California - Day 14 Palomar!

Today the weatherman said it'd be nice out, 70s around here, mid 60s as high up as Palomar.

Palomar, you say. Really?

Really.

Since I've been making the Palomar attempts pretty much since the second trip here, and since I hadn't been able to make even a pretend attempt (where I ride inland), I decided that this was the day.

Other factors helped. I felt fine after yesterday's race, no soreness, no nothing. Goes to show that the legs are fine but that I'm simply not aerobically prepared. Walking downstairs to breakfast didn't hurt like maybe it should have; instead I felt better than usual.

The warmth really helped too. I knew it'd be cooler up on Palomar Mountain, but mid 60s... that's positively balmy.

I felt good, it was warm out... to me that just screams Palomar.

I ate, did a few things real quick (like made reservations for the shuttle to drive me to the airport, did some dishes, ate more, prepped the bike, showered), then got ready. I decided on the CamelBak backpack thing, and gathered things based around that concept. I set out, a bit later than I'd hoped. 10 AM, not the 9 or 9:30 I initially envisioned.

After about an hour I realized that I'd be hard pressed to average 15 mph, especially with the climbing, and I did the math in my head. Two hours to get to the base. Two hours to climb. 30 minutes to descend. Two hours to get home.

That put me home at 4:30 PM.

But after the first hour I'd stopped for a few things, putting me behind schedule. I stopped at the little convenience store at the bottom of the climb, then again at the top.

I figured I'd be getting back to home base at 5:15 PM, maybe 5:30 PM.

A long day.

One with a pretty tight deadline. Since the sun sets around 5:30 PM, it would get really cold really fast, and it'd be dark around then too.

I was glad I packed leg and arm warmers. I also had a long sleeve jersey, and wore a short sleeve jersey, a vest, and my shorts.

The trip's first leg involves a lot of long, flat roads out to Escondido. In such mindless settings I start thinking about things, and one thing I thought of was that I've missed the Missus. We talk each day but it's different when we're a few thousand miles apart.

I got through Escondido okay (I used Ash Street to cross over to Valley Center whatever it's called). Once on Valley the phone rang. Normally I don't answer because I get a lot of spam calls, but this time I dug the phone out of my pocket.

The Missus.

I called her back because, you know, I had just been thinking about her.

Ends up she was thinking of me.

(You can all say it. "Awwww.")

We said our "I miss you" stuff and I repacked my pockets and got on with the program, hitting the Lake Wohlford climb. It's narrow so I kept my rhythm high and steady, trying to reduce the time I spend in the danger zone. My legs protested vociferously; I started to worry about the 2 hour effort for Palomar proper.

Once done with the climb I headed down to Rincon.

I have to do a kind of big descent here, one I really don't like. No real turns, gusty wind, and not much room for error. I hung on for dear life, thinking morbid things like, "Hm, did I really make sure the front wheel was on tightly?", or, "Is my stem tight?", or, "I hope the bars don't get loose."

Descent down to Harrahs, near the base of the climb.

The morbid scenarios never manifested themselves and I made it to the store at the base of the climb. There I bought a small Gatorade, ate a few mini Balance bars, and headed out.

I have to admit that I never felt good on the climb. I struggled the whole way, wondering if I'd have to turn around somewhere. My legs never really faltered, even if the power dropped from about 200 sustained watts to something like 160 watts.

I did get distracted by what I think was a coyote. A small dog like animal with big ears and a fox-like bushy tail. It'd just caught something and was looking at me in a way that reminded me of our cat Mike, proud of its catch and some comfort and familiarity in its environment. I tried to tape it but you can't see it at all.

I surprised myself by getting up the first bit of climbing kind of quickly. A short flat section gave me a reprieve, then I saw this sign:

The left is the beginning of the actual climb.

This is where the real climb starts, and it takes me a good 90 minutes to climb the thing. It gets steeper and the real switchbacks begin.

See that road down there? I was just down there.

Beautiful day, nice view.

Palomar is one of those zen like climbs for me. I have to always keep the climbing in mind because it's hard. But I also find myself thinking of all sorts of various things.

Right now I'm having a hard time recalling what I was thinking so I'll have to try and remember when I'm a bit less tired. I do remember it was pretty warm, enough so that I pocketed my gloves and rode much of the climb with my base short sleeve jersey halfway unzipped. The vest stayed on but unzipped, the flapping tails designed to catch a motorist's eye.

More view.
Notice the red circle.

I did note the red spray painted circle. It's a cracked bit of pavement with a lot of plant growth in it. I'm guessing they need to patch it and get rid of the plant.

The Palomar Net.

This is one of my landmarks, a goal. I think of it as a net, except this one is made with steel. You can see where it's sagging a bit to the right - some rocks slid into the net, taking out the lighter chainlink stuff, with only the big ring things holding it in place.

At a few points I'd run into a swarm of gnats. I knew I wasn't going fast when they'd fly with me for a while.

I also discovered my CamelBak broke. I'd try and get water out of it but none would flow. This really bummed me out because I had no bottle cages on the bike and I'd have to figure out a way to carry fluids.

Finally, very close to my self-appointed deadline of 2:30 PM, I saw this sign.

5000 feet. Almost there.

In fact, if you look at that picture, the light colored rock way up there in the back (the road points to it) sits just before the top, maybe a hundred or two hundred meters short of the intersection up there. A white truck just started down the road; it reached me pretty quickly but it took me a bit of time to get to where it started.

General store in front of white pickup on left.
Little shack on right is the post office.
White building inbetween are bathrooms.

The top of Palomar isn't that busy. I mailed a card to the Missus at the post office, then headed to the general store. There I bought a large Gatorade and a bottle of water. I also ate three more mini Balance Bars, which, luckily for me, led me to discover that the CamelBak hadn't broken, it just ran out of water. I loaded the CamelBak with water, polished off the Gatorade, put on the LS jersey, and headed back down.

The rest of the ride is kind of a blur. I never felt terrible and actually started feeling better and better as I got closer to home base.

The run back from Escondido went really well - I kept finding myself able to surge, to make efforts. I ground out a big gear on the last climb back to home base, then actually did an out-of-the-saddle jump just before I turned onto our road.

When I rolled into the garage, I checked my watch.

5:15 PM.

Sweet!

I headed inside, ate and drank a bit.

Then, because it was my last night here, we went out for dinner.

I'm exhausted but I'm packed, except for the computer stuff, and have to be ready to go at 8 AM in the morning.

Egads.

Racing - Red Trolley Crit 2011

Today was the 2011 Red Trolley Criterium. It's the one I did last year (helmet cam too), had a blast, sat up in the last lap, but overall it was pretty fun.

Of course last year I could enter the Cat 3 race. This year I had two choices - the M35+ (Cat 1-4) or the P12 race.

I saw that some known entities had registered for the P12 race, meaning racers whose name I recognize from reading CyclingNews and VeloNews.

I didn't recognize any names in the M35+ (sorry guys) so my chicken self decided that I'd be doing the M35+.

I've been feeling under the weather for most of my trip here, only perking up on one day, but otherwise suffering through a stuffy and clogged head and lungs. On my rides I felt like I was breathing through a tube, or even through (trying anyway) a cork. As recently as Wednesday I felt horrible, totally capped, like I had a restrictor plate on my already limited lungs.

I started to feel a bit better a couple days ago, finally able to take a deep breath without wincing from a sensation of someone punching me in the gut. Combined with a clearing head, less phlegm in the morning, and I decided that I'd be a good 20% better Sunday compared to Wednesday.

This meant that I had a chance in the race.

