Cycling Faux Pas and Other Shit I Miss.

Over the last two years a growing family and business has supplanted my time on the bike. I ride less.

I also drink more. There could be a correlation but who can say with any certainty? Really?

Anyway, a Canuk winning the Giro and other recent interwebs events finds me thinking about being in the thick of a racing season and how far away I am from that now. The good news is it finally makes me want to ride.

I think that's the hardest thing about being an older racer (or just Olde) is that it's just so bloody time consuming and it impinges on everything else you do that it's impossible to sustain that into middle age.

That's a long, hard stare.

So here, in no particular order, are some of the Faux Pas I may have experience with. This list will certainly continue to grow.

Glasses inside helmet straps. I done it. Sometimes on purpose. There has been considerable sleep lost over this one.

Equal tire pressures in both front and back tires. Well, there's a red line on the gauge so I pump to there. If I needed two different pressures pumps would come with two adjustable red lines. Think about it.

A saddle bag. I hate packing my jersey pockets full of tubes, levers, patches, tire boot, spoke key and mini allen tools every time I ride to the 7-11for beer - I mean train. I lash that junk on my bike because if I put it in my jersey it's easier to see my spare tire. No-one wants that.

Recording my AVE SPD. I download a bunch of stuff from my PM but I have never made a special spread sheet to record my AVE SPD. Perhaps this is why I never went pro.

Aero bars. I wish I'd left them on my road bike. I only used them for a short while on my road bike until our TT bikes were ready but, since I am older and much slower now, I could be seeing time savings like nothing I've seen before. That stuff could be really paying off now!

Waving. I always wave. I don't care who you are. You're out for a ride and having a good time. I can muster a nod, wave or finger flick in your direction - accept for the tri-geeks. In all the years I've been riding not one has waved back. ****'em. I've had lots of folks who do tri's smile, wave, nod or flick back but not a single tri-geek has deigned to do so.

Carbon. I use it for everything. Frames, forks, bars, stems, rims, seats, posts, cranks and a bunch of component parts. I know it is a ticking time bomb and I must be delusional because I have yet to buy a CAAD 10 to use in the crits I don't do but this **** just keeps showing up at my door so I use it. This must be some sick kind of voodoo risk taking, gambling thing. I don't know. It's just not right because I know this stuff is just a bunch of plastic waiting to asplode and who knows how many I'll take with me.

I suppose it's my cross to bear.

Bents. I should really just own up right here. I'd love to try one but, to me they are like mopeds; They're both fun to ride until your friends find out. For the bents, I am ruined.

Mirrors-helmet or otherwise. I'm just to busy jammin' to my tunes on my iphone to bother with mirrors. They're too much of a distraction.

Bells. I had a metal bell with a solid spring and knocker on my FG/SS yellow Merckx with white full fenders that let out a single, crystal clear sound, that cut through traffic noise and carried for a block. I sold it with the bike. I loved the bike. I miss the bell.

I need a moment.

Why am I a Crazy Foreigner?

I started racing bikes in 1982. I was 3^rd in my first race because I helped a team mate win. I won my next two races. The rest is a blurr.

But, before I could race I had to go to a “Learn to Race Clinic” where they taught me basic rules about riding in a group, how to corner in a group and a lot of other things that ALL riders in MANY countries learn before they are allowed to race.

I continued racing and became an Elite level racer. Then a crash broke my arm in 30 places and I spent a week in the hospital. I missed the rest of the season and lost my spot on the Elite Team I raced for.

The good thing was that I took that time to become a Certified Cycling Coach. This required going to school, tests, and coaching for a few years at each level until I was final given accreditation by the Canadian Cycling Association and the UCI. I did this while I was still racing so the knowledge was very helpful to me.

A few years after my crash (and while studying to be a coach) I had a good team, good sponsorship and was ready to have a great season. Then a crappy old Toyota ran me over and I was done for 18 months. This time it was VERY serious.

I came back to racing, got very fit and won a National Championship in 1998 but, by this time, I knew I was too old. I had been training with guys who would later become World Champions, win Olympic medals and be good professional riders so I understood what real talent was and that that would never be me.

The next year I moved to Taiwan.

When I first came to Taiwan all teams were given money by the government. They were city or county teams. I wanted to make a new team but, as a foreigner, I had to do it a different way. I had to do it the same way it is done in almost EVERY other country. I had to find sponsors and build a team. I was the FIRST person in Taiwan to do this. This was 1998.

Since that time I have made many teams, worked with many riders and sponsors. I have taught MANY riders how to train and race and I have taught many other people how to find sponsors, make a team and run a team. I did it because it is what I love to do.

Many of these people have now gone on to make their own teams and develop their own riders. Even though I now compete with them it makes me very happy to see how cycling in Taiwan has evolved to be like the rest of the world. Even though my role in this was very small I do feel like I had something to do with it and it makes me feel proud.

