One afternoon late last week I was out doing intervals on High School Road. There is a stretch there that is ideal for riding the dreaded one-minute interval, a distance short enough that requires riding flat out, yet long enough that the hurt builds to a cross-eyed crescendo in the last 15 seconds.
With the one minute interval there is no hiding. Either you are fit and can handle the high speed and general anaerobic abuse you throw at yourself or you cannot. For me, they are extremely hard to do and I only attempt them under two conditions: 1. When training for some specific goal, and 2. When I have enough fitness that I can complete six of them without my sixth one being 10% slower than my first.
The upside to these devilish things is that you end up with a measurable jump of explosive power and speed. Useful tools indeed if you are trying to be a bicycle racer.
Each interval would end at the intersection at Occidental Road, with me turning right, passing the "Sebastopol Swamp" blueberry stand. Every time. And every time I would imagine cutting my session short and stopping for a pint of blueberries, how good they must taste.
Interval #5 in 1:15. I had to bribe myself into doing the sixth and final one, and do it well. I told myself if I could match my #5 interval time I would reward myself with a pint of blueberries.
#6 came and I was able to ride hard one final time. A burning smear to the finish. 1:14. Pleased, I warmed down and rolled to the fruit stand just as it was closing up for the day. One pint, $5. She put the berries into a paper bag.
Riding back to my office, one hand holding the bag open, I had a handful. As fantastic as you might imagine. Maybe better. Then I thought: It's just Gabe (my 12-year old) home tonight for dinner. We'll have fresh blueberries on vanilla ice cream for dessert. Okay, that means don't plow through the whole bag, just have one more handful and that's it, okay?
I reach down for my last handful and the bag is feeling pretty light. Wait, what? I look down at the bag and then notice the hole in the bottom just as the last two blueberries spill out. A quick check back shows a meandering trail of little dark spheres on the road marking where I had come from.
It's at times like these you just gotta laugh a little. And then try to find the moral of the story, to see if the anecdote can be elevated to fable status. So here's my takeaway:
"The only blueberries you really have are the ones in your mouth."
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Dunnigan Hills Road Race
Dunnigan Hills Road Race
Masters 45+ 1-2-3
13 August 2011
Dunnigan Hills was on the calendar as the capper to a very two hard week block I was doing as part of the periodization for the national championships coming up in early September. I decided to do this race as it offered not just racing miles but gobs of them. My event was 86 miles, and though largely flat, there were some rolling hills that could be tackled in the big chainring, and being in the central valley, there was always the spectre of wind and heat to deal with.
My carpool buddy for this ride was Juliette (Joules) Olson of Red Racing. Our trip out in the morning was uneventful other than her penchant for computing while driving (at one point trying to show me a photo of her new boyfriend while simultaneously exiting the freeway, which resulted in a significant 'cargo shift event' of bikes in our laps and my breakfast sloshed on the floorboard). For my part I continually either missed giving her directional queues or was just spacing out (easy for me to do at 5 am). The net result was once there we had to put a hurt on it to make our start times.
The cycling hordes descended on the super small Town of Yolo, hundreds of cars and even more high-zoot bikes constantly rolling off the freeway and into a single empty gravel lot. Lots of bright colors, tan lines, carbon, dust.
May I say here that of all the items that have benefitted by technology over the last 20 years, one of the most-improved may not be the telephone or the hybrid auto but perhaps the honey bucket/porta-potty/johnny-on-the-spot. Seriously! The modern portable 'loo is a pretty amazing device. Here at Dunnigan, 20 or so lined up, getting heavy use, all working well. No smells. And a hand-washing station! These statements could not be made of the outhouses of old.
35 or so old goats lined up for this volley in the valley. Morgan Stanley, Safeway, Clover were present in addition to a bunch of big strong looking dudes from Davis and Sacramento (they seem to grow them big out there).
35 riders with not a one willing to pull us all along made for an awkward spectacle. Finally a group of about eight got away but never more than a minute, this felt better as now the pack would work to at least keep tabs on the break. From 505 frontage road to rolling farm road, the break was just at the verge of being far enough away to be a concern.
At about mile 35, past truck stops and produce terminals, Don Langley (Morgan Stanley) jumps away and makes a beautiful bridge across the 30 seconds of space between our two groups. Immediately this break becomes more important with him in it, as he is a "macher" (as they say among my yiddishly-hip friends).
