(Note: for the track I should say "Cat 4" because that's what I am on the track.)
Since last week, when I picked up the parts for the track bike, I've been thinking of exactly what I wanted to do with the Riggio.
Why?
Why bother with equipment? Don't I know that bike racing potential is ultimately determined by genetics?
Yes, I do.
Nothing I can do (legally) can improve my body for bike racing beyond a certain point. And getting there would be painful in a different way - socially, relationship-wise with the missus, etc. Although I had such an opportunity to be a full time cyclist, I learned pretty quickly that I plateaued pretty quickly. I've decided that I know my lot in life, and I'm not too far away from being as good as I can be.
This means that, if I'm getting shelled in the fast B races on the track, I'll be getting shelled in the fast B races later. Okay, fine, I may be able to improve a bit, since the track is new to me, but you get the idea. Maybe I'll do some A races, but I won't magically become a 4:15 pursuiter or a 53 kph hour record holder.
Think of it this way - I won't be trying out for the National Team this summer.
So why put all this time and energy and focus into building wheels with no budget or major goals or whatever?
Because I want to perform to the best of my ability on race day.
I want to be as good as I can be on the Riggio next Tuesday. Because it's not my life, or my profession, or my vocation ($3 for a win won't go far in paying the mortgage), I can't sacrifice everything for it. But regardless of my work schedule, regardless of what I've eaten (or not), when I roll onto the track, I have only two things with me.
Me and my bike.
Tactics for most track racing is pretty basic. The single gear limits the speed differential to a certain extent, and therefore you have a two by two matrix:
(Low Gear / High Gear) x (Can Jump / Can Time Trial)
I have a High Gear and I Can Jump, so I have some top end, I can accelerate pretty well, but I can't hold anything for long. Most of the other riders have a Low Gear relative to me and they Can Time Trial. Ideally I need to use the high gear to keep my revs down and save my jump for the important bits of the race.
The reality is that when the Can Time Trial guys go to the front, I can't do much. I hang on for dear life and pray that I make it to the end.
(The Madison is different, but it's so complex that I can't get my head wrapped around it yet, so I don't count that yet.)
I can't really change my body, not at this moment. That's already done. I mean, yeah, I could have ridden tonight (for example, but I decided that it wasn't as important as doing some other stuff I wanted to do.
Fine, just before the racing starts I could drink a Coke or something. I did last week, but it didn't help. Sugar, caffeine, electrolytes, water, they all help. And, yes, I have more ideas for next week on this.
But I can optimize my bike.
I won't go hog-wild and get a Cervelo ($3k for a track frame through Excel!) with all crazy good parts, but I'll focus on the position, gear, and wheels. I have yet to put a speedometer on the bike so I have no metrics right now - I'd like to race next week with a speedo at least.
This way I can experiment. For example, I have yet to do a true flying 200 for any kind of baseline. I figure that I'll be faster with aero wheels than not, but without some kind of quantitative measurement, I don't really know. A speedometer will help prove this or not.
On the road my gear illustrates this idea of "fulfilling current potential" vividly. I have essentially a $8-10k bike. It's light, responsive, measures power, and it's way more than I need in a bike.
Yet not only did I buy it, I tried to improve it. I swapped out some parts for fit (post, saddle, bars, stem) but put on the Reynolds DV46 tubulars for races. And then, to top it off, I built up a Zipp 440 front wheel to make the bike even faster.
Am I a Cat 2 now? Will I be signing with a pro team?
No.
I can't even stay with some local yahoos in the Tuesday Night World Championships, at least not the attack and break guys.
But man, it's fun.
It's fun training on it. It's fun bombing down descents with absolute confidence in the bike.
And, of course, it's fun racing on it. It's fun to bury myself with effort just to be able to stay on wheels. My whole world simplifies, narrows down to a singular focus - to get on that wheel in front of you, to sit just to one side of it to get maximum shelter, to not getting dropped.
For me, far too often, I watch a tiny gap grow until it looks like a chasm opened up between that wheel and me. Those are the painful moments, the disappointments.
In return I get to experience some better races, those where I manage to hang on, where I start counting laps so I keep track of when to sprint, as opposed to counting laps because "I'll do one more and then drop out".
It's those better days that, with a few laps to go, I find some "get up and go" from somewhere deep in my body. Suddenly things seem possible, little bursts of energy become available, and, magically, hopefully anyway, with 150 or 200 meters to go I'm sprinting for the line.
If a slightly faster wheelset gets me a bit closer to the front, so be it. If it lets me make 60 extra seconds of effort over an hour, sign me up.
It makes racing more fun for me.
And therefore it's worth it.
(Once again for those RSS subscriber types, I apologize for the premature publication of this post... I blame again the touch pad again although technically it's the nut holding the keyboard that really set the publication of the post into action.)
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Dateline: 20:31, 20 May 2009
"Hey, how's it going? Um, I was wondering, could I install a crankset right now? ... It's okay if you don't have a free stand, I'll do it on the floor. When am I riding? Um, in about three hours... The track? Yeah, it's about, um, three hours away."
That was me talking, at the local shop.
With that I started my final task before I headed north for some NEV action.
I thought my frame was French threaded (with an Italian name frame, what was I thinking?). Well, the 26.6 mm seatpost threw me for a loop, making me think the frame was built along French standards. And my bleary eyes saw "38" on the bottom bracket cup instead of "36". Today, with clearer eyes, I saw that, in fact, it said 36x24.
Italian thread.
Therefore the crankset I ordered would fit, or, to be precise, the bottom bracket cups I ordered for the crankset I ordered would fit. I'd have pictures but I was in a hurry. I'll take "after the fact" shots though.
Suffice it to say that I figured out a way to uninstall the fixed cup without a fixed cup tool (use a vise to hold the cup, turn the frame), extracted the BB, and installed the cups for the new BB.
Backwards.
So I switched the left and right cups (Italian BBs do that, English ones don't because one side is reverse thread). Installed the cranks. Installed the shiny silver BMX chain. Thought about switching out the 48T chainring for my 50T. Looked at my watch. Nix the chainring swap.
25 minutes later, I left the shop with a virtually new drivetrain on the bike.
Note: I also had new brake pads on the blue car - and, curiously enough, the slight grinding noise while braking suddenly went away. I, of course, installed them today just before I left for the shop. I also managed to do some laundry - including the team kit in my gear bag. I did some dishes too, including the bottle in the car. And, of course, every time I walked by the window with Riley sitting on the sill, I'd pet her because she wasn't her normal skittish self. Of the other cats, Hal was most active. He just followed me around, meowing about all the things that cats meow about.
I got to the track with just a bit of time, maybe 20 minutes, before we gathered for the national anthem. Then it was off to the races - for me, it meant the B's - a Scratch race, a Snowball race, a Madison (!), and then some Match Sprints.
On the warm-up I realized the 48x15 felt much easier than the 50x15, but I was amazed that some of the good riders were using even lower gears (one a 48x17!). I figured I'd be good even with the change from the 50 to the 48 - I'd still have a bit taller gear than some guys.
The Scratch race is just a normal 15 lap race. We started off, me following this guy Will for a few laps. I remember him because last week he pointed out he was using a 48x14. I thought my 50x15 was big, a 48x14 is huge! This week he and I both rolled around on 48x15s during warm-up. Anyway, in the race, when he pulled off, I did a lap at the front, pulled off, and realized that my legs had difficulty spinning the 48x15.
Then someone attacked.
I went shooting off the back.
I simply couldn't spin the gear fast enough. My 175 mm @ 90 rpm road style didn't fit well with the 120 or whatever rpm I had to maintain to stay with the attacks, forget about launching one myself.
About 6 laps in I'd pulled off the racing line, and a lap or two later I was at the car. By the time the guys had sprinted for the finish, I'd removed the 50T ring from the old crank (luckily I did all that work on the way to the track, else I probably would have left it at home). Before the As finished their race my new crankset had my old 50T on it.
I felt a bit better now. At least I felt like I could hang onto the back of the group, if nothing else.
Of course, that's when someone pointed out, "Don't you want the lower gear for the sprints?"
Hm. I think I jump better with big gears. I'll stick with what I know.
The Snowball is an interesting race. It's sort of like an amortized points race. Only the winner gets the points, and on the first lap, there's only one point up for grabs. On the second, there are two. Third, three. And so on, up until 15 laps, where you can snag 15 points if you win that last sprint.
One guy went early and snagged all the "inexpensive" points, but his effort made him pull off the racing line once he got caught (he still got 4th or something). Then two more guys duked it out for a few laps, with me shadowing them, waiting for something, I don't know what, but something.
Then the guy on my wheel shot past me. I tried to go with him, out of the saddle and everything, but he'd gapped me good, and I started to explode, even with my 50x15. I looked back to see who else was there.
No one.
Oops.
I sat up and one of the two guys duking it out earlier rolled by me, maintaining a nice, even pace, one that was absolutely unsustainable by yours truly.
I pulled up the track and stopped.
It seems I'm good for maybe a couple laps (they're typically 25-30 seconds a lap), but when the guys start plugging away for 4 or 5 laps, 2 or 3 minutes, I'm totally cooked.
I spent the next bit of time talking to one of the regulars. He pointed out some of the riders, their strengths, their focus, stuff like that. One guy that impressed me in previous weeks (in the A races) with his staying power had actually been focusing on the Match Sprint the prior year. He definitely had some get up and go, but apparently he decided to do a more rounded program for 09. Still, though, he had this cool as nails disk wheel.
On to the Madison. My training partner from last week wasn't around, so I did some practice slings with the aforementioned Will. But we didn't mesh well with the slings and I almost pulled him off his bike or something. He declined doing the race, so I teamed up with one of the other guys I know there, Scotty.
Now, although Scotty is a good racer (we duked it out last year), we hadn't practiced a single sling, and therefore it was kind of sketchy. It's pretty easy being the slinger (the guy racing up to that point who slings their partner into the race). It's harder being the slingee (the relief rider who gets whipped up to race speed in about 10 feet). It's even harder when you're supposed to be racing other teams while you're slinging one another all over the track.
We got totally annihilated.
I didn't help much - at least Scotty could hang with the boys. I couldn't go more than a lap, but it takes two laps to catch your relief man, so I'd lose us a good half lap each time I got into the race. One lap, fine. Two laps, trouble. Again, that jump from 30 seconds of effort to 60 seconds killed me.
Still, though, we got in some good slings, and neither of us crashed (actually no one crashed). Chalk it up to experience. I figure it'll take a good year or two before I get it down, and I'll need to have a time-trial-y type of rider to complement my very sprinty type of riding.
I just have to figure out how I can sling my relief partner in after just one lap. Or extend my usable power time up to 60 seconds minimum.
Finally we had some match sprints. Nothing too organized, just some semi-random triplets assigned by Tony, the track director.
The first sprint saw me matched up against the guy who could go forever in the Snowball race (he was chasing the winner) and a young rider who was apparently using some low gear. My 50x15 was a huge advantage over the younger rider, and when the other guy jumped, he couldn't go with the move. It took me a few pedal strokes to get on the Forever guy's wheel, and my jump let me go around him on the back stretch. I drilled it to the line but Forever had sat up.
I watched a few sprints while I caught my breath, including one really entertaining one where the resident pro-type rider Kirk actually playfully head-butted a guy trying to pass him as the bell rang. Then he rode his two opponents up away from the sprint lane (the fastest lane, and once you're in it in the sprint, other riders can't be in it next to you). Finally he dropped down to the sprint lane and went for the line. I forget how he did, first or second, but it was great fun watching a good rider having fun on the track (he was another that used a super low gear, so he had to use his guile to help make up for his lack of top end speed).
Then Tony, another good rider using a low gear (and the guy in charge of the track), had me, him, and the aforementioned disk wheel guy go at it. Tony had that low gear so I knew I had to keep the pace higher, but the disk wheel would give the other guy a speed advantage. My only hope was that they'd be using lower gears than me, and I'd be able to get some top end speed that they couldn't hit.
I rolled at the front, aware that Tony's low gear would make it hard for me to match a jump. By keeping the speed higher, I hoped to keep Tony at bay. Then it'd be me and the disk wheel guy. I figured it'd be him or me based on Tony's low gear (and my strategy to use my big gear to my advantage, i.e. keep the initial pace high enough so I won't bog down when I jump).
