Off to Ohio

Posted on July 10, 2014 by admin

Work shuttles me once a month north to Ohio. When motivation is high, I bring the Mooney. On this trip I planned to spend a week in Cincinnati in servitude and then another week in Mystic, CT visiting folks. The prospect of two weeks off the bike inspired the necessary motivation to pack the bike and kit along with my business attire, drag the bike around, rent large vehicles, pay the baggage fees, and subject frame and wheel to airport portage abuse.

I arrived at the Cincinnati airport on Sunday morning with full intentions on riding three to four hours in the seven hills. By the time I made it to the hotel two hours later, a massive headache had me face done in a pillow while my bike remained safe and secure in its travel case. The ride would have to wait. “Best laid plans…” The next day a colleague informed me that there was a group ride starting about seven miles from the hotel. Things were looking up.

I arrived at Biowheels just in time to purchase some CO2 cartridges, borrow a track pump from the shop, top off the wheels, shake some hands and leave with the “A” group. The ladies and gentleman of this shop ride took off up the first hill climb like the “A” group hill climbers I am not. I was sucking some serious wind trying to hold their wheels for the next several miles while my bronchial tubes wheezed like a grampus reminding me that I was not prepared for hammering climbs. My colleague Matthew being a gentleman, rolled back to ride with me for the entire ride. I gave him an opportunity to leave me to my own devices but he refused and so I welcomed his company.

It was a pleasant yet difficult ride, plenty of small steep hills and long steady climbs to help me prepare for Dahlonega, GA. We rode on roads reminiscent of my home town of North Stonington; stone embedded tarmac lined with stone walls and deciduous trees. Homes of affluence, farmland and forest filled the view. Hot summer air singed my lungs and warmed my quads as we meandered the seven hills of north of Cincinnati. I returned to my hotel room feeling great and anxious for the riding in store for the coming days.

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.

Le Tour de Breakers – 7th Annual

Posted on February 4, 2014 by admin

#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.

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 months. 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.

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.

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.

Old friends become new again and new companions become friends.

This is the power of the bicycle….

the result of the ride.

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.

Century Season

Posted on October 8, 2013 by admin

Autumn is Century Season in South Florida. It begins with The Tour of Sebring and ends with the Highlands Bike Fest. Unfortunately, I am in base building mode and just not ready to take on 100 miles at speed. So this year it will be Metric Century Season and begins this weekend with Mt Dora Bicycle Festival.

I have participated in this festival for the last three years. This year marks it’s 39^th annual and is one of the best run, most attended bicycle festivals I have attended. For three days, hordes of cyclist of all shapes, sizes and speeds descend upon this quaint little town nestled in Lake County, Fl. Lake County contains some of the only hills in Florida of any significant grade so the festival has appeal to those looking to climb a little.

Friday’s ride is a nice warm-up for Saturday’s century. Some energetic riders itching for a fight are reeled in by the ride leader who reminds them of the weight of the following day’s labor.

Saturday’s century starts in the dark in cool temperatures and is an all out road race for anyone trying to stay in the lead group or groups. It includes a short steep hill affectionately referred to as “The Wall” which serves to filter out the pure flatlanders from the experienced hill riders. A true Grimpeur will scoff at the small climbs but in Florida you have to take what you can get. Cyclists who choose to ride the full century are rewarded with 15-20 miles of head and cross winds that will cause some to question their resolve.

Sunday’s ride will just take whatever energy or will you have left and consume it dry. Give it away willingly.

There are two or three alternative routes on Saturday and Sunday for those riders interested less in speed and distances and more interested in the pure love of riding, in a bucolic setting, free of automobiles, and full of joy.

Century season continues with the following festivals/rides:

October 20^th Speedway Century

November 10^th Miami Gran Fondo

December 6^th & 7^th Escape to Key West

December 6^th -8^th Highlands Bike Fest

Then there are those rock’ em – sock’em SAG supported century rides that Keith Harrod organizes from November through December. These rides will find you in a large group barreling down the highway at 22-26 mph while working in organized echelons against some serious cross-winds. If you are feeling Belgium, order the fries with mayonnaise and find Keith on Facebook.

So, if you are suffering with cabin fever in colder climes and praying for warmer days and short sleeve jerseys, sign up for one or all of these rides and change your latitude.

Chasing Wheels

Posted on October 3, 2013 by admin

Two flights and six taxi rides sends me to NYC and returns me home safely. Business trips mess with my training and mess with my head. I don’t feel like sleeping. I can’t wake up. When I am awake it feels like I am asleep. I want to ride but the legs have something less stressful in mind. It makes me wonder how pro cyclists deal with the long transfers between stages of a grand tour. As the length and quantity of transfers seem to be a topic of debate when new grand tour routes are announced or even while a tour is under way, I am guessing the peloton has the same opinion.

