Found out on Wednesday that I had been registered for a race the following Saturday (damn, I've been busy). A short, flat circuit race and I was racing in my age category. All right, I thunk, what the hell. I'll go.
Then I remembered that my wife would still be away so it was me and my 20 month old son all week. What the heck, he'd go with me. The wives/girlfriends could look after him during the race (he loves the ladies) and it would be his first bike race.
All good.
Then I woke up really tired, had to get us both ready and drive an hour and a half to the race. I felt a bit of trepidation because of my last race (http://oldguyracer.blogspot.com/2008/05/alishan-race-18-may-2008.html) and being a bit worried about dragging my son around all day. He is bike crazy and I knew it would be a lot of work. But I soldiered on.
The race was a mix of all the masters cats (from 30 years old and up). There was one former track pro now in his mid 60's. That was kinda cool. Once we were staged I looked around and recognized a few riders and some of the bigger teams.
This race was nice because it was tied in with several other events schedules throughout the weekend in this SMALL town and there were a lot of spectators all around the course. The finish was 3 deep. That is always cool.
I am riding for this club which is basically most of the guys I've been training with and some of their friends. They reg'd me and tossed me a jersey to wear. They keep changing sponsors as they can't seem to get anyone to commit to (and honour) the sponsorship agreements. They ink jerseys and then, 2 months later, there's another jersey. I still don't know what the name of the team I was riding for is...
Bang and we're off. It's 4 laps and we decided to let the team with 6 guys play their hand for the first 2 laps. They're usually a strong and aggressive team so I wanted to let them do some extra work and see if they really could control the race. Having the biggest team doesn't mean you can control things. That is a skill. I wanted to see if they had it or not.
The best laid plans of mice and men...4 km into the race one of my team mates decides that the plan is out the window and he jumps. When he is reeled in the other guy goes (there's really only 3 of us to mix it up). So then I take my turn (which seems to be the new plan).
My first 2 jumps felt sluggish. I could hold good speed but I had no snap. I found it really hard to jump away from the group. The next few felt better but I knew I didn't have that kind of snap today. This meant I could offer a solid lead-out to our sprinter or look for a break.
We continued attacking the race. A few laps of this and the field was thinner, the team with 6 riders never got a chance to play any card and we were at the bell.
The course started out along a 2-3 km long steel girder bridge that, I guess, was really old, recently restored and the reason why we were racing on it. It stretched across a very wide river, was totally exposed and had a nasty cross-head wind. At least the surface was good.
Then a quick right, up an on-ramp and onto a closed section of the hi-way and a cross-tailwind that saw me jump over 60km/h, repeatedly. Coming off the highway there was a sharp right that dropped down, slightly off camber, off the hi-way bridge onto a wee gravely road. 50m after that was another hard right corner and then into the last 1.5km that was a dog-leg shaped wind tunnel. Right in your face to the finish.
Each lap I made sure I lead through these turns and I kept ramping it up a notch further every time. Just testing. I knew this would be the only place where I could get the kind of gap I needed that my legs weren't going to give me otherwise.
Going onto the hi-way bridge, the last time, I had a team mate up the road in a 4 man break. The group was slowly bringing it back and I wasn't sure if they could hold it to the end. They were getting awfully close...
As we got near to the end of the bridge I had another team mate on the front setting a false tempo and, knowing the line I was going to set through these corners was going to be TIGHT and FAST, I told him to hold the pace steady.
I did a false attacked about 1.5 km before the end of the bridge to see if I was being marked. Sure enough there are 4 guys from the same team on my wheel when I look back. I soft pedalled and looked at their faces for the right moment. Then I attacked for real just before the corners.. I held good speed and my tires stuck. Then I had to bridge into the nasty head wind.
Luckily the break had taken it easy through the corners as they didn't want to crash out in the last few kms. This gave me some extra speed coming out of the corners and I was able to catch them just as we passed the 1km to go point.
As they set up for the sprint I knew who's wheel to grab (the team mate). We had talked about the sprint before the race and I knew just how he was going to play it and how far out. I rolled onto his wheel just as he got up to sprint. He rolled across the line sitting up, I was a bike length behind him and there was open road behind me.
I was second.
But wait a minute! Hold the phone! I totally forgot about the age category thing! I won. Yipee!
All in all a small race but it was good to get back and get my head in a race for a while. I just wish I was feeling better.
It also gave me an indication of where my fitness is and what I need to work on now.
Bike racing is still fun.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
Sunday, 3 August 2008
A Sunday Ride in the Mountains
This is pretty much a typical day in the mountains. I try to get some climbing in on Saturday and Sunday.
Saturday is a fast training race with a group that features some climbing. Sunday I ride by myself and the goal is 4-6 hours with as much climbing as possible.
The ride starts off at near sea level in Tainan County. This is where rice comes from, BTW.
The ride has about 20km of flat as I head towards the mountains. This gives me a good warm-up. This is a typical Chinese Gate.
After the warm-up, I cross over into Chaiyi County and the climbing begins.
I'm headed to the one on the bottom. That is up and over 2 mountains and then back again.
After 20 minutes or so of a 2%-4% grade, the real climbing begins around this left hander. I can also get my first peak of what the weather might be for later in the day.
This is part of a series of switchbacks that gains just over 500m in 5km. The pitches are between 10%-14% with the 'level' sections around 8%-10%. This climb is a good indicator of how I will feel the rest of the day.
Part way down the descent on the other side and I get a GOOD look at the weather ahead. Not too bad but there could be trouble. I don't mind the rain on these rides. It's 30C+ so I don't get cold on the descents. It's more about what condition the road might be in. More on that later.
