BikeLifeVT

Valle la Pena

2012-02-12T08:37:00.002-05:00

The year began much as I had hoped it would last year, but didn't. Last year I took a New Year's ride (yes, it was warm and sunny last New Year's day, too) out towards Huntington, but turned onto the Hollow Road thinking that it was just too much to tackle the gap alone. I kicked myself. It was beautiful. This year, I was determined to ride the Gap if it was warm enough - and it was.

I pulled the Special Ed off the trainer and pressed my thumb into the tires. Good enough. I grabbed my gear and dressed for the 40 degree weather. Riding out through Richmond I felt smug and enjoyed the lack of wind and easy spin with no timeline.

It's funny to me how - every year - the first time I climb up Huntington Road out of Richmond I am struck by the discomfort of gravity's fight against my ernest efforts. Even "spinning" my 28 I was thinking that a compact would be a good idea at this time of year.

Passing the cemetery before the "moose" flats entering Buell's Gore I ate my food bar and had a swig of water. I spun out the flat stretch and felt light going up that last rise before the drop to 17. Turning onto the Gap road this time of year, it's a blast to see cars pass. The occupants invariably gawk in amazement bordering on adulation - this freak on a bike on January 1st must be some incredible superhero of a rider to assault the Gap now! Perhaps never has it been more true that what lies beneath the superhero's lycra exterior lies the corpus of a mere mortal.

At a leisurely pace the Gap feels much smaller. When there is no urgency to the ascent, no cause celebre, the cranks turn with less effort. I was through the steep switchbacks before I knew it - surprised to not have seen another cyclist on the road. As I approached the pond and the final throw I could feel a subtle warmth of the faint sun behind me. The gentle radiation was enough to egg me on. I summited to find a few cars and crampon tracks in the ice and snow. Valle la pena!

I descended with the caution due such a roadway in winter - slowly, but slowly.

As I hit the Buell's Gore flats on Main Road, I went flat - fast. No worries. I had a CO2 and tube - no pump, but tat would be OK.

I opened my saddle bag and grabbed to CO2 and tube then flipped the bike and pulled the wheel. A friendly fellow walked by on the other side of the road and asked if I needed a hand. "No thanks. All set. Thanks for the offer though." Hmm, I thought. Short stem on this one. I've seen that somewhere before. Oh well.

A car slowed and pulled along side of me, and the driver asked if I needed a hand or a lift. "No thanks. I've got a tube and should be all set."

I worked the tire from the rim and wondered why it was so much harder than normal. I realized when I get it off that the tube was the same one that I had fixed by tying a knot in it months ago! (http://bikelifevt.blogspot.com/2011/10/flat-tire-fun.html) The cause of the more recent flat was a tear in the tread near the sidewall. I installed the new tube and slid the mylar wrapper from my bar in between the tear and the tube. The stem barely poked through the 30mm rim. Now I remembered that this was the same tube I had had with me the day I tied a knot in the tube. Doh!

Well, hopefully, I'll be able to get enough pressure in for a slow ride home. Silly wabbit! You didn't replace the CO2!!! The nice pedestrian returned. No longer "all set" I walked with him towards Hanksville.

My old friend Dana from Leunig's (now he's at Bobcat) lives in Hanksville and he might be home. Yes, said the pedestrian, he's my neighbor and he's home. We walked and talked and I turned into Dana's drive a mile up the road. Sure enough, he had a pump - with a presta head - and was as convivial as always, offering coffee or beer, or beer and a ride… I settled for the use of his pump.

With a little - OK a fair amount of - effort I was able to get about 80 pounds into the rear tire and was on my way. I marveled at my good fortune and the kindness of strangers, and friends. My 2 hours ride was two and a half. I got to see Dana, whom I had not seen in years, and I met an interesting neighbor. It was a fine ride and a fun time. Hasta la proxima.

Has it been that long?

2011-12-28T20:15:00.000-05:00

Last week I rode to Shelburne Road in the dark - well half of it in the dark. I managed to squander most of my time getting things ready to leave for Connecticut and the annual family gathering. This year I found myself with no time to shop early, so I was making almond butter cups, Guinness stew, spicy ginger stir fry sauce, and venison jerky for my family as gifts. It was 4:00 by the time I left for the Automaster to retrieve my CRV.

I was amazed at how much fun it was to climb slowly up Hinesburg Road, East Hill, and Oak Hill Road into the dwindling light and then to descend from 2A onto Walker and into near darkness. My light had not been on the charger since early spring so I had no idea how much life it had. Just barely enough, but enough. Zig zagging through the back roads at rush hour on the Thursday night before Xmas let me remember how much fun it is to commute. It was a little sketchy as the temps dropped and the meltwater from Tuesday's light snow froze on the road surface.

Commuting reminds me how much fun it is to ride. Last year, I got a great ride in on New Year's day. It doesn't look hopeful for this year, but we'll see. Perhaps an MTB ride on the lake will be in store. Maybe there will be enough snow to ski.

Winter seems to have arrived at last, albeit without much fanfare and with little snow to show for it.

Flat tire fun

2011-10-15T07:49:00.000-04:00

On Tuesday I had the treat of a cancellation right after my lunch break. I had stuffed the specialized and a pump in the car and I had grabbed a spare tube from an old saddle bag to put in the new one. So At lunch I headed out to run some errands in Burlington.

I took riverside from Winooski and enjoyed the sunshine and scenery along the way. Fun to ride leisurely enough to check things out. After looping through the Three Sisters neighborhood I got to the osco and filled a prescription. While waiting for it outside I noticed my resr tire was dead flat.

No worries, I thought. I have a spare tube. I discovered quickly enough, however, that the short valve stem would not come far enough through my rim to inflate it. Back to the rim, tire, and the old tube and a search for the puncture. What I found was that the rimstrip on the rim had slipped, exposing the tube to the spoke holes. They're very sharp. Sure enough, I fou d the puncture on the inside of the tube's circumference. No patch kit.

I fixed the rimstrip. I took the tube and stretched the punctured part as far as I dared then tied a Knot as tightly as I could, sequestering the hole. I worked the tube back onto the rim and struggled to get the tire re-seated on the rim.

I had only one CO2 so it was a one-shot deal. It worked. I tried to use only half the 16g cartridge in case it leaked. It held all the way to Ski Rack where I bought a new tube and a spare CO2. My fix got me all the way back to Winooski!

Recuerda me

2011-10-05T07:59:00.000-04:00

Riding through Waterbury and Mooretown this began to form in my mind. Why? I don't know. I don't really speak Spanish and I don't know that my translation works all that well. Nevertheless this is what circulated:

En la madrugada recuerda me.

Recuerda mi visaje,

Mi vello, mi garganta, mis espaldillas.

Cuando venga la madrugada espero que requerda Mia.

La pelo como neblina, mortaja por mi mueca –

estómago, los manos, las rodillas, las palmas,

todos des partes de su ultima muñeca.

En la madrugada recuerda me.

De claro en claro entreoí las chillerías de las ovejas debajo de bramido del ciclón

Diciendo para mi quien no puede hablar para mi

para mi de quien voz nunca jamás vendrá

Estoy oveja quien no puedo chillar

En la madrugada le acuerda de mí?

Le acuerda mis brazos no puede abracar? Mis pies como piernas no peude bailar?

Cogió mi elegancia, le acuerda como planearía yo?

En la madrugada le acuerda de mí?

En la madrugada la ventada me llevaré

Mi cuerpo como ceniza

Levado en las alas de ángel

Entre las entrañas del infierno

Mud-bogs and mushrooms

2011-09-25T21:09:00.000-04:00

A clip someone shot from last year's drier than dry race: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PMK-J411_24

The race meeting begins at 5:15. This is actually a good idea because everyone is more or less on site by 5:45 that way. With announcements made and the race dedicated to the recently departed "Guinness," a lab whose presence has been a mainstay for many years, we headed for the start line in the total pre-dawn darkness punctuated by headlamps and handlebar mounted lights of many riders.

0600 and the first wave of experts heads off - the 34 and under crowd. At 0605 we expert vets - 35 to 54 - get the green light to go and we're off. A hundred knobby-tired steeds ranging from the rigid 26ers to the full suspension 29ers that make me drool, piloted by sleep deprived, adrenaline and caffeine fueled riders hum up the macadam towards the short piece of Route 44 that leads to our first dirt road. I'm feeling fine.

Ted King, a pro riding for the Liquigas and formerly for Cervello Test Team, was on the front line and led a group away at an alarming pace. I was not feeling that good. Down the dirt to the first left up hill the lack of warmup begins to make itself clear. By the time we hit the first single track the field is broken into smaller groups, but there are still enough to make it hard to navigate a muddy hill with any consistency. Getting on and off the bike is exhausting and frustrating when racing. Fortunately for me, I had decided to ride instead of race. So, I took it all in stride.

By the time we were 2 hours in the mud was so thick and deep in some places that I once got mired, got off my bike, and it remained standing completely upright, buried to the hubs. All I could do was laugh. I pulled the bike from the muck and dropped it on the tires several times to clear some mud. Jumping back on I quickly succumbed to chainsuck as the grit grabbed my chain and pulled the derailleur into the spokes. Over and over I pulled it out, cleaned it off and started again only to be stopped dead by the locked-up chain. I remembered last year's race - so dry and smooth - and wished for a moment that my derailleur would just break. Then I remembered: You're riding, not racing. So much for granny gear. Chain-suck happens when your chain is slack and that means when using the small ring (which this course pretty much requires of anyone in the mud) you're more susceptible. So it was middle and big for me from there on in.

On dirt-road section Dave C passed me. He had started with the Sport riders since he doesn't MTB race and that meant he had started 20 minutes back. He'd go on to finish 8th overall in 4:51!!

I settled in and worked to spin the roads and then find my rhythm on the single track. I was flying past people on the downhills and even in the woods. I was doing great. On the climbs my lack of riding showed in spades. This set up a leap-frog with many of the same riders for the rest of the race. In the woods again I looked down: Was that a black trumpet chanterelle?! And there a King Bolete. Tempted to stop but determined to keep riding I let them pass. Later on a spread of lobster mushrooms beckoned and I restrained myself again.

I rode one section so well I wished I had done it faster and again. Mountain biking is a blast! I nailed the rock bridges and sailed over the small rubble piles. Roots and ruts didn't get the best of me at all. It felt great. My legs were on fire from pushing a "big" (relatively) gear so much. but what a blast. A Gavin Hill I refilled my camel back and chewed down some more caffeinated shot-blocks. Buzzing a bit I bombed a downhill to the nasty zig-zag that takes you over a narrow plank bridge to a hard left for about 50 yards before turning 150 degrees to the right and up a 25% grade on wet soil. I hate walking the bike. I rode it. Up to the top and another hard left to a flatter section.

No time to catch my breath but a slowdown gives a little break. To my question a rider says we have about 15 miles to go. Wow! That seems like nothing at this point. The singletrack continued and carried us through to the canyon with the magnificent waterfall at the horseshoe turn into the rocks ride. Out of the woods and onto the last of the downhill dirt roads before turning once more onto Route 44, brining us to the last aid station and the hellish ride through muscle cramping grass and mud. But this was different. The best part of the post-Irene rerouting was that it cut out some of the field riding. The shortened distance brought us to the last piece of singletrack before the finish. Approaching the ski slope crossing - an off camber traverse of several runs, I was delighted to see a small ramp up and over the treacherous snow-gun piping that has gotten me more years than not.

After wending our way through the last downhill switchbacks we crossed the bridge that took us into the home stretch. Pleased to be finished and thrilled to have enjoyed it so much I found Phil and Dave and began the luxurious post-race debrief. Another VT50. Another epic ride. Another close to a season with ups and downs and in-betweens. Now on to hunting and thinking about what next year will bring.

VT 50 prelude

2011-09-19T21:17:00.001-04:00

Last year the weather at the VASS Vt 50 MTB Race and Run was so spectacular I nearly wept for lack of a camera during the race. I was determined to carry one during the next race, which will happen this Sunday.

This year, the weather has been perfect for days and it can't last. This is Vermont, after all. Predictably, tomorrow it will rain.

The forecast calls for gorgeous on Wednesday followed by gloomy through Saturday with a grey day on Sunday. This, too, could change.

As Phil B and I hunkered in the reeds on Saturday morning, watching our decoys and hoping the geese would like the way they look and want to join them, I couldn't help but think about the fact that I had only ridden about 3 hours in the past week. The 50 consists of about 8,000 feet of climbing and 5 hours in the saddle. Maybe I'd be better off just hunting.

It seems that every year I come to a point when I just feel more like having a whiskey and reading a book than I do getting ready to ride, let alone race. This year it happened sooner than it has in the past. Could it be that I'm just done? I suppose. Or maybe it's just the fact that it has been a lackluster season in some respects and it might feel better just to put it behind me.

The other side of this conversation is about visiting with friends in Brownsville, a nearly annual event that is as much fun as the 50 itself. It is the one time I am guaranteed to see them and their kids in their annually tallermoregrownup stages.

So, I am more or less determined to ride the 50 as a photobikographer. I hope the weather cooperates and gives us the pleasure it did last year. If not, it will be whatever else it is. I have (forgive the expression - I hate it, too) no dog in this fight. I think there is no fight left in this dog, this year. And that's OK.

A funny thing happened on the way to the criterium: Ha piovuto, llovido, pleuvasse

2011-09-05T21:50:00.000-04:00

A funny thing happened on the way to the crit. It rained, and rained, and then it opened up and came down like Noah was on hand. The first of it came while I was on 89 near Williston and then it let up, becoming a somewhat enervating drizzle that had me wondering about the sanity of a sport that encourages this sort of risk taking. I got to "my" parking lot - actually it's the Cover's parking lot (they introduced me to it years ago) and went to sign in and locate (I hoped) my forgotten wheel.

This is not the first wheel I've forgotten but it's been a while. The first was permanent. 1995 or '96 in a spider-ridden sinkhole park in South Central Florida and my cop buddies and I were pre-riding an off-road course we wanted to use for the Police MTB Instructor class we were teaching. I had been riding a sweet pair of custom, hand built (by none other than Dave Porter) wheels that were the envy of everyone who saw them. And I left the front wheel at the trailhead when we drove away. I actually drove the 2.5 hours back to check for it and it was gone. Imagine that. Today, my wheel was there. Phew!

I ran into Alberto and told him where I was set up. Signed in and was pleased to see that I wasn't fined for tossing my banana three feet outside the feed zone.

I set up the pop-up in a gentle drizzle. One by one the crew arrived and we set our trainers up, got our bottles ready and got into our kits. An hour and a half before start time. I popped a few blocks of caffeinated black cherry goodness into my mouth, paid a visit to the Ski Rack and returned to change my break pads and adjust the calipers to the Williams S30 wheels I was riding with the power-tap hub. I climbed aboard my trusty steed and discovered that the battery in the hub was reading low. Damn. I actually had batteries in the car. Could I find the hub tool? No. I almost went to the Rack again to borrow one then decided that it would have to last me through the race. Back on the bike and the drizzle increased. I plugged in my headphones listening to Lilly Allen's F**K You, a sweet little ditty about her affection for W. Then the rain started to reduce visibility.

We watched the women's field lose two or three to slide outs on the rain-slicked on the corner. Then the juniors and three, four, five went down individually, sliding all the way to the far side of the road on the wet pavement. Ouch. This was looking less and less fun.

The rain was becoming a river down Pine Street. It was overflowing the drains and we were losing sight of the grate and the manhole cover that lies about 6 feet inside of it, which creates the best line of the turn right between them. Hit the manhole cover and even on a dry day you could go down. Today would be a disaster.

We started to wonder if they'd call it.

They did.

As the M40 field chased around the field went neutral, and took a couple very slow, wet laps.

First it was a hold on the race. Then it was the M40 field was cancelled. Then it was the whole shebang.

A year of training and focus. A day of planning and hoping for the perfect attack to keep AC in the yellow and maybe, just maybe move Phil to a top ten, James to a top 20, and me to the sprinter's jersey, washed away. We live to race another day. It's been another great year.

We took a little victory lap for Alberto.

Stage 3, to sprint or not to sprint. That is the question.

2011-09-04T20:10:00.000-04:00

0640 hours and I'm headed to meet Phil (kind of like Groundhog Day - doh! I didn't mean to make that reference) at the Crossett Brook School. Today's race is not like other GMSR RR stages. This one will take us through my hometown - maybe past friends. It will take us on my favorite training roads, in the direction I often travel them, if a little out of order.

I drove the one section I was not familiar with - a jog we'd take the other way - Winooski Street in Waterbury, which we'd hit from River Road in Duxbury. The road in front of the Waterbury side of the bridge across the Winooski River had washed out with Irene and the repair job was incomplete, leaving us to cross a 12 foot span of 1.5 inch stone at speed on 23s and 25s. I was psyched for the 25s.

I collected phil and we headed to the mountain. Would there be a break on Duxbury Gap after the KOM? Could be. Would I sit in or was I still thinking about the sprint? I'm going for it. Right at the VAST trail bridge.

After signing in I saw Art R. His son Chris is top-ranked in the state for points. Art is a great guy who photographs all of his sons' (both of them) events. Chris's brother, Robert, is a nationally ranked collegiate wrestler. Chris is a great guy and fantastic cyclist. We discuss the Winooski St gravel. Had I seen the line on the far right? In the sand? No, I hadn't. He describes it and I comment on my 25s. He says he doesn't have that choice. Phil brought me his barely used Optimum and I intend to swap out my Pro3 Race with that one. Want to use my P3? Maybe. I tell him where we're parked and I wish him well. We both hope the other keeps the rubber to the road.

Bikes unloaded I change the tire, preferring the puncture resistance of the Optimum. It's a great tire. Super smooth and fast rolling and requires much less air - 73 to 105 PSI - than my 23s. I road one set of them for 5,000 miles this year. Damn. That's a lot of miles. I added them up from the training file and double checked the math. Too much.

I inflate my spares and Phil decides there will be enough in the truck for it to be neutral so he leaves his in the car. I head to find the wheel truck. None of the officials can say where they are parked. None of the riders seems to know. I trace a zig-zag through two levels of parking lot before finding them. Wheels in.

I change and butter up. SPF? No. If I have to get into a TT position I don't want to slip around. We should have plenty of cloud cover - it is supposed to rain later. I'd love another trip to the port-o-lets. What is it about racing that stimulates the body to "evacuate?" Primal knowledge, I guess. Lighten the load if you have to outrun a mastodon or saber-tooth or something.

Ten minutes to start. Theres David C. David works now for an optics company that supplies the military with glasses. He's also a super strong sprinter - I've yet to beat him in a crit - and age group champ in Triathlon. He commends my efforts from Monday and offers his chainsawing services to anyone who needs a hand. He loves to cut up trees he says. Then he says: you guys have to get to the start! Josh S is here now wondering if I have a bottle cage in my car. No, though I used to have one. His fancy carbon cage broke in a crash yesterday. On the start line the other breaks. Damn! He carries both bottles in his jersey pockets. Very inconvenient and it's already feeling hot. He'll be reaching back a lot - not something that makes responding to attacks very easy.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, We're off. Neutral for five miles, the first 2 of which are descending out of Sugarbush over crappy broken pavement. It's a ski area, so they don't seem bothered that the roadway is useless until it's packed with snow. Why have it paved in the first lace if you're not going to maintain it?

Pow! A blowout in the first quarter mile. Then I hear a pishhhhttt and my rear wheel goes flat. Is that me? Yup, someone says. It's you. Hand up. Truck stops. I yank the powertap wheel and run my bike to the truck to retrieve my own wheel. I prefer to know my equipment even when it fails. So much for data from this ride. What the hell, I wanted to ride the lighter wheels anyway. Wheel set I jump back on and chase down the hill easily, knowing the field will be neutral for a while.

Onto 17 from German Flats and I think I hear my brakes rubbing. Yup. I open the rear calipers and then the barrel adjuster. It doesn't look good. Still neutral I stop and adjust the brakes and reset the barrel and quick release. I chase back again.

Onto 100 and through Waitsfield to some cheers. We're glad for the attitude since we feared the opposite and had heard that some people in some towns had reached the end of their ropes and were complaining about the mere presence of bikes during such a time of crisis.

Finally released from neutral we get a warm up before turning towards Duxbury Gap. I tell riders about the 20 foot long canyon in the roadway ahead on the right - big enough to swallow a horse. Well almost.

Left on 100 and up the hill before the dip and ascent past Harwood Union - our usual staging point for the circuit race. This is my hill. I have ridden it so many times this year alone that I feel I know every ripple in the pavement. 2K to the KOM and there's the slightest accelleration. The points leader is in good shape for now, but he wants this one in case he doesn't make the Ap Gap KOM finish in first. 1K to go and I've yet to come out of the saddle. I could take this KOM it seems. Not likely.

The KOM-ers go with 500M and we follow as a group. A brief attack after the KOM is put down easily by the field and we jockey for position all the way down to the turn for Main Street in Duxbury. I manage about 5th wheel and roll into the corner. The yellow jersey comes along my right in the turn. Is he nuts? Didn't he just go down yesterday? Down the hill to the left onto River St and there's an attack on the dirt road. Smart. String it out a bit before the right turn onto the bridge for Winooski Street. I make the outside and ask Phil if he's going for Chris's line. No answer. I am. I stay right and find myself alone along the bridge railing. A short frightening patch of soft sand then hard-packed sand with only a foot or two of gravel to contend with. Nice. Matt S goes flat on the left side of the road. Damn.

Left onto Main St, Route 2 in Waterbury and past some of the flood damaged areas including the park, then under the railroad tracks and onto the new smooth pavement for a quarter mile. This is the return section of the GMSR TT course. It's a section of road I ride 3 times a month maybe. Two miles to my attack. I sit in. I mark the green jersey anytime he moves. Past the flea market and the tractors I covet, down the hill by the Little River Road, and then up and over the knoll and down into lowland hard hit by the flooding. Here is where houses were islands if they were lucky. Some were boats. We pass the Cider House BBQ and come to the meadow where just Friday I watched a crew removing an LP fuel tank that had floated from a half mile away.

I move to the yellow line. The field is slowing in anticipation of the climb up and under the highway. As we pass the VAST trail bridge and start the climb I decided the answer to the question. I attacked. I started with the roll-away, and then with maybe 10 meters gap I hit it hard and was up and over. I put enough gap on the field that the moto came in behind me. I was hauling. Loving the tailwind I settled in to TT. Down hard and fast. Back off just a little, you're doing fine. Check behind, no one. Bottom of the first hill and that slight, almost imperceptible rise before the next section of descent. A rider in my mirror - yes, my mirror. I've been riding with it on this bike while training and its race legal. It's aero and awesome. Then the field. I gave it another 10 seconds effort and realized I was done for. Dream dashed.

The field enveloped my like a shroud and I could do nothing but sigh and enjoy being in the folds of the draft again. At 500 to go the field accelerates and Greg Izzo beats Chris Wood by a narrow margin. I'm nowhere near it. Through Bolton and nearing Richmond I move to the front again, wanting to avoid any unpleasantness crossing the tracks onto Cochran Road. Jake Levison is on the corner shooting. It will look like I was really something today!

Attacks for no reason along Cochran yield to somewhat unsteady bobbling towards the feed zone. I look for the Cervello sign and Jean L. I had hoped for two bottles but hadn't been clear. He hands me a musette bag and I wrestle two bottles from it and try to toss the rest. It tangles on my arm as the banana goes flying. I can't free it in time to make the end of the zone and when I look ahead the field is away be a gap of 50 meters and growing. Attack the feed zone. Yup. They're really moving now and I work my tail off all along Cochran Rd and past the Round Church. I hear my name but can't turn my head, focused on the end of the field I'm gaining on all too slowly as the Hinesburg Road climb approaches. I have to make the bridge before the hill or I'm screwed. If they get to Fays Corners before I catch them I'll be in the headwind alone all the way to the Gap!

Burning candles I know I'd rather have later I sprint hard. I grab ahold of the last wheel and it comes off the back. I leapfrog from one to the next, reminded of crippled ducks trying to stay with the flock dropping off behind. Not me, damn it. Spinning to recover I find I'm gaining ground on the climb - a good sign. Passing a few more now I see John P ahead and target him. Cresting the hill I pass him on the right and hammer for the bridge, carrying my momentum through the turn, I'm there. I'm in. My fate sealed I look for Phil and the yellow jersey. Both found I start moving ahead very slowly, but never allowing the field to get away. Finally at the top of the last quarter I rest. Here I will stay.

Then Alberto rolls off the front. Nothing hard or fast, but no one responds. He stays away by 50M and then a little more. With about 100M rolled out he's alone. Near the top of the climb two riders bridge. They seem closer now and no one seems concerned. Down to Triple L trailer park and onto North Road - a broken piece of Hinseburg that never seems to garner enough attention to be paved (too many trailers and not enough money?). Still away. Onto 116 and I test the waters. "Who's up the road?" I ask innocently. No one seems to know. A good sign that they think he's unimportant. I roll up to see the yellow jersey and keep him boxed. No need. I roll back.

Chatting with Phil and others for the rest of the ride to the base of the Gap is a new experience. Nice. What are your plans? Asks Phil. Ride it steady and not too hard, I say. I've got nothing in this fight but to finish. My 45th GC is hardly a call for an attack on Ap Gap. His plans? Ride as hard as I can hold for the climb. Because he can.

Left onto 17 the field hits it much harder than I want to go. I settle in as if it were a hard training ride - no more, no less. It starts to rain. Big drops that hit my glasses and cool my neck, and then it stops. Spin in the saddle to that point then upshift two and stand for 25 meters then downshift one, downshift two, sit and spin. I pass Chris Wood. He looks done. I feel fine. At the neutral feed (which may or may not be an official neutral this year) is Mike Burris. He hands me a bottle and I give him two empties. It's ice water. Nice! It's pushing 85 I bet and the rain lasted a minute.

I'm passing people already who have blown on their all too hard early efforts. No point. I continue until I connect with another Sound Solutions rider, Chris K. There are two more riders ahead of us. He's standing and breathing hard. I spin past him and he settles in behind me. We catch the other two. He stands and passes me then downshifs and I pass him. In this way we make Jerusalem and I settle the pace and spin up the grade like so many times this year. We crest the false summit of Baby Gap and Chris passes me breathing harder. Why. I wonder. Now we're on the false flat and we start a paceline but Chris keeps taking what consider long pulls. I encourage him to take it easy. He doesn't. Nor do the others.

I stand for the last piece of rise to the summit and go big ring then sit in. They're with me and we paceline sporadically. They go too fast again and I let them go down to the base and the start of the real deal. I take the gap in my usual way. The way I described to Heather when I rode it with her for her first time. Carry momentum from Main Road to the farm in the saddle, then stand to the tree line then sit till the false flat then stand and upshift and then sit in around the corner. In this way I feel like I give all my muscles a break at different times. It's a nice rhythm, nothing earth shattering or record setting but nice.

My posse is falling behind, laboring. I'm riding easy. I continue passing riders from my field and some from the 2s. Finally hitting the hard switchbacks I see Karl up ahead. I catch him and encourage him as we come to the last turn and the bump to the false flat at about a K to go. He says he's spent but grabs my wheel. I pull him to 500 and then I see Christian ahead. I spin as much as I can from 500M and, though not easy, it's not so bad. Like a long training day after a couple long training days. Friends are shouting my name, telling me to catch him. I upshift and pull alongside. Come on Christian, I shout. I stand on the pedals for that Kodak moment hoping to photo-finish with Christian. He's done. He's worked hard all day for Alberto and he's done. Somewhat sorry to nip him from 50M I know he'd have done the same to me. Probably has.

I find Phil. Alberto finds me and says he's done it. He's in yellow!

Por la manana!

Stage 2 continued

2011-09-04T15:00:00.000-04:00

Coming up the KOM for the second time the field was blissfully slower. I had no trouble hanging with the peloton and we regained the kings in short order. We went faster as the climb evaporated behind us and our focus became the imminent descent. I was a few wheels back this time and had no need to drop on the top tube. I came by a rider on his left near the center line and called it out. "Hey! Don't pass so close to the line!" in what universe do you make the rules? Fis moi la paix, alhors cochon! Forgive me Jean and Gary Trudeaux.