Sure enough, Disk Wheel went, I went with him, and, no, he wasn't using a big gear. I jumped on the backstretch, passing him on the right. Incredibly Tony was there too, I felt him just behind to my right. Disk Wheel fought back pretty hard, but ultimately I managed to get around him.
I felt better about the second sprint because the one guy focused on sprinting the prior season, so the "win" felt more honorable. Honestly, though, I have a feeling that if Tony had any kind of normal gear on his bike, he'd have walked away with the sprint.
So a few things I learned about track racing:
1. There are Three Three Word phrases that you have to remember:
- Don't stop pedaling
- Stick, Stay, Rail
- Um... I forget the last one.
2. Good riders can spin little gears ridiculously fast. Big gears are a crutch for lack of "souplesse" or pedaling smoothness.
3. You have to practice slings to be able to do a Madison.
4. I like Match Sprints.
We'll see how the rest of the summer goes.
At this point, this week, I have two days of riding, of which two days were racing. My legs feel pretty normal after the wrecking I gave them Sunday. Next up on the riding agenda - the Hartford Crit (Bike Reg link here), coming up this Sunday.
(For those of you with RSS feeds, my laptop touchpad made me publish a post, so apologies for that)
That was me talking, at the local shop.
With that I started my final task before I headed north for some NEV action.
I thought my frame was French threaded (with an Italian name frame, what was I thinking?). Well, the 26.6 mm seatpost threw me for a loop, making me think the frame was built along French standards. And my bleary eyes saw "38" on the bottom bracket cup instead of "36". Today, with clearer eyes, I saw that, in fact, it said 36x24.
Italian thread.
Therefore the crankset I ordered would fit, or, to be precise, the bottom bracket cups I ordered for the crankset I ordered would fit. I'd have pictures but I was in a hurry. I'll take "after the fact" shots though.
Suffice it to say that I figured out a way to uninstall the fixed cup without a fixed cup tool (use a vise to hold the cup, turn the frame), extracted the BB, and installed the cups for the new BB.
Backwards.
So I switched the left and right cups (Italian BBs do that, English ones don't because one side is reverse thread). Installed the cranks. Installed the shiny silver BMX chain. Thought about switching out the 48T chainring for my 50T. Looked at my watch. Nix the chainring swap.
25 minutes later, I left the shop with a virtually new drivetrain on the bike.
Note: I also had new brake pads on the blue car - and, curiously enough, the slight grinding noise while braking suddenly went away. I, of course, installed them today just before I left for the shop. I also managed to do some laundry - including the team kit in my gear bag. I did some dishes too, including the bottle in the car. And, of course, every time I walked by the window with Riley sitting on the sill, I'd pet her because she wasn't her normal skittish self. Of the other cats, Hal was most active. He just followed me around, meowing about all the things that cats meow about.
I got to the track with just a bit of time, maybe 20 minutes, before we gathered for the national anthem. Then it was off to the races - for me, it meant the B's - a Scratch race, a Snowball race, a Madison (!), and then some Match Sprints.
On the warm-up I realized the 48x15 felt much easier than the 50x15, but I was amazed that some of the good riders were using even lower gears (one a 48x17!). I figured I'd be good even with the change from the 50 to the 48 - I'd still have a bit taller gear than some guys.
The Scratch race is just a normal 15 lap race. We started off, me following this guy Will for a few laps. I remember him because last week he pointed out he was using a 48x14. I thought my 50x15 was big, a 48x14 is huge! This week he and I both rolled around on 48x15s during warm-up. Anyway, in the race, when he pulled off, I did a lap at the front, pulled off, and realized that my legs had difficulty spinning the 48x15.
Then someone attacked.
I went shooting off the back.
I simply couldn't spin the gear fast enough. My 175 mm @ 90 rpm road style didn't fit well with the 120 or whatever rpm I had to maintain to stay with the attacks, forget about launching one myself.
About 6 laps in I'd pulled off the racing line, and a lap or two later I was at the car. By the time the guys had sprinted for the finish, I'd removed the 50T ring from the old crank (luckily I did all that work on the way to the track, else I probably would have left it at home). Before the As finished their race my new crankset had my old 50T on it.
I felt a bit better now. At least I felt like I could hang onto the back of the group, if nothing else.
Of course, that's when someone pointed out, "Don't you want the lower gear for the sprints?"
Hm. I think I jump better with big gears. I'll stick with what I know.
The Snowball is an interesting race. It's sort of like an amortized points race. Only the winner gets the points, and on the first lap, there's only one point up for grabs. On the second, there are two. Third, three. And so on, up until 15 laps, where you can snag 15 points if you win that last sprint.
One guy went early and snagged all the "inexpensive" points, but his effort made him pull off the racing line once he got caught (he still got 4th or something). Then two more guys duked it out for a few laps, with me shadowing them, waiting for something, I don't know what, but something.
Then the guy on my wheel shot past me. I tried to go with him, out of the saddle and everything, but he'd gapped me good, and I started to explode, even with my 50x15. I looked back to see who else was there.
No one.
Oops.
I sat up and one of the two guys duking it out earlier rolled by me, maintaining a nice, even pace, one that was absolutely unsustainable by yours truly.
I pulled up the track and stopped.
It seems I'm good for maybe a couple laps (they're typically 25-30 seconds a lap), but when the guys start plugging away for 4 or 5 laps, 2 or 3 minutes, I'm totally cooked.
I spent the next bit of time talking to one of the regulars. He pointed out some of the riders, their strengths, their focus, stuff like that. One guy that impressed me in previous weeks (in the A races) with his staying power had actually been focusing on the Match Sprint the prior year. He definitely had some get up and go, but apparently he decided to do a more rounded program for 09. Still, though, he had this cool as nails disk wheel.
On to the Madison. My training partner from last week wasn't around, so I did some practice slings with the aforementioned Will. But we didn't mesh well with the slings and I almost pulled him off his bike or something. He declined doing the race, so I teamed up with one of the other guys I know there, Scotty.
Now, although Scotty is a good racer (we duked it out last year), we hadn't practiced a single sling, and therefore it was kind of sketchy. It's pretty easy being the slinger (the guy racing up to that point who slings their partner into the race). It's harder being the slingee (the relief rider who gets whipped up to race speed in about 10 feet). It's even harder when you're supposed to be racing other teams while you're slinging one another all over the track.
We got totally annihilated.
I didn't help much - at least Scotty could hang with the boys. I couldn't go more than a lap, but it takes two laps to catch your relief man, so I'd lose us a good half lap each time I got into the race. One lap, fine. Two laps, trouble. Again, that jump from 30 seconds of effort to 60 seconds killed me.
Still, though, we got in some good slings, and neither of us crashed (actually no one crashed). Chalk it up to experience. I figure it'll take a good year or two before I get it down, and I'll need to have a time-trial-y type of rider to complement my very sprinty type of riding.
I just have to figure out how I can sling my relief partner in after just one lap. Or extend my usable power time up to 60 seconds minimum.
Finally we had some match sprints. Nothing too organized, just some semi-random triplets assigned by Tony, the track director.
The first sprint saw me matched up against the guy who could go forever in the Snowball race (he was chasing the winner) and a young rider who was apparently using some low gear. My 50x15 was a huge advantage over the younger rider, and when the other guy jumped, he couldn't go with the move. It took me a few pedal strokes to get on the Forever guy's wheel, and my jump let me go around him on the back stretch. I drilled it to the line but Forever had sat up.
I watched a few sprints while I caught my breath, including one really entertaining one where the resident pro-type rider Kirk actually playfully head-butted a guy trying to pass him as the bell rang. Then he rode his two opponents up away from the sprint lane (the fastest lane, and once you're in it in the sprint, other riders can't be in it next to you). Finally he dropped down to the sprint lane and went for the line. I forget how he did, first or second, but it was great fun watching a good rider having fun on the track (he was another that used a super low gear, so he had to use his guile to help make up for his lack of top end speed).
Then Tony, another good rider using a low gear (and the guy in charge of the track), had me, him, and the aforementioned disk wheel guy go at it. Tony had that low gear so I knew I had to keep the pace higher, but the disk wheel would give the other guy a speed advantage. My only hope was that they'd be using lower gears than me, and I'd be able to get some top end speed that they couldn't hit.
I rolled at the front, aware that Tony's low gear would make it hard for me to match a jump. By keeping the speed higher, I hoped to keep Tony at bay. Then it'd be me and the disk wheel guy. I figured it'd be him or me based on Tony's low gear (and my strategy to use my big gear to my advantage, i.e. keep the initial pace high enough so I won't bog down when I jump).
Sure enough, Disk Wheel went, I went with him, and, no, he wasn't using a big gear. I jumped on the backstretch, passing him on the right. Incredibly Tony was there too, I felt him just behind to my right. Disk Wheel fought back pretty hard, but ultimately I managed to get around him.
I felt better about the second sprint because the one guy focused on sprinting the prior season, so the "win" felt more honorable. Honestly, though, I have a feeling that if Tony had any kind of normal gear on his bike, he'd have walked away with the sprint.
So a few things I learned about track racing:
1. There are Three Three Word phrases that you have to remember:
- Don't stop pedaling
- Stick, Stay, Rail
- Um... I forget the last one.
2. Good riders can spin little gears ridiculously fast. Big gears are a crutch for lack of "souplesse" or pedaling smoothness.
3. You have to practice slings to be able to do a Madison.
4. I like Match Sprints.
We'll see how the rest of the summer goes.
At this point, this week, I have two days of riding, of which two days were racing. My legs feel pretty normal after the wrecking I gave them Sunday. Next up on the riding agenda - the Hartford Crit (Bike Reg link here), coming up this Sunday.
(For those of you with RSS feeds, my laptop touchpad made me publish a post, so apologies for that)
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Racing - East Hartford 5/19
Although we had a frost scare last night (I even took in our flowers), the day turned out awesome - almost 70 degrees, a powerful sun that let me work in a short sleeve shirt.
This meant, among other things, that the Tuesday Night Race at Rentschler Field would finally take place.
During my lunch break I dragged my bike out of the basement, packed some gear, and staged everything in the still-cool garage. Then, about 20 minutes early, I cut out of work, rushed home, collected the missus and my bike stuff, and off we went.
About 10 minutes away I realized I left all my race wheels in the still-cool garage. But, hey, it's a training race, so I'd just have to deal with heavy, box section, 32 spoke wheels. What a rough life, right?
We got to the Rent and, man, it was breezy. I thought only Bethel had weather pattern anomalies, but obviously Rentschler Field does too. Instead of funneling all the area's wind down a valley, the Field is smack dab in the middle of a huge cleared flat area, a place where they used to be able to handle 747s on their runways. I guess wind swirls around it or something.
So, yeah, it was windy.
But with the nice weather, there were a lot of racers out there.
I needed to get some blood flowing through my legs - they still felt wobbly after my spontaneous 5k run on Sunday - and I quickly dressed and got on the bike. The wind sapped any will to do efforts so I toodled around for a while.
I did do one thing - to avoid any accidental un-clips, I cranked the tension down on the pedals. Much, much better.
We got going, and after a lap or two of nothing, guys started going. And then someone on a Cervelo just ripped us apart. This guy lapped the field (where I sat) twice, the powerful chase group once.
By himself.
When the chase first went I looked across the field, just like everyone else. Later, I realized the folly of this act, and pointed it out to one of the guys that understands how I race.
"You know, I look across the course at the break, like everyone else, but there's only one difference. I can't do anything about it. Like, what, I'm gonna go bridge? Who am I kidding?"
I actually did think about bridging for a lap, but by the time I got up to some reasonable spot in the field (like not the very back), the break had gained another quarter lap. A bit far for me, I thought, so I gave up the idea of bridging.
I drifted back in the field.
I started looking at my watch, wondering how long 45 minutes would take. Then, finally, I saw the guy start fumbling with the lap card thing, so I started moving up. Next lap - 5 to go.
I tried to move up discretely, a bit dizzy or something because I came close to making contact on both my left and right side. Contact avoided, I kept trying to move up.
