Zero to Five Hundred

Posted on December 22, 2014 by admin

It has been seventy days since I last turned a crank while gliding over tarmac. No wind in the hair or sun on my face. A few gym work outs and fantastic intentions to ride my trainer have resulted in exactly two indoor rides for a total of forty five minutes. My legs are thin and my abdomen resembles that of ol’ Kris Kringle himself. And so, delusions of grandeur I have none, and failure is imminent.

Is forty miles each day for eight days straight really so difficult?

The mind can be fooled to believe that anything is possible…

Before The Five Hundred begins.

#festive500

Two Italians

Posted on September 9, 2014 by admin

“You look good”, said one of two riders whose wheels I caught while riding solo, south towards Bayside Marina. We were stopped at the intersection of SW 168^th St and Old Cutler Rd when I exclaimed, “Well, this is the very first time I have seen two riders in Miami wearing Rapha”!

“And now there are three”, the older of the two quipped. Both gentlemen were dressed in Rapha’s Super Lightweight Jersey , white with a grey arm band, Rapha’s Pro Bibs and tall black Pro Team Socks. It was a sharp look made better in duplicate.

We spoke briefly, sharing our mutual admiration for Rapha kit. When I finished with, “I like the lack of egregious logos” the older rider concluded, “We are Italian, we know about logos”, then rolled on. While riding second wheel, I noticed their Bianchi frames had been painted over in matte black providing the underlying logos a discrete, monochromatic appearance.

We cranked it up to 22 MPH and held it solid all the way to Black Point where we were engulfed by the All4cycling group ride. Separated by the confusion, the Italian gentlemen turned off while I continued to Bayside carrying with me, some regret for not stopping to introduce myself and perhaps exchange information.

I remember thinking, “only an Italian guy would complement another man, a total stranger, on his style”.

Chasing The Hog

Posted on August 26, 2014 by admin

#rapharising

#thehog

Ride Four

07/23/14

56 Miles

6,774 ft elevation

It is my fourth ride of the Rapha Rising Challenge and even after posting some decent elevation and mileage I still need to make some sizable advancement to close this puppy. I start my ride just after one o’clock with the intention to make it over Hogpen. I have used my time here in the Georgian mountains to progressively increase the training volume to slay “The Hog”.

Heavy equipment at rest on Wolfpen

On day two I rode the Neels, Wolfpen, Woody loop. It was a difficult ride but 38 miles was over relatively soon while rest and relaxation filled the rest of the day. The third day of the challenge I took it easy by doing the 23 mile vineyard route. This gave me two hard days followed by one easy day. The extra time was spent on Renate’s massage bench, sleeping and eating.

Recovery ride day with Renate

Neels is always better the second time. The switch backs become more familiar

View from Neels

allowing me to anticipate the subtle changes in gradient and then dose the effort accordingly. I reach the top in good spirits and enjoy a rice cake before topping off the bottles. A deluge accompanied my ride down the back of Neels. With about ten feet of visibility and a death grip on the brakes levers, I descended at about 20 mph. I silently debated the merits of my choice to ride with my lightweight jersey sans gilet as the cold mountain rain poured while the perforated strip of material running down the center of the jersey offered no real protection for my back.

Delectable morsels of energy, I carry rice cakes whenever the ride tests my will.

Delectable morsels of energy, I carry rice cakes whenever the ride is sure to test my will.

Then like magic, the rain stopped upon reaching the valley. The roads were dry as a bone and the valley was warm getting warmer. I take a right onto Rt 180 and feel instantly the resistance from friction produced by its gravel embedded tarmac. The feeling of resistance is further enhanced by the long section of false flats that precede the climb up Jack’s Knob. When the climbs come, they slowly work away at your will. There are no switchbacks; there is just a series of long then longer climbs separated by short descents. That’s when it happened, like an engine losing compression, I watch as the mph slowed to less than 2 mph. An ominous feeling of failure, and then impending doom, follows a virtual sound of a single, deep base, and penetrating beat, as my cleat touches ground. I visualize the boot plant on the LZ in la Drang Valley as Lieutenant Colonel Moore exited the chopper in the movie We Were Soldiers. I move to the side of the road to avoid unsuspecting traffic while I hydrate, refuel and allow myself a good ten minutes of rest. When I roll on, I am surprised at what ten minutes of rest can accomplish. Climbing at 5-6 mph I crest Jack’s Knob, locate my water stash and sat down for a proper rest.

