The Perfect Ride

Recently, a friend asked what constituted the Perfect Ride.

And even more recently, I was lucky enough to experience my answer first hand.

First, a perfect ride involves at least a dash (and hopefully more) of Epicness.  Distance, climbing, preferably a combination of the two.  The perfect ride is not SO epic, however, as to intimidate.  No 12% grade of gravel for 5 miles only to have a 12% 5 mile gravel descent awaiting on the other side.  Hard enough to be hard, not hard enough to be gut wrenching.

Second, a perfect ride needs a whole mess of friends along with you for the experience.  All friends need not be at the same fitness level, but all friends need to be willing to either step up and/or slow down to maintain a pace that the whole group can enjoy.

Third, a perfect ride needs a mix of tough and easy.  A nice talkable flat that is followed by a silent climb that is followed by a wicked fast descent.  Wash rinse repeat.

Fourth, a perfect ride needs a nice Store Stop.  If you can find some amazing espresso and homemade baked goods, all the better.  You stop long enough to catch your breath, but not so long that your legs are dead when you hop back on the bike.

Fifth, a perfect ride is not concerned in the least about how long the ride takes.  A perfect ride is flexible in route and mood of the attendees.  A perfect ride goes at its own pace.  No faster, no slower.

Last but not least in Sixth, a perfect ride has a group meal immediately following.  Mexican or Burgers are the best options.  Beer is a must.  This group meal may or may not be followed with icecream.

There are of course endless variations of this perfect ride.  My perfect ride may not be yours (especially if you mountain bike).  Your perfect ride may involve suffering until you puke, or crushing all of your ridemates, or peeing on your bike (Sorry triathletes, obligatory pee-on-bike dig, I love you!).

But regardless of the "what", all perfect rides create memories that last lifetimes.  They strengthen friendships.  They provide the best tasting food in the universe, Zaggat ratings be damned.

Most importantly, though perfect rides remind us why we ride in the first place.

Because riding is perfect.

Descending for Dummies

  

Read back to my first blog post regarding going down. 

http://gsooffnrunning.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-goes-up.html

Ladies and Gentlemen, I can report with unequivocal confidence that the above post is a thing of the past.  While I’m not going to barrel down at 75km/hr a la Tour de France, I do have some impressive local Strava segments of the descending variety.  

In fact, I will go so far as to share with all of you readers some of the gems of wisdom, and some busted myths, I’ve gleaned on my journey from terrified to terrifically fun. 

Myth #1: Do not use your brakes.

Fact #1:  USE YOUR BRAKES, but NOT IN CORNERS and DO NOT GRAB THEM SUDDENLY or RIDE THEM CONSTANTLY

               

To be fair, the above myth does have basis in fact.  When you are cornering, and brake, it takes away your traction and increases the risk of your rear wheel sliding out from underneath you.  In the corner you want ALL of your focus to be the tires gripping the road and you staying smooth through the corner.  Step down in your outside pedal (and stand up slightly as a result), and press down in the inside drop (See Tip #2).  Look through the apex of the turn.  Relax!

Do all of your braking BEFORE the turn.  That being said, DO NOT grab suddenly right before the turn, as it increases the chances of locking up your rear wheel.  So, what should you do?  Lightly feather the brakes to maintain a speed that you are comfortable with.  Off on, off on, lightly, consistently.  Again, NOT IN CORNERS. 

But please, for the love of God, use your brakes.  That’s what they are there for.  As you get more comfortable with your local descents, you will trust yourself more and use your brakes less. 

Tip #1:  Look where you want to go.  NOT WHERE YOU DON’T WANT TO GO.  Oddly enough, this   also works well with horses.  In a schooling ring, riding with 50 other people, most crashes happen when two riders lock eyes and panic.  Same thing.  If you do not want to go over the side of the mountain, do not look over the side of the mountain.  Look at the road ahead of you.  Do not look at the car coming at you in the opposite lane.  Look at the road ahead of you.  Do not look at the pothole 50 feet down the road. Look to either side of the pothole (preferably the side farthest from the double yellow line). 

Myth #2: Stand up on a descent

Fact #2: SIT DOWN ON THE DESCENT

               

With the exception of weighting the outside pedal in a corner, you want to keep your weight in the saddle on a descent.  Why?  The more weight on the rear wheel, then better the traction.  The better the traction, the less chance of sliding out.  STAY SEATED.  If you want to be pro and sit on your top tube, you are probably too cool to be reading this blog anyways, so good luck to you and your 10,000 carbon Di2 14 pound bike with 80mm carbon tubulars.  I hope your Assos bibs don’t get too many rips in them from your road rash. 

Tip #2:   Ride in the drops.  I know, I know, it’s scary, it doesn’t seem to make any sense.  But.  This piece of advice, when embraced, makes descending so much safer.  You can steer better, you can brake better, and your hands don’t get nearly as tired.  If you’ve avoided descending in the drops, please let this testimonial be the kick in the pants that changes things.  You will not regret it.  In fact, this was probably the most important step along my road to descending confidently. 

