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

The Elements

Posted on May 9, 2014 by admin

Two days riding in the hills of Sebring was a study of riding in the wind and rain. Like an illustration from Jo Burt the group remained in tight formation with the force of nature surrounding us like the darkness of night. Respite is found only for those skilled in the art of sucking wheel. In front of me a rider begins to struggle with the affects and allows gaps to open then work his way back to the wheel causing the accordion effect I despise. Others in the group had less patience than I and began voicing their opinions emphatically. The gentleman rotated out and was gone.

It is the way of the cyclist. Keep up, contribute, and share, else go it alone. No one waits or hardly cares.

I spent a bit too long at the front in the wind. Failing to rotate before exhausting reserves I found it difficult to hold onto the back and I too was gone. I was amongst the dropped in just over 20 miles leaving me alone and more than a little disappointed. A small groupetto of five formed that quickly became three. We three worked together pretty well but the work was hard and the result was marginal. The wind was winning.

I spent the balance of the day in recovery.

The news was foreboding. Heavy rain was expected on our second day and the morning sky confirmed its impending arrival. The peloton travelled at a fair clip over the hills, through the orange groves, and along the lake. “You must have had a good night’s sleep”, Ken News commented noting my arrival to the rest stop in good position.

The sky grew grim and everyone instinctively mounted their bikes to finish the ride before it broke loose. We rode around the lake in formation with Sindicato taking lead. Jackie Leon was just in front of me riding confidently. I could not help but be impressed by the progress she has made in the past few years and when it was her turn she rode the front steady and strong.

Once again I spent too much time at the front and just before a set of hills that loosened a few of us off the back. About six in all we rode as the heavens poured rain like a waterfall in spring. We arrived at a gas station with 15 miles left when a rider said let’s hold up for a couple of guys. I played along and enjoyed a hot tea while we engaged in idle conversation. The time seemed to be slipping away when I eventually asked, “for whom are we waiting?” “The SAG” was the response.

“I came to ride”, I muttered as I mounted the Mooney. “You’re a wild man”, was the response. I shuttered at the thought of spending hours with five shivering cyclist at a gas station waiting to be rescued rather than ride a mere 15 mile. The rain continued to pour from the sky. Beads of water formed on the bill of my cap moving side to side with the cadence of my pedal stroke. Again like a Jo Burt illustration I had to breathe from the side of my mouth to avoid breathing water into my lungs.

Sleep came easy like it always does when you spend the day exposed to the elements.

Return to Sebring

Posted on April 30, 2014 by admin

I am looking forward to spending a spring weekend rolling around the hills, lakes and orange groves of Sebring, FL with Ken and company from the Highland Pedalers. Two metric centuries should be just what I need to dislodge my fitness worries and add some much need miles to my base. I wouldn’t call the regular diet of rollers climbing, but the grades are just enough to shake you loose from the peloton should you arrive unprepared.

The Highland Pedalers proudly host the Everglades Bicycle Club providing route marking, ride marshals and SAG for the EBC Spring Break Weekend. The routes are well marked, the rest stops are well stocked and the people are friendly. What I really dig about the weekend is the rural countryside we cruise around for a few hours each day.

If you are looking at getting the hell out of Miami for a weekend of countryside riding, pack up the SUV Wednesday night, skip work at 1:00 and head north to Sebring.

That’s what I will be doing.

2014 Six Gap Century

Posted on April 14, 2014 by admin

It may be premature, but I am setting my sites on the Six-Gap Century in September. It seems almost idiotic that this is the result of surviving a four day training block without any residual Sciatica pain. Friday night I cruised through the gym, Saturday I put in forty miles with decent results and Sunday I turned in another forty-two. Tonight’s gym workout finishes the four day block.

Planning out the annual training calendar is always exciting. You look forward with childlike enthusiasm at the coming months. Free from the pain of injury, the stress created by deadlines, the concern of time consumed by family affairs and free from self doubt, all is possible. Soon you have a Grandfondo scheduled every weekend and a training schedule that looks more like a professional race calendar. More than a little pruning produces a more realistic calendar and promises to keep Renate from going AWOL.

