SFR Winters 200km. October 8, 2011

We were about 50, I'd guess, wheeling out from the Rodeo Park'n'Ride shortly before sunrise to commence the Winters 200km brevet. Joy of joys, this was a new route for me: a Q shaped course that crossed the Carquinez Strait, covered the flat land to the west of Davis, then brushed the south shore of Lake Berryessa before heading south out of the Napa Valley, and back across Carquinez.

With only about 5,000 feet of climbing, a reasonably fast time seemed likely. I was less confident about my ability to stay with the leaders, though. Having struggled with my form all season I was seriously contemplating a cruise along with one of the more civilized groups that follows somewhere in the next hour.

As it happened I was left behind right at the start, along with my regular riding buddies Mark and Joe, both of whom were on their first SFR ride. We were a little lethargic coming out of the parking loat, and it wasn't until we were about half way up the line of randonneurs that we realized a group had already separated itself and was almost 30 seconds off the front. No leisurely start for us!

We put our heads down and caught the leaders on San Pablo Ave, shortly before the Chevron refinery, and maintained our momentum over the first of what seemed like endless rollers that make this course harder than it looks.

Of course on the way out, the rollers along Lake Herman and then Lopes Roads seemed pretty tiny. With the sun low in the cloudless blue sky, a gentle breeze pushed us along and we made good time.

A group of around eight, maybe nine of us, arrived at the first control point, Tower Mini-Mart on Lopes and Gold Hill, about 23 miles in. By the time I emerged from the bathroom, three riders had already departed and more were streaming in. Not a moment to lose! Joe, Mark, Jose Plascencia and myself set off in pursuit of the leading group. We caught them a couple of miles into the Suisun Valley Road. Jose told us that the rollers would soon flatten out, which was heartening news, because I think our initial vigor may have been starting to wilt in the warm morning sun.

A few rollers remained though, and these took their toll on some in the group, reducing it to the four I'd left Control 1 with, as well as Rick Martyn who was riding like a tandem on the front as he powered his way to a volunteer post at Winters for the lunchtime stop. Any time the speed dropped below 23 mph, Rick would go back to the front and sit there, belting out a pace of 23-25 mph. None of us realized that he was going to stop in Winters, and he was very modest about it when asked, but I can't help thinking he'd have kept up that intensity for the full 200km. I don't think I took a turn of more than a minute before Rick would come powering past.

Rick got us to Winters before 10 a.m., with an average speed of 20 mph, and we rolled into the Control on the hour. The process of more restroom visits, stripping off leg and arm warmers, applying sun block, and grabbing a quick bite kept us there for more than 20 minutes, and a few riders were on the road ahead of us by the time we got rolling. With the stopping and starting, our average speed quickly dropped to 19mph, before we even got to the SR128, a quarter of a mile away, so I was feeling eager to press on. Yet there was an uncomfortable feeling that I'd be paying a price for this enthusiasm later in the day, because I'd seen my heart rate surpass 170bpm several times already, about 10 beats over my anaerobic threshold. So I popped some more B vitamins, ate plenty (I always bring along about 1lb of food in my pockets, which I eat on the move), took some electrolytes and hoped for the best.

Joe, Mark, Jose and I reeeled in the leaders and soon found ourselves out on our own as we progressed toward the hills surrounding Lake Berryessa.

Jose flatted just before we began climbing, and told us not to stop and wait for him, so we pressed on.

Often if I stop for more than five minutes, I have a lot of trouble finding a rhythm, and by the time we started climbing I was still feeling out of sorts. Mark seemed to be doing just fine, but sensing I wasn't quite there he took the opportunity to repay a few 'favors' I'd done him on past rides and attacked on the first pitch of the climb. Watching Mark spin away into the distance under an intensifying morning sun, I was feeling all kinds of heat. I turned and told Joe I couldn't raise my pace, and he said he was feeling the same. Then I backed off, down to about 160bpm, and watched Joe float up the hill to join Mark. That seemed a little confusing, but the splendid scenery of those hills soon took precedence in my mind.

By the time we crested the first step of this climb, both Mark and Joe had disappeared from view and I hoped I would see them at the Cold Drinks Store at Control 4. I saw them sooner than that, in fact it was the lower slopes of the second step. Joe was now going through a rough spell, while Mark was riding at a steady pace about a minute ahead. I felt comfortable ramping up my pace to around 170 bpm, knowing that after this set of climbs it was relatively flat, but I didn't wish to go higher than that as the acid levels would be too disruptive. I cruised past Joe, and that pace seemed to keep me about equidistant behind Mark, and I arrived at Control 4 within a minute of him.

