Tour de Cure – Century ride report

         

First, the important part

Thanks to those of you who read this blog, as well as all my Facebook friends, Twitter followers, and co-workers all of whom generously gave! Together, we raised $2102 toward finding a cure for diabetes. That amount is 40% higher than last year and I am both humbled and thrilled by your generosity!  All I can say is, Wow!

Preparation Prevents Poor Performance

Last year, this event was my first century ride, ever, and I learned a great deal about my body and how it behaves in a long ride. I also learned about preparation and put that to use this year.

By the time I got to Reston VA, I had already ridden about 700 miles this year. This included almost 200, two weeks prior to the Tour, and some longer routes up to 60 miles in length.  I did some hill work around my home in the rolling hills of Western Hanover County, too, and felt in much better riding shape this year.

This was important because one my pledges would double if I’d be able to finish the ride in less than 8 hours.  Since this pledge is my company president, and I wanted to be sure and get as much money out of his pocket as possible, I was focused.

Pre-ride day

MB and I drove up to Reston on Saturday in the late morning, pulling into the area early enough to grab my packet, have a late lunch of appetizers with wine, and then go find our hotel for the night. (I got a sweet deal on a Residence Inn about a mile away from the starting line.) After checking in and stowing the gear, we went to Safeway for supplies; since the room had a kitchenette, we could do breakfast there instead of hoping to find something open at 5:30 am.

$69 a night. Sweet!

We dropped off the supplies at the room and headed back to Reston Town Center for dinner at Clyde’s of Reston.  Clyde’s is a local restaurant chain that started in Georgetown and has branched out over the past 40 years or so, to include the suburbs. They now grow their own organic ingredients at a local farm so their food is fresh, delicious, and probably good for me.

The other great thing about this location is there’s a patio dining area, right on the main Town Center area, and next to the bandstand. Since this was the first Saturday of June, there was a live concert of big band music going as we had dinner.  It made for a terrific night out.

Cold beer, good food, good music....sign me up!

After the traditional loading of the carbs, we headed back to the hotel to get some rest in preparation for a long day in the saddle.  MB was going to volunteer while I was riding so she’d be busy, too.

Early to bed….

The alarm went off at 4:45. I felt surprisingly good and hit the shower to loosen up my back and wake up the rest of the way.  I put on sun block before getting dressed as the forecast was for a hot, sunny day with highs around 90 degrees. That was the one thing worrying me as I hadn’t really trained for those temps.

While MB showered and dressed, I had some breakfast and read the New York Times on my iPad.  Then, we quickly packed up, loaded up the gear and bike, and headed over to the start before 6:00.  The schedule was for a 6:15 start and I wanted to be on that.

Hit the trail

Once we got there, I unloaded the bike, changed shoes, loaded up my pockets with snacks and we walked toward the starting area. MB found the Volunteers Tent, kissed me goodbye, wished me good luck, and wandered off to help.

I looked around until I found Wes, my riding partner, whom I hadn’t seen in weeks. 

We live in different towns, a few hours apart, and only see each other at work functions.  While he finished checking in, I stretched and double checked my gear.

MJ, one of our co-workers was in town and she came out to support us. She lives in Minnesota and the winter had lasted until May so she’d been unable to train for the ride.  Next year, MJ!  

Ready to ride!

And they’re off….eventually

At 6:15 people began queuing up, pointing in a different direction than I remembered from the previous year.  Both Wes and I were confused but, like little lemmings, we lined up alongside them.  An announcer was telling everyone that we’d be led by a motorcycle group which, at that moment, began revving their engines.  When the announcer said, “Go!” the cyclists all started heading down the street. The motorcyclists all stopped their engines and watched us go past. When we got to the end of the street, we all stopped to wait for the motorcyclists but they were just sitting there watching us. We looked at each other for a couple of minutes or so wondering, what now?  Finally, someone took off heading for the trail head and we were off.

Wes and I were near the front of a large group of about fifty riders, rolling on city streets, and heading to a connection with the W&OD trail for the first 28 miles. We would stay on this nearly all the way to Purcellville, with two short stops at SAG stations for water fill ups, snacks, and a bathroom break.  As we rode, we chatted about the ride, about what we’d done in the past year. Wes also shared with me that he wasn’t as prepared as he had been the previous year and that I might be pulling him along. I pointed out that’s what had happened last year, with the roles reversed, and I was glad to return the favor.

One section of this part of the ride moved off the trail for a few miles, climbing a bit of a hill. I was feeling really strong going up and dropped Wes pretty quickly, soft pedaling until he caught up.  He looked like he was struggling a bit already but quickly recovered.

We took a 10 minute break in Purcellville for water refills, snacks and a stretch. We were slightly ahead of the pace I was working for and I was feeling much better than last year, too.  The good news on the weather was that it was cloudy and not as hot as predicted. The bad news was it was beginning to rain off and on.

Sure it's pretty but.....

We saddled up and headed off into the Blue Ridge Mountain loop for the next 50 miles.

Over hill, over dale…..

