Long Post – Longer Ride!

How did I get here?

I think that anyone who gets involved in cycling starts to think about it.  (By involved, I mean they move from the meandering pace, enjoying the sights and sounds, to pounding out a rhythm with the pedals, doing it for their health and occasionally suffering in the saddle.  Working to go faster, climbing hills, buying gear….you know the type.)  You start to think about how far you can ride in an hour, or two hours, or a morning, or even a day.  You eventually think, “I wonder if I can do a Century Ride?”

You start out in complete disbelief and denial.  (A hundred miles????  I don’t even like to drive that far if I can avoid it!)  You continue to do your fifteen mile course that you do every time you ride, exercising for about an hour or so.  Then, one day, you stretch it a little bit just to see if you can.  And you’ve now ridden twenty miles.  That’s when it starts!  Like something that’s really bad for you (and heaven knows I’ve done my share of that over the years) you begin to think about it, whenever you go for a ride and begin to indulge more and more.

The next time you feel up to it, you push it again and now you’ve done thirty miles.  You’re doing twice what you did before!  And, if you do less than that, you feel as if you’re cheating and chastise yourself.  (Come on, you big weenie!  You’ve done more than this before.  What are you, a quitter?)  So, you keep riding at least thirty whenever you go out, exercising for 2 hours or less if you can lower your time by getting your average speed up.  (Wow, got way under my personal best this morning!  Love it when it’s not windy!)

One morning, you wake up and decide to try for forty five miles.  For me, that was the day.  The day I told MB, “I’m planning to go for three hours this morning.  I’m going to shoot for forty five miles.”  And when I got home, feeling good about my accomplishment, that’s when I said, “You know, I think I’d like to see if I can do a Century Ride.”

(Fortunately, MB understands me better than anyone else.  She knows that once my mind is made up on something that is within my control, it’s going to happen.  What’s wonderful for me is that, instead of trying to talk me out of it or distracting me with something else, she provides encouragement and support to help me get to my goal.  She’s quite something, really.  I’m lucky to have her.)

Because the Universe knows what it’s doing, within a few days of this pronouncement, I received an email from a friend at work telling me about a group of people that were going to ride in the Tour de Cure, a fundraiser to eliminating Diabetes.  One of the rides was a century and the team captain was planning to ride that length.  I signed up!

With a goal in mind, a date set, a location selected, and a team to join in I couldn’t miss!  I began getting people to donate and quickly raised enough money to join the team.  Thanks to all of you wonderful people!  We raised $1250 for this event!  I’m proud to call you all friends!

I spent the last few months preparing myself to ride.  Most of that preparation has been documented in this blog.  If you’re not a regular reader and perhaps you’d like to catch up, feel free to read the rest of the entries here.  Go ahead!  We’ll wait. 

Shouldn’t one be resting in a place called Reston?

Tour de Cure of the National Capital Area takes place just outside of the Nation’s capital, beginning in a place called Reston, VA.  It was the state’s first planned community and began back in the mid-1960s.  After almost fifty years, it’s become a vibrant community.  (I spent a lot of time in this area back in my youth but not having been there for about thirty years, I was quite impressed by what they’ve done.)  The start of the TdC was set up in the Town Center Square which has a big pavilion that is surrounded by some great shops and restaurants.

Since Reston is about a two hour drive from Richmond, I made arrangements to stay at a Holiday Inn Express (so I’d be smarter!) the night before the ride which was beginning at 6 a.m.  I invited MB to join me and she was glad to tag along.

We rode up Saturday in the early afternoon, arriving at The Bike Lane around 2:30.  The Bike Lane (www.thebikelane.com) is a wonderful LBS (local bike shop as they’re known in the bike world) that is owned by a young couple in the area.  It’s a great store and was acting as one of the hosts for the Tour.  The check in desk was set up on the sidewalk out front and after getting my bib and t-shirt, MB and I walked around the store.

Adam, the store manager, greeted me warmly and offered to help.  I identified myself as one of the Tour riders and MB pointed out that I was going to try my first century and did he have any advice?  He said, “Don’t be a hero.  Be sure to eat and drink a lot during the ride – get something at every rest stop.  Go out at an intelligent pace, just survive the middle section up in the hills, and finish strong.”  It’s funny, that’s what I had been thinking all along based on some of the stuff I’ve read online.  That comment about “surviving the middle section” gave me pause, however.  Was it really that hard? 

Adam also told me that his mechanics would be out in force tomorrow for support and if I needed anything to let them know.  Volunteers really make an event and these guys and ladies were great!

I walked around the rest of the store admiring some of the new Trek bikes that are out.  The new Madone model is quite amazing; feels like it weighs about ten pounds.  I haven’t found many bikes lighter than my old Giant these days.  Then I looked at the price tag and understood why.  The more you pay per pound, the lighter the bikes are.  This one was about $400 a pound.  MB was looking at me with that don’t-even-think-about-it look in her eye and said, “You realize that’s about number 35 on the priority list, right?”  I sighed and put it back in the stand.  (So the new Bicycling Magazine has a review of this bike and it's actually 16 pounds.  That's less than $300 a pound.  Wow!  What a bargain!)

After looking around the store, we decided we had a few hours to kill before dinner.  I suggested to we go to the Udvar-Hazy museum (http://airandspace.si.edu/udvarhazy/), the air and space museum of the Smithsonian, located nearby.  We got in the car and headed over.

Standing on the Shoulders of Giants

In my last post, I talked about the Wright Brothers and their little invention in Dayton that they then flew in Kitty Hawk.  They began an industry that is nothing short of remarkable.  I’m willing to say that the airplane was the single biggest invention of the 20^th century.  Udvar-Hazy has more of them on display (222 is the current count including space craft) than any place on earth!

What an amazing facility!

In one place you can see, an early Wright Flyer, early machines by other flight pioneers, World War I biplanes, World War II fighters, the Enola Gay (dropped the first atomic bomb) a Boeing 707 jet, a Concorde SST, and SR 71 Blackbird – one of the fastest aircraft every flown (New York to Los Angeles in 56 minutes which is an unbroken record) – and the Discovery Space Shuttle.  

And there are hundreds of other planes from experimental home built models to the hottest jets ever created.  We saw one tiny speed plane, seriously it looked like a toy, that was a 9 time national champion with a top speed near 400 mph!

Every time we’d turn a corner, another famous airplane would come into view and we’d just stand and gawk, eyes wide open, and read the information sign.  It was a terrific way to spend a few hours on a Saturday afternoon.  It’s the best free museum you’ll ever find.  (Parking, however, is not.  It’s $15 a car to get in.  I consider it a bargain and that money goes to help the museum grow and improve.)  

The Traditional Carb Loading

Having never done anything like this event, I did a lot of research in preparation.  One of the things I learned about is the tradition of the Carb Loading beforehand.  Allegedly, getting a bunch of complex carbohydrates into your body the night before helps you to maintain your energy level during the event.  I don’t know if that’s true but who am I to argue.

I’m a big fan of carbohydrates.  Part of controlling my diet in my new lifestyle means that I don’t get to eat them whenever I want, however.  Having a reason to do so makes me smile.

MB and I went back to the Reston Town Center area where we’d seen a number of restaurants.  The Tap House grill had caught our eye because we’re both fans of good beer and this place had a couple dozen taps, many of which had names that we’d not seen before.

After getting a table near the street where we could people watch effectively, we ordered some amazing food and a couple of really good micro-brewed beers.  I made sure to have a larger than normal meal with a good mix of proper nutrients, washed down with plenty of water and, of course, some good beer.