We took our time there chatting with some other riders out enjoying the fabulous fall conditions, and soon both Joe and Jose rejoined us, and then a few minutes later some more from the orginal lead group. We departed as a quartet and worked our way, with a gentle crosswind, over the final climbs and down toward the Napa Valley.

At some point in the ride, I'm not quite sure where, my GPS device tells me I hit 49 mph on one of the descents. It could have been on the exhilarating plummet down toward Wooden Valley Road. Or it could have been chasing Mark over the Berryessa hills. I'm not sure where it was, but one thing I do know is the lightweight carbon fiber wheel rims don't feel nearly as stable as a heavier aluminum rim on the descent. Is this due to a lower rotating mass?

The four of us stayed together, working into what was now a slight headind as we travelled south, back to Control 5, revisting the Tower Mini-Mart on Lopes Road. Joe was feeling a little unwell, but assured us he'd be fine with a little break, so we left him at the Mini-Mart while Mark, Jose and I carried on to the end.

Jose flatted again at the junction of Lake Herman Road, He had seemed to be finding some great late-ride power, and flatting like that must have been immensely frustrating for him, although he seemed very cool about it. Once again he encouraged Mark and I to ride on, so we did.

The endless rollers of Lopes and Lake Herman road had mysteriously become small mountains. Funny how they'd grown so much since our outward ride. Mark pushed the pace on the largest of these climbs, and once again my heart rate hit 170 trying to stay in contact. I started to think of the ride I have planned for Friday (Dublin-Mt Hamilton-Dublin), and let him go. Any excuse, right? Soon afterwards a friendly red light brought us back together as we wheeled into Vallejo.

Mark seemed very strong still, but an unexpected semi-bonk as we crossed the Carquinez Bridge had him delving into his pockets for any remaining food, and suddenly the tables were turned. I thought about pressing home the advantage, as I was feeling pretty fair, but I've found digging deep late in a long ride can really slow post-ride recovery, so I took the friendly option and we pedaled home together. It was Mark's first randonnee, he'd had a great time and was very complimentary about the lunch and post-ride provisions laid on by SFR.

Jose came in a few minutes later, then a couple of others, and then Joe arrived in very good spirits. He too was delighted with his introduction to SFR and is looking forward to obtaining a club jersey.

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DFL in Golden Gate Park

If there was anything stranger than finding myself lining up on the start line of a cyclo-cross race tonight, it was that I, like most of my rivals, was wearing a dress.

Yep, "cross racers are crazy" - that's what I thought last time I was standing course-side at a 'cross race watching the pain in their eyes as the riders revved to the redline for a full hour while attempting to keep upright as they probed the limits of their handling skills on the loose terrain.

Me with Sports Basement marketing guy, Kevin Rusch in the WonderWoman outfit.

Thanks to Mark Dawson for the pic.

The last 'cross race I actually rode was in 1992, and I still remembered how much I suffered in those gruelling events. I thought back a couple of days to that conversation in Sports Basement when I'd spontaneously agreed to come out and ride. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing, like when I signed up to ride in the Furnace Creek 508 for the first time, back in 2006. If I'd thought about this even for a second I'd have been at home now doing something sensible with a cup of tea and some cake.

And if you're wondering why we were all wearing dresses it's because we were too cheap to come up with the $5 entry fee (the rule is if you wear a dress you ride free). That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

By the way, it was an illegal race. Illegal in the sense of unpermitted. Permitted races are for people who don't wear dresses. Now here's a thought: if the riders aren't wearing dresses, should it really be called a 'cross race?

On my way to the event I was passed by a guy whose dress fell down to his rear wheel and tangled in the brake. I suggested he might want to hem it a little higher for the next event. He looked puzzled. The sheer number of macho types willing to don a dress to save $5 was impressive to the point of suspicion. Could it be something to do with cultural creep in San Francisco?

There must have been 120 hairy-armed riders in dresses at the startline, heck, there were even some women with moustaches. And as if all that weren't entertainment enough, a brass quartet soon started playing oompah music.

They lined us up and made us run to our bikes. Seconds later we were sucking in clouds of dust as the quick kids got away early.

The problem with advancing years is that one loses whatever lightening there ever was in one's pace. But on the other hand, you get better at pacing yourself and hanging tough. But mountain bikes were definitely slower than cross bikes on this course, and I was working hard to stay in the top 20.

About half way through the race we started to lap the back-markers.

Thanks to Mark Dawson for the pic.