One of the things I have always tried to make my riders understand is that cycling in the rest of the world has been around for a while and that there are rules, or customs that ALL riders in ALL countries know. I have always hoped that any of our riders could go to any country in the world and ride with any group because they understand THE UNWRITTEN RULES OF CYCLING.

This has proven to be much harder than it seems.

As a foreigner, very often, people will listen to what I am saying and then ignore me because I am just some crazy foreigner who doesn’t understand how we do things in Taiwan. This is very frustrating for me. I may be crazy but I do know what I am talking about.

Something that is missing in Taiwan is MENTORS. These are older riders with many, many years of experience. In most countries these riders will ride with younger riders to teach them all the ‘unwritten rules’ of cycling as well as the basic ideas about riding, training and racing. Because racing in Taiwan is new (in many ways) there really aren’t a lot of MENTORS and new riders aren’t used to listening to the MENTORS that are here.

This is a problem.

Here is the point of my post.

Recently, I have had a few bad experiences where I have tried to help people and it has gone badly. This isn’t just about riding but other things as well. It has really bothered me.

Tonight I watched a friend crash his bike during a training race. It happens but it is never good to see.

Later, a rider made a slightly dangerous mistake. It was a mistake I have been trying to tell people about for a while but, as a crazy foreigner, no-one wants to listen. It wasn’t that big a problem (I was expecting it) but it meant I had to use my brakes through a corner when I really wanted to attack instead. It just pissed me off.

I got a little angrier with the rider than I should have (and I feel sorry) but I have been trying to teach people about this corner for more than a year and NO-ONE will listen to me. The thing is I am right.

The UNWRITTEN RULES of CYCLING tell me that I am right.

All of my coaches and PROFESSIONAL RIDERS I have known in my life tell me I am right.

The years I spent learning how to be a COACH and the years I spent coaching other riders tells me I am right.

But I am just some loud, crazy foreigner that doesn’t understand how we do things in Taiwan.

So I got angry. Really angry.

Then, some of the riders on teams I have helped, some of the riders on teams I have sponsored, coached and taught how to make and run their team laughed at me. They made fun of me. They mocked me and talked to me like I was an idiot. They made me even angrier.

And sad.

All the years and all the things I have done for so many riders were pissed on in that moment.

And then they kept laughing at me and mocking me.

And I got even angrier and more upset. I was told I was being rude, that I should calm down.

I know I was rude to the first rider I yelled at (and do feel sorry) but now it was far too late for me to calm down. All of the things like this that had happened in the last few weeks came together and I was far too angry, far too frustrated to calm down.

But now I am calm. Now I can look back and see my mistakes. I can also see the mistakes of others. I can also see the lack of respect for a MENTOR.

Right now I find it hard to imagine that I will ever coach, train or sponsor another team or rider in Taiwan. I have worked hard for 13 years and tonight I was rewarded with laughter and mocking.

Maybe I am a crazy foreigner after all.

The Pain Cave - Feb Training Camp 2011

DAY 1 - 20 min Power Test

We had a short training camp this year because the Chinese New Year Holidays were so short. We started off with a 20 minute Power test to establish early season FTP.

We decided to invite a few other racers to suffer along with us. We had a nutritional lecture and some coaching about training with a Power Meter as well. As the above picture indicates a splendid time was had by all...

DAY 2 - 160km 1600m elevation gain.

For day 2 we went for a nice ride in the nearby mountains. I was shooting for 2500m elevation gain on the day but logistics prevented this. The ride was just under 5 hours on a beautiful, sunny day. Temps were in the low 20's C and the wind wasn't kicking us in the teeth for a change.

I think the best part of the day was finally getting the guys all together for the first time. This has only happened at races so far this season. We should be able to organize this a little better in the near future so I'm not too concerned about this.
This was a pretty enjoyable ride. I took the guys on some of the smaller, nastier back roads that I like before we hit the main climb for the day. The ride back was rolling and pretty fast.

DAY 3 - TTT Practice.

I've done more TTs than any of the guys on the team and certainly more TTTs. The first race we have for the season long Giant Cup Race Series is a TTT. We skipped it last year and, I believe, missed out on some points that hurt us for the overall at the end of the season.

I got a chance to blather on a bit about the technical aspects of a TTT. We did one last year (there were 2 last season) and we lost considerable time because of a series of technical errors we made repeatedly.

A good warm up and we basically did a TTT. The pace was in the 45~50kph range for most of it, which was good. Also the course we chose to use was pretty windy and the wind switched direction in several places so it really simulated the conditions we expect for the TTT in March.

At the end of the camp we hung out for a bit and jaw wobbled about various nonsense. The atmosphere is pretty relaxed and I have a good feeling about the personalities and the intelligence of the team this year.

Our next training camp is set for 23/24 April and is ALL about elevation. We should easily be over 4000m elevation gain for those 2 days.

O' joy. O' bliss...

