Ride Report: RCCS Coffee Ride, 2/20/2010

Sunday morning, I rolled out at 7:01 AM en route to a fantastic adventure.

It was a cool morning -- cool enough that I was glad I'd opted for my semi-famous FHPs, a long-sleeved jersey, and a jacket; cool enough that I wished I'd been organized enough to locate the full-fingered gloves that I'd pulled out of my backpack and (as I later discovered) stuffed into the couch beside one of the seat-cushions (Aside: Can anyone explain this madness?  I am not generally in the habit of stuffing things into the couch.  Maybe it was the cat.) -- but it was a lovely morning.  Traffic was light, and I sailed along, stuck in the big ring (still) for just over forty minutes.  With butterflies in my stomach, though once I hit my rhythm, I mostly forgot about them.

The truth is, I am terribly nervous about meeting other cyclists.  Having been 'the weird kid' in every single year of school, I'm mostly good at holding my own against the irrational judgments of others, but somehow I crave the respect of my fellow wheelmen and -women ... at least, those I respect.  Plus, one of my personal heroes was likely to show for this ride (ZOMG!), though I somehow managed to put that from my mind and thus not act like a ridiculous little squirrel.

It turned out, however, that the guys I would be riding with were what one might call 'just folks' -- really nice people with bikes in their blood and bones (maybe 'just spokes' would be a better moniker?).  Ward, the first to arrive after I pulled in, happened to have a tool I'd left behind, which allowed me to tighten my stem so my handlebars wouldn't rotate (which they had done, terrifyingly, on the way over -- a startling moment which would cause me to descend roughly as fast as a lazy snail for the duration of the ride). 

While we waited for our brethren, I fiddled with my front derailleur, finally coaxing it onto the small ring.  I would be glad of this later -- our ride-leader for the day, Tim, sniffed out a pretty hilly route.  Even in the small ring, I was pretty winded at the top of two of the climbs.  In the big ring, I would've been cooked by mile 20 -- well-done, in fact, given that my big ring is a 53 and my cluster ranges 12-23.  (As it was, I thought the 39x12-23 range worked pretty well for this ride.)

Soon our fellows arrived.  It was edifying to see such an array of beautiful bikes, among them Patrick's gorgeous A. Homer Hilsen with its double top tube and Tim's beautiful, brand-spanking new steed from Independent Fabrications (speaking of which: dear relatives, if you happen to have an extra $5,500 lying around and can't think of a way to spend it, a Corvid would make a really awesome wedding present next May ;D).  I would've been happy to have any one of them in my personal stable (though I would, of course, need a smaller Hilsen!).

We headed out right around 8:00, rolling up Breckenridge Lane a bit, then hanging a right.  There was no predetermined route map for this ride; there were no cue sheets.  We were following Tim's nose, and -- as it turns out -- he has a good one.  Our path led through the lovely, curving climbs of such venues as Glenview Hills, Glenview, Riverwood, and Indian Hills.  The wooded roads were quiet; the climbs were delightful, the descents ... well, beautiful and terrifying, but only because I was constantly worried about my bars randomly rotating.  (It would appear that I have become a bit paranoid.) 

At one point, a brace of whitetail does exploded across our path, resulting in jubilant shouts of 'Deer up!' and 'Oh, deer!'  Later, a hawk (probably a redtail, based on its build and flight profile, but I didn't get a great look) sailed over us.  Fortunately, she decided we did not look edible :)

Dave was riding his Bacchetta, and it was thrilling to hear the recumbent which had a few moments before been toodling its way up the climbs come roaring down the other side.  First, you would hear a sound like a train; then you'd glance over your shoulder, and there was Dave descending like a madman, or a falcon, in the drizzly rain, and then...

Swoooooosh!

...He was past you, and then he was past the rest of the guys, who were themselves sailing around a beautiful little switchback in a sort of relaxed paceline, or searing their way down a straight descent in a pack.

Suffice it to say that Sunday was one of those 'why I ride' kind of days.  It was reminiscent, in a way, of the long, rambling rides I used to take with a couple of my friends as a kid -- quiet, hilly roads, no real plan, just riders and bikes.  The major difference?  The bikes were generally nicer, and this ride was faster :)

I don't think I've had quite this much fun on a bike since ... well, possibly, quite possibly, ever.  I mostly ride solo, both at work and at play, and I enjoy it -- but there's nothing quite like a good group ride to keep you rolling.