The riders barrelled along the sandy paths of Golden Gate Park, bumping and grinding with each other as we strove to stay upright and always be ahead of the other guy. From time to time, the rude musical interjections of the oompah band cut through the pain to remind me of how absurd the whole thing was.

After about 20 minutes this guy I'd been duelling with for three laps (another mountain biker) made a bad passing move on a lapped rider and went down semi-hard onto a slippery log. He got up fast, but he'd hurt himself, and maybe a little too gleefully I moved in for the kill, dropping down a gear and sprinting ahead before he started to feel better.

Some of the young hopefuls had gone out too hard and now were coming back to me. I was thinking how their legs must be feeling even more like concrete than mine. This was getting fun, at least it would've been if it didn't hurt so much.

And then suddenly the riders ahead were riding back down the course towards me, shouting "Ranger on the course." MAJOR bummer! I did a quick 180 and joined the throng hastening back to the start to unpin our numbers and pretend we hadn't been racing.

She arrived a minute later, ticket book in stern hand, and Joe the organizer went to face the music. Not a squeak out of the oompah band...

Joe talks fast to avoid getting a $103 ticket for an unpermitted race.

A few minutes later she was smiling. She wasn't going to ticket him, but she'd sure as heck shattered the moment. It's the same whatever you're wearing: Stopping half way through really spoils the fun.

Nifty Ten Fifty - April 4

A few years ago now, former Clif Bar marketing guru, Paul McKenzie, concocted the formula for a bike ride that would haunt hardcore cyclists for the rest of eternity. He called it the Nifty Ten Fifty. This is a route that comprises 54 miles and 10,000 feet of climbing in ten punishing ascents that criss-cross the East Bay hills.

Each year the McPaulster has sent an email encouraging me and others to join the ride, and commonsense has always prevailed. I don't quite know what happened this year, but I decided I'd take up his challenge. Looking back, I wish I'd studied the route map more carefully beforehand, it really was alarming!

10,000 feet of climbing in 54 miles. Think about it, that would be almost 2,000 feet every 10 miles on average, right? Actually it's worse than that. Since half of the ride is descending, think 2,000 feet of climbing every five miles. Here's a comparison: Mt Diablo, a highly respected climb among cyclists in the East Bay area, gains about 3,000 feet of elevation in about nine miles if you take the steeper North Gate Road. So the Nifty Ten Fifty is considerably more demanding than riding Mt Diablo... several times over.

The average gradient of the climbs in the Nifty Ten Fifty is about 15%. That's almost twice as steep as the notorious Alpe d'Huez climb in the Tour de France.

If you're starting to think this ride is bordering on insanity, you'd be among the majority of cyclists. The Nifty Ten Fifty is for the extreme few who've ridden or raced through numerous challenges and are looking for something that's so hard the best part is reaching the end.

A group of eight assembled at the start, and this year we didn't reach the end. A violent weather front coming in gave us the perfect out. With strong winds whipping at our spokes on the steep descents, and driving rain numbing our fingers, we decided it was getting dangerous and curtailed the ride at the half-way point. I never thought I'd be so grateful for foul weather!

We'd climbed 5,000 feet in 25 miles. My legs felt like jelly, and would still be feeling a little creaky three days later. Yet somehow the memory of it is exhilarating. Will I do this ride again? How I wish I could say No with some certainty.

A New Breed of Cycling Champ?

The significance of Cadel Evans's world championship victory has many aspects, but one that has been overlooked by most commentators is arguably the most significant: the people who are changing the culture and traditions of the old European cycling model.

There are two parts to this: the geography; and the cycling history. Looking at the geographical part, Evans' win is evidence that the sport is slowly becoming more global. By this I mean that the tight clique of nations in western Continental Europe are slowly loosening their grip. This might seem to some like a voluntary action, but I don't think so. It is no secret that for several decades, many continental Europeans have held onto the opinion that the anglo nations (Australia, Canada, Ireland, New Zealand, South Africa, United Kingdom, United States, etc.) don't really understand the essence of bicycle road racing.

There is some historical justification for this view. Looking at the world championship results back to 1927, we see that the first time an anglo rider to win a world championship was the Briton, Tom Simpson, in 1965. This was, in fact, only the second time a rider from outside the clique (France, Italy, Switzerland, Belgium, Netherlands) had won a road world's. So even though the prejudice seems mistaken now, you can see how it might have been formed.

