe one more stop, nor the stops to check the GoPro, nor the stop to swap the GoPro for the tail light. So although I left with just enough time to make it back at dusk (5:45 PM), I really didn't.
I prefer oblivion sometimes (especially when watching a new, super-hyped movie) and today my lack of mental acuteness helped me along in many ways. With no clue that I rode on borrowed time, I happily pedaled away from home base.
I took the most direct route, hoping that it would lead me along some flat valley roads. But no, I faced a long slog up some road we (I) drove just the other day. Ten minutes into the climb I remembered having to let the car slow a bit so it wouldn't shift down at 60 mph. No slouch, this rise, and it's the hill I rode when I first came out here - but back then it was still under construction, one narrow jersey-barriered lane wide, with me sprinting frantically from one pull off to the next (and lots of patient vehicular traffic following me).
On one of the flats I ate Bar #1. I hoped that it'd be 30 minutes before the climb and I could use some blood sugar then.
I reached the base of the climb a few minutes ahead of schedule, and I hadn't even finished both of my bottles. I took this as a good sign because Saturday, with a fever raging, I drank like a fish. Today, not so much.
I stopped at the little store at the base (good for non-secured bike shopping), picked up a Diet RockStar, and left. The climbing starts right away and I settled into a reasonable rhythm. Saturday I'd started out going 250 watts consistently, but today I tried to keep it down a bit. After a while I just ignored the SRM - I couldn't ease up anymore because I'd just stop.
45 minutes later, I made it to the turn off to South Grade. Saturday it took 45 minutes as well, so I was doing fine. This day I rode conservatively because I wanted to ride a bit better up SG, and I had to keep in mind that I couldn't be wasted at the top because I'd basically turn around and zip back down. In my "crested" state Saturday there was no way I could have descended well - it took about an hour before I could form coherent thoughts.
Saturday I downed a lot of my remaining fluids, but I ran out before the top. Today I drank more conservatively, helped by the fact that suddenly I didn't like RockStar. I debated eating Bar #2 but decided I'd have it on the climb if I really needed it.
It really helped that I knew some of what to expect on South Grade. I rode it Saturday, rode it vicariously on Sunday (in 32 minutes!), and now it felt familiar. I passed the two open spots where I stopped Saturday, the mesh O-ring net holding up one cliff, and, at some point, the 4000 foot mark. I knew there'd be a 5000 ft mark, and I knew the top was a bit further than I thought after the 5000 ft mark.
I also got to experience some (faded) chalked notes scrawled on the road. My somewhat tired mind noted that Levi and Lance shared the bulk of the messages, Hincapie got a few, and very little else. I did note that I saw only three painted messages, and I think two were official state things (like for where to put a pipe or something).
I also realized that at the speed they climb, they would not be able to read anything shorter than 3 foot tall letters which were at least 6-8 inches wide. I think a sprayer (garden sprayer or some pressurized thing) full of chalk dust would work better than chalk sticks.
I made one "attack" when I heard a pair of motorcycles (they made about 6 passes before they went to get gas or something) approaching. I was just entering one of the long switchbacks, I was on the inside, and I didn't want to have one of them apex through my rear end. So I sprinted, briefly hit about 600 watts, went as fast as 12 mph, and made it through the corner. The two bikes zipped by and I shifted down and tried to recover.
4000 feet came pretty quickly, but that's when my legs started to go. My cadence dropped into the 30s, the cooler air didn't really inspire me to climb faster, and I just slogged away. No weaving though, no pauses at the top of each pedal stroke. Just push and push and push and push. I felt better than normal, but I worried about time.
Finally I got to 5000 feet (there is a sign there). I had 300 feet to go, but the mountain loomed above - it went up so steeply you couldn't see the top. I finally peeked at my watch - it was 3:15, four hours after I left. And one turn later I saw the Yield sign painted on the road. I'd made it.
1:15, after checking the files. 15 minutes faster than Saturday, and I'd ridden 2 hours prior to the climb.
I did my normal stop, got a quart of Gatorade (drank some, filled one small bottle), a postcard, two AAA batteries for the GoPro, and some peanuts because I was convinced I'd get hungry. I ate Bar #2 too.
Sitting there, with almost no one around, it seemed a totally different world from Saturday. The clouds had rolled in too, and I felt chilly. I slipped on my long finger gloves, zipped up my LS jersey, put on my vest, put on my knee warmers, and put on my skull cap thing.
A guy walked by, asked how much my bike cost. I told him ones "like" it would be a couple thousand dollars. Ends up this guy is one of the owners of the general store (named, appropriately, the General Store). He talked about how inspired he felt to see the "bikers" on Saturday, then on Sunday. He talked about how he used to ride, but now he doesn't. He lives up at the top of the mountain so he could even ride his bike to work.
(Later I thought about where he could go to train - every ride would entail descending some crazy distance and riding back home. He'd either be a great climber or quit.)
Another guy walked by and stopped to chat to the General Store guy.
"I think you have to be crazy to want to ride a bike up the mountain", he said, grinning and looking my way.
Hopefully I could register a grin on my tired face. Apparently I did because the other guy kept going.
"You know, Sunday was crazy. I ran out of hamburgers at 10:30 and I just made hot dogs for the rest of the day. At least business was good."
The talk went to business for a while, then the non-General Store guy had another observation.
"I noticed something about the bikers. No litter. After Sunday there was almost no litter to clean up."
I smiled to myself. I am proud of you cycling fans! I really am. No litter and basically one spray painted sign (and hundreds or thousands of chalked ones). Good job!
With the feel good stuff flowing through my blood I figured I should get going. I went to the post office to send off another post card, my fourth ever, to the missus. My hands were like icicles and I could barely write. I scrawled something on the card and walked up to the desk.
"Hey! You're back!" the clerk greeted me.
Feel good stuff just went up another notch.
I noticed, for the first time, that they had about $5 in pennies in their penny thing, and I saw lots of silver there too. You could go shopping on that money, and I mentioned that to the clerk.
A postcard stamp is 27 cents. I took out two quarters from my Ziplock bag.
"Sorry, I don't have pennies."
"Um, we have those pennies you just talked about."
"Oh. Right." <- Oxygen debt + fatigue = forgets things in 2 seconds.
One quarter and two borrowed pennies later, my second card was on the way. I swapped the batteries in the GoPro and started down the mountain. At the 5000 foot mark, just after all the wet pavement (melting snow), I stopped, wiped off the lens, and started the camera. I hopped on quickly, wanting to capture every second possible. I quickly got into a rhythm, slamming into the turns, letting the bike accelerate on the straights.
Palomar, on South Grade, is an awesome descent. Switchback after switchback (21 of them, according to the race reports, but I've never counted them), S-curves, and maybe three or four spots straight enough to sit up for a second or three. It's not fast either - I never really break 40 mph, at least not significantly, but I never get to spend so much time leaned way over.
Luckily, today, the GoPro captures the whole South Grade descent. I stopped once to check if the red light was blinking (means it's recording), and it was, so I quickly hopped back on and took off.
I push my luck and keep going down 76, the 45 minute "pre-climb". Here there are less curves, more straights, and no corners as sharp as South Grade. I didn't feel like sprinting up to speed so I topped out at only 45 mph, although in years past I've gotten well into the 50s. I couldn't tuck as low all bundled up so 45 will have to do it for me.
I stopped at the bottom to check the camera - it captured the whole thing! I debated stopping for food but didn't feel the need - I had my peanuts, Bar #3, a small bottle of Gatorade, and a half bottle of RockStar. I took the vest and kneewarmers off but left the shoe covers and skull cap - it was warm but not hot.
I started going, and the rest of the ride was pretty much anticlimactic. I felt pretty good and kept pushing, pushing, wanting to get home before it got too dark. My normalized power went up for the last two hours, almost getting back up to my starting average. My legs would fall away after short efforts though, and I think that's where a lot of training makes a difference - you can go and actually hold the effort.
I stopped again at the top of Lake Wohlford road, a much shorter descent (it takes me 30 minutes to climb), not as crazy corners, but with a much closer edge (and drop offs). The GoPro gave up on that, capturing only the very top. I did manage to catch a pickup truck on the descent, and though he'd pull away on the straights, I was right there when he stopped at the light at the bottom. Yay.
A short time later I stopped to swap the GoPro for a taillight, put the vest back on, and finished up the ride home, lights flashing. I got back to home base, satisfied and tired. I never needed that third bar, nor the peanuts. I barely drank any more of that Gatorade and I couldn't bring myself to even sip the RockStar.
I had a lean meal (for me), and although later that night I had a bit more food, it was also a lean snack.
Later today I'll be going back home. I may ride if it's warm outside, but I don't feel the need. I have to pack and prepare for the trip. It's been good, even being sick the entire time, but, as I pointed out to one of my hosts the other night, it takes a week before I start missing home. I miss the missus. I miss the kitties. And though I may have lost some time in a delirious haze, it's well into Week 2 of my trip.
