Observed: Being Good At Riding in Groups != Being Good at Group Rides

I decided to give the Sunday 2:00 LBC ride from Heine Brother's at Breckenridge and Shelbyville a go. It was a beautiful afternoon, I made awesome time getting to the ride start from Dairy Kastle (where DD and I had lunch prior to the ride), and I was feeling good -- good about my bike, pretty good about myself, and good about the prospect of riding with a bunch of other crazy bike people (which always sounds good).

A good number of riders showed for the ride, and we all rolled out together around 2:20. I found myself a comfy spot in the middle of the pack -- just behind the fast group that broke away at a stoplight a few miles into the right (I didn't gun it quite hard enough to make the light; in retrospect, that was probably a good idea).

After the light, I led off a little break of maybe four riders, and we took turns swapping the lead in an informal paceline until I realized I had absolutely no idea what the route was supposed to look like -- so I turned into a wheelsucker for a while, swapping spots with another rider from time. Two members of the group dropped off due to a mechanical issue, leaving just the guy who was giving me directions and me until a third rider caught us at the turn onto River Road. I tried to be a good group member and take directions and my turns in the (considerable) wind.

Apparently, I didn't take directions quite well enough. My guide said, "We ride out River Road for what seems like forever, then turn into Glenview." I said, "Oh, okay, cool." At some point, though, I dropped off the pace a bit while fumbling with my front derailleur (I'm still making friends with it; it's a little finicky), then got hung up at a traffic light and lost my guide. No biggie, I thought -- I'll just ride an easy pace until another group catches up with me, and I'll hang out with them.

As I rolled rather casually down River Road, still quite a way from the Glenview turnoff, another group eventually found me. I jumped into their paceline -- and so began my extremely-enjoyable misadventure.

You see, I had made a classic group-ride mistake: I thought, "Oh, I know that jersey; I saw that person at the ride start." The problem is, on any lovely weekend day in Louisville, there's a very good likelihood that any interesting jersey will be worn by three or five completely disparate individuals -- who may, for all that, be involved in three or five different rides.

So I fell in behind a 'Ride to Conquer Cancer' jersey, and was soon enjoying the benefits of a good group ride -- camaraderie, companionship, the chance to get out of the wind.

I should've known something was wrong when we didn't turn off at Glenview. It's not like I don't know where Glenview is. I've ridden through it before. But instead of thinking , "Oh, hey, I think this is my corner, and maybe I'm with some other ride now; I'll wait here until someone from my ride comes along," I thought, "Huh, we must be going to Glenview by some other route." Another rider caught up with me and asked if I was on the LBC ride; I said, "Yes!" -- thus leading her astray, as well. (I know, I am a horrible person, leading my fellow cyclists astray.)

And off we went, not into Glenview at all, but past Juniper Beach and Guthrie Beach and on into Prospect. For a while, I found myself riding more or less alone, in front of the tail group (of whose existence I was not yet aware) but a ways back from the lead group, having once again fumbled my way off the pace. Nonetheless, I enjoyed myself, even in spite of the punishing wind and the bockety road (thank God for good wheels). Soon, I caught up with the group at our turnaround at the Java Brewing Company at the intersection of River Road and US 42.

While we paused, I chatted with my fellow riders (mostly about IUS -- two of us were IUS students and two were IUS grads!), thinking, "Hm, it's funny that we're such a small group. Maybe some others will show up." There were only about five or six of us, at that particular moment. I failed to see any significance, there. Likewise, part of me was a little surprised that so many people brought snacks for such a short ride; I failed to make any connection between the level of preparation and the fact that I was no longer on my little twenty-five-miler. Worst of all, I failed to think it odd that we also seemed to have our own ride coordinator (a fellow IUS student! Yay! Unfortunately, he won't be on my maybe-someday cycling team, since he's transferring to Spalding). I simply figured that he'd assumed RC duty for the group, so we didn't go astray.

Oops.

Eventually, another group of riders appeared and joined us. The rest of us chatted and took a brief break, sipping our water or slurping our gels (note to self: bring gels next time, really, even if you think you're only going out on a 25-mile ride). I commented at one point about how I hadn't bothered to install a second bottle cage on HG for this ride because, "Meh, it's just twenty-five miles." I got a strange look from a fellow rider. Perhaps this, too, should've been a clue*.

But I have never been known for my aptitude in picking up on subtle clues -- no, rather, in that department, I am quite as dense as dark matter. I don't do 'clues.' I am much more amenable to the hammer-over-the-head method than the whisper-in-the-ear method.