Onto 116 and the field started to get jumpy. Attacks and counters followed by sitting up and swerving out of the way. 10k to go and the moto comes along side to neutralize us. What? What did he say? A crash up the road. Neutral until it's cleared. Ten mph max. A mandatory repite. Ok with me. Any one have any plain water? I ask of no one in particular. 383 offers Heed and I accept. 4K to go and we're released. Not before Phil says,"I wonder if that was Beather's field?"

I feel ready. Good position, about 15 back. Good legs, refreshed and ready to contest.

Phil Leggett, longtime TDF announcer and commentator, would say, "well, Bob, the peloton looks nervous today. A lot of nervous riders out there today, I'll tell you." And he would be right. Matt S bobbles ahead of me avoiding a near crash. I'm forced right and ta-ting! The sound of spokes on skewer as the yellow jersey, half-wheeling me foolishly, gets a quick trip to the tarmac. Shit. It sucks to have a hand in someone's crash even if it was his fault. And the maillot jaune! Not a minute later another crash right in front of me. Rear wheel up and over. Down hard got the pavement, the sound of crunching carbon and clashing rims on asphalt fills my ears. 3K to go. Phil asks," is that you?" he hears a rubbing sound as do I but I answer No. 1K to go and Phil moves towards the front as planned. I move to follow but my legs won't move me forward. What the? The field is full of attacks. Chris W goes hard, and I jump to counter but can't turn the cranks. The field is leaving me. What is going on. Absent the sound of other bikes I hear my own. I look down. My rim is so badly out of true that the tire is rubbing fully on quarter and maybe a third of a revolution on the chainstay. That's no way to move up. I cross the finish line. It's a wonder the tire didn't blow. That would have caused a crash. I stop and pull the wheel partially out of the drop outs so I can get it to turn without rubbing. Not ideal but it will get me home.

342 won the sprint for a total of sixteen points. Chris was second. Good on him. I'll have to think about tomorrow's six point hot spot. Nine to sixteen going into the crit isn't too bad.

Late that night we learn that Heather was in the crash. She crashd in last year's stage 2 as well and suffered a broken collar bone then. This time she got her bell rung but good. Helmet split in two. She thinks about racing in stage 3. I email saying "There's no dishonor in self preservation." I hope she chides to sit it out. Too many seemingly modest head injuries turn out to be TBIs. Not worth the risk.

I'll have to think about the sense of sprinting tomorrow.

Stage 2

2011-09-03T20:54:00.000-04:00

I met Phil at the Richmond P+R at 6:30 and began our trip to Hinesburg. I got to the P+R a little early and was messing with Twitter - trying to figure out how to tweet to my facebook page the way my cousin Johnny does, with no luck - when Phil arrived. I said something like: I shouldn't be allowed to play with these things. He told me about a currently airing NPR piece on the subject and we tuned in, but as quickly began talking about other things. I pointed out the flooding and the, where I was when… and we talked about the craziness of the storm; how fast it had gone from a heavy rain to the sodden mess of mass destruction it turned out to be.

We talked a little strategy: If we were all together at the 1K Phil would give me his wheel and go hard for as long as he could, leading me out. Burris was interested in the points as well and we hoped we could set it up so it was more or less us against them at the end. All with their permission. Things turned out a little differently.

Arriving at NRG early we parked as far into the lot as we could, allowing space for later arrivals. An official came over and asked us to move to the front of the lot and we did. No sooner had we gotten our gear out than Peter came over and asked us to move farther in to allow for staging. Then he asked if we could help set up his pop-up tent just as another official asked us to park in the back lot instead.

Once settled I set up the trainer, made my final decision on wheels - the power-tap, even though they're heavier because I wanted the data - and went down to sign in. Returning by way of the port-o-lets for the 3rd trip of the morning I cleaned of my rear tire and set the bike in the trainer. A quick change and chamois lube - I am the king of lube, to the extent that I once had it squishing through my shorts on a training ride (better to much than too little) - and I was on the trainer with 50 minutes to warm up.

Predictably, as I finished and got ready to head to the staging area, Martha returned to ask me to move my car farther over towards the recycling dumpsters. After a brief discussion about nails and broken glass I moved 3 inches to the right.

In staging we got a tongue lashing for riders having not adhered to the single file post race rule after yesterday's event. The Town of Warren was not happy with us. What a drag. I had an instinct to speak up about tomorrow's stage that goes through my town and how important it would be to NOT THROW WRAPPERS ON THE ROAD AND TO NOT PEE ON ANYONE'S LAWN!!! I refrained.

We were to be neutral until Buck Hill Road, about 2 miles South of the start. The neutral continued a mile farther than it was supposed to, which was fine by me since it carried us up the nasty little hill out of Hinesburg. I had warmed up well but always I feel the first incline's wretched strain on my race-tense muscles. Not too bad today.

I'm marking John P, Alberto C, and Chris from Sound Solutions who took the jersey from me last year. I'm marking Phil because I know he'll help me if I get dropped. I won't. We cruise down the hill and make the turn onto Hinesburg Hollow Road. This road is a gradual incline for a mile but we all held tight. The legs feel good.

We're sailing now. I'm sitting in. The wind is from the South pretty strong so I choose an inside line. The Burris team is moving towards the front. Alberto is sitting in 4th, 23 seconds back from the lead. Sitting in feels good. Now the turn onto Main Road in Huntington and the pace livens. Not too hard to hold on and now it's time to think about moving to the top third. I'll want to be on the outside by the time we climb the KOM with the wind on our left. The field is dense and riders are getting jumpy. 382 gets called for a yellow line violation and is sent to the back of the field, but is not ejected. Through Huntington Center we're now on the GMBC TT course - all familiar roads in my backyard and I know them well. I pace myself and revel in the 39X28 gearing available to me. Shifting is a bit off but there's time to adjust on the fly. Shift up, fine. Down? Jumps 2. Tweak it up a quarter, then a half. It take a full turn but there it is. Fine. The attacks start and the field responds as a unit. None of these climbs - even the KOM - is too hard to counter.

The pace is fast and I can feel my breathing get shallow. Spin. Don't ride anyone else's style. Stay in the saddle, save the quads for the sprint. Past the cemetery and down to the moose flats of Buel's Gore - might truly be a one horse town with only a dozen or so families - up the last little bump until the crappy pavement that leads to 17 and the turn on Baby Gap backwards (there is only one frontwards way to climb a gap: Up).

Phil comes by me after the KOM and encourages me. I'm actually feeling alright but the encouragement is nice, as is the wheel. The downhill is a screamer and the road is washed out near the bottom. We move hard to the front to avoid any slowdowns or crashes. In the final descent I get on the front and drop into a top-tube sitting crouch that gives me a small target and a cannonball-like speed. Up and back in the saddle to turn onto 116 and almost immediately a rider is chiding me for the crouch: Dude! Don't get down on your top tube when your in the lead like that. If you crash you'll take out the whole field. As if crashing on the front in any other stance would be OK? I don't crash in that stance. Others yes, but not that one. I apologize for frightening him and assure him I'll be doing it next lap if I'm on the front.

The jockeying begins almost immediately and the sprinters try to stay behind the other sprinters, which of course does not work since someone has to be on the front. On it goes to 3K to go: A long downhill run where we begin to set up. One rider tries to break away. We reel him in. Chris tries to get on the front wheel then thinks better of it and stops behind someone. 1K to go and we're bunched. It freaks me out as always. 500M one rider goes hard and two follow with Chris behind. I grab his wheel. There's a break out to the right and then a rider comes hard charging from behind on my right. I'm up and pounding the be-jesus out of the pedals passing one, two, with one rider in front the rider on the right screams past me and him. I give it my last effort and fail to make more than 3rd. Damn! A hard one 3 points to be sure.

TBC

Goodnight Irene

2011-09-03T06:05:00.000-04:00

It's the End of the Worlds (and the start of the GMSR) and I feel fine

2011-09-02T20:02:00.000-04:00

Its the End of the Worlds and we know it, and I feel fine.

From time to time bikelife and real life collide. Sundays horrendous rains collapsed into brilliant sunshine that would last for the next two days, and then some. The rescues and cleanup continues.

No generation not living in 1927 has experienced the likes of this in Vermont. And here we were two days later getting ready for the last TNW before the GMSR begins.

The end of the Worlds

After shooting the damage and sending images I drove through Waterbury to packet pickup. I was nearly brought to tears by the devastation I witnessed on my way. How could I even consider racing at a time like this. It was a similar question I had asked about taking photos. Does it make more sense to be involved in the "recovery," the documentation or, in the case of the race, acts that infuse dollars, than to be involved in the cleanup, rescue, or rebuilding?

In the end it was those who lost a lot in the floods who helped me make the decision. Derek M said, "Ride! I would. Ride for me!" On photos, Lisa said: We're too busy to do what you're doing and we want to have a record. So, we ride on.

Today was the start of the GMSR. The ITT with its uphill start and finish generally have caused me fits of agony and self-depricating remarks unfit for print. Last year was as bad as ever, but this year was different. We had less tailwind, but I think I did it faster than last year. And I went slower than last year at the start. Jake H., and most others concurred that a steady effort early followed by the hard effort when the grade softened, and the hardest on the slight downhill grades would be the best bet. It seemed to be.

My clock read 16:04 compared to last year's 16:08. I have no idea what the official time is yet.

I rode home and stopped to photograph in Waitsfield, where the lineup of shoes at the relief center was amazing, and then Waterbury, where the region had come together to lend a hand. Our friend Jay P had only this year opened and completely stocked a physical therapy office in Waterbury. All the contens were ruined. Then on towards Richmond. On the way I came across a fuel company retrieving a 500 gallon propane tank that had floated a half mile from it home. I saw beyond it a child's slide set lodged 15 feet high in a cluster of trees.

The same houses that had been damaged, made into islands, their contents destroyed by the spring flooding that was so unexpected, were again decimated by this unforeseen level of expected flooding.

Tomorrow I will race for the jersey - the sprint points jersey - against my friend John P. His team and mine will attempt to fend of other contenders and protect his teammate Alberto C, who is in contention for the maillot jaune. We'll see what comes of that!

My day of rest

2011-08-28T22:05:00.002-04:00

It's the Sunday before the GMSR, my day of rest, and I spent most of it wiring three circuits from my load center to a 240V line I planned to hook to my generator. Unfortunately the twist-lock plug I had on hand was a three-prong not a four as the generator required. It's amazing how much longer everything takes in the dark. Off to run errands - including getting a 4-prong plug for the generator - and see what damage might be afoot. By the time I got back (6:00) the power was back on. Great day of nothing.

My Trek frame is en-route, albeit slowly, from Cali. It should arrive the day before the race starts. Will I build it? A nice light frame to climb that brutal TT hill would be nice. Wish I had my rear tubular to go with it.

Tomorrow I'll tear down the specialized and try to get rid of the creaking - grit in the seat post no doubt - and shoot Zoe O bike ABCs samples for Local Motion. A lot of effort for a volunteer opportunity. Oh, well. What we do for good causes.

Yesterday's fun ride in the sun yielded more than a decent pre-GMSR workout. I met a farmer. A young man who offered to fill my water bottles when I stopped to read a sign in his yard. Forty-odd acres on one side, well hayed with round bales, and another 100 behind the house. That and full-time work for B+J in St A keeps the man busy. His comment about the confection was odd to me: "Not something people really need, but I guess for some who don't drink, they go for a pint instead."

I thought of lots of things I don't need, but have or want. I don't need the collection of bikes I have, or the beer and whiskey and wine I drink. I don't need the various guns and watches and sunglasses and other crap. I don't need two computers and an iPhone. I don't need two homes, three boats, a tractor, a 4-wheeler - I have a lot of stuff. I don't need any of it. But I like it. I'd actually like to part with that one accidental boat, but that's another story in and of itself.

My world is full of things that I use for the various activities that bring me great pleasure. I want a new camera. I don't need it, but I have lots of justifications. I want a full frame sensor for landscapes and better depth of field. I want a couple of 2.8 lenses and a fixed 4 500mm for wildlife. I could drop $20,000 on camera gear that would barely fill a child's book bag and still have appetite for more. Now that's a bit nuts. Then again, I could drop the same on bike stuff and not even notice the space I'd lose in the basement.

My brain is active. My body is resting. I am thinking of the race. I am thinking of Tim Krabbe: "I wipe my tires clean and climb onto the bike. From the finish line I retrace the final straightaway. I count the strokes. Forty. That's 250 meters, a long way to sprint out of the curve. Too long? What if I upshift during the sprint? Or is it too short for that?" (from The Rider)

How many times have I overthought this bloody thing? A hundred? Five hundred? I've lost count like I lost the number of crashes I've had - so many that I hardly think about it anymore except that I'm scared to death of fast downhill turns now. That's an exaggeration. I am timid going into them. I'll overcome it by Sunday since I'll have to fly down Middlebury Gap and the corners are hairy enough to kill a person.

I've spent the day posting photos and wiring an unnecessary generator link. Tonight I'll sleep and rest up for tomorrow's stretching and rest before work, and stretching and more rest after. Tuesday I'll ride the TNW and see how I feel. Wednesday more rest and the start of the carbo-load. Thursday I'll open the legs up and focus on the race ahead. Friday I will race. I will race with my teammates, my friends, my heros. There are more of us in the Cat 3s this year and that is a fine thing indeed. We'll race as a happy family, each with his own goals and each willing to look out for the other's. It is in fieri, in the process of becoming what it will be when it is done. Such is life.

AG National Champs

2011-08-26T11:50:00.000-04:00

Last weekend I shot the bike leg of the AG National Tri Championships held in Burlington. It was a hot day but very cool to be up on I189 watching the riders work up the longer-than-it-seemed-grade into the brief shade at the summit. Though I was shooting for GMM, I got some shots of some other locals and can provide files upon request.

Hope you like some of these shots.

Here is a link to photos of the race: Look for the page links at the bottom of the page AGNATS

T minus and counting

2011-08-25T22:18:00.000-04:00

The waning days before the GMSR are like hard candy to me. I want to savor each one - let it linger and dissolve slowly, minute by minute into the next to come. These days when the volume is low and the intensity is short are sweet and few; the extra hours gained by not training so much are a gift. In all honesty I often squander the gift by filling in these different type of gaps with mundane or unnecessary tasks. This week has been different.

After a relaxed Monday off the bike I got out to the TNW with no warmup, and found myself sitting on the back of a sizable group (maybe 30 of us?). The conversations with Jamie, Claude, Phil, Jim, and others were easy and light. The group was loose, but I couldn't get up the motivation to try to corral the strays and just let things happen. By the time we got to the first sprint I was feeling warmed up and as the pace accelerated I felt fine. Three cars passed us on our way to the turn onto Lake Rd and when we turned I noticed that the last, a silver Toyota pickup, was pulled to the shoulder and the driver was shooting pictures of the group. Hmm. Journalist? Cop? Concerned or annoyed citizen? Who knows. He pulled out behind us and followed for a bit, shooting as he drove, until we turned along the lake by the park.

Tempo up and still feeling fine. I never like riding the back of the wave because the yo-yo effect is both annoying and enervating. But there I was and the group too big to try to get past until now. I took the opportunity to pass a dozen or so and then another until I was 10 or so back. Having been cut out of the turn onto Ferry Road twice I wasn't going to let it happen again. East on Ferry and towards the hill into Charlotte. As we crossed the tracks I moved to the centerline. There was no traffic back but cyclists and I wanted to avoid being caught behind. I moved fast up the hill but entirely controlled. Punching the gas felt OK and the same on the short rises that dot the south run along Greenbush.

Onto South Greenbush Jake moved up the line with Jamie's son - sorry, I'm spacing out his name despite the fact that he kicked my ass at Catamount a few weeks ago - and I jumped in. I felt great and pulled through to up the tempo. The group was riding fast despite so many having been in the Capitol RR in Albany on Saturday - a race that apparently shattered quite a few in the first several miles - and I was soon engulfed by other riders. No worries tonight. Interestingly, I had forgotten my HR chest strap so I had no HR data. I couldn't see numbers to frighten or phase me. I stayed focused on feeling good.

We turned towards Route 7 and traded pulls and I found myself mid-field by the intersection. The first 10 crossed and traffic came fast. We - several of us - called CAR and thought everyone would stop. After a brief hesitation, however, another 10 crossed dangerously close to a southbound car. It slowed heavily and came to a stop. Northbound traffic was coming so we stayed put. The lead was a semi and it stopped in the road. Inexplicably, southbound and northbound traffic halted for us on Route 7. We crossed, and chased after the lead 20.

We hit the turn onto Philo Road and I felt confident in my pace. I held it. While others attacked the hill I waited until I was ready and then pressed out of the saddle and ground out a big ring effort up the hill. It hurt but felt like I was in control. I saw Steve C up the road and bridged. After a few recovery strokes I came around and gave him my wheel. Others joined - Mark W, bandages and all, was right there as were Jim K and Matt S, Joe and others. We hammered a good pace and saw the lead group up the road. They must have been sitting up a bit because we closed the gap pretty well and then carried the momentum up Philo 2. I gave Matt S a hard time about sucking Mark's wheel before the hill and he relented and came around. Later he explained that he had been psyched to be with the lead group for the first time and didn't want to blow it. Matt has been riding so strong this year that it would have surprised me greatly if he had blown it.

Again, I felt great up the hill and was able to cary my momentum up and over the top to regain the lead group even as they accelerated towards the descent. This was nice. I felt like "the old me." I felt competent. On the last hill I followed a wheel. Charles's maybe and then came around and chased down Eric T who was near the top. I felt like I Was back from the dead. The efforts continued all the way back to Shelburne. I did not contest the sprint but put in a solid effort and then carried it onwards for a bit.

As we turned onto Irish Hill I had the start of the usual sinking feeling - the one I get when the climbers begin their acceleration early and I think I'll never hang on. But I did. I wasn't first up and over, but I was in the top 5 or so. North on Spear I sensed more than saw Bobby on my wheel. I knew he'd stay there until Kwiniaska and I figured he'd beat me there. He passed me near the top and I countered as best I could. He countered me before I had a wheel into him and then it was over. I couldn't get him. He noted his 1356 W (or something like it) output. I saw mine was 1180. 200W is 200W and I won't find those anytime soon. Nonetheless I felt great. I had conquered myself or whatever was getting in the way of my feeling like a cyclist.

As we round the bend towards the brutal 4 days of racing that is the GMSR, I can't wait. Phil B and I talked strategy today. I wouldn't have even bothered last week. Now is the time for rest and fine tuning through stretching and thought. A few more days with some efforts then a break before the final Thursday pops to open the legs for Friday's assault on Warren. Now we can only hope for good weather and completion of the City's work on the crit course - also known as Main Street.

Cheers.

PBR

2011-08-22T14:50:00.000-04:00

Rita Mae Brown is cited as having first printed (in Sudden Death), "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results." It was with this in my mind that I changed up my routine. Though I was abiding by much of what John S indicated in his consultation, I couldn't get past the desire to go for those long sojourns in the mountains on a weekly basis. Furthermore, I was trying to do it while maintaining my self-imposed weight loss plan, which was not unhealthy, but was also not providing me with the carbohydrate load to which I've become accustomed over the years. I have been more-or-less gluten free since April and feeling the positive GI benefits. I was also essentially alcohol free.

Despite all this higher living I was feeling tired all day long and not particularly strong on the bike. I figured that by this point, having lost 7 pounds and cleaned up my act, I should be sailing up the hills. Instead I was able to ride them fine, but never at more than about 70-80%. Not what I was looking for.

So it was with some trepidation that I set out on a shorter than usual Thursday AM ride after a night of PBRs (two) and a few bagels with lunch as well as a heavy load of rice with dinner. I rose early and attended a Dr.'s appointment before setting out. I had eaten twice my usual breakfast of homemade granola and bananas and then ate another 250 calories an hour before the start.

I hit 100B at Mooretown and went easy all the way to the KOM section on 100. Here I knocked out a good 85-90% effort and then held tempo for another 2-3 minutes before backing off. That felt pretty good. On Route 2 I took the first half easy then ramped up to a near tempo effort until I got to the VSP hill over the bridge. From here it was high tempo with a sprint at the P+R then tempo again. I was hurting, but in a good way. Onto 100B I started minute on minute off intervals until I got to 500M to go. Fortunately the timing was right for an off minute before hand. I hammered out an increasing pace to 200M then up shifted and started my sprint, topping out at a little under 35 which is normal for me.

I was OK. My legs hurt like hell and my breathing was ragged, but my attitude was good. I pushed myself to continue the harder effort holding mostly tempo after a short recovery. This time I maintained a solid tempo effort for the climb, resting briefly at the farm stand at the top of the first hill. Then it was back on the gas and an all out sprint at the KOM hitting 1200W for the first time in a while. I'm no Bobby B but I saw 1286 at the Bennington Crit and nothing above 1060 since then until Thursday. I did a Ae Threshold ride down the hill and then went easy until the bridge on 2, where I hit it again, though less hard than the first lap. After a few short intervals I pulled it in and cooled down back to Mooretown.

The big difference in training was a reduction to two thirds or less volume and the introduction of gluten and PBR. Friday had a 3 hour easy ride with an avg HR of under 100. I think there's something to be said for reducing volume, increasing short intensity, and eating what makes me happy. I'll keep the model for the time being. It's T minus 11 days. Taper down and power up.

Thoughts on bikes

2011-08-16T10:04:00.002-04:00

Can bikes change the world?
Last week was one of the worst car/bike weeks I can remember. I had more irate motorists cutting it close to me, honking as they came alongside me and yelling out their windows to scare me - which, by the way, worked well. That it more or less culminated, or at least crescendoed, with the dog running under me helped me focus on "them," versus, "us."

It is interesting to me that so many motorists get upset with cyclists for the simple fact of their presence on the roadway. I don't mean the times when we're "bad," but rather the times when we are just going about our business and motorists yell, "Get on the sidewalk where you belong!" Or, "Get the F off the road!" Sometimes they have the opportunity to tell me that I shouldn't be on the road unless I pay registration. At those times I am pleased to tell them that I likely pay more in annual registration fees than they do with my stupid collection of vehicles.

Another irony occurs when motorists hurl slurs at cyclists who are overweight or fat. I've heard them at times and I find it funny in a sickening way, frustrating and counterproductive. Cycling is a fantastic way for people to get in shape and stay that way. A motorist yelling at someone who is doing something that will likely benefit the individual and (statistically) society, should be praised not pilloried.

I tend not to mince words when discussing issues of weight with my clients. The clinical definition of obesity puts more people in that category than most people recognize. According to the CDC a person who is 5'9" and weighs 203 or more is obese (with a BMI of 30 or more). When one looks around it is quite clear just how many people fit this description.

This epidemic of weight gain can be explained in myriad ways, and has been by the likes of Michael Polan, Andrew Weil, Mercola, and others. Notwithstanding explanations the fact is that there is a significant cost to the individual and the community when weight becomes a medical issue. There is a significant impact on children and how they will develop when their parents are significantly overweight or obese.

Grist, a blog of repute, has a good piece on the subject of cycling and weight.
When Joan Denizot started Super Sized Cycles she did so in part because she had discovered that there were no bikes being built that really suited people whose weight has gotten beyond what some MTB circles call, "Clydesdale," category. The fact that nearly 50% of America is or will be classified as clinically obese suggests that having bikes that fit that size is not only worthwhile, but may be part of an imperative to help those who are chronically overweight or obese get back to a healthier weight.

One of my goals as a community mental health counselor is to help people become as whole-healthy as they can be. Often this includes diet and activity changes that feel radical to them and feel miniscule to those who make it a part of their lives naturally.

Can bikes change the world? I think in many ways they can, and do, and I think that the culture than can surround cycling can be a part of positive change for a great number of people.

Enjoy your rides.

How I hit the dog

2011-08-11T22:45:00.000-04:00

Tonight was the Jonesville TT. I figured this would be a good load workout and would count as short and intense for the week's plan. Even though I didn't feel strong, I felt rested and ready. After a good warm-up I hit the start line just in time to make my call and started hard - too heavy a gear - but worked it out and settled in. I used my road bike figuring that the TT's are done for me for this year and I'd be using this ride for the remainder. I felt pretty good. I was surprised.

I watched the power meter and held it just above my 20-minute power. Bobby B passed me like I Was standing still but not before I had passed my 1, 2 and 3 minute riders. Just as we got to the turnaround, Mark W passed me. I was simultaneously bummed and really excited for him. He has been rocketing stronger and stronger this year. At the Tour of the Catskills he was 7th in the GC! Fantastic.

He was accelerating away from me and I was OK with that. Up the climb past the VAST trail I was gaining on him, then I held him steady in my sights going down the long descent into Bolton. This descent is normally fast and fun but tonight it was into the wind and was painful to maintain power. We hit the flats and Mark started to pull away again. My fight to regain him was over.

No worries, I thought. He's in a great groove and deserves this more than anyone I know. Mark is a very hard working guy and is about the nicest person I know. He is generous with his ear and always has a compliment or kind word. He fits his training in between his work as a carpenter and landlord, and manager of his family's farm property. It is a pleasure to watch his success.

As the flat turned to false flat and into the rise before the Bolton Valley Access Road I started to get my own groove back. I slid back on the saddle and started working my hamstrings into a rhythm. I hammered down the grade towards the underpass and then stood up and sprinted through the shadows, preferring the suspension of my legs and arms to the pounding over the crappy, patchwork pavement. I sat and pressed hard into each stroke and then saw the little black rocket on my left.

At first I didn't understand that this little thing was a dog. Then I though, "It's going to back off." But it didn't. I thought I might just skate past it but it turned into me. The general rule is that if you turn into a dog it will veer away, following its instinct to pursue until the prey is tired. I tried this and it failed. I veered away and it ran right between my wheels. I must have been going 23 or more MPH and I hit it hard. It screamed. I yelled.

As it darted off the road to the left between some houses I got on the brakes and rushed to the driveway. Finally I was able to get the residents and apparent owners to come look for the dog. I explained what happened and they apologized for letting it get to the road. They explained (not that it absolved them in my mind) that it was a rescue dog and had not yet learned about the road. Maybe this would teach "Buster" a lesson, they said. I worried about internal bleeding and they did not.

I rode on and finished feeling awful for having caused this little black dog such a distressing evening. I hope it's OK. I hope they restrain it.

Going backwards

2011-08-11T22:21:00.003-04:00

This tale begins on Wednesday, I suppose. That MTB race was the highlight of my training week - and I mean no offense to my riding partners on other days.

As I read back through the blog of my last week I realize that I may have hit it a bit hard for my first week back. It's hard to say. All I know is that this week I feel like I'm going backwards.

I took Monday as a stretching and PT day and then prepped for the TNW. I got out of work early and was able to ride for 45 minutes prior to the start of the ride. As I headed towards the parking lot for the start I ran into Jason B, whom I'd photographed at the VT Sun Triathlon on Sunday. He was riding to the start as well.

There have been several incidents on the road we would be riding of police officers stopping and sometimes ticketing cyclists for failing to come to a complete stop at signed intersections, and riding two abreast in an area deemed unsafe by the officer, so I suggested to the group that we stop at all crossings and mind our Ps and Qs so as to avoid an unpleasant hang-up on the ride.

We set off and I felt great. I took the lead and promptly accelerated the pace to a tempo and held it there for most of Dorset, and again onto Irish Hill. I was feeling really good. Andre informed me today that we had been doing 26 MPH into a headwind under my motor.

By the time we made the left onto South Greenbush, I felt wrecked. I allowed a gap to form between me and about 5 riders ahead. I worked with a few and we closed it, then it opened again as we turned for the Route 7 crossing. I saw what was going to happen as we began to approach the crossing. We'd be split. The five crossed, with Jake H at the front - followed by Matt B, and I'm not sure who else, and I took a gap that only one rider could cross through, expecting to close the gap and join them up Philo Hill. Not so much. Though I was pushing tempo, they must have been, too.

The rest of the ride was the same. There they were, well within reach, and I couldn't cross the gap. Others were with me and, although I was passing them - many anyway - on the climbs by being steady, I could not make the bridge. I didn't even have the fire to assault Kwiniaska, which I do on every TNW rain or shine, hell or high water. Jake and the crew sat up. We regrouped. Later they attacked again and I couldn't go.