Of course Bethel is coming fast - it starts this weekend on Sunday, with a Sweep Day on Saturday.
Back to the real world.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Tour of California - 2009 Palomar Stage
Yesterday the fireworks in the Tour of California happened as expected, but I felt a bit disappointed in the actual racing. Now that the race is over, I'll present some thoughts on what I expected from the race in general, and then list some of the things that may or may not have been captured in reports (online as well as TV coverage).
Expectations (2 specific, 1 general):
1. Floyd Landis basically peaks for this race since it's the biggest race OUCH will do. He kicks butt and takes names. He gets a podium.
2. Levi Leipheimer peaks for this race, and with the strongest team in the world behind him, he wins. On the way he wins the TT since he beat Cancellara in the TT by a minute last year.
3. I had no idea what else to expect. A good prologue by Cancellara, sure, some good climbing by Rabobank, and Garmin quietly securing what I thought would be the third podium spot (but not necessarily third place). I don't know Columbia's strengths and weaknesses too well (in a Feb race) so to me they were wildcards. I also didn't think that Rock Racing would do much due to the initial problems the team experienced earlier this year.
What happened:
1. Floyd Landis falters a bit, and though he went down fighting, he wasn't able to either hold a top GC spot or do a long break.
2. Levi Leipheimer wins and never looks under too much difficulty.
3. Rock Racing did fantastic with Mancebo on the first road stage, but after he crashed out they weren't able to recover the lost climbing jersey.
4. Cervelo Test Team showed that they were perfectly capable of handling themselves in a big stage race.
5. Garmin came out fighting - Dave Z can climb (!).
6. Columbia's Cavendish can sprint, and Michael Rogers seems like he's going well.
I hope that they make, in some way, some of the live video coverage available to the general public. They had at least two large screen TVs at the finish area in Escondido, and we watched them for a while (they had one on Cole Grade too, and who knows where else).
Although we missed the first two climbs on that screen (we were driving from the start to the finish), we got there in time to first see the climb up Palomar. Later, at the last turn of the race, we watched them climb up Cole Grade. Of course we hung out after they crested Cole Grade and watched the run in to the finish (we sat on the outside of the last turn). I didn't watch any other day so closely (I relied on the cut and edited Versus coverage) but I noticed a few other things.
A tip - if you are at a big event where the race promoters have a jumbo TV set up, it's a great place to watch the race. You may not get audio but you'll see the raw footage that the announcers see. I find the minute action, usually not mentioned by the announcers, just as fascinating as the breaks. For example, it's much more exciting before the "break of the day" gets away because everyone is trying to get into that one break. Once the break goes it gets boring.
Anyhoo...
Palomar really blew the race apart. I mean, yeah, that's an obvious thing to state, that a 12 mile climb will shatter the race, but the non-Astana racers really showed some aggressive riding.
For example, Rock Racing wanted to get Tyler up the road to take critical climbing points, and they sent off riders one after another like a machine gun. They sent Tim Johnson, Enrique Guttierrez, and they already had someone up the road (Chadwick?). Then Oscar Sevilla went. He drew out some notable riders like the aforementioned Floyd Landis.
Tyler, though, never attacked. Or did he?
What the reports don't mention is that the field's pace was so high that a lot of attacks were neutralized even as they got started. I would guess that all of Rock Racing's efforts were meant to get Tyler up the road, to earn some critical mountain points (to regain the jersey after Mancebo crashed out). And, in fact, he did attack the field, just as Floyd was bridging to Sevilla, but he never got more than a length clear, and no one mentioned it in their reports. Astana didn't let him go, and he didn't have the punch necessary to break clear. So all that effort to get Tyler into a good break didn't work.
I read the cyclingnews live report and it seemed very sparse with some of its descriptions of the attacks. It seems that they were in a caravan vehicle so they were relying on race radio. But looking at the raw footage on the huge TVs in Escondido, the race was much more chaotic than the live reports make it out to be.
When the four man break hit Cole Grade, Nibali hit out like the finish was at the top of the hill. Only Frank Schleck could follow. Then, after the first two miles of the climb, when the road straightens out a bit (and you're looking at a demoralizing straight bit of road going up for the next mile or so), Nibali finally let Schleck through. Schleck immediately picked up the pace, gapping off Nibali. The reports hint that Nibali chased back, but that wasn't the case - Frank looked back, saw he'd inadvertently gapped Nibali, and virtually sat up. Nibali, already climbing at his limit, simply rode his pace until the two were together again.
Later in the stage, on the descent down Lake Wohlford Road, Nibali went to the front in the tricky bit and started carving some good arcs around the mainly blind curves. Schleck couldn't descend with him and started falling pretty far back. Nibali caught up to the camera bike, had to slow, and then got to one of the straighter bits of the descent. This allowed Schleck to latch back on. I think if the camera bike wasn't there, it would have been a bigger gap, although for purposes of bike racing, not enough to break away to the finish.
I don't think I saw too much else as far as "different flavored" reports go. Overall I was impressed with the race. The organization seemed top notch, the spectators were great, and it made me want to be part of the action.
My final note - I just cannot believe how fast the pros go up climbs. I mean, seriously, it's insane. I budget 35 minutes to go up Cole Grade, and I go "easy" in the 39x25 until I get to some hard-to-see-around right bends with no shoulder. Then I listen for vehicles and go hard for those right bends (the road is narrow and the vehicles going up don't want to slow down and lose momentum). Then I struggle in the 25 up the long, straight section that never ends.
Rory Sutherland, a sprinter (!), did the climb in 9:50, averaging 407 watts for that time. Since I can barely do that for a minute, it's unbelievable that he could do it for ten. Not unbelievable bad, unbelievable like-I-admire-him. Incredible.
I could also compare myself on Palomar since I'd ridden up it the day before. So each area seemed fresh in my memory - the narrow bit after the wide sweeping right curve (where I first got in trouble with my legs), the bit with the steep and gravely dropoff (where the DeWalt tandem guys passed me), the wide turn off where I stopped to remove my cap, etc, etc. I did the whole climb basically in the 39x25, shifting into the 23 occasionally at the bottom and at the top once up into the snow line (where the water ran across the road). I plodded along at about 5 or 6 mph, taking almost 90 minutes to do the climb.
I clocked the pros at less than 32 minutes. Sheesh.
I learned a few things in the last few days:
1. To be a pro you need to be able to ride at 400 watts for some reasonable amount of time (at least 10 minutes).
2. Climbing faster requires less weight or more power.
3. Watch the Jumbo-trons when you don't need to be "part of the race" (i.e. participate by running alongside the riders on Palomar).
4. Bring food and water in a small cooler in a backpack. You barely notice it's there but it's a great thing to have when you can't go anywhere because the sidewalk is jammed full of spectators.
5. It's possible that I could win a stage like Palomar, but only under exceptional circumstances. I calculated that if I want to win the Palomar stage as presented in the 2009 Tour of California, I'd have to attack at the gun and gain about, oh, say, 120-150 minutes lead. Then I'd have a chance at staying away.
Right.
As a final note, I'm going on a limb here and picking out two future winners of this event:
1. Peter Stetina
2. Taylor Phinney
Both of these guys, before they start preparing for the Tour, will need to get some shorter events under their belts. I think that they'll both win a future edition of a Tour of California. As long as the race keeps happening anyway.
Expectations (2 specific, 1 general):
1. Floyd Landis basically peaks for this race since it's the biggest race OUCH will do. He kicks butt and takes names. He gets a podium.
2. Levi Leipheimer peaks for this race, and with the strongest team in the world behind him, he wins. On the way he wins the TT since he beat Cancellara in the TT by a minute last year.
3. I had no idea what else to expect. A good prologue by Cancellara, sure, some good climbing by Rabobank, and Garmin quietly securing what I thought would be the third podium spot (but not necessarily third place). I don't know Columbia's strengths and weaknesses too well (in a Feb race) so to me they were wildcards. I also didn't think that Rock Racing would do much due to the initial problems the team experienced earlier this year.
What happened:
1. Floyd Landis falters a bit, and though he went down fighting, he wasn't able to either hold a top GC spot or do a long break.
2. Levi Leipheimer wins and never looks under too much difficulty.
3. Rock Racing did fantastic with Mancebo on the first road stage, but after he crashed out they weren't able to recover the lost climbing jersey.
4. Cervelo Test Team showed that they were perfectly capable of handling themselves in a big stage race.
5. Garmin came out fighting - Dave Z can climb (!).
6. Columbia's Cavendish can sprint, and Michael Rogers seems like he's going well.
I hope that they make, in some way, some of the live video coverage available to the general public. They had at least two large screen TVs at the finish area in Escondido, and we watched them for a while (they had one on Cole Grade too, and who knows where else).