When you're riding for fun with a good group, it's easy to forget you're climbing, and to stop obsessing about cadence and pedal stroke and intervals and all that fiddly stuff that sometimes makes you want to pull your hair out on a training ride (and people wonder why I always wear a helmet :D).  Talking, I'm convinced keeps the oxygen flowing in and out with aplomb.

We wound our way up Clifton Ave (a road I was once afraid to even try to climb!), sailed along part of one of my favorite weekend rides from my William Street days, and turned onto Bardstown Road.  Soon, we were sailing in to a stop at Quills Coffee.  It was a little after 10:00, and we were ready for some refreshment.  Coffee, savory scones, a cookie, and an espresso drink almost too beautiful to touch were consumed with relish amidst a conversation that rarely veered far from the thing that had brought us all together: bikes, and riding bikes.

Soon, we were headed back out into the drizzly morning. 

Dave was gracious enough to let me try his Bacchetta (shh!  Don't tell my co-workers!), which I rode for a few blocks and enjoyed immensely (note to self: disc brakes are, in fact, pretty awesome -- much better at stopping in the rain than QS's road calipers -- I fear I may find myself riding a 'cross brake with discs, some time soon).  We turned onto Cherokee and found our way into the park, where we sailed down the sweeping descent-side of Baringer Hill.  I then got so engrossed in talking to Dave about 'bents that I pretty much failed to notice the next climb 'til he peeled off with an, "I'm dropping back..."  We'd reached the steepish little bit at the top, and the Bacchetta had lost its momentum, so I muscled up to the fountain alone and found -- to my surprise -- that I wasn't even winded.  This is what happens when you forget about yourself and get out of your own way!

In a moment we were descending again, then winding through the little valley along Beargrass Creek -- and then, much too soon, it was time for me to peel off and head for church.  My route took me up Millvale Road, then onto Woodbourne Ave, where Saint Andrew's Episcopal makes its home.  The rest of the guys headed onward to, as Tim puts it in his ride report on the RCCS blog, 'Saint Matthew's and beyond.'

My first RCCS ride is definitely among my top-ten cycling experiences so far.  Dave, Patrick, Tim, and Ward make great ride partners.

I'll be keeping an eye on the RCCS blog in hopes of another go some time soon ... and maybe next time it'll occur to me to take more than one picture!



P.S. — I am happy to report that the fix for the bar-rotation problem seems to have done the trick.  That being said, I plan to devote the next week to re-learning how to trust my bike!

P.P.S — I forgot to mention: as far as I know, at no point did a race break out on this ride.

P.P.P.S — while I was out riding Quicksilver, Hg grew a set of bars. Also a shiny purple-anodized rear brake caliper. Woot!

Je suis le cowbell rouge ... I think.

So!

Today's race was my best race ever!

...And I could have said that no matter what happened, because it was also my first real, official race (with a number and everything) ever.

In fact, regardless of what this shot may imply...

From OVCX Kings Cross 2010

I didn't even crash into any other racers.

Sometimes I even looked like I knew what I was doing:

From OVCX Kings Cross 2010

Though once I also dropped my bike in the middle of the barriers:

From OVCX Kings Cross 2010

Um, oops.

I love the way I'm looking at my bike in this picture. You can almost see me saying, "Crap, where's my downtube?"

At least once, I looked pretty awesome:

From OVCX Kings Cross 2010

...Even though I was the only crazy dude on a flat bar bike with toe clips:

From OVCX Kings Cross 2010

Swift, it turns out, is not as effective an off-road machine as Quicksilver. I've ridden swift on trails and over grass before, but not really at speed. At speed, that is one rough ride.

I had some issues with my grip shifters — there was one big, steep climb, and whenever I tried to use my bars for leverage, I would trigger the grip-shift, throwing Swift into a bigger gear. Not what I needed, considering that I'd accidentally disabled my granny gear (yes, I really could've used it this morning, I admit it). I put up with that for one lap before realizing that I would not die in shame if I just ran that climb — half the field was running it, anyway.

The most important part is that I had a blast. Well, okay, the most important parts, in order, are that I did not die, my shorts did not split, I did not cause any disasters, and I had a blast :) In fact, I'm pretty sure that my race had only one spill — a fast fellow came around a sharp turn and wiped out. He was back on his bike before three of us could say, "Are you okay, man?"

The best moment, I think, was when another Rogue racer shouted out as he passed me something like, "Good job, Rogue! Stay strong!" That was awesome. It was near the end of the race, and I needed it. I found him and thanked him after I finished. Then I found DD and sucked down about two litres of water.

I haven't seen the results sheet, so I don't know if I was really DFL. Even if I was, I don't care. I had a great time, and I finished. There were four Rogues total in my race, and I think one of us did pretty well indeed. More will be out tomorrow, but I had to get back for church.