Wednesday I had planned on doing an easy ride in the AM and then some hill repeats up Bolton in the evening. Feeling hammered I did 3 repeats up Huntington Road hill and then 4 or 5 1-minute intervals. I felt anemic. I slept 8 hours that night, two more than normal.

This morning I rode with Phil on the MTB for a couple of hours of super easy spinning. He wondered if I had really overtrained in the weeks leading up to England. Yes, I said. That was part of the plan. Overload then rest, then re-enter. Maybe too fast a re-entry? Maybe.

26 days and counting

2011-08-08T11:58:00.000-04:00

It's twenty-six days to the start of the GMSR. The sun is breaking through the clouds. Kirby wants to walk but he'll regret it once he realizes it's 70 degrees. I want to ride. I have the morning off. I'll hunt mushrooms before a short recovery ride. I'll spend the day wondering about Heather's comments on Saturday: It's good that there are always things that we can do to improve ourselves, our bikes, our training... If we have everything dialed in perfectly and think there is nothing more that we could have done, our results have to reflect that because we have no excuse after. It's like having a sick child and the doctor says: There is nothing you can do but wait. Argh.

I'll do a little strength and a little stretching and go on my merry way to work.

Back in the saddle sore

2011-08-08T09:42:00.000-04:00

Returning from England on Tuesday it seemed like a good idea to have an easy day of spinning on Wednesday. After 10 days off the bike (except for that 45 minute interval session on the 3-spd city ride) it seemed prudent to reenter slowly. So I finished up work and raced home to feed Kirby before tearing the fenders off my MTB to head for the race at Catamount. Huh?

It might have been foolish but it was nothing but fun - after the first two laps. I hit the trail with no warm up, somewhat jet-lagged, and no trail miles since the VT 50 nearly a year ago. Finally, I got my legs under me and had a great ride! What a blast. The course if buffed and well timed. The corners are mostly fast and there are sections of carnival-like turns that are banked so well one doesn't need to brake (almost).

I finished second (to last). This was the closest I've come to DFL in a long time and it was the most fun I've had on the MTB since the 50. Off-road is fun.

I did get back to the road on Thursday and was so happy to be free from the saddle sore condition I'd left nearly a fortnight (love that word) ago. Nothing but endurance and recovery followed by a 5 hour ride - half with Phil - on Friday felt great.

Heather and John M and I set out for a 6:20 ride from Middlesex on Saturday in the cool air. John doubled back on his fixie after a short time for family obligations and Heather and I continued towards Ap. We set a nice upper Ae pace and chatted about the wonders of riding through life. The sumit was spectacular as it always seems to be.

Down to 116 I continued to feel the trepidation that came to me after my crash. I used to love high-speed descents and I hope to get back there. I can't keep myself from checking the front tire (and rear) as I ride now. That slows me down.

The ride back up was its usual fun. Grinding up Baby G we talked about the strategy of the field. Heather has not done the complete GMSR having crashed out HARD last year, and breaking her collarbone in the circuit race. I gave my assessment of the different things that have happened over the years: Where the accelerations occur and where the efforts seem the most important to stay with the field before brief recovery points. It's nice to at least think I have a handle on the race, even though I know that one never really has a handle on a race.

Summiting again we came upon a group about to pre-ride the GMSR RR course. One asked for an allen, which I provided. I asked what field he'd ride in. Cat 3, he said. But I just upgraded and I'm really struggling with the climbs. I like the crits more. Good, I thought. Struggle with the climbs enough to allow me to stay ahead of you in the sprints and GC.

Descending past Mad River Glen I felt my front wheel washed a bit in the curve. My heart entered my throat. I slowed and checked my tire. Looked good. It must have been some crack sealant. With the temps not in the low 80s that stuff is viscous and dangerous. I regained my speed.

We finished with a somewhat tempo ride out 100/100B to the P+R - stopping for a glorious chocolate milk at the intersection with 2. There I saw a man with tats up and down his arms. They were clean and tightly printed but I couldn't make them out. I said I was interested and the man raised his sleeves. A deaf and mute man who had tattooed all the peaks he had ascended as part of disabled teams - they included the highest peaks in the world.

He indicated that he had severe knew problems now that prevented him from doing the thing he loves most: Cycling.

Sunday morning I was photographing the VT Sun Oly Tri for GMM. a great race. It drizzled the whole time.

I hit the road on my own after the rains cleared. Three hours of endurance is harder than I remember. After a half hour of recovery I realized that my saddle sores were returning. Time for a new saddle experiment I think. More than you wanted to know.

To the test

2011-07-31T06:58:00.002-04:00

I was packed before we left for a fantastic belated birthday dinner for Phil B with his parents and a few friends. I would be a great way to end the day and prepare to leave the following morning for London and points north to see Richard S and various stops along our way to Edinburgh. John S recommended a strength routine and a suggestion to get on a bike at least every 3 days for at least 30 minutes, and Steve from Elevation PT had given me exercises to do to balance my imbalances. It was after 1AM when we were finally in bed and had alarms set to get us up and out to make our 5:45 flight. Jess C would take us and in the end we just barely made it on the plane before the jet way was to pull back. A Bob Corey moment except that we were anxious and he’d have planned it that way.

Arriving at Heathrow we made our way to the Heathrow Hilton where we had (no kidding) two Caesar salads, tea and a pint of Guinness for $70.00. Welcome to London. It was another early morning to get the car and head for Cotswold, about 2 hours northwest of London.

We got some good walking in through the Chipping Campden countryside with Richard.
It was great to see him after 5 years or more since the US decided not to renew his working visa and he had to leave. The country there is gorgeous with expansive views of farmland divided by hedgerows and dotted with farmhouses, many of which are 300 years old or more. No matter how often I come to Europe I am amazed by the durability and continuous use of structures here.

Throughout Cotswold’s there are public foot and bridle paths that cut along and through private properties and are maintained by a trails association. Each trail has an associated guide written out to take one through the twists and turns, and over or through the many stiles and gates that allow access to the fields through which we crossed, which were heavily occupied by sheep and horses – some of which horses were a bit too cheeky (one tried to remove my camera bag while I petted him, thinking I might have a treat in it) Richard was less amused than I. I was merely sorry I didn’t have the forethought to bring some carrots or peppermints.

We parted ways and Jennifer and I made ours on to York. We arrived late at a very nice B+B and made our way to an Indian Restaurant before heading back to our miniscule, though fairly comfortable room. Here I had my first experience with Bulgarian Squats. For those of you unfamiliar with this Abugrahib inspired exercise, it is accomplished by assuming a lunge position with the back foot propped on a riser or (in my case) a chair. It can be done with weights if the subject has committed a particularly egregious crime. Three reps of twenty on each leg followed by the same for one-leg squats, and then “air squats,” finishing up with bicycle crunches (3X 10 seconds). Perhaps this is not recommended on a full stomach of spicy chicken and garlic mushrooms.

York is a great city. Here I experienced a test-ride on a Brompton folding bike: A cool contraption that can be folded in as little as 7 seconds (the record) by a pro or in under 30 seconds if you’re me. Though a little twitchy, at just over 20 pounds for the lightest (and most expensive) model, it would make an excellent city commuter (assuming bus or subway travel is part of the commute). There are bikes everywhere in York, as there are in most cities in England. There is a trail network that canvases the entire UK and includes bike lanes on roadways and – in many places – an area immediately before a traffic light that is reserved for bikes, which allows them to move easily to whichever side of the lane they might need to be in to turn.

These bike lanes are connected to a pathway that leads along the river to adjacent towns. On the morning before we left I hired a very heavy, barely suitable for local commuting, lug of a 3-speed internal-hubbed bike for an hours ride. I did the prescribed warm-up followed by 3X 1-minute intervals at an endurance pace (Z2 by John’s standard). It was nice and cool by the river and I would have liked to continue further into the countryside. The path wended its way through cow pastures – proving the only real obstacle as, unrestricted, they crapped on the path in places – and along the railway. It would be well worth returning to this place.

We visited the Railway Museum, which is magnificent and contains examples of early aerodynamic advances in rail travel, as well as modifications to engine design allowing improved power to weight ratios in the ever-mounting quest for dominance in rail travel in Europe.

The city wall, which surrounded the original city, provides a wonderful alternative way to navigate the circumference. Though now broken by development the wall still delineates the “down-town” from the rest of the city. The last time I visited York I was 18 and I don’t know that I remember much outside the pub walls where my cousin Ben – then Benedict – familiarized me with cider and pints (“half’s are for women,” his friends instructed me). Jennifer and I visited the Shambles, the narrowest of streets where the second story of buildings nearly touch. The York Minster is a marvel from the outside. We were too late to make it inside so we’ll save that for another trip.

It is a lively and friendly place with one of the best restaurants I’ve been to, Melton’s, on the South side not far from our B+B. We lucked out getting a table there on a surprisingly busy Tuesday night. After my ride Wednesday we headed for Haltwhistle by way of Northalerton and several back roads.

One could make a very nice vacation of nothing more nor less than visiting the small towns and villages along the B roads in the UK. The friendliness of the residents and the magnificence of the truly ancient architecture combine to provide an otherworldly experience.

As we neared Haltwhistle and Hadrian’s Wall territory the roads narrowed and stonewalls defining myriad fields and pastures dominated our view. We found our B+B just on the East edge of Haltwhistle. After checking in and unloading our bags we headed to the wall for a short hike along this second century masterpiece that crosses from sea to sea.

Consultation

2011-07-31T06:56:00.002-04:00

Consultation

I got my consult packet from John S. Grateful for some guidance as I approached a terrifying 10-day hiatus from riding just as I thought I should be focusing completely on training for the GMSR. Ridiculous. Heading to the UK for 10 days and worried about a race for which any glory – if it were to be had – would be fleeting and come at the cost of registration and all the sundries that go along with racing.

My wounds had healed if my pride had not. I contacted Calfee Designs – having not heard a word from Trek about any kind of crash replacement – and prepared the frame for shipment. I waited. I hoped to get a call from Dave K or Andrew B saying that Trek had agreed to replace the frame.

Two weeks out from departure and the training plan called for “slightly higher volume than my highest week to date.” Well, damn. I had done up to 20 hours the first week that school let out. I didn’t think I could even find the time to do that much let alone more. I aimed for it. Week one yielded 19 hours and some good long Ae efforts and some nice intensity and sustained climbing. Week two made 18.5 with a similar mix, including a nice easy morning MTB ride.

The penultimate day before the trip was a Nearly 4 hour ride with Phillip and Mark early Saturday morning. It was great. We went out 100B and up and over the gap. I felt great up past Mad River and began to set a nice sub-threshold pace. When I hit the last real pitch before the steady climb to the top I was cooked. We’d decided to go down to Main Road and then come back up. When we got there we decided to continue to 116 and then come back up Baby Gap. I now know what it feels like for me to over-train. It was perfect. I was sapped by the time we got back to the car. It was time to put the plan to the test.

Back on the bloggin - the crash

2011-07-31T06:55:00.001-04:00

I’ve been off the bloggen. After telling Dave K about the crash he commented, “you crash a lot.” I reviewed my crashes in my head as I reviewed the sequences of events that led up to my having crashed out of a race that I hadn’t planned on doing until two days before.

The first crash I remember was on my brother’s bike – too big for me but it was my brother’s and I had to ride it. I rode it right over to my grandparent’s house and couldn’t get it to stop before hitting the stonewall at the bottom of their driveway. I had a scar under my left eye until I was in my twenties.

Another was when my brother and I were riding down a steep hill, Ned Mountain Road, and near the bottom I lost control and skidded out. I was in front and – as I recall – after hitting the deck my brother tried to stop and skidded over my face.

I stayed upright for the better part of 10 years after that then, riding down Loomis Street albeit too fast, a car pulled out from Boot Street having run the stop sign and I t-boned him. My frame accordioned and I sailed over the hood. The driver looked at me – a kid in his twenties like me – and gunned it around the corner. He wasn’t fast enough and I was pissed. With all that adrenaline pumping I grabbed my bike and hurled it at him as hard as I could hitting his trunk. I was screaming at him – obscenities I can’t recall – and he stopped. Ultimately he bought me a replacement bike. It was not as good as the Raleigh I had but it was something. I don’t know why but I felt compelled at the time to be compensated for the current value of the bike not the replacement value. I’d not be so generous today.

That was 1988 and I didn’t crash again until I took up mountain biking. None of the early crashes was particularly bad, but MTB crashes are often memorable. Obstacles have a way of stopping forward motion abruptly and that results in superman-like adventures defying gravity – briefly.

MTB crashes are common, and I had my share. The last one was a doozie. It was in 2000. I had just graduation from the counseling program and had then headed off to teach at a police MTB advanced school my organization was hosting. After a week of riding in Durango with the likes of Ned Overend, a few of entered what would be my first pure road race: The Iron Horse Classic. Until that point I had done duathlons and a couple of triathlons. This would b different.

After completing that race on Saturday, with all its climbing, we entered the MTB race that is (or was) its sister event on Sunday. I remember that I questioned whether or not I could finish in time to make my flight out of Grand Junction that day.

It was a great course and I was ripping it up in the Sport category. For some reason they had started a much slower field very near our start, which put a beginner-looking woman on the fastest of the downhill washout sections right in the only possible safe line. I yelled for track. I yelled, “On your left!” I yelled and yelled until I went off trail to avoid her and crashed in forward roll into a tree.
I finished 11th anyway and it wasn’t until six months had passed and I had seen a few Pts, a DO, an MD and a chiropractor that I learned that what I thought was IT band pain was actually referral pain from a blown disc. And I made my flight.

I don’t think I crashed again until The Essex training series criterion not long before the GMSR in 2005 (?). Zach Kramer and I had broken away from the field and were hammering for a few laps away. I remember feeling a hard hit at my rear wheel and also seeing 1 lap to go – maybe it was 3. Entering turn one I was in the lead but my rear wheel came free from the tire and hence from the road and I spun out, whipping around to take Zach out as well.

It happened again in the GMSR. I felt the hit coming down the first block of Pine Street and by the time we got to College Street I was flat. I threw my hand up and tried to navigate to the side. I wanted the right thinking I wouldn’t make the stop in time to avoid careening through the peloton as it made the turn onto Main. I managed to get to the outside in time to crash on the same hematoma from the practice crit crash. I think we’re up to six not including the routine MTB crashes.

I managed to keep the rubber side down for the next few years. Then in 2009 I got wrapped up in a sprint finish on the circuit course of the GMSR and clipped a – wait I forgot one! Not a bad one. It was the first race I had done with Jean Lacroix – the GMSR in 2007 I think. On the stretch approaching 1K to go the field was getting “nervous” and a rider passing on my left and over the yellow line pulled into me so that my front spokes connected with his skewer, which ripped several spokes from my wheel. I think I actually stayed upright so I guess that doesn’t count. In 2009 it counted. I crashed hard in a fast sprint and snapped my fork at the steer-tube and used my left leg as a brake for my front tire. I had carbon and burned rubber embedded in my left leg and my back was seriously strained. A smarter man would have called it a day.

Then came the 2010 season and things went well and upright until the Onion River Century Ride, which unfortunately I can’t do this year since I’m in England. With less than 3 miles to go Andrew McCollough and I were about to attack off the front when there was a gunshot to our right. We both looked up but Andrew slowed a little and I went right into his wheel. Ass over teakettle and into a ditch on my back. I managed to take out Andrew B at the same time. No one died but I bore the bloody wounds as a reminder of the embarrassing moment.

That same year I crashed at the Concord Criterium getting pushed into a high curb. That one cost some skin and some alloy as my chain-stay was abraded on the curb.

And that leads to the one you’ve all been asking about: I drove to CT to visit a friend, see his Father’s premiere photo exhibit and see some family. Of course, there was a race to be considered. It was a choice between the New Britain Crit championships or the new-to-me Pawling, NY Road Race. Having stopped in to get a few things from the Rack, Jake H suggested Pawling. There I went. When I pulled my spotless bike (I had cleaned it right down to the jockey pulleys – new chain, cleaned and lubed bearing insets, cranks, chainrings, cassette, pedals, hub body, the whole shebang – the day before) out of my wife’s Prius the front tire was flat. I noticed the valve stem was open and so I figured I must have hit it in packing and that it had bled out as I drove. I filled it and want to registration. It was fine when I returned and fine on my short pre-ride with Christian V.

Off the start with the plan of sitting in except for a sticking break things felt pretty good. I rode within myself up the first climb on the first lap and let the front half of the field gap me by a half K allowing for the downhill on my own to chase back which I did easily.

Lap 2 of 3 felt measurably harder as we approached the hill. I felt off somehow, but neither overly tired nor out of breath. On the climb – a set of two that are pretty brutal even though they aren’t too long – I sat in for the first pitch and then stood at which point I felt soggy. I was working hard and going backwards. I was a little confused since I didn’t expect to feel that weak. The gap grew: 10 meters, 20. At 50 the wheel truck passed me. 250 meters, 500, I lost sight. Shit!

A lone rider ahead as I crested the hill and another right behind me. In no time we were five and pressing hard. The course runs out nicely after that climb with a 1-2% false flat before a downhill run. We were team-tt-ing and came into the right-hander with me riding 3rd wheel. I could see the wheel truck rounding the next turn. The corner was fast but had a good camber and we maintained 30+ right through it. Then straight for another 200 meters sprinting hard before the 90 degree left. I came around the lead on the outside and leaned into the corner, totally in control and feeling good.

Quite unexpectedly, and at the apex, my front tire began to wash out. I felt it the whole way. I imaging I had a look of surprise on my face as I sure had one in my mind. The slo-mo was: Hmm… front wheel is losing contact. Strange. I’ll recover. The washout took me towards the far outside of the corner – a wide flat turn with plenty of room for correction. Wait. I’m not recovering. Why am I going down? Shit! Now I’m on sand. Not good. Arms up, ass down and slide. I did. Right into the edge where pavement met grass and I was then launched into a forward roll right to the feet of the EMT who ran down the hill to meet me where I stopped. Convenient.

I punched the ground and swore out loud. She doused my shoulder with saline and asked the usual questions while I looked at my bike. Something was different. There was a scratch on the top-tube where there had been none. I moved to the bike and gently pressed my thumb into the scratch. It was a crack. My nearly brand new Trek 6.7 had a cracked top-tube. My brand new, impeccable just-cleaned to within an inch of its life Trek Mad One that I was going to sell this Fall because I don’t like the geometry as much as I like the Specialized geometry had a resale-defying crack in the top-tube. I swore again. I looked at my watch. Three minutes – 3 that felt like an hour – had passed. I jumped back up and grabbed the bike. I saw a field coming down the road. I jumped on and jumped on the back, temporarily unconcerned with the rules.

Sluggish. It must be I’m still rattled from the crash. Rolling well on the gentle descent and onto the flats I thought I might even get back to my field. After all, the rough-pavement descent into the final 2 miles to the start finish caused most of the field to slow while I slammed down the outside edge, which I’d found in my earlier pre-ride had a narrow smooth run. I’d make good time there. I could make 10 seconds maybe and another 20 into the first turn past the S/F line. Who knows: Over the course of the lap it could work. We hit the short, sharp hill that precedes the fast downhill run. It’s my kind of hill, I think. Steep, short, and with a known relief on the other side. I pass the whole Masters field but just as I do I notice that I’m unsteady. Woozy? No. Tired? Not really. Dizzy? Nope. I look down. Huh. That’s strange. My front tire is flat. Maybe 20 psi. Could that be what caused the crash? A quick calculation tells me that a) I’ll never make the descent at speed, and b) I’ll never make the corner at the bottom at any speed at all. The race is done. I thank the spectators cheering me on at the top as the Masters cruise past and away. “Thanks, but I’m all done. Tire’s flat. Frame’s broken. Oh, well.”

The what-if’s begin. Had I planned on the crit I’d have taken the old S-Works Maybe I’d have crashed in a sprint or a pile-up, maybe I wouldn’t have. What if I had, in my near overhaul of the Trek, changed the tubes and tires as I had originally planned? What if I had checked the tire and changed the tube just in case before the pre-ride? But I hadn’t done any of that. Instead, I had crashed, again. I had broken a $5,000 bike. It wasn’t until I got back to Vermont and inspected my bike thoroughly that I found a small piece of glass in the front tire. A week earlier I had hit glass on the Causeway and flatted my rear. I thought I had been careful about checking both tires for glass before I’d continued that day. Lesson learned – maybe.

That which doesn't

2011-06-28T21:12:00.002-04:00

Yeah, yeah. But the reality is that pain suggests you're getting some training benefit from the intensity, right?

After my nice tempo ride this morning - yes, Phil, really tempo - I figured I'd be primed for the TNW. It all started well enough with a surprise visit from Officer Dan Brunnelle from SBPD to give us the "police perspective" on bikes on the road. He gave us his primer on T.23 as it applies to bikes and I added my $.02 on the obligation motorists bear around "vulnerable users." THen we were off.

The pace was nearly pedestrian - unusual since Jake H was setting it. I'd later learn his intent. As we headed south at our conversational pace the headwind buffeted our bikes any time we were out of the draft. Jason B got on the front and turned things up. After my hard days last week and an easy Monday I felt in a really good place and maintained the pace when I hit the front. Turning West on Falls Road the crosswind was fierce. We maintained a good group through the intersections and onto Bostwick. I allowed myself to drift off onto the gravel shoulder and bunny-hopped back onto the pavement. In doing so I tweaked my front derailleur or misaligned my rear wheel somehow. Not so good. a couple of kicks to the front d and things seemed operationally sound.

No one attacked the town line sprint. Odd, I thought, especially since I'd seen Jake give Matt B (his teammate) some kind of gesture that I thought was a signal to go. I sat in out of the wind figuring I'd save myself for the climbs. By the time we got to Ferry Road I was at the back. There was a car headed West and I slowed to a near stop until I was sure it was not going to go. I saw the field ahead gaining ground and I figured I'd catch them on the short sharp hill up into Charlotte. That was the gesture's intent. Jake, Matt and Dylan had opened it up hard on Ferry Road and pressed it all the way up and onto Greenbush at the 4-way. I pounded hard thinking I might grab on to the tail at the top but they were all caught up in the draft and I was off the back.

I yelled to Brooke, who was ahead and over before I was, to jump in. He couldn't. I sprinted and then dropped down into a TT position and began the big gear grind I thought would get me back in before South Greenbush and the downhill. But they were a pack and I was alone into the headwind. Onto South Greenbush and I could still see them. I need a car to pass me, I thought. A draft would be all it would take. One came, then three more and two pickups. I jumped into the draft as they flew past and my speed jumped: 23, 24.5, 26.8, 28.2. Hold it, hold it. The draft diminished quickly and the wind in my face quickly dropped my speed to 20.3. The field got the same draft. They had the mass to cary it to the next downhill and then up the easy grade to the next sprint where the disappeared.

I chased. My heart rate was 157 - high for me and higher than I can maintain for very long. I worked it hard and fast and caught Mark W who was sitting up: Done. I hammered on. Past the farm and into the hard left towards Route 7 there was a family of five or six on three bikes: One with a child seat, one with a child trailer and one with a child rider. Looks like fun. Up ahead two riders. I chased. I caught them across 7 and they were done. Down the hill hard left onto Philo. I could see two riders still on the climb. The tail maybe? I rode it in the saddle watching my watts and heart rate climb. I normally sprint this one out of the saddle. Not tonight. I sat and turned the cranks as fast as I could until I was near the crest then pushed the front der hard into the big ring and stood. Over the top there were two more up ahead. Where did the others go ?

I caught these two near the top of Philo 2 and they jumped in behind me. Why not in front. Joe said, "I'm on your wheel." No kidding, I thought. Do you have any idea how hard I've just worked to get here? Of course he does, I thought again. He's been doing the same thing, and he hasn't been doing this as long as I have. This is good or you. Pull him as far as you can and farther. ow there were three of us approaching the last hill before the CHarlotte Road crossing. "Hit this like you mean it," I called to Joe and his companion. We did. Matt B was at the top.

Are you done Matt? I called up to him. He said yes but jumped in behind Joe and as we crossed through the intersection it was not long before he was on the front. Matt is 20-ish, and just finished his Junior year at UVM. He's a super nice guy and a remarkable hill climber. For a small rider, he put down a motor-pace pull that topped out over 33MPH. As I pulled through I buried myself to maintain it but cold only manage about half as long as he had before dropping the pace. The tailwind was a delight but didn't feel nearly as strong as the headwind before it. Isn't it always the way.

We caught two more and the fiv of us rotated through a pretty darn good line if I say so myself, and I do. Up to the crest before the downhill into the Shelburne town line I pulled, then Joe came through then the other two - I'm embarrassed to say that I was blind from exertion I never really registered who they were - you know who you are. Matt got back to the front and pulled us through the line and beyond. We cycled into Shelburn and turned again onto Irish Hill for the pleasantly fast descent before the cruel, leg sapping grind to the base of the last step up Irish Hill. Matt opened it up. In the saddle and spinning 120 he pulled away. I tried to stay with him but after a hundred yards or so it was futile. The others passed me but I caught them back on the hill. My normally explosive Kwiniaska hill was done in the saddle with more than a whimper but nothing like a bang. That was it. Done. Toast. Stick a fork in me. Matt and I sat up and spun an easy pace with the wind at our backs and talked of the races to come.

Getting off of 89 in RIchmond I was treated to the sun burning through late clouds.

Been a long time

2011-06-26T21:14:00.012-04:00

Man, where does the time go?! Oh Yeah. It goes to the bike!

After feeling somewhat less than stellar on the hills in the last few races - in fact, in all the races this year - I decided to drop back, as I think I said in an earlier post. For the past couple weeks it's been largely long easys.

The week before last saw some great rides: from the commute-TNW-commute on Tuesday to the Wednesday with Cover and Thursday's homage to the end of school-days for me, followed by long rollers Friday and Saturday and my favorite northern loop through Fairfax, Fletcher and Fairfield, it was a great week. The Father's Day (not that I celebrate it) northern epic really was a treat. 79 miles, 6000+ feet of climbing that really doesn't seem to bad stretched out like that, with a finish along Lake Champlain. Getting nearly 20 hours in the saddle for the first time this year felt great and reminded me why I felt better in June last year than this - had more miles in my legs.

This past week added some intensity with the (second) first Essex Criterium on Tuesday. Chris H shot shot this video from his saddle-cam: He was on fire! I tried with Jake H and a few others to recapture the break, but Bobby B had chased him down and passed him and, though I tried to follow Bobby B's effort on the last lap I couldn't get off in time. I'll take the third without complaint. Wednesday was supposed to be 2 hours easy but I decided to go up ap gap for I think the 8th time this month? Then a tailwind TT effort home with 3X15 sprint efforts a la Andrew G. I nearly fell asleep on my 3PM client (oops).

Thursday was another nice loop - Duxbury Gap with 5x15 sprints starting at the KOM. Somehow I missed the rain though it looked like I was going to get hammered.

Friday was a an excellent MTB tour with Phil. We cruised the dirt roads for 3 hours dry before heading south on River Road in the rain. By the time I left Phil in Waterbury to head back the way I had come I was drenched, despite my vinyl slicker.

Saturday was the day for a 20 minute test. Down 2 to Waterbury with a few drafting motor-paced efforts, then up 100 and Duxbury from the Waterbury side. Why is it that this side always seems longer and harder? Its long stair steps make for a good hill interval workout on one climb - if a bit short. Until a few years ago the prologue for the GMSR was up Appalachian Gap from the Fayston side. After years of cursing I finally felt like I had gotten a handle on the pacing of it when Gary changed things up and move the prologue to Warren and the brutal uphill TT.

I passed German Flats and began to re-warmup. Once the climb began in earnest I set a tempo and tried to hold 310-360 Watts. I was pretty pleased with the 321 20 minute effort. Panting but not wrung out completely I descended to Main Road and returned to the summit just for the grit of it.