Things got tighter as the laps started counting down, and I had no clue what to do for the sprint. The wind felt vicious everywhere, and I had to keep moving left and right to find shelter on each successive section of course. I didn't know if I could go from a long way out or if I should do a short sprint. I simply couldn't get a read on the wind, but I knew it'd kill me if I got stuck in it.
So I just kept my options open in the last couple laps of the race. Something always seems to pop up - it's just a matter of having the legs to seize the opportunity.
Heh. Seize the opportunity.
Anyway...
With about 3/4 of a lap to go, I saw my opening. A guy surged up the outside, no one on his wheel. I rectified the latter statement, quickly jumping up to speed and tucking in behind him. He made a couple moves to get near the front of the field, then, with someone yelling at him to go, he went.
I went too, trying to stay to his right, where I could get shelter on the crosswind mainstretch. We were both too late to catch the guy who won the field sprint. But, with some riding reminiscent of the track, I surged in the saddle, spinning up some speed, then stood up as I slammed the bike into a higher gear.
I almost caught the guy who won the sprint, but, of course, we were sprinting for something like 9th place, having been lapped at least once by a bunch of guys. It was all good, though, as I wanted to see how I sprinted after a couple days at the track.
Answer? Decent. Not great.
Afterwards I talked a bit with RTC, and he made an interesting comment, something like, "It's amazing what adrenaline will do."
I thought about it for a moment. I realized, whether it's a good thing or not, that I had no adrenaline rush in the last two laps. I had a main task (sprint well) with a bunch of sub-tasks (move up, jump at the right time, etc). I simply did what I needed to do, but with no special feelings.
In the past I'd have proclaimed myself "burnt out", but now, with a bit of thought, I think it's more that, in a twenty or so rider field, I feel comfortable. I trusted the guys and gals that were racing, and I was okay making whatever moves I made. They came automatically, without much thought.
I think it's like playing the violin in a recital. When you pick a piece to play, you pick one that is so easy that it's almost boring. Then, in the actual recital, you feel less stressed because at least one thing, the technical part of playing the violin, is a non-factor. Now you just have to deal with playing in front of a crowd, on a stage, etc etc.
I'm pretty sure I get adrenaline rushes in other races - Bethel, Nutmeg, for sure. But in other ones, it's gotten to the rote stage, to the recital stage. It doesn't mean it's easy physically, but the field maneuvers feel normal. Fun, yes, for sure. Exciting, sort of. Scary, no. Fear, none.
Okay, I've felt some fear in some races, but usually they're the biggies and I get nervous that some sketchy riding could take me out.
Hm. Something to think about.
In the meantime, tomorrow is track day. And I'm tired. Time for bed.
This meant, among other things, that the Tuesday Night Race at Rentschler Field would finally take place.
During my lunch break I dragged my bike out of the basement, packed some gear, and staged everything in the still-cool garage. Then, about 20 minutes early, I cut out of work, rushed home, collected the missus and my bike stuff, and off we went.
About 10 minutes away I realized I left all my race wheels in the still-cool garage. But, hey, it's a training race, so I'd just have to deal with heavy, box section, 32 spoke wheels. What a rough life, right?
We got to the Rent and, man, it was breezy. I thought only Bethel had weather pattern anomalies, but obviously Rentschler Field does too. Instead of funneling all the area's wind down a valley, the Field is smack dab in the middle of a huge cleared flat area, a place where they used to be able to handle 747s on their runways. I guess wind swirls around it or something.
So, yeah, it was windy.
But with the nice weather, there were a lot of racers out there.
I needed to get some blood flowing through my legs - they still felt wobbly after my spontaneous 5k run on Sunday - and I quickly dressed and got on the bike. The wind sapped any will to do efforts so I toodled around for a while.
I did do one thing - to avoid any accidental un-clips, I cranked the tension down on the pedals. Much, much better.
We got going, and after a lap or two of nothing, guys started going. And then someone on a Cervelo just ripped us apart. This guy lapped the field (where I sat) twice, the powerful chase group once.
By himself.
When the chase first went I looked across the field, just like everyone else. Later, I realized the folly of this act, and pointed it out to one of the guys that understands how I race.
"You know, I look across the course at the break, like everyone else, but there's only one difference. I can't do anything about it. Like, what, I'm gonna go bridge? Who am I kidding?"
I actually did think about bridging for a lap, but by the time I got up to some reasonable spot in the field (like not the very back), the break had gained another quarter lap. A bit far for me, I thought, so I gave up the idea of bridging.
I drifted back in the field.
I started looking at my watch, wondering how long 45 minutes would take. Then, finally, I saw the guy start fumbling with the lap card thing, so I started moving up. Next lap - 5 to go.
I tried to move up discretely, a bit dizzy or something because I came close to making contact on both my left and right side. Contact avoided, I kept trying to move up.
Things got tighter as the laps started counting down, and I had no clue what to do for the sprint. The wind felt vicious everywhere, and I had to keep moving left and right to find shelter on each successive section of course. I didn't know if I could go from a long way out or if I should do a short sprint. I simply couldn't get a read on the wind, but I knew it'd kill me if I got stuck in it.
So I just kept my options open in the last couple laps of the race. Something always seems to pop up - it's just a matter of having the legs to seize the opportunity.
Heh. Seize the opportunity.
Anyway...
With about 3/4 of a lap to go, I saw my opening. A guy surged up the outside, no one on his wheel. I rectified the latter statement, quickly jumping up to speed and tucking in behind him. He made a couple moves to get near the front of the field, then, with someone yelling at him to go, he went.
I went too, trying to stay to his right, where I could get shelter on the crosswind mainstretch. We were both too late to catch the guy who won the field sprint. But, with some riding reminiscent of the track, I surged in the saddle, spinning up some speed, then stood up as I slammed the bike into a higher gear.
I almost caught the guy who won the sprint, but, of course, we were sprinting for something like 9th place, having been lapped at least once by a bunch of guys. It was all good, though, as I wanted to see how I sprinted after a couple days at the track.
Answer? Decent. Not great.
Afterwards I talked a bit with RTC, and he made an interesting comment, something like, "It's amazing what adrenaline will do."
I thought about it for a moment. I realized, whether it's a good thing or not, that I had no adrenaline rush in the last two laps. I had a main task (sprint well) with a bunch of sub-tasks (move up, jump at the right time, etc). I simply did what I needed to do, but with no special feelings.
In the past I'd have proclaimed myself "burnt out", but now, with a bit of thought, I think it's more that, in a twenty or so rider field, I feel comfortable. I trusted the guys and gals that were racing, and I was okay making whatever moves I made. They came automatically, without much thought.
I think it's like playing the violin in a recital. When you pick a piece to play, you pick one that is so easy that it's almost boring. Then, in the actual recital, you feel less stressed because at least one thing, the technical part of playing the violin, is a non-factor. Now you just have to deal with playing in front of a crowd, on a stage, etc etc.
I'm pretty sure I get adrenaline rushes in other races - Bethel, Nutmeg, for sure. But in other ones, it's gotten to the rote stage, to the recital stage. It doesn't mean it's easy physically, but the field maneuvers feel normal. Fun, yes, for sure. Exciting, sort of. Scary, no. Fear, none.
Okay, I've felt some fear in some races, but usually they're the biggies and I get nervous that some sketchy riding could take me out.
Hm. Something to think about.
In the meantime, tomorrow is track day. And I'm tired. Time for bed.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Life - The Wild Tabby
Tabby up front, Grey in the background.Grey, in fact, will saunter within a few feet of me, and, with a few worried glances my way, chomp down some food.
The wild Tabby (we never named it) would follow a minute or so later, encouraged by Grey's lack of concern.
This morning Grey seemed unusually distant - like 40 or 50 feet away, not 6 or 7. I looked around their little habitat I'd built - both food bowls had been tossed around, one bed overturned, straw everywhere (I put straw in three shelters plus two beds).
Something didn't seem quite right.
After I put out some food and clean water, Grey still wouldn't come close.
So, for some reason, I did something I rarely do - I crawled further under the building to check inside the three shelters. In the middle one I found the Tabby.
I had another guy check it out (I couldn't) and it seemed relatively unscathed. It showed no marks, no blood, no signs of fighting, but it had been dead for more than a few hours. It could have been a car, maybe poison, but whatever it was, the Tabby knew where it would be safest.
Where ever it was when it realized it was in trouble, the Tabby returned to his bed and curled up one final time, curled up in its straw-lined shelter.
Rest in peace.
Addendum:
The Friday before the Monday. Tabby and Grey in front of two of their shelters.Double-walled, insulated, with straw inside. I checked the shelters during the winter, to see if they were using them. They had patted down the straw into a circular pattern, and the straw felt warm to the touch when I've checked them with the watching cats nearby.
Tabby apparently felt most comfortable in a third shelter, between the two, made from a box lined with Styrofoam.
Tabby apparently felt most comfortable in a third shelter, between the two, made from a box lined with Styrofoam.
Tabby eating on that day.
Looking a bit pensive.
A regal pose.Sunday, May 17, 2009
Training - Semi-Annual Run and Team Tactics
I walk tonight with sore, quaking legs. The result of a terrific pace in a race earlier in the day? Or perhaps I did twenty or so sprints, warming up the legs for the summer to come. Or I did an unthinkable, riding some road race loop, complete with hills and such. What exactly did I do?
I (fake) ran a 5k.
See, late Saturday, the missus and I trekked down to my dad's with a bunch of tasks in mind. First off, we wanted to see the family (check). Second, we wanted to ride the tandem in a local ride (negatory - poor forecast). Third, we needed to drop off a bunch of promoting gear at one of the club member's house (check).
We managed a few bonus tasks too - we managed to empty the van enough that I felt comfortable driving it back home (we don't like storing it up here if there's too much good stuff in it).
And, finally, the bro's wife took us to the gym.
Actually, I drove my brother's new SI, so that was cool. One necessary acceleration meant bouncing the tach for a couple gears between a conservative-for-this-engine 4k and 5k (it doesn't even start to breathe until 6k and redlines at 8k), but otherwise I simply enjoyed the swift handling, beautiful shifting action, and the enveloping seats.
Okay, car stuff out of the way.
The last time I ran was, well, the last time the bro's wife dragged me to the gym, so it was about 6 months ago. Then, too, I did some absurd little self-test, running 1.5 miles about as hard as I could run. This time I wanted to see how long it would take me to run a 5k. Actually, when I started on the treadmill, I didn't really care, but when I saw "5k" on the list of automatic programs (i.e. you push the 5k button and it does a 5k thing for you), I couldn't resist.
I pushed the button.
Okay, first I stopped, watched my current run's stats (I'd hit "Manual" before, and just loped along at 6 mph), and then I hit the button.
Nothing happened.
I mean, okay, the timer started counting, but treadmill went to all of 0.5 mph. I wanted to go a bit faster than a 120 minute mile pace, which would correspond to some six hour 5k time. I quickly bumped up the speed to 6 mph, the 10 minute mile pace I'd been running before.
Time started to drag a bit.
I started thinking about how much more interesting riding would be, although the chilly overcast view out the window didn't make me rue leaving the bike behind.
At some point I grabbed the heart rate handles, and after a warning message, saw 138 bpm. Low. I decided that I'd accelerate as I went on.
After an eternity that took ten minutes, I'd run a mile. I bumped up the pace to a 9 minute mile. My thumping style smoothed out a bit, the treadmill shaking less. I felt a lot better. I tried not to lift my feet too much (I read that in some magazine somewhere), ran about 110 steps a minute (similar to a 170mm crank arm cadence), and tried to keep from being too bouncy.
My treadmill had some issues - broken TV screen, broken fan - so I focused on the red dot (me) going around the 440 yard course.
Another eternity, this one taking nine minutes, and I'd run two miles. I checked my heart rate on the grip things, waited for the "don't use the grip heart rate things while running as fast as you're running" message to scroll past, and finally got my HR - 158.
Not that hard, even for me. Heck, I do that during training rides. On the flats.
I decided I'd push the pace a bit. I bumped the pace up to some mid-8 minute mile, but as the remaining distance shrank, I kept hitting the Up arrow, finally settling in on a 6:40 pace for the last lap and change.
I got a bit distracted and didn't know exactly what I'd done for my fake 5k, but it was in the 27:30 - 28:00 range. Nothing world shattering - quite slow in fact - but I felt totally spent. Soaked in sweat, I couldn't even do 6 miles on the wildly optimistic computerized exercise bike (I was averaging 170 watts or so).