Today’s ride was a constant negotiation with time. First, attention on work stole valuable vacation time and delayed my ride start. Then, heavy rains delayed and slowed my descent of Neels and now my fitness was being challenged by Jack’s.

A long rest spent staring deep into the forest on top of Jack’s Knob while I contemplate my options.

My long recoveries were eating away at what little time I had left and so I am forced to consider alternatives. I can turn around, descend Jacks and return over Neels, or can continue on over Unicoi then choose to reroute around Hogpen and out of the barricade of mountain ranges known as the Six Gaps should the day be slipping away. My force of will does not allow me to completely give up and yet somehow I remain hopeful that my original goal of cresting Hogpen today is still possible. I reflect, “This is how adventure seekers get themselves into trouble”. The roads at night, in the mountains covered in forest, are dark, thin and winding. I decide to continue on, still fooling myself there is a chance for the Hog, knowing full well, I will bailout. There just isn’t enough time.

So I cruise down Jacks, ascend the switchbacks of Unicoi then descend them in the rain, ride around Hogpen and head back to the cabin. I was less than thrilled and a bit deflated from having failed, but there was now another 6,774 ft in the books and there is still more time left in the week for…

chasing The Hog.

Rapha Rising Day One and the Woman’s 100

Posted on August 7, 2014 by admin

7/20/2014

62.6 Miles

6400 Ft climbing

#womans100#rapharising

Renate rolls up and out of the mist that has settled in on Woody’s Gap. Pasty white, overweight teenagers wearing “lids” and wannabe gangsta shorts hangin’ off their hind-side listen to Hip Hop thumping from the trunk of their car. “I’m a grinder, I’m Supah grinder…” It’s a surreal picture for a Sunday morning deep in the North Georgia Mountains far away from any real urban center.

From the mist Renate emerges

Renate happens to be an accidental participant in the Womans 100 challenge from Rapha. “why do you always do this to me?” the reply reads on my Facebook post announcing I had signed her up for a challenge to ride 100km in a single day. “First the Spartan Race and now this” she chides on but finally concludes with, “Ahh, let’s just do it!” Yes, that’s the girl I know and love. To be fair, I think she has ridden a road bike about 3 times in the last 6 months and frankly has no business attempting 62.5 miles let alone doing it over 3 of the 6-Gap century course.

New Rapha Imperial Works Kit to commemorate the first day of the Rapha Rising Challenge

I have learned through the years to let Renate ride her own pace. If you ride alongside or too close and push the pace, she gets aggravated. She prefers to look around and observe the life that is happening around her than to forge ahead at breakneck speeds, suffering through the miles with nothing but a blur for the memory of it. So I ride to intersections or a hill crest then stop and wait. When you see the world through Renate’s eyes, you cannot help but smile and revel in the wonder that is nature.

We crest Wolfpen Gap where the rough pavement has been replaced with fresh tarmac. Smooth roads are one of Renate’s simple riding pleasures and she conveys her approval with enthusiasm. We collect and use a jug of water hidden in the forest to refill our bottles and re-hydrate our bodies. “So this is Neels?” “No”, I reply “this is Wolfpen, Neels is next”. She looks at me with the face of a child after receiving a no to the eternal question, “are we there yet?” We take a long break while we chat with a woman from Atlanta and then her husband, and later their friend, who has resorted to pushing her bike up the steep side of Wolfpen.

The ride down Wolfpen was a bit precarious as roadwork was incomplete leaving a 3-4 inch step down the center-line and loose, sticky tarmac coated gravel along the fall line of the remaining side. Using the whole road to negotiate the sharp switchbacks to control the speed was not an option today. I waited at the base of Neels for Renate to arrive. When she did we began the slow arduous climb.