Then there is this self imposed pressure to catch-up on training in an attempt to regain lost fitness. After returning from Germany I managed to complete two rides and an hour in the gym. That’s two rides in twelve days!

“Where do you get the energy?”my wife questions while standing naked before me. “I have to ride”, I respond with conviction. Now I can tell you that leaving a beautiful, naked woman at home in bed on a Saturday morning is just about the most difficult thing a man can do… at least this man anyway. You do this on enough Saturday mornings and you start to seriously question your priorities.

I ride out to Miami City Hall only to discover that the 18-22mph group is not riding this week. Without a moment to spare, I head south towards Casa Larios knowing I had little chance of getting there before the guys roll on. As expected, the parking lot was free of the telling, anxious riders rolling around in semi-circular and squiggly patterns like scout bees returning to their hive. So I roll on.

Now just about every Miami group ride that heads south towards Black Point, Bayfront or Homestead follows the same route which begins by meandering through the residential district of Pinecrest. The only way I was going catch a fast moving group ride is to cut the distance by making a beeline towards Cutler Bay. Questioning my sanity I am riddled with self doubt as I calculate the effort required to hold the wheels of a group cranked up above 30 mph. I am surprised when I find myself keeping a 20-22mph pace as I solo towards the rotary connecting Galloway with Old Cutler Road. I am impressed with my legs as they are working well at tempo without the all too familiar sting of lactic acid buildup. Is my fitness improving? Are my legs just rested? Where’s the travel affect? Could it be the royal jelly in my water bottle? Is it just motivation?

While searching for answers my attention is now directed towards a group moving through the rotary at speed towards Black Point. Is it Larios? Can I do it? Can I bridge a half mile gap? Instinctually I pick up the pace to 22-23mph, hit the rotary, slow down for a truck towing a boat and accelerate again to 23-24mph. I quickly mark the group at about one third of mile away. I have made decent ground, but if this is Larios they are going to accelerate to 28mph soon and then they will be gone. I top out at 24.5 mph and hold it. After a few minutes I slide off to 23mph. Out of the saddle I push it back to 24.5mph and hold. “Just one more” and with another acceleration, I reach the back of the peloton where I stay while I regain my composure. They are rolling at 22mph. This can’t be Larios?

I accelerate up into an open gap in the pace line and confirm with my new partner that this group is indeed not the Larios group. We are keeping a gentleman’s pace of 22-23mph and so I decide to hang on and see where they lead. We travel through the palm tree nurseries between Black Point and Bayfront maintaining a double pace line at a steady tempo. I am second wheel when we turn left after the bridge and over the channel towards Bayfront. The front guys peel off and my partner asks, ”where do you want to put it”. “Twenty two-twenty-three”, I reply. We bring it up to 22mph into a headwind and hold.

There is a little bridge just before the entrance of Bayfront Park that marks the sprint line. I am not sure why, but in Miami we don’t sprint for county lines, we sprint for bridges.

We pull on the front for a mile leaving a mile to go before the bridge. Soft pedaling I roll back and find a gap in the pace line after five riders. The guys at the front spy a small group of riders and so like bees to a hummingbird we accelerate forward until we are all mixed up and on the attack. The new guys try to maintain their dominance on the front but we engulf them anyway. That’s when things heat up and we are in full flight towards the bridge.

As is always the case, my time at the front too close to the sprint caused me to fall off too soon but not before hitting 29mph. A nice long break at Bayfront preceded the ride home that stayed at a steady tempo. Later a brief break at Starbucks resulted in a rare Miami Rapha kit sighting. After talking with the young chap for moment I joined his group for ten of the twenty miles home to close out a seventy five mile ride.

Tuesday morning finds me in a taxi on the way to the airport.

Even when I am not on the bike I am still chasing wheels.

Saturday in the Rain

Posted on September 10, 2013 by admin

This Friday I had a little extra time and energy so I laid out my Kit, gear and nutrition in preparation for the morning’s ride.

Good thing too.

Saturday I launch myself out of bed after letting an hour expire post alarm in snoozeville. I’m doing the rundown in my head to calculate the elapsed time required to make it to Miami City Hall in time for the group ride start. The math says maybe…

so I say YES…

and its Kit Up, Pump up, and Go!