We all went back to my dad's, I showered, and we set off to drop off promoting stuff with the van. Luckily the van started (thanks to a 2 month old battery), there were no ants (I parked it in the driveway, not in the woods), and the van was pretty neatly packed due to the efforts of all the folks that helped out at Bethel this year.
A short time later and we were headed back home. The van seemed so empty that we decided to bring it back with us, with a "must stop" at a former local haunt named Ash Creek. We used to go there all the time - before the missus and I were even official, we went there because it happened to be between our two abodes. We kept going there since we ended up living only a couple miles away, and they have some smashing good burgers (although the guacamole burger disappeared, the bacon cheeseburg wrap is to die for).
After a couple good burgers (hey, we ran earlier in the day), we set off for home. I told the missus she could head on out as the van limited my top speed to just over the speed limit. I knew I'd be in the slow lane for much of the way home, and I didn't want to cramp her style.
However, supportive as she is, she went fast enough only to catch me (she got caught at a light just before the highway). After that she cruised at my speed, slow.
After following her through a few obstacles - clumps of drivers, last-second mergers separating us, and hills that, ironically, slowed me down - I realized something.
She and I were driving like teammates.
Okay, fine, we're married, but that's not what I meant. We were riding like racing teammates. We both knew our strengths and weaknesses, and we both tried to help each other out.
For example, she knew that I couldn't merge as easily with the ~5500 pound, 20 foot long van, so she'd change lanes first (behind me) and then let me into the lane in front of her. Or, if she dropped me on a hill, I'd try and catch up on the downhill, instead of her slowing too much on the hill. Naturally I used large vehicles for their draft, and followed such large vehicles closer than little ones (the van doesn't stop on a dime, so I have to be much more careful with slowing or stopping distances).
Just like riding.
All these adjustments happened somewhat automatically, just like they do when you have experienced teammates working together in a race.
We even had those riders, er, drivers, who cut between us, clearing the two of us by only a couple feet. Yet, without panicking, we worked together, using their tendencies against them, making them do what we wanted just by giving them the room to do it.
I hope that tomorrow my legs recover a bit, enough to let me do the group ride from Granby without embarrassing myself. Too, I hope that my legs then recover enough to do the EHaw race at the Rent, the first day the forecast looks promising. And finally, I hope that my legs are good for Wednesday up at NEV - I'm looking forward to practicing Madison stuff.
I better go eat some protein or something.
I (fake) ran a 5k.
See, late Saturday, the missus and I trekked down to my dad's with a bunch of tasks in mind. First off, we wanted to see the family (check). Second, we wanted to ride the tandem in a local ride (negatory - poor forecast). Third, we needed to drop off a bunch of promoting gear at one of the club member's house (check).
We managed a few bonus tasks too - we managed to empty the van enough that I felt comfortable driving it back home (we don't like storing it up here if there's too much good stuff in it).
And, finally, the bro's wife took us to the gym.
Actually, I drove my brother's new SI, so that was cool. One necessary acceleration meant bouncing the tach for a couple gears between a conservative-for-this-engine 4k and 5k (it doesn't even start to breathe until 6k and redlines at 8k), but otherwise I simply enjoyed the swift handling, beautiful shifting action, and the enveloping seats.
Okay, car stuff out of the way.
The last time I ran was, well, the last time the bro's wife dragged me to the gym, so it was about 6 months ago. Then, too, I did some absurd little self-test, running 1.5 miles about as hard as I could run. This time I wanted to see how long it would take me to run a 5k. Actually, when I started on the treadmill, I didn't really care, but when I saw "5k" on the list of automatic programs (i.e. you push the 5k button and it does a 5k thing for you), I couldn't resist.
I pushed the button.
Okay, first I stopped, watched my current run's stats (I'd hit "Manual" before, and just loped along at 6 mph), and then I hit the button.
Nothing happened.
I mean, okay, the timer started counting, but treadmill went to all of 0.5 mph. I wanted to go a bit faster than a 120 minute mile pace, which would correspond to some six hour 5k time. I quickly bumped up the speed to 6 mph, the 10 minute mile pace I'd been running before.
Time started to drag a bit.
I started thinking about how much more interesting riding would be, although the chilly overcast view out the window didn't make me rue leaving the bike behind.
At some point I grabbed the heart rate handles, and after a warning message, saw 138 bpm. Low. I decided that I'd accelerate as I went on.
After an eternity that took ten minutes, I'd run a mile. I bumped up the pace to a 9 minute mile. My thumping style smoothed out a bit, the treadmill shaking less. I felt a lot better. I tried not to lift my feet too much (I read that in some magazine somewhere), ran about 110 steps a minute (similar to a 170mm crank arm cadence), and tried to keep from being too bouncy.
My treadmill had some issues - broken TV screen, broken fan - so I focused on the red dot (me) going around the 440 yard course.
Another eternity, this one taking nine minutes, and I'd run two miles. I checked my heart rate on the grip things, waited for the "don't use the grip heart rate things while running as fast as you're running" message to scroll past, and finally got my HR - 158.
Not that hard, even for me. Heck, I do that during training rides. On the flats.
I decided I'd push the pace a bit. I bumped the pace up to some mid-8 minute mile, but as the remaining distance shrank, I kept hitting the Up arrow, finally settling in on a 6:40 pace for the last lap and change.
I got a bit distracted and didn't know exactly what I'd done for my fake 5k, but it was in the 27:30 - 28:00 range. Nothing world shattering - quite slow in fact - but I felt totally spent. Soaked in sweat, I couldn't even do 6 miles on the wildly optimistic computerized exercise bike (I was averaging 170 watts or so).
We all went back to my dad's, I showered, and we set off to drop off promoting stuff with the van. Luckily the van started (thanks to a 2 month old battery), there were no ants (I parked it in the driveway, not in the woods), and the van was pretty neatly packed due to the efforts of all the folks that helped out at Bethel this year.
A short time later and we were headed back home. The van seemed so empty that we decided to bring it back with us, with a "must stop" at a former local haunt named Ash Creek. We used to go there all the time - before the missus and I were even official, we went there because it happened to be between our two abodes. We kept going there since we ended up living only a couple miles away, and they have some smashing good burgers (although the guacamole burger disappeared, the bacon cheeseburg wrap is to die for).
After a couple good burgers (hey, we ran earlier in the day), we set off for home. I told the missus she could head on out as the van limited my top speed to just over the speed limit. I knew I'd be in the slow lane for much of the way home, and I didn't want to cramp her style.
However, supportive as she is, she went fast enough only to catch me (she got caught at a light just before the highway). After that she cruised at my speed, slow.
After following her through a few obstacles - clumps of drivers, last-second mergers separating us, and hills that, ironically, slowed me down - I realized something.
She and I were driving like teammates.
Okay, fine, we're married, but that's not what I meant. We were riding like racing teammates. We both knew our strengths and weaknesses, and we both tried to help each other out.
For example, she knew that I couldn't merge as easily with the ~5500 pound, 20 foot long van, so she'd change lanes first (behind me) and then let me into the lane in front of her. Or, if she dropped me on a hill, I'd try and catch up on the downhill, instead of her slowing too much on the hill. Naturally I used large vehicles for their draft, and followed such large vehicles closer than little ones (the van doesn't stop on a dime, so I have to be much more careful with slowing or stopping distances).
Just like riding.
All these adjustments happened somewhat automatically, just like they do when you have experienced teammates working together in a race.
We even had those riders, er, drivers, who cut between us, clearing the two of us by only a couple feet. Yet, without panicking, we worked together, using their tendencies against them, making them do what we wanted just by giving them the room to do it.
I hope that tomorrow my legs recover a bit, enough to let me do the group ride from Granby without embarrassing myself. Too, I hope that my legs then recover enough to do the EHaw race at the Rent, the first day the forecast looks promising. And finally, I hope that my legs are good for Wednesday up at NEV - I'm looking forward to practicing Madison stuff.
I better go eat some protein or something.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
How To - Link to "Think" by Josh Horowitz
I like this article. A lot.
It's easy to understand the author's frustration with his peers, if you can call them that. Fellow cyclists, maybe? Unfortunately I can relate to his frustrations.
A short time ago I went on a local group ride. At some point we slowed, the front half of the group uncertain where to go, the rear half just far enough behind that "Go right!" sounded like "Stay right!" (or something like that).
The result?
The front half slowed, fanning out just a bit, the rear half blended in, and then we had a mess of riders and bikes blocking a small intersection. One car, a Jeep, slowed, pulled wide, wide enough to clear any errant cyclist toppling over, and proceeded around the group. I thought it a sensible, cautious move, one that felt neutral. No anger, no slammed gas pedal, just a slow, cautious bit of navigation.
One joker in the group, though, thought differently. He actually yelled out loud, "Why are you driving in the middle of the effing road?!"
Whoa.
Maybe I'm taking this wrong, but the reason why the guy was driving "in the middle of the effing road" is you. And me. And the other riders in the road.
(I lump myself with all the riders, but in fact I stopped about 50 feet away, away from the intersection, away from the turn, and right on the shoulder of the road. Still, though, in the driver's eye, I was just another "biker" clogging up the quiet road.)
Until then I'd been trying to be subtle about respecting the drivers on the road. I stayed to the right of the rider in front of me - folks were leaving so much room to their right that I could easily and comfortably ride to their right. And that isn't even using "Cat 3" distances - non-racers felt totally comfortable with me riding to their right (albeit a bit puzzled).
I'm not the ride leader, nor am I even a secondary leader. Sure, I'll yell, "Car back!" and stuff, but everyone should. The guys from the shop, the guys who are helping run the shop's group, they're the leaders. But, although they seem to respect the drivers around them, they don't seem comfortable in the leadership role, at least not the more difficult "admonishment" role.
Usually riders bunch up when they're talking or they're engrossed in something other than riding. I remember last year one guy trying to talk up a woman on the ride, ignoring the car on his rear quarter for at least a minute. I finally yelled at him to move over, and his response?
"He didn't want to pass."
Well, no sh*t, Sherlock. You were in the way, and unlike your attitude towards him, the driver actually had some respect for you.
The active solution, if I were a ride leader, would be to tell the riders to single up and such. Set expectations before the ride leaves. And to foster a constructive, professional atmosphere where something like "Car back!" means move over, pronto, and to do it in a safe way.
Heck, such moves teaches you valuable racing skills - when the course suddenly narrows, it's hard to merge unless you've done it before, under duress. And moving over to clear the road while holding up another person, to me that's merging under some self-imposed duress (is that proper English?).
I can't take over the ride though. It's not mine. I can (and will) make some suggestions to the leader, but that's an active move. I can't do that, not at this time.
I can, however, act passively. I know, I know, nothing like a passive-aggressive to really screw things up.
When riders stop focusing on riding and start focusing on talking, chatting, or checking out so-and-so's butt, they get careless. They do things like run off the road (seen it), run into ditches (seen it), even take out teammates (been taken out).
With an even more cautious car stuck behind us, I had to do something.
On that day, with a group of mainly non-racers, I used a simple passive solution - ride faster. I went past the group, eased to tempt them to get my wheel, and picked up the pace once riders latched on. Incredibly I didn't explode like I normally do, which would then lead me to my other passive method, dropping off the ride altogether.
But, since I wanted to ride a bit, I rode. The group started splintering, the pace uncomfortable. Riders started focusing on wheels, on the shoulder. Riding side by side became uncomfortable for some, impossible for others, and they either singled up or dropped off the pace. The ride became business-like.
Suddenly the group rode in a respectable manner. They were single file, out of the way of traffic. The cautious car, now faced with the less daunting prospect of passing three groups of five or so riders instead of one huge field of "racers", leapfrogged his way from group to group. As the car approached me in the front group, I started waving it on (I could see over the crest of the hill, he couldn't). He cautiously waited until he, too, could see over the crest of the hill, then passed me.
A good, safe, risk-averse driver. A good, safe, respectable, risk-averse group of cyclists. Good things.
A business-like group works efficiently. Its expectations are clear. Riders take responsibility for the group.