Appropriately carb loaded, we headed back to the Holiday Inn to get some sleep.  I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to because I was pretty excited about the next day.  Fortunately, I was able to go to sleep quickly.

McDonalds – No one is lovin’ it!

I woke up before my alarm went off, turned it off, and headed for a shower.  This was so much to clean up (I was about to go get plenty sweaty) but was more about stretching things out.  A few minutes of blazing hot water on my back and neck does wonders for loosening me up.

I suited up in my riding shorts and a Carytown Cycle Shop jersey.  (I wanted to make sure people knew I was from the Richmond area and this LBS is only in that location.)  I filled my water bottles for the first time and collected all the gear I’d be taking with me; helmet, gloves, shoes, a half dozen Honey Stinger Waffles, and MB and I headed out to get me some breakfast at the McDonalds across the street.  

According to the sign on their window, they opened at 4:30 am.

We pulled up and all the lights inside were on and at least one customer was sitting at a table.  We walked in and were greeted by a young man who took our order.  As he did, we over heard a middle aged woman, who turned out to be the manager, mumbling about people not being prepared to work or something like that.  I grabbed my receipt and we went to find a seat.

At that point, we were treated to the strangest thing I’ve ever seen at a Mickey D’s.  The customer that had been seated inside when we entered, got up and went to the counter to ask how long it was going to be.  The “manager” offered him a refund which he took and then left.

A few moments later, three local police officers came in to get breakfast.  I assumed they were about to go on duty as it was around 5:30 in the morning.  The “manager” told them it would be a while.  They left.

The person that had ordered immediately before us went up to the counter and requested a refund as he couldn’t wait any longer.  The manager gave him one and he left.

At this point, MB looked at me and asked what I wanted to do.  We had managed to get our drinks so far but from the way the manager was mumbling, and the lack of staff apparent in the back, it was going to be a while before I got to eat.  At that point, I heard the manager say, “The grill isn’t even on yet….”

I walked up to the counter and asked, “How long will it take to get my breakfast?”

She responded with, “She didn’t even turn the grill on, yet.”  I think she was referring to someone who was supposed to be working in the back but I hadn’t even seen yet.

“Yes, I heard you say that already.  What does that translate to in minutes?  How long will it take to get food?”

She sighed and said, “About forty five minutes or so.”

“Okay. I’d like a refund then.”

She gave me one and we headed off to the Town Center starting area.  I hoped that there would be some kind of fruit or something to eat.

In my lifetime, McDonalds became the largest fast food franchise in the world.  They did it by providing (according to founder Ray Kroc) Quality, Service, Cleanliness, and Value.  The lack of same, along with a trend toward more healthy fare, will be the thing that drives them out of business, given enough time.  I realize this was an anomaly but I’ve also seen more examples of this type of execution there in the past five years than in the rest of my lifetime.  And I eat there far less frequently these days than I ever did before.  I don’t know, maybe it’s just that Americans have gotten used to horrible service and it’s become the norm.  Whatever.

107 miles – Hills suck except when they’re going down!

MB dropped me off near the Pavilion about 5:45 and I gave her a kiss.  She was heading back to the hotel to shower, pack up our stuff, check out, and then wait at a rest stop on the ride.

I walked my bike across the square to get the lay of the land and then hung it in a bike rack that was filling up quickly.  I found some tables of fruit and grabbed a banana and orange for breakfast.  As I ate, I looked around at all the riders beginning to queue up in the area, looking for my team captain, Wes.  I was also looking around at the various shapes and sizes of riders in the crowd.  I haven’t done much riding with others and, I suppose, I was sizing myself up to see if I looked like someone who could ride a century.

I finally spotted Wes in line to check in.  When I caught his eye we exchanged pleasantries, and I told him where I was waiting so we could connect and get organized.

Once he checked in and collected his stuff, I helped him pin his number on the back of his jersey.  Then we grabbed our bikes and rolled them past the mechanics from The Bike Lane to top off the tires.  After fidgeting around for a few more minutes, we realized that it was shortly after 6 am and, since we were allowed to start anytime between 6 and 7 am, we saddled up and rolled off through the starting area.  I punched my computer to let it know I was really doing this and we were off.

The first twenty seven miles of the course followed the W&OD trail, a multi-purpose trail that began its life as a railroad bed.  As a result, the trail was relatively flat although I could detect a very slight uphill grade.  Because it was so flat, our pace was a pretty solid 17-18 mph for the first 90 minutes or so.  On flat ground, I can do that for many hours but I had Adam’s words ringing in my ears about going out at an intelligent pace.  The thing is it just felt like the right speed so I went with it.

There were dozens of riders on the trail, large groups and small, and they kept passing me.  I let them.  I planned to make it to the end and that meant that I had to go with my own pace, listen to my body.  (Sometimes it says things to me that can’t be repeated but right now it was saying, “This is fine!  It feels good, we aren’t breathing hard, heart rate is good, legs feel good.  Just stick with this!”) 

In any case, I was getting comfortable with riding in a large group of people very close together which can be a little unnerving.  Once I got comfortable, it felt great!  So this is what the peloton feels like, huh?  People riding about a foot away at a pretty good rate of speed, blocking the wind.  Not bad!

At some point, I realized that Wes had been swept along by one of the large groups that kept passing me.  I could see him about 200 meters ahead of me and, although I knew he’d wait for me at the first rest stop (he promised he’d drag me around if he had to) I didn’t want him to feel like I was holding him back.  I was riding with five other riders in a small group when I decided I needed to jump across the gap and catch up with Wes.  The problem was I didn’t know how to do it as I’d never done any of this before.

I stood up on the pedals and did some power cranks for about ten seconds.  This increased my speed enough to pull around the person I’d been riding behind and begin to close the gap.  Since I’d kicked up my speed by 3 mph, I sat back down, shifted to a smaller cog, and kept my eyes focused on Wes’ rear wheel while trying to keep my cadence the same as it had been.  The gap grew smaller and in about 10 minutes, I was back on his wheel.  What do you know?  That was easier than I thought.  I had crossed my first gap.

At that point, it was just the two of us riding together as no one had followed me and the group with Wes had ridden off.  We continued along at the same pace as before and started to chat.

Wes is in sales for the company we both work for.  He is one of those people who can talk with anyone (I saw him do it throughout the course of the day.  I’m convinced he can carry on a conversation with a mannequin) and is a good listener, too.  He kept asking me questions and I kept answering; this continued throughout the ride as long as we had breath. We had a pretty long discussion about health care reform at one point.  I don't think we solved anything but it helped the miles go past.

At the first rest stop, we pulled over for a quick break.  I refilled my water bottle and realized I was bordering on hungry.  I grabbed two halves of a PB&J, which I promptly ate, and stuck a couple of Clif Bars in my jersey pocket.  I tore open a Honey Stinger so that I could eat one of those during the next section of the ride but wouldn’t have to open it while riding. (I’m famous for dropping it as I get it open and I wasn’t planning to turn around.) I was going to make sure I gave myself every chance to eat and not lose it based on a lack of energy.

We got back on the bikes and continued along the old railroad bed for about 15 miles to the Purcellville stop where we would leave the trail and switch to country roads.  As we pulled into the parking lot of the Post Office, where volunteers had set up for support, I saw our car in a parking space and knew that MB had made it.  I saw her sitting on the curb, reading her Kindle and called out.  She looked up and waved and walked over to where Wes and I were pulling to a stop.

Wes and I got off our bikes and parked them.  We had decided to take a 15 minute break and it was welcome by me at that point.  As I refilled bottles, got another sandwich and some fruit, and stretched, MB was looking me over to see how I was doing.  (She’s smart enough to know that I’m probably going to say I’m fine unless I’m near death.) I must have passed the examination because when she asked how I felt and I responded positively, she allowed that I looked okay, too.