The Limit

Recently I thought about the how many times I'd pushed myself beyond the limit of what I could do while on a bike. I've been in other situations in my life where this has happened but cycling is different.

Cycling isn't about survival. It isn't about having to overcome some life threatening or life altering challenge or event. it isn't about life or death choices.

The difference is that it is willful. Pushing yourself beyond what your body is prepared for using only your will is a different thing. At any point I could have just stopped without loss of life or limb yet I chose to keep going despite my body's clear signals that perhaps this wasn't such a good idea.

A few examples:

1988. Some goat path over a mountain in Spain. It's my third day in big mountains. I am WAY over geared and grind my way up this thing for an hour. I sit on a bench by the side of the road at the top and cry. Really.

1989. Some road race in NY State. I make the mistake of jumping into a break with the big boys. I am so nervous I don't eat or drink. An hour later I get head spins and have to sit by the side of the road until the ambulance scoops me up.

1992. Somewhere in Quebec. I flat after about an hour. I get a wheel change and then the neutral car drives away leaving me utterly alone with no food, 1 bottle and 100km of windy rollers. When I crawl across the finish line there is no finish line. They've torn it up, taken down the stage and most everyone is long gone including the jitbags on my new team who were supposed to be doing support for ALL of us. I find my rental car and sleep in the front seat until morning - still in my kit.

1997. A World Cup track event in Trexlertown is canceled. The riders are already on this side of the pond so the event is quickly relocated to Victoria where I lived at the time. After the WC many stick around for BC Superweek.

80 lap crit. All I remember is the silver rear hub of the wheel directly in front of me for the first 40 laps. Once the break goes the pace drops off slightly. My memory of the race starts there.

1998. A RR in Vancouver. Brian Walton leans on me in a tight corner and then jumps on the way out. I think "Well, there's a good wheel to follow." I jump. There's nothing. I slip into the group. I slip out the back of the group. The race rides away from and I can barely hold 20kph.

The next day I go for a blood test. I have a hemoglobin count of 19 with virtually no stored iron. All a result of the last few years of big training trying to be a bike racer.

2004. I black out for a second at 2500m trying to chase down the main bunch so I can hide from the wind. I barely avoid riding into a huge ditch on the side of the mountain. I blackout again while driving on my way home. I almost drive into the median.

2010. I nearly burst a blood vessel in my head after a relentless series of "why", "because" with my 3 year old son.

The worst part is that I know that this list will continue to grow.

O' what a fool am I?

The Long Way Home

Motivation.

It's cold, windy as hell and I'm 2 hours into a ride that could either take 3 1/2 or 4 1/2 hours depending on what I decide at the next intersection. What I need is the 4 1/2 hours. I need it today and I need it tomorrow and I need it each time I ride for the next few months.

It used to be that I could drop to race weight in a month. But now I'm older and the process is slower and the volume needed is much greater. But slogging out this distance seems harder and harder to do.

What I need is some motivation.

It used to be pride. I would put in the extra time because I didn't want to get dropped at a crucial point in a race because I didn't have the depth or because I was lugging around an extra kilo or two. Vanity was also a good one. Who wants to look fat in their kit? Looking tanned, lean and ripply always made me fell kinda sexy. Who doesn't want to feel sexy?

Money. Money is always a good motivator. Producing results to keep sponsors happy could push me to put in the extra time. Happy sponsors means more cash and more stuff. Pretty good motivation.

I guess the real struggle is the difference between how much time I can ride purely for the love of riding and the extra time I really need to be fast. It's the struggle between watching a good movie and throwing a leg over on cold, windy days where the drizzle feels like icicles tearing at your face.

And then there is today. Today was the same ride with the same choices. But today I was in a slightly bigger gear over the climb. Today I chased a truck and caught him on a set of rollers that I'd slogged over a few weeks before. Today I got up out of the saddle and big ringed my way over a 3 km long climb.Today the choice was easy.

Tomorrow is another day.

'That Guy'.

Every now and then, as we gather up for the regular weekend hammerfest ride, there will be some new guy all full of piss and vinegar strutting around, talking too loud, and jumping into the middle of conversations about gear or training or some recent race with comments that just don't fit.

Somewhere around 5k in, as the group rolls out for the 5 hour ride- settling in, chatting a bit - this guy will go to the front and push the pace. It's never enough to stop the conversations but it's enough for guys to close up the gaps and get a bit annoyed because they haven't switched on their iPods or finished the apple they were eating.

As the ride progresses the first little rise approaches and this same guy goes to the front then shuts it off at the top. The ride jams up and spreads across the road.

The riders sort themselves out again as the pace picks up on the way back down.

Each small rise, overpass, or grade of any kind the same thing happens.

Finally the pace picks up and as riders rotate through this guy hits the front. He accelerates; Not hard enough to worry anyone, just hard enough to be an annoyance. Once again the rhythm of the ride is disrupted for no purpose what so ever.