In these days, it can be difficult to pin responsibility on the one that should shoulder it. I love this article on the whole credit card thing. Ultimately the cardholder decided to ask for a loan. No bank forced them to do it. Yes, it's wrong to have banks change fees or hide them or make them unclear, but I can read the credit card offers I get in the mail and it's clear - application fee, annual fee, interest, late fee, over-limit fee, it's all there.
Likewise, when you ride your bike in a group, take responsibility for your actions. Don't let the group dilute your sense of right and wrong.
"Car back!" means move into single file, if you haven't already. If you're in the front two riders, it means estimating how far out riders need to be to clear any near future obstacles (grates, branches, gravel, etc), and to hold a position to clear said obstacles.
Call out road hazards. Although many experienced riders deride verbal warnings ("What is this, a Cat 4 ride?"), they work extremely well. The riders can keep both hands on the bars, ready for something unexpected - you can brake, steer, even bunny-hop if necessary. A long time ago, on a team ride, a little hand gesture pointing down became "Holy crap!" as it became clear that the stick was, in fact, a 2x4 in the road (we all managed to bunny hop it safely). For this area I verbally call out grates, holes, glass, and sticks. The first three can cause a flat, and sticks can rip off a rear derailleur in an eyeblink.
Incidentally, you do have a spare dropout in your saddle bag, right? And a tube, multitool that includes a chain tool, a pump, and something to temporarily patch a cut sidewall?
Because that's another group ride responsibility - Be prepared to make minor fixes on the road. Nothing sucks more than a guy who flats but doesn't have a tube and some inflation device. It forces others to give up their spares, their CO2, when the original flatter could have easily had his own tube and inflation device.
Signal. If you're going to turn or slow or stop, signal. Not for the other riders - for the cars. I know that it must be illegal to use your turn signals where I live because no one uses them. I can't think of any other reason. However, until I get ticketed for signaling, I'll signal. It makes your intent clear, and that goes a long way towards peaceful car-bike interactions.
You'll know when you're in a "professional group". You can ride fast or slow, but you'll find the "good" group rides have some similar features.
1. You'll find it less necessary to point out obstacles. This is because the first rider makes gradual adjustments to his/her trajectory to clear said obstacles, and since everyone is following in close to single file, the first rider acts as a pathfinder.
2. If you ever need to point out an obstacle, you'll vocalize it so that no one else has to take a hand off the bar. If you're third or fourth in line, extending your fingers on the obstacle side works too.
3. Strong riders will work where their work benefits the group most - on downhills (most beneficial) and on the flats (second most beneficial).
4. The pace adjusts on the hill so that the group climbs at about the weakest rider's pace. Since drafting counts less on hills, the weakest climber can lead or sit second, and the others ride with that rider's pace in mind.
5. A flat tire becomes a two minute delay, not a ten minute one.
And finally,
6. You'll rarely get honked at for any valid reason.
See you out there.
It's easy to understand the author's frustration with his peers, if you can call them that. Fellow cyclists, maybe? Unfortunately I can relate to his frustrations.
A short time ago I went on a local group ride. At some point we slowed, the front half of the group uncertain where to go, the rear half just far enough behind that "Go right!" sounded like "Stay right!" (or something like that).
The result?
The front half slowed, fanning out just a bit, the rear half blended in, and then we had a mess of riders and bikes blocking a small intersection. One car, a Jeep, slowed, pulled wide, wide enough to clear any errant cyclist toppling over, and proceeded around the group. I thought it a sensible, cautious move, one that felt neutral. No anger, no slammed gas pedal, just a slow, cautious bit of navigation.
One joker in the group, though, thought differently. He actually yelled out loud, "Why are you driving in the middle of the effing road?!"
Whoa.
Maybe I'm taking this wrong, but the reason why the guy was driving "in the middle of the effing road" is you. And me. And the other riders in the road.
(I lump myself with all the riders, but in fact I stopped about 50 feet away, away from the intersection, away from the turn, and right on the shoulder of the road. Still, though, in the driver's eye, I was just another "biker" clogging up the quiet road.)
Until then I'd been trying to be subtle about respecting the drivers on the road. I stayed to the right of the rider in front of me - folks were leaving so much room to their right that I could easily and comfortably ride to their right. And that isn't even using "Cat 3" distances - non-racers felt totally comfortable with me riding to their right (albeit a bit puzzled).
I'm not the ride leader, nor am I even a secondary leader. Sure, I'll yell, "Car back!" and stuff, but everyone should. The guys from the shop, the guys who are helping run the shop's group, they're the leaders. But, although they seem to respect the drivers around them, they don't seem comfortable in the leadership role, at least not the more difficult "admonishment" role.
Usually riders bunch up when they're talking or they're engrossed in something other than riding. I remember last year one guy trying to talk up a woman on the ride, ignoring the car on his rear quarter for at least a minute. I finally yelled at him to move over, and his response?
"He didn't want to pass."
Well, no sh*t, Sherlock. You were in the way, and unlike your attitude towards him, the driver actually had some respect for you.
The active solution, if I were a ride leader, would be to tell the riders to single up and such. Set expectations before the ride leaves. And to foster a constructive, professional atmosphere where something like "Car back!" means move over, pronto, and to do it in a safe way.
Heck, such moves teaches you valuable racing skills - when the course suddenly narrows, it's hard to merge unless you've done it before, under duress. And moving over to clear the road while holding up another person, to me that's merging under some self-imposed duress (is that proper English?).
I can't take over the ride though. It's not mine. I can (and will) make some suggestions to the leader, but that's an active move. I can't do that, not at this time.
I can, however, act passively. I know, I know, nothing like a passive-aggressive to really screw things up.
When riders stop focusing on riding and start focusing on talking, chatting, or checking out so-and-so's butt, they get careless. They do things like run off the road (seen it), run into ditches (seen it), even take out teammates (been taken out).
With an even more cautious car stuck behind us, I had to do something.
On that day, with a group of mainly non-racers, I used a simple passive solution - ride faster. I went past the group, eased to tempt them to get my wheel, and picked up the pace once riders latched on. Incredibly I didn't explode like I normally do, which would then lead me to my other passive method, dropping off the ride altogether.
But, since I wanted to ride a bit, I rode. The group started splintering, the pace uncomfortable. Riders started focusing on wheels, on the shoulder. Riding side by side became uncomfortable for some, impossible for others, and they either singled up or dropped off the pace. The ride became business-like.
Suddenly the group rode in a respectable manner. They were single file, out of the way of traffic. The cautious car, now faced with the less daunting prospect of passing three groups of five or so riders instead of one huge field of "racers", leapfrogged his way from group to group. As the car approached me in the front group, I started waving it on (I could see over the crest of the hill, he couldn't). He cautiously waited until he, too, could see over the crest of the hill, then passed me.
A good, safe, risk-averse driver. A good, safe, respectable, risk-averse group of cyclists. Good things.
A business-like group works efficiently. Its expectations are clear. Riders take responsibility for the group.
In these days, it can be difficult to pin responsibility on the one that should shoulder it. I love this article on the whole credit card thing. Ultimately the cardholder decided to ask for a loan. No bank forced them to do it. Yes, it's wrong to have banks change fees or hide them or make them unclear, but I can read the credit card offers I get in the mail and it's clear - application fee, annual fee, interest, late fee, over-limit fee, it's all there.
Likewise, when you ride your bike in a group, take responsibility for your actions. Don't let the group dilute your sense of right and wrong.
"Car back!" means move into single file, if you haven't already. If you're in the front two riders, it means estimating how far out riders need to be to clear any near future obstacles (grates, branches, gravel, etc), and to hold a position to clear said obstacles.
Call out road hazards. Although many experienced riders deride verbal warnings ("What is this, a Cat 4 ride?"), they work extremely well. The riders can keep both hands on the bars, ready for something unexpected - you can brake, steer, even bunny-hop if necessary. A long time ago, on a team ride, a little hand gesture pointing down became "Holy crap!" as it became clear that the stick was, in fact, a 2x4 in the road (we all managed to bunny hop it safely). For this area I verbally call out grates, holes, glass, and sticks. The first three can cause a flat, and sticks can rip off a rear derailleur in an eyeblink.
Incidentally, you do have a spare dropout in your saddle bag, right? And a tube, multitool that includes a chain tool, a pump, and something to temporarily patch a cut sidewall?
Because that's another group ride responsibility - Be prepared to make minor fixes on the road. Nothing sucks more than a guy who flats but doesn't have a tube and some inflation device. It forces others to give up their spares, their CO2, when the original flatter could have easily had his own tube and inflation device.
Signal. If you're going to turn or slow or stop, signal. Not for the other riders - for the cars. I know that it must be illegal to use your turn signals where I live because no one uses them. I can't think of any other reason. However, until I get ticketed for signaling, I'll signal. It makes your intent clear, and that goes a long way towards peaceful car-bike interactions.
You'll know when you're in a "professional group". You can ride fast or slow, but you'll find the "good" group rides have some similar features.
1. You'll find it less necessary to point out obstacles. This is because the first rider makes gradual adjustments to his/her trajectory to clear said obstacles, and since everyone is following in close to single file, the first rider acts as a pathfinder.
2. If you ever need to point out an obstacle, you'll vocalize it so that no one else has to take a hand off the bar. If you're third or fourth in line, extending your fingers on the obstacle side works too.
3. Strong riders will work where their work benefits the group most - on downhills (most beneficial) and on the flats (second most beneficial).
4. The pace adjusts on the hill so that the group climbs at about the weakest rider's pace. Since drafting counts less on hills, the weakest climber can lead or sit second, and the others ride with that rider's pace in mind.
5. A flat tire becomes a two minute delay, not a ten minute one.
And finally,
6. You'll rarely get honked at for any valid reason.
See you out there.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Dateline: 20:12, 13 May 2009
Yep, at it again. I actually don't need to lower my average speed tonight - I think I'm at about 65 for the average (the car says I've been doing 63, but earlier it was reading north of 70).
Anyway, this means I have another day of track riding under my belt. I could treat it like skiing:
"I did 21 days this year."
Or, for me, relating to the track:
"I've done six (or maybe seven) days so far."
Today's foray seemed less successful to me. Although I didn't race as well, that's okay - winning or not, ultimately I go to work hard, to explore limits. Today, though, I lacked pep. Felt flat.
We started with the Scratch race, as usual. I learned that this isn't a coincidence - it's designed to be a nice intro to the evening's racing.
I rolled out with everyone else but simply couldn't get into the pedals. I must have been fumbling around for a good 20 or 30 seconds, finally engaging the cleat on the backstretch. A bemused A racer, following the group to warm up, looked on with a slightly horrified look on his face.
With a big crowd, maybe 15 racers in the Bs, the pace should have been high. Instead, it seemed a bit flat. And after a couple riders had some contact (my first experience seeing two riders touch hard right in front of me - and without brakes, it was slightly perturbing), I moved up from my tailgun position.
Then, with a few gaps starting to appear, I moved up even more.
Eventually two guys went off, with a few others chasing. A few riders decided to sacrifice themselves to try and bring back the two man break, but as the laps wound down and the sacrificial riders blew left and right, I realized that it would take a hard effort to make it across, not just a bunch of pulls.
So at 4 to go, I jumped. Bridged. And managed to hide for one turn (the sun wasn't throwing down any illuminating shadows).
The next turn the two guys were looking across the track to check their advantage, and the second guy glanced down and saw three shadows. He quickly looked back, then to his right.
Hi.
I was too tired to wave but I really should have. As it was, the two had been metering their efforts, and as we approached the bell, they drilled it.
I shot out the back.
With half a lap to go I felt like a group of three chasers would swamp me at the finish, so I swung up the track, ceding third through fifth.
Next up - the Miss and Out. Like I said before, it's good to be slightly uptrack (to the right) of someone, then making sure you're in front of them at the line. I did this reasonably successfully last week, running into trouble when we were down in numbers and I couldn't sit on a wheel while sitting one row up the track.
The group rode pretty steadily, in tight formation. I should have sat there and waited out the race. I should have waited for the inevitable break, then bridge up to it (just not as hard as I bridged in the Scratch race).
Instead, I attacked.
Now, unusually, I was on the inside, pretty boxed in, when I went. I never really thought about attacking - my legs suddenly went, I veered into the only opening in front of me, and, as I squirted out into the open, I heard an surprised "Oh!" as I went by someone.