I introduced MB to Wes and they exchanged niceties.  As they did, I realized that we were slightly over ¼ of the way and I felt pretty good.  My legs felt good, not great.  I also knew that it was about to get considerably more difficult.  I was determined to see this through.

We finished our break, hit the portable toilet (Don’s Johns! I had forgotten that company name.  They must be the market leader in the DC area after all these years - We're #1 in #2 or something like that.) and got set to ride on.  

MB said she’d be waiting at the halfway point or thereabouts and expected us in a couple of hours.

We rode out of town and onto two lane blacktop roads.

The next four hours or so are a bit of a blur to me.  We rode the first 25 miles through some lovely parts of the Blue Ridge Mountains, passing farms that were over 200 years old and some that were less than 10.  We saw some tiny shacks and some enormous mansions.  What I mostly remember though were the hills.  We climbed and we descended.  Over and over again.  Some of the hills were short and not very steep; these are often referred to as rollers.  Some of them were longer and a little steeper.  These are referred to as climbs.  Some were long and steep.  I refer to these as hell.

Sure it's pretty! You aren't riding uphill in front of it!

That first half of the road loop was plenty exhilarating to me.  The climbs were enough to get my heart pounding near my maximum (I have no idea what that is but I’ve heard serious cyclists say it) and I was unable to speak for several minutes after each one.  After looking at the online road chart, I know that some of them were around 8% for short stretches.  That’s what real riders do.  I’m not a real rider.  

As a result, I was struggling.

Around mile 53, I saw a parking lot coming up where riders were pulling in.  It was the halfway station!  As we pulled in, there was great clapping from the volunteers and I saw smiles everywhere I looked.  MB stood up and smiled and then immediately frowned.  She had our digital SLR and was going to take our picture as we came in when the battery died!  What a shame that we’ll never have the look of relief on my face saved for posterity.

I dismounted and propped the bike against a fence, stretching my back and legs.  Halfway and I felt like this?  Maybe the worst was behind us.  Yeah, right.  It can always get worse.

I drank and ate again.  PB&Js had now become the best food I’d ever eaten!  And the orange was amazing, too.  I also wolfed down a couple of Clif bars for good measure.  I started to feel better, at least I think I did.

MB asked me how I was holding up.  I told her I thought I was okay but those hills had been killers.  She smiled and said, “I overheard a couple guys talking about them.  One said they were just a warm up. Evidently, it gets harder from here.”  I smiled.  Kind of.  Actually, it was the face I make when I’m trying not to vomit.

Wes leaned in.  “He’s doing great! We’re going to make this, no problem!”  I agreed.

Wes and I stretched for about fifteen minutes or so, and made sure to get enough food down for another two hours.  Before heading out, I topped off my water bottles again, tore open two more Honey Stingers and a Clif bar, and saddled up.  MB said she’d be waiting at the finish line.  I told her we’d see her in about four hours or less.

Hell makes a return visit

The guys that MB overheard were right, dammit.  There were slightly fewer hills on the next 25 mile section but they were steeper.  How steep?  For the first time since I’d gotten my road bike, I shifted to the smallest chain ring and the largest cog.  That’s affectionately known to cyclists as the “granny gear.”  It’s where you’re pedaling steadily at your normal cadence and hoping you remain upright since you’re moving so slowly you might fall over.  It’s designed for the steepest hill that no other gear will do. 

Despite using the granny gear, I still had to get off the bike and walk it because I couldn’t go any further pedaling.  My Ass Just Hurt. Too. Badly.  I simply had to get off right this very second or risk falling off.  I was on the verge of sobbing.  Seriously.

Good grief!  The walk of shame.  Three times.  I felt like a wuss.  Until I saw several others riders (who all looked like cyclists – full kit, nice jersey, nice bike, the whole thing!) pushing their bike, too. 

That’s when I realized that pushing the bike wasn’t a walk of shame. It was a temporary respite from the pain so one can continue.  So that one doesn’t have to quit entirely.  And I began to feel better.  I even managed to ride my way up a couple of hills that were steeper than ones I’d walked up already.

The downhill parts were pretty cool.  On one, I simply glided to a speed of 38 mph without once touching the pedals.  (I was trying to rest.)  That’s pretty steep if you ask me.  (I realize that folks that live in the real mountains, out west, are laughing at this blog post.  Yeah, yeah, I know you have real mountains out there.  Get over yourself.  It’s all relative.)  Those downhill bits are the payback for the climb.  I just wish they lasted longer.

See the blue in the background?  Hence the name!

By the time the hills were over, we’d done over 6,000 feet of climbs in a 45 mile stretch.  Based on what I’ve read, that’s some pretty good climbing.

Eventually, we rolled out of the last roller and back into Purcellville.  We were at mile 80 or so.  The rest of the ride would be on mostly flat railroad bed/trail.  But first we had a rest stop.  Thank God!

We pulled back into the Post Office parking lot that we’d hit coming off the trail on the way out.  The volunteers had the same fare as before laid out and added Subway subs.  (I'm always impressed with the sponsors of events like this.  Thank you Subway!  And thank you Clif Bars!)  Riders were grabbing sandwiches and wolfing them down.  I stuck with the PB&J as I felt like I needed the quick energy burst.  I also knew that I could eat them without worrying about dietary issues.  I refilled my water bottles, too, after drinking my fill.

At this point, I felt like I was going to be able to finish.  I knew the last thirty miles or so were flat with the tiniest of downhill grades.  Wes still looked strong but he’s one of those guys who always has a smile on his face anyway.  He mentioned that there were 2 stops left and he wanted to know if I was okay with skipping one of them.  We agreed to hit the last one, about eleven miles from the finish.

We swung back onto the bikes and picked up the old railroad trail.  After all the hills, it was glorious!  I felt like singing.  I hung on Wes’ wheel as we hit about 18 mph, passing riders, runners, and walkers in both directions.  Now that it was after lunch, the trail was crowded with weekend outdoor lovers, not just TdC riders.

We rolled through the first rest stop and continued on with about 20 miles to go.  As we rode, we were continuously passed by other riders.  Some were TdC riders who were headed for the finish.  Most were just riders out on the trail.  In my area, we have nothing like this trail for cyclists at least not that I’m aware of.  The number of folks using it was amazing to me.  (I may have to look into this.  If Richmond is holding the World Cycling Championships in 2015, shouldn’t we have this kind of system going, too?)

Our pace had slowed considerably and we were holding about a 13-14 mph pace.  This was driven to some degree by the traffic.  Occasionally, we’d have to slow down to wait for room to pass someone.  There was also a bit of wind kicking up here and there which was dead in our faces.

At one point, Wes slowed down a bit and was stretching his back while coasting.  Since he had been leading most of the way, I thought I should help him out.  I swung past him and said, “I’ll pull for a while.  Get on my wheel. You’ve been doing all the work.”  He slid into line and immediately said, “This is much easier! Wow! Where have you been all day?”

I laughed and hollered back at him, “I’ve been trying to keep up!” 

I stepped the pace up a little bit as we crested a tiny hill caused by a flyover a road.  I held the pace at about 16 mph for a couple of miles while Wes recovered behind me.  I was catching another wind and feeling okay again.  I found it really interesting that when I just ground through the really rough spots, my body would come back again a little farther down the road.  Clearly, the mental aspect of this is a big deal on these long rides.

We were only about 8 miles out when Wes passed me and said thanks for the pull.  He was feeling better and took the lead again.  A couple of miles went by in silence, as had most of this last thirty mile section.  Suddenly, Wes sat up and looked around.

