A Long Break

A few days before Christmas I decided I'd take a week off the bike. I had been riding regularly and was very happy with the miles I was getting in. After my injury (which, again, I may write about here eventually) I was determined to take it slow as I got back into riding. As I reflected on the amount of riding I'd done since buying my new bike, I was pleased. Beyond pleased, really. I was slightly concerned that I was starting to take on too many miles too soon, but my knee was feeling good overall so I wasn't too concerned. Still, I've read and known the benefits of taking some time off and figured it was a good time to take some time off.

Everything went according to plan. I took a week off. And then...well...everything seemed to fall apart. Granted, I'm talking about riding a bike, so "fall apart" is a little extreme, but still... . The easiest way to describe it is this: whether it was my work schedule, family schedule, sickness or (the biggest culprit) the weather, I've been on my bike 3 or 4 times since Christmas. So, yeah, my blog posting is relatively in line with my riding.

The good news? During my last ride (a week or so ago) I noticed that I was about 10 miles short of 2000 miles for the last 10 months. 2000 miles might not seem like much to many cyclists, but I'm thrilled. It means I'm riding more this year than I have in a long time, if not ever.

I was in San Diego recently and enjoyed seeing so many cyclists out. I read my new issue of Bicycling Magazine on the plane. I can't wait to get out again, but I'm okay with the extended break. 

Seen on My Ride, Part 2

The first time I ever noticed this sign I thought it was simply declaring the obvious: it's windy! I learned that this is a "whistle" sign for trains. (The bike path used to be a train track.)

How often do you notice town line signs when driving a vehicle?

I love the cafe ride. We usually stop here.

An early morning ride with a beautiful view.

Parked outside the cafe.

It's all his fault. He got me into cycling a few years back. (Well, Kevin shares in the blame, too.)

Seen on my ride, Part 1

I started posting some "on my ride" posts on Facebook...you know, "heard on my ride" or "seen on my ride," etc. It's not always feasible to stop and take a picture but I decided to snap a photo when I'm able too.  These aren't all "Seen on My Ride" pictures, but some bike related photos I've taken since March. (All photos taken with my phone...no attempts to be a "real" photographer.)

This photo was taken my first time ever riding this bike. The bike shop I purchased it from is located near my mother's house. I stopped by the house on my test ride and snapped the photo while in her garage. Less than an hour later, the bike was officially mine.

Taken on my first ride with the new bike.

Laying out the gear before a ride. (Looks like Ten Points on the table.)

That's a square of a Hershey bar on the ground. I resisted the temptation. 

An early season ride, just getting back on the bike regularly...needed some extra fuel to get home.

Like A Child

There are only two ways to live your life. One as though nothing is a miracle.

The other is as if everything is.

-Einstein

For a moment it was summer in Girona. The café was warm, almost a perfect temperature. Paul walked back to the table, stepping around a helmet and gloves left on the floor, and handed me a mug of hot coffee. Rod, Fro and the KOM were still waiting for their drinks. The five of us sat around the little table at the coffee shop in Girona.

The problem is, I've never been to Girona.  I've read of it in books though I can’t tell you in whose book I encountered it. (I suspect it was either David Millar’s, Tyler Hamilton’s or Floyd Landis’s…or some combination thereof.)  For a moment, though, I was at a café in Girona after a training ride with my team.

In reality, we were far from Girona, far from summer, far from a training ride and far from pros (me especially.) When I left my house that morning just after 6:30, it was 28 degrees Fahrenheit. I met up with the guys and we rode to the café. It could not have been an easier ride- physically anyway- hardly a training ride. And yet here I was, (however briefly) laughing with my pro-cycling team in a Girona café after a training ride.

They say that riding makes you feel like a kid again and children love to pretend. They make something out of nothing- a fort out of a refrigerator box, a racetrack out of tile patterns. One of my girls asked me recently if we could get more boxes. What was trash for me was a gift for her. As goofy as it may seem, I've climbed the Alpe d'Huez and sipped coffee in Girona, though I've never been to France or Spain. A bike will do that for you.

Thanks to Gary Walter for the Einstein quote.

Joy

I had never heard of Alison Tetrick until Bill Strickland tweeted a link to this blog on her webpage. Apparently, she's a professional cyclist. In a recent post she talks about her encounters with the "weekend warriors." She uses the phrase not as a term of derision, but rather as a descriptor of those who don't ride professionally and who catch rides as they are able. Usually, that ability is greatest on the weekends. Turns out, these weekend warriors remind her of how "fortunate" she is:

You are on your bike, and you are happy.  You are overjoyed.  You are free again.  You are a child again.  You are grinning ear to ear.  There isn’t grit, there is just happiness.  I like that joy.  I like Saturdays and Sundays because I see people on their bikes just happy to be out there. 

Click here to read her full post. 

Advent

The night before a morning ride involves a predictable routine. After prepping my bottles and tossing them in the fridge, I check the hourly weather report 2-3 times from 2-3 different sources. After settling on the predicted temperatures I run through what I wear in when I ride in the predicated temperatures. I also try to recall what I wore on last ride in this temperature range and if what I wore worked for that ride. After settling on what I’ll wear, I lay the gear out, usually on the floor outside my bedroom.