And finally, a Pro Tip that sums it all up, courtesy of Ashley Powell www.catup.com.

Pro Tip: Confidence. It really takes a lot to overcome the tires' grip on the road so the chances of sliding out are pretty minimal. If you get going so fast that you're uncomfortable, feather the brakes a bit to reassure yourself that you're actually in control, then keep pushing the boundaries to see how much more you can tolerate. In a short time you'll begin to trust the integrity of your machine and it's relationship to the ground and you can relish the other side of the climb instead of fearing it.

Happy Going Fast Downhill, everyone! 

I Will Blow You Up

I, Ladies and Gentlemen, am a ticking time bomb.

Lemme splain.

Early on when I moved to CA, I have to admit, I was depressed when it came to my riding.  I tried to wear a brave face, talk about how much fun I was having simply concentrating on myself… but when I listened to my bad ass friends describe the games on the lunch ride, I felt left out.  How on earth could I bring the “shenanigans” with riders who wouldn’t even have to put out effort to chase me?  How could I split the ride apart?  How could I play tactics and make people hurt, just for fun, even if it meant that I put myself out of the ride in the process?

So I turned to my own story and just tried to JRA each day, mostly with the slower groups. 

Today, when we assembled for the weekly B Roll (don’t let the name fool you), I had good feelings.  My legs felt nice, and I didn’t have to yell at anyone to keep the pace reigned in for the first half.

We were heading out on the usual gentlemanly-until-the-top-of-the-Uvas-bump pace, but then afterwards, it never really ramped up.  Never really took off.   

This was partially my fault, as when I got on the front I refused to put forth an effort to tire me out, and so the pace settled back a touch.  And when I got off the front, I told the next rider to keep it nice, as there was too much time left to start getting too surgy. 

But then, it stayed slow.  Slower than I liked for a B Roll.  We were heading into the sprint section, where usually we rolled at a good clip.  I was bored.  I was about 10 riders off the front.

And I took off.

I stood up, and pedaled as hard as I could, forcing people to wake up to jump on my wheel.  Some of them were too late and fell off.  Everyone had to actually put forth an effort to chase me down.  In seconds, we went from 22mph to 35mph.  My heart rate went from 156 to 184.

When the dust settled, I was off the back, having blown myself up at the effort and unable to get back to the front before the stop sign turn onto Watsonville. 

But for the first time, I honestly didn’t care about getting dropped.  I still had the biggest smile on my face. 

Because for the first time, I was the one who pulled Shenanigans.  I altered the pain threshold of the ride. 

Instead of blowing up, I blew it up.  

Strava tastic

Guess what bitches?

I have 51 QOMs.

12 of them really mean something to me,

Several of them are lunch ride hills. 

One of them is on a technical descent.

One of them is on a major climb local climb.

Are you lost?  Let me explain.

Several months ago, I caught wind of an office phenomena: Strava.

I asked what it was.

I was told that Strava was an online community that allowed you to track your rides against other people in the area, "competing" with them and yourself on different "segments."  Anyone could create a segment from a downloaded ride (which was possible via Garmin download or instantly through your iPhone's Strava App).  Some segments were silly.  Other segments had true bragging rights.

At first I dismissed the whole concept.  Why would I want to compete every time I rode my bike?  What good could possibly come of it?  I already felt down about my riding, so the thought of seeing my mediocrity broadcast on the interweb?  Not appealing.

As with all office peer pressure, though, I eventually succumbed.

And found myself proven completely wrong.

The thing about Strava is that even if you're not high in the rankings on a particular segment, you can always strive against yourself to improve.  It also gives you incentives to keep trying when you get dropped (invariably for me) instead of sitting up and pouting.  So what if I didn't make it with the main group, I got a PR on the Willow Climb from West to East!  I got a big ol' CROWN on my ride.  And that, as you are eating your lunch post ride, makes the rest of the day much easier to face.

Strava connects to the inner desire we all have as cyclists to go faster and farther than before.  It allows your solo ride to become, even for small stretches, a race.  With no chance of crashing, no entry fee, and the support of all your riding companions.

This Thursday for example, I will go climb Coe and try to get a personal record.

Maybe even another QOM...

Want to find out?  Follow me here:

http://app.strava.com/athletes/169227 

A Whole New League

When I moved out to California, it was apparent that I had some...umm...catching up to do.  Not only had I been off my training routine for long enough to make a dent, but I was also way out of my league.

Literally.

I was riding with former national champion titles.  Former world record holders.  Former Pros.  Current regional big dogs.  In addition to multiple titleless freaks of nature.

There was a B Roll, yes, but even then I was blown off the back by ride's end, always limping home with my head hanging down feeling inadequate and lame.  A poseur.  A Big Fish in a Little Pond.

What made it worse was hearing the recaps of all the shenanigans I couldn't participate in.  People playing team tactics, holding back, drilling it on the front, sprint lead outs.  It sounded like a marvelous game in which yes, you might barf, but you always came away smiling from the attempt.