“Hey dude, check your odometer.  What’s it say?”

“I was watching it, too.  I’d have to call that a hundred miles!” I replied.

“Congratulations, sir!  How’s it feel?” Wes was grinning as was I.

“It feels great!  And we’re almost home.  Let’s get busy!”

We continued down the trail for about twenty minutes and suddenly there was a detour off of it.  It looked as if the trail was closed due to some kind of work being done to a bridge up ahead.  The detour took us down to the road where we hit another detour caused by a carnival that was set up and taking over several blocks of parking lot and roads. 

After several turns through a neighborhood we came back out on a main street and suddenly, the trail reappeared.  We turned onto it again with only a couple of miles left to go.  At this point, Wes had slid back behind me again.  I think he wanted me to have the chance to go first as we headed into the finish area.

Finally, I could see we’d reached the trail end.  There was a sign pointing to the street that we’d crossed to start the ride 8+ hours before and there was the pavilion!  There was a wall of sound emanating from the area as we approached.  I caught a glimpse of MB sitting behind the stage as we approached and she jumped up to take my picture.  I raised my left arm and grinned as she snapped it and turned down the roadway next to the pavilion.  Both sides were full of people who suddenly started applauding as Wes and I made our way toward the bike racks set up for cyclists to park and eat.  It felt really cool to have all these people smiling, clapping and giving us the thumbs up!  

It felt like I’d won something.  I suppose, I had.

We stopped and dismounted.  I stuck out my hand told Wes thanks for dragging me through the rough spots.  He thanked me for pushing him along and pulling him when he needed it, too.

MB came through the crowd and patted me on the back, asking me how I felt, if I was hungry, thirsty, did I need anything?  I said, “I just want to get something to eat and walk around for a few minutes.  And then I want a beer.”

Aftermath

After relaxing for about twenty minutes with several sandwiches, a slice of pizza, and another quart of water, I was ready to head for home.  I thanked Wes, again, and we agreed to do another ride soon.  (No, Wes, I’m not doing that Severe Century or whatever it was.  That sounds too brutal, or impossible.  Don't even suggest it.  Okay, maybe next year.)

MB and I walked my bike to where the car was parked and I loaded it onto the rack, changed my shirt and shoes, and collapsed in the front seat.  Frankly, the next hour or so was kind of a blur. 

I felt totally wiped out but very much alive.  My wrists and left elbow, which toward the end of the ride were on fire, didn’t seem to be hurting so badly.  My legs were tired but seemed to be able to support me.  My neck was pretty sore but tolerable.  

As MB negotiated the Beltway, finally getting us onto I95 South, she told me several times how proud she was of my efforts and glad that I was no worse for wear.

At some point, I apparently fell asleep.  Traffic was at a standstill and MB took this shot which she immediately posted to Facebook.  That’s me, out like a light, holding a water bottle, and snoring. 

I slept for about 30 minutes and when I woke up, I had to lift my head with one hand as my neck seemed to have lost its hoisting ability.  Once I woke up fully, I became much more aware of things and spent the rest of the drive chatting with MB about the ride, the sights, the hills, the volunteers, and the feeling of finishing.

When we got home, I was surprised to find that I could climb stairs with no problem.  This was good because I had to do it several times to put stuff away.  I was in much better shape than I thought.

I took the hottest shower I could stand for about 20 minutes.  I was surprised at how much grit was on my face, arms, and legs from the ride.  That may have been the best shower I’ve ever taken in my life.

Once I got dressed, I felt totally human again.  I opened a beer and watched some TV while MB fixed dinner.  It was good to be home.

The next morning, I woke up with some trepidation.  When I’ve done something exhausting in the past, it’s always the next day that hurts.  Badly.  I opened my eyes and started mentally checking out body parts.

Neck?  Seems to be okay; yes I can turn my head.  Wrists? Hmm, no pain at all.  Elbows? They seem fine, too.  Legs?  Well, I can tell I did something yesterday but they don’t feel any worse than when I’ve ridden 40 miles.  I’m going to live.  I sat up.  Definitely going to live!  And much happier than ever, too!

I got dressed and went to get the paper.  Life is good.

Thoughts on Riding a Century

I started out wondering if I could do this.  Frankly, if the ride had been on that old railroad trail for 100 miles, I would barely have broken a sweat.  I feel as if I can ride all day long on the flats.  (We’re going back to OBX in July.  I’ll let you know if that’s true.  I’m thinking about trying a solo century down there.)

What this ride taught me is that the hills are going to challenge me for a while.  I don’t ride them very often (not any that are this big, anyway) and so my climbing technique and the power to do it, isn’t very well developed.  Part of me is thinking that’s okay, it doesn’t have to be.  Another part of me is wondering how I go about doing that.  Damn, retired athletes.

Will I do this again?  That’s still something I’m wondering about.  The answer is probably yes.  I love that it was for charity; that made me feel really good regardless of the pain.  I loved the challenge, the camaraderie, the struggle, and to some degree, the suffering.  There’s something about learning how much you can stand, how much you’re willing to take, that you’re limit is farther out than you thought, that is eye opening and fulfilling.  It’s not an adrenaline shot.  It’s much more for the soul.  

And I needed that.  And will need it again.

I Wanna Go Back To The Island…….

Thanks to Mr. Buffett for the inspiration in that song.

MB and I have been working very hard for the last six months and were more than ready for a vacation.  Fortunately, her family loves to get together for reunions at least once a year.  This year, a large group got a huge house on the beach in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina.  For those of you not from around these parts this area is called the Outer Banks (OBX), a large string of barrier islands on the Atlantic Ocean that helps to protect the mainland from large storms and the constant pounding of waves.

If Kill Devil Hills sounds familiar to you, it’s because that’s where the Wright Brothers first flew a heavier than air machine on December 17^th, 1903.  (Thus beginning a long, strange trip to standing in long lines while removing parts of clothing, getting x-rayed, and felt up by bored government employees, all while hoping against hope that you’ll be able to get your luggage into a ridiculously small space.) The monument to that achievement is within sight of the house in which we were staying (see picture) and is well worth a visit.  

You can see a replica of the original Wright Flyer; the original hangs in the Smithsonian’s Air and Space museum today.  You can also walk the flight path and see the spot where that famous photograph was taken.  It’s great fun, particularly if you’re an airplane fan (like me) or a history buff (like me, too).

The reason the Wrights, who were from Dayton Ohio, chose this spot to perform their flying experiments is the wind.  They wrote to the National Weather Service and were given several locations for “sustained winds” including Kitty Hawk, NC.  That was actually the nearest town at the time.  I’m guessing there were only a couple of dozen people living here, back then, a far cry from the huge crowds and enormous houses that populate the surrounding area today.

First ride

The day dawned clear and beautiful on Monday morning.  After being cooped up in a car for the four hour ride and then the house the prior evening due to the rain, I was ready to hit the bike.  My wife’s cousin’s husband (cousin-in-law? I’ll refer to him as Cuz) had brought his road bike and we were planning some rides together.  I loaded up the water bottles, grabbed a Honey Stinger Waffle, and we headed north on NC 12 also known as Virginia Dare boulevard.  (Virginia Dare was person born in the Lost Colony of North Carolina.  Google it for a fascinating read.)  Our plan was to ride for a couple of hours.

We chose a northerly course as the wind seemed to be out of the northeast and I’d rather have a tailwind when I turn for home.  There wasn’t much wind but you could feel it, mostly across rather than helping or hurting.

The road is dead flat here.  As someone who lives in the hillier area of Virginia, this is like heaven!  No hills? Sign me up! It is so much easier to keep a pace on this.  Wow, what a difference.  Additionally, the roads, for the most part, have excellent shoulders / bike lanes which make it easy to feel safe even on a 45 mph speed limit area like this. 