“I’m delirious” she remarked upon her arrival at the top. I laughed as I steadied her while she dismounted her bike. Coca cola and Honey Stinger waffles from the Mountain Crossings Outfitters satisfied our sugar cravings while we spent a long deserved pause. Some spicy beef jerky was a welcomed departure from the sweet Honey and Probar chews we had been consuming. No need to stash water here, the facility provides outdoor access to a water faucet for use by Hikers, bikers, and cyclists alike. A collection of wore torn boots with stories to tell, hang from the ceiling of the outfitters, paying homage to their purpose.

Boots hang from the ceiling in homage

The descent off Neels provides wide cambered switchbacks that are not only a pleasure to ride but allow for safety at speeds of over 45mph. Half way down I scrub my speed and wait for Renate to pass. As I ride well behind her, I watch in horror as an impatient motorist driving a Porsche, passes dangerously close and then cuts in front of her, missing her by about 6 inches. These things often take Renate off her game yet she soldiered on like a trooper without a hitch.

We stopped briefly at the bottom near Turner’s Corner Café to regroup. 28 miles and 4,000 ft were now logged. Renate was not thrilled to hear that we were less than halfway through with the challenge. The look she gave me when I told her we needed to repeat the wine route two times was just precious. Together we agreed that we would ride it once, and then stop at the café for some coffee and pie before deciding what to do next. Renate, after all, was shaped by her mother who was skilled in the fine art of Pavlovian Conditioning who would dispense chocolate treats to her children during hiking adventures in order to keep them moving when morale and motivation was low. The idea of coffee and pie at a streamside café sent Renate spinning down the road in Pavlovian bliss.

“No rest for the weary”

The winery loop, as the folks from Hiker Hostel call it, is a series of punchy climbs and undulating rollers that challenge the legs and provide some additional elevation to our ride. I ride up a short, wall-like hill that requires some quick planning to ensure the proper gearing needed to complete the climb. By the time I put my cleat down at the top and before I can turn around I heard the slightly anticipated “whoaaahuuuhaah”. I turn slowly to find Renate is literally, upside down in a ditch! I refrain from laughter until I can get her safely separated from pedal and bike. With more than a little cachinnation, we collect ourselves and ride on. A fieldstone chimney stands hauntingly solo in the middle of a field. An orange truck amongst a collection of forgotten automobiles marks the intersection with Damascus that guides us along the wavelike rows of grapevines that is Frogtown Cellars.

This orange truck has not moved in 4 years.

Before we turn right towards the café, Renate is in quite deliberation. We can take a left, return to a warm shower, hot food and then rest in failure or take a right ride two miles, take a short rest at the café then repeat the wine route one more time. We ride slowly towards the café while Renate mutters, “I want…..no….. No more hills”.

The waitress’ at Turner’s Corner Café were extremely friendly and very attentive. We were quickly served up hot coffee, sweet tea and peach cobbler while we relaxed outside on a deck as the Chestatee River runs beneath us. The warm peach cobbler was absolutely delicious and it certainly filled the void created by the hard 50 miles and 5000 ft of climbing. Casual conversation and jocularity with other friendly cyclists at neighboring tables provide the distraction Renate needed to keep her mind off the last 13 miles we needed to complete the challenge.

Staring at each other

Rerunning the wine route was probably not the best way to get in the balance of the miles as Renate prefers not to retrace steps, but I do not know the area well and this is the “flattest” section in Dahlonega I know. The closer we get home the more the miles wear on poor Renate’s fading will. With only about a tenth of a mile to the hostel we realize we were half a mile short of our goal and so we ride repetitive 0.15 mile loops on the crest of a hill until the inevitable scream bellows from her lungs and her hands thrust skyward like she had just bagged a TdF stage win.

The Face of Exhaustion

That night, sleep came easy and the next day, I rode alone.

Inside Stories

Posted on June 10, 2014 by admin

“This is what made you cry”, I asked?

“It reminds me of you!”, she replied with an outpour of emotion instantly conveying to me that I was in her heart and in her mind… that I was loved deeply and without restraint. 20140610_082642-1

I had just finished reading a page from Inside Stories II upon her request as she was admittedly unable to complete the read on her own. The book is a sequel to Inside Stories containing pictures of the very labels you can find sewn inside a pocket or inside flap of one of their high quality road cycling garments. Apparently this label hit home. 20140610_082737-1

It reads:

“We ride silently, like mime artists, through the city. Invisible lines guide us as we negotiate favourite corners, ridden with a little extra speed; that bench at the top of the hill, the perfect stop to marvel at the skyline; a shortcut behind an old pub, memories still ringing with drunken laughter.