Another barrage at the front yields Chris Black (also Morgan Stanley) taking off to jump across. He's also one to watch and with those two gone it was just too much to lay back and bide my time, so I went after Mr. Black, caught him, and the two of us made it to the front group almost as elegantly as Langley.
We were now a group of 10, 25 or so seconds off the front, but the organization was weak. Only half the guys were working. The other half were eating (or were they all texting?) The upshot was that even though we had the bulk of the strong guys here with us, the cohesion was gone and we weren't making the break stick. And there's only so much I can or want to do by myself to change matters. Meanwhile behind us a concerted chase was being conducted. Sadly, we were caught at around mile 50, just as we hit the neutral feed zone.
Velo Promo events are famous for giving out T-Shirts for prizes. But I learned they are also famous for the flavor of their neutral support water: Mine was distinctly brown tadpole flavored. No matter. When you're in the valley, in August, at mile 50 of a road race, you simply aren't going to insist on the Evian.
I drifted back through the feed zone, getting two big bottles, and sucking them dry for the most part. But during that time Robert Pasco (Safeway), one of the other riders to watch for, carved five riders off the front with him and noodled up the road, in the slight crosswind, when the rest of us were sloshing about with our water.
The gap they got was not very much, just 30 meters, then 40. I was suprised that the chuckleheads 20 riders in front of me weren't putting their foot on the gas to close that small gap. But they let it open and then as the road turned right and into headwind, Pasco punched it and opened a big gap between his group and our suddenly unwilling pack, with none of us up to making an effective chase.
I tried to marshall the forces, but for some reason the two MoStan dudes and the Clover rider (O'niel, also strong as all hell), didn't want to put their time in at the front. Eventually some guys did roll through to help me out, but it was spastic and short lived. The result is the break that noodled out of the station built up a solid lead of well over three minutes.
After initial frustration that I had signed up for a bicycle race and found myself in a bicycle ride, I became resigned to my fate and was happy rolling in with this laughing group. With ten miles to go though Langley and O'Niel took off as if they were back in some sort of event where riding hard somehow mattered, gaining time instantly and building on that quickly. Why they didn't keep the race honest earlier is completely beyond me. I mean it's one thing to race hard for the win, but to drill it just so you have 7th and 8th place locked up in a Velo Promo event seems, well, not MENSA-quality logic shall we say.
In the run up to the finish I was fighting off calf cramps but had the suds to contest the field sprint for 9th. I had a good time playing journeyman riding on the leadout trains of the Rocknasium and Davis riders, but when the final left hand turn was made and 1.4 km remained, there was a re-shuffling that again saw me and Chris Black at the front.
When we got the stenciled sandwich board announcing 200 meters I hit out and had a good lead, but started fading a bit and was snagged on the line by a resurgent Black. Good enough for 10th. Out of the T shirt money okay, but on the other hand I had ridden hard through the week including the day before and had not even tried to recover to be fresh for this one. So between the training issues and having to race with strong riders who seemingly race against their own self-interest, I guess it was a good enough showing.
Masters 45+ 1-2-3
13 August 2011
Dunnigan Hills was on the calendar as the capper to a very two hard week block I was doing as part of the periodization for the national championships coming up in early September. I decided to do this race as it offered not just racing miles but gobs of them. My event was 86 miles, and though largely flat, there were some rolling hills that could be tackled in the big chainring, and being in the central valley, there was always the spectre of wind and heat to deal with.
My carpool buddy for this ride was Juliette (Joules) Olson of Red Racing. Our trip out in the morning was uneventful other than her penchant for computing while driving (at one point trying to show me a photo of her new boyfriend while simultaneously exiting the freeway, which resulted in a significant 'cargo shift event' of bikes in our laps and my breakfast sloshed on the floorboard). For my part I continually either missed giving her directional queues or was just spacing out (easy for me to do at 5 am). The net result was once there we had to put a hurt on it to make our start times.
The cycling hordes descended on the super small Town of Yolo, hundreds of cars and even more high-zoot bikes constantly rolling off the freeway and into a single empty gravel lot. Lots of bright colors, tan lines, carbon, dust.
May I say here that of all the items that have benefitted by technology over the last 20 years, one of the most-improved may not be the telephone or the hybrid auto but perhaps the honey bucket/porta-potty/johnny-on-the-spot. Seriously! The modern portable 'loo is a pretty amazing device. Here at Dunnigan, 20 or so lined up, getting heavy use, all working well. No smells. And a hand-washing station! These statements could not be made of the outhouses of old.