Although we missed the first two climbs on that screen (we were driving from the start to the finish), we got there in time to first see the climb up Palomar. Later, at the last turn of the race, we watched them climb up Cole Grade. Of course we hung out after they crested Cole Grade and watched the run in to the finish (we sat on the outside of the last turn). I didn't watch any other day so closely (I relied on the cut and edited Versus coverage) but I noticed a few other things.
A tip - if you are at a big event where the race promoters have a jumbo TV set up, it's a great place to watch the race. You may not get audio but you'll see the raw footage that the announcers see. I find the minute action, usually not mentioned by the announcers, just as fascinating as the breaks. For example, it's much more exciting before the "break of the day" gets away because everyone is trying to get into that one break. Once the break goes it gets boring.
Anyhoo...
Palomar really blew the race apart. I mean, yeah, that's an obvious thing to state, that a 12 mile climb will shatter the race, but the non-Astana racers really showed some aggressive riding.
For example, Rock Racing wanted to get Tyler up the road to take critical climbing points, and they sent off riders one after another like a machine gun. They sent Tim Johnson, Enrique Guttierrez, and they already had someone up the road (Chadwick?). Then Oscar Sevilla went. He drew out some notable riders like the aforementioned Floyd Landis.
Tyler, though, never attacked. Or did he?
What the reports don't mention is that the field's pace was so high that a lot of attacks were neutralized even as they got started. I would guess that all of Rock Racing's efforts were meant to get Tyler up the road, to earn some critical mountain points (to regain the jersey after Mancebo crashed out). And, in fact, he did attack the field, just as Floyd was bridging to Sevilla, but he never got more than a length clear, and no one mentioned it in their reports. Astana didn't let him go, and he didn't have the punch necessary to break clear. So all that effort to get Tyler into a good break didn't work.
I read the cyclingnews live report and it seemed very sparse with some of its descriptions of the attacks. It seems that they were in a caravan vehicle so they were relying on race radio. But looking at the raw footage on the huge TVs in Escondido, the race was much more chaotic than the live reports make it out to be.
When the four man break hit Cole Grade, Nibali hit out like the finish was at the top of the hill. Only Frank Schleck could follow. Then, after the first two miles of the climb, when the road straightens out a bit (and you're looking at a demoralizing straight bit of road going up for the next mile or so), Nibali finally let Schleck through. Schleck immediately picked up the pace, gapping off Nibali. The reports hint that Nibali chased back, but that wasn't the case - Frank looked back, saw he'd inadvertently gapped Nibali, and virtually sat up. Nibali, already climbing at his limit, simply rode his pace until the two were together again.
Later in the stage, on the descent down Lake Wohlford Road, Nibali went to the front in the tricky bit and started carving some good arcs around the mainly blind curves. Schleck couldn't descend with him and started falling pretty far back. Nibali caught up to the camera bike, had to slow, and then got to one of the straighter bits of the descent. This allowed Schleck to latch back on. I think if the camera bike wasn't there, it would have been a bigger gap, although for purposes of bike racing, not enough to break away to the finish.
I don't think I saw too much else as far as "different flavored" reports go. Overall I was impressed with the race. The organization seemed top notch, the spectators were great, and it made me want to be part of the action.
My final note - I just cannot believe how fast the pros go up climbs. I mean, seriously, it's insane. I budget 35 minutes to go up Cole Grade, and I go "easy" in the 39x25 until I get to some hard-to-see-around right bends with no shoulder. Then I listen for vehicles and go hard for those right bends (the road is narrow and the vehicles going up don't want to slow down and lose momentum). Then I struggle in the 25 up the long, straight section that never ends.
Rory Sutherland, a sprinter (!), did the climb in 9:50, averaging 407 watts for that time. Since I can barely do that for a minute, it's unbelievable that he could do it for ten. Not unbelievable bad, unbelievable like-I-admire-him. Incredible.
I could also compare myself on Palomar since I'd ridden up it the day before. So each area seemed fresh in my memory - the narrow bit after the wide sweeping right curve (where I first got in trouble with my legs), the bit with the steep and gravely dropoff (where the DeWalt tandem guys passed me), the wide turn off where I stopped to remove my cap, etc, etc. I did the whole climb basically in the 39x25, shifting into the 23 occasionally at the bottom and at the top once up into the snow line (where the water ran across the road). I plodded along at about 5 or 6 mph, taking almost 90 minutes to do the climb.
I clocked the pros at less than 32 minutes. Sheesh.
I learned a few things in the last few days:
1. To be a pro you need to be able to ride at 400 watts for some reasonable amount of time (at least 10 minutes).
2. Climbing faster requires less weight or more power.
3. Watch the Jumbo-trons when you don't need to be "part of the race" (i.e. participate by running alongside the riders on Palomar).
4. Bring food and water in a small cooler in a backpack. You barely notice it's there but it's a great thing to have when you can't go anywhere because the sidewalk is jammed full of spectators.
5. It's possible that I could win a stage like Palomar, but only under exceptional circumstances. I calculated that if I want to win the Palomar stage as presented in the 2009 Tour of California, I'd have to attack at the gun and gain about, oh, say, 120-150 minutes lead. Then I'd have a chance at staying away.
Right.
As a final note, I'm going on a limb here and picking out two future winners of this event:
1. Peter Stetina
2. Taylor Phinney
Both of these guys, before they start preparing for the Tour, will need to get some shorter events under their belts. I think that they'll both win a future edition of a Tour of California. As long as the race keeps happening anyway.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Training - Palomar
Today I got that California monkey off my back - I rode up Palomar Mountain.
But I feel like I kind of cheated.
In prior years, my Palomar attempts were gradual build-ups, multiple failed attempts building on one another. I'd ride to the base of the climb, then maybe due to weather or time or something I'd have to turn around. I'd adjust my attempt plans accordingly (start earlier, bring more gear, ride harder, etc.) and then try again. My failed attempts were always good tries, once even riding to within a mile or so of the top. I used these attempts to judge riding effort, pace, and to find refueling points.
The biggest challenge wasn't necessarily the climb, although it's a hard climb at best. It lay in the fact that I had to ride a couple hours just to get to the base of the mountain, over some nasty (to me) climbs. Then, while climbing it, I'd have to constantly judge whether or not I'd be able to make it back to home base. This meant timing food and fluid replenishment (in a place where I could go buy stuff without having my bike stolen, hence the importance of scouting out such places) not just for the climb but also for the long ride back.
Because of all the false starts to the top, I had a good idea of what to expect where, how long it would take, and how I would feel in various places along the route. I could usually finish a 6 or 7 hour ride within a 15 minute window of my expected/calculated ride time.
Today, this time, it didn't work like that, and that's why I feel like I sort of cheated.
See, we just drove to about a mile of the base of the climb, got ready, and rode up the thing. So no recons (I haven't even ridden inland this year), no practice climbing, no nothing. Just a lot of out-and-backs on the PCH, a much flatter, much more wind-swept road.
I've also been fighting this stupid cold for a while, waking myself up with violent coughing fits last night. I ended up getting much less sleep than normal and wasn't very coherent in the morning. On the way to the ride I could feel the hot breath coming from my mouth, something I only feel when I have a fever or if I've overheated in a race or ride.
The ride today was planned by a local superstore (so is it local?) and attracted a lot of attention. The mayor of Escondido even did the ride, although last we heard (when we started descending) that she was still working her way up (the Amgen Tour folks were waiting for her to pass by some Amgen banner or something at the top of the climb).
There had to be between 150 and 200 riders (three groups, with each group broken up into 3-4 groups of 20 or so) at the start. This meant, among other things, that I could pace myself off of riders around me, not just pedal madly up the hill. This really helped rein in my "out of the starting gate" efforts as the climbing started because I didn't want to pass the group's unofficial leader (a rider from the local superstore).
After almost toppling over trying not to run into the guy in front of me, I decided it'd be okay to pass one or two guys. Rich followed each of my moves, and we even passed the group leader guy. Soon we were pleasantly isolated, sometimes passing someone, more often getting passed by someone else.
Although I strayed up to 400+ watts (usually when trying to build up speed after slowing in the group), I managed a respectable-for-me 200-210 watts for the 40 minute-to-me pre-climb. At some point I moved over to let Rich pull, and he immediately picked up the pace to a comfortable-to-him pace. I struggled for a bit, wondering if my adled brain was playing tricks on me. I simply couldn't pedal as fast as Rich.
That's when I realized I was in the 23. I'd shifted into the 23 on a flatter bit and forgot, and now I was wheezing so loudly I couldn't hear myself think. I shifted into the 25 and started to flounder. The higher cadence and the prior struggle in the 23 had me starting to overheat. Ominously I had to ask Rich to ease a bit at one point since I had problems maintaining a 300 watt effort to stay on his wheel. His relaxed demeanor seemed completely at odds with my heavy breathing, shoulder rocking laboring.