We move with hardly a sound, uncovering the city with movement. Every rider draws their own intimate map of the metropolis with these untraceable grooves. The road continues to buzz with hard reality, but in amidst the din, thousands of invisible routes are blooming, as the two wheels carve new lines through the madness.”

One of the objectives of a savvy marketing team on a storied brand is to make an emotional connection with the consumer. Touch them in a way that cultivates a loyalty to the brand. To go so far as make an emotional connection with a customer’s spouse, well, then you know these guys have a finger on the pulse. I am speaking, of course, about the marketing genius of Rapha.

I discovered Rapha in 2009 while searching for tasteful cycling kit that performed well. What I found was an internet based brand with a website filled with road cycling content. The Continental was making its way across the USA, riding steep gravel roads on little known routes in some very remote areas of our beautiful country. The stories written by one of the riders in the group, photographs taken, or video filmed in iconic black and white, conveyed the effort and emotion, the very suffering experienced during a difficult climb or extended route through extreme weather. These stories reminded me of the countless hours I had spent in the saddle 25 years past.

Rapha had made that connection and then delivered on its promise.

Return of the Commute

Posted on February 19, 2014 by admin

Sick of my own whining I revert to my time honored solution for laying down mid-week miles. Yes, I have returned to commuting. Easier said than done, working the preparation and logistics into a routine takes some forethought and yields a few mistakes. Albeit, the same mistakes I made and mended the last time I started down this path which were the same…

Yeah you get the picture, stop something long enough and your routine is no longer a routine.

The solution is in the doing.

Commuting by bike changes the rhythm of my day. I awake and leave the house a little earlier and cannot help feeling like it is Saturday morning. The ride itself never fails to make me feel connected to nature, really experience the weather and become part of the landscape unfolding before me. Although some motorists may temporarily derail the euphoric mood with their poor behavior I always return to center and feel more positive as the work day begins.

Cleaning up in a sink has its challenges but all can be overcome with good preparation. Monday I bring my Rapha Soignuer Bag to the office containing Tuesday’s office attire, a wash cloth and small towel, the return ride’s kit and the essential toiletries. Well appointed luggage is the trademark of an organized gentleman.

Repeating this process for Wed/Thurs delivers two days of excuse free riding and leaves only Wednesday for that post commute drive debate. That is three days of riding sandwiched by two days in the gym completing a work week’s worth of workouts.

The solution is always found in the doing.

Get on a Bike and Ride!

Festive 500 Day Eight

Posted on January 2, 2014 by admin

38 Miles

61 Kilometers

In unceremonious fashion I completed the Festive 500 on the eighth day in only four rides. No Pictures, No Drama just fly from Kingston, Jamaica to Miami, Florida. Then get home by taxi and …

Kit Up, Pump Up and Go!

I left the house at five and returned at seven in time to enjoy a pork and sauerkraut dinner for New Years Eve.

507 KM ridden in just four rides… not bad.

The most difficult aspect of this year’s Festive was finding the energy to post blog worthy pros. Yes, I made my Facebook posts and Strava Posts in a timely manner, but the pictures and the editing were just too much. The mileage can burn the mind to bits.

Maybe next year I can ride to Dallas, or circumvent Florida, or seek out snowy rides in the Georgia Mountains, maybe Ride it in Germany…

Thanks for the miles.

Until next year!

#festive500

Festive 500 Day Three

Posted on January 2, 2014 by admin

79 Miles

127 Kilometers

The sound of driving rain coupled with wind lulled me into postponing my departure from the comfort of a warm bed. Once up, I wasted no time in checking the weather outside. Yes it was raining and raining hard but in Miami it could be over in minutes. I turned on the tube (dating myself) and the weather man showed a rain pattern long and wide yet finite. I will ride south through the weather and estimate enduring only two hours of rain then a dry ride the rest of the way.

