Category Archives: Community of Strangers

Two Italians

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“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 168th 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”.

Le Tour de Breakers – 7th Annual

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#Seventh Annual Le Tour de Breakers 2014

Cycling is an interesting community of strangers. You build relationships over time with short discussions before the ride or in the pace line at tempo. Not unlike civil society, acceptance is largely conditional upon your ability to keep up, pull your weight, and contribute to the common good. On a typical weekend ride few people have the luxury of languishing behind to engage in idle conversation as five hours have already been spent separated from chores, loved ones, familiar obligations and occupational deadlines. So the ties that bind are the long hours laboring in each other’s service with the lion’s share of respect going to those who pull at the front for extended periods of time.

This Sunday a 6:30AM start of the annual Tour de Breakers has been on the training calendar for quite some time. I approached the day with some trepidation as I have not laid down solid base miles since my time off the bike while licking my wounds in November. To make matters worse I just spent a week away from Miami on business with a full schedule in a locale where sub zero temperatures do little to inspire a trip to the gym let alone an outdoor evening ride. So knowing that a huge piece of humble pie will be served up on a platter, I prepare the bike and gear then set the alarm for 5:00 AM.

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Arriving at Alex’s house in the dark I was met with jovial greetings from old friends making me feel I had not been absent from this group of riders for almost 15 months20140202_063056-1. Sixteen of us OMIL’s (Old Men in Lycra) gathered and listened as Alex spelled out the ride route and rules of engagement. We left without incident and in organized fashion heading east towards South Beach. The farther we head east onto the beach the more we became encircled by the runners tempting their fate and fitness against the 13.1 mile route of the ING. With some risk taking and questionable consideration each one of the sixteen riders made it through a relatively dense wall of runners darting through the gaps that inevitably exist in every sporting event.

 A quick count verified a group complete and so made haste to the first rest top known as Giorgio’s. The pace was brisk and held no semblance to the target of 18-22mph. I held on but was concerned about my continued endurance at this speed. My concern was validated when the group attacked the bridge, dropped me, and vanished. I was able to keep an even 18mph pace while solo but did not cherish the idea of slogging out the full 80+ miles alone. Arriving at Giorgio’s, I was fully prepared to return home with a 40 mile day in the books.

The group pressed north and meandered the ramps, side roads and residential district that returns us to the mainland heading North on A1A. We kept a steady pace of 20-22 MPH which I was able to hold and so arrived at 7-11 for a quick break and refuel.

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Further along A1A we came across a segment of bordered by park, dunes and beach accompanied by some excellent bird watching and constrained by periodic red lights. When you travel at the back of the peloton you are subject to the accordion effect.  The few on front take off then everyone thereafter is subject to a small gap created by the delayed reaction of the person in front of them. By the time it reaches the last few riders the effect can be extreme. You bring up your pace to 23-24mph to bridge the gap only to find yourself slowing for the next red light. You mistakenly think to yourself, “Why are they accelerating so quickly”? In fact, the front few are merely riding up to 20mph and holding…. the rest is your fault… for being in the back will always cost you.

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As we close on The Breakers we ride along the coast with a full panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean like only South East Florida can deliver. The mood of the group is elated and can be felt as the pace travels upwards to 25mph. “Only 6 miles, Only 5 miles….” becomes my mantra as a guttural roar escapes my control while straining the quads to close the gap and hold on tight. Wheel sucking is survival. We turn onto the long cobbled drive, circle the fountain and pose for pictures. Everyone is happy and looking forward to lunch at a French Bistro downtown called Pistache. As we roll toward the restaurant I feel grateful to those who today pulled my weight and vow to return the favor when my form returns. Beers and wine further elevated our mood and stories of today’s ride and rides past flow like wine.

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Old friends become new again and new companions become friends.

 

This is the power of the bicycle….

                                                         the result of the ride.

The Homestead Speedway Century

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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 Two

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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

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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.

Sunday Spin

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There are things you miss when you are focused on a goal, like a slow Sunday morning. This Sunday, I eased into the day and let it spin away freely. A little coffee, a bit of grocery shopping, a dash of the Vuelta and a couple of chores left me with two hours to get in a ride.  Saturday’s three hour group ride was hard enough and left the legs a bit heavy so I decided to forgo the Big Gear training until Monday.