Our recently-arrived brethren took their brief break, and off we went again, rolling along in a nice little paceline. I contemplated what a joy it is to ride in a good paceline, and enjoyed the view of the river, if not the occasional gusts of wind coming off of it.

For a little while, we had the wind at our backs, which felt nice after the upwind slog of the past few miles. We were back at Zorn Ave -- our next turn-off -- in no time. While we waited for the last of our group, I stepped into a 'quickie mart' and bought some additional water, all the while considering how strange it was that I'd used up almost all my water on such a short ride. Then I checked the time and considered how strange it was that we'd been out for two hours, since we were riding a pretty good pace. Still, I was not visited by such a thing as a clue.

:::facepalm:::

We were still waiting for one of our number (and another who went back to fetch him) when we decided to switch out our return routes -- we would head back down River Road a bit, then up Mocking Bird Valley. That way, if we ran into our missing man, we could simply pick him up along the way. The ride along Mocking Bird Valley Road was delightful -- shady, cool, and quiet -- until I did something my FD didn't like right as we were approaching the bottom of a longish climb and Hg dropped his chain (this, btw, was entirely rider error: I know my FD is finicky on account of being a double crankset harnessed to a triple brifter; I still hose it up sometimes anyway). I didn't have to get off the bike to fix it -- I just played with my shift lever until it picked the chain back up -- but I'd already lost all my momentum, and I climbed the hill at a crawl. There were still two riders behind me, and when one of them caught me, we took turns in the wind -- and still, somehow, I failed to grasp that I was now on the wrong ride entirely. Le sigh.

Soon we were heading through Saint Matthew's. I was hungry, even though I'd had a hotdog and a milkshake right before I rode to the ride. I thought, "Oh, good, we're almost there. I'll grab some coffee before I head home." But then we crossed Breckenridge and kept going on towards the Highlands.

Did I, at this point, begin to suspect that I was on the wrong ride?

Ummm.

No.

Did you expect anything else?

Instead of drawing the probably-obvious conclusion, I thought, "Oh, we must be short a few miles." Yes, I realize that this assessment was patently ridiculous. No, that did not keep it from making sense at a the time. Patiently, I rolled along, enjoying the company of my peers. I even stopped and waited for a slower rider, and we pulled each-other up a little hill.

Coming into Cherokee Park (for the second time today), I found our RC again. I asked him, "How does the route go from here?" He said something about returning to Hogan's Fountain.

And then, quite suddenly, reality dawned.

"Oh ... which ride am I on?"

"We're the Bike to Beat Cancer ride from Hogan's Fountain. Were you on the LBC ride?"

Sheepishly, I replied, "Um, yes."

"So was the lady in the light blue. Do you know how to get back to where you started?"

"Yeah. Sorry I jumped in on your ride."

"That's okay. You should come ride with us again."

We chatted for a few minutes longer, and I learned that this group goes out on Sunday afternoons (sometimes Saturday mornings) from Hogan's Fountain -- much more convenient to church than the ride I started with.

We laughed about my mix-up, and then parted ways at the lane that leads out of the park to Lexington Road. There, in the process of missing my turn and almost causing a bike crash, I promptly pulled a muscle in my right thigh and decided to call it a day. I called DD, who came and picked me up, and as we headed home I called the ride coordinator for the original ride and let him know what had happened and that I was fine, so whoever was out riding sweep was not stuck looking for me for hours.

The moral of the story?

You can have all the group-riding skills in the world and still be terrible at group rides, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I met a few more really nice cyclists and had a fantastic time. I think I will take the RC up on his offer and join them again some time, maybe even next weekend -- and I think I may even do the 'Bike to Beat Cancer' ride. It sounds like it could be fun (and it requires a lot less fund-raising than its previous 'Ride to Conquer Cancer' iterations reqiured).

So basically the moral of the story is really that sometimes taking a wrong turn -- or following the wrong jersey -- can lead to the start of something good.

Not to mention boosting your mileage for the week!




*Turns out that the ride with which I 'hooked up' was Bike to Beat Cancer's 40-mile training ride for this weekend!

**This also stands as Hg's mid-distance road test. I must say, except for operator error involving the finicky FD, Hg passed with flying colors.

On Being 'That Guy'

I think I wrote recently about my decision to try to give drivers the benefit of the doubt more often.  It's mostly working, though I still have moments of random irateness when someone pulls a truly bone-headed move immediately in front of me and cranks my adrenaline levels through the roof (I have found I am not quite as sweet-natured when I'm in survival mode -- I actually flipped a guy off last Thursday, when the weather was really terrible, for telling me to get in the bike lane when the bike lane was literally impassable ... felt bad about it later, because A) he probably thought he was giving me sound advice, not just being an ass-hat and B) it was rude and flat-out uncharitable).