35 or so old goats lined up for this volley in the valley. Morgan Stanley, Safeway, Clover were present in addition to a bunch of big strong looking dudes from Davis and Sacramento (they seem to grow them big out there).
35 riders with not a one willing to pull us all along made for an awkward spectacle. Finally a group of about eight got away but never more than a minute, this felt better as now the pack would work to at least keep tabs on the break. From 505 frontage road to rolling farm road, the break was just at the verge of being far enough away to be a concern.
At about mile 35, past truck stops and produce terminals, Don Langley (Morgan Stanley) jumps away and makes a beautiful bridge across the 30 seconds of space between our two groups. Immediately this break becomes more important with him in it, as he is a "macher" (as they say among my yiddishly-hip friends).
Another barrage at the front yields Chris Black (also Morgan Stanley) taking off to jump across. He's also one to watch and with those two gone it was just too much to lay back and bide my time, so I went after Mr. Black, caught him, and the two of us made it to the front group almost as elegantly as Langley.
We were now a group of 10, 25 or so seconds off the front, but the organization was weak. Only half the guys were working. The other half were eating (or were they all texting?) The upshot was that even though we had the bulk of the strong guys here with us, the cohesion was gone and we weren't making the break stick. And there's only so much I can or want to do by myself to change matters. Meanwhile behind us a concerted chase was being conducted. Sadly, we were caught at around mile 50, just as we hit the neutral feed zone.
Velo Promo events are famous for giving out T-Shirts for prizes. But I learned they are also famous for the flavor of their neutral support water: Mine was distinctly brown tadpole flavored. No matter. When you're in the valley, in August, at mile 50 of a road race, you simply aren't going to insist on the Evian.
I drifted back through the feed zone, getting two big bottles, and sucking them dry for the most part. But during that time Robert Pasco (Safeway), one of the other riders to watch for, carved five riders off the front with him and noodled up the road, in the slight crosswind, when the rest of us were sloshing about with our water.
The gap they got was not very much, just 30 meters, then 40. I was suprised that the chuckleheads 20 riders in front of me weren't putting their foot on the gas to close that small gap. But they let it open and then as the road turned right and into headwind, Pasco punched it and opened a big gap between his group and our suddenly unwilling pack, with none of us up to making an effective chase.
I tried to marshall the forces, but for some reason the two MoStan dudes and the Clover rider (O'niel, also strong as all hell), didn't want to put their time in at the front. Eventually some guys did roll through to help me out, but it was spastic and short lived. The result is the break that noodled out of the station built up a solid lead of well over three minutes.
After initial frustration that I had signed up for a bicycle race and found myself in a bicycle ride, I became resigned to my fate and was happy rolling in with this laughing group. With ten miles to go though Langley and O'Niel took off as if they were back in some sort of event where riding hard somehow mattered, gaining time instantly and building on that quickly. Why they didn't keep the race honest earlier is completely beyond me. I mean it's one thing to race hard for the win, but to drill it just so you have 7th and 8th place locked up in a Velo Promo event seems, well, not MENSA-quality logic shall we say.
In the run up to the finish I was fighting off calf cramps but had the suds to contest the field sprint for 9th. I had a good time playing journeyman riding on the leadout trains of the Rocknasium and Davis riders, but when the final left hand turn was made and 1.4 km remained, there was a re-shuffling that again saw me and Chris Black at the front.
When we got the stenciled sandwich board announcing 200 meters I hit out and had a good lead, but started fading a bit and was snagged on the line by a resurgent Black. Good enough for 10th. Out of the T shirt money okay, but on the other hand I had ridden hard through the week including the day before and had not even tried to recover to be fresh for this one. So between the training issues and having to race with strong riders who seemingly race against their own self-interest, I guess it was a good enough showing.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Colavita Grand Prix
Colavita Grand Prix
15 July 2011
Masters 45+123
(also) Masters 35+123
To date, this season has been spent refining the racing ritual: how early to show up for a race, how much to stretch, eat, warm up. The dogma of doing everything right, in the proper order, might tickle the gods into a fickle smile and grant you your small request of having the race you've always wanted. It's through moments like these that I can understand how religions get started.