The Legs are feeling fresh so my mood is positive and my thoughts wander to the Black Point sprint. How will I position myself, who will I mark; I can’t burn myself up bridging the gap to the lead sprinter this week. As I am cruising through the bowels of Overtown I notice my….

My bibs…

Are…

Inside Out!

Ok… now I am in crisis mode.

It is not like no one will notice. In a group ride cyclists are nuzzled up, one behind the other close enough to see the crack of your arse if you happen to be wearing white cycling shorts. My brain is busy snapping pictures of every conceivable location where I might find sufficient privacy for a full strip down. That’s right, when you wear bibs you can’t just drop your trousers and pull them back on. No, that would be too easy. The shoes must come off, the Jersey must be removed and then, and only then can you remove your bibs. Now it’s no secret that cyclists don’t and should not wear underwear so as it prevents chafing, so my mind has now flash forwarded to a public strip tease and a potential arrest on charges of public nudity.

I did find a private locale and so escaped public embarrassment. More time is lost, the clock is ticking.

I arrived in time to hear the last of the group leader’s riding instructions communicated at the beginning of every ride. The Everglades Bicycle Club has been doing a great job providing organized leader lead rides at various levels while providing some basic training to ensure everyone’s safety. We roll out and ride south.

And the rains came.

The first few drops quickly turned into a steady heavy tempo of sorts. We rode in organized fashion for about a mile until we stopped at the intersection of Ponce De Leon and SW 88^th. “Does everyone feel safe to continue?” the lead rider shouts. I have come to realize that Miami riders don’t like rain, at the mere mention of it they scatter like cats for the safety of shelter. These guys were no different and everyone was opting in for opting out.

“I came to ride”, I replied. Making the right turn on 88th I looked over my shoulder and confirmed I was on my own. I smiled as the memories of riding in New England in the eighties came streaming in while swimming through the water pouring from the sky. If you didn’t ride in the rain, or the snow for that matter, you severely limited your riding potential. Additionally, I used my bike to commute to work and so the choice was already made; “Necessity being the mother of invention” and all. I remember many rain soaked rides on my way to and from work in some pretty horrendous conditions in a time when performance apparel consisted of wool tights with suspenders, a wool ski sweater and a windbreaker. Polypropylene was the base layer material du jour and Gore-Tex was in limited use at a price that placed it way out of reach. “Wear what you have”, Peter Mooney would say.

Yeah, I have had some pretty cold wet rides in my day.

The best advice I can give you is to take a hot shower as soon as you unclick and dismount. Drink plenty of warm liquids when you can because if you wait for the chill, you are toast.

So after 30 minutes of swimming in this soup of a rainstorm I am rewarded for my stubbornness when the sky opens up and the sun begins to shine through. I am thoroughly pleased with myself and continue the tempo pace heading towards Black Point. Rounding the corner and riding towards Bayside I look up and see a huge, looming, grey mass, a virtual wall of rain in the distance. After a moment of self doubt and thoughts of self preservation I think to myself….What would Jens Voigt do? And so I forge ahead toward the darkness as a small group of three riders pop out like they are exiting some sort of space portal. The lead rider salutes me as if to say, soldier on. Another hour or so of this madness had me returning from the abyss and ready for a latte.

Starbucks is the café of choice for cyclist in Old Cutler Bay and frankly there are no other options. The floor sports a wet trail from cyclists who have come before me. I comment on the rain to a lady cyclist in queue who replies, “at least my bike is washed”. I retrieve my latte and venture outside to enjoy the brew with a Honey Stinger waffle. These things are delicious and will fill the void when gels are no longer of interest.

I listen with curiosity as three cyclists discuss the drudgery of cleaning their bikes. The conversation was initiated when one gentleman confessed that he has never cleaned his chain. The others offered up what sounded like they were forced into slave labor to perform arduous tasks of disgust.

Seriously, I cannot believe what I am hearing.

First, Google “Clean a bike chain” and there are 20 YouTube videos ready to explain the process in detail.

Second, these men of a mature age are complaining about the effort required and mess created by simply cleaning their machines? I force myself not to comment as I know it will come off as arrogance and so remain in polite silence.

We are talking just 10-30 minutes once or twice a week. It is worth the trouble and made easier when you use the right tools and when it is performed regularly. In manufacturing it is called Preventative Maintenance. Even more important, you become closer to your machine, you know its condition, and you gain an understanding of how it operates.

So when you ride into the abyss, it will be ok because you know that you are not alone.

Saturday Morning Group Ride

Posted on September 4, 2013 by admin

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.

The Gentleman Rider

Recollections from an Old Road Sage

Category Archives: Group Ride