The group settles back into a groove. Finally, attacks come but they are real attacks. Jumps that force people to dig. Jumps that drive snot out of your nose and blur your vision as you fixate on the rear hub in front of you. Attacks on climbs that carry speed up and OVER the climbs and force guys to chase on the descents.

Breaks form. Chases form. The ride regroups.

Hours later we all cool down together minus a few guys who know their way home.

We stop, chat, throw back a coke, finish a power bar and the group fragments into many smaller groups who spin their way home.

No one asks about 'that guy' or even remembers when he came off the back.

We usually never see him again.

Training Camp Feb 2010

I had designed a 4 day Training Camp to run over the Chinese New Year holidays that was about 160km each day with thousands of meters of climbing. In short, I had planned routes that would have destroyed me.

But it's a training camp. That's what I wanted to do. Also, we have one rider who will ride the Tour de Taiwan in a few weeks so he needed some more big climbing.

The weather had other plans.

Those included temps that were 10 degrees below normal, big winds and heavy rain. If it were summer time it would have been no problem and we would have ridden through it. And honestly, it wasn't that cold...at sea level. I wanted to take the guys above 2000m as many times as I could in 4 days. This was a whole different kettle of fish.

Then I heard that there were problems with some of the roads. OK. Plan B.

We canceled the first 2 days and then piled in the team cars and headed south where there was less rain.Day 1 was a flat windy, rainy ride at race pace for 4 1/2 hour where we headed south and then turned around and rode home. Luckily it was dry for the way back.

I could sure feel how poor my fitness is. I had a neck injury that kept me off the bike for more than 2 months and now I am over weight and well behind where I need to be for my first "A" race in May. But enough of this.

The second day we did some climbing and the weather was finally on our side. It was beautiful. We had a good 45 mins of flat roads to warm up and then we hit the first of 5 climbs on the day. This one only went up about 1000m but there were several long pitches in double digits.

We had a few former team members (locals) join us for the ride so we were 8 riders in all. I just didn't want to be the 8th guy over the top. I managed to keep a couple guys in sight (with 2 more behind me) until the last km. Then I just had to spin it up and over.We waited at the top and then rode back down and onto the 2nd and 3rd climbs. We encountered some road closures due to rock slides and I think we were all pretty happy that we had changed to plan B as we would have most likely be caught out somewhere at altitude, in the rain.

This was our first camp together and we managed to eek out almost 10 hours of training under nasty conditions. The guys seem to be gelling as a group and there are certainly no personality conflicts.

I few races together and this could turn into a pretty good team. I'm certainly looking forward to the season and I hope I can drop the weight and find some bloody fitness soon.

My Epic Sunday Ride.

The weather has been cold, windy and wet for weeks. There has been some decent riding but lots of misery, too.

The plan was to ride from home on Saturday, drive out to the in-laws Saturday night and ride 5.5hrs in the mountains on Sunday. The weather was shaping up to be great. I'd been off the bike for a bit and I really wanted to ride.

I did 3 hours from home on Saturday as planned. I'd been sick for a few weeks and had actually dropped some weight in the process. Not my original strategy but I'd take it. I was worried I'd feel the time off and that the infection might still be lingering. I felt a lot better than expected.

I knew the next day would be a harder ride so I held back a few times when all I really wanted to do was crank it up and see how long I could put out some juice. I wanted to know what was in the tank. I did a few jumps and a couple of 5min pieces but mostly solid, steady tempo. I was still itching when I got off the bike.

Went to lunch with the family, watched SpongeBob and was in bed by 8:00.

Brilliant sleep. I woke up at 8:00am and wrestled with my son while we ate breakfast. I filled some water bottles and pumped my tires. I went to the bedroom where I had all my kit laid out and then out onto the balcony to make my final clothing choices.

Wow. All the recent high winds and rain had cleared the air and the sky was deep, cloudless and blue. I could see two ranges in in the direction I was headed. It was 22*C and the flags were limp, with an occasional twitter just to let you know they were there. This was going to be epic.

Final clothing choices made (and accounting for at least 2, 15 minutes descents and 1, 30 min+ descent with altitude) I sprang into the bedroom. I laid out the Power Meter, HR strap, Powerbars, ipod, phone, apple, shoes, socks, vest, leg and knee warmers, shorts...shorts?...SHORTS!... AND JERSEY!

Damn.

I fumed.

I ate the apple.

I packed up my crap and carried my bag to the door. I put on my shoes. Then I picked up my son and handed him his ball and we went to the park.

We played soccer (this kid can run with a ball!), some basket ball, a game where he threw the ball down the court, chased it, then he picked it up and I had to carry him to the hoop and we watched some bigger boys play baseball.

Then we went to Toys'R'Us and I bought the first Christmas gift of the season.

I had a great ride on Sunday. Epic ride.

The Trouble with Normal is it Always Gets Worse!