I started to completely reframe how I saw myself as a cyclist.  I started to avoid the Lunch Rides in favor of SBCU rides, and even then I couldn't stay with the front group.  So I started to just ride, and tried to enjoy myself in my own right.

I also started to run again, pretty regularly, without really considering how it effected my cycling.  Because, well, what was there to save for anyways?  As a result, my legs always felt slightly leaden from the 6 or 7 miles I put down in the morning.

There were dark days in terms of my performance for sure.

One day, though, I decided to venture back to the lunch ride, just to see what happened.  And what happened?

I hung on.  Not for the entirety of it, for sure, but longer than many could have.

And I was still running, but no longer feeling fatigued by it.

Then one day, I went out on a B Roll, and finished with the very front group of about 5 people.  And did it again next week.  And again next week.  I rode with SBCU and stayed with the front group easily.  I could attack, and sit in, and play tactics, and crank it on the front, and do all of the things that I had thought beyond me only a few months ago.

I even attempted a 2x30 AT Interval set.  Because I felt like it.  And I AT intervalled the shit out of it.

I still can't and probably never will be able to stay with the lunch ride for its entirety.  I still can't do a lot of things.  But I can go up a steep Cat 2 climb without my HR ever topping 160.  I can drop people.  I can ride smart.


When I started cycling, everyone said that you went in a series of plateaus and improvements.  You got decidedly better, then stayed there, until you once again got decidedly better, only to once again stay there.

So what's the upside?

Guess who just jumped up to the next plateau?

Back in the Saddle

3 words:

What the hell.

If you are friends with me on facebook, perhaps you have seen some photos of my horsey life. Truth is, it used to BE my life. Literally. My profession and my passion. And even when the latter waned, it was still my profession. My job.

When I started Grad School in the summer of 2009, the relationship with the local barn where I saw myself fitting in soured. Not unusual in this field, because to put it simply, 90% of horsepeople are crazy. Not always in a bad way, but in some way, they tick differently than the rest. No place else was in driving distance, and besides, I had my glory, my thunder, my moment in the sun. I had my memories.  I was walking away with no long term injuries. 

I sold my saddle (to buy a bike!). I sold my Vogels. 

I was done with horses.

Even two weeks ago, literally, if you had asked me if I ever wanted to ride again, I would have snorted with derision, and replied in my best I Don't Give a Shit voice "No way, I could never ride a horse again and be absolutely content."

Except that I wrote a letter describing my background to a nice stable literally right across the street, asking if it would be OK if I flatted their horses once in a while, and when the owner said yes she would love to meet me, I almost peed my pants.

I went up to the place while the owner (let's call her Sarah) was teaching a lesson, and I stood in the ring and observed after receiving a very warm welcome. The horse looked extremely well taken care of, a "nice" horse. The ring had wonderful footing and a variety of safe sturdy jumps, all set up the way you would want. A few caveletti also dotted the grounds. Her instructions were clear, and oh so familiar. Like a warm cup of cocoa. Keep him straight. Establish your pace and stick to it. Eye up. Relax your elbow. 

I felt at home home. 

She introduced me to my horse, Gallo, and said that it was a do it yourself place, did I remember how and grinned. 

I did indeed remember how. I remembered EVERYTHING. Showsheen in the tail to remove the shavings (NO SHAVINGS IN THE TAIL!!), mitt everywhere first before you brush, you can pick out both hooves from the same side, how to wrap w/ polos, how to fit the bridle in their mouth. It was all second nature.  Even my uniform felt good to wear:

 (no, they are not handcuffs)

Then came the actual riding.

Ladies and gentlemen, when I say to you I have no earthly idea how I did it 8-10 times a day for a good portion of my 20s, I am not telling tales. I completely forgot the workout. Gallo was a bit stiff and jarring, but he knew what to do if you asked correctly. Emphasis on the last part, because he also had some tricks to get out of the "doing". Which I caught. Which he was NOT happy about. But I was. 

I also forgot the mental concentration. Sure there were some jobs where I was no more than a human longe line, but to really RIDE a horse takes 100% focus 100% of the time. Are they straight? Are they leaning to one side? Are they behind your leg? Are your hands too rigid? Are they bearing down? Are they stiffer to one side than the other? (always yes) Do they pop their shoulders? Are they balanced?

It all came back. 2 years like yesterday. And I don't know why I should be surprised, I'm sure that pro bike racers, even at the lowest levels, can come back after 2 years and remember exactly how to pedal the bike, how to lube a chain, etc. 

I even jumped one yesterday, sort of, a little grey mare named Bella who they are thinking of bringing in as a lesson horse.

The best part? The place. Sarah is unbelievably nice. Her horses are very well taken care of and obviously on the fancy side. Her clients are welcoming and chatty. The stable is clean and well organized. You have everything you need, from a wall of bits to a tidy tack cleaning station to a well provisioned groom stall. Too good to be true? Perhaps, but I don't think so. I'm not getting that vibe at all. 

