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.