Today was an awesome ride with Chris C, David R, and Jim F. Neither Jim nor I had been up Lincoln Gap and today was our maiden voyage. The Warren approach is said to be the steepest paved road in America. The Lincoln side is a mere 18%. After meeting up with David in Hinesburg we headed up Tyler Bridge to States Prison Hollow and onto Hardscrabble and Bristol Roads. Bypassing the delightful coffee shop in Bristol despite my suggestion of an espresso, we continued on to Lincoln. I had no idea what to expect and, from this side, it was bad but not awful. I was digging the fact that my legs felt as good as they did considering the efforts of the past several days. We hit the corner where the "Vista" sign is and I thought, Phew, the top! Not so much. I turned the corner and the climb started again almost immediately. Not far along the daylight shows through the trees indicating that the summit is "just" ahead. Nothing is really "just" at 18%. Still, I felt pretty good at the summit.

The descent is nearly hellish towards Warren. Truly 21-22% down on an often moss-covered roadway, slick from recent rain, this descent scared me more than any road I have ridden down. Finally on the flats we looked for the turn onto West Hill to cut out the lousy section of Route 100 between Warren and Waitsfield. Climbing along the dirt road we passed the West Hill Inn where my aunt, Barbara E, stayed a couple weeks ago, and from which we collected her to go to the Pitcher Inn for dinner. That is a place to go when you can. Watch out for the wine list though! Seriously, several bottles at over $1,000 and not too few at $2,000 and up! Who spends that on 750 ml of anything?!

Golf Course Road is a great dirt climb that ends paved as it approaches the downhill to Sugarbush. We stopped at the market on the access road and the rain began in earnest. I, without a jacket, vest, arm-warmers or anything sensible, thought we should wait a few. Graciously the 3 accommodated me. It slacked and we descended to 17 and turned for the grind to the summit of Ap Gap. I felt good. I felt better going up than I have in ages. It was more or less like yesterday only I wasn't going as hard so I had lots more left at the top. They say it's best to "ride within" oneself. I was. The weather was looking iffy at the summit. and we didn't wait longer than it took to wolf down another bar and zip the jerseys. Chris led the way with a crazy fast descent on the wet road. Once we hit Main Road I TT'd to catch him wiht David on my wheel. We were flying with the tailwind and soon were on him. What a blast it is to be on a bike.
We parted ways with David at the Hollow Road and Chris and I did 3X15 efforts. 4:17, 6,600 ft gained in 68 miles. More climbing in 11 fewer miles than my northern route. This has to be good for me.

The Argh of Racing in the Rain

2011-06-08T16:07:00.011-04:00

With apologies to Garth Stein, a friend of my brother who wrote what I believe is the best anthropomorphized tale about a dog and his people in a very long time.

I woke at 4:45 today, set on riding for about 4-5 hours easy before the rain came. The wind howled all night and Annie sought shelter in the hammock of blanket that formed between my knees before I slept. She slept. I don't sleep on my back but what was I supposed to do? I don't have the heart to dislodge a purring cat even for my comfort. There is my confession for the evening.

Really this all starts back on Tuesday, at the TNW.

I fed the dog and myself and brought my bike into the basement to address the creak that I was now confident came from my headset. Pulling the steertube out the amount of road grit that was packed into the bearings startled me. I had already gone through the rest of the bike and all systems were cleaned and re-greased. Wednesday's short ride (with sprint intervals), Thursday's longer sub-threshold hill intervals (followed by sprint intervals) and Friday's longer tempo ride (with sprint intervals) had all included a creaking. Today's long ride should not have to have that.

I checked email hoping someone might have responded to my passive plea for company. Nope. I checked NOAA again - here, in New Britain where Claude, Matt, John and others were racing, and in Wilmington where others were racing. Then I checked the roster at Wilmington. I weighted the dry weather here that looked stable for 4-5 hours against a hard effort with friends two hours away that might be wet. It was 6:05. I was effectively running out the clock on my ride time. I sent a text to Mark. Twenty minutes later he responded that he was going to meet a group at the Charlotte Ferry at 10. I made a cup of coffee and looked up a waffle recipe to convert to gluten free. I walked upstairs and Jen was stirring.

"At the risk of seeming totally insane, I think I'm going to go to NY to race with Mark and some other friends. Want some waffles?" It's always good to sweeten the deal before it's even made. She wondered if my considered insanity was due to the drive, the potential rain, or my incessant fence-sitting. Yes.

The waffles were excellent and I had time to pack my things and load the bike before walking the dog with my wife. A text exchange with John and Andrew T and I was off to the ferry.

It rained. Light drizzle at first and then harder until it was a full on steady rain. The thermometer in the car began to drop from a balmy 59 to 56 before settling at 57. I have a 55 degree rule. No riding in the rain below 55. Damn thermometer. We navigated the roads north and then south arriving to a muddy parking lot and steady rain at just about 11:30

After registering amid grumbles and laughter I came back to find Andrew Trip wearing his tri swim cap while riding the trainer.It started to let up. Wear the rain jacket or leave it? Heather was near the start. We exchanged "good lucks" and moved to our start groups. On the line AT decided to leave his while I chose to stow mine in my jersey pocket just as a the whistle sounded for the start. The rain began again.

This is not a long race in any category but the P123. 55.9 miles for the rest of us, 82 for them. It does, however have some climbs that are brutal if not too long. My goal was simple: This is a B race and the rule is sit in to the end. On the lead in to the loop the grade is easy and the pace was not too bad. We turned onto the loop road and increased tempo. Sit in. I did. Up the long easy grind before the 130 degree right and the acceleration into the descent series: a set of run-outs that lead ultimately to a screaming fast descent to a 100 degree off camber left.

Alberto came to the front before the hard left and I thought he was going to go for a break. It would have been one of those unexpected things that could have worked for a bit. Instead he rolled through to stay safe and let the field come up easy. Into the back stretch and a right into the headwind. Sitting in is easy. I saw Derek Tredwell, the pro triathlete who won the Bennington Road Race in the BSR. He was sitting in. Down the hill into the sweeping right that leads to the mile-long grind up Black Brook Hill and past the feed-zone. This must be 15 percent for much of it and it is the place separates the field.

Tredwell had come to the front and set a brutal tempo. I sat in and spun my legs, grateful for the 28 on the back. The front began to separate and I stood and gritted my teeth through the pain. Four days of hard training catching up with me. They were getting away. As we passed the lap marker indicating we were entering lap 2 I had to TT hard to catch back on. I did. I sat in, heaving with he effort. Tredwell appeared to be breathing easy. It's hard not to glance at your compatriots and compare their apparent effort to your own. Christian Verry was in the mix and was riding strong.

Christian is a very strong rider and he often burns himself up with solo efforts. Today he was riding really smart and really well. Alberto was sitting nicely in the pack having stayed with the group up Black Brook. Andrew T was shivering. Tredwell was wrestling with his vest, trying to get it on while keeping one hand on the bars in the peloton. I drifted back and pulled my rain jacket out and on. This was a good choice. Nice job on that decision. A small victory. The rain was intermittent but the chill was through to the bone now.

Around in the same manner to the base of that wicked Black Brook. I felt great. I sat. I was spinning easily and passed Alberto. This was a good sign. Then the front moved off and I stood on the pedals. They continued to gain ground. How was that possible? I felt fine. I was standing and turing the cranks feverishly and they were pulling away. I was going backwards! Up past the feed-zone to shouts of, "Get 'em! Stay with it! You've got it! Stay strong!" Nice sentiments all but the reality was setting in fast. Derek Tredwell was destroying the field and only the fast were hanging on. Alberto passed me. Christian's yellow Trek was visible up the road. I was getting dropped - with half or more of the field behind me. Past the lap mark and they were away.

Two Giant riders came up on me and I joined them. Two more and then another and one more. We caught another up the road and we were seven chasers. The wheel truck passed us before we hit the 130 degree right and we tucked in for the long pull around to the back stretch. Now they were out of sight. Down the long gradual, but fast descent to the little rise then to the long fast one with the crazy hard left, we went in a descent paceline. Up the final feed-zone climb we were all hurting. Some claimed they were done. We pressed on and regrouped. Left at the lap and we were on our way to the finish. We passed two riders, dropped from the lead field.

I saw Alberto in the distance. He had been dropped on the second lap feed climb, too, but had chased hard and closer for the rest of the lap. By the time they hit the final feed climb he was done. "Are you going to the finish?" he asked. Yeah. I've come this far, I'm not stopping now.

I sat in. I took one or two pulls but that was all. We came to the hard right and into the final 1.6 mile ascent along the 8 percent grade to the final 11 percent. I rode along side a Canadian rider who thought this was the hardest race he'd done. For a short one it's brutal. We duked it out to the finish and I pressed hard and beat him by a bike length. Victory, for what it's worth. Derek had won. He said it was his second road race. As for triathlons...

I spun circles to "cool down" and then went for the car. On the way down I saw Heather coming up the hill. She must have been in 6th or 7th position in the P12 field! Fantastic. She is amazing. From Cat 4 to 2 in a heartbeat and riding strong in a P12 field. She has the highest power to weight ratio at the Confluence and it shows on the hills where she turns effortlessly. I shouted encouragement and went for the car. What an epic.

TNW HOT!!

2011-06-07T21:23:00.000-04:00

I arrived at Dorset Park on my bike with my backpack hanging heavily from my shoulders. It had been a perfect Tuesday so far. I had dropped Kirby off at Crate Escape and Jen would retrieve him at dinner time. I parked at the P+R and rode to work in Winooski. There I discovered that some genius at the Woolen Mill had installed the valve on one of the showers backward, so that when set to cold one gets scalded. Can you say VOSHA? After my morning clients I treated myself to lunch out - the grilled chicken sandwich at Sneakers is excellent - and finished up with the afternoon slate. Out the door at 5:05 and on my leisurely way to the park.

It was hot - really hot. When I got to the park there were only a handful of riders milling about. I ditched my bag in Claude's van and began the banter about the next races we'd ride. I wondered if we'd be a small group due to the heat. Alan Cote and I planned to say a few words at the outset to encourage riders to maintain appropriate decorum on the ride. By the time we were ready for that the ranks had swelled to what looked like 40+. On a ride like this numbers that large scare me. It's hard to get a group that size to ride rather than race.

Alan had a brief statement planned so I stood back. Simple: caution through intersections, including group passage through whenever possible; and ride only two abreast.

What a ride. We all got through the light onto Dorset and there we produced a fine double-file of some 20 plus pairs. A couple reminders to tighten up was all it took and we looked great! Onto Falls road without a hitch. There is always some widening of the column here and I don't know why. Aside from a car or two being made to wait it was smooth sailing. Excellent passage through the intersection of Irish Hill and Spear and again at Falls Road and Mt Philo, and through the Rte 7 intersection with Bostwick. In fact, looking back on the ride it was about as good as I could remember one being.

While the pace was slower than normal without one of the erstwhile engines on the front, the hills commanded the requisite punch and respect. Hammering up Philo 2 was a treat - until Tremble came by me and rode to the top to raise his hands in mock glory.

At the return onto Irish Hill we had a good sized group - smaller than at the start but twice as large as usual at this point - due in no small part to the lackluster post-hill pace. There was one point when a rider stayed in the road despite a call of "car back." The car had made two attempts to pass while it was safe and we were not yet on the downhill or the corner. I used the rider's name and repeated the call. He moved right. After we rounded the corner the truck passed, followed now by two other cars.

Back at the parking lot I spoke with the rider. I apologized for calling him out by name and explained myself. He told me that he was about to give me the finger when I called out his name. We discussed the situation and I believe we came to an understanding.

Andrew Gardner was talking to a few riders about a training model he'd found useful. Fifteen seconds on followed by full recovery and repeat for (I think) five or more times, EVERY ride. I had found Friel's once a week model useful for sprinting but this sounded too painful to be anything but good. I'd have to try it.

Alan and I spoke and, at the time, worried that we'd never get this to work as a safe ride. But looking back on it I again believe that it went very well. I am proud of the fact that we have such a well known and respected (by most cyclists) ride. People form other states have heard of the ride even if they have never been here. As Jake said (forgive me for repeating myself), "A great bike city deserves a great ride." We have one. In spades. This is hands down the best training ride around. As long as we can maintain a reasonable level of safety and respect for the rules of the road many of us have worked so hard to establish, this ride will carry on for eons.

Rock on the ride!

1 AM and sleep won't come

2011-06-01T01:06:00.002-04:00

It's 1:06. Why am I awake? I lie in bed and replay sections of the KSR in my head. I hear the words Ben wrote and wonder. Would it have mattered?

It's such painful fun to explore the depths of tolerance and the heights of adrenal ecstasy. The same thing that causes me to writhe in super-slow-mo reenactment self-flagellation is the thing that makes me sign up for the next race. What's the next possibility? What's the next challenge? Can I do that? Should I ride 4 stage races this year? Why not? It's not like my sponsors are going to be disappointed. Sit in for a road race with gut wrenching hills or go for it in the Nutmeg for crit fun and cash?

The no see-ums didn't help. I was exhausted around 9:00 but our washer crapped out on Friday and we have mildewed clothes - not to mention some ripe stage race gear - that need attention. The web searches turn up great products and prices that make me gag. Our last machine came with the house, which we bought in '93. Amazing. We've been in this place for near 18 years and have only replaced a knob on the old Kenmore. I doubt the new front loader will last a decade. Pessimist?

Heather V was 2nd in the RR. We saw her climbing the final hell-hill in time with Jessie D. Fantastic. What a feeling it must be to be in the running for a podium on this course. Heather has the highest watt/kg of anyone at the Confluence. Put her on a hill and you better watch out.

I'm thinking of "Mr Jones," and the lyrics I'd write. Do I really want to be a "big, big star?" Not really. I routinely shy away from the limelight and seek the shadows of anonymity. But I loved winning the GMSR crit and I loved wearing the jersey. Can one be a specialist when it comes to ego-boost seeking? I'm reminded of the sensation after that crit a few years back. It all went off as planned. The sprint lap came and the riders sat up - then crashed, which was not part of the plan. I skated around the inside of the crash and hammered harder than ever I had to make a huge gap. Then my teammates got on the front and set a tempo that allowed me to gap the field and stay away for the remainder. God it felt good to solo around with the hometown crowd.

But the race faded away as all races do. At the end of the day it our pride that remains stoked. Remember when? Yeah, man. That was great. We don't want it to be so rare yet it must be to make it worth working for. It's not unlike gambling. Casinos count on you winning from time to time. If you didn't, you'd never come back. If you do, they have you in the zone and they keep you there. The difference, I hope, is that racing is not so self-destructive and the times we don't win our losses are not so great. We've competed against other good gamblers - some of them even great. We've ridden as well as we were able to under the totality of the circumstances, as we used to say in court.

It was hard to take a day off today - yesterday. Tomorrow it's forecast to rain and it now being 1:29 AM I doubt I'll be up to ride in the morning before work. I'll drag myself out of bed to mow the lawn and walk the dog before heading off to meet with those who want my help finding direction or guidance through hard times. Maybe it's time to sleep.

All good things

2011-05-30T21:05:00.004-04:00

Come to an end.

Last night was hot. Paul came in after we'd gone to bed at 10 and I hadn't gotten to sleep yet. It was after midnight I think. Then the dogs started barking and repeated their performance a few times through the sticky night. Great prep. 6:17AM and I'm wide awake. We eat and pack our gear into the car and head off to the mountain for our 9:25 start. I'm tired. I'm thinking of the sprint and what has to happen if I'm to win the jersey. It's pretty shaky math, but it's always possible. With 9 points to Ben and Ariel's 12 I need to either win with Ben or Ariel in 3rd, or I have to nab a 2nd or 3rd place with them out of the mix. In the second case I'd then have to beat either of them in the GC - a strong doubtful scenario since I'm, generally not in any condition to climb the 8-15% grades following the sprint.

I warm up after several trips to the port-o-lets. Not a good sign.

Choices: Sit in and just hang on for whatever GC position I can get; or go for the sprint and then try to avoid a DFL.

We go off only a few minutes late and the skies are already clearing. It's going to be hot. I'm so glad Kelly is here to hand off bottles. It is tremendously cool of her to stand on the side of the road in the heat for an hour or more waiting for us to come through 36 miles into the course.

The sprint is 24 miles in and is followed two miles later by a brutal climb through Barnard. It seems endless. It must be 6 miles of mostly climbing with brief downhills.

Ben and I chat as we ride in a slow peloton. We look out for each other and go for it when we get there. Ben asks, "If we're together at the final climb you wanna ride it together?" I find this an extremely generous offer, since Ben is considering whether or not he'll get shelled as I expect I will. I don't expect that he will, but I accept his offer.

With 17 miles to go before the sprint a rider carries his momentum up a rise and looks over his shoulder. It does not look like one of the marked riders so I don't think too much of it. Then he accelerates and gaps the field. He's making serious ground. JM counters and tries to bring him back. Both are out of sight periodically as we scream downhill. Then JM is in sight alone in the distance. Damn. He's going to stay away for the sprint win and he'll go for the KOM. Crazy. Now it's down to getting 2nd or 3rd and finishing ahead in the GC. I should have accepted my fate at that point and just sat in the rest of the race. I didn't think about that then.

On we went clicking off the miles towards the spring. Getting edgier Ariel came to the front with me and Ben. So, he says. You're the other one I have to watch out for. I don't know. I think Ben is the hot number. 5K to go and we're dancing this ridiculous cat and mouse at 20 MPH. No one wants to burn matches and no one wants to get caught behind. I see Ariel talking with a teammate and I think I hear him planning to block me. The teammate comes in front of me. Ben is on my right and Ariel is behind me. Matt Spence is just behind as well and as we close on 2K Mark, a rider I have seen in various races who tends to attack to try to get an advantage on hills up ahead comes to the front. Then Christian V comes through with a massive effort. He's off and away and then slows and is swallowed. Mark goes and Ben is on his wheel with Ariel close behind. 1K to go. Christian again and now Ben begs him to pull. He fades.

500M and Ben and Ariel are 3/4 bike length ahead on my right. I try to pull right but Ariel's teammate slows and I nearly crash him. hitting the breaks I try again but Matt is there and won't move forward. 200M. GO MATT!! I scream but he accelerates only a little and I can't get through. With no where to go I can only watch as Ben takes it and the points he needs for the jersey. Way to go Ben! Nice work. You certainly earned it.

I sit up and let the field envelope me like a shroud. Sit in and rest. In no time were at that awful 120 degree turn to the right that starts the climb. As soon as we hit it the field lurches forward. I go too. Not feeling so bad but also feeling like I'm missing something I hang in for the first, second, third pitch. Now we're getting closer to the KOM and the front goes a little ballistic. There's a separation and I can't make the first group. Fine, I think. I'll stay with the second. It's big.

But my legs won't do it. Come on! I tell them. They're deaf to me. Food. That's what's missing. I grab a limp bar from my jersey pocket and squeeze it into my mouth. Eating while climbing with your tongue hanging out is not advisable. But sometimes it's all your brain allows you to do. I have liquid food on my bike but my brain says to save it for later because it has salt that I might need in the gaining heat. First Jack and then Damien come by me and encourage me to grab a wheel and come with them. I can't. I try a few feeble standing pushes but I simply can't stay with them. JM is next and he same thing occurs.

The second group is past me now. I look behind and see that I am among the stragglers. Much like last year only in a smaller group. I really feel dead. The negative talk begins and I have to quiet it. I do this for fun. I do this because I can. I actually like the pain I can endure and still move forward. Six plus miles to the feed zone. Wow. Not even half done with the race. This is going to be a long day.

Onward. A small group forms. The four of us move lamely forward cursing the climbs and falling apart on the downhills. The funny thing about most riders is that they fail to see the logic of retaining a paceline on a downhill. THe reality is that if four riders cycle through pulls instead of coasting the line moves faster. On the flats we do fine. One by one we start to crack and fall apart. Three move ahead and regroup without me and I wait for the next. So it goes. I get to the feed and Kelly hands me a bottle.

A next group of 4 forms and we carry it. Finally down to Route 4 and the last long 1-3% grind for 5 miles before the final Bear Mt Climb. Only two of us are really working with the other two taking 1 for our 4 pulls. I hate that. I intend to pass the two on the hill. Matt, the other puller is wearing a Cannondale Jersey but riding a Scott bike. Silently aI ask him a dozen times if Cannondale knows he's riding a Scott. I have to get out of my head. It's crazy in there.

We see a lead cruiser behind us signaling an approaching field. The 40+ I think. Wow! It's McGill! Nice job John!! He's in the lead of a six man break and they are moving nicely. He seems to be doing all the work, however and I wonder if it's his intention to try to stay way for the climb. Madness.

The rest of the lead 40+ group catches and passes us as we approach the turn to the mountain. We make the turn onto the access road and one rider falls away. Then I gear down and sit in for the grind. Matt pulls away and the green-kitted rider from Ridgefield New Jersey tries to hang on. I watch them go. There's really no point in killing oneself at this stage in the game. I might finish 70th or 80th but so what. Just ride smoothly for the training and see what happens. JM is up the road. I catch him and we ride together for the next twenty minutes of climbing. I'm turning a 39/28 and doing it slowly. Others are doing the same cadence with 39/25s.

JM pulls away with more than 500M to go. Last year Jack Piller was ahead of me hear and I chased him down. He was riding for Battenkill then and I passed him with 200 to to. Friendly rivalry. Today I wasn't passing anyone. Jack was long finished and Ben was on his way back down. He cheered me on as he passed. Thanks Ben.

I find John at the top. He tells me that shortly after they turned to the Mt one of the guys in his field who had not been pulling at all attacked them. He was pissed so he grabbed the guys saddle and there was almost a fight. It cost John any chance of a good finish but he was satisfied with his performance to that point. He said he couldn't handle the hills anyway, but he had done Barnard, which I think is harder than Bear.

Hard race. Mostly well ridden. I could have folded my hand sooner if I was better at math and crystal ball reading.

Tomorrow is another day.

Day 2 - ITT

2011-05-29T21:04:00.001-04:00

May 28: ITT

I've never liked time trials. The whole thing is anathema to me. We put ourselves in contorted positions in an attempt to defy the resistance of the air before us while delivering the most power we can over a distance of (in this case) 11.5 miles. It is also the stage in which GC place can be changed dramatically for me, and for the worse.

The upside is that our start time allows us to sleep in, eat in a relaxed manner and have plenty of time to get to the start. The downside is that today it was hot. We stopped for ice and filled our bottles in an attempt to cool our cores.

Getting out on the road it's the same as the start of the circuit. Check out the bikes, the positions, the helmets, the wheels. That guy is on his road bike with no aero bars. How's he going to compete? That dude on his new Slice with the disc wheel and the dimpled helmet might be fast. I feel like crap. I always feel like crap before a tt. I ride easy for 20, wishing I could do it for 45 but dripping in the 86 degree heat and 90% humidity. Am I exaggerating ? Maybe. It feels that way though. I think of the scene from Apocalypse Now where Martin Sheen is dripping with sweat and smoking a cigarette. Give me a smoke, I might as well.

Phil is at the start riding one of the trainers provided by Saris for the event. Under the shade of the pop-up tent it might only be 80 but there is no air moving in there. I'd rather be on the road. Some guys turn to look and others just glance sideways, peripherally assessing whether or not I'm a threat. Nope. Not me. Just a sprinter from the Bronx. Fis moi la paix, alors cochon! Y'a ten! (Who gets the reference?)

Thirty second intervals between riders allows a good view of who is up the road and who your target is. Ben is two behind me having finished two ahead of my yesterday. Jamie is one ahead and I know I will try to chase him and stay away from Ben. Ben is on a road bike with no aero bars.

The course is pretty good for me. A gradual grade with some flats and declines, and only a relatively short hill. Last year we had a steady headwind while this year we were graced with a gentle tail wind.

It was a good race. I went out not to hard and stayed in for the ride. Dropped down to 31st place with 2 minutes between me and the leader and 2 seconds between me and Ben. I would have to beat both Ben and Ariel to the sprint without either of them in the points. Or I'd have to tie them in the sprint points and beat them to the finish by over a minute for Arial and 2 seconds for Ben. Tomorrow could be an interesting day.

KSR 2011

2011-05-29T20:27:00.004-04:00

We prepare for eventualities and consider potential scenarios as if we controlled the outcome of every move of every rider along the way. Last year I was unprepared, having not intended to ride the race, and showed up to the circuit race with a compact crankset. The Tech Manual even recommended a 53/11 minimum and one rider one his category with a 56/11. This year I had the full sized.

Driving down yesterday morning Phil and I discussed the possible plans. His was to stay in the mix but not contend sprints and then to look for a good finish. I was on the fence. Going for sprint points - my favorite after riding crits - burns a lot of matches. If a break were to go, I thought I would go with it, but I would not initiate my own. I hoped for some points and a win in the field.

Ben Grass, the 25 year old Dartmouth student I rode with to a one two finish at the Barre Crit would be in the mix and I knew he'd be going for the points as well.

Arriving at the parking area with less time than I had planned before the start Phil noticed a crack in my rear wheel. The Zipp 303 carbon wheel has had numerous impact crack problems - Andrew McCullough has gone through two and Phil has gone through one. I decided to ride it.

A brief warmup brought us to the start line and easy conversations among racing acquaintances made over the years. I say "easy," but the undertone of evaluation is nearly palpable. We check out each other's bikes, legs, kits, glasses, tires, wheels, helmets: As if that late-breaking information will make a qualifiable difference in how we ride.

Two minutes to the start. An official asks if everyone has signed in. Damn! I pull out of the lineup and sprint across the dirt parking lot, hoping I don't crash along the way. Sign in and sprint back. One minute to the start. What a rookie, I think to myself. How many of these have you done? The whistle and we're off.

The start is a gradual down and we're neutral for the first mile. Then the jockeying for position begins over the next 5.5 miles and we come to the hard right onto 100A that narrows across a one-lane bridge. Sand and sketchy pavement keep us on our toes and I tuck in happily as the headwind buffets the riders on the front. Not me today. I'm sitting in. This bottom stretch is full into the wind and finishes with a gentle right turn to the KOM - a simple affair that favors a time trialist or sprinter more than a climber (which won't be true of the RR on Monday). Up past the KOM and left through the feed zone the pace increases on a short downhill before a 90 degree right to a modest climb. 10K to the sprint more or less.

The crest of this one is followed by a screamer downhill that has the carbon pads smoking and speed crest 50 - not so fast except that the entire field is together. There is something terrifying about riding six abreast in a group of 80 plus riders at over 50MPH while approaching a sharp turn. I moved up the right side and dodged left through a gap to get into the front 20 riders for the turn. I notice for the first time that Ben is right there, too.

Accelerating out of the corner we're closing on the 5K mark. Up the gradual rise a rider goes off the front, followed by Ben Grass. I wait. Another rider jumps to bridge. The field does not respond. I let a gap of 75 or 100 meters grow and then jump hard away from the field. I bridge to the third rider who yells, "We're four now!" I skip a pull to catch my breath - Ben skips one right after me. We move hard away from the field and set a good paceline and tempo.

The sprint is on a long downhill runout with a slight dip in the pavement at 200 Meters to go. At 3K out we're still pacing and wondering when the contest will begin. I'm on the wheel of a big guy on a red and white Trek. He looks young and strong. He's on Ben's wheel and Ben is on the lead rider - I learn later his name is Keith. 500 to go and Ben jumps. I follow around the Trek rider. Two hundred to go and the other two fall off. I'm on Ben's wheel when he gets up to sprint. I come around him at the line with a rim's width! Yes.

We motor on thinking we might stay away. Our gap is 45 seconds an we're approaching the headwind. I am doubtful we can hold it and after 10 miles we're caught.

Second lap I can't quite come around Ben and wind up in 3rd. Third lap I get caught in a group and cant get past to contest it. Ben is 3rd. At the finish a group is away and I see it too late. I can't bridge - not enough time. It's a frenzy to the finish and I'm blown. Cramping and dehydrated in the 86 degree heat I finish 3rd in the field sprint putting me in 11th. No points.

Sitting in 3rd place in the points with 9 behind Ben with 12 and the stage winner with 12 for his win.

Today's TT will determine GC position for tomorrow. We'll see what it brings. Off to the races.

Pinch me!