Oddly enough, I've found that my efforts to consider drivers' actions in a more charitable light has made me consider my own actions a little more critically.  That is, since I am granted fairly-frequent opportunities to try to consider other possible motivations for a given driver's actions than 'Wow, what a bike-hating jackass!', I suddenly find myself wondering what my motivations might appear to be.

This is pretty new for me.  I have Asperger's Syndrome, which basically means that I'm pretty smart but have limited insight into the minds of other people.  Considering others' motives is a pretty big deal for me; considering that other people might be considering my motives is huge.

Last night, I had a great opportunity to practice this skill: I was being a bone-head and ran a red light.

Now, I do understand that for some cyclists -- and, indeed, for many bike couriers -- running red lights is a matter of course.  For my own part, however, I feel that if I want to be treated like a member of the confraternity of valid road users, I have to play by the rules.

Thus, I was pretty ticked at myself, even though I didn't intend to run the light.  In fact, I was even more ticked at myself than I might otherwise have been, because not only was I a champion ass-hat for one highly-visible moment, I was a champion ass-hat because I was being thoughtless and not really paying attention.

My mind, at the moment this incident transpired, was on my legs.  I was hammering down a long flat, enjoying the feel of a good sprint near the end of a good day on the bike.  I was thinking about pedaling circles -- which, admittedly, is generally a good thing to think about -- even though I knew the light in question was coming up and that I should probably get a sense of whether or not I ought to slow the heck down (in fact, the correct answer at this particular light is always 'slow the heck down,' because the yellow phase is ridiculously short and the intersection involved is somewhat epic).  I was feeling strong, and I didn't want to interrupt my flow and fall out of 'the zone.'

So instead I glanced up, saw the light had -- at some unknown point -- turned yellow, and gunned it.

Had I been feeling fresher and rocking a bigger gear, I probably could've made it.  I mention this only because the fact that I'd made the light before under similar circumstances had a great deal to do with my less-than-brilliant decision.  I wasn't thinking about the fact that, while I was making pretty good time, I was already off my 'daily time-trial' record by a couple of minutes, indicating that I wasn't quite as fast as I wanted to be.

As my front tire touched the white line, the light flipped from yellow to red.  I thought for a split second about throwing out a full-on emergency stop, but I had already committed a great deal of momentum to getting through that light, so I hammered on through.  I shouldn't have done it.  I should have stopped and waited, like I usually do.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, a fellow in a truck shouted something out his window at me as he passed a little bit later.  Honestly, he was within his rights: I'm assuming he shouted because he was still buzzing with post-almost-hitting-a-cyclist adrenaline, though I should observe that he must've reacted right quick, as I wasn't even aware of his presence for a good sixth of a mile or so.

At the next light, I sat immediately behind him, debating whether or not I should roll up and apologize.  I couldn't actually muster the courage.  I was really disappointed in myself already, and I didn't want to roll the dice on having to hear an anti-bike tirade, if he turned out to be one of those guys.  I am not a patient person when I'm mad at myself, and that kind of situation requires an armload of patience.  I'm not proud of my decision not to say anything, but given the circumstances, I think it was the right one.

As I finished my ride -- cranking hard up Southern Parkway and Bluegrass to the weird five-way intersection that marks the start of my 'cool-down lap' -- I contemplated the possible consequences of my actions.

Like the fact that the truck-driving guy probably wouldn't have noticed me at all if I'd managed to stop, but now associates the experience with all the negative stuff he's already heard about cyclists.  Like the fact that the human mind more readily recalls unpleasant experiences than pleasant ones, which probably means he already has at least one or two 'bad cyclist' stories under his belt (even I have some of those).

Like the fact that I wasn't mentally-present enough to make the right call when I saw that the light had turned yellow.

Like the fact that, for all that I try not to be 'That Guy,' I'm going to make bone-headed mistakes now and then, just like good drivers do, now and then.

I'm still pissed at myself.  I take a certain satisfaction in playing by the rules, and I don't like it when I break one, no matter what the reason.  I'm not too keen on the fact that -- for even a minute -- I valued my momentum and my 'zone' over safety and the good-faith agreement by which all road-users abide.

I spent this morning trying to make amends while out on my daily mail rounds.  Extremely-conscientious stopping on cold, wet roads is probably a good penance for running a light on a fast, dry road, when stopping would've been easy.

At any rate, it seems that it's going around right now.  Maybe I can blame the late-winter blahs?

Maybe not.  Maybe I'll just try to be more careful in the future, because I know almost no-one remembers a good cyclist, but everyone remembers a bad one.