So here I am again. In the saddle. Running and riding and RIDING in Morgan Hill. 

Whoever wans to say I Told You So, now is the chance to do it...

More is less is more

First off, if you Ashley Powell are reading this, you might want to stop. You will most likely start banging your head against the nearest wall.

If you are not Ashley Powell, read away!

Yesterday on the lunch ride, I was tired. I mean lead legged tired. I mean I stood up on those pedals to start to get some more power and had nothing. By nothing I mean it almost felt like my legs weren't even attached to my body.

Was I confused as to why? Not in the least. It was because on Friday I rode 60 miles with 2700 ft of climbing (one Cat 2 climb, was going to be more but we turned in early), on Thursday I rode 35 miles with some decent hills, and Sunday I ran 8.5 miles.

Monday was off.

But Tuesday I had no legs attached to my body.

Hence the More is Less. I am doing more running, more cycling in terms of climbing and being consistently epic. I am getting less stellar performances.

At the same time, though, I'm having more fun than I've had in a long long time. I remember during my training, while I was in top shape, I had to forgo the long epic weekend rides, the huge climbing escapades. And I skipped them gladly, because at the time, training was more important to me, and I wouldn't change it for anything.

Now, I do not need to train, do not even want to train, I am just having fun. It is fun to run for 8.5 miles. It is fun to cram as much into a weekend as I possibly can. It is even fun commuting to work. Everything is a novelty to me here. And even if my legs are dead on the lunch ride, I'm able to do Cat 2 climbs without ever going into my red zone. Ok, so I go 4 mph and am definitely on the dark orange line...but red? Wanting to die and feeling like I'm going to explode? Nope. Only a month ago no matter how slow I went, eventually I tipped into DANGER DANGER DANGER. So there is SOME sort of benefit being reaped.

The good thing is that it's the wintertime, and even though there is no "off" season out here, this is the time to fool around if there is one. And who knows, maybe if I just keep at it my legs will get used to both riding and running. I'm never going to run to be fast or run hard. I barely eeek out a 10 minute mile and my heartrate stays safely in the greenish orange zone (I mean, come on, I am RUNNING).

Bottom line? I really like to run. And I'm going to do it because I like to do it.

I am enforcing a strict 3 days on ONE DAY OFF rule, though. I am also going to slowly up my runs and make sure I don't do 2 hard things back to back. I am not 100% reverting to my old stupid ways.

Just, like, 65%

More stuff = less performance but also = more fun.

That's an equation I can understand any day.

Rocket Rock Star

Last Sunday, I went on a long solo ride. The weather was a mix of beautiful and sketchy. Beautiful because in Morgan Hill, you can see the clouds rising up over the foothills in waves, bearing down on you, and possibly missing you due to the wind. Sketchy because the clouds contained a chilly, drizzly, just enough to make you miserable rain.

I rode along the now familiar roads, checking in every now and then with the weather, but mostly just enjoying the fact that the roads WERE not familiar, and that I finally COULD piece together a longish ride without becoming lost.

As I rode, though, the temperature started to drop, which made my nose start to run.

Ugh.

Cyclists at this point usually perform what is known as a snot rocket. It's gross and wildly effective and elusively complicated. The mechanics? Close up one nostril, lean to the side, and blow as hard as you can.

Boom. Snot rocket.

Of course, to the beginner, all that happens is you get snot all over yourself. Or you close up your throat mid blow and choke. Or you don't get enough oomph and it just sort of oozes all over your face.

So.

I had yet to perfect this cycling necessity, another Must Have to become really Pro on the bike. Failed attempts and embarrassing aftermath kept me away.

Yet here I was, completely solo, my nose dripping annoyingly, incessantly, towards the end of hour 1 of a 3+ hour ride.

It was time.

I leaned as far over to the left as I could, plugged up the right nostril, made the sign of the cross in my head, and went for it.

The result? Well, I could breath through it, so that was victory #1.

Then I looked down at my left shoulder, arm, and leg. All clean! Victory #2 had been achieved!

I repeated with the right nostril, and then kept repeating as needed throughout the ride.

Finally, I had conquered the elusive snot rocket technique.

I am now one step closer to Pro status. I've yet to show off my new skill during a group ride, but rest assured, the time will come. And I will walk away clean.

Depending upon the way the wind is blowing, you might not be so lucky.

But that's another blog post.

Offn....

Today, I had a surge of joy. I felt my body exert itself enough to be engaged without being torn up. I felt my breathing increase enough to feel invigorated without being labored. I felt my muscles engage but not tear. I found a rhythm, a flow, a sense of simultaneous ease and energy.

And I was wearing sneakers.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am once again running.

While here in Morgan Hill, I saw so many of my killer cyclist friends do both, and do both with relative aplomb, that I felt like the times for excuses were over. I wanted to be able to throw on my trainers and GO. Not go hard, or terribly long, but hard enough to feel like I did something and long enough to warrant lacing up in the first place.