This section of the ride starts with a couple of miles on a pretty busy piece of state road with plenty of traffic and not much shoulder. I remember last year, the drivers seemed to be pretty aware of cyclists and gave us lots of room.  This year was different with more than a few drivers scaring the crap out of me during this fifteen minute section.  Once we got onto secondary roads, things were calmer and I stopped yelling at traffic.

The first half of this loop contains a number of gentle climbs, several healthy ones, and two nasty hills. I found myself rolling up all of these with a comfort I’d not had before. Not that I wasn’t suffering, I was. The difference was I got to the top, shifted up, rolled over them and almost immediately began to recover. This was a new feeling for me and I was reveling in it!

Wes, on the other hand, was suffering at least as badly as I did last year. I dropped him nearly every time and on the second nasty hill, he had to walk the last couple hundred meters.  We’ve all been there, so I felt for him.

On one of the downhill sections, it began to rain in earnest. Big fat drops hit me as we rolled downhill at about 30 miles per hour. It was very refreshing, much to my surprise.  We were treated to occasional bursts like this for the next four hours or so and the cloud cover kept the heat down. The sun broke through for good around 1:00 pm so the last hour or so was hot but bearable.

When we reached the halfway SAG station, we stopped for about 10 minutes for fluids, snacks, and another stretch. I felt great and was ready to go almost

Wes leads me into
the halfway point.

immediately but hung out to let Wes catch his rest.  MJ was there to give us a shout of support and the volunteers manning the station were cheering everyone that rode in.  It was a great place to stop.

We saddled up and headed back out, with Wes drafting me trying to conserve energy. Every time we got to a hill, he’d drop back then, I’d soft pedal to let him catch up after the climb.

This second half of the loop is similar to the first but also contains 3 hills that are just nasty. The last one is about two kilometers in length with an average grade of about 12 percent and the last 200 meters are probably close to 20 percent. (This is the hill that, last year, I was afraid my butt was going to spontaneously combust during the climb and I had to walk.) Once again, I stormed up these, feeling strong. 

I found myself able to ascend without having to go to the granny gear and came over the top sucking wind but in control. I stopped just past the top to wait for Wes.

(I realize that people out west are thinking we’re all wusses here in the east, because this doesn’t even count as a foothill out there.  All I can say is, “whatever.”)

Every person that came over the hill, and there were about a dozen or so before Wes walked over the crest, was swearing at the hill.  “Shit” was the most common phrase gasped out as people collapsed back down in their saddles, just beating “goddamit” by a nose.

Wes came over the top and immediately congratulated me for slapping the hill in the mouth, telling me how proud he was of my riding this year. That made me feel even better about it. We remounted and headed down the other side.

An hour later, we pulled back into Purcellville and headed to the SAG stop. Wes was starting to cramp and he told me he thought he was cooked. He was thinking that he wanted to load the bike back up and ride back to Reston with MJ, who was waiting for us. I told him to feel free to bag it; this ride is supposed to be fun, not a death march.

I was beginning struggle with one problem; my left hand seemed to have gone numb. I was no longer able to shift the front gears with it, reaching across with my right instead. Fortunately, I was past all the hills where I’d have to go to the smaller ring. Just the same, I was starting to worry about it. The numbness had begun around mile 30 and I’d tried stretches, shakes, and everything else I could think of to loosen it up to no avail.  Oh well, can’t bother with it now.

At the SAG stop, we got drinks and snacks, and stretched for a minute or so. Wes started to feel better but was worried about getting stuck out on the trail.  He decided to load up the bike, drive to the next SAG station and meet me there, hoping that he could recover enough in 45 minutes to finish the rest of the ride.  I headed out as he was loading the bike.

Performing a quick solo

I swung back up onto the W&OD trail and started for the finish with 28 miles to go. In this direction, the ride is a very tiny downgrade and it’s easy to maintain a good pace. With 80 miles behind me, I couldn’t believe how strong I felt! I pushed the cadence up and rolled along at around 19 mph until I got to the next SAG stop, rolling through the shaded portions of the trail, dodging runners, walkers, and slower riders.

This is the part of long rides that I struggle with mentally. It seems as though my body is on autopilot, legs pumping smoothly, but my mind struggles. I find myself looking for aches and pains (damn, my neck hurts and what the hell is it with this hand thing?) instead of enjoying the ride. I tried to focus on making eye contact with everyone I met and looking at the surrounding area instead of the trail in front of my bike, all the time. This helped but not much.

Teaming back up

I rolled into the second to last SAG stop and there was Wes, waiting for me. He was feeling much better and ready to finish with me.  After a quick break for snacks and bottle refill we headed back out with Wes hugging my wheel. We rolled to the last SAG stop at about 17 mph, keeping in a tight paceline as much as possible.

At the last stop, there was a vendor handing out free samples of coconut water; this is supposed to be a great drink for endurance athletes. It contains high potassium and mineral counts, some antioxidants and, allegedly, complex carbs. I was kind of excited to try it.

I’m sure it must be very good for you because it tasted like ass.  At first, I was thinking it might be okay with rum in it. In the end, I think anything that needs to have the flavor masked is probably not very good.  I drank about half of the serving, just to give it chance then, fired it in the trashcan.