We rolled for an hour or so, continuing up into Duck and Corolla, keeping a fifteen to sixteen mph pace, and then stopped for a quick blow and drink.  Since I had been doing more riding than Cuz, I allowed him to decide how fast and far to ride this morning.  When we stopped, he mentioned that he felt good and since it was such a great morning, why not continue northward?  I could only agree.  He then said, he was tempted to ride all the way to the Currituck Lighthouse and I agreed, again.  We rolled on for another few minutes and then saw a sign that said the lighthouse was another 9 miles.  We pedaled on.

After chugging along for another forty five minutes, we pulled into the lighthouse parking lot and dismounted for a drink and a short rest.  I realized that we would soon be coming up on two hours and since that’s when MB begins to develop road carnage ideas, I knew it was important to let her know that we’d be later than I’d planned.  I called her cell phone and got voice mail.  Called one of the daughters and got voice mail.  Called MB’s work cell phone and got voice mail and left a message this time.  (Of course, I realized that all those messages would drive her to think we’d been hit by a car and were in dire straits but it couldn’t be helped at this point.)

We split the waffle I’d brought; I wished I’d brought a handful of them as I knew I was going to be starving by the time we got back to the house.  We had a drink, chatted about the ride so far, and prepared to head back.

I took the lead as we headed out of the parking lot.  As soon as I turned onto the road, I realized that the wind had switched around and was quartering into us.  I put my head down and bumped the pace up to about 18 mph, Cuz got on my wheel, and we motored back towards the southern beaches.  I kept this pace going for the first couple of miles when I noticed that Cuz was dropping back, slightly.  I backed off on my efforts and we hooked back up.

We continued along for just over an hour and then pulled into the convenience store that sits near the entrance to the Outer Banks for a breather. Cuz mentioned how glad he was that I’d slowed down; when he saw the pace I started to return, he was worried about how long he’d be able to hold it.  I called MB again to let her know we were about thirty minutes away and got her voice mail.  I left a message giving her a time when we’d be pulling in.

We pulled back onto Rt. 12 for the last 7 miles and kept to the 15 mph pace again.  About 3 miles from home, I heard my cell phone going off in my jersey pocket.  I ignored it and kept my head down into the wind.  A couple of minutes later, I heard it again.  Sigh.  Road carnage thoughts were causing cell phone motivation.  I kept pedaling and ignoring the subsequent calls.  I was starving and needed to eat soon or face the Bonk.

About 15 minutes later we pulled into the driveway and I was able to grab my phone and call MB to tell her we’d returned and ask her to make me a PBJ, stat.  After stowing my bike, I navigated two flights of steps, ate the sandwich, and grabbed a quick shower so we could run out to lunch at the OBX Brewing Station, a local micro brewery that is the only wind powered brewery on the East Coast!  What a great way to start a week at the beach!

Shorties but Goodies

The next couple of days I went out on shorter rides, some solo and some with Cuz.  One day I rode twice, a 20 miler in the morning by myself and a 25 miler in the afternoon with him. 

I actually preferred early morning riding there because the wind is usually down a bit, in the 3-5 mph range.  Afternoons the wind is more like 12-15 mph and, while that’s manageable, it can be grueling.  The old saying, “Hills make you stronger, the wind just makes you mean!” is never truer than at the beach.  If it’s a headwind, you really have to grind through it.  Crosswinds, and in this area it’s almost always slightly across you, can be exciting because they can shove you into traffic or off the road and into the sand if they’re gusty enough. (Tailwinds are so wonderful I’m thinking about a separate post as an ode to them!)

In any case, these frequent, short rides felt great!  I was beginning to feel like a cyclist!

Big Plans, Small Breakdown

I was feeling so good in fact that I decided I wanted to put down a longer ride.  I decided to ride south on Thursday across Oregon Inlet (a big bridge of about 3 miles; here's a picture) on to Hatteras Island and back for a 60+ mile tour.  Cuz said he was ready to try it, too.  I told MB we’d be back in about 4 hours or so and pulled out around 8 am.

It was a gorgeous morning with a very light cross/head wind.  We pedaled south along Rt. 12 enjoying the ride.  Every so often, the dunes on the left would give way to a view of the ocean waves gently sliding up the sand.  Once we got about 10 miles south, the area turned very residential.  The traffic lessened and the views got better and better.  We took a short break in a maintenance parking lot next to Bodie Island.  We talked about having to pull out onto the main road in a few hundred yards where the speed limit is 55 and the shoulder is a little less forgiving.  We decided that the drivers, thus far, had been fairly reasonable so we shouldn’t have any worries.  Just the same, Cuz made sure that the red blinkie I’d given him was working properly and secure on the back of his saddle bag.

We turned onto the main road and began to pedal across Bodie Island. Off to the right, we got a look at the Bodie Island lighthouse.  The lighthouses in this area are quite famous and wonderful places to visit.

About 4 miles down the road, I spied the Oregon Inlet Bridge in the distance.  I had no idea how wide it was or what it would be like to cross it on a bike and it occurred to me that the wind was picking up, too.  This was going to be interesting.  Or something.

As we got closer, we could see that the bridge itself was made up of flat sections at each end with a rising structure in the middle to accommodate boats moving from the sound out into the ocean.  Based on the flatness that is the area, that rise looked pretty big although it only appears to be 50 feet according to my computer.

As we moved out onto the bridge, I noted that the lanes appeared to be pretty wide which was good.  The shoulders, however, were less than 18 inches wide and the curb at the edge was very tall, meaning (see the picture below) that if you hit one with a pedal or wheel, you were going down.  Things were getting very interesting, indeed.  And the wind was picking up and was blowing about 15 steady with gusts to 20, in our faces and slightly towards the curb.  (Carl Spackler – So we got that going for us, which is nice!)

Vehicle traffic was reasonable with packs of five or six cars and trucks going by at a time.  All the drivers were good about making sure there was ample room to pass so it never felt too frightening.  In fact, whenever a really big one went past, there was a slight pull from blocking the wind for a second.

That last 200 yards to the top of the bridge was brutal. (Yeah, I’m not going to be in the Tour this year.)

I was trying to hold a decent pace and saw that Cuz had dropped off my wheel and was now about 200 yards farther back.  I shifted to a smaller gear to keep my revolutions up and put my head down.  As I felt the road level off, I sat up and looked back at Cuz. He was cranking hard and I thought I saw his lips moving, rhythmically.  I stopped at the top of the bridge and put my right foot up on the curb, with my bike pulled as far over as I could, to wait.

Cuz chugged up behind me and stopped, mimicking my position.  We caught our breath, enjoyed the view of the highest point for about 25 miles around, and drank from our water bottles.

“I had a mantra going up that last climb,” he said, after he’d caught his breath.  “It was ‘f&%k me, f&%K me’ over and over again.”  That’s what I’d seen his lips mouthing!

I cracked up.  “I had the same one.  It’s my favorite wind song.  And that climb with that wind deserved it!” 

We stowed the bottles, waited until the last car rolled by and then headed down the other side.  Despite the wind, we hit almost 28 mph on the descent without really trying. 

Once we got off the bridge proper, the dunes that the road wove between blocked the wind remarkably well.  We pedaled across the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge (the next island in the chain) looking at mostly sand dunes.  Views of the ocean were pretty scarce but the desolate feel of this stretch was, somehow, engaging to me.  Here's an example.