We eased a bit at the flat bit between the pre-climb and the climb proper. I drank a bit since I knew that this was the best place to drink for a while.
And then we veered left onto South Grade.
Rich immediately rode away from me, keeping company with the group of riders around him. I dropped back quickly, my cadence dropping into the low-mid 50s. A lot of riders passed me, even the very friendly and encouraging group "leader" from way back.
I started recognizing some familiar landmarks, the lower altitude ones imprinted in my head much better than the upper ones. Once I got above a certain height I was in "Three-peat" territory, areas I've ridden only three times in my life (two summits and one very high failed attempt). I don't remember very much about this section, and I still don't - grinding along in the 39x25, goosebumps and chills running through my body, well, I don't remember stuff very well when I'm like that.
I do remember a few things:
- "Connecticut Coast - that's why you're having so much trouble on the climb." This from a white haired guy who probably had 30 pounds and 6 inches in height on me. And passing me.
- "I haven't ridden next to snow since I moved from New Hampshire 11 years ago." This guy obviously flew by me - New Hampshire means hills.
- "Good job." From a lot of folks riding by me. Like as in passing me.
- Guy on a full suspension mountain bike, knobby tires, with a backpack and two large bottles, pedaling nonchalantly right by me. Yeah, he passed me too.
- Junior kid (I saw him a couple days ago on the PCH and he dropped me then too), had to be 10 or 11, flying past me. He passed... well, you get the idea.
- Nurnburger ex-World Champion racer blasting by me like she was on a motorcycle. I had actually stopped to take my soaking wet cap off. I may or may not have taken a picture or two, but, wow, she positively flew by. Fastest rider to pass me by far. I'd have difficulty going that pace on the flats.
- Actual motorcycles roaring up and down the mountain, pretty much scraping their thighs in each turn.
- Being told "Only 200 more vertical feet to go!" In case you don't know, 200 vertical feet, after climbing to about 5000 vertical feet, is really hard. And takes, oh, like a bazillion hours to do.
- If you run out of fluids and start overheating, just keep climbing until the temperature drops. The chilly air (usually where the snow is) will cool you down pretty effectively.
I got to the top and Rich looked at me and grinned.
"You don't look too happy."
No kidding. When I'm tired I look upset, and I was tired. I could barely climb off my bike. I'd run out of fluids with maybe 20 minutes of climbing left, maybe more, but whatever, I was hot and thirsty. I got some Gatorade and a Coke, did my postcard thing, and started piling on all the warm clothes I'd struggled to carry up the hill.
Off went the short finger gloves (even if they were the new team gloves), on went the "-25 deg F but still trim looking" long finger ones. The inside jersey got zipped up, the outside long-sleeve too, and the vest went on top of that (and all new kit stuff). I decided against using the team shoe covers even though I brought them - too much for a guy that can't climb well.
At some point I asked Rich how long he waited before I got there.
"How long did you wait for me? Like 5 minutes? 10 minutes?"
He grinned. "Well, if you really want to know..."
He capped the climb (South Grade) in 59 minutes, based on his arrival time. He didn't know when we started it, but I did. My time? About 30 minutes after his. The kicker is that he never got to the groveling point like I did, and I got to it at, oh, a minute into the climb.
Dag.
We futzed around with the GoPro camera a bit. I bought batteries for it (the original ones died), we remounted it on my seatpost facing backwards, and, about an hour after we got to the top, we set off down the mountain.
I covered the camera with my hanbd when I ran over the water running across the road (from melting snow next to the road) - I didn't want the spray to get on the lens. Then, after we got below the snow line, I let the bike free. I shifted once, felt it wasn't enough, and tried to shift again.
No luck. 53x11.
But still, I didn't pedal a lot, not on the actual Palomar bit. I'd let the bike build a head of speed, brake, and dive into the corners. It felt exhilarating, swooping left and right and left and right, brakes totally predicatble (not like last year when I had carbon rims on), tires feeling totally planted (those Krylions really performed well), and, for once, my hands, neck, and arms didn't get totally crampy. I think it helped that I didn't do 2 or 3 hours of riding just to get to Palomar.
This boded well for the rest of the descent (the "pre-climb") which has more pedaling. Normally I'd have to balance pedaling and uncramping my arms (or neck or hands), but this time I didn't have to do too much of that.
We got back to the start point and I started feeling pretty good. Coasting for the better part of 30 minutes will do that, and it was a lot warmer out too.
When we got home I checked the GoPro. Arg. Only 6 minutes or so ended up saved, the rest of the descent got lost because the GoPro turned off or something (?). So not too much action captured on film (or in SD memory as it were). Maybe at some point I'll parse it and put it up, but it's not too interesting.
Now to watch the stage coverage on TV.
Tomorrow? Watch the last stage.
But I feel like I kind of cheated.
In prior years, my Palomar attempts were gradual build-ups, multiple failed attempts building on one another. I'd ride to the base of the climb, then maybe due to weather or time or something I'd have to turn around. I'd adjust my attempt plans accordingly (start earlier, bring more gear, ride harder, etc.) and then try again. My failed attempts were always good tries, once even riding to within a mile or so of the top. I used these attempts to judge riding effort, pace, and to find refueling points.
The biggest challenge wasn't necessarily the climb, although it's a hard climb at best. It lay in the fact that I had to ride a couple hours just to get to the base of the mountain, over some nasty (to me) climbs. Then, while climbing it, I'd have to constantly judge whether or not I'd be able to make it back to home base. This meant timing food and fluid replenishment (in a place where I could go buy stuff without having my bike stolen, hence the importance of scouting out such places) not just for the climb but also for the long ride back.
Because of all the false starts to the top, I had a good idea of what to expect where, how long it would take, and how I would feel in various places along the route. I could usually finish a 6 or 7 hour ride within a 15 minute window of my expected/calculated ride time.
Today, this time, it didn't work like that, and that's why I feel like I sort of cheated.
See, we just drove to about a mile of the base of the climb, got ready, and rode up the thing. So no recons (I haven't even ridden inland this year), no practice climbing, no nothing. Just a lot of out-and-backs on the PCH, a much flatter, much more wind-swept road.
I've also been fighting this stupid cold for a while, waking myself up with violent coughing fits last night. I ended up getting much less sleep than normal and wasn't very coherent in the morning. On the way to the ride I could feel the hot breath coming from my mouth, something I only feel when I have a fever or if I've overheated in a race or ride.
The ride today was planned by a local superstore (so is it local?) and attracted a lot of attention. The mayor of Escondido even did the ride, although last we heard (when we started descending) that she was still working her way up (the Amgen Tour folks were waiting for her to pass by some Amgen banner or something at the top of the climb).
There had to be between 150 and 200 riders (three groups, with each group broken up into 3-4 groups of 20 or so) at the start. This meant, among other things, that I could pace myself off of riders around me, not just pedal madly up the hill. This really helped rein in my "out of the starting gate" efforts as the climbing started because I didn't want to pass the group's unofficial leader (a rider from the local superstore).
After almost toppling over trying not to run into the guy in front of me, I decided it'd be okay to pass one or two guys. Rich followed each of my moves, and we even passed the group leader guy. Soon we were pleasantly isolated, sometimes passing someone, more often getting passed by someone else.
Although I strayed up to 400+ watts (usually when trying to build up speed after slowing in the group), I managed a respectable-for-me 200-210 watts for the 40 minute-to-me pre-climb. At some point I moved over to let Rich pull, and he immediately picked up the pace to a comfortable-to-him pace. I struggled for a bit, wondering if my adled brain was playing tricks on me. I simply couldn't pedal as fast as Rich.
That's when I realized I was in the 23. I'd shifted into the 23 on a flatter bit and forgot, and now I was wheezing so loudly I couldn't hear myself think. I shifted into the 25 and started to flounder. The higher cadence and the prior struggle in the 23 had me starting to overheat. Ominously I had to ask Rich to ease a bit at one point since I had problems maintaining a 300 watt effort to stay on his wheel. His relaxed demeanor seemed completely at odds with my heavy breathing, shoulder rocking laboring.
We eased a bit at the flat bit between the pre-climb and the climb proper. I drank a bit since I knew that this was the best place to drink for a while.
And then we veered left onto South Grade.
Rich immediately rode away from me, keeping company with the group of riders around him. I dropped back quickly, my cadence dropping into the low-mid 50s. A lot of riders passed me, even the very friendly and encouraging group "leader" from way back.
I started recognizing some familiar landmarks, the lower altitude ones imprinted in my head much better than the upper ones. Once I got above a certain height I was in "Three-peat" territory, areas I've ridden only three times in my life (two summits and one very high failed attempt). I don't remember very much about this section, and I still don't - grinding along in the 39x25, goosebumps and chills running through my body, well, I don't remember stuff very well when I'm like that.