Final push

We headed out again and, unfortunately, I dropped Wes at a spot where there was a short climb for an overpass. I was rolling along and didn’t realize it until he was completely out of sight. At that point, I just wanted to get to the finish. I could tell I was starting to run out of gas, there was no one around to hang on a wheel, and I just needed to push on. I kept pedaling.

With about 4 miles to go, the trail came to a road crossing and the signs pointed away from the trail and out onto surface streets. This was a change from last year’s course but I vaguely remembered reading something about that on the website, so I swung right and headed on up the road.

At the first traffic light, there was a group of people huddled around on the sidewalk to my right. Several were on their knees assisting a woman who appeared to have passed out. As I came to stop, one of them asked me if I had some water available. I tossed them my full bottle, keeping the half-full one on my bike for the last few miles. Since I couldn’t provide anything else, they’d already called EMTs, I rode off.

After a couple of miles the road turned dead into a wind that had sprung up.  Great. Just what I needed, a little something to challenge me.  I pedaled on.

After another mile the road turned distinctly uphill.  I knew I was getting close but taking the course this way was really obnoxious; the W&OD trail was almost flat for the last 5 miles and this was adding pain where it didn’t need to happen.  Couple that with the drivers getting stupid and I was starting to panic that I’d finish in one piece. (One clown in a minivan came tearing around me so that she could then cut me off, slam on the brakes, and turn right in front of me.)

I finally came around a corner and saw the signs indicating the last turn back into the Reston Town Center Square. I could also here a PA announcer and music. The end was near!

I rolled into the square and around the corner where I heard the announcer alerting the crowd to another arrival, me. As I crossed into the finishing area the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. I sat up and thrust one arm into the air to acknowledge the cheers with a huge grin on my face. Then I saw MB waving at me and I came to a stop next to her, unclipped, took off my helmet, and drank the last of my water bottle.

Wes and MJ walked up, too. Wes had stayed on the trail coming back and, between the odd uphill route I had taken and the stop for the downed cyclist, finished ahead of me. We high fived and congratulated each other on a great result.

We made it!

Aftermath

After drinking several bottles of water and eating a few snacks. MB and I said so long to Wes and MJ, and headed toward the car. We had a 2 hour drive home and traffic in northern VA is always a threat to double that.

As I placed my bike in the car rack, I realized just how damaged my left hand was when I tried to take off my glove. My fingers appeared to have no strength at all as I couldn’t hold anything with my left hand; I kept grabbing things and watching them fall to the ground. I started to giggle and then started to sob. What if my hand was permanently damaged?  I calmed down almost immediately but for a second there, I was a wreck.  I guess the endorphins were wearing off very quickly.

I walked to a restroom, took a sink bath, and changed out of my riding kit. This proved to be a bit of a challenge with only one hand and clothing sticking to me from sweat. I started laughing, then swearing, then just took a deep breath to calm down, clear my mind of impure thoughts, and got it done.

MB was at the wheel as we headed out of town.  I fell asleep again, just like last year, but only for a couple of minutes. I also ate an entire sub, a bag of chips, a Clif bar, and drank another couple bottles of water.  The heat over the last hour had obviously gotten to me and I also realized that I hadn’t done quite as much eating as I did in previous rides.

The traffic wasn’t bad and we were home in about two hours. By the time we rolled into the driveway, I felt fine with the exception of my left hand which was now hurting in addition to being numb.  MB told me if it wasn’t better in the morning, I had to go to the doctor.  I agreed. 

No one will ever call me, Lefty - Epilogue

Fortunately, it was slightly better in the morning although still wasn’t much use for anything but ballast. I occasionally suffer from this malady and my massage therapist had told me it’s caused by a cramping muscle in my back and shoulder that pinches a nerve. She had given me a stretch to do while riding that would help to keep it from happening. I had used it a number of times on the ride but it hadn’t worked or I’d waited too long before trying to fix it.

It’s amazing to me how much my left hand does, despite my being extremely right handed. I kept dropping things, like deodorant or my toothpaste, whenever I tried to use them. I felt kind of silly.

Monday morning, I called my massage therapist but she was booked all day. She recommended a place across the street from my office and I went there for a massage.  It was a tremendous help! By the end of the day, the numbness had gone away in all but my two smallest fingers and strength was returning to the rest of my hand.

A few more days went by and most of the strength had returned to my hand although my pinky finger was still partially numb. 

I was able to get to my regular massage therapist after a week and she had a horrible time loosening up my shoulder but after thirty minutes, she finally broke through and things have started to heal. A second massage from her, a few days later, provided even more relief.  Now, after three weeks, I’m finally at about 95%.

I have managed to take a few rides since and haven’t done any further damage to the hand, including one last weekend of 52 miles.  I can only hope the healing will continue until all the numbness is gone. It’s primetime for cycling these days and I don’t want to miss anything.

After all, my next scheduled century ride is in October.  The Tour of Richmond is next!