2011-05-26T21:17:00.003-04:00

My last client of the day was a no-show and I leapt at the opportunity to escape the high school early and get a quick ride in before going to an award ceremony at HowardCenter - and before the forecast tornado and brimstone.

I'd been nominated (an honor in itself, I'm told) for a Child-focused service award. Circumstance eliminated the time for a ride and trip to Burly, but Kirby was in no mood to go walking in the heat so after a quick out for a pee I gave him a biscuit and got changed for the ride to town. One thing I was particularly interested in was testing out my freshly installed bars and re-aligned derailleur hanger before going down to Killington on Saturday morning.

I figured the trip would take an hour since I had the benefit of a south wind, which mostly would be at my back or at least quartering from behind. I sailed through Richmond and after a brief (felt endless) holdup at the Checker House Bridge I was cruising along at 27 without breaking a sweat thanks to the stiff wind behind. Lovely. The bars are stiff, and the lowered stem felt great. I made HowardCenter in 58 minutes. Not bad for an easy ride. Admonished to change by my supervisor I did a quick wipe-down and change into some shorts and a clean T from my office, did not receive the award, had a few chips and a coke and changed back into my togs for the ride home.

The sky in the West and North was Black. To the East and South it was OK. I hit the light from Queen City Park Road to Shelburne Road by sprinting hard, just squeezing through the amber. Right onto Swift and up the hill. Hmmm, this feels pretty easy, I thought. As I crested the hill I noticed flagging on some grade stakes blowing with me. Strange. It was blowing from the Southeast on my way into town, and now it was blowing West/Northwest. I checked my watch. It was still today. I looked around and felt confident I was not in a dream. Yet there was no doubt that I was actually getting a tailwind from the opposite direction of the one I'd benefitted from earlier.

Through Taft Corners and onward east on Rte 2 I was rocketing along on the flats at an effortless 28 and holding 32 anytime I wanted without nearing threshold. This is fun! Like motorpacing without the work! I looked over my shoulder and saw the black sky with a yellowish tint racing towards me trying to swallow me up. Into the village and on past Oak Hill Road the gentle rise towards the crest of French Hill could have been a downhill. Along past Paquette's and Conant's, now at an easy 32 as the wind increased behind me. This was going to be close. I hit a new max power on the rise into Richmond Village and was grateful to make the light.

Thinking back on the rest of the ride I think it was more like surfing than riding. I was staying on the crest of the wave, just ahead of the break - the gust occasionally kicking my line around a bit and then allowing me to get back on the straight and narrow. I was psyched to hit the base of Snipe Ireland with a r/t time of 1:44. One hundred meters from my driveway the wind shifted back to the east and drove about 40MPH across me, raining leaves and buds and twigs onto me and making me wonder about falling trees. I got to my house and was there long enough to call Jen to say I was home before the skies opened and the rain came down.

T minus one. Killington is on the doorstep.

TNW Redux and redone

2011-05-24T21:23:00.003-04:00

By now we know that there has been some work afoot to make a few changes to the Tuesday NIght World Championships. Not so much in function as in form. Over the past several years there have been more and more complaints about riders behaving badly. On at least one occasion I'm sure the complaint was about me.

It is a ride unlike any other group ride I have been on. It is faster, harder, and better training than I get in any other 1.5 hour time period and it is a rare opportunity to ride with local elite Cat 1 team members, the occasional pro, and plenty of very fast 2s along with the rest of us hoping to improve our lot. Consequently, many of us allow ourselves to get a bit out of control. Riding on the rivet in a race when the roads are partly closed and there are marshals at the intersections is different from riding open roads at rush-hour. But this is when we get to do it.

The changes initiated with a few riders deciding that we could run the risk of losing the ride - the police had been patrolling heavily looking for infractions - or we could be proactive and help this marvelous local legend carry on. As Jake Hollenbach said, "A great bike city deserves a great group ride." He's right. And we have it, in spades. What we need to do is maintain it.

Tonight we had the good fortune to have a police escort on Dorset Street and at the intersection of Falls Road and Mt Philo Road. We have the interest of Local Motion behind us and have buy-in from the "masters" of the ride. This is critical to keeping the ride safe, fast, and worthwhile. It needs to be all those things to continue.

It went very well tonight. THere were three riders who entered on Dorset Street by crossing north bound traffic, but they had missed the pre-ride preamble. My hope is that we can maintain a positive discussion about how to keep this ride rolling. Feel free to comment.

A little treat from a friend

2011-05-23T07:54:00.002-04:00

Try this, you paleo, raw food, vegan hedonists.

2 ripe avocados

1/4 cup raw organic cocoa powder

1/4 cup softened coconut oil

1/3 cup raw organic coconut syrup (or other raw organic sweetener of your choice)

Blend very well and refrigerate 1/2 hour - if it's not blended well you'll get chunks of coconut oil.

This comes from Leslie Myers of Foodsense Now. www.foodsensenow.com

THANKS LESLIE!!!

Sunapee to Barre on the road to Killington

2011-05-23T07:08:00.003-04:00

Saturday's Sunapee RR went of as usual. We arrived early and left ourselves with only 20 minutes to warm up for this fast 45 mile race. My heart rate was 15-20 beats above normal on the start line for some unknown reason. We were a pretty big field - 62 pre-registered.

Down the hill and tempo set the attacks began as usual. There were four from ORR in the field and Burris put up 6 riders. Christian Verry was the strong man for Burris and odds pointed to the team working for him. With ORR it was not an organized day. Phil and I had loosely talked about attacking hard and often just to see what we could do but that wasn't happening. I pushed the tempo.

Halfway into the first of two laps one rider went and got a good gap. I wanted to chase him down. We got close and one bridged. Now I really wanted him back. I hate racing for an hour or more just to contest 3 place and deeper. I tried to organize. Phil came to the front and led a counter. Matt, from Threshold racing jumped in. I mentioned Bennington and he agreed we should pull it back. We did by the end of the lap and then were together through the first half of lap two.

When the double hill climb came I felt good. I pushed hard up the first - half thinking it was actually the second - and gapped the field. I maintained it part-way up the second and felt burned so I backed off and was swallowed by the field. I stayed with the front and maintained the tempo. One rider went. Black with green horizontal stripes. I hadn't seen their team all day and new he was fresh from sitting in. Then a Sunapee rider - a strong guy I think we saw at Battenkill - and a third whom I forget. I said to Threshold's Matt, They're gone. No he said. Watch.

I didn't have enough to stay setting tempo. I sat in. The field lost them.

We pushed hard through the last north bound stretch into the wind with the 3-man break just in sight. I stayed in the front 15 and kept my eye on Phil. If I could stay with him and use him to motivate myself up the finish hill after the rotary I might be in the money. I felt pretty good.

Into the roundabout - a downhill entry that is terrifying with 60 odd riders at 30 plus speed - and around to the first part of the leg-sapping hill finish. I stayed with the front to the false flat, but felt burnt. As riders came past me I wondered if I could sprint for a place. More came around - those who had sat in for the race - and I counted. No way to place in the top ten. I sat up. Literally I sat up and nearly coasted across the line in 20th? who knows. I did't care. I wasn't 1st or tenth. Another race I had played the same way I play most of them.

"You now what your problem is?" asked Phil as he rode up alongside me, "You feel like you have to take care of everyone out there."

He's right. I feel that if I don't bring back the break it won't come back. It might not. But it's not my responsibility. We talked about it for 20 minutes cooling down. We talked about it for an hour on the ride back to Montpelier. I thought about it on the drive back to Richmond. This is how to lose a race. Do the same thing that hasn't worked in the past and expect it to work this time.

Not so much.

Sunday was the Barre Fitness Festival's Criterium. It was the inaugural event sponsored by our club and I'd signed up to race the 35+ and the 3/4 following it. Saturday night I began to wonder why I was going to torture myself the weekend before the Killington Stage Race.

I slept in. I figured I'd skip the 35+ and maybe do the 3/4 race. I told Phil I'd just sit in. Really, all the training gurus said to go for a long easy ride. Phil and I decided to meet in Middlesex and ride to Barre where I could decide. I swore I'd sit in the race.

We got there 15 minutes before the start of the 3/4 and I took two easy laps to check it out. I had been warned about the double RR crossing and was nervous about a crash or bike damage before the KSR. It was fine. They'd done an excellent job of paving up to the tracks and the crossing was perfectly safe and pretty comfortable. Perhaps the first North American Crit to cross a double set and a single set of tracks.

I got to the start line. There were about 30 guys on the line I'd guess. Some so young their peach-fuzzed faces screamed high school - some a bit older and wearing Dartmouth kits. Vox Racing - the voice of collegiate cycling.

We went off and I maneuvered around some failed click-ins. Kids. Scary. Stay in the front third, PERIOD.

I did. I sat in for lap after lap and didn't even contest the prime sprint after 5 laps were gone. Six down and 20 to go, I thought. Sit in. Just sit in. I was talking out loud now. Your only job today is to sit in and get that experience. Andrew B doesn't know you need to do it. That's why he's screaming to take the prime. Jack and Susanna don't know it's the plan either. They can't know. Just sit in, you can do this.

The sitting in part was really hard. Especially when the breaks went. There was an early break and I talked to myself about letting the field do the work and I really focused on Matt Spence, who is good at sitting in. Then the second break went and I looked to Carl. "Carl, go get him." Carl is a UVM rider who comes out to the TNW. He is silly strong. He hasn't been riding long but his VO2 is above 70. He rides past me on 10% grades without breathing hard. A rider bridges and over the next 3 laps Carl brings one back on his own. Then we were closing on Ben Grass - the VOX rider who won the sprint - and I kept talking out loud to myself about sitting in and keeping steady. Damien comes along side me. "Do you wanna bridge?" He's like a Tessla. He has no tell on his face and he can motor away on the flats to hold 32MPH for a long time. I hear myself say "sure.". I looked over my shoulder because I wanted to go as a group of 7 or more so I could "sit in" more or less.

That's when Matt came up and I asked him to take a pull. We were a group of maybe 7 or 8 then - having caught Ben - and we came through on a prime lap. I figured I'd missed the first one so why not. I sat in for the lap and went on the 4th wheel. We passed Ben and I took second. My momentum carried me past the first place and he and the field seemed to sit up a bit. I was really just coasting assuming the field would catch on and overtake me and I'd be sitting in again. When Ben came up and said, "I've got two guys in the field who will block for me. Do you want to go?" I thought - shit. I have 3 guys in the field who will block and three others from another team who might also.

Then the silent, rapid thoughts came: Phil said sit in. This would definitely not be sitting in. We clearly have a gap and the field looks sluggish - we could broaden the gap. I went back and forth a few times. Finally, I said, "Look. I'm supposed to be sitting in today. That was my only goal. I'll go on this at tempo but no more. If they bridge, they bridge and if not, we stay away. OK?" He was not super happy with this but seemed to capitulate. I was averaging about 350 watts on the pull and 275 on the follows. Sort of a tempo push.

Phil was on the sidewalk. "What are you doing? That's not sitting in!" He was laughing. He had wanted to bet me that I could not sit in the race. "It was an accident." I said. On the next lap he said, "Now you have to go for it."

He asked if I wanted to take the next prime so I did. I asked if he wanted the next - I knew he would get the VT Smokehouse basket and I wanted the gift card to Lenny's since i need new pats - then we talked about the finish. We were holding a steady 26 on the finish stretch, 24 to the bridge, 23 on the back stretch. "I crashed my bike five minutes into Nationals, so I could really use the money." Well, I said, I could use the points. We agreed to go to the line like I did with Andrew last year in Saratoga. Hit the straights and 1, 2, 3, go!

I figured I'd let him get ahead of me and I'd ride his wheel to 50 meters. I miss-shifted and lost a foot on his wheel. I pounded the pedals but could only hold the gap and could not close it! My legs wouldn't do it! Damn. I wanted the win for Andrew and Onion River. I wanted it for Phil. I wanted it for me. Second was not bad though - the day after a hard push at Sunapee.

Not a bad day of racing.

T minus 8

2011-05-19T21:33:00.004-04:00

The Killington Stage Race is a week away. Amazing how fast it crept up on me. I feel like it's still February. Training has been awful. Work has been busy. That's good right? The work part anyway. But man I don't feel like I have the legs to race this weekend's Sunapee and the Barre Criterium and then do a stage race next week.

I've been trying to get on the TT bike twice a week just for the feel of it. Today was an interesting experience because I forgot that I had adjusted the saddle while I was on the trainer, which is not on the level, and it is pointed too far up. I rode an hour and a half with the nose of the saddle in my (yup, I'm gonna say it) junk. It's the night of the Jonesville TT (Which should be called the Bolton TT since that is where it is). I shot this image riding the Cochran Road TT course a week ago. Tonight would have been perfect except for the fact that it was the first night in ages I could have dinner with Jen. Sonoma Station. Fingerling potatoes with baby arugala, snap peas and feta followed by PEI mussels a la Monica and a dynamite red snapper entree lightly breaded and fried crisp.Training food.

I hate TTs. Ironically, tonight I felt better than I have in weeks. I actually maintained decent power and felt OK. Probably not a great idea to TT before the Sunapee race anyway so going easy for most of the ride was safe. Blah blah.

TNW was light. Not too many showed Tuesday eve despite the break in the weather. We held our pre-ride discussion and hit it, maintaining a semblance of order all the way to Shelburne and beyond. Phil Belliveau even got on the front for a bit. He is admittedly about the best wheel sucker in town. I try to learn from his example but... He is good. The ride didn't have either the usual cadre of hard cores and the rest of us seemed anemic. Charles was the exception at the second half with a hail Mary that kept him away back across 7 and up Philo.

Young Maynard has his legs back and launched a pretty good counter off my wheel up the first Philo climb. Jason Baer launched in response after he, Phil and I chased up Philo 2 and onto the last hill before the Charlotte Hinesburg road. It was a good chase up Philo Road but still lacked the usual lung busting efforts. I saw no stars.

Have you ever seen the rain

2011-05-16T21:35:00.003-04:00

Someone told me long ago, there's a calm before the storm.
I know, and it's been comin' for some time.
When it's over, so they say, it'll rain a sunny day.
I know, shinin' down like water.
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
comin' down on a sunny day?
Yesterday, and days before, sun is cold and rain is hard.
I know, been that way for all my time.
'Til forever on it goes through the circle fast and slow,
I know, and it can't stop, I wonder.
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain?
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
comin' down on a sunny day?
- John C. Fogerty

Too long since I posted. Since then, it has rained. Actually, there was a week of glorious sunshine and steady training winds. Of course, I was working a lot so I only saw a little of it. (Whine).

First, a return to the cadence question. Phil sent a pdf that explains pretty well the concept behind higher cadence regardless of terrain.

Why fast pedaling makes cyclists more efficient By Hunter Allen BS, Elite Coach www.peakscoachinggroup.com 9/17/2004
Recently we reported that cyclists are usually more efficient on both hills and flat terrain when they pedal quickly (at about 80-85 rpm) rather than at slower cadences.

Now, a new study suggests that the greater efficiency may be related to the rapid rate at which glycogen is depleted in fast-twitch muscle fibers during slow, high-force pedaling.

To determine the actual effects of slow and fast pedaling on leg-muscle cells, scientists at the University of Wisconsin and the University of Wyoming asked eight experienced cyclists to cycle at an intensity of 85% V02max for 30 minutes under two different conditions.

In one case the cyclists pedaled their bikes at 50 revolutions per minute (rpm) while using a high gear. In the second case, the athletes pedaled in a low gear at 100 rpm. The athletes were traveling at identical speeds in the two instances, so their leg- muscle contractions were quite forceful at 50 rpm and moderate -- but more frequent -- at 100 rpm.

As it turned out, the athletes' oxygen consumption rates were nearly identical in the two cases, and heart and breathing rates, total rate of power production, and blood lactate levels were also similar. However, athletes broke down the carbohydrate in their muscles at a greater rate when the 50 rpm strategy was used, while the 100 rpm cadence produced a greater reliance on fat. The greater glycogen depletion at 50 rpm occurred only in fast-twitch muscle cells. Slow-twitch muscle cells lost comparable amounts of their glycogen at 50 and 100 rpm, but fast-twitch cells lost almost 50 percent of their glycogen at 50 rpm and only 33 percent at 100 rpm, even though the exercise bouts lasted for 30 minutes in each case. This rapid loss of carbohydrate in the fast-twitch cells during slow, high-force explains why slow pedaling is faster cadences of 80-85 rpm. Basically, as the fast fibers glycogen during slow, high-strength pedaling, their pedaling probably less efficient than
quickly deplete their contractions become less forceful, so more muscle cells must be activated to maintain a particular speed. This activation of a larger number of muscle cells then leads to higher oxygen consumption rates and reduced economy.
This scenario, in which slow pedaling pulls the glycogen out of fast-twitch muscle cells, may sound paradoxical but it isn't; after all, slow pedaling rates are linked with high gears and elevated muscle forces, while fast cadences are associated with low gears and easy muscle contractions.

Since fast-twitch fibers are more powerful than slow-twitch cells, the fast-twitch fibers swing into action at slow cadences, when high muscular forces are needed to move the bicycle along rapidly. On the other hand, "fast" pedaling rates of 80-100 rpm are not too hot for the slow-twitch cells to handle. Slow-twitch cells can contract 80-100 times per minute and can easily cope with the forces required to pedal in low gear.

Another possible paradox in the Wisconsin/Wyoming research was that fast pedaling led to greater fat oxidation, even though maximal fat burning is usually linked with slow-paced efforts. Basically, the higher fat degradation at 100 rpm occurred because the slow-twitch cells handled the fast-paced, low-force contractions. Slow-twitch fibers are much better fat-burners than their fast- twitch neighbors.

Fortunately, there's a bottom line to all this: During training and competition, cyclists should attempt to use fast pedaling rates of 80-85 rpm, both on the flat and on inclines. Compared to slower cadences, the higher pedaling speeds are more economical and burn more fat during exercise. Ultimately, the high pedaling rates also preserve greater amounts of glycogen in fast-twitch muscle fibers, leading to more explosive "kicks" to the finish line in closing moments of races. (European Journal of Applied Physiology, 1992). Hunter Allen is an Elite Coach, ex-professional cyclist, co-creator of Cycling Peaks Software, and co-owner of the Peaks Coaching Group. He is a regular presenter for USA Cycling on the topic of training with power for their coaches education program. Hunter has raced as a member of the Navigators Cycling Team nationally, in Europe and S. America and has helped hundreds of athletes from all walks of life take their training to the next level. You can reach Hunter Allen online at hunter@peakscoachinggroup.com.

Next: How do you train when it's 50 and raining all the time? Soon to be posted.

Gluten free blueberry pancakes

2011-05-08T21:46:00.004-04:00

Here's a gluten free pancake recipe for all y'all who might be interested. It was somewhat accidental, as I was trying to make pancakes for my wife, Jennifer, who was off all grain for a time. It has morphed a bit and now seems about right. With the exception of the coconut milk, salt and the leavening, all ingredients are organic.

First, I mill up some seed flour using equal portions of each seed, all raw, plus some quinoa:
Pumpkin
Sesame
Flax
Quinoa

I keep the mix in the freezer until I am ready to use it.

Dry:
1 C seed mix
1 C gluten free flour
1 C buckwheat flour
2 tsp baking soda (gf)
2 tsp baking powder (gf)
1/2 tsp salt

Wet:
3 eggs
1 C unsweetened applesauce
1 1/4 C Coconut Milk (I use SO Delicious)
1/4-1/2 C good virgin olive oil or (preferably) almond oil

3 cups frozen Blueberries

Mix together all dry ingredients in a large bowl.

Mix eggs just until well blended then add remaining wet ingredients.

Add wet to dry and stir until smooth.

Add blueberries and stir to combine.

Cook as for pancakes.

Substitutions: almond milk for coconut. butter for oil. garbonzo bean and rice flour for GF flour mix. 1/4 C agave or maple syrup in place of 1/4 C coconut or almond milk. cows milk for non-dairy

These have a really nice nutty taste and are much higher in protein and lower glycemic than traditional pancakes or your standard gluten free.

95 accidental miles

2011-05-07T15:28:00.005-04:00

I left the house at 8 past six to meet up with Phil (he seems to factor in often) in Middlesex. He had wondered about riding the GMSR RR course, which we had not yet done this year, and I wondered about starting from Middlesex P+R so we could be riding sooner.

During the race the course takes about 3.5 hours to do. I'm guestimating based on my incredibly fallible memory. We figures that adding the 100B section would round things out to a 4-5 hour ride. Phil requested we move the start from 6 to 6:30 and we were riding by about 6:45. IT was cold. My car thermometer read 41 on the way down. Three months ago this would have felt balmy, but its been a long three months and I am ready for 50 plus.

The forecast was for light winds out of the south shifting to the west. Everyone gives me a hard time because Im a wind weenie. I hate it. It used to be that I preferred riding in a downpour with no wind to riding in sunshine with a headwind. Now I just like to plan my rides so that I return with a tailwind. Not crazy is it? So the forecast was favorable: ride into the wind as far as Ripton and then have a tail for the remaining half of the course. It even worked out that way.

Fourty-five minutes in we stopped for a relief and coffee. The temperature had climbed to 44. I was thrilled to have grabbed my windbreaker. The road from Waitsfield south through Warren is so awful it is almost unrideable. IT has been this way for years. This section of 100 is slated for pavement this year - Phil and I hoped that it would include a shoulder repair and not be another one of the state's shim jobs, which create a passable driving surface and leave a lot to be desired by the cyclists who love the route.

Coming out of Warren I feel like it's old home day. This is the section of the course where I aim for a breakaway to the sprint line in the Gulf 11 miles down the road. Last year was the hardest yet because I was wearing the sprint leader's jersey going into the race. Every time I moved an inch someone was on my wheel. As much of a pain in the ass as it was it also felt pretty cool to be marked.

We talked strategy. A favorite pastime on long rides. What if I was able to negotiate 2nd place finishes in the sprints the day before so that I would be close, but not in the jersey? A good plan if I could work it out and then secure the jersey in the Crit.

Noodling but at a decent pace up the long slope before the descent into Granville Gulf Phil pointed out a swimming hole in the Mad. Far enough from Warren that most avoid it but close enough to the road to make it accessible. It reminded me of the post-time trial trip to the river each year to soak in cold water in an attempt to chase away muscle fatigue and cramping. I imagined the first steps in when the water gets above my waist and before numbness sets in. Yikes! Then it's 15 minutes until getting out. Last year Alberto and I hung out waiting for numbness and talked about the day's race and should we try to work together despite our different teams.

Dropping into the Gulf I told Phil about last year and how two guys from the breakaway had gone on to attack Middlebury Gap after the field was neutralized.

We turned onto 125 and the wind came full in our faces - an unpleasant prospect as we moved closer to the start of the climb.

I ate a caffeinated Cliff Shot. We talked about food. Among the most important ways to secure the opportunity for success or the certainty of failure is by what one chooses to eat and when in a race. Eat the wrong stuff and your body rejects it. Eat too much and you cramp or fatigue. Eat too little or too late and you bonk. For me, I've learned that the super sugar shots hurt. I need something with a little less of the refined sugar most of he time, but enough to keep the reserves up.

One of the great pleasures of a training ride is the facility with one can stop for a pee. In a race,the choices are few: you can learn to pee from the bike (something I am not expert at but can do with more competence each year), you can organize a peloton stop, or you can hold it. Caffein being a diuretic and it also being a real boon to endurance, there is a tough balance to be had in a race. We stopped.

Phil and I had decided yesterday that we would try to attack the gaps by cadence, trying to maintain 80 or more as much as possible. It was not so bad at first, and the 39/28 felt really nice. By the time we were 1K to go I was grinding out 70 and it was hard. I don't know how the pros do 85-90 up stuff in the 15% grade range except that they're pros.

Over the top we luxuriated in the fast descent behind a pickup and cruised down through Ripton (don't blink or you miss it). A stop in East Middlebury for water yielded a compliment from one of the drivers descending behind us. "You guys were doing like 50 or more! that's fast."

More caffein in anticipation of things to come. Strip off the arm warmers and vest. The tail wind was right where it was supposed to be. We sailed up 116 to Bristol notch and found the dire section above to be in excellent shape. A fast track along it to Bristol and off with the knee warmers. Not enough pockets.

Phil checked the time. It was later than we thought. We did some math. We'd already done over 60 miles. How far do you suppose it is to Waitsfileld? 20. And then 15 to Middlesex? This is going to be a long ride. We decided we;d hit baby and Ap gaps the same way as Middlebury. Baby seemed easy with the thought of a tempo ride up Ap Gap looming.

We hit the mark that we'd used with Nick two years ago (three?) for repeats. It's about 14 minutes to the top and hard. We set a tempo at 80RPM and held it until the last pitch. I watched my watts run from the high two hundreds to the five hundreds. My heart rate was in the 150's - high for me. With 100 meters to go I felt I was capped. I stood, I sat, I shifted and stood again. No longer considering 8p I don't know that was much over 60. Hold his wheel, I thought. Phil is a much better climber than I even though he's 20 pounds heavier - that may explain his Bennington finish. I held it. I had a bare minimum in reserve and wished I had peed at the bottom. I was grateful for the top. We'd done the timed run in 13 minutes. A minute faster than my best time.

We'd also done near 80 miles. It was 11:51. Phil had to be bak by 1:00. I caught Phil at the bottom and we started our tempo home. The tail wind followed us into Waitsfield and on into Fayston. We were doing an easy 25MPH and tempo was unnecessary. On through Moretown we hit Middlesex at 95 miles and 5:30 hours with over 7800 feet of climbing according to the joule. Not bad. The chocolate milk never tasted better.

What to do tomorrow...

Finally, nice weather

2011-05-07T14:58:00.004-04:00

Yesterday Phil and I met at 11 and headed for a loop out through Huntington and Starksborough,on down to Bristol and theoretically back through Hinesburg. After a refuel in Bristol we decided to head back by way of baby Gap. It was a delightful and gentle ride. We experimented with cadence going up baby G and determined that keeping 80RPM or better was not easy.

The games we play are interesting. How fast should we pedal? Is it true that 80 plus is the best cadence even if you're climbing? Does one really burn more glycogen below 80?

Being on the road without raingear or snorkel was a treat. 3 hours of easy riding on a stolen Friday afternoon.

13 miles to the first hill. Who needs a warmup?

2011-05-02T22:01:00.003-04:00

It seemed reasonable at the time. Get up at 5:30, drive 45 minutes to check in and get our gear together for the start at 8:05. It would be 13 miles to the first hill and, with no point in sprinting since the leader had 36 points, there seemed no need to warm up first.

THere was frost on the grass when we pulled into the park at 7:00. There were 5 port-o-lets for 350 riders, all of whom would need to use them twice or more before the race. There were no wheel vehicles in sight.

We made our way through the routine as usual and after my third trip to the line - and 10 minutes into waiting - an announcement came over the PA indicating that there were indoor toilets for those with their own TP. I had a roll in the car (I always travel with it to races), but not enough time to get to the car and get to the can and back to the car for wheels then onto the bike before the line up at the start.

I found the wheel vehicle and loaded mine up. Phil followed suit.

We left 5 minutes late - not bad. It was cold. I wore arm-warmers but no knees as the temps were to rise into the sixties. By the time we had gone 4 miles my legs were really cold. We approached the sprint line at mile 11.5 and there was only a slight surge in the field. We were moving along between 20 and 30MPH the whole way and I just surfed the back. Such a strange feeling. Normally I'm riding the front waiting for an attack, a counter, or the sprint leadout. Not today.

We turned the corner towards the first climb, and BAM! Legs or lead. The front of the field seemed to accelerate with ease as I seemed to go backwards in pain. I was almost confused as I tried in vain to get my cold knees to bend with each labored turn of the cranks. Futile. Half the field was behind me and half ahead. Looking back at the power graph is fun since you can see speed and cadence fall and power spike. I hit 900 watts trying to keep the front within sight.

They were gone. Phil made the cut. He said he barely made it but it looked easy. Everyone ahead of you looks like they must be in better form than you when you're falling off the back. The negative self-talk loop began: Oh my god! You are so f'n' out of shape. What were you thinking riding 4 days out of 14? What were you thinking signing up for this right after a two cross country flights in 4 days? You can't do this. Give it up man, have a pleasure ride if you can on this monster.