I went for one of my normal rides on Tuesday. I do about 20km warm up out of town, through some flat farmland and into the foothills. I ride the same 20km back as a cool down. In between are a series of 7-10km bits of smaller roads that I can mix and match and put together a ride from 70-120km. I can mix it up based on weather and how I feel.

This for me is 'normal'.

The problem is, lately, normal is anything but. First off, I was dealing with narrow roads strewn with debris from the recent typhoon. This makes things like traction and punctures a real concern.
This isn't really much of a big deal though. I ride good tires and the real concern on this ride was more about the birds. By this I mean the Hitchcock variety.

First off, the ride I set out to do had 8 climbs in it that range from 300m to 800m in length. The grades run from 6% to over 14% (really). I never do hill repeats. I just jam my way up these babies and it is a power climbing workout extraordinaire.This one is two 14+% jams with a 10% respite stuck in the middle. It is also THE LAST of 8 of these power climbs. The photo shows the last of the 2 14% sections.

Flash back several climbs and I'm feeling a little frisky. I was in the 53/23 and just about to pop over the first climb when, out of the corner of my eye, I swear I saw sparrow swoop down at me and deposit some sparrow droppings on my back. I crested the climb and stuck my hand on my upper back and, sure enough, I came up with a smudge of sparrow crap.

Now, in Chinese culture, this is supposed to be good luck. I can't for the life of me figure out why but, as these are Chinese sparrows, I figure they must know why so this must be good luck. Feeling lucky I continued on.

I got about 10 meters down the road and I saw two more sparrows dive down at me and crap on my head.

"Damn!" I though, "I must be really lucky now."

Not wanting to go to the well too many times I nailed it and tried to put as much distance between me and the luck bestowing rodents with wings as I could. These sparrows seemed to sense my good fortune and headed of to find some other poor soul in need of a little luck. I hit a few more poppers and all was good.
I got to one of the points where I needed to make a decision about which section to do next and I made a decision to go right.

Now bear in mind that I have been riding these same roads for the last 10 years. I know them very well and the farmers who live there have seen me enough times that I am on nodding terms with several of them.

I swooped down the first tight descent and swung around a blind embankment only to find that, due to a recent earthquake and a couple of typhoons, one of my favourite sections of roads was, well... gone. It was already dodgey after the quake but it was still manageable. I hadn't ridden it in about a month but I guess one of the last typhoons had finished it off (eroded under the road causing it to collapse) and already the jungle had began to claim it back. No hope in riding through this one.
Now I realized that I had two options. I could double back through swallow alley or double back and take the left instead of the right I took. That sounded like the better idea so I headed off.

Back up and over and I dropped down into the next valley. I hit a few more poppers and all was good. I started to relax and really enjoy the ride. The typhoon had passed, the skies were clear and blue and the humidity hadn't had a chance to return yet. Just then a bunch of chickens ran across the road in front of me and I had to do a two wheel lock up to avoid hitting lunch. It seemed the farmer's chicken house had been damaged in the typhoon and now there were hundreds of chickens running around like...chickens. The worst part was that I had scarred these foul fowl so much that by the time I rifled through my jersey pocket, fished out my cell phone, and got it ready to snap a picture, every last chicken had disappeared into the shrubbery that lined the road. WTF! So I took a picture of the farmer's house.
I clicked back in and off I went. 3 more poppers to go.

I started thinking about all the weird crap that had been happening to me lately on rides. Recently I'd gotten it into my head that the Fates had set out to ruin my life. They were messing with me and causing me grief for their own perverse pleasure. Then, it seemed, they had tired of me and my petty struggles and moved on. Now I wasn't so sure. Maybe one of the twisted lesser Fates had been given a chance and was having her go at me.

I started thinking about all the weird weather we'd had this year. We had a long cold winter (unusual) a really wet spring (a bit unusual) and already 2 big typhoons early in the season.

Taiwan has these indigenous birds (the Black-Spoon Bills or something like that) that had suddenly flocked and then just flocked off, completely out of season. Even my wife had been nice to me lately. Things were just not right.

As I was turning this over in my mind, I hit the next climb and tried to jam up it in the big ring. This has always been an indication to me of when I am ready to race. If I can power my way over these babies then I am ready - I am at least at the point where I can hang. Once I start to toy with these climbs then I know I can be competitive. Right now, I am in the early hanging stages.

Anyway, as I was turning all this over in my mind, and cresting this climb,I heard this honking and hissing behind me.

This was the final sign of the apocalypse. A big goose was hissing at me and chasing me over the top of the climb. He was about a breath away from getting a good taste of my hamstring!

If you've every been around these birds then you know that this is no joke. The have a bad temper and some bulk. At this point, if this bastage got a good piece of me I was going down and there would be some serious welts to go with my road rash.

Luckily he scared me just enough that I had an adrenalin rush and I opened a few meters between us as the grade eased off. But he didn't give up. He was pissed and he kept after me for another 50m or so. Finally I hung a left and he was quickly out of sight.