Return to Pool

First I was a League Player

About 20 years ago, I got into my first pool league. It was in Winston-Salem NC and consisted of 3 person teams playing some form of 9 ball, with handicaps to make it fair. I don’t remember the name of the pool room but I recall it was a “private club” where I had to pay an annual fee in order to drink there.  (Ah, government!)

I can't really remember why I joined a pool league. I think I was in there having a beer and shooting by myself when the league operator walked up, introduced himself and invited me. Since I was new in town, it seemed like a good way to meet some new people.

The team that I was on was with 2 people, a guy and a girl, and none of us knew either of the others. By the end of the session, which lasted about 9 months, we were fairly decent friends and really good teammates.

Darren was a twenty-something musician who drank Natural Light beer and chain smoked Marlboro menthols. He was a decent player but he could choke under pressure so we always let him play his matches first.

Natalie was around thirty, attractive, with eyes that had seen too many sunrises (after staying up all night), too many boyfriends (she introduced us to a different one each week), and too many Michelob’s after her match, every week. She would play second and then start in on the post-game celebration, usually reaching the first Stage of Drunkenness (that’s Witty and Charming; for those of you who haven’t read any Dan Jenkins novels - Google 10 stages of drunkenness), pretty quickly.

I was mid-thirties, unattached, and returning to the game after not playing for close to twenty years.  Turned out I could still play a little, was pretty steady, occasionally very good, and loved to play with the match on the line. I batted cleanup and, because I was older, was elected captain. (Neither of the other two wanted to do it.)

By the last week of league, we had managed to get into 3^rd place and were playing the 2^nd place team. If we won by shut out, we’d leapfrog them into 2^nd and each of us would win $150 more in the payout. The good news was, we couldn’t do worse than 3^rd so we had nothing to lose. (I used this to calm my teammates down; poor Darren went through a pack of smokes just warming up.)

Darren got up in the first match and played their best player, getting the called 7 and 8 for his spot. In the race to six, he couldn’t seem to do anything wrong and won 6-1; seemed like he came to the table each time with a simple shot or combo on the winning ball and made every one of them.  He lit up two cigarettes in celebration.

Natalie stepped up and played a girl, even, in a tense battle which she won on the hill by making a table length bank on the 8 ball and got perfect shape on the nine.  When I asked her what was going through her head when she shot the 8, she said, “Just make the damn thing. I need a drink!”

The Zone

I stepped up to play their weakest player spotting 2 games on the wire and the wild 7 and 8. This is a tough spot to outrun but I was loose in the knowledge that we couldn’t lose position, so it was a chance to jump up.

As they were behind, the other team had the first break and my opponent was kind enough to snap in a winning ball, twice in a row putting me down 4-0 in the race to 6. All I could do was laugh as it was completely beyond my control. If the guy was going to go unconscious on me, all I could do was rack and watch.

Feeling cocky, he took a wild swing at the next break and the cue ball jumped off the table after contact giving me ball in hand for my opening shot. Good thing, as he’d made the 7 ball on a fluke kiss and I would have been down another game.

I picked up the cue ball and could immediately see the pattern for the runout. Not only could I see that, it was the only thing I could see as the rest of the world had, sort of, disappeared. I didn’t know it, but I’d just entered The Zone for the first time in my pool career.  I quickly ran out the rack and trailed 4-1.

My opponent racked and I broke, making 3 balls. I quickly ran out that rack to get to 4-2.  He racked again, I broke and the 9 went in to get to 4-3. He racked for a third time and I broke, made a ball, and had an easy 1-9 combo to get to 4-4.

I walked over and took a sip of my beer as he racked again. Darren was in the john and Natalie was drinking her second beer and chatting with her date so no one said anything to me.  I’m not even sure I saw them, to tell you the truth.

By this time because of the length of Natalie’s match, every other match had finished and people began to crowd around the table to watch; about 50 people in all. They were waiting for payouts, mainly, but pretty soon were all watching us play.  (I didn’t see them when it was happening. They all came up to tell me afterwards. Part of being in the zone, is you don’t see anything except what you’re doing.)

I stepped up to the next rack and made two balls. I worked my way through the rack fairly easily but got horrible position on the 7 for the pocket I’d planned but perfect shape for a table length combo on the 9. Normally, that’s a pretty low percentage shot for me. This time I didn’t even think about it, just shot it in to get to 5-4.

As my opponent racked, with me on the hill, all I could see 

was a 4x9 foot stretch of green cloth with pool balls on it. It was one of the most bizarre feelings I’ve ever had; almost as if I was floating above the table. An out of the body experience, downright spiritual in its feel.

The Zone ends

I broke the balls, making the 2 and 4 balls.  I quickly worked my way through the rack. After making the 7 ball, the cue was coming up table into perfect position for the 8 and 9 which were close together near the spot. It had almost stopped rolling when Darren jumped out of his seat, walked toward me and said, “Timeout.”

I stopped chalking my cue and looked up, surprised to find that there was anyone else there.  Darren dropped his voice and said, “How are you going to play this?”