My conservative self gave me five laps in the race, maybe ten, if things worked out my way. I had zero expectations, nothing whatsoever.

I had actually considered not going, an extremely slight chance, but I had to commit when an intraweb racer person umd asked if he could borrow my ContourHD for the Cat 3 race. He'd made a 3 or 4 hour drive down to the weekend of races but had left his trusty camera recharging on his computer.

With that I had to go.

I don't have a routine here in SoCal for going to a race. I also had a new bike that needed some mods for race day. I wanted to run the Bastognes with the Krylion tires and an 11-25 cassette. Since the rear Bastogne sat there with a tired Bontrager tire and a 12-25 cassette, I had some work to do.

It took longer than it should have to swap the tire, and I used a new tube in the rear. I had just used a long valve tube in the front tire so I swapped that tube out too. Then I swapped the cassettes between the two wheels.

After I got the wheels on the bike and removed the seat bag, I looked at the bottle cages. I knew I'd be using the RaceBak jersey for fluids so I didn't need the cages. I'd carry a bottle to drink from during my warm-up, ditching it with my hosts before the start (along with the nice but heavy watch the Missus gave me for Christmas).

I didn't need the cages. I had to make a decision. Run with them? Or commit and run without them?

I committed. I removed the bottle cages.

I have no routine for packing up two kids' bikes, two other bikes, plus assorted gear for all of the above. It took a while to get going but we made it to the race with two (!) fully loaded cars packed with all the gear.

I don't even know where to start if I have to pack two cars.

I caught up with umd (or rather, he pulled up to the car) just a few minutes before the start of his race. He quickly zip-tied the ContourHD to his stem, trimmed the zipties with another intraweb racer's knife (agoodale, or was it his teammate crash?), and handed me a bag.

His iPhone and some other stuff.

The daughter asked her mom why he gave me that stuff and she replied that it was kind of a trade, to say that he'd be giving my camera back to me.

Oh.

Right.

I didn't really know him from anyone else, and if he just disappeared with my camera...

What's funny is that based on my interaction with him, I never even considered the possibility he'd abscond with the camera.

Nonetheless I had his iPhone and stuff. It actually made me feel uncomfortable having his stuff in my possession.

I went to register. A familiar looking guy stood in line in front of me. I kind of peeked around him to look at his face.

I think he used to race for Jelly Belly, when they had red jerseys and shorts. I think he was the US National Pro Champion when he raced for Chevy LA Sheriffs, the best placed US rider in Philly. I think he won the gold medal for the pursuit in the 1984 Olympics.

Number 735 looked familiar.

The registration guy looked at him.

"How can I help you?"
"I'd like to register for the 35+ race. I just did the 45+."
"Name?"
"Hegg."

Oh lordy. It was Steve Hegg. He killed it in the 1984 pursuits. I read somewhere that when the USCF (predecessors to USA Cycling) studied how to optimize his pedal stroke, they found that when he started his pursuits he lifted the front wheel off the track for the first one and a half pedal revolutions.

This guy has a motor beyond belief. And he was in my race.

Properly subdued, I registered, grabbed a lot of pins (thanks - I forgot mine), and headed back to the cars to change. I struggled into the RaceBak (it's properly snug), kitted up with the jersey over it, and got ready to ride.

After umd's race (I was changing as it finished and getting ready so I didn't know how he did), I rolled up to where he had parked. I saw a rider with a similar kit, bathed in sweat.

"You looking for umd?"
"Yeah I have his phone. Can you take it for him?"

I was giving up his collateral but I felt comfortable doing that. Plus I didn't want to damage anything and I felt better if his teammate had it, not me.

Ends up the guy accepting the phone reads the blog so that was cool.

I forgot when I got the camera back but I did. Umd and I rolled around a bit, then found a nice deserted bit of road, a slight downhill followed by a slight uphill. We turned around at the top of the grade and repeated the loop.

After a couple of them, and with maybe 7 or 8 minutes before our race start, umd looked at me a bit hesitantly.

"Um, do you just roll around before races or do you do any efforts?"
"I think I'll do an effort today, maybe on the next loop."

I didn't want to say that most of my warm ups involve riding to the start and that's about it. This one was better than most, and reminded me of warming up a bit with SOC. A little more riding, a little less of nothing.

Of course there was this other thing, the whole internet thing.

There's that dichotomy between internet and reality. Things aren't always as they seem on the internet. I try and be accurate online but an honest mistake is an honest mistake. I also take some artistic liberties with conversations and such because I don't record every second of my life.

And there's the bike racing thing. There's internet strength and real life strength. That guy with the 900 horsepower lawnmower has, when you finally meet him, a regular Snapper.

And the guy that can rip legs off of other racers on the web? He's barely able to balance on a bike.

This, then, was kind of a test. Is my online persona real? Or is it just an elaborate fake?

Based on Wednesday's abysmal failure of a ride, I couldn't blame anyone for thinking that the person typing here was blowing smoke up... well you know. Jan, for one, must have had some doubts about this internet gorilla guy.

So I felt a bit of pressure to do a decent jump.

Luckily I felt okay. My legs felt okay, and, more importantly, my lungs felt normal. My bike, stripped of all non-essentials, tipped the scales at a touch over 18 pounds, a full 6 pounds less than its training weight a week ago.

I had no excuses.

Umd looked at me.

"Give me a warning and I'll try and stay with you."

He thought about it for a second.

"Or don't give me a warning, just go. I'll try and stay with you anyway. Whatever you want, it's okay by me."

I felt a bit ridiculous doing the "3, 2, 1, go" thing so I just transmitted my intent using the Force. Oh, wait, that's the son's effect on me, our 4 hour Star Wars marathon last night. I meant to say "body language".

So as umd said something, I slowly tuned him out. Regrasped the bars. Did one of those shoulder hunch breath intake. Checked my gears.

If I wasn't transmitting my intent, I don't know what else I could have done.

Then I jumped.

Not a bad one, I have to admit. I didn't want to leave my legs behind in the warm up but I also know that doing jumps with SOC really helped my races towards the end of the 2010 season.

I shifted once, when I jumped, and once again as I started to falter. I looked down as I slowed, and the SRM showed only three digits, 900 or so watts. Eh, okay. Nothing major. But good enough.

Well, it ought to have been enough, based on the numbers I saw when I downloaded the SRM data.

Just under 1100 watts for 15 seconds. 1323 watts peak.

Yikes. Okay, it wasn't a record or anything. I did a few 1400+ watt jumps before Harlem one year. But this was pretty good for me.

In fact, if I knew what I just did, I'd have been a bit worried that I left my legs behind on the warm up.

But I didn't, figured I probably hit 1100 or so peak, averaged 900, so it was all good. Umd grinned when he caught up with me. I guess my internet strength made some sense.

I lined up on the left, not really concerned with much. I was here for five laps, and if the race shelled me after five laps, I didn't want to embarrass myself by snagging a prime spot up front.

The race started out... normally. In fact, until they hit the lap cards, it seemed a lot like a Cat 3 race. I did find myself trickling backwards through the field, but that was normal for me. I wasn't sure if I could make it back to the front before the end of the race, but sitting at the back felt manageable.

I didn't realize until after the race that I was hitting 800 watts or higher on virtually every lap. Even as I got "tired" I was deep into the 700 watt range. The repeated peaks got lower and lower, indicating my pretty bad fatigue curve.

Fatigue curve evident.
Hint: I'm the one looking down.

I only had two stutters in the race. The first happened when I mistakenly thought the front would accelerate harder out of the last turn, heading up the hill. I had to brake then work hard to stay on wheels. Although this put me in the red, I thought I could recover from it. I went from a "more to the front" position to a "more to the rear" position, but otherwise I felt okay.