No contact, no weirdness, just some hollering to chase me down.
For the first time in many, many years I can say that I went off the front for two laps. 318 meter laps, but still, two laps. I looked back, trying to count the riders so I could get an idea of how many laps I had to survive, but after counting the last three riders thrice, I gave up.
(Hint - if doing a Miss and Out, count how many start the race before the race starts.)
Four riders separated themselves from the group, and with four riders the cut-off (meaning once four riders were left, the race stopped, and after a couple rest laps, they'd sprint for first through fourth), they were anxious to keep it to only four.
When I got caught, one of the protagonists from last week's racing yelled out, "If you get in after that, you better work!"
Little did he know that I was totally blown. I tried to hang in but couldn't close the gap, and finally, agonizingly, I had to sit up. The two guys on my wheel attacked each other, and the four in the lead rode away.
After that a guy from CycleLoft gave us some Madison lessons. The Madison, done right, looks something like this:
But that's now how we did it.
The important part of the madison is when you throw your teammate into the fray. Since that can be sort of dangerous, it's important to get the basics down. So we started working on that. I paired up with a guy who'd done this before so he was pretty good.
Me, on the other hand, I felt... not so good.
First we worked on sort of a sticky throw, meaning we didn't let go. It was a bit comical, watching guys fling one another forward and backwards. The idea with the hand sling is that one rider gives his momentum to the other, with a slight arm boost thrown in for good measure. Our illustrious instructor mentioned the example that one rider would go from 30 mph (race speed) to 20 mph (relief rider speed). The relief rider, getting tossed into the race, would go from 20 mph to 30 mph.
If you don't let go, though, it doesn't look very interesting. It's like watching kids learn how to play soccer - it's just a rumble around a ball. We yo-yo'd fore and aft, not unlike two guys on a railway hand car, until we had accelerated up to some unmanageable speed.
Next we actually let go. I felt less comfortable with this. I could toss him up to speed fine, but I wasn't smooth getting ramped up. Holding the drops and getting a hand sling didn't jibe well with me. We did a few extra practice throws for me, and then we stopped so they could get the A race Madison under way.
Apparently I looked pretty good though because the announcer, Dick Ring, asked if I'd be doing the actual Madison race. I smiled and declined.
Good thing, too, because I realized at some point that my left crank arm was wobbling around the bottom bracket axle. Jamming an incompatible crank onto said BB was, ultimately, unsuccessful.
I also realized that the frame is French threaded (!!!). French?! What were they thinking? I don't know, but what I do know if that the Italian BB I ordered won't fit. Arg.
Anyway, with that unfortunate revelation, the mosquitoes swarming, the temperature plummeting, and the light fading, I decided to call it a night.
The high point of the night - one of the four in the break in the Miss and Out (actually, he got fourth) called out my name.
"Nice move. Threading the needle."
Wink and a finger point.
I couldn't help but smile.
Anyway, this means I have another day of track riding under my belt. I could treat it like skiing:
"I did 21 days this year."
Or, for me, relating to the track:
"I've done six (or maybe seven) days so far."
Today's foray seemed less successful to me. Although I didn't race as well, that's okay - winning or not, ultimately I go to work hard, to explore limits. Today, though, I lacked pep. Felt flat.
We started with the Scratch race, as usual. I learned that this isn't a coincidence - it's designed to be a nice intro to the evening's racing.
I rolled out with everyone else but simply couldn't get into the pedals. I must have been fumbling around for a good 20 or 30 seconds, finally engaging the cleat on the backstretch. A bemused A racer, following the group to warm up, looked on with a slightly horrified look on his face.
With a big crowd, maybe 15 racers in the Bs, the pace should have been high. Instead, it seemed a bit flat. And after a couple riders had some contact (my first experience seeing two riders touch hard right in front of me - and without brakes, it was slightly perturbing), I moved up from my tailgun position.
Then, with a few gaps starting to appear, I moved up even more.
Eventually two guys went off, with a few others chasing. A few riders decided to sacrifice themselves to try and bring back the two man break, but as the laps wound down and the sacrificial riders blew left and right, I realized that it would take a hard effort to make it across, not just a bunch of pulls.
So at 4 to go, I jumped. Bridged. And managed to hide for one turn (the sun wasn't throwing down any illuminating shadows).
The next turn the two guys were looking across the track to check their advantage, and the second guy glanced down and saw three shadows. He quickly looked back, then to his right.
Hi.
I was too tired to wave but I really should have. As it was, the two had been metering their efforts, and as we approached the bell, they drilled it.
I shot out the back.
With half a lap to go I felt like a group of three chasers would swamp me at the finish, so I swung up the track, ceding third through fifth.
Next up - the Miss and Out. Like I said before, it's good to be slightly uptrack (to the right) of someone, then making sure you're in front of them at the line. I did this reasonably successfully last week, running into trouble when we were down in numbers and I couldn't sit on a wheel while sitting one row up the track.
The group rode pretty steadily, in tight formation. I should have sat there and waited out the race. I should have waited for the inevitable break, then bridge up to it (just not as hard as I bridged in the Scratch race).
Instead, I attacked.
Now, unusually, I was on the inside, pretty boxed in, when I went. I never really thought about attacking - my legs suddenly went, I veered into the only opening in front of me, and, as I squirted out into the open, I heard an surprised "Oh!" as I went by someone.
No contact, no weirdness, just some hollering to chase me down.
For the first time in many, many years I can say that I went off the front for two laps. 318 meter laps, but still, two laps. I looked back, trying to count the riders so I could get an idea of how many laps I had to survive, but after counting the last three riders thrice, I gave up.
(Hint - if doing a Miss and Out, count how many start the race before the race starts.)
Four riders separated themselves from the group, and with four riders the cut-off (meaning once four riders were left, the race stopped, and after a couple rest laps, they'd sprint for first through fourth), they were anxious to keep it to only four.
When I got caught, one of the protagonists from last week's racing yelled out, "If you get in after that, you better work!"
Little did he know that I was totally blown. I tried to hang in but couldn't close the gap, and finally, agonizingly, I had to sit up. The two guys on my wheel attacked each other, and the four in the lead rode away.
After that a guy from CycleLoft gave us some Madison lessons. The Madison, done right, looks something like this:
But that's now how we did it.
The important part of the madison is when you throw your teammate into the fray. Since that can be sort of dangerous, it's important to get the basics down. So we started working on that. I paired up with a guy who'd done this before so he was pretty good.
Me, on the other hand, I felt... not so good.
First we worked on sort of a sticky throw, meaning we didn't let go. It was a bit comical, watching guys fling one another forward and backwards. The idea with the hand sling is that one rider gives his momentum to the other, with a slight arm boost thrown in for good measure. Our illustrious instructor mentioned the example that one rider would go from 30 mph (race speed) to 20 mph (relief rider speed). The relief rider, getting tossed into the race, would go from 20 mph to 30 mph.
If you don't let go, though, it doesn't look very interesting. It's like watching kids learn how to play soccer - it's just a rumble around a ball. We yo-yo'd fore and aft, not unlike two guys on a railway hand car, until we had accelerated up to some unmanageable speed.
Next we actually let go. I felt less comfortable with this. I could toss him up to speed fine, but I wasn't smooth getting ramped up. Holding the drops and getting a hand sling didn't jibe well with me. We did a few extra practice throws for me, and then we stopped so they could get the A race Madison under way.
Apparently I looked pretty good though because the announcer, Dick Ring, asked if I'd be doing the actual Madison race. I smiled and declined.
Good thing, too, because I realized at some point that my left crank arm was wobbling around the bottom bracket axle. Jamming an incompatible crank onto said BB was, ultimately, unsuccessful.
I also realized that the frame is French threaded (!!!). French?! What were they thinking? I don't know, but what I do know if that the Italian BB I ordered won't fit. Arg.
Anyway, with that unfortunate revelation, the mosquitoes swarming, the temperature plummeting, and the light fading, I decided to call it a night.
The high point of the night - one of the four in the break in the Miss and Out (actually, he got fourth) called out my name.
"Nice move. Threading the needle."
Wink and a finger point.
I couldn't help but smile.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Racing - Ee-Haw*
*Ee-Haw = East Hartford, or "The Rent" as they call Rentschler Field.
The East Hartford Tuesday Night World Championships (boasting rights good for one week) start off... well, they were supposed to start last week. But they cancel if the tarmac is wet, and last week it was pouring.
This week it's supposed to be 30% chance of thundershowers, or something like that. In Connecticut that means it could be pouring rain with thunder and lightning, or it could be a bright sunny day.
If you're looking to do the race, you can follow their Twitter account, Tuesday@TheRent. They'll update with any misgivings "T-storms predicted... keep updated here to find out if the races are happening on the 12th".
Since this is Day Two of my M-Tu-W training block, I hope the race goes on. If not, well, it'll be a sufferfest in the basement. Or something like that.
I think next year I'll twitter the Bethel Spring Series status. What a great idea.
The East Hartford Tuesday Night World Championships (boasting rights good for one week) start off... well, they were supposed to start last week. But they cancel if the tarmac is wet, and last week it was pouring.
This week it's supposed to be 30% chance of thundershowers, or something like that. In Connecticut that means it could be pouring rain with thunder and lightning, or it could be a bright sunny day.
If you're looking to do the race, you can follow their Twitter account, Tuesday@TheRent. They'll update with any misgivings "T-storms predicted... keep updated here to find out if the races are happening on the 12th".
Since this is Day Two of my M-Tu-W training block, I hope the race goes on. If not, well, it'll be a sufferfest in the basement. Or something like that.
I think next year I'll twitter the Bethel Spring Series status. What a great idea.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Track - Notes and Stuff
A pic from the first race at NEV. Since they were taken by the Cambridge Bike crew, they prominently feature... the Cambridge Bike crew. However, here's the one I like:
The key here is that the bell ringer is taking the picture. That means we aren't sprinting for the finish on this lap. Cambridge has a guy up front, another one on my wheel, and the picture is during the two laps where I didn't pull, just before the bell rang. To recap briefly, the guy at the front didn't want to pull, I didn't want to pull, and when he pulled up, I went up too. The third guy (another Cambridge rider) went by, dragging the fourth rider with him. Then the two of us dropped back down, at which point I was sitting in fourth. I managed to win, though, and it was my only win for the night.
The day after the NEV day I woke up feeling sore. And I mean sore. I hadn't done so many sprints in a day in forever. My whole body was sore. Legs, sure, but also arms, shoulders, sides, neck, everything. I figured that this was a good thing because I've decided that this is now my pre-build up to the 2010 Bethel Spring Series.
Eh... what?
Yep, from May 2009 until about October 2009 I'll be focusing on building form for the winter. Then, after a proper winter break, I'll be ready to build on this pre-form form so that I can kick some serious bahuniaks at the 2010 Bethel Spring Series.
See, I figure I regressed so much in form that I'm in that "Year 2" of the "3 Years to See How Good You Are". That's the theory that it takes three years to get to your first serious racing plateau. Since my 190+ pound days in 2003 ("Year 1"), I've rarely gotten down below 175 (end of "Year 1" type form). Now that I'm semi-consistently below 170 ("Year 2" form), I hope to build on that and get into some "Year 3" form.
For the record, that would be consistent sub-160 pound race weights.
Anyway, to build this pre-form properly, I'll be doing a local group ride on Mondays, the Tuesday Night World Championships, and the track on Wednesdays. If I can find a race for the weekend, great, but, believe it or not, I feel the weekends are less important than the M-Tu-W rides.
The reason? I end up riding about 2-2.5 hours on each of the M-Tu-W rides. This is an enormous amount of hours for me.
In contrast, I rarely break an hour on a weekend race. If I'm doing 6 hours a week, that's a huge improvement over my normal weekly schedule. This would go a long way towards building pre-form form.
A nice thing about the M-Tu-W rides is that I don't need any special equipment to do them. Race wheels? Optional on Tuesday, and the only wheels I have for the track bike are, well, race wheels. Mondays are definitely training wheel days, although I may venture out on the carbon DV46 clinchers just because I can.