Germans, Muller and Altig won in 1952 and '66, but the next time a non-clique nation won it was Greg Lemond in 1983 and again in '89. Lemond was really the start of the revolution, because he won several Tours de France as well, and showed the world that angl0 nations can understand cycling well enough to win its greatest prizes (some in the clique still wouldn't admit this - and at the time pointed to the fact that Lemond had a French-sounding name!). In 1987 Stephen Roche of Ireland claimed the rainbow jersey (in the same year he won the Tour de France and Giro d'Italia), and his compatriot Sean Kelly deserves credit too, because he was the most successful one-day racer of this era and it was paradoxical that he never won a road world's title. He was that good, and even the die-hards in Europe grudgingly admitted that Kelly was unbeatable in one-day competition.

During the 1980s we began to see a lot of English speakers on the top step of the podium. Fast forward again four years to 1993, when a young Lance Armstrong took the title, and it really was starting to look as though a new order was being established in road cycling.

Next we saw the emergence of Spain as a major force in international cycling, as Abraham Olano took the first rainbow jersey for his nation in 1994, beginning a decade when Spain would win five of the ten world's titles.

Romans Vaintsteins won it for Latvia in 2000, which further rocked the tradition, but toward the end of the first decade in the new millenium the old guard reasserted itself with Boonen winning for Belgium in 2005, followed by three Italian wins.

So bringing the conversation back to Evans: he brought to three the number of Anglo nations who have won a world championship; he was the first Australian to win the title. Evans' brilliantly tactical victory at Mendrisio in September 2009 made the statement that not only in the past 30 years have the clique nations had to share the rainbow jersey, but they've shared it with English speakers from several different nations.

The next part is briefer, but it is no less significant .... and again it's to do with exploding snobbish myths and traditions.

This is about the type of bicycles a champion has ridden in his career. Tradition has it that the world champion only ever rides a road bike in his life, with the occasional exceptions of traditional disciplines such as cyclo-cross or maybe track.

Not so for Evans. Cadel evans tooled about on a BMX bike as a child before taking up mountain biking as his sport of choice. Needless to say he excelled in the fat tire sport before deciding to seek fame and fortune on the road - where he became one of the top cyclists of his generation excelling in the Tour de France and now winning a world championship.

This resoundingly makes the point that it doesn't matter where a cyclist learns the sport. If the talent, dedication/desire, psyche, etc. are there, the rider can switch to a given discipline (road, track, mountain bike, bmx, etc.) at a relatively late age and still excel.

Some traditions are worth preserving, but cycling has a few that aren't. Lance Armstrong noticed this, and wears black socks in protest. Cadel Evans, while hardly an outspoken rebel, in quietly doing his own thing has become the latest in a line of Anglo riders who are irrevocably broadening the scope of this great and storied sport.

The Times They Are a Changin

From the LA Times, November 2, 2009.

"A physician (Dr Christopher Thompson, ed.) accused of deliberately injuring two cyclists by slamming on his car’s brakes on a narrow Brentwood road last year was convicted Monday of assault with a deadly weapon, mayhem and other serious criminal charges....

"Prosecutors alleged that on July 4, 2008, Thompson stopped his car after passing the two cyclists and shouting at them to ride single-file. One cyclist ran face-first into the rear windshield of the doctor’s red Infiniti, breaking his front teeth and nose, and leaving his face scarred. The other was sent hurtling to the sidewalk and suffered a separated shoulder.

"A police officer testified that Thompson told him soon after the accident that the cyclists had cursed at him and flipped him off, so he slammed on his brakes “to teach them a lesson.”"

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Fact: The cyclists were travelling at 30 mph on a narrow winding, wooded road before the collision.

This is fast for a narrow winding road, and should not have caused most motorists much inconvenience.

Fact: Dr. Thompson had been harassing the cyclists by honking, revving his engine and driving dangerously close for some time before passing and shouting at them.

We have to ask here: Why was he so angry at these cyclists?

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There is never a good excuse for violence. Today is November 9th, the 20th anniversary of the collapse of the Berlin Wall. Imagine what we'd have said if the East German border troops had started shooting people when the Wall was so provocatively breached on that day in 1989 and thousands flooded through? Thankfully those German soldiers responded sensibly and nobody was hurt. Let's hope the salutory lesson of Dr Thompson helps persuade American motorists to take a leaf out of their book.

Like Eastern Europe in the late Eighties, this is a time of social change in America. Cyclists are coming back onto the roads in rapidly increasing numbers, for recreational purposes and for transport purposes. The simple fact is road use is changing. Maybe Dr Thompson would have benefited from remembering a popular prayer:

God grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

Did Dr Thompson think the cyclists were misusing the road? Even if he wanted to change their behaviour, it is seldom possible to do this in the on-road setting. But let's look at what cyclists can do to make it easier for motorists. After all, traffic flow makes good sense, and any vehicles moving above or below the speed of the flow cause disruption.