I started off slowly. 15 minutes once a week, then twice a week.

Then 20 minutes. 25 minutes. Three times a week.

Then I donned my idiot cap.

25 minutes in the morning, 20 more later in the day. Twice a week.

Then 45 minutes. All at once. Then three days later, 55 minutes.

Two days later, another 55.

Today, 25 minutes this morning on a set 2.5 mile course.

And 45 minutes this afternoon on the treadmill at 6mph.

Which means, seven miles total.

Seven.

Why am I writing this with so many line jumps? Well, because this is a big deal, and big deal posts deserve a whole lotta line jumps. I kept trying to run, and failed to find my footing, so many times that I lost track of why I loved running in the first place.

Well call me Sherlock Holmes, cause guess what I found?

Today, on the treadmill, listening to my iPod, I almost laughed out loud (thank god I didn’t, awkward work moment).

There’s something about engaging every muscle in your body, propelling yourself forward with only your own two feet, that’s completely its own unique joy. And yes, I did use the word joy. It’s a joyous thing, being able to run, being in good enough shape to have running be an easy thing should you choose to do so.

So while running still definitely takes a back seat to cycling, at least it has a seat again.

The Art of Climbing

In case you haven't noticed it, there has been a definite theme to my blog since moving out West. Please allow me a brief moment to shine a huge white spotlight onto said theme:

Climbing

Climbing stands as road cycling's largest appeal. It carries major bragging rights. 80% of the time, it necessitates anything epic. It hurts like a mother **cker. It makes you feel like a beast. It allows you to descend. Like ham and cheese, peanut butter and jelly, SRAM and noisy shifts, climbing is an inseparable part of the sport.

It is also one of the hardest parts of the sport.

In Greensboro, though there were climbing opportunities, I had other concerns and goals on the bike. Thus, my technique lacked tremendously when it came to going uphill. I never stood, both because I felt uncomfortable and because I didn't really grasp why it was necessary. I had little clue about gearing, or when/why to shift. I had the wrong ideas about both spinning and carrying my momentum.

Over the past month, I've had the opportunity to go up much more often. I've also had the chance to watch a lot of people ride who are fantastic at ascending (and descending).

I've also had the wake up call, twice now, that I am sooo much better at it after only a month.

Wake Up Call #1) My visit back to Greensboro last weekend.

While I was there, my awesome friend Jen let me borrow her bike so I could go on a little ride. Suddenly, the hills on Yanceyville and Dogget and Church, well, they weren't really hills anymore. They were more like speedbumps. I found myself instinctively standing when I NEEDED to, when it made SENSE. I also found myself choosing much better gearing, and shifting much more intuitively. Plus, my muscles were just better at it. Even the once "super steep" hill on Church before Air Harbor. I carried my momentum from the previous downhill, and just went right up. I arrived at the top barely winded.

Case in Point #2) Levi's King Ridge Gran Fondo

That ride was sick. While there were local NC rides that match it in terms of climbing (Tour de Gaps, for example), there isn't really a ride that matches it in terms of difficulty. Tour de Gaps is straight up, straight down, ride flat until you get to the next gap, then straight up again. You know exactly how far you're going to be climbing when you start, and once you get to the bottom again, there are no more surprise ups. Steep surprise ups. Had I not been so much better at climbing, there is no way I could have done this ride. I knew when AND how to stand so that your body weight does the work instead of your legs. I knew when to sit and spin it out. I knew when to shift, both before, while, and after standing, to keep my HR in check. I knew when to slide my butt back on the saddle and use my hamstrings and ass to save the day.

And I knew these things because, guess what? I'm becoming a better climber.

That being said, there is always room for improvement, and I'm not nearly as good of a climber as I hope to one day be.

But I also understand in a more nuanced way why it's such an important part of the sport. It's not just about the physical exertion of getting up the hill, it's also about how you get there. Better climbers do it with more grace and ease. They don't wander all over the road or grip the hoods while turning their lunch inside out, or try to do more than they know they can handle at any one stretch. They just go up. Effortlessly.

Which one could say is a metaphor for life.

Don't worry, I won't go into THAT one (yet). But it highlights yet ANOTHER reason why I love this sport so much: because it mirrors so many larger lessons.

Going up, for me in all senses, is still a lesson being learned.

Levi's Gran Fondo

So as you are well aware, these sort of diary A, B, C posts aren't my most favorite thing; however, the event in which I was just lucky enough to participate in can be done no other way:

Levi's King Ridge Gran Fondo.

Before we go any further, I must say that I had zero idea what I was getting myself into. To me, Gran Fondo just meant Long Ride. And a long ride I could do no problem. Climbing? Sure why not, throw in some climbs also. What the hey?

What the hey indeed.

The day began in the dark. Specialized had a whole posse going up, but some of us were heading out from Morgan Hill morning of. I was in that group, in addition to being the driving ring leader. At 4:15, we assembled in the parking lot and began loading up one of the awesome SBCU minivans (Thanks, SBCU!!) with bikes and gear.

