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.

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 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 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: Century Rides