There is definitely more 'cross in my future. I may or may not do Shawnee Park on the 25th or 26th — it depends on the race details (time, entry fees, etc). If I do, and it's not soggy out, I think I'll ride Quicksilver.

Anyway, that's it for now. As you can probably tell, I am still somewhat addle-pated, and I will probably retire at some point in the not-too-distant-future and sleep like a log and dream about riding my bike.

Thanks to DD for all the pictures, and also for being the best soigneur/team car driver/boyfriend a fellow could ask for. DD, one of these days, I am going to win one for you!

Cycling Tips!

Note: The faint of stomach and insect-phobic might want to skip this one. Fair warning!

Many authoritative books, blogs, and websites explain the important set of skills that one should master in order to become a competent group cyclist. However, I have noticed that many of them — maybe most — neglect a few key points.

As such, freshly back from a big group ride (in fact, the biggest group ride I have ever seen in person!!!), I believe I am in a good position to comment, if not-so-authoritatively, on them. Note that I'm just commenting here — not so much advising as just observing.

The first skill I'd like to address is an essential one — an unpleasant-but-important one that any cyclist who rides often enough will eventually have to employ, particularly during allergy season. It's the skill that allows us to clear our throats as well as our thoughts; to remove obstacles (from our tracheas); and to roll on even after aspirating the occasional mayfly. It's a skill that is also near and dear to the hearts of old-timey saloon patrons, runners, and thugs — yes, I'm talking about spitting.

Spitting

While nobody has performed a scientific analysis of the topic, I'm sure that we all agree that spitting, while totally gross, is sometimes necessary. It has taken me some time to become comfortable with the idea (and I still won't spit on the sidewalk, no matter how urgent the need), but there are simply times when one must, as they say, hawk a loogie, lest one drown in one's one sputum.

This is rarely a major issue for a cyclist — when riding solo, we may generally spit with abandon, and in a small group we can simply fall back or pull out of line just a bit.

In a large group, however, such as the main pack of a race, a charity ride, or a big municipal ride*, spitting without mishap requires a certain degree of grace and finesse.

This is especially true, I think, on non-competitive rides, wherein the riders come to have fun, not to suffer, possibly make it to within 43 spots of the podium, and earn another war story**. I suspect that I would be more willing to forgive the occasional ill-timed or ill-aimed goober in a race, assuming I even noticed it***. I tend to ride in a bit of a trance, anyway.

Among the first things I noticed (shortly after, Hey! I can actually keep up with these guys! Whaddaya know! and Crap, it's definitely time for a tuneup!) on my giant group ride yesterday morning is that I am the spittingest cyclist east of the Ohio River. West of the Ohio River, on the other hand, or east of the Eastern Continental divide, my allergies and asthma are much less bad, and thus I am less ... um ... productive.

But Louisville, she is a harsh mistress — and so I suffer through all the prime cycling months — you know, March through October — afloat on a sea of my own respiratory excreta. Or something like that.

This is especially true when one of my first orders of business during a ride is the aspiration of some kind of large insect (possibly a Mayfly?) during a climb. Normally, I can make it through a 20-ish mile ride without spitting 200 times, or even 20 times. Yesterday's ride, however, involved way, way more spitting than is usual for me, and probably doubled my annual loogies-per-mile average (an important cycling statistic).

I was concerned, at first, that it would be very difficult to, ahem, relieve myself of the bounty of my respiratory system's truly stupendous efforts without grossly (and I do mean 'grossly') offending some other poor soul. However, I quickly learned that a small set of steps can prevent catastrophe.

How to Spit in a Loose Group

1. Move to the edge of the group.
2. Check both your left and right sides — even if you plan to send your miniature missile sailing on the right, someone coming up behind you on the left might find it necessary to dart around you on the right. You might hear them coming, but if (like me) you are plagued with terrible allergies that also compromise your hearing, you might not.
3. If you're going less than 15 or 20 MPH, you can probably just turn your head to roughly 2:00ish and launch. Turn your head too far, and you're likely to wind up wearing it. Ask. Me. How. I. Know.
4. If you're moving fast, however, first check the immediate road for potholes and the like, then cock an elbow, tuck your head, and go for the hole shot.
5. Lastly: the idea is to spit down, not out. The faster you're going, the truer it is.

How to Spit in a Tight Group

1. Wait for the group to loosen up.
2. See above.

How to Spit in a Tight Group — Alternate Method

1. Pray.
2. Attempt 'hole shot' manoeuvre.
3. Apologize.

It may, of course, be that you're one of those lucky souls who never find themselves foaming at the mouth on a group ride. If so, please, share with me your secret.