Crappy flash courtesy of iPhone.

This early departure was really only possible because we were lucky enough to snag a VIP parking pass, which put us literally right next to packet pick up and registration (for which we were also in the VIP line). The Finley Center in Santa Rosa found itself completely overrun with spandex and carbon fiber. Once we collected the needed materials (front bike tag, back bike tag, bib number, and swag), the gearing up began.

I rolled to the start, knowing that I had a front staging sticker, but not knowing that front staging sticker would literally place me AT THE FRONT OF 7500 CYCLISTS.

And next to Patrick Dempsey.

The picture on the left was taken by a professional photographer in a lift. If you look closely, you can Where's Waldo me literally at he very front in the black jersey with the Red S on it.

Once we got rolling, the ride itself? It's hard to describe...

What I can say is that it was HARD. The hardest thing I've ever done to date, literally, no doubt about it. What I can also say is that the riding I've been doing the past month was completely critical to my success. I didn't even know it, but I was slowly training for this ride. I did area climbs one by one each weekend. This ride put them all together and then some.

Up, down, up up up up, DOWN, up again. Then DOOOOOWN, down down, UPUPUPPPPUUUP.

That was pretty much the entire ride.

While the weather held (for about the first 34 miles), I was able to stop and snap some amazing pictures:

Ok, one amazing picture.

Why not more?

Well, first of all, it turned foggy and drizzly and chilly and just downright miserable. I was SO glad I had my armwarmers, because I definitely put them back on. Second of all, it turned into the sort of ride where if you stopped for very long, getting started again felt like agony.

The thing though, was that all 7500 people were suffering together. At each rest stop, you knew that the throng surrounding you were all just as tired, chilly, achy, and happily miserable as you were. You also knew they everyone was thinking the same thing:

Oh holy hell, you have GOT to be kidding me.

After each rest stop, I had to take a full water bottle to rinse off my cleats and pedals before I could clip back in and resume the march towards the finish.

Yes, that sort of ride.

The descents were all rippingly fast if desired. For my part, I played it safe, though I still thought that for someone who's only really been descending for a month I did rather well. The roads were just slick and wet enough that one beginners mistake or panicky brake grab or washed out tire or misjudged line could have had dire consequences, and more than one person had to be helicoptered out of the event for just that reason.

The scenery? Ungodly gorgeous, especially on Route 1 along the coast. Sure, there was a brutal headwind on that section, but when you glanced over and saw the Ocean and the sun and the clouds, it was all worth it.

Twice I had to stop in the middle of climbs and let me HR back off a bit, but I didn't have to walk any sections, and in the end I was proud of how I rode. I didn't push myself ANYWHERE I didn't have to, because I knew that there would be enough uphill to push me enough as it was.

And remember what I said earlier? Oh Holy Hell?

Oh Holy Hell:

http://www.mapmyride.com/routes/view/52781546

Cut and paste. Click on "Climbs."

Yes indeed.

Oh, and do not listen when it says it was only 6400 feet. It was 9500 feet at least.

There were some grades so steep people were literally tipping over.

But. I did it. I finished it, and I SMACKED DOWN the food afterwards at the VIP tent. It didn't stand a CHANCE.

The best part of the day, though, if I had to pick the best part, was getting to spend time outside of the office with my Specialized crew. While it's true that I work with some of the coolest people imaginable, it's even cooler that we regularly CHOOSE to spend our free time together outside of work. Because to us, riding bikes, and anything to do with bikes, isn't really "work." It's a job, yes, but it's not work. We joked, rode, caravaned, talked, ate, and just generally had an amazing time at an amazing event.

And we never took it for granted, which is probably the coolest part.

The day also saw the true Maiden Voyage of my NEW Gold Bike: Ruby

She still has some kinks to work out of her. The saddle of course has got to be swapped out, and the left shifter has a warranty problem (thanks Shimano). Other than that? Perfect.

PLUS, my fit is so dialed now that I rode 103 miles and 9500 feet of elevation on a bike that was only built up 4 days prior, and I came away with ZERO pain.

Well...there was pain, but none of it had to do with my fit.

And that's about it. Next up.....

New is the New Old

I've been riding the roads around Morgan Hill, CA for about 2.5 weeks now. I've also gone a little north into San Jose, and have ridden one of the local climbs (Eureka Canyon). I've experienced the Lunch Ride several times, and have started to internalize that it's not so much that people get dropped because they're slow; people get dropped because most of the guys are soooo fricking fast. There are headwinds and descents and all of the things I wrote about at the start. Nothing has changed.

Except me.

First off, I no longer even bring my Garmin along. I have no earthly idea how many miles or how long I ride each day. I can guess at my heart rate, but only from experience.

Second off, I feel like I'm becoming a braver rider. On the lunch ride, even though I still am usually spit off super early due to dumb mistakes, I feel myself getting a touch more aggressive each time. I stand up and attack the climbs. I try to match the accelerations, even if I can't. I'm getting better at riding WITH a pack, better at turning, and MUCH better at descending.