The track racing, last week, was the first day I actually rode my first M-Tu-W triple - I didn't do the Monday because I thought it'd rain (it didn't), and it really did rain on Tu and the promoters cancel if water sits on the tarmac.
The track, though, worked out. And I'm happy because it's really fun racing out there.
Having said that, my track bike is a bit lacking. I've lamented the wrong gear I have and the lack of any "nice" wheels, and I'm working to remedy that. Not for this week, but maybe for next week.
On the way home from work the other day, I dropped by the local bike shop and ordered a few front axle/nuts combos and a Surly Fixxer. This should increase my track wheel repetoire by two or three-fold - TriSpokes front and rear (Fixxer and one front axle set), a 440 front wheel (another axle set), and a light tubular front wheel (yet another axle set).
I ordered a lot of front axles for some reason.
But wait, there's more!
Today, after the ride there, I also ordered a few chainrings. That'll get me the lower gear I need - a 48T and a 49T to complement my 50T. Then, after noticing a crankset costs the same as a chainring, I canceled one of the rings and got a crankset instead, as well as some BB cups.
Hm.
I just realized that I may have to rethink the order since I may not need to get the crankset because I can use my 135mm BCD Campy arms. But if I do that I'll need to get 135mm BCD chainrings. And get an Italian threaded Campy 102mm square taper BB, which costs as much as three of the 130mm BCD chainrings, or, more precisely, two chainrings and a whole crankset and bottom bracket from SRAM.
Arg.
I think I'll leave the order as is. If I get good at track racing I'll deal with any equipment deficiencies then.
The rest of the bike is fine. I made a few changes before the first race. One significant thing was that I swapped the seat and post for a slightly more durable, slightly heavier Titanio saddle on top of a Thomson post.
The Thomson post is a story unto itself. Last year I learned the hard way that my frame takes an oddball 26.6 mm diameter post. Since I thought it took a 26.8 mm post, I ordered one. I thought I remembered it took that size because, frankly, it couldn't have been a 26.6 because that's an oddball size.
When the 26.8 came in, it wouldn't fit. The frame, naturally, took the 26.6 oddball size.
So, in a fit of despair, I left the post where it was. In the blue car. Which I then garaged for the winter. So 4 or 5 or 6 months later, when the blue car finally rolled out into the sunshine, I found my expensive 0.2 mm mistaken Thomson.
Then, I saw a bike forums post that made me sing. "Can I put a 26.6mm Thomson into a 26.8 frame?"
I immediately offered to swap posts. But the poster didn't have the post, he saw one on eBay. He offered to buy mine, and I sold it to him for $54.95, shipped (I paid retail for it, at my own insistence, so it was a relatively big loss for me). After PayPal's cut, I got $53.03 or something like that.
Since the eBay listing looked sort of dead, and it had been sitting at $10 for a while, I told the original poster that I'd give him the difference if I got it for, say, $20.
I told my boss at work I needed to buy this post, and I need to snipe the auction. Since I've done the same for the store (in internal corporate auctions), she smiled and let me play the game. I stood around anxiously at the computer, refreshing constantly. I decided $55 max, and got ready to bid that (it sat at about $33). My boss covered the front and left me alone.
Then, with 2 seconds to go, I pounced.
Bam, bid, refresh.
"Congratulations!"
I bought the post. And, with shipping, the post came out to $52.98. Five cents off what I got for the 26.8.
Karma.
Now my karmatic post holds a slightly heavier Titanio seat, one with proper titanium rails. I've changed the bar and stem, too, in order to unweight the front a bit.
Really, though, my bike's the same as before. Same heavy frame. Same rear wheel. Same cog and chain. But it doesn't matter. It's a track bike.
Anyway, until the ordered parts come in, I'll feel like a little army that's lacking a few vital pieces. When the supply line finally connects, though, I'll be ready to do battle.
The key here is that the bell ringer is taking the picture. That means we aren't sprinting for the finish on this lap. Cambridge has a guy up front, another one on my wheel, and the picture is during the two laps where I didn't pull, just before the bell rang. To recap briefly, the guy at the front didn't want to pull, I didn't want to pull, and when he pulled up, I went up too. The third guy (another Cambridge rider) went by, dragging the fourth rider with him. Then the two of us dropped back down, at which point I was sitting in fourth. I managed to win, though, and it was my only win for the night.
The day after the NEV day I woke up feeling sore. And I mean sore. I hadn't done so many sprints in a day in forever. My whole body was sore. Legs, sure, but also arms, shoulders, sides, neck, everything. I figured that this was a good thing because I've decided that this is now my pre-build up to the 2010 Bethel Spring Series.
Eh... what?
Yep, from May 2009 until about October 2009 I'll be focusing on building form for the winter. Then, after a proper winter break, I'll be ready to build on this pre-form form so that I can kick some serious bahuniaks at the 2010 Bethel Spring Series.
See, I figure I regressed so much in form that I'm in that "Year 2" of the "3 Years to See How Good You Are". That's the theory that it takes three years to get to your first serious racing plateau. Since my 190+ pound days in 2003 ("Year 1"), I've rarely gotten down below 175 (end of "Year 1" type form). Now that I'm semi-consistently below 170 ("Year 2" form), I hope to build on that and get into some "Year 3" form.
For the record, that would be consistent sub-160 pound race weights.
Anyway, to build this pre-form properly, I'll be doing a local group ride on Mondays, the Tuesday Night World Championships, and the track on Wednesdays. If I can find a race for the weekend, great, but, believe it or not, I feel the weekends are less important than the M-Tu-W rides.
The reason? I end up riding about 2-2.5 hours on each of the M-Tu-W rides. This is an enormous amount of hours for me.
In contrast, I rarely break an hour on a weekend race. If I'm doing 6 hours a week, that's a huge improvement over my normal weekly schedule. This would go a long way towards building pre-form form.
A nice thing about the M-Tu-W rides is that I don't need any special equipment to do them. Race wheels? Optional on Tuesday, and the only wheels I have for the track bike are, well, race wheels. Mondays are definitely training wheel days, although I may venture out on the carbon DV46 clinchers just because I can.
The track racing, last week, was the first day I actually rode my first M-Tu-W triple - I didn't do the Monday because I thought it'd rain (it didn't), and it really did rain on Tu and the promoters cancel if water sits on the tarmac.
The track, though, worked out. And I'm happy because it's really fun racing out there.
Having said that, my track bike is a bit lacking. I've lamented the wrong gear I have and the lack of any "nice" wheels, and I'm working to remedy that. Not for this week, but maybe for next week.
On the way home from work the other day, I dropped by the local bike shop and ordered a few front axle/nuts combos and a Surly Fixxer. This should increase my track wheel repetoire by two or three-fold - TriSpokes front and rear (Fixxer and one front axle set), a 440 front wheel (another axle set), and a light tubular front wheel (yet another axle set).
I ordered a lot of front axles for some reason.
But wait, there's more!
Today, after the ride there, I also ordered a few chainrings. That'll get me the lower gear I need - a 48T and a 49T to complement my 50T. Then, after noticing a crankset costs the same as a chainring, I canceled one of the rings and got a crankset instead, as well as some BB cups.
Hm.
I just realized that I may have to rethink the order since I may not need to get the crankset because I can use my 135mm BCD Campy arms. But if I do that I'll need to get 135mm BCD chainrings. And get an Italian threaded Campy 102mm square taper BB, which costs as much as three of the 130mm BCD chainrings, or, more precisely, two chainrings and a whole crankset and bottom bracket from SRAM.
Arg.
I think I'll leave the order as is. If I get good at track racing I'll deal with any equipment deficiencies then.
The rest of the bike is fine. I made a few changes before the first race. One significant thing was that I swapped the seat and post for a slightly more durable, slightly heavier Titanio saddle on top of a Thomson post.
The Thomson post is a story unto itself. Last year I learned the hard way that my frame takes an oddball 26.6 mm diameter post. Since I thought it took a 26.8 mm post, I ordered one. I thought I remembered it took that size because, frankly, it couldn't have been a 26.6 because that's an oddball size.
When the 26.8 came in, it wouldn't fit. The frame, naturally, took the 26.6 oddball size.
So, in a fit of despair, I left the post where it was. In the blue car. Which I then garaged for the winter. So 4 or 5 or 6 months later, when the blue car finally rolled out into the sunshine, I found my expensive 0.2 mm mistaken Thomson.
Then, I saw a bike forums post that made me sing. "Can I put a 26.6mm Thomson into a 26.8 frame?"
I immediately offered to swap posts. But the poster didn't have the post, he saw one on eBay. He offered to buy mine, and I sold it to him for $54.95, shipped (I paid retail for it, at my own insistence, so it was a relatively big loss for me). After PayPal's cut, I got $53.03 or something like that.
Since the eBay listing looked sort of dead, and it had been sitting at $10 for a while, I told the original poster that I'd give him the difference if I got it for, say, $20.
I told my boss at work I needed to buy this post, and I need to snipe the auction. Since I've done the same for the store (in internal corporate auctions), she smiled and let me play the game. I stood around anxiously at the computer, refreshing constantly. I decided $55 max, and got ready to bid that (it sat at about $33). My boss covered the front and left me alone.
Then, with 2 seconds to go, I pounced.
Bam, bid, refresh.
"Congratulations!"
I bought the post. And, with shipping, the post came out to $52.98. Five cents off what I got for the 26.8.
Karma.
Now my karmatic post holds a slightly heavier Titanio seat, one with proper titanium rails. I've changed the bar and stem, too, in order to unweight the front a bit.
Really, though, my bike's the same as before. Same heavy frame. Same rear wheel. Same cog and chain. But it doesn't matter. It's a track bike.
Anyway, until the ordered parts come in, I'll feel like a little army that's lacking a few vital pieces. When the supply line finally connects, though, I'll be ready to do battle.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Dateline: 21:49, 6 May 2009
So I'm at some rest stop on the Mass Pike, trying to get my average speed down a bit. You know those tolls where you "get a ticket" then you pay when you get off the highway? I'm convinced that one day they'll hand out tickets.
You know, something like this:
"Hi. So... you got on at 495? And you're here... in 30 minutes? 40 miles in 30 minutes... let's see, that's 80 mph. So your total here will be $1.95 for the toll and $425 for a speeding ticket for averaging 15 over the limit for 30 minutes."
It's not happening, but I tell you, it will.
So I'm here, going 0 mph.
I'm up here because I was up further tonight, at the New England Velodrome (NEV). I came here last year, but I was doing the C/D races, the beginners. Tonight I raced the Bs and watched the As. A little different.
Over the winter I imagined myself getting a nice Jamis Sonik, or at least an aero front wheel, maybe a 49T chainring. I have a 50x15, and it's a monster gear at this particular track. Most guys run a 48 or 49, and they look smooth compared to my monster mashing style.
I didn't stop on the way up to the track, worried about traffic in the late afternoon, and with EZ Pass, I won't know if they're doing my speeding ticket thing until I get a statement next month. My worries ended up paranoia - I got to the track about 40 minutes before the racing started, giving me plenty of time to get ready.
I made one change to the bike so far - I installed a level stem (14 cm flat, not 14 cm pointed down) and one of my precious crit bars. I haven't measured the delta in position but it's significant. I did one practice sprint, and I barely had any rear wheel skip or unweighting. With my weight further back, the bike felt much more stable.
We did a bunch of races tonight - a Scratch race to start, then a Chariot race, a Miss and Out, an Unknown Distance, and finally a Points race.
The Scratch race should be ideal for me - it's a race where the first across the line wins. So it's like a crit on a 318 meter course with two turns. And you can pedal through the turns. I've been undefeated in the two Scratch races I did last year, and Scratch races make for good warm-ups, so I looked forward to doing this one. Unfortunately my legs didn't respond too well (perhaps my day off yesterday had something to do with this) and I sat up at some point just before the line, the race totally lost.
The Chariot race is a one lap drag race. Since I have the monster gear, I typically can't accelerate too well, so I figured this would be a short race for me. Surprisingly I managed to keep in contact with the leaders, but I didn't have the track to come around - we were five wide in the last turn and yours truly was waaaaaay up the track. I sat up for this one too.
The Miss And Out was interesting. I remembered my mentor (albeit for two days of track racing) telling me that you gotta be on the outside in a Miss And Out. You can keep a guy to the inside, then surge past him at the line. The inside guy is automatically boxed in, so he's in a weak position.