I continue down the other side. The last time I road up this I was being chased by some ratty old, smoke belching, mud spewing, trucks driven by Whisbe drinking, Bin Lon chewing truck drivers on their way to lunch.
This was where I got my first good look at the trucks. Yikes!
More mountains. Does this ever get old? You can see several ridges in the distance. Some have roads, some don't. The roads that are there are tattered and small. I like those best.
I hint to all the Jr. Geologists as to how the mountains here were formed. In some parts of the country there are entire mountain sides with their layers exposed like this.
Part way up the second (bigger) climb and you can see the road, in the distance, where I took the last picture.
This is the real problem with rain in the mountains here. This was mostly cleared away last week after the typhoon. It is a small slide but it is still blocking almost a full lane. You need to be careful during descents. You can come ripping around a corner and come face to face with one of these.
This is a slightly bigger slide. Apparently it blocked the road completely just around the bend. I never got to see it though, as this was a far as I could get. It is about 5km from the summit. This means I lost this 5 km, the descent, of few ridges after that the turnaround and the climb back up. I was a little pissed but this is par for the course here. The worst part was that I usually get water and a coke at the turnaround. Not today. I was pretty low at this point so I had to sip a little less until I could find suppliers. No biggie.
I'll come back next week and see what damage was really done.
This part doesn't look too bad. The road is still there so I think it is just about clearing away the debris. A bigger slide will take the road out entirely and they will have to re-build it from scratch.
So I doubled back at this point. I got home, got cleaned up and went to lunch with the wife and son, Grandma and Grandpa, the wife's big brother and his family.
Good food and good times.
Saturday is a fast training race with a group that features some climbing. Sunday I ride by myself and the goal is 4-6 hours with as much climbing as possible.
The ride starts off at near sea level in Tainan County. This is where rice comes from, BTW.
The ride has about 20km of flat as I head towards the mountains. This gives me a good warm-up. This is a typical Chinese Gate.
After the warm-up, I cross over into Chaiyi County and the climbing begins.
I'm headed to the one on the bottom. That is up and over 2 mountains and then back again.
After 20 minutes or so of a 2%-4% grade, the real climbing begins around this left hander. I can also get my first peak of what the weather might be for later in the day.
This is part of a series of switchbacks that gains just over 500m in 5km. The pitches are between 10%-14% with the 'level' sections around 8%-10%. This climb is a good indicator of how I will feel the rest of the day.
Part way down the descent on the other side and I get a GOOD look at the weather ahead. Not too bad but there could be trouble. I don't mind the rain on these rides. It's 30C+ so I don't get cold on the descents. It's more about what condition the road might be in. More on that later.
I continue down the other side. The last time I road up this I was being chased by some ratty old, smoke belching, mud spewing, trucks driven by Whisbe drinking, Bin Lon chewing truck drivers on their way to lunch.
This was where I got my first good look at the trucks. Yikes!
More mountains. Does this ever get old? You can see several ridges in the distance. Some have roads, some don't. The roads that are there are tattered and small. I like those best.
I hint to all the Jr. Geologists as to how the mountains here were formed. In some parts of the country there are entire mountain sides with their layers exposed like this.
Part way up the second (bigger) climb and you can see the road, in the distance, where I took the last picture.
This is the real problem with rain in the mountains here. This was mostly cleared away last week after the typhoon. It is a small slide but it is still blocking almost a full lane. You need to be careful during descents. You can come ripping around a corner and come face to face with one of these.
This is a slightly bigger slide. Apparently it blocked the road completely just around the bend. I never got to see it though, as this was a far as I could get. It is about 5km from the summit. This means I lost this 5 km, the descent, of few ridges after that the turnaround and the climb back up. I was a little pissed but this is par for the course here. The worst part was that I usually get water and a coke at the turnaround. Not today. I was pretty low at this point so I had to sip a little less until I could find suppliers. No biggie.I'll come back next week and see what damage was really done.
This part doesn't look too bad. The road is still there so I think it is just about clearing away the debris. A bigger slide will take the road out entirely and they will have to re-build it from scratch.
So I doubled back at this point. I got home, got cleaned up and went to lunch with the wife and son, Grandma and Grandpa, the wife's big brother and his family.
Good food and good times.
Friday, 1 August 2008
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.
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.
Monday, 28 July 2008
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.
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.
Monday, 7 July 2008
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 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.
Wednesday, 18 June 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, 27 May 2008
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.
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.
Training: Week # 7
Monday: Off.
Tuesday: Time: 2:55 - Distance: 75km - TSS:200 IF:.76 Elev: 710m Kj:0
I felt pretty tired from the weekend. Racing is one thing but the driving and the lack of sleep really take their toll.
Wednesday Training Race:Injured. As a cyclist one would think this would be a cycling injury. It's not. Damn. Just when I was feeling crappy, too.
Thursday:Injured
Friday:Injured
Saturday:Injured
Sunday: Injured
Totals:
Time: 2:50 hours
Distance: 75km
Elevation gain: 710m
Kj: 0
TSS:200
IF: .76
NP:
Tuesday: Time: 2:55 - Distance: 75km - TSS:200 IF:.76 Elev: 710m Kj:0
I felt pretty tired from the weekend. Racing is one thing but the driving and the lack of sleep really take their toll.
Wednesday Training Race:Injured. As a cyclist one would think this would be a cycling injury. It's not. Damn. Just when I was feeling crappy, too.
Thursday:Injured
Friday:Injured
Saturday:Injured
Sunday: Injured
Totals:
Time: 2:50 hours
Distance: 75km
Elevation gain: 710m
Kj: 0
TSS:200
IF: .76
NP:
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