I looked at the table. All that was left were 2 stop shots, about as easy as it could ever be.  I took a deep breath because I was pissed that his interruption had completely taken me out of that wonderful place I’d been for the last thirty minutes or so. (It felt like 30 seconds.)

“I’ve just run 5 racks and have two stop shots to run out the set, and you want to know how I’m going to play this?” I whispered in a barely controlled fury. “I’m going to make them and then I’m going to kick your ass if you don’t sit the f**k down, right now.”

Darren went paler than usual, said, “Sorry” and went back to his seat to light up a smoke. (He, clearly, had never seen anyone in the state I'd been in and had no idea what he should do. Given the circumstances, I could just as easily have made the same mistake. I apologized to him later.)

I took a couple of deep breaths as I walked slowly around the table, chalking my cue, pretending that I did this sort of thing all the time. I looked at the angles of the 3 balls on the table, one white, one black, one white with a yellow stripe. My heart was nearly back to normal and I felt like I could shoot. I shot both shots with the same speed that I’d used to shoot all the other ones (except I had to think about it, this time) and split the pocket with both shots. The crowd applauded, really loudly. 

(I hadn’t realized everyone was watching yet. The noise really snapped me back to reality.) Several people clapped me on the back or high fived me.  I shook my opponents hand and he said,

“Man, I’ve never seen anything like that. Nice shooting!”

The league operator handed out the prize fund right after that and my teammates and I each got $450 for finishing 2^nd. Darren bought beers for the team. Natalie offered herself to me (I passed) and I was bitten by the competitive bug.

New Leagues

Fast forward about 15 years. I live in Richmond VA, now. I ran an 8 ball league for about six years, until last summer when the Side Pocket closed its doors for good. I made many friends, a few enemies, and established a reputation as a pretty good league operator.

My decision to take on a temporary committee role with our church took up a lot of my time for the past year so, I dropped out of the pool scene. I stopped by another pool room to get my cues worked on, played in the VA State 9 Ball tournament, and refereed it. But mostly, my pool time was spent playing on my table at home, whenever I could find a spare hour to practice.

A few weeks ago, I decided it was time to get back into playing. I sent an email to the operator of the BCA league at Diamonds, about twenty miles from my home, asking him when the next session started. He passed my name along to several team captains and I got a call the next day asking me to join a team for the summer session.  Last night was the first match and it felt great to be back.

Things I love about a pool room

No matter what part of the country you go into, there are some things that happen in every pool room. Without fail.

Swearing. (No one can swear like pool players. Trust me. My dad was a bricklayer.)

Players lying about how long it’s been since they played. (I haven’t picked up a cue in years…..you wanna play some cheap sets? I need the 7 ball.)

People that are glad to see you. (Hey, I haven’t seen you for a while. You playing any? Let’s play some cheap sets and catch up! Can I get the 7 ball? I haven’t been playing much…)

Couple that with beer, a lot of smokers, an occasional bar fight….damn, I do love a pool room!

Rack ‘em up!

Cap 2 Cap

As Richmond VA works to become a more bike friendly area, one of the coolest projects is a mixed use trail stretching the 55 miles from downtown Williamsburg – the original capital – to downtown Richmond – the current capital. This has been under construction for eight years and each of the past couple of years, there has been a fund raiser ride, called the Cap2Cap. (About 35 miles remains to be paved and all but one small section is currently under construction.)

www.virginiacapitaltrail.org

The ride has expanded to four different distances. There’s a full century, a half century, and a quarter century, along with a short fun ride.  Rides begin at both ends of the trail and, oddly, don’t follow the trail at all.  Instead, they wind in big loops over local roads.

Let’s do the Half…..

MB and I signed up to ride the half century beginning in Richmond and sent in our entry fees a few months before. We also ordered event jerseys (another fundraising effort) so we could look like teammates.  (Really, it was for the fundraising. We noticed that about 25% of the participants had the jerseys on, though, so it looked kind of cool!)

Packet pickup at a brewery??? 

Why, yes, I think I will!

The organizers arranged for Friday night packet pickups at a local craft brewery, Hardywood Brewing. They’ve been open for almost two years and are growing very quickly. (Along with biking, Richmond is also becoming a craft beer town.  Coincidence? I think not!) Of course, you could get your packets on ride day and skip going to the brewery but why would you?

Good food, good beer, good times!

MB and I met at my office and road down together. There was a huge crowd due to: a) packet pickup, b) food trucks in the parking lot, c) beer, d) live music being played, e) all of the above. We parked several blocks away and walked back to enjoy e) all of the above.  We concentrated on the beer.

After hanging out for an hour or so, we headed home.

Off to ride

It always seems counterproductive to me to load up your bike and drive somewhere to take a ride.  But when the starting point is about 25 miles away, you need to do that.  So, we loaded up.

As I walked to our shed for the bike rack and bikes, it started to rain. Hard.  Really hard. My first thought was, “This is going to suck.” But by the time I’d gotten the rack out and started to attach it to the car, the rain had nearly stopped although it was still pretty overcast. The weather forecast wasn’t promising.

