Chasing The Hog

Posted on August 26, 2014 by admin

#rapharising

#thehog

Ride Four

07/23/14

56 Miles

6,774 ft elevation

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

Heavy equipment at rest on Wolfpen

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

Recovery ride day with Renate

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

View from Neels

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

chasing The Hog.

Hill Work in Ohio

Posted on July 11, 2014 by admin

Visit a town with some regularity and it can become so familiar it can start to feel like home. Add some good habits to the mix like cycling and strength training and you start to drop some of those bad travel habits like late night TV and snacks. Yesterday’s ride had me sleeping like a baby, up and at em’, and productive all day contrary to the usual travel induced, all day brain fog my head is in on any given business trip. Just like Guinness I just don’t travel well.

Heavy downpours accompanied by intense lightning discouraged my riding plans so I headed straight for the gym after a long day reporting, strategizing, communicating, barking…..you know… Work. The hour of pushing and pulling in a gym doesn’t quite match the calorie burn and post ride euphoria I get from the bike but the alternative was a few cold ones at the bar followed by poor food choices.

The next day brought clouds and light rain. I waited alone at Biowheels for the group to form until I was joined by Matthew and his friend Kyle. Now these guys are both fit (read: light and strong) hill climbers so I immediately offered up the chance for them to leave me behind. I am not sure if they were being polite or if they are secretly sadists prepared to bring the pain but they both agreed to ride with me in tow. So into the hill work through the rain we rode. I was riding well today so some adaptation had occurred over the last two days. I love the human body. Push it and it responds. The fact remains though, these guys took it easy on me.

The course was not much different than Monday up and down hills, through farmland and residential areas all beautiful to the eye. Thursday I put in a solo effort that added another thirty miles to the books. I return home to the hotel in time to pack the bike, Kit and business attire to prepare for Friday’s flight to Connecticut where I will ride on the roads of my youth and continue to prepare for my ten day cycling adventure in the mountains of Dahlonega, GA.

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.

Festive 500 Day Three

Posted on January 2, 2014 by admin

79 Miles

127 Kilometers

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

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

I stepped outside. The roads were empty.

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

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

the world was mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I find it difficult to leave things unfinished.

#festive500

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.

I Never Ride at Night without Lights

Posted on August 30, 2013 by admin

A couple of weeks ago I was returning home from a ride on The Key. It was already dark and the rain diminished visibility even further. Miami rain can be intense. We will see 3-4 inches in an hour, 8-9 inches in a day when other cities may not see 2-4 inches in a month. When I lived in New England, rain was a daylong – weeklong affair of grey skies and drizzle. A place where storm talk delivered 2- 4 inches in a day. This is Miami, when it rains, visibility is reduced to 10 or 20 yards. Even the erratic, unpredictable, and irrational Miami motorists seem to take caution when water pours from the sky.

Less than a half a mile from home I ride past a single speed hipster without lights. Well folks… sadly it is in my nature to pass judgment on people when they demonstrate a total lack of basic common sense. Not very gentleman like I know, but honestly, would you drive your car at night, in the rain without lights? I have learned to keep these thoughts and impressions unexpressed in the name of civility and self preservation.

He rolls up on me at the next traffic light and exclaims, “I better follow YOU the rest of my ride!”

I don’t respond.

I just hung my head and looked down as the water runs off my helmet, along my visor and down to the tarmac looking more like water from a faucet. I knew what he meant though, I run a Serfas Thunderbolt on my seat post and a TSL-250 on my bars. At times like these I fire up the Raider I have attached to my helmet. Pedestrians and motorists complain, jest, and rant but I can be seen. I am visible. I am alive. Anyway, I love the Raider. It is light, bright and easily attaches to my helmet. It is my plan B for when the Thunderbolt wanes and augments it when I need it most.

I am in decision making mode. He must think me rude as I have not made any verbal recognition of his presence. “Be the change”, I think as I reach up with my left hand, detach the Raider from the helmet and hand it to him with my right. He gives me a puzzling glance but quickly snatches it from my hand and fumbles a bit while attaching it to his seat post. “How…?” he begins. I interrupt, “Just turn it 180 degrees… It’s rechargeable with USB “. “Thanks”, the traffic light turns green and off he went. I roll to the left turning slowly so as to observe his departure. It is a damn bright light. Within only 50 yards you could not see him any longer. The Raider is the only thing that betrayed his very existence. “THANKS”, can be heard from the distance.

I smile.

At 200 yards I can still see the Raider.

Have I mentioned that I love that light?

Last night I rolled out while the sky was still that unmistakable Miami blue. Four miles out I reached down to fire up the Thunderbolt. I left it at home on the charger. With no plan B, I picture myself riding The Key without a rear light through the road construction on Bear Cut Bridge or the darkness created by the mangroves on the way to the Tennis Center.

I turned home to pick up the Thunderbolt. I never ride at night without lights.

The Gentleman Rider

Recollections from an Old Road Sage

Category Archives: Rain

Chasing The Hog

Hill Work in Ohio

Festive 500 Day Three

I Never Ride at Night without Lights