Now I had 1 more short popper to go and the last 14%+ leg breaker that serves as my reality check. After that it was a few short rollers (that don't count) and the last 20km home.

The thing is I just didn't know what to make of all this. I mean really. Was I being paranoid? Was this just some strange series of events that I was connecting together because I have a blog I was in need of some detritus?
I was a few hours into this ride and had slammed back 3 large bottles already. I needed a nature break. I stopped at a familiar spot and went about emptying my bladder. As I did I had a moment to look around and, specifically to look down at the collapsed riverbank below me.

A few years ago this had been a small stream with a little shack and some crops. Now it was an actual river, the shack long since washed away, and the quickly eroding field lay fallow. I was briefly amazed at how quickly and irrevocably things changed around here.

Then it was 2 shakes and on with my ride.

So which was I? The river? The riverbank? The shack (all washed up)? Or did none of this concern me? Was I just a casual observer getting in the way? And what about those wicked sisters - the Fates? Were they really messing with me? Or was I just looking for interesting stuff to talk about at our next poker game?

I still don't know. What I do know is that I have a couple of 4-5 hour rides scheduled for the weekend. In the last few weeks I've survived rain, lightening, old age, all manner of fowl, my wife's temper and bodily injury. I'm either prepared for what's next or my luck has run out.

I'll let you all know on Monday.

Rolling Thunder

Nope. This is not another weather related post.

It seems that the fates have turned their gaze away from me, as of late, and are focused on some other poor soul (God - or some other extra-dimensional, omnipresent, omnipotent being - help the sap). My foot has healed and I've managed to get some decent mileage in despite two typhoons this month. I've even managed a couple of Wednesday night training races.

Sunday, I started my ride from my wife's parents' place out in the county and headed directly into the mountains for some climbing. A slightly overcast day kept the temps down a bit and there was only a small breeze. This was shaping up to be a good one.

I spun my way up the longer beginning section of the first climb for 30 minutes or so until I hit the steeper grades that make up the last third of this climb. Once up and over I did the screaming descent down, through the low lying clouds, to the foot of the bigger climb I wanted to do. This is an out and back course for me so every km I ride out means I will have to ride it back, too.

I settled into a pretty snappy rhythm for the first section of the climb. I thought I'd do about 1 hour of this climb and then double back. I've been dropping weight and getting fitter again but I am certainly not at the point where I can turn 5 hours into 6 and not have it trash me for a few days (I also do distance on Tuesdays so, at this point, I want to be recovered by then so I can do 4 hours as well).

The roads were empty and I kept climbing. The rhythm was there so I just kept taping it out. Wattage and heart rate were all manageable as I rode into the clouds.

I rode until I was at 1 hour for this climb. It was a great day and I still felt pretty good. I convinced myself to do a few more minutes and then turn around. I was a little concerned that I'd run out of jam. I still had a long descent down but then I had one more short (590m elevation gain) but steep (pitches of 13-14%! with tons of 8-10%) climb left to do. This is the climb that always gives me the reality check. After that one there is still 30km left to ride.

As I was contemplating this I broke through the cloud layer and was now in light cloud and sun. I was at about 850m so the temps weren't too bad. I also knew that I was only 5km or so from the top. Hell, I thought, I really hate turning around before I summit (almost exactly 1000m) so I decided to finish up.

And that I did. I stopped for 5 minutes to get water and a coke and have a nature break, then I zipped up and did the 25 minutes of screaming, twisting, uber technical descending that is par for the course around here. I had to be careful in a few of the sections as there was still small sections of the mountain that had slid down during the last typhoon. The roads had been cleared (a single lane) but there was still dirt, rocks and bits of tree trunks strewn around.

I got to the bottom and hung the hard left that took me directly into the last climb. Bang! 10%. Tap, tap. I kept it going. My legs didn't feel too bad. Slam it into the apex at 13%, out of the saddle, up, up up, sit, shift and tap, tap tap. And repeat several times. Not bad. Huh.

This climb is tough because it comes after a long descent and is steep right away. After a few kms, though, the grade drops down to 4-6% and the pitches are short and only 8-10%. Manageable. Then there is a small respite, you lose a bit of elevation, and the last section is not too bad at all. It's only hard because of the 4 hours or so already in the legs.

Then I heard it. Distant at first but clearly headed my way. Trucks. BIG trucks. Big dump trucks and trucks with Earth movers. These guys were the ones fixing the mountain from the typhoon otherwise they wouldn't normally be on these tight, twisty mountain roads. They were coming up behind me. Damn. What a way to ruin a great ride.

I looked down from atop one switchback and got a good look at these lumbering beasts. My legs still felt pretty good so I decided then and there to give it a go. If I could crest before them they'd never catch me on the descent.

Click, click and out of the saddle. I got it going, sat, clicked back up one more and got on top of it. How long could I keep this going? I could hear the rumble clearly through the heavy, still air on this side of the mountain. They were only a few hundred meters behind me - maybe 1 or 2 switchbacks bellow me - and getting louder by the second.