I do remember a few things:
- "Connecticut Coast - that's why you're having so much trouble on the climb." This from a white haired guy who probably had 30 pounds and 6 inches in height on me. And passing me.
- "I haven't ridden next to snow since I moved from New Hampshire 11 years ago." This guy obviously flew by me - New Hampshire means hills.
- "Good job." From a lot of folks riding by me. Like as in passing me.
- Guy on a full suspension mountain bike, knobby tires, with a backpack and two large bottles, pedaling nonchalantly right by me. Yeah, he passed me too.
- Junior kid (I saw him a couple days ago on the PCH and he dropped me then too), had to be 10 or 11, flying past me. He passed... well, you get the idea.
- Nurnburger ex-World Champion racer blasting by me like she was on a motorcycle. I had actually stopped to take my soaking wet cap off. I may or may not have taken a picture or two, but, wow, she positively flew by. Fastest rider to pass me by far. I'd have difficulty going that pace on the flats.
- Actual motorcycles roaring up and down the mountain, pretty much scraping their thighs in each turn.
- Being told "Only 200 more vertical feet to go!" In case you don't know, 200 vertical feet, after climbing to about 5000 vertical feet, is really hard. And takes, oh, like a bazillion hours to do.
- If you run out of fluids and start overheating, just keep climbing until the temperature drops. The chilly air (usually where the snow is) will cool you down pretty effectively.
I got to the top and Rich looked at me and grinned.
"You don't look too happy."
No kidding. When I'm tired I look upset, and I was tired. I could barely climb off my bike. I'd run out of fluids with maybe 20 minutes of climbing left, maybe more, but whatever, I was hot and thirsty. I got some Gatorade and a Coke, did my postcard thing, and started piling on all the warm clothes I'd struggled to carry up the hill.
Off went the short finger gloves (even if they were the new team gloves), on went the "-25 deg F but still trim looking" long finger ones. The inside jersey got zipped up, the outside long-sleeve too, and the vest went on top of that (and all new kit stuff). I decided against using the team shoe covers even though I brought them - too much for a guy that can't climb well.
At some point I asked Rich how long he waited before I got there.
"How long did you wait for me? Like 5 minutes? 10 minutes?"
He grinned. "Well, if you really want to know..."
He capped the climb (South Grade) in 59 minutes, based on his arrival time. He didn't know when we started it, but I did. My time? About 30 minutes after his. The kicker is that he never got to the groveling point like I did, and I got to it at, oh, a minute into the climb.
Dag.
We futzed around with the GoPro camera a bit. I bought batteries for it (the original ones died), we remounted it on my seatpost facing backwards, and, about an hour after we got to the top, we set off down the mountain.
I covered the camera with my hanbd when I ran over the water running across the road (from melting snow next to the road) - I didn't want the spray to get on the lens. Then, after we got below the snow line, I let the bike free. I shifted once, felt it wasn't enough, and tried to shift again.
No luck. 53x11.
But still, I didn't pedal a lot, not on the actual Palomar bit. I'd let the bike build a head of speed, brake, and dive into the corners. It felt exhilarating, swooping left and right and left and right, brakes totally predicatble (not like last year when I had carbon rims on), tires feeling totally planted (those Krylions really performed well), and, for once, my hands, neck, and arms didn't get totally crampy. I think it helped that I didn't do 2 or 3 hours of riding just to get to Palomar.
This boded well for the rest of the descent (the "pre-climb") which has more pedaling. Normally I'd have to balance pedaling and uncramping my arms (or neck or hands), but this time I didn't have to do too much of that.
We got back to the start point and I started feeling pretty good. Coasting for the better part of 30 minutes will do that, and it was a lot warmer out too.
When we got home I checked the GoPro. Arg. Only 6 minutes or so ended up saved, the rest of the descent got lost because the GoPro turned off or something (?). So not too much action captured on film (or in SD memory as it were). Maybe at some point I'll parse it and put it up, but it's not too interesting.
Now to watch the stage coverage on TV.
Tomorrow? Watch the last stage.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Training - New Kit Ride
So two days ago, among other happenings, I got a package in the mail, courtesy JJ, one of my teammates. He sent me my team kit order for this year. Since I had already ridden that day I couldn't don the kit, but I decided that I'd probably use it the next day.
Unusually, I placed a conservative kit order. I suppose it has to do with my severe downturn in paygrade, as well as the fact that I have about 10 or 12 outfits from my previous (self-sponsored) team. That doesn't count all my other team kits and miscellaneous generic gear. Although much of that stuff has been relegated to mainly trainer use, I couldn't justify getting a lot of new kit stuff.
I did get a pair of shorts and a jersey (some new sponsors apparently), so now I'll have three of each. Since I already had knickers and a long sleeve jersey, I skipped those. To fill some of the "I don't have them" holes, I ordered a winter jacket, a wind vest, short finger gloves, and shoe covers. I've never had team gloves or shoe covers so that was cool.
Yesterday I dressed up for what ended up being a recovery ride. I wore all new clothes except my socks and shoes. New shorts, new jersey, new gloves, and new vest. The latter I stuffed in my pocket for the inevitable chill that permeates the SoCal late afternoons.
(I decided wearing the shoe covers would be over the top - I'd have to feel great to wear them, and I don't, so I didn't.)
I started off with some company (Julie, taking a short break from work). First order of business on the ride? Fix two flats that our bike suffered while sitting in the garage overnight. My rear tire was flat, ditto hers. I found a nice cut in her tube (and adjusted the rear rim strip to cover a suspected eyelet edge), and a thorn in my tire. I simply installed a new Michelin Krylion, my favorite training tire. I swapped my front tire too, because I wanted to put the Michelins on my wheels.
So three tire changes later we got going.
On one of the first rises, a 300 or 400 meter hill, she set such a ferocious pace that I capped the hill trailing her by 10 meters. When I finally caught my breath, I asked her if she remembered asking me if I was "being kind" when I rode with her last year (or maybe it was the year before). At that time we'd ridden a few times and I climbed side by side with her, but on a later ride I took off for some reason. That's when she asked that question.
She looked at me and nodded.
"Well, I wasn't being kind back there."
She laughed.
Shortly afterwards a truck slowly passed us, going maybe 35 or 40 mph. I looked at it longingly. Then another truck drove by. I couldn't resist. I looked at Julie and told her that I really needed to go after this truck. She smiled in understanding.
I jumped hard, shifted, jumped again, and started pedaling a bit too fast for my comfort. The truck signaled right so I zigged left and tried to catch the second truck, but he was too far away. Ends up I did a much bigger jump than yesterday (150w higher). I guess fresh legs count for something.
I sprinted vainly for a while but decided that going too far out would be not nice to Julie. I coasted and slowed, and lo and behold, she came flying past me - she must have been doing a similar effort. I sprinted to catch up to her.
She turned around just before I got to the coast, and I did the same route I've been doing recently. Relatively flat, wide shoulders, beaches and surf on one side, snow capped mountains way off on the other side.
I rolled onto the PCH, noticing a rider about 100 meters behind me as I did so. He quickly caught up to me, helped by the fact that I was doing a trackstand at a red light. I heard him say something to me as he pulled up.
"Well, I think I'm going to stop because you're stopped."
I looked and smiled. Then I almost fell over.
We started riding, Steve and I, and chatting. He was going pretty hard (at least for me he was) and we both were extremely conscious of not blocking traffic, not riding too close to pedestrians, etc. I felt very relaxed riding with him because, if anything, he rode more "by the book" than I did.
Okay, except for stop signs. But he'd wait for me after he coasted through a couple (and I tried to do a complete stop).
After the standard questions you ask when you start riding with a stranger ("Where are you going? How far up? Did you just get on the bike today or have you been riding for a while?") he looked at me and asked if I rode track.
Well now. He must have noticed my crit-bend bars. Or my extremely powerful looking quads (ha!). Julie politely mentioned the trackstand may have been a tip off. Or...
"Well, I asked because, you know, you look like you, well, like you're carrying a bit of weight for climbing."
Then he realized how that sounded and started backpedaling.
"I mean I'm not calling you fat, you're just, well, built like a, um, track racer."
I decided not to tell him that "I'm dense", like I tell the nurse at my doctor's office.
I laughed it off. Ends up his son is a Cat 1 in Colorado (and a former teammate of one Tom Peterson), so I look like a Cat 5 to him. Or a track racer, if you want to be polite about it. Whatever. He pretty much cooked my legs just cruising along, occasionally reminding me that, "Whenever you want to take off just go."
Remember in California that if you pass someone, you have to really pass them. The roads around here go on forever. You've got to maintain that higher pace for 10-15-20 minutes minumum, and it's really sort of embarrassing to get caught 30 or 40 minutes after you passed someone and they fly by you like you're standing still.