The second happened when someone probably panicked midfield, practically coming to a stop in the last turn. One good rider (someone pointed him out to me as a guy to watch) yelled at the braking racer, but it was too late. We all had to slam on our brakes to avoid the chaos midfield, and I started the hill overgeared and lacking any momentum.

I'm pretty sure this is the lap I broke 1000 watts accelerating up the hill, but it didn't matter. I went into the red and started to dangle precariously at the back of the field.

The officials let us know it was 6 to go, and suddenly the race changed. It seemed more like a P12 race, not a Cat 3 race. The field strung out, gaps started to open, and all my energy saving tricks went out the door - I couldn't coast into every turn, I had to close gaps right away, and, well, I couldn't do everything I needed to do. That top end, that edge, I lacked it. I couldn't rev it over and over; I had to save a bit before I revved it again, but the race didn't allow me that luxury.

I rolled by the host family just as I let go of the wheel in front of me, a ten foot gap that promised to become 1000 in just a few minutes.

I heard the kids yelling for me, cheering me on. I realized that I had the most consistent cheers of anyone here, from them and some others (probably those internet friends).

I couldn't let them down. I dug deep, closed the gap, and the pack happened to sit up just a touch.

A couple laps later the field, strung out already, went even faster.

My legs were done.

I eased, letting the field ride away. But they didn't disappear, static just 50 or 75 meters in front of me, and I thought, hey, maybe I can do the last few laps on my own. I'm normally not one for time trialing while off the back but with the family there cheering, the opportunity to train on a closed course...

A training opportunity, just before I dropped down into the Cane Creek Bars.

I put my head down. I used the Cane Creek Speed Bars on the main straight.

I exploded less than a minute later.

So much for any extra time trial training.

I called it a day and rolled up the sidewalk to the disappointed and worried kids. We watched the finish of the race together, the break barely surviving, Hegg trailing it coming up to the line. I guess he'd made a huge bridge move and must have cooked his legs doing it.

After the race I caught up with umd and met and talked with esammuli a bit. It's kind of an alternative reality, one that appears and disappears. It's like your seat neighbor on the plane. In the plane, in that isolated environment, it's a different world. Then when you land and walk away, the world reverts back to normal.

Likewise I found it odd to be talking to umd, but at the same time it seemed perfectly natural. I also won't see him for a while. Maybe I'll see him at some international race or at Interbike, but the reality is that I may not see him again for a year or three.

He does have connections back east, the town over from my dad's in fact, so it may not be quite so long. But you understand what I'm saying.

After a stop at In-N-Out Burger, a classic California burger joint, we headed back home. I told my host that I wanted to take a picture of my bike. Yes, it was stripped down. Yes, it had the Bastognes on it.

But until today it was a road bike.

Now it was a race bike.

Race bike, yo.
Photo by my host.

Tomorrow will be the last day on the bike, followed by packing for the flight home on Tuesday. The SoCal 2011 story is drawing to a close...

California - Day 12 Off Day Podcast and Tubes

Today I stayed off the bike for no real reason, just general fatigue. I fell asleep in the middle of the morning, then drifted off again in the afternoon, and basically felt kind of blah the whole day.

The most interesting thing happened early in the day, at least as far as local time goes. I got to be on the Spokesmen Cycling Roundtable Podcast (number 60). I am not a regular on it, nor am I normally on podcasts at all, so it was a bit comical because I was so new to it all.

I was bad enough that they had to restart the whole thing (thankfully it wasn't being broadcast live) and let my friend introduce me instead of letting me talk about me.

When I tried to introduce myself it went kind of like this:
"Um. I. Um. So. Uh."

I really had only two "speaking parts" that I remember. It's tough working out the etiquette on a delayed-sound group chat on Skype and if I'm ever on again I'll have to keep some of those lessons in mind.

The various participants, all pretty interesting and opinionated folk, struck me as being very polite. Most opinionated folk will talk over anyone and everyone to get their ideas out, but this group, they listened too.

It was kind of like an ideal debate, with all parties listening and talking.

The big surprise was that Floyd Landis joined on the call. I, of course, had just stated that I thought he'd doped in 2006, but that he wasn't the only one, and therefore it was a "fair" race. I also pointed out at some point that he had tested for a substance he hadn't been taking, which seemed wrong.

So on that note Floyd dialed in. Great.

On top of all that I had to introduce myself to Floyd. That was kind of a repeat of my ghastly introduction that had to be cut. I can't think of a reason why he'd remember anything I said other than all the ums and ahs I used.

I wish I mentioned (but didn't) that I thought he was innocent of doping on a technicality. He tested positive for something he wasn't taking, and he never tested positive for stuff he took (and for which they tested him).

I didn't mention (and wished I did) that I have friends who believed in him. Who I think still believe in him, at least as a person, if not in his doping purity.

Anyway it was really interesting and fun. It's kind of like the talks that we used to have at the bike shop, or sitting around after a race, or whenever you get together with other like-minded folk and talk about bikes and racing and doping and stuff.

Exhausted after this very stressful (due to newness, not negativity) experience, I took a spontaneous nap at, oh, like 10 AM.

We went on a little shopping trip and I got to get some more food supplies (which I'm eating as I type), looked for some stuff for the daughter's dance tonight (found them), and bought six (6!) tubes for my bike.

Since I didn't do much today, and I have pretty strong feelings about tubes, I'll put down what I put in a forum post just now (cleaned up a touch for clarity).

I'm ruthless when it comes to patches. If a rider has a flat, installs a patched tube, and the patch fails, I'm merciless. If they're a very good friend then I'll wait while I tell them never to ride with me with patched tubes. If they're not a good friend then I relentlessly hammer into them their total and absolute inconsideration for their fellow riders.

I've yet to leave a rider behind, but they inevitably only have one spare tube (the one that just failed because they tried to save a few bucks by patching it), daylight's running out, and I know how to change a tube quickly and efficiently, much more so than the rider in question, because I've changed hundreds if not thousands of flats in the 15 years I worked in a bike shop. It's much better for me to change the tube in a couple minutes and rag on them all the way back to the end of the ride while they ride MY tube that I installed on their wheel than watching them struggling for 10 minutes to install the (my) new tube wrong and puncture it before they get back on the bike.

I have been on a ride where a rider actually tried to patch a tube on the side of the road after a flat. I told the rider not to be idiotic and gave him a tube.

I also refuse tube payback. You should not return a tube to me. You should give it to the next idiot that insists on using a patched tube that fails on a group ride (since, by definition, any reader of this particular post won't have a patched tube in their saddlebag, there must be another rider on the ride who has a patched tube, therefore it's a group ride).

If you ride a patched tube, do it on your time, not a group's time.

I give my punctured tubes to others.

New tubes sit in the saddlebag, always, and on my wheels. I just bought 6 tubes at full retail at the local (during the aforementioned shopping trip) shop to replace the two I flatted (one I flatted, one I gave to a ride companion that flatted). Now I'm up 4 tubes. This should put me at +40 or +50 something tubes, but I rarely have more than 6 or 8 tubes on hand at one time. Well, except when I buy huge quantities - at one point I bought a box of 50 700c tubes, and I don't think I've used that many tubes in 10 years for anything.

To counter my anti-patch crusade, I very infrequently flat and therefore usually have a few tubes floating around. As I mentioned before, I give most of my tubes away.

Exception to my anti-patch thoughts - low pressure tires, like kid's bikes or wheelbarrows and such. Say 40 psi or lower. Those can be patched.

I guess it's a pet peeve of mine. Heh.