I could tell by the engine noise that the trucks were struggling with the pitches and the twists in the road. This was to my advantage. I could also tell that the drivers had no intention of taking it easy. They were on their way to lunch and if I wasn't careful the appetizer would be me.

I was riding right at my threshold and I could hear the thunder of these trucks rolling up behind me. In these tight little sections the sound traveled straight to me and couldn't just hear it, I could feel it. 1 km to go.

I shifted and got out of the saddle to get on top of the gear. The grade eased off here but that meant it eased off for the trucks, too. They were closing on me. I put my head down and drove. I could see the summit a hundred meters ahead of me and the trucks even closer behind me.

I jumped with everything I had left. I drilled it up ,over the summit, jammed it into the big ring and swung left into the descent. I couple of switch backs later and the thunder began to recede. I was away.

I ripped down the mountain, onto the flats and road the last 30km back to safety, food and a nice, cool bath.

Cursing the Fates.

I've been having a string of bad luck of late that has pretty much ended any chance of riding well anytime in '08. None of it was serious; It was mostly a bunch of minor incidents that has made it impossible to develop or maintain any decent fitness. It's as if the Fates were conspiring to keep me off the bike. So I decided to give the Fates their due and to lay down some serious base and look forward to '09.

The problem with this is that it means I am doing long rides (4-5 hours) in the middle of summer when I would have normally scaled back the time and been doing 2 1/2 hours of intensity and sprint intervals. This also jives with the pause in the racing season here that happens during the summer months. There are races in the spring and fall but very few in July and August when the heat, humidity and typhoons are at their peak.

So Sunday I went out for a planned 4 hour ride that features about 1400m of climbing. I started off feeling a little better than I had of late so I bumped the pace up during the warm-up and got on top of the gear a little more than I had recently. This was shaping up to be a good one.

About a hour into it I was riding tempo along a tree-lined road that is a slight false flat up and heads into the foothills. Up ahead I saw some dark clouds rolling in and I could tell there was some big rain in store for me later. Ok, I thought, this one might get a bit epic.

I kept riding.

The wind began to kick up and it started to get darker and darker all around me. I had started out in bright sunshine so I was wearing dark lenses. I slipped my shades off and stuck them in my helmet. A light rain began to fall.

I was actually a bit thankful for the rain. It was a lot cooler than the summer sun I started out in. The wind picked up a bit more and the rain followed suit. Now it was blowing in my face but I was feeling pretty good so I kept the tempo going and resolved to hammer through it.

As the wind drove the rain into my face it started to sting but it was ok because I was feeling better than I had in months. I just put my head down and kept turning the legs. Then I saw a lightening strike about a click or so in front of me. This is pretty odd for around here. Then, within the space of less than a minute I saw 4 more.

I kept riding.

The wind notched up once more and was now driving the rain into my face. It felt like a was riding through a swarm of bees. Then more lightening. This was getting serious. Then I realized that the Fates were having at me again. This was the first ride where I felt even part way decent and they were sending this storm to slap me down once more. Damn, this was getting personal! I started to get angry. Defiant. I would be damned if those biotches were going to take this ride away from me.

I kept riding.

The wind became deafening. It felt like every drop of rain was piercing my flesh. The lightening strikes were coming fast and furious. Even if I wanted to get off my bike I was surrounded by trees on either side of the road for a few kms in each direction. What was I to do? I put my head down, cursed the sky and I kept riding.

You know that scene in the Trueman show (or almost any other movie where some idiot is caught in a storm at sea) where Jim Carey lashes himself to the mast and shouts at the sky, "Is this all you got?!", "Is this it?", "Bring it on!"? That was me.

The wind was pressing me down until my chest was resting on the top tube. I was riding at a crawl. The rain was threatening to tear chunks of flesh from my body or, at the very least, powerwash the tattoos off of me. There were so many lightening strikes I'd completely lost count and I was cursing the sky and telling whoever to "Bring it on!".

Idiot.

Then there was this pause, or maybe it was a lull - I can never tell the difference. For a second I was able to spit the water out of my mouth and catch my breath. "HA!" I thought. "Ha," indeed.

Just behind me, slightly out of my peripheral view and to the right, there was a strike. The bang was so loud that, when I got home, I was sure that I was going to find that I'd soiled my bibs a little bit. All of the hairs on my body felt like they were standing up. The air had this smell I can't describe. It was a like that smell after a big storm, with an undertone of burnt something and then something else - something else I'd never smelled before.

I kept riding.

The wind dropped off to a manageable level and the rain became rain again. It was still a pretty decent storm but it felt as if the meanness of it was gone.

I did 2 1/2 more hours of wind, rain, sun and climbing. I felt good. I felt good for the first time in many months. I know it sounds weird (and a wee bit hippyish) but it felt as if something had passed. For the first time in months I felt hopeful, that the road was long but it lead somewhere. It was going to be ok.