So I kept a guy to my inside, surged a bit, and found myself in a group of four. I'd been in the wind for a lot of the race, hanging to the side, and my body started to disintegrate. Tongue parched, legs going wobbly, upper body going numb, I had no idea what was going on. I sat one one guy's wheel and suddenly the other two sprinted around me. I was eliminated (but in 4th place) and the three guys went on to do a match sprint.
Dag.
I like match sprints.
At this point, being sort of alone all day, for the 2.5 hour drive, and then in my own world prepping for the race and then racing, I started doing what alone people do - talk to myself.
I actually said, out loud, "Something's wrong. I have to get a good sprint in."
And so, during a short neutral period, I went high on the banking, got out of the saddle, and positively cranked on the bike. Out of the saddle accelerating, then back on it, pedaling furiously around the last turn. No swinging wide, no problems holding the low line.
Gasping, I sat up and let the bike slow down. I got in another lap, trying to recover, and they called us to the line for the Unknown Distance race.
I wondered, a bit belatedly, if it was a good idea to do a full out, 100% sprint, just before the start of a race. I figured the others were wondering the same thing too, like, "Who is this joker?"
The Unknown Distance is exactly that, a race where suddenly they ring the bell. With more people they have longer races, and I think we had 10 or 14 racers. Not only that, they'd also ring the bell for a prime. My mentor said that Unknown Distance races were tough, and usually you gamble on a lap and just go for it.
However, with a prime lap, I knew there'd be at least one lap to go. Not only that, they forgot to put someone at the bell for two laps, so I knew it was okay for each of those laps. In other words, I could relax a bit.
Nonetheless, I tried to monitor the front. The three guys who won the Miss And Out were obvious targets, and I guessed that they'd ring the bell for the finish shortly after the prime, when everyone was struggling.
At some point the bell rang for the prime, three guys went, and the rider in front of me left a gap. I closed it quickly, waiting to pounce if they rang the bell again. They didn't, but the three guys kept it going, and along with a guy behind me, we pulled away from the rest.
A five rider race is much easier to handle than a 10 or 14 rider race.
We shelled one guy (well, not "we" since I could barely pull, so the other three), so it was down to four. I pulled through once, but then an A racer rolling around said that I shouldn't work, not with two guys on one team in the group. Basically we should let that team sacrifice one guy, and the three of us would sprint.
So when I was supposed to pull again, I declined. Since the guy in front pulled up the track, I followed him, and the two others dove through the big hole we left. As the guy in front of me dove down, with me on his wheel, the bell rang.
Fourth in line, and if someone really drilled it, it would be tough. But I think the guy in second, who I figured was the strongest of us all, he wanted to wait to jump. I had no choice - I had to go early because I was so far back.
I jumped on the backstretch, pulled up to and past the second guy, effectively boxing him in a la Miss and Out. The guy in front was dying, and as I went into the last turn, the race was mine to lose. Second guy finally got out from behind the dying leadout guy but it was too late.
Yay!
I guess my leg opening sprint worked.
I was hoping for something in the Points race. We did 20 laps, sprinting on every fifth lap. Since the last sprint is usually worth more, I decided to sit and watch the first sprint. I did, and a little group detached. It was the two teammates again, from the UD race, plus one of the guys that made that final group in the same race.
I was dying though, just dying. The Second guy from the UD race, one of the two teammates, took off just after the second sprint, dragging another with him. This left me and Second's teammate fighting for third place points.
I heard one guy say that whoever comes out of the last turn first will win the sprint, but the guy I was with looked pretty cooked. I felt cooked too, but I know I can sprint a bit even when I'm cooked. So when he jumped past me on the backstretch, I waited, figuring I'd pass him just before the line for third place points. I'm pretty sure I pulled it off. I actually pulled up to pull out of the race, but he slowed so much that I rolled back down and followed him. He didn't react so I think he thought I swung up because I felt like it, not because I wanted to quit.
Again, an A racer rolling along said that I shouldn't work, so I didn't, not really anyway, for two laps. I let him move me to the front with 2 to go, and led until we both jumped. I led at my speed, good for my monster gear, good for my style of jump. He should have tried to break my rhythm but I think he really was cooked. I led out from the backstretch and took the third place points for the last sprint.
Unfortunately the last sprint wasn't double points so I wasn't top 3, but that's okay. I learned a bit more with my two sprints, more than I knew before today.
All in all a decent night. I was on the bike for about 2.5 hours in total, racing maybe 10 or 15 minutes. I got in some decent sprints, learned how to take the turns better.
And I want to be much smoother. Watching the As, wow, they are "smooth like butta", as one guy once described his bike to us.
So goals for the future: build a lighter front wheel for my bike using parts I have laying around. Buy a couple Campy track axles so I can use my Zipp 440 and a Campy Record Crono tubular wheel I have in the garage. The latter would be a great track wheel - the braking surface is damaged, but the wheel rolls fine.
And get a slightly smaller gear. And learn to spin it well.
Time to get back on the road.
You know, something like this:
"Hi. So... you got on at 495? And you're here... in 30 minutes? 40 miles in 30 minutes... let's see, that's 80 mph. So your total here will be $1.95 for the toll and $425 for a speeding ticket for averaging 15 over the limit for 30 minutes."
It's not happening, but I tell you, it will.
So I'm here, going 0 mph.
I'm up here because I was up further tonight, at the New England Velodrome (NEV). I came here last year, but I was doing the C/D races, the beginners. Tonight I raced the Bs and watched the As. A little different.
Over the winter I imagined myself getting a nice Jamis Sonik, or at least an aero front wheel, maybe a 49T chainring. I have a 50x15, and it's a monster gear at this particular track. Most guys run a 48 or 49, and they look smooth compared to my monster mashing style.
I didn't stop on the way up to the track, worried about traffic in the late afternoon, and with EZ Pass, I won't know if they're doing my speeding ticket thing until I get a statement next month. My worries ended up paranoia - I got to the track about 40 minutes before the racing started, giving me plenty of time to get ready.
I made one change to the bike so far - I installed a level stem (14 cm flat, not 14 cm pointed down) and one of my precious crit bars. I haven't measured the delta in position but it's significant. I did one practice sprint, and I barely had any rear wheel skip or unweighting. With my weight further back, the bike felt much more stable.
We did a bunch of races tonight - a Scratch race to start, then a Chariot race, a Miss and Out, an Unknown Distance, and finally a Points race.
The Scratch race should be ideal for me - it's a race where the first across the line wins. So it's like a crit on a 318 meter course with two turns. And you can pedal through the turns. I've been undefeated in the two Scratch races I did last year, and Scratch races make for good warm-ups, so I looked forward to doing this one. Unfortunately my legs didn't respond too well (perhaps my day off yesterday had something to do with this) and I sat up at some point just before the line, the race totally lost.
The Chariot race is a one lap drag race. Since I have the monster gear, I typically can't accelerate too well, so I figured this would be a short race for me. Surprisingly I managed to keep in contact with the leaders, but I didn't have the track to come around - we were five wide in the last turn and yours truly was waaaaaay up the track. I sat up for this one too.
The Miss And Out was interesting. I remembered my mentor (albeit for two days of track racing) telling me that you gotta be on the outside in a Miss And Out. You can keep a guy to the inside, then surge past him at the line. The inside guy is automatically boxed in, so he's in a weak position.
So I kept a guy to my inside, surged a bit, and found myself in a group of four. I'd been in the wind for a lot of the race, hanging to the side, and my body started to disintegrate. Tongue parched, legs going wobbly, upper body going numb, I had no idea what was going on. I sat one one guy's wheel and suddenly the other two sprinted around me. I was eliminated (but in 4th place) and the three guys went on to do a match sprint.
Dag.
I like match sprints.
At this point, being sort of alone all day, for the 2.5 hour drive, and then in my own world prepping for the race and then racing, I started doing what alone people do - talk to myself.
I actually said, out loud, "Something's wrong. I have to get a good sprint in."
And so, during a short neutral period, I went high on the banking, got out of the saddle, and positively cranked on the bike. Out of the saddle accelerating, then back on it, pedaling furiously around the last turn. No swinging wide, no problems holding the low line.
Gasping, I sat up and let the bike slow down. I got in another lap, trying to recover, and they called us to the line for the Unknown Distance race.
I wondered, a bit belatedly, if it was a good idea to do a full out, 100% sprint, just before the start of a race. I figured the others were wondering the same thing too, like, "Who is this joker?"
The Unknown Distance is exactly that, a race where suddenly they ring the bell. With more people they have longer races, and I think we had 10 or 14 racers. Not only that, they'd also ring the bell for a prime. My mentor said that Unknown Distance races were tough, and usually you gamble on a lap and just go for it.
However, with a prime lap, I knew there'd be at least one lap to go. Not only that, they forgot to put someone at the bell for two laps, so I knew it was okay for each of those laps. In other words, I could relax a bit.
Nonetheless, I tried to monitor the front. The three guys who won the Miss And Out were obvious targets, and I guessed that they'd ring the bell for the finish shortly after the prime, when everyone was struggling.
At some point the bell rang for the prime, three guys went, and the rider in front of me left a gap. I closed it quickly, waiting to pounce if they rang the bell again. They didn't, but the three guys kept it going, and along with a guy behind me, we pulled away from the rest.
A five rider race is much easier to handle than a 10 or 14 rider race.
We shelled one guy (well, not "we" since I could barely pull, so the other three), so it was down to four. I pulled through once, but then an A racer rolling around said that I shouldn't work, not with two guys on one team in the group. Basically we should let that team sacrifice one guy, and the three of us would sprint.
So when I was supposed to pull again, I declined. Since the guy in front pulled up the track, I followed him, and the two others dove through the big hole we left. As the guy in front of me dove down, with me on his wheel, the bell rang.
Fourth in line, and if someone really drilled it, it would be tough. But I think the guy in second, who I figured was the strongest of us all, he wanted to wait to jump. I had no choice - I had to go early because I was so far back.
I jumped on the backstretch, pulled up to and past the second guy, effectively boxing him in a la Miss and Out. The guy in front was dying, and as I went into the last turn, the race was mine to lose. Second guy finally got out from behind the dying leadout guy but it was too late.
Yay!
I guess my leg opening sprint worked.
I was hoping for something in the Points race. We did 20 laps, sprinting on every fifth lap. Since the last sprint is usually worth more, I decided to sit and watch the first sprint. I did, and a little group detached. It was the two teammates again, from the UD race, plus one of the guys that made that final group in the same race.
I was dying though, just dying. The Second guy from the UD race, one of the two teammates, took off just after the second sprint, dragging another with him. This left me and Second's teammate fighting for third place points.
I heard one guy say that whoever comes out of the last turn first will win the sprint, but the guy I was with looked pretty cooked. I felt cooked too, but I know I can sprint a bit even when I'm cooked. So when he jumped past me on the backstretch, I waited, figuring I'd pass him just before the line for third place points. I'm pretty sure I pulled it off. I actually pulled up to pull out of the race, but he slowed so much that I rolled back down and followed him. He didn't react so I think he thought I swung up because I felt like it, not because I wanted to quit.
Again, an A racer rolling along said that I shouldn't work, so I didn't, not really anyway, for two laps. I let him move me to the front with 2 to go, and led until we both jumped. I led at my speed, good for my monster gear, good for my style of jump. He should have tried to break my rhythm but I think he really was cooked. I led out from the backstretch and took the third place points for the last sprint.
Unfortunately the last sprint wasn't double points so I wasn't top 3, but that's okay. I learned a bit more with my two sprints, more than I knew before today.
All in all a decent night. I was on the bike for about 2.5 hours in total, racing maybe 10 or 15 minutes. I got in some decent sprints, learned how to take the turns better.
And I want to be much smoother. Watching the As, wow, they are "smooth like butta", as one guy once described his bike to us.
So goals for the future: build a lighter front wheel for my bike using parts I have laying around. Buy a couple Campy track axles so I can use my Zipp 440 and a Campy Record Crono tubular wheel I have in the garage. The latter would be a great track wheel - the braking surface is damaged, but the wheel rolls fine.
And get a slightly smaller gear. And learn to spin it well.
Time to get back on the road.
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