Cars and trucks continued to pass us, most giving us a wide berth.  Occasionally, traffic in both directions would cause the vehicles behind us to have to slow down to our speed until it was clear to pass.  No one seemed to mind, however, and I began to get comfortable with riding in their midst.  Getting comfortable is when bad stuff happens, unfortunately.

In my mirror, I noticed a very large Ford F150 pickup coming up behind us.  It didn’t appear to be moving over to give us a wider berth but it did slow down which always makes me feel better if for no other reason than I know they see me.  The driver continued to slow down until he was at about 25 or 30 when he passed us.  When the front bumper of the truck had reached a spot directly behind me, probably less than 2 feet away, the driver blew the horn!

My body flinched in a reflex action and adrenaline shot through me.  I managed to keep the bike on the road as the driver accelerated past me.  I shouted the first thing that came to my mind and it wasn’t “Have a nice day!”  As I did, I heard the driver let off the gas and saw him looking at me in the rear view mirror.  So, I said it again, clearly mouthing the words so he could lip read; didn’t want him to misinterpret my thoughts!  At that point, he touched the brake and started to weave back and forth in a rather aggressive manner.  I responded with, “Yes! Please stop!  Let’s chat!” as I began really pounding the pedals to catch up.  He took off, instead. Hmm, must have seen my face.

I truly don’t think I’m a violent person.  The adrenaline shooting through me would have worn off by the time I caught him, I think.  (If it hadn't I might have torn his head off with the first punch.  Man, I was pissed.)

What I wanted to point out to him, of course, was that his actions constitute attempted vehicular assault, a felony in most states.  And I had his license number committed to memory. (NC OBX31459 – I’ve got your number, dude!) I’m sorry, but that kind of shit has no place on our roads today and I’m not going to allow it to happen to me.  And if I can get one more clown to stop, I’ll even risk taking a pounding to do it.

The rest of the ride was uneventful and we stopped to take a break at a very small bridge.  We had come about 27 miles.  This bridge looked rustic (or decrepit depending your point of view) and the lanes were narrow with no shoulder.  We broke out snacks and water and discussed our options, eventually deciding that there was no need to tempt fate any further, at least not into the wind.

After a fifteen minute rest, we saddled up and headed back the way we’d come.  The wind through the dunes had been very small coming down and the tailwind wasn’t much either.  At least, it wasn’t much until we started out across the bridge on the return trip.  That tailwind made the climb a pleasure to take and we were able to clock 30 mph going down the back side without touching the pedals!  What a joy!

We cycled across Bodie Island, passing the lighthouse on our left this time.  The wind held fair for us and we were making much better speed heading back.  After pedaling for about an hour, we stopped in the same maintenance parking lot for another rest.  Cuz was looking a bit worn but said he felt okay.  I felt great and was thinking about adding a northern loop of 10 or 15 miles after we got back to our starting point.

A cyclist on a recumbent bike passed us going in the direction from which we’d just come.  He returned about three minutes later and asked where we were heading.  After finding out our direction, he decided to ride back with us.  He was on vacation from Minnesota and was a nice guy.  (Let’s call him Odie.) We set off as a threesome, enjoying the day and the tailwind.

We were about 5 miles from the house, I was leading our pace line, when I suddenly heard a hissing sound and Odie hollered, “Your flatting!”  I hit the brakes and got off the pavement into the grass, dismounting quickly.  Sure enough, the back tire had lost its air.  Damn.  My first flat tire in 40+ years.  Cuz, who had been lagging a bit for the last few kilometers, mentioned how glad he was that we stopped, not realizing it was due to a mechanical.

I did a quick inspection of the tire and couldn’t find any kind of puncture.  I remembered riding through a sprinkling of a broken beer bottle about 4 miles back but there was no evidence of it cutting the tire and the tires I’m sporting these days are well known for being tough; I’d gotten them because I was looking less for performance and more for safety.

I carry a repair kit, a pump, and a spare tube.  But after about 45 miles, so close to safe harbor, I didn’t really feel like fixing it here.  So I used the best tool in the bike repair kit, a cell phone, to call MB to come pick us up.  She said she’d be there in 15 minutes or so.

Once Odie learned we had things in hand, he bid us good day and pedaled off.  I enjoyed getting a chance to learn about recumbent bikes during the ride from a nice guy.  There are trade-offs to them, in terms of weight and climbing capability, but at some point, I can see myself switching to one at least occasionally.

MB showed up a few minutes later and we loaded up our bikes and headed back to the house. 

After a shower and lunch, I went out to see about a repair on my tire.  After removing the wheel (bear in mind, I’m not a mechanic just yet) I managed to get one side of the tire off the rim and pull out the tube which I then inflated in order to find the leak.  I could immediately here air hissing out from around the valve seat.  Turns out the failure had occurred there, causing the flat.  It was weird that nothing in particular had made it happen, it just did.  Oh well, at least it wasn’t during a fast descent of a bridge with cars all around!

I rechecked the rim to make sure there wasn't something wrong that caused the failure, replaced the tube, re-inflated it to pressure, reinstalled the wheel, and then took a quick spin up and down the road to ensure I’d gotten everything back together properly.  Everything seemed to be in order so I parked it and drank a beer to celebrate my craftsmanship. 

No place like home when you’re this far away……

The next day was Friday and I had planned to get one more ride in before heading home.  The weather was crappy; kind of cold, really windy, some ugly clouds lurking around.  We decided to head out earlier instead of later so we packed up the car, hung the bikes on the back and drove back to Richmond.  I got a couple of short rides in over the weekend.  Want to make sure I stay in good form.  Next weekend is my first century ride and the blog will have a ride report next week.

Is cycling in the OBX worth the trip?

From this first trip, I have to say unequivocally, yes! The roads are very navigable for cyclists with generous shoulders in most cases.  There are even bike lanes and some bike trails in a couple of places.  The flatness of the area makes for a very pleasant cycling experience. With the exception of the one aforementioned idiot we encountered a very bike friendly area, too.  One of my solo rides, I was cycling past a small municipal area in the town of Nags Head.  A worker was cutting the grass right next to the road and this was throwing the cuttings out onto the road itself.  When he saw me approaching, he shut off the mower so I wouldn’t be exposed to this!  That’s bike friendly!  I waved in thanks and he smiled and waved back.

I’m going back for another week with July, staying much farther north with MB and some friends.  I’ll report back based on that.

Keep the rubber side down!

South Nags Head on Dwellable

Weirdness with pool and a biking breakthrough!

I thought practice made perfect…..

As most of you know, I really love to compete and the only real competition I get to engage in these days is on the pool table.  I love the mano a mano of a good match. I even enjoy competing against myself when practicing; attempting to set a new high run or effectively accomplishing a drill gives me some juice, too.

I’ve always been the kind of competitor that enjoys practice.  Back in my early days of golf, I would hit shot after shot trying to get it right.  The summer between my junior and senior year in high school, I hit a thousand balls a day with a pitching wedge in the field behind our house.  From inside a hundred yards, there wasn’t a shot that I couldn’t play back then.  I could hit it high or low, make it stop or roll, hook it or fade it and all with pretty deadly accuracy.  By the end of the summer, there were almost no grooves left on the face of that wedge in an area that was centered on the club’s sweet spot.  I had, literally, worn out the club.  Sigh.  If you don’t use it, you lose it.

So lately, I’ve had little time to practice my pool game.  I’ve been traveling on business and preparing for my company’s national sales meeting has taken a great deal of time, too.  (For those of you that asked, it was a huge success for my team and me! We are being heaped with praise for helping to make the meeting a huge success.  You know what that means, right?  Next year is going to be even tougher.  You’re only as good as your most recent performance, I hear.)