I crested the hill. Jack was with me. JM was with me. we slowly came close enough together to encourage each other to keep on. We screamed down the hill and hit the next - this one shorter and my legs feeling reasonably warm now it seemed easy - longer than the first and higher but paved.

As we approached the longish flats before the next hill - the one before the stretch leading to 7A and the feed zone at about half way - we put together a chase group of 8 or 10. There were two guys from Threshold, three of us Onions and 3 or more individuals. I was the slave driver. I always wind up in that role because I want so much to chase back on. I've done it for years. Not the greatest point of pride since I'd rather stay with the lead group, but I'm pretty good at the chase. At one point as I drifted back along the paceline I apologized to Corey from Threshold for being a dick. He said jokingly, "There's one in every bunch." THere also always seems to be one rider who has never been in a paceline before. This time we wondered if he even spoke English as we repeated directions on riding a paceline over and over to no avail.

I yelled. I encouraged. I swore. I directed. On every downhill the pace slowed. "Don't slack on the downhills men! Gravity is our friend! Keep your power even on the downs we need to use it." Soon I was alone. Away from the group and they weren't responding. Screw it, I thought. I'm on my own again. JM bridged.

It was my first time riding with him and man was I impressed! New to our team he is not new to riding. He caught me and then traded pulls with me for the next ?? miles until we saw the field approaching the feed zone. It was not the first time we'd been within 300 meters of them but it seemed like the time we'd catch them. They accelerated. Damn it! I grabbed my bottle from a woman Jack's wife, Susanna, had recruited and we pressed on up the hill to the hard left and down then onto the next hill. We saw the field crest it with one rider behind.

We caught him on the downhill. A CCB rider who noted we were only about 3 minutes back from the field. He gave us, um, encouragement, to keep going and was there when we caught the field about 2K from the last painful climb and we were neutralized almost immediately. A single masters rider caught our field and passed. We were released just before the turn to the hill - about 15% and dirt with not a smidgen of momentum after the 90 degree plus turn.

I went from feeling like an animal for chasing down the field with JM to feeling like a simpering mope - shot out the back, again. I stood once and my quads cramped in stereo. Bilateral medial quad cramps that sat me right down and brought me to me once delightful 39/28, which now felt like a 42/23. Argh.

Over the top JM was ahead. He tried to get me to go with him but I didn't have it in me. I got caught be the 35+ field. Then I passed them. They passed me. I passed them again and yelled at them. THey took heed and left me for dead on the next (and Last) climb: A long, 3 mile 4-6% grinder some 8 miles from the finish. I caught a few at the top. As we flattened out I saw a few from my field up ahead.

I caught them - one was a leader from the crit. Too much effort yesterday and all this today. I felt OK now. I hoped Phil had won the race. JM was 100 meters ahead and looking at me as if judging whether or not I would catch back to him to ride in together. Maybe Phil had won the race. He's been so damn strong this year and - coming off a disappointing end to last season - he deserves this. Downhill to a hard left. Thankfully there are marshals to point me there. Not really thinking anymore I lean hard left and into the hill finish. I have to pseudo sprint to the line just for the sport of it. It's a beaut of a finish. Perfect for me. 5% grade and 300 meters. Too bad I didn't have the legs to be there for it. JM us just up the road ahead finishing 18th. Phil is on the side near the finish line.

Did you win? No. But I passed 2nd and third place so...

Phil took 6th in the race and 3rd in the GC!! Fantastic. Long minutes later Heather would come across the line in 2nd place and secure her 2nd place GC! Andrew M comes across in the field with the pros. What an accomplishment!

What a race. What a weekend. It's great to be a kid.

Day one completed

2011-04-30T22:05:00.008-04:00

What a day! Heather Voisin 2nd place in the TT!! Phil Beard 4th pl in the TT!! Jared 5th pl in the crit!

One of the good things about not making any of the sprint points is not having to worry about the sprint in the RR.

Tomorrows another day.

Jake Hollenbach, Steve Francisco, Andrew McCollough, Bobby Bailey cranking through the crit.

Dsy one stage one

2011-04-30T13:18:00.002-04:00

What a TT. 11 miles with hills and turns and rain and wind and a screaming good time.

Quote of the day: "Chocolate milk confuses me." Jack Piller

T minus WHAT?

2011-04-29T14:19:00.004-04:00

Aw, Jim! No one likes change and certainly not before a race. Not two days before a race! Oh well.

We used to have a MTB ride we called the "Dragon Back." It was part legit and - yes, I admit -part poached, running from Richmond to Williston. Once in a while I'd hit it from Richmond only to find that logging had substantially changed the route seemingly overnight. It's really something to come flying do a double-track logging road only to find yourself faced with piles of slash and stumps where landmarks for turns used to be.

Maybe this isn't so bad since I haven't any idea what the routes are like and I knew we'd have an early start anyway. But it feels hard enough planning to get thrashed by improper diet and training (because no matter what I do I always think I should have done something different) and harder still when it seems like the race director is messing with your head. Thanks Gary. I love you man.

Why is it that no matter what the pre-race training is, I always feel like it should have been different? I should have done a hard effort on Wednesday, not Tuesday. I shouldn't have eaten that bit of ice cream on Monday night because it's really going to mess with me on Saturday (yeah, right Lance). Someone once said that if you're trying to decide between training or resting, you should always rest. Now 13.5 hours from the alarm clock I wonder if I should spin my legs a bit or just put them up. Should I eat more carbs tonight or have I had enough today? How much protein is enough for this race? Can I really handle a TT having not been on my TT bike ONCE this year? Can I really use the power meter to my advantage by keeping myself from going out too hard? What's too hard? I don't have a single 20 minute all out effort this year.

I spent the morning working on new car tires and erosion control. Great pre-race work. I spent last night wondering if I should bring 3 bikes to the race: TT, crit bike and road. Stupid. Bring two - it's more than enough.

With new tires on the car, an hour of down time and an hour to spin before making dinner and packing, things should be OK. After all, we get two full days of racing our bikes under what appears to be sunny skies and temps in the mid sixties. One can hardly ask for anything better.

The Dragon approcheth

2011-04-26T14:11:00.004-04:00

Some years on my annual LA Passover trip my brother and I have logged 4 days of riding - arriving early enough on Thursday to get in a short tour before dinner followed by long rides, often through the canyons or over the passes, on Friday and Saturday and ultimately a short ride before packing to leave on Sunday. This year, though we had the time, we went out only on Friday and Saturday leaving the rest of our time to be with family.

In typical fashion, we met for coffee downstairs at 6:00. We got sucked right into the computer and the many possibilities (not to mention the exploration of "MapMyRide" and its different tools for developing ride maps). I chose a ride around the Rose Bowl for Friday, based on a SFVBC ride. We were out the door at 7:00 expecting to be back in time for a walk with family if we pushed things but not particularly we to a schedule.

Heading northeast from Sherman Oaks we made our way. An early missed turn added 8+ miles to the ride. There were only a few interesting parts of the ride including one nice 5% climb that seemed to go and go and the ride around the Rose Bowl was fun. Otherwise we were plagued with poor pavement and by the time we had returned from the very city-scape tour four and half hours had gone by. When I returned to the hotel I checked my email and found this message from Jack Pillar, our new team member who had just previewed the Bennington Race Weekend's road course. It was apparent why Gary Kessler, the race director, calls it the Tour of the Dragons.

Jack wrote:

This is a hugely challenging RR course. We rode it in cool, dry
weather today. 1st 13.6 miles flat to mildly rolling on Rt. 30,
pavement went from decent to real good at 7.5 mile mark. 1st sprint
for Jared is at 11.6 miles.

Then a sharp 120 degree left turn onto School Road, and the fun
begins. A 3 mile or so dirt climb, stair stepping, real tough. KOM
at top. This will shatter any field.

Long dirt descent ala Tour of the Battenkill, then left on Rupert
Mountain Road. Paved. For this race, Rupert Mt. climb is HC
category. Real tough, poor pavement. Stay to the middle and avoid
the "driver alertness rut" that creeps up the right side all the way
up this climb. Bikereg race site tells length of this climb, I am not
certain of total, but at least 1.5 mile of really tough, steep
climbing. Maybe more.

From this point, no climbs are as long. But they come close. And
they are numerous. Maybe 6 more highly significant, leg ripping
climbs, North Road being the toughest of the remainder. Race finishes
with about 3 miles on Route 7 A, and yep, you guessed it, 1st 1.5
miles of this is mostly climbing. If you are not a good sprinter on
Sunapee RR type finishes, you will want to break away from your group
here, get a lead, then TT the remaining 1.5 miles mostly downhill and
flat into Manchester, then a hard left turn onto Seminary Road, and a
.2 mile climb to the dramatic finish.

Of course, I have not raced this yet. But if this is not the toughest
road race course I have ever ridden, it will be close to that.

One piece of advice I can give - Go into this race well rested. We
won't gain any significant fitness from training this week. But going
into this tough stage race as fresh as possible will give a better
chance of competing in this epic stage.

Jack

As a sprinter, I look for (you guessed it) the sprints. But this one comes immediately before the first hard climb on the course and with 50+ miles of racing (uphill) to go. I found it a cumbersome thought. My knee ached at the image of "6 more highly significant, leg ripping climbs." I have not registered yet. Phil is going. I said I'd room with him. I could back out. I could take the weekend to pick up debris from the yard and try to get the place into some semblance of order in case summer ever arrives.

I found myself telling anyone who would listen about the report. My aunt and uncle (who bike) and my brother grimaced sympathetically. I felt like a whiner.

Day two we headed out for our more regular Simi Valley ride. I knew I could take it easier on the hills today and that it would be smart to head Jack's advice, "Rest." My brother set a fast warmup pace and held it for five miles west on Ventura. Then heading north he kept it up for another five miles until we hit Plummer. Finally, after weaving through the industrial and then inexplicably equestrian neighborhoods that lie between Tampa Ave and Topanga Canyon we began the ascent towards the pass.

This is a truly spectacular ride that I would recommend to anyone. It climbs out of LA on Topanga Canyon Blvd and then cuts onto the Susanna Pass Road. At the top of the pass one can look back over Encino or ahead to the Simi Valley below.

This was a good one. Watts stayed below 190 avg and time in the saddle was just 3 hours. Only a little knee pain. What would it be like a week from now?

Phil emailed to say "it's snowing sideways." That's Vermont. April 23 and snowing sideways. THe long term forecast calls for skies to be ugly throughout the week leading up to the race, and then to be reasonably good for the weekend.

I can't stop thinking about those climbs and the sprint and my legs an what bike to ride. There's a TT but it has sharp turns and climbs - would it be better to put areobars on the road bike? Should I crit-race the new Trek? Since I have the special ed should I save the carbon and ride that?

Some who ride the VT50 profess that doing it on a single speed eliminated thoughts of gearing. If I had one bike and one wheelset I would not have to decide what to use. Too many tools in the box? Arrows in the quiver? Is that possible.

It's Tuesday afternoon as I write this and the grey skies are not yielding rain. I'll skip the TNW in favor of a more controlled workout on my own. As Willem LAng says, "I gotta get back to work."

Pain to Cali

2011-04-21T20:39:00.003-04:00

Saturday’s pain faded into Sunday’s question about the next step. Bennington Race Weekend is on the horizon and, though registration is now $20 more (more on that later) it is still the first of THREE stage races in Vermont this season. A quick email to Travis Hart, co-owner of Vermont Chiropractic & Sports Therapy, and my hyper worry that this could hamper any near-term racing. I’ve had lots of injuries over the years and the only recent knee pain has been related to a tight IT band. A little excruciating therapy with a foam roller and a lacrosse ball and thing get right pretty fast. This felt different.

Travis responded almost immediately and got me in at 7:30 the next morning! Travis is an athlete in his own right. He is part of Green Mountain Multisport and is also a lifelong basketball player. He practices both traditional chiropractic and also ART, active release therapy. The “Active” part refers to the act of applying pressure to exceptionally sensitive muscle tissue while stretching it back into some semblance of its intended form. The release part is nothing short of torture and Travis and his chiropractic accomplices should probably apply for work with the CIA because black ops got nothing on them! OK maybe that’s too strong.

He had me on the table for something like half an hour during which time he lengthened my spine, stretched the medial quadriceps and made my adductor feel like it was going to snap. “Ice and NSAID – Ibuprophen,” he said. Oh, yeah, “Come back and see me on Wednesday.”

Limping out of his office I wondered how I was going to follow his recommendation to ice ten minutes on and ten minutes off while seeing clients in psychotherapy all day, but I’d do my best. Unbelievably, by midnight things were looking up. By morning I got up with no pain. It was Tuesday. Thursday I am supposed to fly to Cali to visit with family. It’s an annual thing and my brother and I bring our Break-A-Ways and ride for four days in the sun. Maybe not this year.

Tuesdays in April tend to mean one thing. I rearrange my schedule so I can get out of work in time to do the Tuesday Night World Championship ride, TNW. This is the craziness that is my life. I don’t think I’m alone in this – if I am, please don’t ruin my sense of self by telling me that I’m the only idiot who is interested in sacrificing paid time to ride with a bunch of adrenaline fueled, lycra-clad, (mostly) shaved-legged (predominantly) guys.

I live for them. The thought of TNW gets me through the trainer mornings when I’m forcing myself to watch a stupid action movie for the umpteenth time. Last week was awesome – we rocked it pretty hard, maybe harder than ever in an April – and, I know I’ve said it before but it’s the best training there is.

All day Tuesday it was ice and Ibuprophen. The ride was not quite as hard but there was no pain. More ice, more NSAID. More Travis Wednesday morning. Bennington could happen. I’m taking the bike to Cali.

Team day two

2011-04-17T10:26:00.009-04:00

On the road again... It's been that kind of year: Sometimes nice and sometimes crazy weather. A stalwart group of us headed out from ORS at noon - Mark, Jack, Nelson, Phil, Andrew T, Andrew M and I - for a 4-5 hour ride (cue Gilligan's Island theme music). AT had the idea of doing a multi-gap ride for some early season training. He launched us out of MP with a grueling warm up towards Rock Of Ages followed in what seemed like short order by a 14 minute climb.

The ROA climb is a harsh start. It is, however, graced by the stunning quarries that Phil reports are as much as 600 feet deep. We were there together - Phil, Nick and I - a year or so ago in Autumn and I was stunned by the stark beauty of the granite walls and the mirrored, black water that reflected the calico leaves. It's worth a trip. Today, the water was still a patois of ice and crystalline snow backed by a grey, foreboding sky and 4.5 hours to go.
It's funny how I think about pain and riding. There are a few types of pain: First is the "pain-cave" type, where you hit your threshold and then spend time crossing it and coming back slightly below only to repeat this process for ever until the TT is done, or you're re-caught the field you were chasing, or your attack has succeeded or not. Another kind is the, "damn, I'm feeling yesterday's miles as I start today's training ride" pain. Also one feels the, "Shoot, not that again," kind, which tells you that something you've done before is coming back to haunt you. All of these are pains that I can manage. I know them. I even respect them because of the information they give me. Sometime I can even love the pain-cave because it tells me I am really digging deep and doing something that might make a difference. Then there is the, "Hmm., what's that?" kind of pain. I don't like that kind.

I began feeling it on the first climb and ignored it, thinking it would "work itself out." It didn't. For a time, standing seemed to manage it and I convinced myself that it was just a temporary thing - a twist of the pedals at a strange time must have gotten the better of me kind of thing. After the 14 minute climb I realized it was not going away and I would have to deal with it for another 3 or 4 hours. By Randolph it was a real distraction and a concern. I stretched my IT and my hip flexor, my hamstring and my quad. Still there. I had been wearing a sacro-illiac stabilizer belt (having forgotten to take it off before the ride) and wondered if it had been putting pressure on some tendon that was causing the pain.

We headed north on 12A and I was grateful for the tailwind. Thinking AT was still looking for more climbs I followed the others blindly and found myself taking a "shortcut" with them up a 12% grade. Thanks.

From there the ride was more or less a death march for me. Encouraging the others to ride on I sat in their draft and did a lot of one-legged riding. This did not feel like the good kind of pain. It was not the IT band causing knee pain that I've had before. I was looking forward to the second half of the training day - BBQ at Nick's. I had some curried chicken salad and beer in my car. There would be desert!

Where the 3 hours out had gone relatively quickly, despite the pain and the headwind, the return was taking forever. It seemed an eternity before we hit Roxbury and then Northfield. Andrew M dropped back to ride with me the last few miles. We talked about his race at Battenkill, his crash in the soft sand - ridiculous sand - and his over-energized launch over the bike trying to remount. His cracked 404 that completed 80 miles post fracture and held through bridges, attacks and the sprint finish. Coming to the end of 70+ miles I was ready to hang with friends and food.

Mark served up the apple pie to finish our feast of chicken, chicken salad, spanikopita balls of flavor(thanks for the cholesterol, Jack), tortellini and chips. You gotta love food!

Satisfied and satiated.

Team training weekend

2011-04-17T09:50:00.007-04:00

Phil and I got lucky and had time to hit the road on Friday for an early start to the ORR Team Weekend. It was 38 degrees and sunny when we met at the Richmond Town Center and Phil discovered a bit of play in his cassette. I had seen Gene Bell arrive at Village Bicycle so we stopped in to check it out, and chat with Gene about the world of bike retail.
It's a sad fact that the small shops - the ones that provide the best and most intimate service for the least cost and with the most attention to detail - are the ones that are afforded the least margin in their purchase programs. This makes it hard to make a profit and hard even to carry the product. Brands like Speedplay want retailers to purchase thousands of dollars in merchandise with each order to retain ranking for better margins - sometimes just to retain an account - and that translates into carrying a huge debt load for a slow-moving item. It also means that I have to search for a pair of replacement cleats elsewhere (I got them at my sponsor shop, Onion River Sports in MP, which is great, though in a pinch can be out of my way) and many buyers get frustrated and go to the internet.

I've been among them to be sure. With everything I buy I find myself doing the silly math: Cost of local plus sales tax (I know I should be paying it for internet purchases, too) MINUS value of buying local, compared to cost of online plush shipping PLUS cost of feeling badly for taking away from Gene's or ORS's business. It's important math and I'll hope others do the same. I'll get off this soapbox for a bit.

Cassette tightened we headed South on Bridge Street and up Hinesburg Road for a gentle warmup hill. Once again on the Madone (which I purchased through a friend with a bigger shop and better margin so lower base price and bigger discount than I could have asked for locally - but had to pay an extra percent in sales tax) I marveled at how easily it climbs. Before I even found the 28 I was spinning easily along barely noticing the grades.

It was a glorious day - if a bit cold - and we were on South Road in Hinesburg before I realized it. A cruise down North Williston Road and we caught a brief tailwind on River Road before turning once more into the wind on Barber Farm towards Jericho.

An advantage of riding with one other person is that conversations are easier. The rides fly by and at the same time one gets to share the experience with a live body. Riding solo, as I often do, I find myself wondering how many people see me or hear me talking to myself about how spectacular is this or that angle on Mt. Mansfield, or Camel's Hump, or Whiteface, or that Scottish Highland cow.
Braced against a mild north wind we continued through Jericho and on into Underhill on the Flats and then Pleasant Valley. We wondered about the older gent and his wife in the Mercedes wagon who insisted on blasting his horn repeatedly on the long straight stretch of Underhill Flats where we road tightly two abreast with no oncoming traffic. As he passed, finally, I motioned for him to pull over - which he didn't - and then chased him hoping to have a conversation about the rules of the road. My form of on the job training for motorists.

The skies were so marvelously clear we could see Whiteface and it's snowpacked slides, realizing that this meant far more melt and rising waters to come. After a quick stop in Jeffersonville for water and treats - one of the best parts of riding so much is the food you get to eat - we headed onto 15 for the torturous few miles to Cambridge and Lower PV for the return.

One is often reminded of the value of decent pavement when one leaves it for the more common crud we survive on in Vermont. VBP asked for reports on the worst sections of roadways in Vermont. They asked for specifics rather than, "Route 2." In reality is seems that it would be easier to report on the sections of roadways that are good. It would certainly take up fewer inches of type. Perhaps more on the later.

OMG, WAFR!! TGTBT!!! I love this bike

2011-04-12T21:09:00.011-04:00

OK. First, lousy picture. Sorry, wanted to get it out so...
Second, I blew off pretty much everything I was supposed to do this morning after shooting post flood shots in Richmond and getting all my paper in to my tax guy (I can't do my own taxes because I'm an idiot and bought a rental property with a friend and have a small business or two and can't figure out which end of the pencil to use), and went to the basement to check out my new steed. He was hanging casually from his rear wheel (yes he, as you'll see) where I had left him the night before.

This being a Tuesday in Spring, I had already realigned my afternoon clients so I would finish at 5:00, so I knew with the forecast I'd want to be on the road. I would have to work fast and accurately - not my strong suits - and not get distracted (a bigger problem) in order to get the job done and get to work. The rig came through with Bonty Race Lights and I planned on swapping them out for my Williams 30s with the SLC+ hub (only the front for now, since I left my front 30 in Phil's van after the race). THe frame being carbon, and the way the cables hit the head tube, I would have to put frame savers on the head tube, and under the water bottle cage mounts. This accomplished I took the gorgeous new 11-28 (yep, 28 and proud of it) off the equally nice RL wheel and then removed my former love, the 11-26 from the Williams. That hot red 28 looked so good against the backdrop of carbon and aluminum powertap hub I could hardly contain my excitement - pathetic but you know you've been there. Minor adjustments to the brakes and the wheels were ready.

Next, measure the cockpit of the S-Works and the seat height Top to center of the BB and match the same on the Madone. Just a way to rough it in. Remember that the seat "mast" is carbon and cannot be clamped too hard, I reminded myself. Using the 5Nm torque key prevented over tightening and allowed me to add a scoatch more (thanks Dave). Re-measure and don't forget to check the torque on the stem bolts and bar clamp bolts - all good.

Swap out the bracket for the servo head and remind yourself to call Keith Williams to ask when to expect the Joule head. Remember how nice those wheels felt in the race on Saturday - until the flat, which was no fault of the wheels just the road and rider.

Pedals! Shit! Grab the little zip-lock baggie with the pedal washers, which I amazingly had not misplaced, and remove the pedals from the sworks. I've been building and rebuilding bikes for 20 years and I still remind myself, forwards on and backwards off with the pedals. Install the pedals on the new bike and look at the clock. Damn! 3 minutes to get upstairs, shower, shave, change and pack the car. Oh well, late for another meeting. Oops.

Fast forward to 5:26. It would have been nice to get on the bike once before the ride. Instead I arrived, dressed, and got on it to roll to the start of the Tuesday NIght Worlds, a training ride for the ages. Jake Hollenbach says, "A great city deserves a great group ride." You're damn skippy. And we have one.

Bobby give a preamble about ride safety as we've had numerous complaints about aggressive riding and not obeying the rules of the road. We head down to Dorset Street and up the bike path to the traffic light where, for the first time in my countless years on this ride, we crossed as a group - all 25 or so of us.

South on Dorset the pace rises quickly. We have a north wind at our backs and I look down to see we are doing over 30 on average. Riding two abreast at 30 MPH on Dorset street, a dozen or more bike lengths long, is pretty cool. We're doing OK in the riding right department. Sam Hoar gives a correction or two from the rear and things are pretty good. Right on Falls Road we tighten up. I'm at the back with Sam and peak down the middle of the column. Amazing. With the bright evening light shining through our ranks - a perfect formation of twos - it's a Graham Watson photo. I wish I had a camera.

We group at the stop sign and Bobby covers the intersection while we pass. Nice. Down Irish Hill we go, a storm of riders accelerating through 40 miles an hour, we're no longer the tight formation but we get it together again at the base and we look darn good coming into Shelburne. Bobby covers the next stop as well and we're up and running to the traffic light at Route 7. It goes green and we go on.

The sweeping down, and up into the left bend announces the beginning of the "real" ride. We begin to accelerate and jockey for position, knowing that the first town line sprint is upon us. Sam clears me to go up to contest it but I'm so far back that to do so would require some sketchy practices and this is out first ride being reallyaware of our rules of the road adherence. I move slowly. Around the right uphill bend and into the long downhill past the orchard, into the sweeping left where all hell may break loose.

Bobby B and a rider on a black Special Ed go for the break and from way back I pull out - knowing I won't contest it but eager for the chance to feel how the bike responds. Man does it ever. I'm up and out of the saddle and the bike moves effortlessly forward. I'm gaining on their wheels but from 100 meters I know I won't catch them. As they sit up I wheel by moving and reveling in the feel of the stiff BB. I sit and notice for the first time how supple the ride is on the road. Not like aluminum at all. I don't have time to think much about how it is that they get the bike to feel supple on the road yet stiff in the BB because Steve Francisco is coming hard up on my left. I pull in on his wheel and he glances back at me. Standing briefly he attacks. I counter and get back on his wheel. He doesn't attack. We're TT-ing and leaving the field as we scream along the flat to the gentle down before Lake Road. "Straight!" He yells and we move past Lake and head for the underpass and the climb into Charlotte.

The climb isn't steep but is is consistent and always saps my legs. Part of me is thinking about the decision to eliminate the last hill of the ride from the sprint challenges because there is a stop sign at the bas that we have always ignored in the past and have agreed to abide by now - even though it is a three way and there is not traffic from the right, so really we're pretty safe to roll through if there is not traffic, and there rarely is there. Steve pulls first on the hill and I come around him anxious to keep his pace. Steve is a super strong rider so while he's riding within himself I'm on the rivet. We alternate pulls - me with my tongue hanging out wanting for water but to focused to dare take my hands of the bars now, Steve with his usual calm - and we keep putting distance into the field.

We make the Ferry Road intersection, find it's clear and put the hammer down. Along the flats beyond Steve notices Bobby. Bailey is trying to come across. We maintain our speed but don't attack. I barely remember climbing the short rises along South Greenbush as we approach the left onto the extension. Bobby is coming. He makes it on the flats before the Dairy and we begin to power up again. I'm desperate for some food. Should have eaten later in the day but it got away from me - I was fitting my bike up.

In the past, I have gone on attacks and then given up about here. It's not too far from these gentle roads to the base of Mount Philo Road Hill and I like to "save myself." Not today. These guys aren't about to let up. Our three man echelon turns into the cross wind. I grab some shot blocks and nearly choke on them. We stop at Route 7 and it clears quickly. Down the hill to the hard left, I pray for no oncoming traffic. I need to keep momentum to carry me through the initial speed bleeding grade. It's a cruel hill in my estimation - like Irish to come. It has a long run up of maybe 3-5 % before it hits the 7-12% actual hill. By the time we get there I am often spent. Today I am spent but I'm not going to lose these two. Bobby is in fine form - he is BACK. Steve is always in good form. There was a time when we were in the same category. Not so much anymore.

Looking back I see the green Kenda jersey that can only be Jason Baer. He's trying to bridge, solo. We hammer the hill and I take the lead down the other side. Bobby joins and comes around with Steve on his wheel. It's that long runout past the Mt Philo access road where Phil Belliveau got caught off guard a few years back and hit the bulge in the road while one handed on the bars. Bad fall. Now we approach Philo 2 and it is a grind fest at speed. I'm digging the 53/26 knowing I have one left and then I don't even need it. We're up and over and Bobby comes around as if to say, "We're not done yet."

He pulls down the fast descent before my second favorite hill of the course. Short, sharp and a decent descent following I love its pace and timing. I lead up it thinking Bobby and Steve are on me. They're not. They fall in down the hill and we press on past the Charlotte Road. TT-ing again on the rolling road we're moving pretty well. I'm thinking of Phil and how he wanted me to do a 20 minute time trial to get some power numbers. I think I'll have some.