Phew, right?

Right.

Tomorrow I'll be going to the Red Trolley Crit. I plan on doing the 35+. When I first thought of my trip out here, before I got sick for 3 weeks, I thought of doing the P12 race. You know, because I can.

Enter it.

But when I started scanning the short list of pre-reg riders, some names popped out at me, names I didn't feel like riding against.

In contrast the M35+ race seemed more realistic. As one of my hosts said succinctly, "I know which one I'd register for."

I'll be meeting up with one or two virtual friends, riders I interact with online.

I don't really feel great, comfort food notwithstanding, so I have very low expectations. I told the daughter here that I expect to do maybe five laps, maybe ten. Not much more than that. I didn't want her to go to the race with high expectations of their annual training camp guest.

She told me that I should do at least 20 laps. And that I don't need to win, I could just finish the race instead.

If only life were that easy. But I am going - I even took money out of an ATM machine to pay for my entry (those that know me know I use ATMs to withdraw money about as often as I used patched tubes in my tires).

I just have to see how long I'll last in the race.

California - Day 11 - Training, Finally

Another day on the trip, another day waking up clearing my throat and coughing up some gross stuff. I promised myself to eat and hydrate, and I had, but in the morning I didn't notice much of a change. I went downstairs and joined everyone for some breakfast, then, after the house cleared out, ate again.

And again.

Salt, meat, carbs. I felt an urge to eat, a deep rooted need really, and so I ate.

I also did some laundry, tried to clear out a sink (it's one of those things I do compulsively), and checked over my bike. I had to tighten the front derailleur mounting bolt, that was the main thing, and double checked some other stuff.

I also played around a bit with the CamelBak. I figured that I should ride with it today, skipping carrying bottles, letting my bike get back down closer to the 19 pound weight rather than the 24 pound full load out mass.

Skipping one bottle the day prior seemed to make a difference, and I used the CamelBak jersey. Today I'd use the standard small CamelBak, the rig I bought to carry my original and bulky helmet cam set up. I decided that I'd use the jersey for races and "important rides"; the backpack thing I'd use for training.

Since this would be a training ride, I opted for the backpack thing.

The backpack doesn't have as refined a feed tube rig, so it took a bit more time to set things up, and I found it harder to take a sip from the tube. It's all relative - the jersey version let you bite the valve and you'd have a mouthful of water. The backpack version you had to encourage the water along.

Nonetheless I felt confident enough to set off with no bottles in my cages. I did bring my standard saddlebag, short a tube from yesterday's flat. But with two 80 mm valve tubes (one in the bag, one in my pocket), I felt prepared.

I grabbed some food too, on top of everything I ate, and set out. I figured I'd head down the PCH again, see if my legs felt any better, and turn around when it seemed appropriate. I hoped for some good legs.

Heading out wasn't bad. I had dressed with just enough clothes for the temperature. If it got colder I'd be in trouble, but for now, in the early afternoon, I would be fine. I felt okay overall, not great, my legs a bit twingy but not dying like they'd be after a Palomar attack. Still, though, I didn't make any big efforts, just warmed up some.

Then, it happened. I crested one of the numerous hills between home base and the ocean. I turned right, started rolling, and then...

I felt it in my left ear first, a weird pressure sensation.

Popping sound.

Suddenly I could hear.

My sinus cleared up!

The right side followed quickly, making my world stereo and clear. I didn't realize until that moment that everything had been muted for the last, oh, week or so.

(I haven't been YELLING have I? If I have, I apologize.)

This kind of changed things. If I was getting better, I could ride harder. I should be able to race. I should be able to train more. I made a few efforts, let my legs carry me up by the airport.

Things worked.

I turned onto the PCH and headed south towards Encinitas. Although I didn't give into temptation and sprint up the hill to the sign, I did make some steady efforts on many of the flat sections leading up to that point.

Of course there were sections where I didn't feel very spunky. One of of them, only a mile or so away from the "town" part of Encinitas, while I was trying to watch the surfers (or were they really tall birds?), two women passed me.

Two women coasting by me.
I ended up following them for a few miles. Hopefully I didn't creep them out.

The climb before the one up Torrey Pines the two women went right. Since the roads are kind of quiet and less busy, I figured it'd be better if I didn't turn right as well (seemed too stalker-like). Therefore I went straight up the kind of gritty climb on the PCH.

Just before Torrey Pines, Andy Schleck and Fabian Cancellara passed, me, at least their body doubles did.

I swear that if you squint a bit they resemble Schleck and Cancellara.

I rolled behind them (they were disguised as UC San Diego riders) for a bit until they turned right for the steeper climb up to the golf course.

Once again I went straight, opting for the smoother, longer grade. And avoiding following two riders onto a quieter, less traveled road. I wouldn't creep them out but they'd probably feel like, hey, there's this guy following us, let's destroy him.

Then I'd have to either go slow or go fast and I didn't feel like making that decision. I just wanted to go my speed. I worked pretty hard up the hill, never faltering, never getting that "holding my breath" feeling. When I asked my legs to go, they went.

The bike danced beneath me, rid of a few pounds of weight. I felt good, finally, like I could ride a bike again.

At the top I turned around at the first light, and, just as I started heading down the hill, I saw the two UC San Diego riders roll up to the top. I always wondered which route was faster. I guess the steady one is faster since they started about 50 meters in front of me.

I headed back down.

Back in town I took a call from the Missus, then, rolling out again, basically joined a guy riding by at that moment. He had a bag, loose tights, jacket, and some other stuff on, probably doing his commute.

He rolled behind me until we got to a split in the road. I had to go left and sprinted across the road through a gap in traffic, then neatly split the double dots down the middle.

About to split dots in a full sprint at 40-45 mph.
The road splits ahead.

Peeling off to the left I didn't see the commuter follow so I figured he went straight.

Lo and behold, a mile later he passed me, working pretty hard. I followed him, at a short distance, watching him ride. He stayed right, respectfully, in case I wanted to pass. I stayed right too because I wasn't in a passing mood.

Discretely following the commuter.
Cardiff by the Sea sign, again.

Eventually, though, I realized that I'd reached a state where I could roll some big gears. I had to go, to let my legs free. On the surfer parking bit I rode up next to the commuter, told him, "Nice rhythm", and started pushing hard, a 53x17 or so up the gradual climb. Then, as the grade eased, I thumbed the shifter and got into bigger and bigger gears.

This was more like it.

Well, most of more. I didn't feel quite like I have in the past; I felt weaker than not. I had to ease after a bit of effort, but I could recover quickly and get going again.

It felt good to work, and I worked.

Then, at some point, the sun setting, the air chilly, my legs just stopped.

I'd hit the wall.

Struggling, I had a hard time just turning over the pedals, and I started to worry about getting back before dark. The TsunamiTwo has about 3 cm of post showing; I could either wrap the lower seatbag strap around it or put on a tail light.

I'd opted for the seat bag.

Adrenaline always motivates, and when it's getting dark the adrenaline flows readily. I pushed here and there, trying to keep a reasonable speed, but my legs faltered badly.

Then, standing on a climb, admiring the 3T fork (yes I really was admiring my fork), I noticed the rim and tire beneath the fork looked wrong.

The tire looked too wide.

In fact if felt really squishy, almost like it was...

Flat.

I actually swore out loud. I was running out of time, started getting really chilly, and now, this. I did roll up to a sunny area before I started changing the flat, cars zipping by me at a good clip.

After taking out the tube, checking it for holes, and then finding the matching spot in the tire, I found and dug out a tiny bit of glass. I pumped up the new tube (I carried two with an 80 mm valve, in case I had to use it on the rear wheel). As I pre-mounted it in the tire, the commuter rode by.