I went back inside and told MB that we might be in for a wet ride but it appeared to bother me more than her. (Yeah, I’m a wuss.)

We loaded up the bikes and the gear and headed to the starting point, a place called Rockett’s Landing. It’s an historic site right next to the James River that has made a remarkable comeback in the past 15 years as it went from abandoned, former manufacturing blight to a funky neighborhood with apartments and condos that have been created from old warehouses, coupled with some very old and historic homes.  It’s got a very cool vibe!

Just a small section of Rocketts Landing

By the time we found a parking spot, the clouds had broken up and the sun made an appearance. It suddenly looked like it might be a decent day! 

We rolled down near the starting area with about fifteen minutes to kill before the official start. I positioned us just behind a police car that I figured was going to be leading the pack for the first couple of miles; about 400 other cyclists were queued up about 100 meters further down under a start/finish tower. There was a large clock showing elapsed time from when the century riders had gone off an hour before.

All dressed up with 50 miles to go!

I get nervous in huge starts like that. There are a huge number of riders, in close formation, who rarely ride in groups. (Like me.) I get hinky because that’s a great place for a big pile up and I didn’t want to be the guy who needed to be “cleaned up on aisle 3!” That’s why I moved us up into a potentially safer spot.

Hizzoner the mayor was on hand and counted down the last ten seconds till the start. As I suspected, the police car began to pull out and we tucked in behind it completely out of the crowd during that first crazy few minutes.  The cop turned right, out onto the start of the route and we rolled on with MB setting the pace as we had agreed.

Rolling along

The first few miles had some rolling hills and the early adrenaline allowed us to hold a pretty good pace.  Other riders began to pass us within a half mile of the start but by then there was plenty of room for everyone.

I had never ridden on this, the eastern, side of town before. It turned out to be a delightful course with few hills, decent quality pavement, room to ride, and idyllic scenery.  Lots of old farm houses, some occasional new development / suburbia and reasonable traffic. I would venture to say that there were fewer cars than I usually encounter on the other side of town but it’s probably a toss up.

Around the 14 mile mark, we came upon the first SAG station. It was in a state park (whose name escapes me now) with decent rest rooms as well as the porta potties we all know and love.  Snacks were plentiful and we took advantage of these along with water refills.  All in, we were stopped for about fifteen minutes.  After a quick stretch, we headed off again.

Urban Bike Club

We were only a few minutes down the road when we were passed by a group of about 10 riders, all in their teens and kitted out in the uniform of the Richmond Cycling Corps.

www.richmondcyclingcorps.org

I had read various articles about this group over the years. They use cycling as a platform for changing the lives of youth that live in housing projects in the Richmond area.  They’re headed up by a couple of very impressive guys, both really good cyclists with a heart.

This group of kids were all grinning and pedaling along, clearly enjoying the day’s ride. They also had their own camera person, a videographer who was riding on the back of a scooter recording the ride.  It was very cool!

Another mile or so up the road, we were passed by two more riders in the same outfits. One was a young team member. The other I recognized as one of the directors of the program. He had a hand on the little guy’s back and was helping him charge back up to join the rest of the team, evidently recovering from a mechanical of some kind.

Another Rest Stop

Around mile 28 we hit the second SAG stop, set up in the parking lot of a country convenience store.  There was clearly a big crowd on this ride as there were several hundred riders hanging around, catching a break. I was actually worried about getting snacks but we managed to grab a few cookies and refill our bottles before taking off again.

High Speed Limits, Limited Shoulders

The next section of the ride started along a two lane road that was fairly wide with a decent shoulder of about two feet.  The speed limit, almost immediately went from 45 to 55 mph, making me a little nervous.

In western Hanover, where I live and ride, this type of condition can be a little dicey.  If it’s a workday, drivers can get a little antsy about getting to work or wherever and may take more chances than a cyclist would like to see.  Since it was a weekend, I was less concerned but wary just the same.

We had traveled about half of the 7 miles that we were on this road when I saw a tractor trailer approaching from behind at a high rate of speed. I alerted MB to it and she hugged the edge of the road, along with the other five or six riders in our proximity. As the truck approached, it swung several feet over into the oncoming lane, passed all of us at once, and whipped back onto the correct side of the double yellow line missing the rider in front by about 10 feet or so (I expect it seemed much closer!) while avoiding a head on collision with a pickup truck by about 3 feet. 

The driver of the pickup truck blew his horn and gave a one finger salute to the tractor trailer driver who continued down the road.

We learned later that two Cap2Cap riders had been struck in a hit and run by a tractor trailer, somewhere behind us, on the same stretch of road at about the same time of day. I don’t know if it was the same driver or not and none of us got an ID on the truck. The two riders had to be Medivacced to the hospital with severe injuries. One was released a couple of days later but the other is still in the hospital, having lost a leg to amputation and with severe organ and tissue damage.

(As of today, VA State Police have identified the driver but there has been no announcement of charges or results of the investigation.)

I was glad when we finally made a left turn onto far less frightening pavement.