What’s weird about my not having any practice time is that my pool game not only hasn’t suffered, it’s jumped up a notch.  Over a four week period, I didn’t lose a single league match and my rating (it’s a handicap league, designed to make it fair for all teams) had become the highest in the league.  Since I’m the League Operator, this made for some interesting discussions last week.

“Dude, you’re a ten?” was the most common response to seeing the league stat sheets that come in the weekly packet.  There were actually four or five people that made of point of coming over to ask me if it was correct.  My response remained static.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised!  Handicaps are all based in math and it just proves that nearly every data set has an outlier.  I’m the outlier this month!”  A few people intimated that I was cooking the books to raise my handicap until I pointed out that doing so would make it more difficult for my team to win as we’d be unnecessarily spotting more weight to lesser teams.  Why would I do that?  (I’ve come to understand that most pool players rarely allow logic to dictate their points of view.)

In any case, I’ve realized that what has been carrying me to better performance has been a much increased focus when playing.  A lack of intense focus is something I’ve struggled with in pool and golf, all my life.  Reaction games, where you don’t initiate the action but react to it, have never given me a problem.  It’s initiating the action, giving me time to think about doing it correctly, is where I’ve floundered. 

For some reason, my mind has been clear and I’ve been well focused every time I’ve approached the table for the past month or so.  I’m trying to figure out what is causing this new found success so I can maintain it!  Is it due to a lack of practice? Is it stress in the rest of my life is taking my brain away from performance anxiety?  Have I been reaching Optimum Beer Level prior to playing?  (OBL is considered by many players to be a key to performance.) If I find out and discover it can be replicated and taught, I’m so going to write a book about it and make millions.

Biking Breakthrough

I returned from the sales meeting in Las Vegas last Thursday evening.  Six days in Sin City had taken a toll on me, despite our successes.  Friday was our middle daughter’s graduation from college (summa cum laude – highest honors - she takes after her mom) and by Saturday morning I was finally free to take a ride.

The weather forecast was for a beautiful day in the low seventies and the team at Accuweather was right on the money.  There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, the wind was negligible and the temperature was just perfect!

I filled up my water bottles, stuffed a couple of Honey Stinger waffles in my jersey pockets, stretched out my back and legs, and saddled up for a long ride.  I was planning for at least a three hour tour.  (Look out, Skipper!)

My plan was to head up into Montpelier on the same road I had taken a few weeks ago (past Hopeful Baptist Church) but then stretch it out further by combining that route with my regular lap into Goochland County before returning to Hanover.  I could do this by swinging onto Spring Road, following it past my best friend’s house, and then over to my regular route.

I estimated this new loop to be about thirty miles and I planned to complete it and then tack on my flat “suburb” loop through Henrico County which would make the ride about forty five miles in total.  I can usually do that in less than three hours but the first half would be pretty hilly and I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t go over my time.  MB gauges the time I’m gone and I don’t want to contribute to what she refers to as “road carnage” thoughts.  (Once I haven’t returned when I say I’m going to, she begins to wonder if I’ve become a statistic, thus the road carnage allusion.)

I rode the first couple of miles trying to get my breath.  I’ve noticed that the early part of a ride is, for me anyway, totally out of breath.  I refer to it as the wheezing geezer stage. No matter how I try, I just huff and puff trying to get enough air in my lungs.  Does everyone do this?  Am I doing something wrong?  After about fifteen or twenty minutes, I seem to catch my breath and can actually carry on a conversation if needed.  I need to do some more research on this.  Anybody know what this is called?  Is it anaerobic exertion?

I rolled into Montpelier on Bethany Church road and turned onto Route 33, heading northwest.  I was enjoying the weather, the lack of traffic and wind, and I felt really good.  My pace was decidedly faster than normal and I didn’t know why; I decided to keep it going and see what I could do.

I was sailing along at about 22 miles per hour when I realized I was about to miss the turn onto Hopeful Church road.  There was no traffic so I was able to brake in time and make the turn with very little speed scrubbed off.  I pedaled on.

When I came to the downhill section of this leg, I dropped down over the bars and accelerated to the bottom.  This enabled me to really fly up the first rise on the other side with little effort and keep my speed above my typical 15 mph average.  I found myself really hammering through the little rollers that make this part of the ride a challenge and before I knew it, I was at Hopeful Church in only 52 minutes.  Wow! That was over five minutes faster than the last time I did this route.  I thought about that as I stopped for a quick snack and killed the first water bottle.  Was I going to bonk in a little while have to make the call of shame to MB? (Can you come get me?  I’ve got nothing left….)

I swung back onto the seat and headed down Taylor’s Creek back toward town.  When I got to Spring Road, I hung a right and started up the slight rise that makes up the next quarter mile or so.  It didn’t seem to slow me down much.  How strange!

I crested the hill right in front of my best friend’s house and almost expected to see him in the front yard; he would make some hysterical comment about bike shorts if he saw me.  No such luck.

I continued up Spring Road, not really remembering much about its rise and fall.  I hadn’t driven on the road in probably three years.  Suddenly, I was facing the hill that leads up to where I would hook up with my regular route on Vontay road.  That hill ends at, what the locals refer to as, Ray’s Quick Stop.

(This is a very Southern thing.  Ray’s Quick Stop used to be a local pizza place until it closed 7 or 8 years ago.  Nothing has been in that building since, despite the fact that the owner gave the outside a facelift a few years ago.  But it’s still called that by the locals.  Ask for directions down south and you may hear something like, “Go to route 624 and turn where Jimmy’s Red Barn burned down” which is not useful if you never saw his red barn before it burned down.  Unless the remains are still there.  Oh wait, maybe it is useful!)

Anyway, this hill is probably a half mile long and has a steady rise to it totaling around 130 feet which is only a 5% grade.  That’s certainly not Tour de France material but to someone like me, it’s a lung buster.  By the time I got the top, I was blowing hard trying to get enough air into my lungs.  Fortunately, no one was there to see me gasping like a fish on the dock as I rolled over the top, thrilled that I could stop pedaling for a few seconds.

I recovered faster than I expected and continued on.  The next few hills went by quickly and I seemed to be suffering less than usual.  That seemed odd since I should have been more tired having covered more ground than I normally do, with more hills in the mix.

When I turned onto Dogwood Trail, I felt great again.  This is my favorite part of the ride.  It’s about four miles, mostly flat with a couple of small rollers, and the last half mile is down a nice hill where I can usually get up to 35 mph or so.  I tucked myself over the bars and pushed myself hard.  At the bottom of this long hill, the road suddenly goes uphill for about 300 yards at a very steep grade.  Today, it kicked my ass.  I didn’t have to walk but I thought about it.  Hard.  I managed to shove myself through the pain and headed down the next slope.  Another short climb and then the long hill down to Pouncy Tract road. 

There was no traffic coming so I took the road as fast as I could pedal and headed down to the bottom of the last downhill section before the long climb up into the little village of Rockville.  That climb is about a half mile but is a gentle grade and has become a non-event for me.  (It didn’t used to be though.)

In Rockville, I stopped for another snack and caught my breath before heading down the hill.

When I reached South Anna Drive, a cross road that takes me back to my house, I actually turned onto it with the intention of cutting my ride short.  I was tired and not sure I could do the flat lap I had planned.  I went about fifty yards before my pride kicked in and made me turn around.  “You’re not wimping out here, pal!”

I headed back onto Pouncy Tract and made the ride up to Ashland road at a smooth pace trying to get some legs back.  I caught the light green and turned at a good speed, making the climb up the little hill much easier than normal.  Once over that I powered my way up into Glen Allen and Henrico, then across to the Short Pump area and then turned around and headed back toward home on Pouncy Tract again.