I just need to keep riding.

The Sirens Song - A Power Meter Tale of Warning

I have been around Power Meters off and on and, last year, two of my team mates had SRMs and were trying to seduce me into buying one as well. I was tempted but, in the back of my mind, I already knew I was going to quit racing at the end of the season so the investment didn't make sense.

Fast forward 6 months and I've been convinced to race again and have a new PM lashed to my bike.

I've been racing for 20+ years and after plenty of trail and error and after getting my coaching license, I have a pretty good idea of how my body responds to training; I know what I need to do to get to race weight or get race fit. I also know what doesn't work for me.

It used to be that I would block out 6 week training cycles and pretty much stick to them. I'd put in the time and the work would generate predictable results. But that damn PM lashed to my bike has ruined all that.

It started slowly. At first it was a simple enjoyment of a new toy. I'd play with the buttons as I rode and see what I could see. I used to enjoy the the terrain that I passed over as I logged the miles, but now I found I couldn't wait to finish my ride and go download it onto my computer so I could see what I had ridden. It wasn't about the road anymore, it was about the cool charts and graphs I could make. I could barely remember any of the real details of what I'd just ridden.

I few rides later and, to my horror, I discovered that I had lost my ability to speak a single sentence that wasn't riddled with acronyms. I was becoming obsessed with generating numbers that were comparable to others. I needed to see numbers that I knew I had generated in the past (through testing). I began second guessing everything I knew and everything I was seeing. I was constantly readjusting my schedule to fit with some idea of training that hadn't every worked well for me. How is it that I could forget everything I knew, disregard all the tell tale signs and ride like a big dummy?

I should have listened to the cremudgeons who howled their warnings at me from the front gates of my LBS. They warned me that this could happen. The had tried to dissaude me with tales of other riders who had suffered a similar fate but I was deaf to their pleas. I had been lured by my PMs Siren Song and now lay spent on the sofa with the debris of several wasted weeks of training scattered all around me.

In retrospect, I should have ridden as I had in the past and used my PM to collect data. After I had some fitness I could have then used the information wisely instead of foolishly getting caught up in the the technology and everyone else's ideas of how I should train.

Luckily, I have survived to tell my cautionary tale but this season is, for the most part, a write-off. Now I need to dig down and humbly begin again.

Stick on the ice.

I got a text from a friend about heading down to the park to throw a baseball around, maybe hit a few. I thought it would be a good idea.

When we got there there were a bunch of kids having themselves a pretty good game. They weren't going anywhere. Then my buddy remembered that there was also a bunch of guys who played some ball hockey in the middle of the skating oval (roller blading) in another section of the park. We headed over for a look.

When we got there there were several guys we knew, 2 nets, full goalie equipment and an assortment of spare sticks. This is no small feat to find on an island in the tropics! How could I not pick up a stick and take a few shots on net?

15 minutes later, I'm covered in sweat and sweep checking a guy as he tries to pinch in from the wing. All good fun. It's been 10 years since I held a hockey stick in my hand and, although I was never much of a hockey player, I'm having a blast.

Game on!

I'm sure you can see this one coming. It's like a train wreck; You know it's going to happen but there's nothing you can do to stop it.

I'm on the point, one of my team mates has the ball behind the net to the left, he spots me and passes it to me and I get ready to tee it up looking for the top shelf. The defenseman gets a whisper of wood on the ball and causes it to hop over my stick. He's already facing the right direction and he sprints after the loose ball with nothing between him and our goalie but open concrete. I turn and sprint after him.

I am closing on him. I get my stick out and think I can get my shoulder in front of his and take him off the ball. There's sweating and grunting, the sound of team mates shouting and stick on stick and then I am on the ground and in pain. I have turned my ankle and it doesn't feel good. He continues away with the ball, makes a quick move across the front of the net, our goalie goes down and he flips it up high, into the net. He scores.

Damn.

The game stops for a minute. The big pain subsides and and I get up. I've turned this ankle before and it was no biggie. Just sore for a day or two. So I walk it off and play for another 20 minutes. I go home, have a beer and try to interest my wife in stories of ball hockey glory. I fail miserably.

Later that night I notice that my ankle has gone missing. I know I had one when I woke up that morning but it's nowhere to be seen now. This is not good. I ice, take some Ibuprofen and go to bed.

In the morning I have a stump where my foot used to be. Great. Perfect. Off to the doctor.

I've torn some medial ligaments in my foot. A few days of swelling and then I should find my ankle again. In 6 weeks it should be healed. I guess I won't be racing Sunday.

My training was going poorly enough. Now this:As I walked out of the doctors office after declining the obligatory pain meds (completely unnecessary in this instance) my ankle was wrapped and my were spirits low. Then I thought of what an odd post this would be.

If you don't laugh, you'll cry.