Cyclists generally cannot travel above 20 mph on a flat road, 10 mph on an uphill, but can often go faster than a car on a winding descent. If cyclists could go faster on the flat and uphill, my bet is they would. These cyclists were taveling at 30 mph, probably the safe speed limit on the winding descent where the incident took place. Overall, speed modification is not an option available to cyclists.

Asking cyclists to ride in single file makes a perceptual difference, but in effect it doesn't make a big difference to the ease with which a car can pass. Passing a single-file cyclist puts most cars into the oncoming lane. If the cyclists are single or double file, the motorist still must go into the oncoming lane. Insisting that cyclists ride single-file seems like an unnecessary demand, but it is an area where cyclists are able to make a conciliatory gesture.

It makes sense for cyclists to ride in very small groups, up to six riders. This makes it easy for a car to pass easily and safely. Even if a large group of 100 cyclists is arranged into small packs of six, spaced 20 yards apart, by making small leapfrog passes, rather than being forced into the oncoming lane for an extended period the road is made safer for passing car drivers and cyclists alike.

There are times when I have pulled over to let a car pass. That seems reasonable to me in some circumstances.

There are other times when I have deliberately blocked a car from passing. For example when I am about to commence a steep winding descent on which I know my speed will be faster than a car.

In my experience cyclists do not set out to aggravate motorists (except for the Critical Mass rides, but those rides comprise an incredibly small fraction of all cycling trips and for this discussion are treated as a separate subject). The intention is generally to share the road in a safe and harmonious way.

One other thing: cyclists should use strong head and tail lights, reflectors, and wear clothes that help make them visible.

The other obvious question is: what can motorists do to increase safety on the roads? It seems to me that motorists have more options.

First, they could drive a little slower around cyclists.

Second, they could be more patient, and accept that with cyclists on the road their trip might take between 30 seconds and 5 minutes longer. Those two modifications alone would help foster feelings of harmony, as well as increasing safety.

The self-righteous attitude of angry motorists who think Dr Thompson had a leg to stand on - legally or morally - doesn't help. And those that know him and condone or excuse his actions, because in other ways he was an upstanding member of their community, are misguided. The violent action of Dr Thompson as an enraged motorist brought shame on his community, his friends and his family. Maybe the court decision will help them to realize this.

The question is begging: What would the same community have said if the cyclist he seriously injured had been the 18 year-old son or daughter of another member of that community?

What Thompson did was a criminal act. In all likelihood, he will need anger-management therapy whether he goes to prison or not. We do not know how many other cyclists he harassed and bullied with his car, but it is safe to assume that each one was traumatized to some extent.

Some motorists behave as though they own the roads. One hundred years ago, some cyclists made the same mistake when the automobile was the minority vehicle. History has proved that both parties are wrong in such assumptions. If the managing authorities cannot arrive at an effective solution, we all need to modify our behaviour as we can to foster a safer and more harmonious relationship between cyclists and car drivers.

Back on the bike

Rode today for the first time in a long time. April/May this year is when I stopped riding properly. Not that I feel I'd really started, but I've really not ridden at all since then. The Levi's GranFondo project took too much time, that was part of it. A larger part was the mysterious sore hamstring which my body guy, Jordan Rothstein, thinks is the result of too much deep stomach tension. The hamstring pain disappears for several days after each stomach massage, so maybe he's right.

Anyway, it was a nice ride. About 40 miles, easy-paced, so lots of thinking. Not too many tourists on the bridge.

On my way back I rode to the Cafe du Soleil in the lower Haight, and reclaimed a bag with bike lock, repair kit and pump that I'd left there almost a month ago. They'd kept the bag for me all that time. My emergency cash roll was still there in the repair kit, so I left a $10 reward.

Not sure if I'll go out riding tomorrow. Yesterday and today's rides tired me out, and I'm still suffering from some lingering effects of the 'flu that got me on October 4. I still wonder whether or not it was H1N1.

Hamstrung

Waiting, waiting, waiting...

Not sure exactly why, but my right hamstrings are uncomfortable. The pain goes as far down as the cruciate ligaments behind my knee, and as high as the bottom of the gluteus maximus. On the bike it feels like a little stiffness. I know there's been a lot of shortening there in the recent weeks and months; I tried some stretching recently and maybe overdid it. Anyway, now it's uncomfortable. Feels like a grade one tear. Icing and resting....