Third off, riding is now a part of my everyday routine. I don't wake up, ride for 2 hours, and then do nothing for the rest of the day. I ride into work, ride during work, and ride home from work, heck, even ride to the restaurant where people are gathering for dinner. I'm also running again (up to 20 minutes) and I definitely plan on doing more of it. Riding isn't some odd offshoot that only a small handful of acquaintances participate in. I WORK at a BIKE COMPANY. If that doesn't sum it up right there, nothing will.

Fourth off, nothing is a novelty anymore. Even the odd smells (what IS IT?? Garlic? Mushrooms? Weed?) are no longer jarring; they are expected. I'm starting to plan my rides around the wind. I'm looking forward to the bomb down Willow instead of double fisting it like I did during my interview here at Specialized. I climb it in the big ring. It's just the way it is.

Fortunately, I'm not so horrible jaded that I still don't appreciate two things:

The astounding beauty of the place

and

how unbelievably lucky I am to have landed here.

I mean...getting used to the anticipation of fantastic roads? Getting used to the amalgamation of bikes and everyday life? Getting used to going with the flow?

I hope I never get used to being so thankful for all of that.

Relativity, Take 2

On Friday, a coworker was nice enough to take myself and another new Big S recruit out on a longer local loop: Cañada Road.

Three aspects of this route made it an appealing addition to my repertoire:

1) It was longer than a usual loop.

2) It had the possibility of a brutal headwind on the return (timing this ride was tricky).

3) It had a nice climb and gorgeous scenery .

So as we headed out into a headwind, numbers 2 and 3 seemed to be spot on. Straight south to Gilroy , turn onto Roop Road, and then begin the climb up and up and up.

As I climbed, I decided to just spin in the little ring as best I could. It wasn't horrible, but it was no Greensboro Lake Brandt Road.

It was a Cat 3 climb.

I arrived at the top, finally, and got the big pay off of scenery. Take a camera, stick it into the air, and press the shutter to get a kodak moment. One of those roads.

It wound its way steadily, slightly, upwards as we all three talked and looked around and just had a lovely time. Then Rosie turned to us and said, "Ok, it rounds a bend up here and then starts to just go down, so hang on!"

Now the last time I had a descent of any real consequence, on Hanging Rock, I gripped my brakes so tightly I thought my hands would cramp up. This time, I decided to go for it a little bit more. Relax. Breath.

I tucked down into the drops, and turned the corner...

Was I Voeckler? No.

But did I have fun?

YES.

I bombed down that hill as fast as I've ever bombed down a hill before. Off course there were sections that had blind corners, where I slowed a little too much, but whenever possible I tried to simply breath, countersteer, and zoom.

When I got to the bottom, after a pretty good amount of time, I had a grin that was hard pressed to leave my face. A complete 180 from a year ago (I know, right? Just about a year ago) on Hanging Rock.

The ride home had conversation, a tailwind, a gorgeous sunset, and perfect temperatures.

So yes, things are relative. In Greensboro, the riding was Vanilla. A little up, a little down, a little up, a little down, a little wind, a little view, wash, rinse, repeat.

Here, you get exactly what you give. Give big, get big. Suffer like a masochist up a climb, get a fantastic, breathtaking trip back down. Ride in a leg melting headwind on the way out, practically get pushed all the way home.

Here, the riding is Rocky Road.

Now please don't get confused and think that I don't like Greensboro because of this fact. Greensboro is much much more than just the roads, it's the amazing people and friendships I made there, the camaraderie, the well honed routes and roads so familiar you don't even have to look for the rough patches.

I'm just super psyched to get a new flavor.

Relativity

California has a reputation for cranking out phenomenal cyclists, which is one of the main reasons I was so eager to move out here. It's true of course that strong cyclists are everywhere, and Greensboro had its fair share of crushers, most of whom I could only hang with for brief, glorious, painful periods of time. So while I came here knowing the folk tales of fantastic cycling, I didn't know what the reality would be like.

I also only have Greensboro to compare everything to. My definitions of "hill", "roller", "climb", "headwind", even "fast" are going to have to change to Morgan Hill conditions.

Because everything is relative.

Example?

Here are the stats from 2 rides, the first I did back in GSO, the second I did today:

Time:	01:30:38
Distance:	26.23 mi
Elevation Gain:	1,419 ft
Avg HR: 143 bpm Max HR: 169 bpm	Avg Moving Speed: 17.4 mph

_______________________________

Time:	01:38:05
Distance:	26.65 mi
Elevation Gain:	1,388 ft
Avg HR:	156 bpm
Max HR:	183 bpm

Avg Moving Speed:

16.4 mph

___________________

So. Take a look. First ride and second ride. Both have about the same amount of time, the same amount of elevation gain. But wow, look at the heartrates! The first ride was high endurance, just dipping once into AT land. The second was flat out red lining, and more of a tempo average. Both rides were ridden with guys who were stronger than me but riding at my pace.