Even at Seventy-two degrees rain can turn a ride from fun to uncomfortable and potentially dangerous. Staying warm will be important so I pull out the Rapha ¾ bibs, a merino base layer, winter Jersey. Always take care of the extremities. I add my Rapha booties to the pile. Toastie feet are a blessing on any winter ride. Long finger gloves, winter collar and Rapha cap complete the kit and the red accessories accent the grey jersey and black bibs beautifully. I struggled to decide whether I should wear the rain jacket or gilet. The rain jacket might be too much protection and tend to overheat. The gilet will not protect the arms and will only shed so much water.

I stepped outside. The roads were empty.

It was pouring so hard loud laughter rolls from my “belly like a bowl full of jelly”.

Within a mile I was positive the rain jacket was the correct choice. My core was dry and comfortable. In ten miles I was still comfortable and smiling from ear to ear. No cars, no cyclist, no pedestrians… houses were hidden by the deluge. The suburban landscape appeared wild and untamed…

the world was mine.

I was keeping a decent pace and was amazed at how good I felt. I still wonder at the recuperative powers of the human body. Yesterday, I finished my ride with a decent amount of pain and today I am riding through the rain at tempo. I keep my first break short to keep moving, too keep the juices flowing.

I ride through the palm nurseries and out towards Roberts the weather breaks and the sun begins to peak through the clouds. I open the rain jacket and let it flap, a chance to dry out before I stuff it in my jersey. I ride out into the Killing Fields to get in some extra miles. The sun has made its presence known and has pushed the temperature to 82 degrees. Off goes the rain jacket and into the jersey pocket. The winter jersey is now open…the Euroflag in full flight.

20131226_155951 After Fifty miles I have my first cyclist sighting of the day.

A break at Roberts and I am heading home. The wind has died down a bit so I am in great shape to break a 100 miles. I am stoked.

The sky darkens and my headlamp has lost power. I don’t know what happened since I had turned it off at the first break. My plan to have a backup headlamp failed when I left this morning with it still on the kitchen table. I point one of the three rear lights forward to ensure I am seen from all directions but it does nothing for the dark road ahead. The cloud cover and the mangroves make for difficult riding and the motorists are out taking chances. I head to Starbucks and call in the cavalry for the second time in two days. I am disappointed that I could not complete today’s route but satisfied with the 79 miles.

This leaves me with like 36 miles left to complete the Festive 500. Tomorrow I leave for Jamaica and will not return until 12/31…the last day of the festive.

I find it difficult to leave things unfinished.

#festive500

Festive 500 – Day One

Posted on December 26, 2013 by admin

116 Miles

187 Kilometers

After tossing and turning all night I pull myself out of bed before the alarm could wake Renate. She remained sleeping as I prepared coffee and headed out on the veranda to check the winter weather. In the darkness a dedicated few were awake pursuing their daily habits of walking the dog, running or strolling in the park below. I can count no more than four.

It is the morning of Christmas Eve. There is no reason to rise from your bed so early. It is a day to relax, share time and stories with friends and family. A day for foie gras, oysters, lobsters and wine carefully paired with each. Not so for we, the noble few, these crazy gentleman riders.

The weather is perfect. I cannot help but notice that there is absolutely no wind. Not a rustle of the palm or shutter of a leaf, Nothing….

Nada.

Excited at the prospect of a windless ride I wondered how far I could go. Last night I took care to prepare my bike, clothes and nutrition and so without the pressure of time I enjoy the coffee and stare into the east as the sun prepares to make its appearance.

A lone airplane passes overhead making its descent to MIA.

It’s time to Kit up, Pump up and Go!

I begin my ride as I almost always do by riding through Overtown. Most cyclists will circumvent this impoverished community for fear of their safety. I ride through it as a reminder of the truth. There is poverty, homelessness hopelessness and starvation in America.It is closer to us than we are willing to admit. The homeless rise from their temporary shelters and seek to find new refuge for the day.

As I ride over the channel the sun makes its appearance. It is so bright it mutes the color of the surrounding buildings and even the sky.

Obstacles to progress comes in many forms.

A wayward bicyclist travelling in the wrong lane.

Never bridge a city bus on the right; it will only bring you grief. The graphics on its rear panel seems to mock me as I wait for it to slowly lurch forward.

And the ever present garbage can in the bike lane.