"You okay?"
"Yeah, I got it."
"K."

At least he asked.

He was probably thinking, "Dude, next time just chill. You won't hit some pothole and pinch flat your tire."

Note the very long valve on the front wheel.
Also note setting sun shining sideways on tire.

Great fork, huh?

Behind me, where I flatted. When the sun goes down it gets cold here.

I got my bike together after pumping up the tire and set off. Tire felt low but okay, so I decided to take it easy on the descents.

The rest of the ride felt anti-climactic. I rode slowly so that the chilly air felt less chilly. My bare arms didn't feel warm at all, and I thanked my perseverance in finding my shoe oversocks (knit shoe covers).

The hills on the way back let me warm up, but, wow, the downhills, I actually braked on them.

Braked!

Can you believe that?

I crawled home, just crawled. I rolled into the garage, leaned my bike up against TsunamiOne, retrieved the blank SRM head, and trotted into the warm house. I felt miserable, cold, and hungry.

The wife was there. She smiled and plunked down a container of freshly popped popcorn.

"Thanks."
"I was starting to wonder because it's getting dark."
"Yeah, I kind of bonked."
"You do Palomar?"
"No."

Shortly after the husband rolled in. He laughed when he saw me - I must have looked miserable, sitting there downing popcorn.

"You do Palomar?"

What's this with Palomar? I guess I must look like hell when I do Palomar.

"No, just Torrey Pines. But I bonked. And flatted."

Yes, I ate a lot tonight.

And no, I'm not doing Palomar tomorrow.

But Sunday, Red Trolley... it looks promising. I have to buy a few tubes (I want to use the Bastognes at Red Trolley and I have no short valve tubes), clean up my bike build mess, but, yeah, Red Trolley. I feel a lot better.

California - Day 10

This morning my host asked me if I felt like riding up to his office and joining him for a lunch time ride. I briefly debated it until I Googled the route - 45 miles each way if I took an unknown route for the first 15 miles, 46.5 miles if I used roads I knew well.

Either way I'd be looking at unknown roads once out there and a round trip, without a lunchtime ride, of about 90 miles.

I also knew that 45 miles right now would take me most of three hours to cover, and seeing as it was about, oh, 9:30 AM, that would make me...

Late.

I debated a bit internally, my throat piping up that it wasn't feeling too great, when I got an offer of a much closer lunch time ride.

I accepted this more realistic offer and headed out.

First I had to adjust my front derailleur - it dumped my chain yesterday so I had to dial back the tune. I had it throwing the chain off the big ring, relying on the chainguard to keep it out of the bottom bracket, but the chain blew right past the guard.

I got it so it doesn't toss the chain quite so far, readjusted the guard, and tightened everything up.

I also had to trouble shoot the SRM wiring harness. When I tossed the chain I lost power and cadence, both picked up from the SRM spider. The mount looked okay but then I remembered that the wiring, a bit battle damaged, needed some finessing to read properly.

Some finessing later I had power once again.

I checked my watch - about seven minutes to go time.

I suited up in my CamelBak jersey thing, the bladder filled (halfway) with water. I had to try this before I raced and this would be as good a time as any.

I quickly learned that the jersey is a concoction of solutions. I kept noticing little things, tabs, grippers, things in weird places. Even the zipper is bizarre - it has a half zip down and another half zip up, with a band of cloth around your lower chest that cannot be violated.

I struggled to get into the jersey (made of a very heavy lycra) but managed okay once I unzipped the lower half zip. I saw some tab sewn into the collar - handy for straightening out said collar. The jersey didn't ride up my back, even though the bladder pulled on it. So that's why that gripper is back there.

My size L vest fit over the whole assemble, camouflaging it a bit. A close observer would see the lump on my back but otherwise... it looked pretty good.

Properly kitted up I checked the time.

H-Hour.

I texted "Rolling out" and rolled out.

15 minutes later I rolled up to the parking lot. Joined by two companions we set off for a loop out to the ocean and back.

We climbed up some interesting roads hidden off of the main drags (the ones I ride on) and headed back on one of my main drag roads. A flat interrupted everything briefly, but since I had three (!) tubes, I happily gave one out.

After about 75 minutes of riding (and the 15 minutes it took for me to ride to them), I left the two back at their office and headed out again, a bit hesitant, for another couple hours on the road.

I hesitated because I didn't feel great. I realized my legs loaded up as soon I started to work. It felt like I hadn't been eating enough, or that I had lactic acid just waiting to flood my legs.

I thought about the fact that I hadn't been hydrating much, and that I had to focus on that a bit more.

I also need to dress a bit better. 59 degrees and I had two short sleeve jerseys, a vest, and shorts. I felt a bit chilly when I started, and I kind of blame myself for this. I have limited kit and didn't bring a lot of old kit because I didn't want to wear "expired" kits. But if I had, say, the really nice thick Verge long sleeve jersey, even if it had other colors on it, I could just wear my team long sleeve jersey on top of it. I regret not bringing it.

I also regret not bringing more knickers. Again, not a team kit thing, but a great piece of equipment. I only brought one pair and it's tough to do laundry every day (more because I feel bad using all the resources), so I saved them for things like the Camp Pendleton ride.

Jackets... I don't have a jacket, and my default action of "throw on a jacket and a base layer if it's kind of cold" doesn't work if I don't have a jacket.

My vests are a bit large so they flap around a bit. A lot. I can thank my weight loss for that but it is kind of a pain because, frankly, the pockets in them are totally useless. They're the original kit manufacturer vests and the pockets have some super-secret hideaway feature - when you have gloves on and you have your vest on top of a jersey with stuff in the jersey pockets, the vest pockets simply disappear. I can't get anything into them or out of them.

Makes answering the phone kind of difficult, I have to tell you. Since most of the calls are the spam ones about "have bad credit?" I don't have my hands-free set to auto-answer.

So... I've been making do with some short sleeve jerseys, the vests with invisible pockets, and a single long sleeve jersey. I have a couple long sleeve base layers from about 1992 (literally) and although a bit scraggly, I got them when I was at a lighter weight and so they fit reasonably well.

I made it through the lunchtime ride okay and headed back out for another couple hours of moderate effort punctuated by, hopefully, some spontaneous and inspired riding.

I really wanted some inspired riding.

In many (all?) of the past SoCal trips, I've been on days where I leave it in the 53x14, sit up a bit on the tops, and just hammer away, pounding out a rhythm for an hour or two at a time. On one of my better trips I did that from just north of Torrey Pines all the way back to Carlsbad, my legs responding every time I asked them (however doubtfully) for some power.

On this trip I haven't been able to go more than, oh, a few minutes.

Or less.

I'd start climbing one of the many couple-minute climbs that pepper the landscape, expecting to roll all the way to the top. Instead, halfway up (if I'm lucky), my body sags, the will evaporates, and I struggle in some pitiful gear at some pitiful cadence to the top.

I'd been talking about doing three Palomar attacks, but with these legs... I struggle to do 45 miles in three hours, so to do the 80 miles round trip to the base of the climb (without even doing the climb), well, Palomar seems a hazy and distant vision.

Since I do a kind of seat-of-the-pants training schedule, and my pants have been telling me no Palomar (yet), I've skipped the Palomar thing.

I thought about all this while I rode down and up the PCH. Hydrate. Eat more carbs. Rest more. Stay warm.

At some point in this self-analysis process, I heard voices behind me. They were talking about something, a school or something. I didn't turn and look because, frankly, I lacked the energy to say hi. Well to think about saying hi.