So that’s it.

The 2014 Six Gap Century.

One big event to focus on.

Everything else is training.

The ride consists of eleven thousand feet of climbing over six mountain passes with none tougher than Hogpen Gap averaging a 7% grade over seven miles. Your thoughts transcend reality as Hogpen slows you to a crawl while expending maximum effort. Once you crest the gap you descend at break neck speeds while experiencing a freefall into fear.

Oh yes please, more…more of this.

Festive 500 – Day Two

Posted on January 2, 2014 by admin

88.7 miles

143 Kilometers

Today I woke an hour later than yesterday and I am sure tomorrow will be later still a pattern that repeats itself each year of the Festive 500. I am sore from yesterday’s ride and so I move around the condo slowly. I sit down with my coffee and listen while the wind outside roars so loud it sounds like heavy rain. I slowly peel back the vertical blinds to reveal the trees bent over and their palms pointed straight south west like invisible strings are pulling at their tips. Yesterday’s strategy to collect as many miles as possible has now proven sound as wind like this can weigh heavy on a riders mind, body and spirit.

The legs are heavy and my mind is already focused on the return trip. A strong tailwind makes light work but I am cautious and so keep the pace easy. I must reserve my energy for the return. It wasn’t long into the ride I when my arse begins telling the story of yesterday’s ride. I shift down into a higher gear and raise myself from the saddle to provide relief. The sharp pain shoots up as the material separates from the skin conveying the presence of raw skin; a product of too many miles, too soon. I was not prepared for yesterdays 116 mile ride. My 2013 training has been riddled with fits and starts separated by illness and injury. I am not even prepared for today.

I take my rest and grab a coffee. My mood is somber and I stew on the miles ahead. I sit down next to St Nicholas out for a relaxing ride on his Harley after completing his whirlwind journey across the globe bring cheer to deserving girls and boys. I ask him for a new set of wheels and he tells me I must wait until next year.

I smile and follow a family riding shiny new bicycles in single file formation from Dad to the tiniest tot in order from tall to small. I could not help from interjecting myself into their moment and asked, “Did everyone get a new bicycle for Christmas”? They all replied with a resounding “YEESSS” and flashed big smiles. They were kind enough to pose for me and politely repeated “Merry Christmas” with enthusiasm as the shutter clicked.

As I prepared to mount and continue my ride I asked a weary cyclist, “Are you heading south?” “No”, he replied as he stared into the distance. “Going north”, he finished after a long pause. He had that far away look in his eye. “How is the headwind?” I ask. To which he slowly shakes his head, looks down and says, ”I just gear down and spin until I run out of road.”

Sage advice.

So I continue my ride through the palm trees, past Roberts and into the Homestead “Killing Fields”.

Here the farmland although picturesque with its patterns of deeply furrowed bare earth and long green lines of vegetation provides no obstruction to the wind. Here the wind consumes you like some invisible beast, surrounding and forcing you to submit to its overwhelming and relentless power. You cannot simply power against it. It will ruin you if you do. Instead, like a long climb, you gear down, find that steady pace and ride it out.

I come out of the fields towards Robert’s and see the American flag completely unfurled in my direction. Inspiration to a patriot, yes but to a cyclist, it foretells of a long wearisome ride home.

It’s Christmas day and Robert’s is packed. Families from neighboring towns and tourists escaping the Northern winter climes enjoy the fresh fruit, smoothies, vintage trucks and jovial mood. The usual hoards of cyclists are absent. I am alone in a crowd.

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I drink coconut water for its heralded hydrating power but I abhor its flavor. There is no other way to describe it. It tastes like ass.