At this point, the wind began to kick up and, as luck would have it, was almost dead into my face.  Now it was only about 5 mph but that’s enough to slow you down a couple of miles per hour.  Rather than accept that, I bent over the bars again and bored a hole through it whenever I’d feel it hit me in the face.

About fifteen minutes later, I was turning back onto South Anna drive with about two miles to go until I pulled into the driveway.  As I was turning, I saw another cyclist coming from the other direction also turning onto South Anna, about 75 yards behind me.

He looked to be in great shape and my first thought was that it was some young buck who was going to blow by me in seconds.  I could see in my mirror that he was pedaling pretty hard.  I stepped up my pace to see how long I could hold him off.

He caught me at the top of the hill, about three quarters of a mile up the road.  As he pulled alongside, I mentioned what a gorgeous day it was for a ride.  (Without wheezing or gasping for air. This is a big deal.  I usually can’t respond when they say hi to me.)  He agreed and then he pulled ahead.  He wasn’t a young buck, probably closer to my own age, but he was in terrific shape with a very young face surrounded by grey hair. Obviously a cyclist, his calves were huge.  Dammit.  

I swung onto his wheel and refused to be dropped as we headed down the short hill before the final rise onto Howards Mill.  As we got to the stop sign, he began to move to the right for his turn and I moved to the left for mine.  I wished him a good ride as we parted.  Without gasping or wheezing, again. Wow!

I powered down the big hill that ends at the South Anna River and then rode up the other side to my house, pulling in about 2:44:35 after I’d left.  I had managed to ring up an average speed above 16 mph on my hilliest course.  Despite that, my legs felt great!  Maybe this was my breakthrough ride. 

As I told MB later, “You know, the world cycling championships are going to be in Richmond in 2015.  If I keep this up, by then, I’ll be ready to watch.”

Best Intent

I have about a month to go before I head out on my first Century ride.  I’m still not getting as much time in the saddle as I’d like although I have logged almost 500 miles since the start of the year.  The weather has been the biggest culprit; I have taken a ride every time I could although I’m a bit of a fair weather rider.  Below fifty degrees is a no go.  Rain is, too. 

On the plus side, I also make sure to get in my workouts at the gym including thirty five to forty five minutes of cardio on an elliptical trainer after weight training that consumes about thirty minutes.  My heart is responding, I just wish that my legs didn’t feel like lead after a ride that is longer than an hour.  Makes me think I’m going to be cooked before I ever get to the magic 100 mile mark. I find myself thinking that the fast twitch muscles I have in abundance (I was a pretty good sprinter back in the Jurassic period) will stand me well in a short race but the long twitch muscles that provide endurance are lacking.  I need to read more about that. Wonder if you can switch the ratio in later lifer?

I have a plan to build up the miles at the end of May.  My Bride and I are heading to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a week.  That’s going to provide me with an entire week to spin for hours on nearly flat roads!  Wind is always a factor there (it’s where the Wright Brothers first flew back in 1903 and they chose it because the Weather Service told them it was one of the windiest places in the US) so I’ll still get some seriously strenuous rides but we all know that for every head wind, there is a tail wind in the waiting!

Close Call

I was out on a ride this past Sunday afternoon.  The weather was perfect, just under seventy degrees with no wind.  I had been out for about an hour or so, on a planned three to four hour ride, having completed the hilly section of my loop.  I turned onto a two lane road and spun up a slight incline that is tall enough that you can’t see vehicles coming in the other direction. 

I heard the sound of a large engine revving up and looked in my little rear view mirror.  A small dump truck was coming up behind me and since the way ahead was blind, I expected them to slow and wait until they could see if the way ahead was clear.  I don’t like to hold anyone up; hey, I’m a driver, too.  But I was already doing twenty miles an hour and I didn’t really have anything more to give. 

I was about halfway up the incline when I suddenly heard the engine roar as the driver dropped a gear and accelerated, pulled out across the double yellow line and began to pass me.  It turned out that the truck also had a fairly long trailer hitched to the back, loaded with all kinds of yard materials.  The logo on the truck said “Lot Scapes” and it was clean and nicely painted, advertising the business.  MB and I are entertaining a large landscaping project in the future, too.  I wondered if they’re any good.

The truck got past me and the trailer was almost clear of me when the driver whipped back into the lane.  The slight hill had slowed me down and when I saw the trailer and understood what this moron was doing (passing illegally and in a very unsafe manner for those of you scoring at home) I moved my hands to cover the brakes just in case I had to stop quickly. 

The rear of the trailer missed my front wheel by a couple of feet but it was enough to give me an adrenaline rush.

No sooner had the truck pulled into the lane then a large pickup truck heading in the other direction (I live out in the country) came roaring past me with the driver clearly upset at having just missed the dump truck which had been driving in his lane.  Evidently, everyone was pissed off except the dump truck driver, the target of our collective wrath.

As a business person, I know that time is money.  I also know that any business is only as good/successful/valuable as its lowliest employee.  I took the time to point out as much when I sent an email to Lot Scapes via their website and also suggested that the owner needed to take the time to instruct her employees that a moments’ stupidity could put the entire organization out of existence.  (I’m not a litigious sort but could be motivated to become so, depending on the circumstances.)  Seriously, if getting somewhere is so damn critical, leave a little earlier.

An hour or so later, I was pedaling along another two lane road in the same general vicinity.  Except for the dump truck incident, it had been a fairly uneventful ride.  All the drivers seemed ready to share the road and I even got a few waves from people.  The weather was still gorgeous.  This sort of thing lulls me into a false sense of security, I suppose.

Suddenly, a motorcycle blew past me in a very loud blast of noise. He passed so closely and at such a speed that the wind buffeted me for a second.  Two more passed me, right behind the first, but riding on the other side of the lane so it wasn’t nearly as close or as jarring.

I swear that my heart stopped for a second; this absolutely terrified me.  And when I realized that it had been a motorcycle, I went from extreme fear to intense anger to complete disappointment.  Geez, guys, I’m forever reading how motorcyclists are being mistreated by people driving cars, too.  Aren’t we brethren here?  Just because I can’t go as fast or accelerate at quickly, does that make me YOUR target?  Does shit really have to roll downhill???

Once my heart returned to an almost normal rate, I continued to turn it over in my mind.  Maybe they just hadn’t seen me and realized, too late, that someone else was occupying the far right side of the lane.  Yeah, that had to be it.  For all I knew, because I never caught a glimpse of them in my mirror, the rider had to maneuver quickly to avoid hitting me in the first place so, it could have been much worse.  

Yeah, that’s it.

I crested the rise that hides the large convenience store on the left side of the road and saw the three motorcycles parked at the gas pumps.  For a split second, I entertained the idea of pulling off to ask them what had happened.  (A part of me wanted to go push their bikes over, too, I admit it. I’m such a crappy Buddhist.) I like to assume best intent whenever I’m able, at least that’s what I tell myself.  Now, here was a chance to do it.  

I decided to let it be. 

Going National

One week from today, my company’s national sales meeting will be complete.  Meaning that all the work I've put into it will have been delivered.  I have a really huge piece of this one and, as a result, I’m on edge.  A little. Okay, a lot. 

I’m counting on a large group of people to step up and do a great job.  If they do, we’ll be praised and lauded for our efforts and skills.  If they don’t, it’ll be my ass.  That’s exciting!  I love a good gamble!  It’s a good thing that I’ve been blessed with a fair degree of confidence in myself and the same in others.

If it fails, I’ll have to assume best intent.

P.S. The owner of Lot Scapes responded to my email with the following message.  This is the entire message.

Thanks.  I’ll speak with the driver.

(Sigh. Assume best intent.)