There was one other accident that passed about 5 miles from the end. This one didn’t have a motor vehicle involved, but a cyclist who appeared to have a pretty bad leg and head injury. She was being attended to by EMTs as we rolled past.

Last Stop

The last SAG stop was at another convenience store where we managed another quick snack, some cookies and fruit, and bottle refills.  While we were heading to our bikes, a local patron (who looked like an extra from Deliverance, frankly) admired our bikes and mentioned that he’d heard that people paid “a thousand dollars for some of them.”  I told him some folks would think that was a cheap bike.

"Y'all look good in them tight pants!"

He responded with, “I think I’ll just drive!” Then he laughed through his missing teeth and wandered off to his pickup truck.  Yessireebob!  (You have to wonder what it looks like when several hundred people, mostly middle aged, suddenly show up in a place like this and we’re all wearing brightly colored Spandex.  It’s got to be pretty weird!)

Kick it in, second wind

With about twelve miles or so to go, we headed off again. Long rides, for me anyway, always seem really long when I know that I’m within striking distance.  Those last five to ten miles seem to take forever.  This one was no exception.

The good news was that it was, except for one small climb at the end, nearly flat.  The bad news was that it turned into the wind the last five miles.  You know the old saying, “Hills make you stronger, the wind just makes you mad.”  It’s true.

MB and I switched off and on, taking the lead for several miles. A woman joined us in that for another couple of miles as we rode past the airport.  Then we rode downhill into this park like area that neither of us had seen before. It was glorious!

We turned onto another road, under a railway trestle, and then up a hill. I knew that we were close to the finish.  After slowly grinding out way up the hill, we spotted signs that looked familiar and we charged down a slight hill and turned back into the Rockett’s Landing area.  Another turn and we crossed the finish line in less than four hours.

It was time for BBQ, cold beer, and some bluegrass music by a local band before loading up the bikes and heading home. With that, MB completed her first half-century ride.  And is still talking to me!

Next up for me, the Tour de Cure century ride!  (Wherein, the old guy finally learns how to properly climb the Blue Ridge Mountains and lives to tell the tale.)

Happy with a beer and BBQ.

More Rides with my Bride

But first a word about a charity ride!

It’s only 4 weeks away and I’m in training for it! I’m talking about the Tour de Cure of the National Capital Area, taking place June 2^nd.  I’m planning to ride the century course, which starts in Reston Town Center and winds its way out into the Blue Ridge Mountains for about 45 miles of beautiful views (and nasty climbs as I discovered last year) before returning to Reston via the W&OD trail, a total ride of 108 miles with 6,800 feet of climbs.

My goal is to raise $1500 for the cure, same as last year. If you’d be willing to donate as little as $5, click the link below and make a donation by credit card.  Chances are, someone you know has diabetes – some may not even know it – and we can make a difference.  Come on, you can do it! One less latte won’t kill you.

http://main.diabetes.org/goto/BrianKeller

MB has game!

As I’ve mentioned before, MB expressed an interest in joining in the Cap2Cap ride here in Richmond. We’re planning to ride the 50 mile loop on May 18^th.

The Cap2Cap trail is a bike trail that is currently under construction between Richmond, the current capital of the state, and Williamsburg, the first capital of the state.  It has been underway for some time and is close to completion with final parts scheduled to finish next year.  Right now, parts of the 50+ mile trip travel over state maintained roadways that are lacking in cycling amenities; little to no shoulder. This ride is an annual fundraiser to help foot the bill for building a paved cycling roadway.

Building up the miles

Over the past couple of years, I’ve gotten to the point where I can ride 50 miles at a time with little strain.  MB has great cardio conditioning but not a lot of saddle time; like most people, sitting on a bike for hours at a time is hard on the tuchis for her. To prep for the 50 miles, we’ve undertaken a couple of training rides.

Kirk Williams Wheel Out

We started a few weeks ago with a 25 miler up in Ashland, a short distance from home. This ride was another fundraiser to benefit a young man named Kirk Williams who was rendered a paraplegic about 4 years ago in a mountain biking accident. I signed us up for it as I saw it as a great stepping stone and a way to help out a cause.

We showed up at a large horse farm that volunteered its facility as a starting point, about a half hour prior to the scheduled start.  As we were queuing up with the other riders, I noticed a woman on a bike I’d never seen before. It was called an Elliptigo and was garnering a lot of attention from the gathered cyclists.  Instead of a typical pedaling motion, the rider is standing upright and moves their feet in a way that is reminiscent of an elliptical machine while holding more traditional handle bars.

An Elliptigo near the Golden Gate Bridge

I asked her how long it would take her to ride the 25 mile course and she said, “I have no idea, I’ve never gone that far before.”  MB said she was in the same boat.

And, they’re off!

At the appointed time, we saddled up and moved out the long, gravel driveway to the main road. MB had our cue sheet and was following me as we settled into a pace we’d agreed to before.  We found ourselves riding in a group of about a dozen or so riders.

After a couple of miles, MB asked if we could pass everybody. I said sure, and we swung out and passed the front of the pack and dropped everyone in no time at all.  By the time we got to the first turn at mile 3, we had put about 400 meters between us.  I settled into my cadence and we pedaled through Ashland on the back streets.