The return trip home bears no pleasure. My feet hurt, the left foot metatarsal is particularly painfull and I must concentrate on pulling up to provide relief. My triceps are tired and ache from bearing my weight as my abs and back have wearied from the task. The perennial region screams at me and I am forced to ride out of the saddle every 100 yards to reduce its effect on my mind. I am not complaining mind you. This is not the first time nor will it be the last that I subject myself to this sort of self inflicted torture.

I am a cyclist.

My legs still strong turn the crank until I run out of road and I am home.

#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

The Homestead Speedway Century

Posted on November 14, 2013 by admin

One thing I like about riding annual events is that it marks the calendar for a personal fitness gauge. With 600 participants, The Homestead Speedway Century is just that sort of gauge. Everyone who attends prepares to bring their best legs including clubs who train together in a mission to display their unified force.

I arrive with plenty of time and begin my pre-ride ritual. You can feel the energy in the air surrounding the parking lot filled with anxious riders pumping tires and kitting up in the dark. Just before lining up I catch up with Willy Suarez. Willy and I forged a bond in the crucible of pain back in 2009/10 when I was just returning to cycling. He and I would sometimes (read often) get dropped on the return trip from Bay Front Marina during our regular Saturday morning group ride. One would catch up with the other and with an exchange of friendly if somewhat humble smiles we would drag each other against prevailing headwinds back to Miami City Hall. Things changed in 2010, both of us were mixing it up a bit and began riding at the front of some pretty spirited groups.

Every year the Speedway commences with a lap around the NASCAR track and heads out to the Homestead farmland. This year was different with an out and back to Key Largo for the first 60 miles. As you can imagine, weeding your way through 600 riders to find the right place with riders keeping the right pace can be a challenge. I look down to see that my speed had climbed to 29 mph with hits to 32 mph within the first two miles and I am keenly aware I am out of my league for my current fitness level.

So I dial it back to a 23-24mph. There is an absence of riders at this pace leaving me caught out alone as I watched my speed slipping to 22-23mph. The strain in my legs lets me know that I am in need of a group to provide some respite if I think I am going to keep up the pace. After a few more miles I can hear the leader of Team Sindicato, Jorge Gonzalez, dispensing orders and keeping things tight. I pull out left and slow down to let the blue and white kitted riders slide on by knowing I can count on them to provide a steady pace. It was then I realize that they were pulling just about everyone left in the ride and so finding a hole in the pace line was more than a little difficult. I was likely thirty riders back when I finally found some space amongst the minions. A quick look around confirmed there was another thirty more wheelsuckers in tow.

Riding mid-pack of a large group has its own set of challenges not the least of which is the potential for crashes. I open a gap in front of me to let a stray rider into the lee. It wasn’t long before I realized my mistake; he was a coaster. Yeah, the kind of rider that races up to the wheel in front of him then coasts and opens a gap of two bike lengths and then does so repeatedly for the entire ride.

Cooooaast, pedal, pedal, pedal – Cooooast, pedal, pedal , pedal, Coooast….

Nothing saps the energy out of a pace line like a coaster. The accordion effect he creates cascades all the way back to the last riders who will be likely become exhausted from the repeated efforts to hold on and then subsequently dropped . So I wait until he begins his coast, pull out, and jump in front to him in the gap he creates. I am sure he thinks me rude, but I just can’t take it anymore.

Card Sound Road Bridge is just a quarter of a mile at 4.5% but still steep enough to shake me loose from the group. No worries, the dropped riders regroup and forge ahead keeping a steady effort to finish out the 30 miles to the first rest stop. Things are a bit crowded at the tents so as the masses forage for bananas, PBJ sandwiches and granola bars, I tuck into a little tasty morsel of rice, eggs and bacon I have been carrying in my jersey pocket. These delicious rice cakes contain 270 calories the majority of which are supplied by carbohydrates from calrose rice and further flavored with liquid amino acids and parmesan cheese. I whisper a thank you for my wife, Renate who lovingly prepares these nutritious tidbits without request for big riding weekends.