A few minutes later the two rolled by me. Small ring. Casual. Easy.

Two guys spinning along, casually, but faster than me.

They rode away from me.

Then, shortly after they rode by, I heard the wail of a TIE Fighter (can you tell there's a young boy at the host house that loves Star Wars and Clone Wars?).

Not a TIE Fighter.

The TIE Fighter roared by, disguised as a mega dollar Porsche. The sound, though, there was no disguising it. Pure weapon grade Empire stuff.

I could hear the driver accelerate as he hit the beautiful curve exiting off the road, the exit I'd be taking in a few hundred yards. I wished, for a moment, that I could have seen the exit, see the line the driver took, where he braked, where (or if) he shifted.

Alas all I could see was concrete, pavement, and the flora and fauna of the beachside environment. Plus if I watched him I'd want to be able to do the same thing in the same car. And I don't have a car remotely resembling that silver bullet.

So it was a good thing I could only hear it hit the (one) twisty.

I started the long drag back to home base, the relentless shallow climbs sapping my strength, making me dig deep into the reserves I barely had. I had two little treats though, two nuggets to motivate me.

The first was a nice short descent, the second was another nice short descent but followed by a nice little hill. On the first descent I always hope for a truck, especially when I'm riding a bike with a rock solid front end. The TsunamiTwo feels great at speed, absolutely confidence inspiring, and I hoped to do a little test at speed today.

The second descent gives me speed, if the light is green at the bottom, for a fake-leadout sprint up the hill that's just like Bethel's finishing hill. If I feel good it's a great hill.

Of course if I feel bad... it's just another hill. Another body sagging, morale sapping hill.

I turned at the top of the first descent. Behind me I could hear the distinctive shifting of a semi, and sure enough, a yellow tractor trailer rolled by me. He briefly paused at the light, but when it turned green, I punched it.

44 mph, although I swore it was faster. A hard roll then a 1100 watt jump to get in the draft.
Note the skinny bike tire shadow visible to the right.

Initially the truck picked up speed as it headed downhill away from the light, but then the road started to climb slightly and he still gunned it. Finally, getting to his turn, he signaled.

I swung left, made sure I could see his mirrors (so he could see me), and he confidently and fluently moved right and made his turn.

The second treat turned out about as good. I rolled down to the light, red at the time, but just before I got there it turned green. I briefly thought about skipping the jump. My legs felt a bit achy and empty feeling from the effort behind the truck, literally just a half mile prior.

But I really wanted to do a jump, feel the bike working under me, rocking quickly back and forth as I did an Abdujaporov up the hill.

So I did.

I jumped hard, went for about 10 seconds, shifting twice in that time, and suddenly my legs folded.

I sat up, disappointed. Later, when I reviewed the numbers, it wasn't so bad. 1275 watts, give or take, over 1050 watts for the ten seconds I went hard.

I went easy to catch my breath. My heartrate never accelerates when I do a jump like that, and I didn't break 160 bpm. My lungs doeth protest though, and I panted my way up to the next (and second last) light on my route.

I forgot about a couple other jumps I made, one in Encinitas. Actually I just learned the name of that little town area. I asked exactly what town that was and my hosts bemusedly answered that when I see the big sign over the road that says "Encinitas" that I'm in Encinitas.

Apparently I don't look up when I go under that sign. I mean do you read the finish line banner when you sprint for the line?

No, you look at the finish line.

Anyway, I sprinted by the Encinitas sign. 1150-ish watts.

And I sprinted at the end of the lunch ride.

1150-ish watts.

If nothing else I'm consistent.

Now for hydration, good comfort food, and warm sleep. I hope tomorrow I don't have a head full of phlegm and lungs full of phlegm, else I'll be exactly where I was today.

And yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.

Sigh.

California - Day 9 Schooled

So there's this guy Jan who's been trying to get me out on some of the more infamous area rides. The two he likes are the Swamis ride on Saturday (which I've "done" before which means I was in the group for however long it took for them to pass me) and the Pendleton ride on Wednesday. We missed the Saturday invite so I felt determined to make the Wednesday one.

On Tuesday I did a ride out to the Wednesday ride start point, timing it, making sure I'd be on time. I mentally set out riding gear for a 42 degree start (7:30 AM), ignoring the 65 degree forecast by 10 AM.

But, to be frank, I felt pretty bad on the bike. I've been fighting this phlegm thing for a while. For a few days my left nostril's been like that ever-filled bread box or whatever. I'd blow my nose, think, "wow that's like half my brain!", and a few minutes later do the same thing.

I can tell you that cars give you a whole lane when you're doing the hakkalugi like that (okay, technically not a lugi but bear with me). When you start blowing snot around like that, suddenly everyone observes an 8 foot passing rule.

Anyway, I figured I was okay to go for today, Wednesday, not great, just okay. I was reasonably okay Tuesday, a little lethargic, but nothing major.

This morning, though, I didn't feel that great. Some chills while feeling hot. I didn't take my temperature or my blood pressure (I have all the stuff here to do it though); instead I had some leftovers, some coffee, dressed for 42 degree weather, and set off on my ride.

I realized quickly that things weren't that bad in the "cold". Having been spoiled by 75 or 80 degree weather, I typically shun 40-odd degree weather while I'm out here. But once I got rolling, like a mile out, I thought, "Hm, this is just like a beautiful Bethel!"

I stopped to adjust my saddle again - I finally got it right but it's been a bit distracting. It's interesting, the whole saddle height thing. Initially when it was high I felt like, oh, my legs are stretching soooo much. I dropped it and immediately started pushing back on the saddle, trying to extend my legs a bit more. Also I felt like the bars were "really high", like a comfort position bike.

Then I raised it a touch, then a touch again, and suddenly everything felt familiar. Bar drop good. Leg reach good. Slide back to stretch a bit, slide forward to get a bit more power and speed.

What's surprising is that all that adjusting happened within a centimeter of saddle height. Too high, too low, a little too low, just right. Just millimeters separated the last two but they counted.

I'd set off a bit later than planned so I worked some to get to the ride on time. A tailwind out to the shore helped a lot. I considered calling Jan when I was a mile away - it was just a minute or so to the ride start.

But my new phone is next to impossible to pull out of my pocket so I canned the call and rode hard.

I saw the ride start to depart just as I rolled up to a red light, 30 yards away. I had to "negotiate" that intersection (ahem) and presto, the ride and I merged.

About a mile later, as I filtered through the group, Jan found me.

"Hey! I didn't see you before the ride!"
"Yeah, I rolled up as you guys were leaving."
"Oh."

We rolled out easy, went up this one really steep hill just before Camp Pendleton. I heard some guys talking behind me.

"Did you see so-and-so last time? He rolled up in the big ring!"

I looked down. I was in the 39x23, and I was working.

"Yeah, and he was sitting."
"I think you get more leverage when you're standing."
"Well, yeah, you can get your weight into it more."

This exchange disarmed me. If some of the guys were talking about this stuff, I should be okay. Plus I was okay on the little hill, even if it was as steep as our driveway (and 5 to 8 times as long).

Disarming bunch, warming up on a shallow hill.

We rolled up to the entrance to Camp Pendleton. Out of respect for our military and yada yada yada I shut off the camera. I didn't want to even film anything that could reveal any military secrets.

Suffice it to say that everyone was body scanned, retinas checked, finger printed, and as we filtered through the wall of armored personnel carriers, machine gun emplacements, barb wire, and various observation and gun towers, I felt assured that we'd be safe here.

It took surprisingly little time to clear the gate (considering all that we had to do) and the ride proceeded.