After a quick hour ride on South Beach I found myself waiting for the bridge on the Venetian. The cars started lining up like cows to the slaughter. While waiting, I exchange some light conversation with a young couple riding up on their rental beach cruisers. The bridge descends and we roll over it while maintaining the conversation. Eventually the conversation leads to directions to Star Island. “Ahhh…that would mean you would need to ride on the MacArthur”, I mumbled.

The MacArther Causeway is a racetrack filled with lunatic motorists. I never ride my bike on this deathtrap of roadway and I begin to imagine two tourists pedaling along the causeway and envision the potential for horrific outcomes. “Hey….you wannah see something really cool? I shout loud enough for the gentleman to hear. “There is some great graffiti in the Wynwood district, it is worth the trip”. They agreed to take the detour and so we went.

Soon we were entering Overtown. Now I ride through Overtown 3-4 times a week and have become accustomed to its very urbane character. Abandoned buildings with broken windows, chain link fences surrounding unused littered lots and poorly maintained welfare housing are the visual cues that cause some folks concern. I recognize that this may be somewhat uncomfortable for my new riding companions and so comment, “This area gets a bit sketchy but no one will bother you, we will be fine…Honestly”.

We continue to meander through the streets and back alleys north of 20th street as the finger pointing begins and the shouts of excitement get more frequent while Wynwood slowly reveals its secrets.

This one goes 3-D as the paint goes down the wall and towards you on the side walk.

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Cartoons are always fun.

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Yes

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I keep trying to figure this one out, let me know if you can.

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Few things inspire a man more than a naked woman and a hot car.

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This one is particulary disturbing.

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Shiva?

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This one is my Favorite, it’s huge, detailed and says everything.

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Simon and Pilar introduce themselves and thank me for the experience. I lead them back to the Venetian and we said our goodbyes. It was obvious to me that they both enjoyed themselves on our little detour and truthfully so did I. If I was taking the day’s ride seriously I would have never spent the time with these folks and it would not have been as pleasant.

Saturday Morning Group Ride

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Five Thirty comes early on a Saturday morning. I take 20 minutes to sip the morning brew in the darkness while I stare at the wall covered in ink drawings, photographs and lithographs. I remain in a dream like state as I reminisce about how or where I found each piece. Surprised at how much I can remember…the day, the smells, the light, who I was with, and what I was feeling, I am thankful that they are there hanging on the wall in front of me. I look to the blank space on the wall and wonder what is next. This is how I start each morning suspended in the past, absent from the present and anxious for the future.

So starts the pre-ride routine that prepares me for a 3 hour tour of the Miami flatlands. Another 30 minutes has me filling bottles, laying out my clothes, nutrition, and gear. I procrastinate a few moments, as I always do, just prior to slathering on the chamois cream and sunscreen.

Then it’s, Kit UP, Pump Up and GO!

I haven’t made a Saturday morning group ride in over 10 months. Carless roads, cool summer breeze and a beautiful Miami sunrise greet me as I make my way through the city towards the meet point at Miami City Hall. I miss these quiet moments on the bike. The city has its own morning rituals. The young stumble out of the clubs, the long shore men line up for selection and the homeless begin to wake from their temporary beds. It is still too early for shops and bakeries to open but some coffee can be found if you know where to look.

This is a new group for me, an aspiring group of 20 riders in the 18-22 speed range. A collection of men and women of different sizes and shapes leave as scheduled. We rode out to Black Point with a sprint that topped out at about 25mph. The ride leader launched from the group with no chase. I looked around….anybody…anybody? Nobody chases. So I jump, bridging the gap and maintaining at 25 for a few hundred yards until we settle down at about 23mph for the remaining distance. This is a far cry from last year’s 34MPH top end and 23-26MPH cruising speed. Its ok, it is not all gone, I can work with it.

Todd Gogulski commenting on the Vuelta quotes Jonathan Vaughters.”The mind of the professional cyclist is a fragile thing”. He adds his own philosophies on the importance of a positive mental attitude and how it relates to Chris Horner’s chances of reclaiming the red jersey.

On the return trip, I begin to lose patience with the gaps in the double pace line and the accordion affect it creates. I pull out and up to the front alongside the group leader and stay there for the remainder of the ride. The group leader, a Hungarian supply chain professional, is a chatty guy so we hold a conversation while keeping a 20-21 mph tempo. We quickly find common ground and enjoy a work related discussion that makes light the effort on the bike. I’m reminded on how cycling is really a community of strangers and how cyclists in general are an amicable group.

I return home to a hot bath and some much deserved rest.

I sleep  dream the rest of the day away.