After the grinding 3% before the Shelburne town line, it's agreed that we'll slip the sprint. Maintaining our speed we make Shelburne and it's right onto Falls Road again for the climb back up Irish. Ouch. I hate this climb. It's the worst on the ride for me. Near the end, my legs spent, I generally lag behind. Today we near the base of the steep and Steve pulls away. One, two, three bike-lengths, when he gets about 15 meters out Bobby says something like: Get 'im I'm not really sure. I can't hear very well now and my eyes are losing focus. The last chunks of shot block are stuck in my teeth and I can't seem to get as much air as I want. That's Irish Hill. I stand and jump, pressing hard towards Steve. I go up a gear, then another, grinding out about 70RPM. He sits and I come around as hard as I can, which is not very hard. He congratulates me on a great ride - my best ever he thinks. This means a lot to me coming from Steve, whose riding I respect immensely.

We all rode well today. I give a lot of credit to the bike. It is so stiff and light - even with my over-stuffed saddle bag in case I wanted to adjust something for fit (like there would be time to stop and smell the roses on this ride) - and climbs like a beast. This bike has balls.

As we turn north on Spear headed for home I'm glad we don't have to contest Quiniasca Hill. Even though it is by far my favorite. For some reason it works for me. I sprint it every ride. It just feels right and there's no good reason. Today, as Jason and Eric Tremble and Phil B approach in our rear views I think we're essentially done.

They blow past us as we're approaching the Hill. I wait. Are we going to do this? Damn. They're halfway up and I see Bobby jump - he's going for it. I jump, too. Too late? My legs are on fire but this is too much fun. Bobby passes Eric and then sits up. I come around them both as hard as I can to the top. They baited me. They're all sitting up and I've just about burned every candle I'll have for the year. I can barely breath. let alone ride, and consider falling over onto the nice golf-course grass for a nap. But they come by and we're riding again. At the SoBu town line the question arises again. I'm a sucker through and through. Jason goes, Eric follows, Bobby comes in on their wheels. I give them too much lead and jump to follow passing all but Bobby I get to the line six inches behind him despite my brilliant bike thrust - it's important to do that whenever you can, because you never know when it might work.

What a ride. What a day.

Oh yeah, a post flood shot:

10 weeks, clean drivetrain new chain, 80th place

2011-04-11T06:52:00.007-04:00

Heather emailed the team to announce it was 10 weeks out for the Tour of the Battenkill, the "Queen of the East." That was 10 weeks and one day ago and we all felt a combination of trepidation and excitement about our first race of the season.

The winter was a hard one for training and the outside road time was lacking for most of us. When race day came I wondered what it would feel like to hit threshold time and again having not done it once this year. I also wondered if I would race. Sometime over the winter, I think shoveling snow of the roof for the 3rd or 4th time, I hurt my back in a new way. It never really resolved and got worse over the last few days leading up to the race. I emailed the night before to my teammates that I would go but might only cheer them on from the sidelines.

I clean my bike thoroughly on Saturday, checking all the cables, filing my break pads, replacing the chain and cleaning the cassette. A 1-hour road test with some intervals assures me that it is shifting flawlessly and and all systems are go - except my back.

Five or 10 minutes on the inversion table, two naproxen sodium tablets, an epsom salt bath and a fitful night sleep proved a winning combination and I felt great in the morning at 3:30 when the "Marimba," alarm sounded on the iPhone next to my head.A groggy trip to the kitchen to make coffee and load the prepared foods into the cooler caused no pain. Surprise. Relief. Dubiousness.

I met the crew at 4:45 in Richmond and we loaded all the gear into Phil's van - a Chevy behemoth that is fantastic for nearly anything. It's quieter and rides better than my CRV, seats half of Vermont unless you pull a few seats out, at which point it holds 4 or five racers and bikes with room to spare.

Talk on the ride down centers around races past and foods eaten on the return. Mark confessed his affection for MacDonald's and Phil sheepishly admitted that he and Kelly had a heated discussion about stopping at McD's on a long return trip from a family vacation with the kids. We listened knowingly - recalling our own "first time" experiences - as Phil described how the twins bit into their hamburgers and smiled in amazement at how good it tasted. "Dad! this is sooo good. I love this food." Later the boys confessed to not feeling very well.

We arrived early, which is exceedingly unusual, and collected our registration packets. Mark was our last-minuter this year having renewed his racing license the day before. Everyone does it at some point. The first race arrives suddenly despite 10-weeks notice. He emailed the team about 6:30 that night to ask if someone could print off the renewal confirmation to use as proof of licensure. I happened to see the email and printed it out. Cindy Hines - the chief official at the race - was not satisfied. Smartphones at the ready we all tried to access USA Cycling online with no luck. Time ruled, and Cindy either relented or found satisfactory evidence that Mark had in fact renewed. He could pick up his registration packet.

Though a cool 38 degrees on arrival the skies were clear and it promised to warm up. We dressed and went for a VERY short warm up ride before dropping layers - and loads - and then headed to the start line 20 minutes later than planned. I don't know if it's Murphy or just us, but we seem incapable of getting to the line early.

At the gun we were off and shortly thereafter were released from the neutral start. A neutral start is a vain attempt at maintaing order amongst a group of 20-50 year-olds all vying for the "best" position. Jokeying begins immediately and doesn't stop until the finish line is a distant memory.

The Battenkill is a real race. I mean that it has a little bit of everything. The fast start is at once curtailed and invigorated by a sharp left to a mild downhill that sweeps into a right bending funnel leading into a narrow covered bridge. One hundred-odd riders traveling 25+MPH 6 wide have to negotiate the turns and then agree who goes first, second and so on in a 3-wide cacophonous mass of flesh and spinning carbon, aluminum, steel and rubber and then exit into an immediate right turn that leads to a brief reprieve of a few hundred meters. Once through that morass riders must sweep left and up the first short, sharp, shock of a climb and the real racing begins.

We were all together - Phil, Nick and I (just we 3 in the 3's), and our friends Rob McHardy and Bruce (whose last name continues to escape me as his first did on Sunday) - and we all felt good. After several more short sharp ones we come to dirt roads with their mild washboard and many potholes of varying sizes.

I bunny hopped one manhole-sized crater doing about 20 to kudos from the never-been-on-a-mountain-bike roadie on my right shoulder. At each surge and ebb I noted how good I felt - amazingly - and thought, :I might actually contend this thing."

Mile twenty-six brings Joe Bean (I think) hill. It's not steep but is the longest hill of the race with many terraced climbs of a few hundred meters on pavement. Each steep brings me to my threshold and I can feel it in my legs but not in my back. I can only smile to myself. Phil is two bikes ahead. Rob is on my left shoulder a wheel ahead. Anyone I mark I can catch and that feels promising.

We crest the last climb and there is a break - as usual. My moment of smiling catches me back 20 meters so I have to sprint the top and begin the fast descent on rough pavement. Thankful for the 53-11 combination for the first time in the race I am back with the main field and 3 bike-lengths behind Phil with one rider between us.

I make a move up the right to get Phil's wheel and dodge one, two , five holes. We must be doing 40 or more in this pack and I'm keenly aware of the road condition. I look left at the rider I'm passing then back at the road in time to see the potholes looming. Dodge with the front wheel and thunk! The rear hits the far edge of the dinner-plate pothole and I know it's not good. My hand is up before I even look at my fast deflating tire. I pull to the right and look back as I come to a stop. Seconds after I pull off the wheel I can see the wheel vehicle behind me. A wave and he's pulls up in front. "Sram 10-speed," is all it takes and he hands me a wheel as I tell him my bib number. As I mount the wheel I note that it's 11-23 compared to my 11-26. That's going to hurt on the hills.

Two minutes since I hit the hole. A small group descends around me and I sprint to join in. We TT for 5 miles then come to a sweeping dirt climb - short but loose - and a man at the roadside says were :1:30 back from the field and 4 plus back from the leader. Around the bend we see them - we can make it. I even say this out loud. We turn into the headwind - five of us (?) - and then lose them around the next corner. As we make that bend there is no one on the road ahead. They're gone. All of them. Gone. Now my back is in spasm. My mind says bust it and bridge. I've done it before - countless times. People now me for it. I put together chase groups and bridge ridiculous gaps. This day I make a 45 year-old's decision. I can work my ass off and hurt myself to finish 80th, or I can accept defeat and enjoy the remaining 37 odd miles of scenic eastern NY state farmland on a beautiful sunny day.

10 mile or so later I see Nick up the road. He's hurting. Legs blew up on the Joe's and now he's taking a touring ride home. The road ahead is littered with us, the defeated. Some have travelled five or more hours for the race, or done so and paid for room and board, only to pedal slowly home. That's racing.

When I finish I see Phil. He waves me over and, typically, asks how I am and how it went. I wont to know how it went for him. He was with the field. Third place! Fantastic!! I am thrilled. "You should have been there," he says. "I couldn't come around the second place, but you could have." "No," I say. "I wasn't there. You were. You got third!" What a great start to the season. Phil Beard in 3rd place at the Queen of the east, the largest one-day race in America. Well done!

After a slow pack up and slower decision to not wait for the women's 3 field to finish so we could get home for dinner, we're packed and ready to go. Marcello calls. Marcello is a former teammate of my friend Dave Kishbaugh who has totally hooked me up for the second time with a great deal on a new bike. My first new road bike in 8 years. I walk to the front of the parking area and retrieve my brand new Trek 6.7 Project One bike. 14.7 pounds of black and silver beauty. Life is good.

In need of a pit stop we hit a McD's just over the Vermont border. It's my first trip into a MacDonald's in about 15 years. Amazed by the nutrition info and the size of the people in line, and by Mark's ability to order a 20-piece McNugget with a side of sundae unblinkingly, I order myself a "sample"-sized McFlurry with M+Ms. It comes with Oreos instead and - uncharacteristically - I don't give a flip. It is cold and sweet and no where near as good as the worst soft ice cream I have ever had. Oh well.

Another day, another race, another good time on the bike.

30 in the sun and 3 hrs in the saddle

2011-03-27T20:39:00.003-04:00

OK, I admit it. There is something about getting off my tail on a Sunday to go out for a ride in sub 30 degree weather that makes me feel ballsy. I've seen the training videos of Hincapie, Phiney, Lance, doing epic training rides in truly crappy cold weather and often have thought: Yeah, if they were paying me... But they're not. In fact, I'm paying them - every freakin' year.

But when I get out on the road and the chill leaves my face, reaplaced by a warm flush of sunlight and adrenaline I love it. I'd gladly pay for this experience. I am blown away by the beauty of the wind-whipped icicles along the lake and the crisp chill view of the ADKs beyond the roiling lake.

Another good ride.

Elliott schmelliott - March is cruel

2011-03-27T20:31:00.002-04:00

April, my foot. T.S. Elliott couldn’t have experienced a March like this when he wrote The Wasteland. Temperatures have been as high as near 60 and as low as the lower teens. The snow pack increased by 30 inches along the Greens and IT’S STILL HERE!

It’s 6:00 AM and I’m making another trip to the woodshed to pull form the last run of the 3 chords we’ll have burned this “winter.” Chickadees, hairy and downy woodpeckers, nuthatches, goldfinches in their winter garb, and angry blue jays chatter on disapprovingly about the weather. The few exposed lily leaves wish they hadn’t been the canaries in our frigid coalmine. Their brethren lie beneath five-foot snow banks, glacier-like in their stubborn resistance to giving up the earth.

Pity the redwings, arriving at their usual time but finding tundra where new life should be springing forth. Yesterday’s Mallards plied the evening water as they sought nesting sites along upland streams only to find themselves frozen out by morning light.

I walk our dirt road and stumble in now-frozen, shin-deep crevasses formed by passing car tires in the daytime mud. I will drive the frost-heave rollercoaster and dodge those depressions trying to avoid another trip to the mechanic for balancing, remounting the tailpipe, an alignment, who knows.

Our friend Dan is in the hospital out west trying to recover from serious injuries resulting from crashing into a car’s side mirror while participating in a charity ride. Sitting on the trainer I’ll think of him in his hospital room and silently thank him for pulling me towards the sprint line over so many laps in so many races.

Today I'll ride with the Burris squad - some of - and hit the Tuesday Night Worlds course. I hope to add a bit.

“They” say it will get near 30 degrees today. I’ll think of spring and its warm revolution. March, I think, has been the cruelest month.

What do you do with flat roads and time on your hands?

2011-02-23T21:08:00.000-05:00

Sprint training a la Friel

Joe Friel has it that one can do :15 on, 5:00 off intervals X 5 to improve sprint form. Pn the flats in FL it's a pretty ideal setting. By the 5th repeat, my heartrate - normally not a high top end - is finishing in the high 150's (157-159). Heart Rate is such an interesting thing. I was diagnosed with bradychardia years ago and it explains some but not all of what I see riding. Except in a few strange cases I am unable to get my pulse over 160 when riding. When I ride Ap Gap I sit about 148. In a good crit I might see over 180 for a short stint. Resting I see between 30 and 44 BPM (28-34 true resting and 40-50 sitting at my desk).

Back in the saddle again

2011-02-23T16:39:00.005-05:00

Monday afternoon, 4:30 PM. I landed in orlando with the McGill clan, though to go our separate ways, John and I each with our ritchey breakaways. Arriving three hours later in Ocala I was greeted by my mom and her bf Lew. My mom suggested I build my bike and go for a ride before dinner. I love my mom.

Twenty minutes of build time and five to dress, I headed out for a 45 minute shakedown cruise. Eighty degrees. Amazing having left the 10 degree chill of the north behind merely 7 hours ago.

Before I left vermont I had discovered that - for some reason long forgotten - I had removed the crankset, bb and chain. Finding replacements I installed them in haste - learning later that I grabbed the wrong chain, one that is a few links short so that getting into a low gear while in the big ring caused the derailleur cage to grind in the 21, 23, etc. I also was reminded that it's important to check the cable housings to make sure they're seated. Not doing so results in really bad shifting. It astounds me at times - or frustrates me more likely - that no matter how often I remind myself of the various mandates of cycling (never replace a part right before a race; always check your bike before and after each ride, etc) I also violate them with regularity.

The breakaway is an incredible bike. I can't speak highly enough of it. This steel frame bike with its split seat tube collar and flared down tube disconnect amazes me by how stiff the bike is. I raced it two years ago in the gmsr road race and won the sprint on it. Why I raced it is a story in and of itself and for another time.

The Shakedown went beautifully after the minor adjusrments and I returned to find my mom preparing fresh Gulf shrimp with potatoes, onions, and asparagus for dinner. When she arrived in January my mom planted some lettuce seedlings so we had some fresh young lettuce for a salad. Day one ends with a couple cold ones and conversation.

My mother suggest that - since Tuesday is a non-riding day for her - she will sleep in and take the dog to the showgrounds for a walk and a swim. That, she thought, would give me ample time to ride 3-4 hours before we were slated to go to a park for a hike. Have immentioned that I love my mom?

Backing up a bit: Winter training Ocala, FL

2011-02-22T20:53:00.002-05:00

Riding Ocala is a bit surreal after a long winter indoors in Vermont. When it's good, it's glorious. Too cold for the locals but perfect for me. Catching an early but not too early ride while my mom schools one of her horses gives me 3 hours to play with. On other days I have the whole day. Riding in the warmth is rejuvenating and is almost enough to carry one through the rest of the season on the trainer.

tweekbookspaceemailtext!!!! Lance is in town

2010-10-13T21:03:00.009-04:00

The first email came through about 10:37 this morning. OK, that's not "about." That's when it came in. I wasn't on email to receive it until 3:00 this afternoon - in Winooski, about half and hour from home, my bike, my dog-walk... But what's a bike geek to do when Lance is in town? I had Kirby with me
and he had been in the car most of the day, except for a few short "outs" between clients and at lunch. Wednesday is his slow day as he is generally suffering from his "Crate Escape hangover." He goes to doggy daycare on Tuesdays and pretty much plays for 9 hours stratight. Yes, I was justifying my plan to race home (with my progress not unfinished) and leave him there after I loaded my bike and did the superman thing. I figured I could make Waterbury by 4:00 - the scheduled start time for the ride - if all things went my way.

Lance was in town for a fundraiser for the Mary Haas Ovarian Cancer Early Detection Foundation. As he is want to do, he sent out a tweet, "One little tweet," he told one reporter with mock surprise. It was perhaps the single most beautiful day of the year: Brilliant sunshine, calm air, 62 degrees and foliage still near peak.

I hadn't ridden my road bike in weeks. The last ride I did was with my good friend Claude. We left from the Milton park and ride and, after we returned, I managed to leave my road shoes in the parking lot. Someone got a nice pair of Specialized Carbon road shoes with nearly new Speedplay cleats. So I had to find my old shoes, find insoles for them (I use custom footbeds so I strip the manufacturer's insoles), load the car with my bike, get a kit on and get out the door in about 7 minutes. Using a liberal interpretation of the speed limit I made Waterbury at 4:01, just as "All Things Considered" was starting its airtime.

I saw bikes as soon as I passed Memorial Park, about a half mile from the meeting point. By the time I got to the state complex there were already some 200-300 riders and fans of all ages and sizes waiting for a glimpse of the legend. I saw some of my teammates and some friends. My friend Daria, a photographer, said she had heard that Lance had only just landed in Burlington. She figured it would be 30 minutes before he arrived. It was 4:05.

My plan for the day had been to get home, take the dog for a walk, because he likes this weather, too. Then I was going to go for a nice ride of about an hour and a half before making dinner. The best laid plans... So Arthur, Amy and I rode back and forth in the state complex for 20 minutes just to enjoy some sunshine while we waited, and waited.

But then he was there! It was a little after 4:30 and there he was signing autographs and shaking hands and all those good things celebrities do and then at 4:45 we were riding!

It was mayhem. Three hundred odd riders (and I mean odd) took off at 300 different paces and about 17 different skill levels and - unlike a mass start in a race - no one crashed. We began by taking up the entire southbound lane. As we turned onto Route 100 we took up both lanes! Up hill! Around a blind corner! No one died.

The hill broke us into smaller groups and before long we were down to 75 or so climbing up towards Duxbury Gap. Lance talked with everyone around him and made a point of drifting back and coming forward to get more contact.

All too soon we were nearing 100B. There, Lance stopped for another round of autographs, hand-shaking and then he made his way through the crowd to a waiting Suburban that would whisk him away to Sugarbush for the presentation.

We rode home, talking about how cool it was to have ridden with Lance. Somehow I couldn't shake the feeling that reading about his presence after the fact, and if I had gotten in a good ride, would have been equally satisfying. Then I thought, what other opportunity am I likely to have to ride with the modern-day legend of cycling. Who wouldn't want to toss a ball with Ty Cobb, or play 9 holes with Tiger? Happy to have gotten a brush with greatness. He was a gentleman and pleasure to ride near.

The Vermont 50

2010-09-27T09:22:00.013-04:00

"The light played little games upon your tapestry." ~ Manhattanesque

The lights went out in the pre-race meeting tent at 5:35 and immediately racers turned on their headlamps replacing the overheads with the softer glow of a few hundred LEDs moving with the sway of anticipation. Somewhat rested and all well prepared after Hilda's amazingly filling pasta spread the night before, we huddled together against the early morning chill.

A little over an hour and half ago I had awoken to the soft "marimba" alarm on my phone. I was staying at my friends' Deb and Terry's place nearby and it was time to make coffee and have some food. Deb and Terry volunteer for the 50 and also participate - often in alternating years to allow their volunteer commitments and race needs. Rarely have I met two more generous and accommodating people. It's a treat to stay connected with them, their children Ben and Molly, and their dogs Oso and Bean.

This year, Terry would be running the 50K. Deb would be leaving at 5:30 to stock the remaining rest stops before making the rounds to re-stock after the race began. Terry would stay behind with the kids - plus two friends who would arrive at 5:30 so their parents could get to the start - until 7:00 when the baby sitter would arrive. Terry would then have time to get to the race before his 7:40 start!

By 5:47 we "expert veteran" male and female riders were assembled on the road in the deepening darkness in the hour before dawn. I was glad to have my small bike light securely fixed to my handlebars. At 6:00 we lurched forward amidst the clicking of clipless pedals, the crunching of chains shifting to preferred gears and the whoops of excited racers. After the short, fast descent on pavement we hit the dirt road and the dust that would be with us for the rest of the day. With an extended dry period the only environmental challenge of the day was that light, powdery haze the would later cling to our sweaty bodies like dripped chocolate ice-cream on a child's face.

Andy Bishop with dust mustache after the race

There have been years when the VT 50 began and ended in a steady rain. Other years, I've driven down to Ascutney from Richmond in the wee hours in the driving rain only to have it end, and the skies clear by the start of the race. One year I remember crossing a boggy field shin deep in muck. Another year I had to stop every 20 minutes or so to clear mud from my derailleur to shift. This year, the 55 degree temperature and overcast skies were far from foreboding. Instead they foretold perfect conditions for the day.

At 7:15 I crested Garvin Hill - the Top of the World - at the hight of land that affords a near 360 degree view of the valley and the farms below. On this morning, the sun was just burning through a light, gauzy cloud cover to illuminate ridge after ridge receding into the distance. With visibility of perhaps 100 miles each ridge line was separated by a gentle mist hanging on canopies of green and red and gold and orange and cinnamon. It took my breath away. It set the tone for the rest of the race - magnificent foliage graced exquisite hillsides and barnyards.

Not a view from Garvin Hill, but representative of the foliage

I love this race/ride/run. It benefits Vermont Adaptive Ski and Sport, an organization charged with helping disabled athlete connect or reconnect with sports through adaptive technology and support. Former pro cyclists like Andy Bishop and Pavel Tcherkassov ride with modesty and pleasure. Their genuineness shines through during conversations about the ride, or photography, or the food at the aid stations. This race is about authenticity.

My first was in 1995 and I have tried to be there every year since. Some years injuries, weddings or travel have precluded my presence and I have grieved my loss. It is more than a race. It is a community. Runners and bikers - some doing an ultra for the first time - share a course that often puts them shoulder to shoulder for long portions of the race. Due to the significant climbs, 50K runners often are able to catch up to cyclists and pass them for periods of time. Stronger riders egg-on slower or struggling riders. Runners playfully cajole riders about their speed uphill and graciously stand aside to allow riders to pass on the downhills. Please check out the VASS site and consider a donation or maybe even participation in next year's event! http://www.vermontadaptive.org/

The race simply would not happen without Michael Silverman, the race organizer, promotor and director extraordinaire who has to put up with tired, frustrated, edgy athletes from all over the country and Canada. Back in the "old days," we could show up on race day and register. It has become so popular that registration for the MTB portion- now set for Michael's mother's birthdate - is often full and closed within two hours after it opens! Michael has to field the changes and attempted transfers, and he also has to manage all the landowner and town permits for the race. Each year there are changes in ownership or property lines that require him to find new routes. Thanks to the unimaginable efforts of the local trails group, STAB, Michael has been able to re-route the course successfully each year. On race day, it is near impossible to convey to him how grateful we are for this work he does.

What a fabulous day. What a fabulous event. I sure feel the miles today. Memories of another epic ride.

Fifty miles of fun

2010-09-25T10:47:00.002-04:00

I don't know that my current training regimen counts either as a regimen - defined as systematic plan - or that it counts as training, per se. Strafford Organic Dairy chocolate ice cream with whipped heavy cream and chocolate chips rounded off a healthy meal that was augmented by a glass of Balvenie Doublewood 12 year old whiskey and a PBR. That was Thursday, yesterday was supposed to contain a ride, but instead held "The Town," Ben Affleck's new venture. Not bad, but not a see it again flick either.

Somehow this race encourages a more relaxed approach to training than road races - or at least early season races - maybe it's the fact that I know I am not going to finish in the top ten so it's really a matter of finishing in a reasonable 5.25 to 5.5 hours that I will hold as my goal. It's been dry here and the forecast calls for cool temps and easy winds with no rain.

It has been fun being back on a MTB and, though I'm sad I won't be riding with my friend Dave K due to a knee injury, I will get to ride with my good friend Phil - for a little while anyway - and maybe with longtime friend and early VT50 partner Stu Ashley. This is a race about being with others suffering the same and loving the same. It's a blast. To top it off I get to stay with friends, Deb, Terry and their kids, Ben and Molly. It's my once a year reconnect with some really good people from the mid-east of Vermont.

In the old days - '95 or so - we would finish the race and head for Mcdonald's. My once a year exposure to a chocolate milkshake and fries from the golden arches. What do they put in that stuff that makes it so addicting? No more of that, though. Now its a nice post race BBQ then home for PBR and dog walking.

May the sunshine on the VT50!!

I wonder if

2010-09-14T21:31:00.005-04:00

A friend sent me an email this afternoon. The subject line was, "I wonder if." What followed was her wonder. I wonder if:

you are running around with your camera snatching up that perfectly
almost fall everything.
Sun breaking through grey and white clouds brightly showing the
September green er than green and glistening rain on the goldenrod and
purple asters everywhere ferns and berry leaves turning brown

such an exciting time of year
the challenge is always to enjoy the sparkle at hand rather than
imagine whats next.
~ Pat Ahern, 2010

After toiling over minutia all day - research and buy an AIO machine for the office; pay bills; make deposits; stop paper bills from arriving; contest erroneous charges while maintaining a polite air (because that gets me farther with customer service that hurling insults about their obvious lack of x, y, z...); register service plan for home fax machine - I arrived home in time for the rain to start. All day it was that "perfectly almost fall everything," including wild wind, and charcoal grey sky followed by daggers of sunlight cleaving their way through windows closed against the chill September air. But now the rain has come.

I spent the first little while at home in the basement putting new tires on the Santa Cruz Superlight: My, "what you get to ride after back surgery because your body can't handle a hardtail" bike. Kenda Nevegals. 2.10s. Bought on the recommendation of me dear friend Phil. I ride the MTB so seldom now it hardly seemed fair to buy new tires. But I had been riding these Specialized 1.75s - tiny in the MTB tire world - for years and I caved for the promise of a better ride, better traction, better everything.

"It's a mountain bike," I said to myself. "Go get wet." So I did. Down the road to Route 2 and east to Cochran Road. Already the tires felt good beneath the locked out shocks. More volume makes for a smooth ride. Right on Cochran and left on River Road. Should I have gone up Stage Road instead? It's already ten past six and the light won't last, and that would be closer to home. So what. Do your ride.

Right onto Honey Hollow Road - a seemingly endless dirt road climb with logging roads that beg for attention. Two thirds of the way up the road is a homestead. It is a magical place with a view of the valley to the north and east, in the shadow of Robin Mountain. The lawn tilts away gently to a mixed deciduous hemlock forest that is reputedly thick with deer. To the south there is a small pond surrounded by white pines. THere is no sound here but the wind, the crunch of gravel beneath my Nevegals and my still-labored breathing.

I continue the the short-lived descent around a sharp corner and begin to climb once more. Now the light is fading and I think my decision to leave the little LED clip-on light on my bars was a good one. As I reached a false plateau I looked east and the mountain was lit with the glow of the setting sun. It was as if it was on fire. I pulled into a small opening to grab a photo - barely representative - of "the sparkle at hand." As I watched the fiery patch wane a rainbow emerged. Magic. The world is full of magic. I don't believe in luck, or fate, or superstitions. "We exist and we die. That's the beauty of our existence. All the rest is mere language." Though I agree to my very core with John Gardner, when I see a rainbow I wonder what's at the ends.

For me it was a trail. I confess. I poached it. I won't say which one it was, but I know I wasn't supposed to be on it. I won't defend my choice, but I will say that I walked around the wet spots. It was glorious. Remember, I'm a roadie now. I can barely navigate a stream crossing let alone a log climb or roots. But I did it. It was a blast, and made all the harder by the coming darkness. The trail climbed and swept around a huge root-ball before climbing harder and with a narrower track. I rode it like I actually knew what I was doing. Sweet! Around to the right the trail eased and went through a series of whoop-dee-doos, timed perfectly so that that coming out I was able to keep my momentum enough to clear the roots or rocks at the top exit.

As if a switch had been thrown the forest darkened. I stopped. Nice past seven. Only out an hour but the return will be tough even with a little torch. Night riding is fun. I've done my share of night trail rides and I have thoroughly enjoyed most of them. not so much the 24 cops in the woods with six working lights and hours to go to get back to the cars, but mostly it is fun. Jen didn't know where I was. I knew she'd be worried. I knew I would be in trouble if the light died. I turned around. The return was equally fun and more challenging for lack of light. Cruising back past the root-ball - ten feet high - I reveled in the new tires' grip and handling.