We immediately stopped in a little parking lot. Apparently the ride used to start there but it got a bit crazy so now everyone rides in. We got a nice short lecture from a guy Brett about not being stupid out there. He also pointed out the wind blew from the east today (out to the shore) and that please keep that in mind when riding the narrow bike lanes. Give the next rider shelter by riding as far to the east side of the lane.

With that we set off.

Still disarmed by my overheard exchange, nothing for the next couple minutes gave me any hint that it'd be any different than any given "group ride". I figured it'd be kind of like a Cat 3 group ride, where I'd struggle on some hills, be good on the flats, and move around the group at will.

Right.

I kept having to ease and brake as the group slowed for various things, kind of normal when the front isn't riding hard. I'd then surge as the group accelerated collectively to close all those gaps.

The wind really affected me. I was on the east side of the group and doggedly stuck it out because Brett said so. But after about a minute of really high effort riding, I realized that I was cooking myself while everyone else spread across the wide bike lane in echelon formation.

Screw this, I thought, and I slid left to seek shelter.

But it was too late - I'd been working at something like 275 watts for a while (600-800 watt spikes followed by a bit of softpedaling, rinse and repeat), way deep for me, and had already pegged my heartrate.

Then, as the road kind of came out on an exposed plateau, that surge thing started again and just didn't stop. I surged but the gap didn't close. I kept surging, surging, surging, and the gap stayed constant.

Someone up front had just buried it and we were all scrambling to stay on wheels. My legs started to get really tight, a hateful feeling, one that screams, "Unprepared!"

At about this time I realized that I felt like I'd just inhaled a cork. I couldn't breathe well, at least not so I'd notice. I felt like I was underwater, holding my breath. My legs loaded up, I felt like my head would explode... and I sat up.

Yeah. Bye.
Wind from the east. That'd be the right side of the picture.

The group rolled away from me, over the top of a longish, gradual hill, hammered by the eastern wind. I could see the group kind of lined up because the road curved right, giving me a nice view of the pack.

(Remember the long gradual hill which curves right.)

A few minutes later one John Howard rolled by. He's the former world record holder in a gazillion things, land speed record on a bike (158 mph), 24 hour distance paced (514 miles?), did (won?) the Ironman, some other stuff. Plus he's won countless national titles and such.

I latched onto his group as he and his three companions looked like they were going nice and steady. I finally felt okay enough to take a pull, pulled too hard, and watched them roll away from me up a short steep hill. Just over the top we went through the exit from the base.

(Remember this, the short steep hill before the gates.)

Then cam some weirdness. A tunnel only for military vehicles and bicycles. Does that make a bicycle a military vehicle?

It says "Tactical and Government Vehicles Only".
That makes my bike a Tactical Vehicle (I prefer that to "Government vehicle").

Then a weird road in the middle of nowhere, complete with a bike path on one side. Massive road, but ending abruptly in the middle of nothing.

I knew the ride went out and back on the same roads so I twiddled along here. I tightened my front derailleur cable, debated whether or not I should take off my vest (no), ate a Balance Bar thing, and kept shaking my head mentally at the ease with which the group dropped me.

I'd see riders coming back in ones and twos so I knew I was in the right place.

I rolled back under the funny tunnel and up to the north gate (I figure it's the north gate since it's on the north end of the base). For those of you Googling information on Camp Pendleton for nefarious reasons, let me state that this gate also bristled with immense amounts of firepower, most of it hidden, and all sorts of anti-vehicle concrete barriers and such.

I stopped at the top of the short steep hill where Howard and company dropped me, tried to get the phone to a more accessible pocket (fail), straightened out my kit, and glanced back at the gate complex.

Riders poured through it.

Ah.

I got rolling and let the group engulf me.

Even suffering I noticed something. See the sign on the big military vehicle thing?
"Student Driver"
I chucked each time I saw one. Of course I got shelled shortly after this.

The same thing happened as when I got dropped before. No real surges, no real anything, just slowly cooking the toad in the water until BAM, it's boiling and you're dead.

It got strung out so I looked back to see if I needed to let anyone by me (so I wouldn't gap them).

I was last in line, another gapped line of riders a second or two behind me.

When I looked forward a gap had opened. I made an effort, out of the saddle, pitiful actually, to close a gap to the two women in front of me. Then they made a similar (but not pitiful) effort to close another gap as the front surged again.

I watched them ride away.

The women at the back, working hard.
I got back on after this one. Note everyone clinging to the right for shelter?

Worked me right off their wheel. Oh yeah.
Wind from the east. That would be the left side.

Jan rolled by me, powerful, but gapped that fatal gap. I got on his wheel but came off almost immediately. I watched him power off into the distance.

A little while later a guy rolled up behind me. He asked how I was doing.

"Slow."

We both chuckled.

We started talking - I learned at some point his name is, ironically, Fred. He asked a few things, like where I'm from, how long I'm staying, and where I got dropped. To the last question I had to admit that I really didn't know.

He described three critical points in the ride. The first was where the route dipped down into a little valley and then climbed out onto a plateau.

"Does the climb kind of curve right?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"Well that's where I got dropped."

The second critical bit was a short steep climb just before the second gate.

"Oh, that's where John Howard and a few other guys dropped me."

Fred grinned. He must have been thinking, "Oh, man, this guy got totally worked over!" He continued on.

The third bit was this wide open area after the tunnel. It's windy, fast, and narrow. Devastating if you're not near the front.

Yeah I know that part. I sat and rode, alone, and thought, man, if I made it here, it'd have been ugly.

I told him that I feel like I got schooled. I mean if I go to a "shop" ride that has no racers on it, there's one level of expectation. If I go do a "group ride" like Gimbels, there's another set of expectations.

Swamis is a ride unto itself because I only ever saw riders like John Howard, Michelle something (world tri champion that year), and some pro women. And I only lasted like, oh, 30 seconds, so it doesn't really count.

The Pendleton ride, as far as expectations go, ranked below Swamis but not much different than Gimbels. Frankly I was shocked at the high level of riding exhibited by the group. They were, almost uniformly, extremely smooth, competent, powerful. They had the fluency to tap hips, even push them, without the obnoxiousness of a feeling of "I have something to prove".

It's kind of like if you're driving a car and Micheal Schumacher is next to you, and he absentmindedly says "Turn in a bit sharper" or "Hold the shifter lightly" or something like that. It's so ingrained in his head it's almost instinctive for him, but for you (and me) it still requires thought.

So, yes, I feel like I have a decent base of riding skills. But these riders, they were (with one exception which I won't identify) exceptional.

Compared to them I felt like a Cat 6.

And that's on bike handling!

So, since Fred seemed to know what the heck was going on, I asked him about the level of riding in the group.

"Oh, well, there are some good riders here. It wasn't like last week, when Chris Horner, some Jelly Belly and Type 1 guys showed up. But it's still pretty impressive. Brett (did the short speech at the beginning of the ride) is the national kilo champion and got second in the pursuit to Chris, who was here too (or Chris and Brett or maybe two other names). Brett got shelled so the ride was hard. So-and-So won the season opener last week. Of course you know John Howard. He mentioned some other names that escape me now.

What Fred didn't mention immediately (I had to pry it out of him, a normal thing for really good riders) is that Fred himself is current Cat 1 on the road and track, an ex-(domestic) pro, an ex-EDS Team track racer, and holder of multiple Masters National Championship titles.

"So," he concluded, looking at me, "You had some good company out there."

Yeah, for the brief time I rode with them.