A quick lesson in the Granny Gear

About 8 miles into the ride, the trail took us down a long sloping left hander; MB pointed out a house belonging to friends of our youngest daughter.  It was then I realized that we had a pretty healthy climb coming up. 

The road turned upward and I continued to shift down to keep my cadence at a comfortable pace.  I could see MB in my mirror getting smaller as her pedals slowed down.  Finally, about half way up the hill she dismounted and began to walk.  I continued to the top of the hill and pulled off to the shoulder of the road to wait.

As soon as I pulled over, I saw Elliptigo Girl striding smoothly up the hill just passing MB on foot.  She continued steadily up the hill in her lowest gear and, as she passed me, I gave her a thumbs up of support. 

She gasped out, “I wish this damn thing didn’t weigh 65 pounds!” But she was still smiling as she said it.

When MB got to the top, she was apologizing for having to walk. I pointed out that there is no shame in that; I had to do it myself at the Tour de Cure last year. Sometimes you just have to get off.  

As we moved on down the road, she asked me about how to better use her gearing. I knew that she had been using the middle chain ring as I’d seen her in it. Turns out, she’d not yet dropped to the smallest ring.  Once I pointed this out and gave her my strategy for hills (I work to keep my cadence in the same vicinity of normal which is about 80 rpms for me but usually drops to 60, or so, on hills. Once I’ve worked through all the gears I just tough it out, occasionally standing up to change riding positions) she thanked me and immediately utilized it on the next climb which was even steeper. This resulted in a no-walk ascent and she pointed out it was a lot easier.

At the halfway point, we took a break for a quick snack and a few moments out of the saddle. As we rested, Elliptigo Girl strode past, turned and disappeared up the road. We didn’t see her again until we got back to the farm’s finish area. Evidently, 25 miles is not that tough a ride on one of those if you’re in really good shape.

To the finish

The rest of the ride was uneventful and, blessedly, flat. We were able to keep a pace above 13 mph for nearly all of it despite an occasional headwind.  MB was pleased and ready to try a longer ride soon.

Back at the farm, we grabbed some lunch (local barbeque, yum!) and listened to a local band while we ate and sat in the sunshine, enjoying the day.  How great to enjoy a ride with your best friend!

Final Tune Up

The following weekend, MB wanted to try a longer ride. I had explained to her that I’d read somewhere that, if a cyclist can ride 60% of a particular distance without blowing up, they should be able to ride the full distance desired. Since our plan is to ride a 50 miler, she wanted to crank out 30 miles.

I suggested that we could ride one of the RABA (Richmond Area Bike Association) courses that I’d taken a few months back in a group ride.  It begins about a 10 minute drive from our house, takes place over fairly untraveled roads, and has terrain that is pretty similar to the 50 mile course. I showed her the cue sheet and, since she is very familiar with our local roads, she knew exactly where the ride took us.

Personally, I detest driving to go on a ride; I feel it defeats the entire purpose of riding a bicycle.  That said, if I didn’t do it, at least once in a while, I’d almost never go on a group ride.  So, sometimes you suck it up and do it.

We set out Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch.  After parking in the local library lot, we mounted up and headed out to the road with me in the lead. 

The first couple miles of this course are mostly downhill, a very gentle descent.  This got our pace off to a pretty fast start as a result. After the road leveled off, I put MB in front to set a pace that she was comfortable riding as this was her training ride.  (I had my own training ride that morning when I got in a 30 miler with a buddy with whom I hadn’t ridden in 6 months. I had been cranking it in the morning so this was a recovery ride for me.)

MB kept up a really nice pace of between 12 and 13 mph for most of the ride. The day wasn’t gorgeous, overcast, a little chilly, and an occasional wind gust, but the scenery on this loop is wonderful.  Lots of picturesque, rural homes, some farms of varying sizes and crops, and the occasional historic signpost punctuated the afternoon.

Just past the halfway point, we pulled off on a side road for a break and a snack.  After about 10 minutes, we continued on, turning back onto the second to last leg of, what looks like, a large rectangle on the map.  This 5 mile stretch was heading into a pretty gusty wind and it got painful at times.  I was proud of how MB was able to push on through it, holding her pace.

We made the last turn and started up the 3 miles of climb to the finish. Where the start was mostly downhill, the finish is mostly up and that makes this loop somewhat of a challenge for newish riders.  MB charged up it convincingly, continuing to hold a solid pace. I was very impressed with her stamina and heart, right then. The first time I went on this ride, there were a couple of regular club riders that just barely chugged up this last section.  When I told her that, I think she was surprised.

When we returned to the parking lot, I made a beeline to the porta pottie near the baseball field having clearly over-hydrated.  When I returned to the car, MB mentioned that when we do the Cap2Cap she needs to remember to get entirely off the bike instead of straddling when taking a break.  Evidently, she had some issues swinging her leg over the bike after being in the saddle for so long.  (I know the feeling.)

I’ll remind her of that this weekend!