Mountain biking is fun. Stealing an hour and a half on a Tuesday night, and coming home in the dark is priceless. Pat wrote, "enjoy the sparkle at hand rather than
imagine whats next."

I can't help but imagine what's next. It will no doubt be another sparkle.

Thanks, Pat.

How did this all begin?

2010-09-11T08:57:00.006-04:00

The ferry is headed to Port Kent, New York. It's 55 degrees. There is no wind and there is not a cloud in the sky. It is also the first day I have felt like getting back on my bike since the end of the race on Monday. Instead I am headed to Lake Placid with Jen to cebrate our anniversary with a run on the bobsled track at the Olympic Center. We've both wanted to ride the bobsled for years and it's become a sort of tradition for us to do something we haven't done before to celebrate the half and decade years. There will be no biking today. I'm almost e tirely ok with that.

I've asked many of my friends at this level of cycling and many have the same longing to be on the bike when we are not. Imagine you've just finished a long ride that left at dawn. Maybe it was a "bluebird" day - not a cloud in the sky - and after 75 miles you and your friends finish with a stop for coffee and a bagel, and you feel so satisfied with the day. It's not yet noon so you have much of the day ahead. You load the bike on the car and remind yourself not to drive into the garage with the bike on the roof (not that that has ever happened before). As you head home you see a rider or a group of riders and suddenly you feel pulled back to the bike. "Wow," you say out loud, " That looks like fun." Crazy. Like you really need to get back on the bike.

I remember that in the seventies I loved to ride in a bike-a-thon that benefitted the perpetually underfunded alternative school I attended. The relatives I got to pledge $10 per mile were shocked that at ten years old I had laid down a 60 plus mile bike-a-thon.

In those days my mom rode a Nishiki. After my 60 mile performance I was on a Raleigh ten-speed with "racing" handlebars and top-mounted secondary brake levers that I thought were so cool! My aunt Liz was riding then, too. The three of us would go for rides together in Ridgefield and Pawling and they were great rides. I sometimes rode to visit my aunt when she close to us and realized it was an easy way to get around. I had that Raleigh into my colege years. I only gave it up after I crashed into a car that ran a stop sign at the corner of Loomis and Booth in Burlington.

Today Liz is riding day one of her two-day MS 150 ride in Memphis. She is sixteen years my senior. You rock, Liz!!

My mother is 70. She is a competitive equestrian. Last summer while warming up for a jumper class her horse stumbled and she went down hard on bad footing. She broke all the ribs on her right side, her clavicle, scapula; she punctured a lung and tore a vein subcutaneously that - by sheer luck - a nurse happened to notice, likely preventing a probably life-threatening infection. After three hospitals and a rehabilitation center my mom is back in the saddle. She sows the Florida circuit for six weeks a year and then hits Manchester, Vermont, the Catskills, Saugerties... She amazes and inspires me.

Most of a week off is hard when I haven't had more than two days off since about January. It will be time to get back in the saddle and get ready the the Vermont 50, a fifty mile MTB race benefitting the Vermont Adaptive Ski and Sport foundation http://www.vermontadaptive.org/

19 minutes; 19 points: Or a phyrric loss?

2010-09-08T21:42:00.005-04:00

This was 2007. A fantastic win. No jersey. "Just" the criterium. No award. Just the triumphant jubilation and accolades from comrades and bystanders. I'm not much of a show-off, but that was some kind of fun.

Can one have a Phyrric Loss? Would it be true to say that the loss was too costly? Only pride.

Chris Wood, who won the tie breaker, won because he was a little over 19 minutes ahead of me in the GC time. I was ahead of him (unbelievably) by 7 seconds in the time trial. I was :1:51 behind him in the circuit race (burned too many matches). I was :17:15 back in the road race. :19:06 back from the guy I beat in an uphill time trial!

You might have noticed that I haven't let this go. Andre and I have exchanged emails. He wrote:

"So, I've read your blog, too much honor for the fat guy!

I must say that it was very interesting to read since racing in the 3s is obviously quite different then in the 4 or 4/5! You really worked to get your points in the circuit and road race! In past years in the 4's, only the Planet Placid guys with Jim Walker tried a train for the sprints, and that never worked (for them, good for me). So in your group there was much more proactive racing for the points, and you seem to have built up a nice support in the field that goes beyond your direct team mates!
From the blog reading it was not quite clear to me how much in the road race you initiated, and how much you followed. 18 miles out in Warren is very far. With your 16 points there is of course always the option to let a break go up the road without you but with guys who have no points. And if you guys had all these attacks, what did the masters 40+ have in their bidons that they caught your field after the sprint?

Well, commenting on your continued thinking after the race: you are the trained psychologist and may know better; but from a racer point of view I can tell you that this will be the best motivation throughout the whole winter you ever had! That is what happened to me when I messed up the crit and finished 8th, and then I won the next 2 years (although in the citizens)."

I keep going over the races in my head - the things (yes, things plural) I could have done differently in each of them. Lighter on the start to have more gas in the ITT; Suck it up and stay with the peloton in the Circuit by keeping your head up and making the effort to bridge before the last of them are past the KOM line; throw a shoulder at the rider closing you out and make him move out of the way not you; don't blow a 4.5 minute lead when you could surf the back of the field for your break instead of sitting up in the wind and having to work none-the-less; stay true to your training and tactics and ride the road to warm up before the crit - especially if your legs are wooden and your heart rate won't budge, and don't miss the attack after the sprint. That's your tactic. It's your way of destroying the field.

But I didn't do any of those things that I could have done and that was then, and this is now. Tomorrow I'll be in a meeting at 0730 to try to disabuse a client of the notion that he can't succeed just because he's proven it time and again to the adults around him. I'll try to help his estranged parents come to consensus about what is the best course for him under the circumstances. I'll encourage the school to back up the Special Ed Coordinator's plan to keep him in school in a way that will help him be successful and graduate on time. And then I will try to help him see that mostly he needs to begin to stick out the tough stuff and talk about how the stuff affects him.

So the real world sets in. The "funday-sunday" rides, as Andrew M calls them, take over for the hard training rides of only a week ago. The talking and planning, plotting and dreaming about what next year's GMSR will hold begins anew. We are a silly bunch.

Six and Midnight

2010-09-07T09:30:00.003-04:00

The pro race ended. A few last good-byes to teammates and friends; promises of an autumn group ride - not hard, just for fun - a few heartfelt if waning congratulations to others and acceptance of the same from others, and that's it. The ropes, hay bales and barriers are coming down. I pack the CRV with bike, and wheels, pop-up tent and chairs, trainer and empties. That first beer tasted good. It is 5:23PM and already I am one of a a dozen or so people who might be still thinking about "my" race. The glow fades quickly into the miasma of cleanup and preparation for the real world to reenter the forefront of thought - the forefront of practice.

The drive home from a race - particularly a crit in my experience - requires extra attention. My mind remains attuned to those trying to get ahead of me and those sticking to my wheel. I remind myself that I am not racing. I am driving home. At six PM I am home and unpacking the car with Jennifer's help. The exhaustion of four day's racing has begun to set in and I begin to think that maybe it's already down to six people remembering "my" race.

Jennifer suggests dinner at a favorite Thai restaurant, Ocha Thai, in Waterbury. It is a small, almost hole-in-the-wall place with inexpensive and exquisite Thai food. By 7:10 we are seated and ordering aps. Marinated shrimp wrapped in crispy egg noodles, served with plum and chili sauce served on individual bamboo skewers. Magnificent! For dinner I savor the duck curry, immersing myself in the coconut milk-based broth and rejoicing in the deliciously fatty, crisp skin. Deprivation makes things taste even better - not that my deprivation ranks compared to many athletes in training, but I do deny myself many tasty spoilers of the fatty variety. We speak of nothing bike-related. By 8:15 we have paid the bill and Jen offers to drive home. My half-mast eyes belie any attempt to appear entirely with it.

At home I begin to reconsider the race. I can['t stop thinking about the 19 points. I know I can be happy to have won the jersey and worn it for two days of racing. I can be proud of myself for fighting for it and to keep it in the road race and again in the crit. Nineteen points. One more, just a harder push up main street on the final lap? Or keeping my eyes up after the 30-to-go sprint in order to see the breakaway? two or three years ago we planned for the 5-to-go sprint and I won the race. COuld I have stayed away with three other riders for 29 laps yesterday?

In bed at 10:30 my mind continued to race through these scenarios. Not even midnight and I think it's only one person who remembers "my" race. Self-centered thought is not something I spend much time with and this alien preoccupation disturbs me and my attempt to sleep. When I finally do sleep, I have no dreams of biking. The race is over.

A cancellation in the morning means a blessedly late start to the day. I need a printer for my private practice and I have to get in to pay bills and send invoices. It's raining. The gods held it off for four days of racing and now they let it come; gentle needed rain.

Nineteen Points

2010-09-06T20:41:00.005-04:00

One thing I learned from my friend Chris Cover, is to write down on a piece of tape the bib numbers of my closest competitors and affix it to my top tube. Coming into the event a mere 3 points up, and with a total of 22 potential points in contention, I knew I had a lot of numbers to record. Number 366 was at the top of the list. Chris Wood, riding for Sound Solutions, is built like me - like a sprinter. Too much upper body to really contend the mountains, but enough to leverage the bars to our advantage in a sprint. I kept my eye on him a lot.

In the first Hot Spot Sprint I was not yet well warmed up (maybe) or my legs were dead (maybe), so I managed a 3rd place for 3 more points. Chris finished first for 6 more points making his total and mine each 19. I confess I was not certain at that point that he had won. I only knew that I had not and had only made up 3 more points. I knew I now needed more points. Unfortunately, after that first sprint, Kyle Clark (a 6'6" behemoth riding for the Green Mountain Bicycle Club) tore a way with two other riders on a breakaway that would eventually and impossibly catch the field with only 7 laps to go. Amazing. I have seen a Cat 3 solo to a half lap lead and even did it myself as a Cat 4. I have never seen the field lapped.

At five to go the field exploded. Two more were off the front and the chase got so powerful that I worried about a crash. I did not want to do down. I stayed in as well as I could and gave everything I had in that sprint, but came up short, defeated. Chris missed it, too. That left us with the final sprint for points: 10, 7, 5, 3, 1. But the three riders who had lapped us would automatically reap the first three spots! That left only two spots in contention and the whole field together sprinting for the line.

I have seen bad crashes in the finish sprint. Hospital-trip yielding crashes that have ended riding for cyclists for over a year. The first turn is a mere 100M from the start/finish line and it is tight for 80 riders to navigate. We hit the last turn, turn six at a crazy speed - probably over 40 or 45MPH - and we all were sprinting hard up the hill. I had nothing. I had been chasing on the front to try to gain ground on the leader and one other rider who had gotten a gap on us. Chris was on my wheel. I could feel him and out of my periphery I could see the white and blue of his kit. I didn't want him there. But I couldn't give up the gap in trying to get him ahead of me so that I could draft him. It felt utterly hopeless. Screaming up the hill I knew he would come around me. Near the line my friend Alberto shot past us both, hoping to keep Chris from getting any more points. He was worried afterwards that he had taken points away from me. He had not. Chris and I finished tied with 19 points apiece.

Again, I didn't know that at the time. We had to wait for over half an hour before the announcer called Chris's name as the new sprint leader. I felt the loss but figured he had beaten me by a point or two. Amy Miner, another teammate had experienced the loss of her sprint leader's jersey by one point. She empathized. Then Damien, who did brilliantly and finished in sixth place in the criterium, came up to me to ask if I had kept the jersey since I was tied for points.

USAC Rule 2O2. In case of a tie on total points, the tie will be broken
in favor of the rider who has:
(a) The most first place finishes or, if still tied, the most
second place finishes, etc., or if still tied;
(b) The highest placing in the last race, or the race nearest
the last race of the omnium in which at least one of the tied
riders placed.

I won two sprints and was second in one and third in another. Chris won 2 and was third in one. I won out under ss. (a). However, Chris was ahead of me in the GC and so under ss. (b) he won. Damn rules.

All in all I am very pleased with the weekend of racing. Though Heather V was badly hurt in a crash in Stage 2, she was our only casualty and - despite the pain - was keeping in remarkably good spirits. Her broken clavicle and shredded fingers and leg will be a painful reminder of the race. I'm sure she will be back (right Heather?). I was an honor racing with my teammates and I was humbled by their willingness to work for me when they were able. It is truly a team sport. It was a great feeling to wear the jersey for two days of racing. I hope to get a shot at it again.

T minus 4:20

2010-09-06T08:51:00.002-04:00

It's 0850 and the M Cat 3 race goes off at 1:10. It's official: I start in the jersey. The benefits are huge. I get to start on the front line and I don't have to worry about being at the start early. I can relax and warm up until 1:00. I actually slept last night - the first time in days - and feel relatively rested. Alberto and I have been communicating about working together to get him moved up in the GC and me in the points. If I can win the first two sprints I will likely keep the jersey even if I don't win the crit itself. Two years ago, as a Cat 4 I won the race. It went exactly as planned. We had decided that I would go hard right behind the 5 laps to go sprinters, then come around them when they sat up after the sprint. In the first corner after the sprint there was a crash on thoutside of the turn. I was on the inside, hopped the curb and hammered away from the field. I held the field at :00:40 away for five laps and finished with my arms high clear of the field coming up behind me. Can it happen twice?

more thoughts on the target

2010-09-05T21:12:00.009-04:00

This was the morning scene as I headed out at 6:50. Reflecting back on the day I had some other thoughts on this target thing:

Wearing a points jersey is new to me. In some ways it made today's stage easier. All I had to focus on was that first 22 miles - 22.8, actually. But the stage is also harder. If you've worn a points jersey you may know the feeling: Unlike the Drew Carey Show (yes I was a fan) the points are all that matter. THe rest of the race is a breeze. All one has to do is make the time cut: a generous 20% on top of the leader's time. A generous 41 + minutes to get in after the leader. I was :26:39 back.

I found it hard to focus on taking it easy. Andre is the consummate points-only rider. He is self-described fat (said with a dynamite german accent it sounds much better). He has been a bike racer a long time and plans his sprints carefully. Then, after he - invariably it seems - wins the sprint, he takes a pleasure cruise for the next 47.2 miles and 5,000 feet of climbing.

The photos of the stage two start shows the wall that is the climb we have to ascend 4 times in the race. These are not HC climbs but they are significant, quad-cramping, hamstring-screaming lung busters none-the-less. And even though a sprint leader doesn't need to finish at the top of the field, he or she still has to finish, and within the time cut. Quite the dilemma. If I burn all my matches going for points, I have to suffer more or less on my own for the rest of the ride (unless I'm one of those super-strong riders who can point up and stay with the pack over the 1200 foot ascent that starts 6 miles later, which I'm not).

After the sprint I sat up and coasted along with Nevin, who had won the sprint. He now has third in the points. He is 23 years old. As we rode along and realized that the riders approaching us were not in our category, it dawned on us that we were ahead of our now neutralized field and had a real advantage if we wanted to take it.

Let me back up: When one field is about to be overtaken by a field that started behind it (for example, cat 3 is overtaken by Masters 40+ as is sometimes the case as it was today), the officials will generally make the overtaken field slow or stop until the group has passed. Often, it is only a few or small group of riders in a breakaway who are overtaking the next field. If some of the overtaken group are in their own breakaway, as happens in a race like today's, then they are typically not neutralized because they are small enough so as not to cause a problem for the riders overtaking them. Phew.

Nevin and I somewhat exhaustedly came to the conclusion that if we hauled ass we might make it to the feed zone at the base of Middlebury Gap, and maybe even up the gap before we were caught. That would be a huge advantage for two spent riders. So we started trading pulls and worked together to the tun at 125 towards the first gap. Here we sat up for a bit and ate some cliff bars and here is where I learned that I am old enough to be his father. Twenty-three! I'm racing against guys nearly half my age! What am I thinking?! He was duly impressed, or feigned it out of decency.

We pressed on and soon began the ascent towards Texas Falls where the feed zone is somewhat inexplicably staged. John McGill, a teammate in the Cat 2 field, wrote, "The Texas Falls Feedzone created by the geniuses of GMSR is not particularly useful for riders. Who ever heard of taking on bottles at the bottom of the hardest climb of the race?" Good question. Thankfully, this year I didn't have to worry about getting caught up in the feed-zone melee. We were the melee.

Jean, our fantastic team captain, was in the zone with a bottle for me. I took it and he informed me that were were :3:45 back from the lead. No worries, I thought. I don't need to catch them. We were going pretty easy now and I glanced over my shoulder less often. Suddenly, it seemed, I saw the field approaching. Oh well, we'll be caught and we'll sit in for the climb. Better to have the field pull us along in this headwind than to ride it alone.

One by one they passed us until Nevin and I were among the stragglers nearing the top with the rest of the field already cresting and about to descend the 8-12% grade at speed up to and over 50 MPH for 2 miles. By the time we crested they were gone. We started the fight to catch back on - for me more out of habit than anything else - until we reached the Breadloaf campus and I sat up asking my compadres: What are we doing? We're fighting for what, 69th place? I'm taking a pleasure ride in. And so I did, though I tried to do it while surfing the back of the field for the draft, and occasionally organizing or joining casual pacelines.

It's a long way to the Bristol Notch road, where a right turn onto it brings one face to face with a short 15% climb just long enough to take out any wind that might have been in your sails. Then the dirt road section to Bristol where we had to detour around a failed bridge and, therefore, do another gradual but painful climb into Bristol. Blessedly we were met with a tailwind here that carried us all the way to the bottom of "Baby Gap," the little child of Ap Gap that is formidable in and of its own. It is roughly seven miles from the start of Baby Gap to the start of the Appalachian Gap climb. Two thirds of that is climbing. None of it overly steep, but all of it consistent and laborious. We muddled along. Part way up I heard a cry from my left: Way to go Jared! I looked over to see Mike, a friend of my teammate, Nick's, climbing like Cancellara. He was sitting in the saddle spinning high cadence and smiling like it was easy. What a treat to see! He was so happy for me yesterday and I am so happy for him today. He hammered the Gap and won today's stage in the 40+!

I have to confess. I love riding Ap Gap. I don't like Baby, but Ap Gap is my friend. It has a rhythm, a pace all its own. If you find it, even though the climb is hard, it's sort of easy at the same time. I don't really think about it anymore. That's not to say that I can scream up it in the big ring. Not at all. I mean that I can do it over and over staying in zone 2 and 3. I can't do it repeatedly sub-threshold or race pace. But on a day like today, my goal is to finish, I have not thoughts of not being able to do it. It's nice to be at that place, because it was not always that way.

I finished with a smile and words of thanks and appreciation for the 15-20 mile an hour tailwind on the last and steepest part of the climb. It felt like someone was pushing me the last 100 meters. I enjoyed it. I got over the habituated drive to move up in the GC and instead settled in for a points showdown. That will come tomorrow.

M Cat 2 neutral climb

2010-09-05T20:58:00.003-04:00

Stage Three

2010-09-05T18:01:00.002-04:00

Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long
Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong
While round in our sieve we spin! - Edward Lear

Leaving home this morning I had mixed emotions. Phil sent a text saying he was not feeling well and was pulling from the race. I drove down route 2 pondering what might be in store. With one strong teammate out of the race, one somewhat unknown and the green jersey target on my back I figured anything could happen.

Having only seen others wear the points jersey I knew that any move I made would be watched carefully. For the past three years I had launched successful attacks just south of Warren and about 18 miles from the only sprint in today's race. The new course this year added four miles with a significant amount of climbing for about two miles. As I feared the attacks began there, forcing me to respond and burn resources. Any time I attacked on my own it was countered by the peloton.

There were three main threats to the jersey. Numbers 366, 311, and 337 were the closest in points and 366 could tie with me if he won. After the climb there was a long, fast downhill run into Warren village followed by a fast left turn before finally coming out onto route 100. It was about 2 miles south of this that historically I had gone away on a break with a few others. The peloton wanted none of my attacks. Damien went off the front and no one responded. I jumped hard to bridge to him and the field came in on my wheel.

At long last the peloton grew tired of these antics and realized it was just the sprinter's contesting the line so they let 7 of us get away. Two from CRCA, two from Open Roads, one from Sound Solutions, Nevin (as I later learned was his name) from Bikeman, one other rider and me. One challenge was having two sets of two teammates working for eachother. Another was wearing the target. Everyone was contesting and no one wanted to work together. The Sound solutions guy wanted to win the road race but also the green jersey. The two from Open Roads seemed willing to do about anything to get 311 across the line ahead of me. His teammate, Patrick, launched attack after attack. As we reached 1K to go things started to get sketchy. I did my best to sit third wheel, always watching for Chris Wood, 366, who seemed strongest. At 500 it was the same until Patrick came around on my left near the yellow line. Closing on 200 to go Chris went and I followed but 311 came back around and a CRCA rider came on my right. As I stood to sprint with 100 to go Chris's teammate closed me against the CRCA rider in a bush-league move that forced me to sit up to avoid a crash. He and chris had planned it and I was not happy about the risk they were willing to take. Still, I had been able to dog 366 such that he took second or third so I should retain the jersey for tomorrows start.

Another good day of racing. This one with props to Damien and Matt for their help early on and to Andre Sturm who instilled in me the sense to choose a fight and stick to it. Hope I made the time cut Andre.

Before stage 3

2010-09-05T06:13:00.001-04:00

It's 58 degrees and the forecast is for south winds up to 18MPH and a chance of rain. Thinking I should have swapped out the 53/39 for a 50/34. Still time? Maybe...

Stage two: comeuppance or just deserts

2010-09-04T17:54:00.005-04:00

It happened. After standing around in the parking lot discussing how it is that we can plan a hundred times for a specific race and it doesn't go the way we planned. But if we don't plan we stand no chance of preparing to take advantage of opportunity. It has been said that luck is found at the confluence of preparedness and opportunity. When I think back on last years circuit race it is clear to me that while I was prepared for that third hot-spot sprint I didn't actually have the opportunity to go when I wanted. I tried to force my hand and wound up crashing hard. This year I was prepared and when the opportunity presented itself I grabbed a handful of K-wing bars and threw myself at it full force.
My teammates and friends from other teams helped immeasurably. Damien bolduc took a flier on the first lap and allowed himself to get reeled back in. Then Paul, attacked and I let him get 200 meters before countering to bridge. Matt Spence got on the front and blocked as I hammered up the hilly the VSP barracks and Alberto Citarella slowed the field on the downhill, which allowed us to carry full speed through the turn onto 100B. Paul and I worked hard to put 2K into the field. Though he agree to give me the sprint I got out of the saddle and hammered the last hundred yards. The bitter taste of Andrew Davy trying to sneak a win on a sprint last year has left me distrustful.

I was surprised at how long it took for the field to catch us. I tried to work for Paul who was interested in the king of the mountain (kom), but I simply couldn't stay with him on the inclines. He understood and was gracious about the help he gave me.

Lap two I decided to stay with the leaders and not try a solo attack. About eight of us went on the VSP hill and I did only my share of work until the 1k to go sign. There I planned well and set myself at third wheel by 500 meters to go. As we approached 200M I had left a bikelength between me and the next rider - a move I read about this morning in Velo News - to give me room to accelerate before pulling out and into the wind. It worked beautifully. I did not account for the rider at fifth wheel doing the same thing and I saw him too late to grab his wheel. Riding his draft I dropped it into the 53/11 got hard on the pedals just passing the next rider for second place.

The third time up the hill was brutal. I barely hung on to a chase group but Bill McGreevy from Placid Planet helped me getback in. Bill and I worked together in the Killington Stage Race in May and we have been racing friends for several years. The alliances we make racing are pretty cool. But that's another entry.

Lap three was a tough one but things smoothed out on route 2. Dan Boozan, a riding friend who is now in Arizona but comes east for the gmsr, came alongside me and asked if I wanted him to go after the bridge before the VSP hill.

We crossed the bridge and Dan went immediately, lolling back to see if I was there. I decided to hang back until a few others responded as I was loath to go it alone with 50 odd miles and two sprints in my legs. Dan sat up and another rider launched an attack. It wound up being a perfect tactic as the field thought it was a false attack. Dan countered and I grabbed his wheel. We hit the hill and traded places as we chased a lone rider ahead. I mistook him for Damien. When we reeled him in we had 5 K to go and Dan was on fire. He led us out for a full K then allowed me only short pulls. At 3K I saw we had three chasers closing. Dan was losing steam. We alowed them to catch us and the. Set a good tempo. None of them were in it for the sprint points. They all thought they would stay away until the finish and win the race! I asked if they would allow me to lead the sprint and thy agreed. As before I sprinted anyway and was glad that I did when one tried to come around me at the end.

That was it for me. I was cracked. I barely made the hill. My teammates Phil Beard and Matt Spence, along with James Walker and Bill from Placid and a few others worked to chase the field but they kept accelerating in their own efforts to chase down a breakaway.

Had it not been for a few crashes - teammate Heather V broke her collarbone, and someone from our field went to the hospital, too - it would have been a great day of racing. As it is, it was pretty darn good.

Stage one

2010-09-03T13:26:00.003-04:00

It's funny how all the prep and planning can mean so little when the time comes and the start man counts it down: five...four...three...two...one...Go! Then it's off like a shot, or a slug, or who knows what. Today it felt OK for the first 50 meters then seemed to fall apart on the start of the first climb. Legs are kind of funny, too. There are times when they seem to be made of wood rather than flesh and blood. It's changeable - under the best of circumstances. THat is, when it goes well one recovers. Call it AT or LT or whatever, it's that point when your legs feel like overstuffed pillows with about as much strength. I recovered a bit and started to move well along the gradual (3-5 deg.) climb for the next 1.5K. Then, the steeper hill took the wind out of my sails. Alas.

Steve F said to me a week or so ago, "I try to keep about 19 MPH on the long gradual climb then hold 15, if I can, on the steep section. When I get to the false-flat, I start to ramp it up so that I hit 30 by the time I'm at the crest and the gradual decline begins."

I looked at my speed. 17.5 MPH wasn't going to get me where I wanted. I eked out 18 for a few turns of the cranks and pain shot through my shot legs. My speed went to 16.5 then 14. I rallied. 17.5 seemed to be the max I could do and then I hit that climb. Damn. 15 became 14 became 12 became 9. I was turning a 39/26 as if it were 39/21. Argh! Out of the saddle was little help so the best bet seemed to be to sit back and breath until the false flat.

The tailwind was lovely from Roxbury Gap Rd. I was able to get my legs back and hammered the false right to the next rise and up and over. A half K recovery at the intersection was all I needed. I was flying - though not breaking 30 MPH much. My ghost caught me at the bad pavement section and put about 20 seconds more into me (on top of the 30 seconds he started behind me). Demoralizing but energizing. I started to gain on him but ultimately lost that battle. Finishing a few seconds faster than last year. I will have to be satisfied with that and take it to the line tomorrow.

My Review of Indie Crew

2010-08-01T23:38:00.001-04:00

Originally submitted at Ibexwear

If you like your baselayer a little heavier and less form-fitting, Indie is the answer. Our Indies line features superfine, 18.5 micron New Zealand Merino with a looser cut and more relaxed jersey knit. Styled with a serious attention to detail. Check out the racing stripes.

I love INDIE!!!

By Jared from Richmond, VT on 8/1/2010

Pros: Breathable, Stylish, Durable, Lightweight

Best Uses: Road Biking, Casual Wear

Describe Yourself: Competitive Cyclist

Last year and this year I received an Indie T as part of sponsorship and this year I bought the crew LS. I can't say enough good about it. I use the Indie as a single layer around the house and around town. On cool days I use it as an under layer. It amazes me how comfortable it is as a single layer from about 52-70 degrees. Awesome!

(legalese)

Gap dawn

2010-06-24T21:16:00.000-04:00

I reached the summit of Appalachian Gap (Ap Gap) at about 8:00 one morning not long ago. I looked West along the outstretched arm of Route 17 and the shadow of the mountain. I marveled at the quiet, broken only by the growing birdsong. I felt I was the luckiest person alive.