The first ride was an out and back on Witty road, which most of you guys know has a lot of "hills" on it. The second ride was a variation on one of the normal Lunch Ride loops, with an extra bit of climbing thrown in (hence the red line).

So what is the difference?

Where Greensboro had lots of little ups and downs, none of them were very steep. They were just consistent. Never really long enough to spike up your HR unless you wanted them to, and always quickly dispensed with in time for a nice easy straight recovery downhill. When it was flat, like 150, there was rarely a strong wind. I went onto ridewithgps.com, and the average grade of those roads was around 3-4%, sometimes spiking into the 6% (like coming home on Lake Brandt), but not going uphill for super long periods of time.

Here, things are different. Sure, same total elevation gain, but at an average of 6-8% on most roads that go up, and usually around 9%. Switchbacks, definite out of saddle stuff. Today's ride had a maximum grade of 13.5%.

To put it another way, the road that broke me during the Blue Ridge Brutal was about 8 miles long, and had a maximum grade of 13.4%, and was more than 10% for the last .5 mile.

Here, we have a road that is 10.2 miles long and has a maximum grade of 15.6%, and spikes above 10% for a good deal of it as well.

I had to drive 2.5 hours to find the Blue Ridge Brutal road. I have to step outside my door to find the latter.

And that's just one of many. Not all of them as long (though many are), or steep (though many are), but everywhere you look.

If it's not a hill, it's a headwind, strong and consistent enough to bend the trees as they grow.

If you think this entry is ending as a sob story, though, you would be completely wrong. I'm not only eager, I'm thrilled to be tackling this sort of terrain as my everyday norm. The descents are technical most of the time and the ascents are grueling most of the time. But that's just for now. My riding relative to the area, and relative to my experiences.

One year from now, everything will be different. The new will turn to normal. These long, uphill roads will be the ho hum. And even if I'm not faster, I know I will be stronger because of it.

Cross Country Epic - Days 4 & 5: A Ride with A View

One of the best parts about driving across the country, or actually, THE best part of driving across the country, is witnessing the changing scenery around you. It can surprise you, depress you, elate you, and a host of things in between. You start off in the Piedmont of Virginia amid the Blue Ridge Mountains, and are surrounded by familiar sights. Comfort scenery. Not much changes in Tennessee except for a little less mountain and a little less green.

Suddenly, you are in Arkansas. The air outside is a wet blanket and the scenery is this:

Then you enter Oklahoma and Texas, the flatlands, which certainly start to tire the eyes eventually but also offer up something completely foreign. Windfarms, stockyards, lots and lots of yellow, and old abandoned buildings just begging for stories:

Then, you head into New Mexico: Land of Enchantment. It's not a joke when I say that you round a corner and find yourself staring at a 180 of panorama.

The best part by far, though, has been the ability to experience this transition from my bike. Though the rides haven't always been fun (ahem, North Little Rock), they have been a change from the normal routine.

Yesterday, I had a fantastic Albuquerque route planned that consisted of an "out" on a bike trail by a river, then cut across town, then "back" on another bike path by another river, then a detour through Old Town, before heading back to the parking lot. The glitch? My garmin had its mind blown by the bike path, and thus, we wound up just staying on the same stretch of path the whole way, and coming straight back. The other glitch? The "river" was actually a huge empty cement drainage ditch.

Did it matter? Not really. Though our immediate view was of industrial buildings and razor wire, in the distance we were treated to the following:

Today, I was REALLY excited to be riding through Petrified Wood National Park. Not only was I going to get to see PETRIFIED WOOD, but the park was PERFECT for exploration by bike. Park at the Historic Rainbow Inn, and follow the one road that had look out spots along the way. There are too too many gorgeous shots to try to fit (it's the sort of place where you close your eyes and point your camera and you look like the next Ansel Adams), but here are some of my favs:

But lest you think I left out the best part. au contraire.

I give you, petrified wood.

If you ever go to this park, the BEST way to do it IMHO is on bike. Here is a picture of us heading out triumphant with a tailwind and a continuous downhill.

The worst way to do it, on a bike, IMHO, is the way we did it: downhill going out, uphill coming back, and only 2 water bottles. Here is a less triumphant picture of the ride back.

The first part is a no brainer. If I had to do it over again, I would have driven all the way to the end of the park, changed at the Petrified Wood Center, and headed out from there.

The second part. Ah yes. Well, you see, I blithely assumed that at a National Park, with bathrooms, in the middle of the desert, there would be opportunities to get some water. Unfortunately, as soon as Tom and I saw the compost bathroom and the locked spigot outside of them, we knew otherwise. Also unfortunately at this point, we still had about 12 uphill exposed uphill desert miles to go before reaching the car.

These are small quibbles to what was otherwise a fantastically gorgeous and amazing experience, though.

The long and the short of it? Seeing the country by car is a great experience, but the bike is definitely the cherry, chocolate sauce, AND whipped cream on top.