The Colavita GP is put on by our good friends on the Colavita team. The race is held at the Fireman's Fund HQ in Novato, a large campus with a 1.25 (or so) mile perimiter loop which is safe for racing but is almost without any features that can help break up the field. I raced here last year and noted that nothing got away in any of the races I had either competed in or watched.
For this race my warm-up ritual was nearly perfect. Not to get too bogged down on the details, but the stretching, warm-up, 'breathe right' strip application (& mentholatum in the nostrils!), pre-race cytomax, roller ride at zone 3 (with 111 pedal strokes in zone 4), prayer to isis/apollo/Flying Spaghetti Monster and proper tyre inflation complete, it was time to show up on the line.
25 guys had decided to suit up and pin on a number, and looking around I noticed there were no Specialized superstars, and the beast that is team Safeway was without its head that is Gregg Bettonte. Neither was Bubba Melcher (Clover). A few strong-looking fellas were here for sure (Taleo, Morgan Stanley, Sweeney and Walker from Boba, Max Mack in super bright pink kit) but the odds looked good for me to do well. The only problem was the course: As my sprint isn't bankable, and the race always comes down to a sprint, I was in a strategic conundrum. I decided I would attack hard on the only little hill on the course, which offered a snoot full of wind, but if I could get a gap there on the last lap I might be able to hold it for about 600 meters to the line.
The race started and I was active, looking to see if I could take a few guys away with me and maybe reduce the odds, though nothing could really leave the gate. The promoters stacked a lot of primes in this race, and though it appeared like lots of riders wanted to keep the race together, surprisingly few were interested in going for primes. I nabbed one prime by jumping hard at the final downhill curve and shooting down the tailwind finishing stretch at good speed, with no one coming along to challenge.
Other riders had their hand at primes. When a rider goes for a prime it can reveal their technique for the final, so I made note of their strengths and points of attack; testing my 600 meter theory against what they were doing to see if the idea still held up. I felt it did.
Still focused on primes and not so much on trying to get away, Another prime bell was rung and once around to the final curve the leading group hadn't drilled it, and I thought, hey what the hell I'll try to scoop up one more. I was able to hit the turn pretty hard, pass the quartet in front of me and sprint to the line, once again, alone. As it turns out, a pack of caffeinated mocha gels.
Crossing the line I saw the 4 to go lap card, and instead of sitting up like last time, I kept going, pretty hard but not full gas. By the end of the straightaway I had a quick 15 seconds on the field. This solo breaking away business was certainly not my intention, but when the field gives you that much time with five miles left in the race, well my mother taught me that it's impolite to decline such gifts.
So going against the history of this course, I committed to a solo bid. 3 to go: Friends there looked up at the S/F and noted my position. 2 to go: more people at the finish, shouts of encouragement. 1 to go: my lead had built to about 25 seconds, all kinds of people yelling for me, and all I had to do was not screw up. Richard Peacock of HSBG Spoke Folk was on the backstretch going ape, screaming in his british accent. "Blimey matey, press on, then!" (or was it 'give it a shove, you sodden wank' I don't remember exactly as I was getting pretty tired.)
In the fast part of the course I made the rookie mistake, transitioning from drops to tops of the bars, hitting a road dot and almost coming off my bike. But I kept it up, extreme irony averted. and rode in with enough time to zip up the jersey, wipe most of the snool from my puss and contemplate what sort of pose I should adopt when I cross the line. I went with your standard "solid" fist (think Undercover Brother).
It's a fantastic feeling, this winning a race business. Doing it solo is especially rewarding. I highly recommend it.
The Masters 35+ 1-2-3 race started right after, so I was able to get one number clipped off of me and the race started right away; as sort of a joke I jumped hard at the beginning and found myself in a three-man break. We were going flat out and I was really, really at my limit. I realized the joke was on me as my group was caught and I almost shelled out the back straight away. Though I did hold on and ride "tailgun" for the rest of the race, certain that my earlier race was an outlier and this race for sure would come down to a sprint.
As it happened, the best riders in the field apparently all went with a move about 2/3 of the way through the event, leaving the group I was in (about 25 of us forlorn souls) rather motorless. I took it easy, thinking that the doomed break would drift backwards at some point, but when they got out of sight, I guess I had to admit that breaks actually can get off on this course.
On the last lap I was able to try out my nifty 600 meter move. It worked. For 14th. So I'll keep that one in my pocket for next year maybe.
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