Riders are gathering to leave and so I top off my bidons, find a wheel and hold on for the return trip. Head and crosswinds keep the effort high. This group dwindles from about 20 riders down to 6 as the wind and miles take their toll. Returning to the Speedway, I am surprised to find so many riders hanging out post ride in jovial spirits enjoying each other’s company as announcements are made and raffle swag is distributed. I reflect on my previous Speedway full century rides and remember clearly much smaller gatherings of fatigue fogged riders with that far away look in their eyes. It seems the party subsides in the time it takes to do the additional 40 miles of a full century.

I grab some food, a Pepsi and find an open seat soon to be joined by another riding buddy Alex Labora. Alex is a bit of a social butterfly and enjoys chewing the fat with just about, well… everyone. In fact, I don’t think there is a group ride in Miami that Alex has not ridden. I have never witnessed Alex in a foul mood apart from the occasional confrontations with errant motorists. We enjoy each other’s company until I find my energy waning and bid Alex adieu.

This year’s Speedway I have been measured and found wanting. It does appear, however, that I still have some friends out on the road and discover I am all the richer for it.

Mt Dora – Day Three

Posted on October 31, 2013 by admin

Sunday morning finds me drinking beet juice in the dark. Yesterday’s metric has left me with fuel in the tank and ready to take on the 40 miles out to Sugar Loaf Mountain and back. Today is less about enjoying the ride and more about getting it done, packing up and driving 4 hours south home to Miami.

Still the weather is perfect for a ride and we travel at a pretty steady 20-22MPH for 15 miles out to where the climbing begins. We hit a mile long hill leading to Sugar Loaf with a 2.7% grade. I struggle to hold onto wheels and loose some ground in the group whilst other riders slide on back. One of which is the huff and puff dude from yesterday’s ride shouting in recognition, “I remember you” as he is dropped without remorse. A short descent provides some respite just before the base of Sugarloaf. The 9% incline slows me down to a crawl while I watch manorexic sons of amateur racers float effortlessly past. Some quick math reminds me this will all be over in just ten minutes as I make new pledges of dietary discipline.

A well placed and crowded rest stop atop of the climb has everyone filling bottles, eating bananas and lining up at the port-a-johns. The mood is relaxed and quite social, so I take my time and partake in some idle conversation. It is not long before a small group prepares to roll, quickly I lineup and leave with them avoiding the crowd that will soon follow. We head out to take on the final climb of the day affectionately known as “The Wall”.

Once again it begins; chains begin dropping on a 2% climb preceding The Wall. On a 2% climb! The pace line splays open like buckshot forcing me to dodge the chain droppers and other riders scattered across the tarmac in an effort to remain upright and unscathed. Another descent brings me to the base of The Wall where I prepare for the 8% climb with a steady pace in the saddle; no attack, just spinning through. My pace is slow but I feel no pain. As I approach the top I have a rider passing with intent. slowly I stand up and raise the pace just enough to leave him behind. No hero here, just a little selfish pride.

I return to Mt Dora in the comfort of a small group. Stories of chain droppers can be heard as volunteers serve up some soda and brats cooked to perfection. Now the race to beat check out time begins with a quick shower and ends with the key in the mailbox. I say goodbye to The English Rose Cottage I called home for the last three days, turned the key, dialed in the tunes and pointed the Explorer south.

“Have tunes, Will travel”, I whisper with a nostalgic grin.

Mt Dora – Day Two

Posted on October 28, 2013 by admin

Another beautiful morning greets hundreds of riders at the start of today’s ride. Century and Metric riders take off, up and over a short climb that keeps the initial pace in check. A familiar figure slides on past me while riding his red Bianchi. I step up my pace and ride alongside Xavier Falconi, the President of the Everglades Bicycle Club, and engage in some light conversation. Xavier is a mild mannered, intelligent man who has brought to the EBC his organizational experience from the Pacific Northwest. We meander through the mass of riders as we attempt to position ourselves with a group that suits our pace. We settle into the third group with the first group still in sight, in the distance, yet out of reach. I hold my position as I struggle with the instinct to jump and bridge the gaps as I had done every year before. “Not this year kid, not today” are the words I tell myself to make it sound alright, to soothe the beast that is raging inside my head.