There’s a sense of excitement and anticipation that accompanies this process. I think about the ride that’s coming up and who (if anyone) I expect to be with me, the route we’ll take, how many miles we’ll cover. It’s not unusual to have a difficult time falling asleep due to the anticipation. I suppose that sounds stupid, after all, it’s just a bike ride- but I can’t help it, I always expect the ride to be a great one.

In the morning I wake up, drink some water and usually eat some cereal and a banana. I do  some stretching, I dress, grab my bottles and head to my bike. I give it a once over, check the tire pressure and then I’m ready to ride. 

Boundary Lines

I rolled up to our meeting spot, clicked my cleats out of my pedals and placed both feet on the surface of the bridge. Jim and King of The Mountain offered greetings. I reached into the back pockets of my jacket and pulled out a second pair of gloves. After taking off my half finger wool gloves with the mitten covers, I put these full-fingered gloves on and then my glove/mittens over the top of my previously pocketed gloves. Joseph commented on the cold and I asked him about his new bike. “The jury’s still out,” he said, adding that he made some adjustments and was looking forward to testing it today. The three of us chatted while we waited for the others. Soon, Rod, Stoney and Miz arrived- Rod and Stoney from one direction and Miz from the other.

“Is this everyone?” someone asked.

“I think so,” Rod replied, “I don’t think we’re expecting anyone else.”

“No Fro?” I inquired.

“No, he wasn’t able to make it today.”

Rod announced the plan, to ride 2-3 hours and everyone was agreeable. Jim said something about keeping a moderate pace which I was happy to hear. It didn’t occur to me that I had been anticipating a shorter ride, I was just happy to be out for a ride. Rod suggested the Showcase Loop and we set off.

Through the winding roads we eventually hit the highway overpass and turned right at the bottom. Miz and Jim were at the front and after we rolled through the stop sign, they pulled off and drifted to the back of the pack, leaving Joseph and I in the front. We continued on, the six of us, conversations buzzing, sometimes involving only the guy next to you and other times including the whole pack. We climbed a small hill and near the top Rod called out, “Hey, hey! Brian takes the town line sprint.”

It was mostly a joke. Rod may have been the only one who even realized or cared that the town line had been approaching. I suspected he was pointing it out to encourage me more than anything. We all know that, had there been a sprint, I wouldn’t have won it, especially on a climb. Yet here I was at the front of the pack taking a regular, solid pull.

We rode on, the roads twisting and turning. The guys who knew the loop would call out the turns to the guys in front. Eventually, while riding next to Jim, I turned to him and asked, “Is this the climb?” Jim said it wasn’t, but it was coming up. I always wonder what real cyclists think of this particular hill. Do they consider it a real climb? It always seems like it’s easy for everyone else while it’s a struggle for me.

As we approached the climb Jim said to me, “Just relax, don’t kill yourself.” I realized Jim often says this to me when we begin aclimb and I chuckled to myself. I also realized that Jim and I were at the front of the group. I was determined to keep pace with Jim so as to not disrupt the flow of our little pack. Besides, Jim didn’t seem intent on flying up the hill, so it seemed like a reasonable goal. Somewhere along the way with Jim a bike length ahead of me, I noticed Rod beside me. “Try to keep a steady cadence on this next section, just like Jim is.” His words barely registered but I kept pedaling. Eventually I heard Rod say, “Nice job, Brian. Good climbing.”

I looked up and realized we were at the church at the top of the climb. Rod and Jim turned into the U shaped parking lot. In my haze it took a moment to register... “Usually they pull in here to wait for me, but I’m here…why are they stopping?” I looked over my shoulder and realized that the other three were still climbing.

I followed them into the parking lot and followed its “U” to the end. I stopped near the street, reached for a bottle and took a long drink. I slumped over my handlebars, breathing heavily. Joseph rolled over to me saying with a smile, “Ah! The things we willingly do to ourselves!”  Soon, Miz and Stoney rolled in and we continued on. Miz, now next to me picked up a conversation from our last ride. I told him all we needed was the punch line because we had the front-end of a joke on that ride: A pastor, a Unitartian Universalist, and a nominal Jew went for a bike ride…

The next hour passed uneventfully. We rode smoothly, pushing the pace at times. At one point Jim stopped to peel off a layer. I was wishing I had brought a banana and gladly accepted when Rod offered me a handful of some trail mix. We continued on. I rode with confidence and, most of the time, with ease. The miles passed and I felt great. One of the guys was struggling and we’d have to back off now and then to allow him to catch up. I had never been on the “back off” side of the equation, at least not in this group.

Around mile 48 I began to feel some fatigue. We were almost back where we started.  I told the guys I was going to take the direct route home rather than ride to the next town over. This decision shaved 5-6 miles off my ride. Stoney and I made quick plans for a Monday ride and I said goodbye to the group. The last few miles home were a bit slower than the previous 50 or so. I pulled into my driveway, my odometer reading 55, 16.8 avg. I sang in my head (with apologies to Sammy Hagar, of course) “I can ride 55.”

It was the longest ride I’d been on in 4 years.