I rolled back to home base, my legs starting to twinge. I actually ate and drank, so I must have ridden hard. I did ditch the vest at some point, and I did draft a truck at high speed (50+ mph). The front end of the bike felt stable, partly because I'd put the Bastogne up front (non-aero). It felt nice to have that secure feeling, no wiggliness, no uncertainty.

Bike with shadow after I got shelled.
Note non-aero front wheel. Really helped on the fast bits.
I stopped to tighten the front derailleur cable.

After the ride I thought about what happened. I had excuses of course. I haven't been feeling good. My lungs hurt when I breathe deeply. My left nostril is the never ending mucus factory (it's yellow, not green, for those biology people). I haven't been training much.

But it is what it is. Excuses don't matter. I thought of a surprising incident a month or two ago. My nephew came up to me at one of our visits to my dad and brother's.

He looked at me with the seriousness only a six year old could have.

"Do or do not. There is no try."

I looked at him with a surprised look on my face. Such deep thoughts from a young boy.

My brother laughed at my bewildered look and explained. "Yoda said that."

Oooh.


"Do or do not. There is no try."

Good words to live by, especially when you've just gotten schooled by some very good riders.

California - Day 8 - TsunamiTwo

I just like this picture so I put it here.

I finally got out on the bike. Finally.

Now I can't blame anyone but myself for a lot of it - I get distracted easily, so when I, for example, go inside to get a part for the bike, I may detour to the the coffee machine, grab a cup, nuke it (I know, it's terrible), then while it's nuking go and check email or something.

15 minutes later I realize, "Oh, hey, I came in to get the cap for the fork. Let me get that and get back out there!"

Anyway, I left just the chain, tape, the SRM wire, and minor adjustments for this morning. I finished the rest of the bike the previous night, at least in my mind.

It took me a while to get going (see "easily distracted" above), and when I finally did I did everything in the wrong order. I put the chain on, taped the bars, taped the Cane Creek Speed Bars, and then taped the SRM wire onto the bike.

My trusty SRM wire.
I've taped the two separate wires together to form one stronger cord.
My apologies for a poor picture.

The chain is, for now, a Dura Ace chain. Nice, shiny, and not packed in really sticky greasy stuff. I had to fight decades of habit and pushed out the pin so that I had two identical ends, the inner links, on each end of the chain.

For me that's usually disaster, but this time I did it on purpose - I finally bought some reusable links, in my case the KMC MissingLink (for Shimano 10s chains).

Chain box (I didn't take a picture of it when it had a chain in it), MissingLinks, and a sticker spot which shows that I used one.

It went together pretty easily and my mind decided that these things weren't all that bad.

I taped the bars after redoing some cable housing routing. It's different rerouting housing when it all runs in the frame, so the 10 second rerouting job ended up taking a lot longer. I'm still debating how I'll handle the housing in front of the head tube, but for now I'll let it be.

I did realize that my frame is really, really small, and, frankly, the housing affects a minute amount of area.

In other words it really doesn't matter.

I installed the SRM wiring harness and remembered a really nice thing about black frames - electrical tape disappears on it. I lay long strips of tape to hold the harness to the frame. Impossible to do discretely on a custom candy orange frame but easy on a black frame.

With the bike together, I took it for a short spin. I had to drop the post but since it was already bottomed out, I had to cut it.

I went out again with the post a lot lower, another 100 yard test ride. Everything seemed okay, I had to tighten some cables and fine tune the rear derailleur's cable tension, but I felt almost ready to ride.

I got my frame pump, tried to put it on the fork (where it's cool looking and usually out of the way). The newly taped Cane Creek Bars were just a bit wider, and that and slightly different cable routing combined to make it impossible for the pump to sit in my favorite spot.

I looked at the top tube.

No, I shouldn't. I didn't want to.

Oh, what the heck.

I popped it under the top tube and it fit perfectly.

So be it.

I also put two cages on the frame. I don't know why I didn't get two side loading cages because it works pretty well, but the pump under the top tube makes it a bit tricky getting one bottle out (the top load cage one naturally).

Finally I got the saddle bag on, with its various supplies. One thing I couldn't find was my multi tool, with all the different allen wrench sizes on it. I set off with a couple 5 mm, one 6mm, and not much else.

I rode, oh, about half a mile, and realized that my saddle height was all wrong. I rode a bit more and decided the delta was great enough to justify turning around.

I returned to home base, raised the saddle a lot (arbitrarily because, to be completely honest, I forgot if I have my saddle at 67 cm or 67.5 cm BB to top of saddle) and got back on the bike.

Nice!

I went out to the ocean, headed north into Carlsbad, looking for the Starbucks where a group ride meets on Wednesdays. As in tomorrow Wednesday.

It took me 45 minutes to get there without hurrying.

The bike seemed fine with a few teething pains.

Cables continued to stretch (and housing settle), making the shifting just a bit loose, but still within usable range.

The headset was a bit tight, and combined with gusty crosswinds and an aero front wheel, I rode a drunken line much of the time.

But what about the good stuff?

Well now.

The rear wheel sits noticeably closer in under my saddle. When I stand it feels like I'm right on top of the rear wheel. For the longest time I've stood and adjusted my weight distribution to force some weight on the rear wheel. Although it works and became automatic, it robs me of a little bit of... something.

It's like trying to run really fast on a balance bar instead of the track. There's an element of "I can't run as fast on a 2x4 as I can on a running track".

Likewise, my automatic rearward weight emphasis took some juice out of my jump.

Now I have to learn how to stand without adjusting my weight distribution, to use all of my jump to jump.

Handling-wise it's great. The bike wants to go where I point it. I see skateboarders around here all the time (Tony Hawk lives around here) and I realized the short chainstays make my bike feel like a skateboard doing a wheelie. On such a skateboard you are anchored on the rear wheel and can turn anywhere you want.

On my bike I'm anchored on the rear wheel and can do whatever I want with the front end.

The front end isn't special in any way. That's a good thing, by the way. I don't want a special front end - I just one that's stable at speeds over 50 mph and lets me slam the bike into turns. Stable yet responsive.

The 3T fork works fine, although I haven't done a 50+ mph descent to test rigidity. It feels nice and rigid when I torque the bike out of the saddle or carve S-curves on some empty stretches of road.

I hadn't taped my Cane Creek Speed Bars before - I wish I did. They feel so much better now. Before, on the bare bars, my hands would slip on them a bit, the coarse anodized finish not doing much for grip. With the tape, the increased bar diameter (they're already undersized at about 22 mm diameter) and better grip makes for a very secure feeling position.

I didn't use them that much though. I haven't been feeling 100% anyway so I didn't push too hard. I did a jump up the hill just before home base but I shook my head at myself and sat up.

Overall I give the bike a thumbs up. With the Jet 6 front and Jet 9 rear wheels, Cane Creek bars, the bike weighs 19 pounds even.

First weigh-in. 19 pounds.
Note no cages, taped Cane Creek bars. I had to cut the post a bit more.
Also note boxes of Girl Scout cookies. I have a source if you have a hankering.

It should lose almost a pound with the Bastognes, a bit more with the tubulars. I regret not bringing the heat treated 3T bars, as they'll take another 100g or so off the bike, and make the front end feel even lighter.

Kitted out for a training ride it weighs a bit more. Bag, two tubes, a little chain tool, extra dropout, two valve extenders, two full bottles, a pump...

24 pounds. Yikes!
It's fully loaded though.

Well 23.94 as the scale says.

That's a bit heavier than I'd like.

I'll redo the loadout to reduce weight a bit for tomorrow. I'll swap out the front wheel for the Bastogne. Double check all the nuts and bolts. Slip in a 4mm Allen wrench in there somewhere.

And we'll see how the ride goes.