We run the rollers and head over to Thrill Hill. This baby is a short (0.1 mile) but extremely steep climb. You must prepare by shifting into the small chain ring and your smallest COG while you are coasting at speed down the preceding hill. The incline sharpens so fast that you go from 40 to 4mph in a matter of seconds. You must also prepare for the mayhem as riders to the left, right and center, are dropping to the ground like ducks along the Mississippi flyway come autumn. The scene is a little humorous and more than just a little bit pathetic. As the group approaches Thrill Hill experienced riders can be heard, “change to your small chain ring while coasting down” throughout the pace line. And still, you watch in disbelief as you see riders try to muscle up the 18% grade of Thrill Hill. Their bike slows to a crawl and while maximum tension is being exerted on the drive train they will then and only then attempt a gear change. The chain springs off the 52T like McKayla Maroney vaulting for Olympic silver. Slapping against the seat tube the chain comes to rest on the bottom bracket as the full weight of the cyclist is directed straight down towards the tarmac. If the cyclist was sitting he will get one or two rotations of the crank set sans resistance before he tips over in comic relief; and if the cyclist was out of the saddle? Well let’s just say he will gain experience through suffering.

There is still a couple of hill climbs left. Four of us form a groupetto and keep a steady pace of 20mph as we rotate every few minutes. As I slide back after a turn on the front one rider says to me, “you huff and puff but you keep on going”. I am sure he thought he was complimenting me. I am sure he meant no harm. He is right though, I am breathing heavy on some pretty mild climbs. I am struggling with an extra 30 lbs and an asthmatic condition diagnosed during an early morning trip to the emergency room 6 months ago. Even so, I took it as a challenge.

You see, my philosophy has always been, “Speak with your legs”. So on the next climb the beast takes control and I huff and puff my way away from that group never to be seen again.

Not a word spoken…

everything said.

Mt Dora – Day One

Posted on October 18, 2013 by admin

Taking off on a road trip and especially one that leads to a three day cycling weekend fills me with anticipation. I left work early to do some last minute packing and head north on a four hour drive to Mt. Dora. There is some mysterious and inexplicable force that pulls at me, holding me back, slowing me down, and keeping me from escaping the comfort of home. There is always one more thing to pack, to do, and check before I bounce.

Once on the road the sense of freedom engulfs me as I enter the freeway and gain cruising speed. Old school music streams down from the heavens and through the speakers adding to the road trippin’ vibe reminding me of old times with the Rudy’s. “Have tunes, will travel” was announced before every trip and just prior to inserting the latest cassette tape.

The morning’s ritual includes donning brand new Rapha Classic kit purchased and received just in time. The folks are keeping a gentleman’s pace as we ride through some residential areas and around East Crooked Lake beneath tree cover dripping with moss. It is a beautiful, cool morning. Heading north we crossed a highway and turned west towards Lake Eustis this time with the sun warming our backs. The lake is glowing a turquoise blue usually reserved for the Caribbean ocean and what little ripples exist are gleaming with a bright yellow and Chartreuse green stained by the sun.

As we roll up and over the first set of hills we ride tempo along a huge rolling pasture lined with horse fence. The sun continues its magic across the open field. “A perfect day for riding” is being muttered throughout the peloton. The tempo quickens and so silences the group. A series of rolling hills increases the effort even more creating gaps in the pace line. I lose the lead group reminding me I am not the ~~man~~ rider I was just 12 short months ago.

After rolling into town and receiving a post shower massage I am greeted by Sal and family, David and Marilyn. Sal invites me to join them for lunch and we sit on the shade covered patio of Cecile’s French Corner and casually pass the time away with conversation and crepes. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Friday afternoon.

The Gentleman Rider

Recollections from an Old Road Sage

Category Archives: Bicycle Festivals