So I declined each of his invitations. Because I wouldn't be able to maintain a faster pace for more than, oh, about a minute.
I realized I had to turn around to make it home before it got really cold, so bade my latest training companion farewell.
Then I hit that stupid wind.
Why don't I ever head north when I start? Then I could ride back with the wind. Or I could head inland, where the wind isn't so ferocious.
But Bethel is windy. So wind is good. I stopped, put on my brand new wind vest, and got going, in the drops, time trialing.
In my 39x15.
After a while, like 3 minutes later, I blew up. It would be a long drag home. I tried to remember what it was like when I rode in Belgium, when I drilled it every time we hit some wind just because I could. I tried to stay on top of the pedals, tried to apply power through the full pedal stroke consistently.
Then my calves would start twinging, my hamstrings, even my back. And I'd ease up again.
I fought this way for the next 45 minutes or so, trying to convince my body it's fun to go hard in wind. And just when I was about to sit up for real, I saw three riders in the distance. Since I hadn't seen them before, this meant I was catching them. And since I had been going the same pace (200-240 watts) for the last 20 or 30 minutes, I knew I could maintain it until I turned inland. So I dug and kept going.
Ends up the three riders happened to be passing one another, but I didn't realize that until I'd passed the first one and then the second one. The third rider looked pretty powerful, but he sat up once he'd gapped the second rider. Although my legs weren't happy about it, I pulled up even with him.
I realized I was half wheeling him so I eased, and we settled into a "talking is a bit difficult" pace, side by side. He looked like a stocky kind of guy, like me, but more fit. We commiserated about the wind but otherwise didn't talk too much. I mentally sighed a breath of relief when my turn off came, and started up the "exit ramp" turn off. Incredibly I upped my pace - climbing feels much better with the longer cranks, and although I felt tapped riding along just a moment before, suddenly I found some energy from somewhere. I actually accelerated.
Then I turned onto the road that'd bring me back home. And mentally, physically, I sat up. I went easy all the way back home.
I'm finally starting to feel a little more human on the bike but my legs are loading up right away. The missus and I talked a bit tonight, a nice chat, and I realized as I was talking to her that I haven't been eating as much as I do at home. Now maybe that's good for weight control, but it's not good for fueling up for intense rides. I decided I'd try and eat a little more.
Oh, and not stay up until 2 AM like yesterday.
Unusually, I placed a conservative kit order. I suppose it has to do with my severe downturn in paygrade, as well as the fact that I have about 10 or 12 outfits from my previous (self-sponsored) team. That doesn't count all my other team kits and miscellaneous generic gear. Although much of that stuff has been relegated to mainly trainer use, I couldn't justify getting a lot of new kit stuff.
I did get a pair of shorts and a jersey (some new sponsors apparently), so now I'll have three of each. Since I already had knickers and a long sleeve jersey, I skipped those. To fill some of the "I don't have them" holes, I ordered a winter jacket, a wind vest, short finger gloves, and shoe covers. I've never had team gloves or shoe covers so that was cool.
Yesterday I dressed up for what ended up being a recovery ride. I wore all new clothes except my socks and shoes. New shorts, new jersey, new gloves, and new vest. The latter I stuffed in my pocket for the inevitable chill that permeates the SoCal late afternoons.
(I decided wearing the shoe covers would be over the top - I'd have to feel great to wear them, and I don't, so I didn't.)
I started off with some company (Julie, taking a short break from work). First order of business on the ride? Fix two flats that our bike suffered while sitting in the garage overnight. My rear tire was flat, ditto hers. I found a nice cut in her tube (and adjusted the rear rim strip to cover a suspected eyelet edge), and a thorn in my tire. I simply installed a new Michelin Krylion, my favorite training tire. I swapped my front tire too, because I wanted to put the Michelins on my wheels.
So three tire changes later we got going.
On one of the first rises, a 300 or 400 meter hill, she set such a ferocious pace that I capped the hill trailing her by 10 meters. When I finally caught my breath, I asked her if she remembered asking me if I was "being kind" when I rode with her last year (or maybe it was the year before). At that time we'd ridden a few times and I climbed side by side with her, but on a later ride I took off for some reason. That's when she asked that question.
She looked at me and nodded.
"Well, I wasn't being kind back there."
She laughed.
Shortly afterwards a truck slowly passed us, going maybe 35 or 40 mph. I looked at it longingly. Then another truck drove by. I couldn't resist. I looked at Julie and told her that I really needed to go after this truck. She smiled in understanding.
I jumped hard, shifted, jumped again, and started pedaling a bit too fast for my comfort. The truck signaled right so I zigged left and tried to catch the second truck, but he was too far away. Ends up I did a much bigger jump than yesterday (150w higher). I guess fresh legs count for something.
I sprinted vainly for a while but decided that going too far out would be not nice to Julie. I coasted and slowed, and lo and behold, she came flying past me - she must have been doing a similar effort. I sprinted to catch up to her.
She turned around just before I got to the coast, and I did the same route I've been doing recently. Relatively flat, wide shoulders, beaches and surf on one side, snow capped mountains way off on the other side.
I rolled onto the PCH, noticing a rider about 100 meters behind me as I did so. He quickly caught up to me, helped by the fact that I was doing a trackstand at a red light. I heard him say something to me as he pulled up.
"Well, I think I'm going to stop because you're stopped."
I looked and smiled. Then I almost fell over.
We started riding, Steve and I, and chatting. He was going pretty hard (at least for me he was) and we both were extremely conscious of not blocking traffic, not riding too close to pedestrians, etc. I felt very relaxed riding with him because, if anything, he rode more "by the book" than I did.
Okay, except for stop signs. But he'd wait for me after he coasted through a couple (and I tried to do a complete stop).
After the standard questions you ask when you start riding with a stranger ("Where are you going? How far up? Did you just get on the bike today or have you been riding for a while?") he looked at me and asked if I rode track.
Well now. He must have noticed my crit-bend bars. Or my extremely powerful looking quads (ha!). Julie politely mentioned the trackstand may have been a tip off. Or...
"Well, I asked because, you know, you look like you, well, like you're carrying a bit of weight for climbing."
Then he realized how that sounded and started backpedaling.
"I mean I'm not calling you fat, you're just, well, built like a, um, track racer."
I decided not to tell him that "I'm dense", like I tell the nurse at my doctor's office.
I laughed it off. Ends up his son is a Cat 1 in Colorado (and a former teammate of one Tom Peterson), so I look like a Cat 5 to him. Or a track racer, if you want to be polite about it. Whatever. He pretty much cooked my legs just cruising along, occasionally reminding me that, "Whenever you want to take off just go."
Remember in California that if you pass someone, you have to really pass them. The roads around here go on forever. You've got to maintain that higher pace for 10-15-20 minutes minumum, and it's really sort of embarrassing to get caught 30 or 40 minutes after you passed someone and they fly by you like you're standing still.
So I declined each of his invitations. Because I wouldn't be able to maintain a faster pace for more than, oh, about a minute.
I realized I had to turn around to make it home before it got really cold, so bade my latest training companion farewell.
Then I hit that stupid wind.
Why don't I ever head north when I start? Then I could ride back with the wind. Or I could head inland, where the wind isn't so ferocious.
But Bethel is windy. So wind is good. I stopped, put on my brand new wind vest, and got going, in the drops, time trialing.
In my 39x15.
After a while, like 3 minutes later, I blew up. It would be a long drag home. I tried to remember what it was like when I rode in Belgium, when I drilled it every time we hit some wind just because I could. I tried to stay on top of the pedals, tried to apply power through the full pedal stroke consistently.
Then my calves would start twinging, my hamstrings, even my back. And I'd ease up again.
I fought this way for the next 45 minutes or so, trying to convince my body it's fun to go hard in wind. And just when I was about to sit up for real, I saw three riders in the distance. Since I hadn't seen them before, this meant I was catching them. And since I had been going the same pace (200-240 watts) for the last 20 or 30 minutes, I knew I could maintain it until I turned inland. So I dug and kept going.
Ends up the three riders happened to be passing one another, but I didn't realize that until I'd passed the first one and then the second one. The third rider looked pretty powerful, but he sat up once he'd gapped the second rider. Although my legs weren't happy about it, I pulled up even with him.
I realized I was half wheeling him so I eased, and we settled into a "talking is a bit difficult" pace, side by side. He looked like a stocky kind of guy, like me, but more fit. We commiserated about the wind but otherwise didn't talk too much. I mentally sighed a breath of relief when my turn off came, and started up the "exit ramp" turn off. Incredibly I upped my pace - climbing feels much better with the longer cranks, and although I felt tapped riding along just a moment before, suddenly I found some energy from somewhere. I actually accelerated.