Insects

I have noticed that group rides seem to attract pesky insects. On my first LBC ride, one of my fellow riders was stung by a wasp which flew into his shorts.

On my daily excursions, I have inhaled, eaten, been eaten by, and wiped from both glasses and bike any number of species of flying arthropods.

And, of course, yesterday, I managed to inhale one, thereby profoundly irritating my highly-irritable respiratory tract. I spent the rest of the bridge crossing wheezing and trying to cough up my lungs (not to mention my breakfast), but manfully succeeded in keeping all internal items in place and, indeed, in keeping my spot in the fast group, minus a couple of places.

Likewise, I did not die, though for a moment I was mildly concerned about that possible outcome, as the Second Street Bridge is riddled with joints and various large metal structural elements just waiting to exact their revenge on some poor, addle-pated cyclist, and it is hard to watch out for obstacles while hacking up a lung, as it were.

I have absolutely no suggestions whatsoever concerning how to handle insects, short of 'Insects: avoid them when possible.' However, that's really not very helpful, because it is impossible to avoid insects while hurtling down the road at 20 MPH or faster.

Additional Observations

I learned a couple other things on this ride.

First, I learned that I can maintain a reasonable pace — not blistering, but pretty good — while choking on insects. Also while fighting back the intense nausea that results from keeping up athletic effort while unable to properly breathe.

Second, I learned that there is at least one other guy who comes out on an old Allez for these things. I've seen another Allez of roughly Quicksilver's vintage once before; the one I saw yesterday makes three.

Third, I learned that I am extremely susceptible to the pack mentality. I headed out on this ride intending to pause along the way to shoot some pictures. All the pictures I took, however, are from the start and the end of the ride. This is because I rolled myself up to the back of the first starting group, the 'Competitive Cyclists' group, and once I found myself riding in the flock ... well, you know how it goes.

There was a lot of chasing, bridging, passing, and getting passed going on, considering that the announcer firmly admonished us: "THIS IS NOT A RACE. IT IS A RIDE." No organized efforts, perhaps, but I suspect many of us in the front group were, in our own minds at least, having the race of our lives.

I wonder how big a podium we'd need to fit all the winners? That's my kind of race. I grew up with Shel Silverstein, and while part of me is all about crushing the competition, another part of me is all about 'Hug-O-War'-style racing, where everyone**** wins (also known as 'randonneuring,' I guess?).

As for me, I didn't win, because in my fantasy race I was playing the role of 'star climber,' because apparently climbing is what I do well (when I'm not aspirating mayflies, and even then I'm not too bad at it). I'm confident that I led my (imaginary) team to victory, nobly sacrificing my own shot a the podium, and that's good enough for me. Besides, I'm pretty sure I finished in the top 50, which is pretty good out of a field of 6,000 (non-racers). Not that I care, or bothered to notice ;)

Lastly, I learned that The Jens Voigt Method works really well. If your lungs act up, you tell them, SHUT UP LUNGS! in your best German accent. If your legs start burning, you tell them, SHUT UP LEGS! in your best German accent. If your wrists ... well, you get the point.

Because Jens Voigt is The Man, and we should all try to be a little more like Jens Voigt, even when we're (AHEM) not racing.

Notes

*Do other cities have these? If not, they're really missing out. Monday's ride was awe-inspiring!

**This, by the way, is my racing plan for next road-racing season.

***I hope my fellow cyclobloggers who have actually raced in actual races where they give you an actual number, as opposed to the kind which begin with exchanges like, "Bet I can beat you up that hill!", will be able to confirm or deny this theory. Thus far, all of my races have been the less formal kind (and sometiems not all the participants knew they were racing — I should note that it's particularly humiliating to lose a match race with someone twice your age who doesn't know he's in a race at all).

****...who finishes...

Quick Update

I've added an events calendar that you should be able to see at the right-hand side of El Bloggo, here. It will primarily display cycling events in the general area that I hope to attend — it will probably also eventually include some from a broader swath of the country, including the Midwest at large and probably the East Coast (my entire family lives in coastal New England and the DC corridor).

I may not actually make it to all of these events, but my goal is to hit as many as I can. I'm pretty sure I'll do the 6 PM slow/easy ride next Wednesday, but I'm not 100% sure about 5-Spot Crit #2 on Tuesday. I could go to watch, but really I probably ought to give myself a couple more weeks to recondition before going for anything like that. Fortunately, there are two more 5-Spots in July.