Through coconut grove

Past Plymouth church and on to Starbucks for a cup of coffee and a rice cake.

The weekly group ride would never stop this soon but today I have many miles to lay down and I am doing it solo. Here I begin to imagine the possibility of riding to Key Largo. It is a torture on a windy day as it is a long road exposed to the wind off the water. You just don’t ride it solo.

But today, today is a windless day.

I ride past Black Point and through the palm tree nurseries careful to check out the channels. The water is clear blue green with not a ripple on the surface, no evidence of wind. In fact you can see the details of the seaweed, the fish swimming effortlessly, the sandy bottom.

I must take advantage of this day.

After a quick break in Florida City I mount the Mooney and head further south. When you ride Card Sound Road it appears you are on a false flat. You look towards the horizon and perspective fools you into thinking, seeing a slight incline. It is in fact flat. Seawater on either side, there is no mistake; you are riding at sea level. The flattest. The only challenge is fitness, friction, relative wind and will.

Did I say it is a long road? Yeah, the view doesn’t change, the grade, the effort… all the same. Eventually the toll booth comes into view and I know I will be rewarded soon.

Card Sound Bridge is not an easy climb but it is short.

Spectacular views

I arrive at Circle K in Key Largo. After 69 miles, I can feel it in my legs. A couple of peppermint chocolates lighten my mood and make me think of Renate. I post a picture on FB and text her, “at Key Largo, likely 5 more hours to home”.

I start to dream of the possibility of completing 135 miles for the first time and on the first day of the Festive. Card Sound road had other plans. A small headwind kicked up as the weatherman predicted and Card Sound Road is pointing directly into it.

I get to the Florida peninsula in one piece, but my pace has fallen off. There is only forty more miles to home and only twenty to Starbucks. Once again I travel back through the palm nursery where the man with the hammer strikes his fateful blow. I am bonking, like an engine with no compression my legs just can’t do the work. I stop at Black Point and give home a ring. We agree to meet at Starbucks. It takes almost forty minutes to ride 5 miles.

These legs are cooked.

Sitting at Sarbucks waiting for calvary I still can’t help to think…

I can still make it.

#festive500

2013 Festive 500 Begins

Posted on December 24, 2013 by admin

The Festive 500 is one of those annual events you do just to see where you are and what kind of season you have ahead of you. I have been participating in this challenge since its inception in 2010. The challenge itself is simple in concept, ride 500km in eight days between Dec 23^rd and Dec 31^st. Complete the challenge and you receive a patch bearing its name.

If you take a pragmatic approach, the challenge appears in a word…doable. Forty miles a day is an effort most recreational cyclists can afford. However, need I remind you, we are talking December and most of the country and a fair bit of the cycling world is held hostage by sub freezing temperatures blanketed by snow. Climbing a 5% incline is tough in June….try it with icicles hanging from your beard.

Even in Miami, Mother Nature seems to conspire with Aeolus and kicks up a headwind so strong it wears down even the the most stubborn among us. Throw in familiar obligations, friendly gatherings and plenty of opportunities to overindulge and the Festive 500 begins to seem all but impossible.

Even so, each year thousands of cyclists of all shapes, sizes and age attempt to complete the arduous task. Many not only complete the challenge but blow it away, others put on display their creative genius with dramatic stories and artful photos, then still others do it in such hardman style it serves as inspiration to all but the least initiated of human existence. If you want to read some stories of challenges past hit the Rapha blog site for some tales of suffering, defeat and achievement.

This year I have chosen to relax for 5 days in Jamaica sans velo. This leaves me with only 3 days to complete the challenge.

Yeah, your math is correct……107 per day.

There is some shoulder time around flight days that might allow me to catch up miles I may miss in the first three.

All I want for Christmas is the legs to see me through the 2013 Festive 500.

And a patch to prove it…..

And a T-shirt too.

The Gentleman Rider

Recollections from an Old Road Sage

Tag Archives: Rapha

Zero to Five Hundred

Two Italians

Chasing The Hog

Rapha Rising Day One and the Woman’s 100

Inside Stories

Return of the Commute

Festive 500 Day Eight

Festive 500 Day Three

Festive 500 – Day One

2013 Festive 500 Begins