Then I turned onto the road that'd bring me back home. And mentally, physically, I sat up. I went easy all the way back home.
I'm finally starting to feel a little more human on the bike but my legs are loading up right away. The missus and I talked a bit tonight, a nice chat, and I realized as I was talking to her that I haven't been eating as much as I do at home. Now maybe that's good for weight control, but it's not good for fueling up for intense rides. I decided I'd try and eat a little more.
Oh, and not stay up until 2 AM like yesterday.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Training - Analyzing My Jump
Yesterday I decided I'd work on my California tan. Although my throat and head weren't feeling great, they felt okay. I (thought I) felt good enough to go out in short sleeves and shorts, and wore a wind vest to keep my torso/core warm. I found out that although warm outside when sunny, the cold wind really ate away at my heat reserves. My throat started feeling sore, I felt some pressure in my head, and I found myself feeling chilly (and stupidly unprepared) within 1.5 hours of starting out.
So, after a nice chat with the missus (we missed our daily call yesterday so we made up for it today, me leaning against the guardrail next to the sunny PCH, she bundled up in snowy Connecticut), I decided to cut my ride short and go home. I turned around at the next convenient area.
That's when the wind really hit me.
It was killer, a steady 20 mph cross-headwind. I rode in the drops for a bit, it was that bad.
I think I rode the whole PCH section of the ride in the small ring, and I found myself in lower and lower gears. It helped when I ate a FiberOne bar I'd brought along, although getting the wrapper back into my pocket (under the vest) almost caused me to ride off the road.
I headed inland, the wind much kinder. My legs didn't care - I couldn't go hard at all. I crawled up and down some hills. Some guy in a full kit, probably a commuter based on his messenger bag, positively blew by me on a particular grade. He quickly disappeared out of sight. I watched him and thought, boy, I'm slow.
A few minutes later I came up to a light. Mister Kit was there. The light turned green and we started off. Since I didn't want to act like a total dweeb, I stayed respectfully behind him. He ramped it up and disappeared again.
A couple minutes later I came up to a light, and would you believe it, Mister Kit was there again. I felt kind of bad, like he may mistake me for a cycling stalker or something. I went super easy when the light turned green, but then so did he. After realizing I wasn't going to try and pass him back, he took off again.
A couple minutes later.. Yep, I rolled up to him again. I didn't even see him until I was a few cars away from him. He again went easy, I went easier, then he went a bit harder.
Finally I watched him roll through an intersection as the light turned yellow. I stopped and hoped that I wouldn't catch him again. Of course he's probably posted on his blog about Mister Stalker who kept catching him and following him.
I felt relieved because I'd been waiting for a particular stretch of road to do an experiment. A sprinting experiment, the best kind.
On the forums someone asked for some sprinting advice, and after reading a bunch of responses, I realized I had no clue about my optimal jump cadence. I guessed it was about 90 or 95 rpms, but I really didn't know. I did know that yesterday I did a little jump and had two almost equal power peaks, both at about 95 rpms. My sprint graph resembles a ski jump - starts high, then plummets as time goes by. One of my goals is to try and extend the top of the slope so that I spend more time at the high power area.
So today I decided I'd jump at 95-ish rpm, no matter what gear it was, and shift as soon as I thought I could shift and end up at 95-ish rpm again.
Luckily Mister Kit was gone - it'd have looked really amateurish to go sprinting past him and then blow up.
I rolled down my leadout hill, braking, keeping my speed low enough so I could jump in a relatively low gear. I gripped the drops, set my body, and got ready to do a killer massive jump.
As I started up the sprint hill I checked my cadence - 80. I shifted down once more. 88. I shifted down again. I saw 90-something and BAM I was going.
I did two downstrokes with one foot before I instinctively slammed the shifter, doing another hard surge. I think three downstrokes went by before I shifted again, and I did another surge.
That's about when my head started really pounding, the lactic acid suddenly overflowed, and my legs started to wither. I hoped that maybe I had another surge in my legs, shifted up once more, and essentially fell flat on my face.
I sat down, put the bike in the 39x21, and tried to catch my breath.
When I got home I checked what happened in that little effort.
First off, it took all of 11 seconds to totally and completely fry me for the next few minutes.
Second, somehow I managed to keep my cadence such that each time I surged, I did so at 95 rpm or so. I accelerated up to about 100-105 rpms in each gear, shifted, and found myself at about 95 rpms. I shifted one gear at a time, one tooth at a time. I'm pretty sure I started in the (53 x) 15T, ending in the 12T.
Third, each of the efforts were within 100 watts of each other. Well, each of the first three. The fourth dropped off by about 25%, putting in the realm of "not really a sprint". My speed didn't drop but I wasn't going to accelerate anymore.
Fourth, my ski slope graph suddenly had a little area for skiiers to wait in line. A jagged area, yes, but an area.
So what's this mean to you?
Analyze your jump, analyze your sprint. If you know what your legs like to do, you can try and adjust the situation so that your legs are happy.
Figure out at which rpm you jump best. The jump is a vicious pedal stroke, meant to do everything possible to accelerate the bike forward. If your pedal stroke was a car, your jump would be a Top Fuel Dragster. If you don't have a downloadable cyclocomputer (SRM, PowerTap, Garmin, etc), do jumps from different rpms and figure out at which rpms you felt good. The original forum post person did just that in an effort to narrow her cadence range for her jump, but she due to limitations in equipment she simply noted rpms and how it felt for each rpm range.
Figure out at which rpm you can sustain your 5 second or 10 second power. This is different from your jump - it's a smoother, sustainable effort. To use the car analogy, your sprint is more like a Land Speed car. I didn't do any experimenting with that today because there was no way I would be able to sustain any kind of effort. However, since that power is much lower than the jump power, I'm guessing that the rpm will be a bit higher than the jump rpm.
Write things down (which is a good thing in general). Make notes after rides (or even during them if you're on a trainer). Jot down things like gearing (jump gear and ending gear), cadence (if you can get that), and ending speed (look down just after you finished sprinting). Ultimately you can calculate your cadence based on speed and gearing. If you have a cyclocomputer that records max cadence (as well as speed), you can reset the computer before each sprint. This way you'll have the data for that short period of time.
Remember trainers don't allow the bike to rock (with a couple exceptions) so your power and your form will be a bit mutated.
It's only mid-February, but we're approaching the race season fast. Working on your sprint in a logical, calculated way can pay dividends when the warmer weather finally hits.
So, after a nice chat with the missus (we missed our daily call yesterday so we made up for it today, me leaning against the guardrail next to the sunny PCH, she bundled up in snowy Connecticut), I decided to cut my ride short and go home. I turned around at the next convenient area.
That's when the wind really hit me.
It was killer, a steady 20 mph cross-headwind. I rode in the drops for a bit, it was that bad.
I think I rode the whole PCH section of the ride in the small ring, and I found myself in lower and lower gears. It helped when I ate a FiberOne bar I'd brought along, although getting the wrapper back into my pocket (under the vest) almost caused me to ride off the road.
I headed inland, the wind much kinder. My legs didn't care - I couldn't go hard at all. I crawled up and down some hills. Some guy in a full kit, probably a commuter based on his messenger bag, positively blew by me on a particular grade. He quickly disappeared out of sight. I watched him and thought, boy, I'm slow.
A few minutes later I came up to a light. Mister Kit was there. The light turned green and we started off. Since I didn't want to act like a total dweeb, I stayed respectfully behind him. He ramped it up and disappeared again.
A couple minutes later I came up to a light, and would you believe it, Mister Kit was there again. I felt kind of bad, like he may mistake me for a cycling stalker or something. I went super easy when the light turned green, but then so did he. After realizing I wasn't going to try and pass him back, he took off again.
A couple minutes later.. Yep, I rolled up to him again. I didn't even see him until I was a few cars away from him. He again went easy, I went easier, then he went a bit harder.
Finally I watched him roll through an intersection as the light turned yellow. I stopped and hoped that I wouldn't catch him again. Of course he's probably posted on his blog about Mister Stalker who kept catching him and following him.
I felt relieved because I'd been waiting for a particular stretch of road to do an experiment. A sprinting experiment, the best kind.
On the forums someone asked for some sprinting advice, and after reading a bunch of responses, I realized I had no clue about my optimal jump cadence. I guessed it was about 90 or 95 rpms, but I really didn't know. I did know that yesterday I did a little jump and had two almost equal power peaks, both at about 95 rpms. My sprint graph resembles a ski jump - starts high, then plummets as time goes by. One of my goals is to try and extend the top of the slope so that I spend more time at the high power area.
So today I decided I'd jump at 95-ish rpm, no matter what gear it was, and shift as soon as I thought I could shift and end up at 95-ish rpm again.
Luckily Mister Kit was gone - it'd have looked really amateurish to go sprinting past him and then blow up.
I rolled down my leadout hill, braking, keeping my speed low enough so I could jump in a relatively low gear. I gripped the drops, set my body, and got ready to do a killer massive jump.
As I started up the sprint hill I checked my cadence - 80. I shifted down once more. 88. I shifted down again. I saw 90-something and BAM I was going.
I did two downstrokes with one foot before I instinctively slammed the shifter, doing another hard surge. I think three downstrokes went by before I shifted again, and I did another surge.
That's about when my head started really pounding, the lactic acid suddenly overflowed, and my legs started to wither. I hoped that maybe I had another surge in my legs, shifted up once more, and essentially fell flat on my face.
I sat down, put the bike in the 39x21, and tried to catch my breath.
When I got home I checked what happened in that little effort.
First off, it took all of 11 seconds to totally and completely fry me for the next few minutes.
Second, somehow I managed to keep my cadence such that each time I surged, I did so at 95 rpm or so. I accelerated up to about 100-105 rpms in each gear, shifted, and found myself at about 95 rpms. I shifted one gear at a time, one tooth at a time. I'm pretty sure I started in the (53 x) 15T, ending in the 12T.
Third, each of the efforts were within 100 watts of each other. Well, each of the first three. The fourth dropped off by about 25%, putting in the realm of "not really a sprint". My speed didn't drop but I wasn't going to accelerate anymore.
Fourth, my ski slope graph suddenly had a little area for skiiers to wait in line. A jagged area, yes, but an area.
So what's this mean to you?
Analyze your jump, analyze your sprint. If you know what your legs like to do, you can try and adjust the situation so that your legs are happy.
Figure out at which rpm you jump best. The jump is a vicious pedal stroke, meant to do everything possible to accelerate the bike forward. If your pedal stroke was a car, your jump would be a Top Fuel Dragster. If you don't have a downloadable cyclocomputer (SRM, PowerTap, Garmin, etc), do jumps from different rpms and figure out at which rpms you felt good. The original forum post person did just that in an effort to narrow her cadence range for her jump, but she due to limitations in equipment she simply noted rpms and how it felt for each rpm range.
Figure out at which rpm you can sustain your 5 second or 10 second power. This is different from your jump - it's a smoother, sustainable effort. To use the car analogy, your sprint is more like a Land Speed car. I didn't do any experimenting with that today because there was no way I would be able to sustain any kind of effort. However, since that power is much lower than the jump power, I'm guessing that the rpm will be a bit higher than the jump rpm.
Write things down (which is a good thing in general). Make notes after rides (or even during them if you're on a trainer). Jot down things like gearing (jump gear and ending gear), cadence (if you can get that), and ending speed (look down just after you finished sprinting). Ultimately you can calculate your cadence based on speed and gearing. If you have a cyclocomputer that records max cadence (as well as speed), you can reset the computer before each sprint. This way you'll have the data for that short period of time.
Remember trainers don't allow the bike to rock (with a couple exceptions) so your power and your form will be a bit mutated.
It's only mid-February, but we're approaching the race season fast. Working on your sprint in a logical, calculated way can pay dividends when the warmer weather finally hits.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Training - Finally?
I woke up today feeling a bit better. I didn't actually wince when I swallowed. Okay, I did wince, but that was just reflexive. The second tentative swallow didn't hurt too much. My annual California cold had turned a corner.
The weather started dreadful, raining, windy, but after a couple hours the clouds rolled away and the sun started burning through.
I decided to join my friend on a lunchtime ride. Since I hadn't eaten my second breakfast (my first one was bacon, eggs, and toast), I jammed some Fig Newtons in my mouth and washed it down with some water. I dressed pretty aggressively (i.e. warmly) for the conditions. 55-60 degrees, sunny (and a strong sun at that), and I wore the following:
We pedaled easily towards the coast, did a short jaunt down by the beaches, and turned back inland so he could get back to work. At first he seemed to hold back here and there (because he'd drop back) but that was all politeness. On the way back it took all of 600 watts of effort (on my part) to saw me off his wheel. Although my throat may not have been really sore, it didn't mean I was okay - I still had to fight some fever. Any effort, no matter how insignificant it seemed, took its toll, and I couldn't sustain anything beyond 200-250 watts.
Back at the house I climbed off the bike feeling pleasantly overheated, soaked in perspiration. I had some Gatorade (I bought two gallons in a fit of optimism the other night), decided against eating (it would draw blood into my stomach, away from my muscles), and, after a brief little internal debate, I went back out.
It took maybe three or four minutes and I found myself throwing my leg over my bike only a few minutes after I had climbed off of it. I rode back out to the coast, headed the other way, stopped by Pacific Coast Cycles, bought some wheel magnets (I didn't have any on the wheels I brought out here, and I'm borrowing one), and got back on my bike. That's about when I realized that I'd been out for almost three hours and hadn't had anything but about 10 ounces of Gatorade. I broke open a FiberOne bar (caramel, if you have to ask, and I love their cereal), chomped it down, and chased it with some water.
Of course I immediately felt bad. Must be the blood getting drawn in to the stomach, away from my legs. Or the fact that I've been sick for 5 or 6 days. Or that I'd been out on the bike for a few hours already. Or... the reasons went on and on.
I slogged my way back to home base, optimistically doing one gigantic jump before I got home.
Said jump lasted three pedal strokes, peaked at under 1000 watts (according to the SRM after the ride, I'd made two 1200 watt accelerations away from lights and I didn't "mean" to do them), and totally cooked me for the rest of the ride home.
Good thing this wasn't a race.
I got back, climbed off the bike, walked in the house. Asked, I described my route. My friend looked at me in surprise.
"But you've been gone so long..."
I could only shrug.
My friend kept asking me, "Wait, you just went to the shop and back? You only spent 5 minutes there? You didn't go anywhere else? And you took this long?"
I shrugged again.
Did I really ride that slowly?
You know, come to think of it, maybe I spent 30 or 40 minutes at the shop.
Yeah, that's it.
The weather started dreadful, raining, windy, but after a couple hours the clouds rolled away and the sun started burning through.
I decided to join my friend on a lunchtime ride. Since I hadn't eaten my second breakfast (my first one was bacon, eggs, and toast), I jammed some Fig Newtons in my mouth and washed it down with some water. I dressed pretty aggressively (i.e. warmly) for the conditions. 55-60 degrees, sunny (and a strong sun at that), and I wore the following:
- Short sleeve jersey
- Long sleeve jersey ("Roubaix" type fabric, thick)
- Wind vest
- Thick bib knickers ("Roubaix")
- Gloves rated to 25 degrees F
- Head cover I use down to 25 degrees F
We pedaled easily towards the coast, did a short jaunt down by the beaches, and turned back inland so he could get back to work. At first he seemed to hold back here and there (because he'd drop back) but that was all politeness. On the way back it took all of 600 watts of effort (on my part) to saw me off his wheel. Although my throat may not have been really sore, it didn't mean I was okay - I still had to fight some fever. Any effort, no matter how insignificant it seemed, took its toll, and I couldn't sustain anything beyond 200-250 watts.
Back at the house I climbed off the bike feeling pleasantly overheated, soaked in perspiration. I had some Gatorade (I bought two gallons in a fit of optimism the other night), decided against eating (it would draw blood into my stomach, away from my muscles), and, after a brief little internal debate, I went back out.
It took maybe three or four minutes and I found myself throwing my leg over my bike only a few minutes after I had climbed off of it. I rode back out to the coast, headed the other way, stopped by Pacific Coast Cycles, bought some wheel magnets (I didn't have any on the wheels I brought out here, and I'm borrowing one), and got back on my bike. That's about when I realized that I'd been out for almost three hours and hadn't had anything but about 10 ounces of Gatorade. I broke open a FiberOne bar (caramel, if you have to ask, and I love their cereal), chomped it down, and chased it with some water.
Of course I immediately felt bad. Must be the blood getting drawn in to the stomach, away from my legs. Or the fact that I've been sick for 5 or 6 days. Or that I'd been out on the bike for a few hours already. Or... the reasons went on and on.
I slogged my way back to home base, optimistically doing one gigantic jump before I got home.
Said jump lasted three pedal strokes, peaked at under 1000 watts (according to the SRM after the ride, I'd made two 1200 watt accelerations away from lights and I didn't "mean" to do them), and totally cooked me for the rest of the ride home.
Good thing this wasn't a race.
I got back, climbed off the bike, walked in the house. Asked, I described my route. My friend looked at me in surprise.
"But you've been gone so long..."
I could only shrug.
My friend kept asking me, "Wait, you just went to the shop and back? You only spent 5 minutes there? You didn't go anywhere else? And you took this long?"
I shrugged again.
Did I really ride that slowly?
You know, come to think of it, maybe I spent 30 or 40 minutes at the shop.
Yeah, that's it.
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