The Longest Drive

It was about 4:45 am when we pulled away from the house with two bikes on the roof and the neighbor and her 2 year-old son (and two cats) behind us. The local officials had thrown us a curve ball, moving up the originally announced 6 a.m. start of "contraflow" to 4 a.m. In other words, we had missed our only opportunity to use I-10 east from Slidell to Florida. We sailed down a nearly deserted South Claiborne Avenue toward the interstate, hoping for the best. A mile later we were crawling along in bumper-to-bumper traffic at walking speed. By the time we got out to New Orleans East, we had learned from The Mom (who had left ahead of us with her friend) that Highway 90 was better, so we bailed out of the gridlock at Bullard Avenue and just flew down 90 onto the Giro Ride route, turning off onto Highway 11 and driving unimpeded over the old 5-mile bridge. Just to our right we could see the stalled traffic on the interstate, aka "the twin span." I felt like I had discovered a closely guarded secret. Along the way, we heard on the radio that there was a 25-mile backup on I-10 at the Mobile AL tunnel, so we went to Plan "C." We drove up old Highway 11, switched over briefly to I-59 to get across the Honey Island Swamp, and then when traffic on the interstate came to a standstill, we bailed out again to Highway 11. The old road was smooth sailing all the way to Hattiesburg where we finally got back onto the interstate and soon thereafter turned east for a long drive on two-lane highways through Alabama. It was fairly pleasant and scenic, but really, really long. By the time we finally pulled into The Dad's place in Fort Walton Beach, FL, we had logged over 400 miles and it was mid-afternoon. I think our average speed was around 43 mph.

Our other neighbors are staying in New Orleans with their nine dogs, cats and rabbits, and are taking care of our cat too. If there is any significant flooding, they will evacuate to our house where the main floor is about seven feet off the ground. When I checked with them via text message around 7 pm, they said it was pouring down rain already. We are all hoping that the storm intensity remains lower than anticipated, although the direction of the storm's approach to New Orleans is definitely bad for New Orleans because of the increased potential for storm surge flooding. All I can say is that we are hoping for the best. Kenny B. was planning on staying in town, and last I heard so were my sisters. I'll have to check with them to see if they are still there. Tulane has already postponed re-opening through next week. I wonder if there was a Giro Ride today.

Eeeeevac

Looks like we'll be heading east to Ft. Walton, traffic permitting. Not looking forward to this one bit.

Waiting for Gustav

There was not a single cloud in the sky as I rode out toward the lake this morning to meet the Giro Ride. In wondered how many people had already left or were otherwise preoccupied with hurricane preparations. When I got to Lakeshore Drive I was rather surprised to find a significant north wind. It hadn't felt very windy at all on my way out there. As I rode west along the lake I passed the regular triathlete group that was just getting started. The Giro group seemed smaller than usual for a Saturday. I was up for a hard ride today, and I wasn't disappointed in that regard. I think it was probably Tim who got things going when we hit Hayne, and it stayed fast despite the crosswind. Naturally, once we turned south the speed picked up to around 30 mph, and it was like a race all the way to Chef Highway. That's when I noticed that the group had gotten a lot smaller. I thought perhaps we'd get a little break, but no such luck. Next thing I knew, I was in a group of six or seven taking short, fast pulls at around 27 mph. I think there were a few other riders hanging on the back of this little paceline. This was getting pretty stressful. More than once I dropped back and skipped a pull or two to recover a bit.

So after the turnaround I though that surely everyone was tired and we'd go easy for a while, but Tim had other ideas. We were flying down the highway pretty fast when Eddie D flatted. Tim had to get home asap, so he and a few other went ahead and the rest of us waited for Eddie. I though that we'd probably ride back in easy, but a minute later we see VJ and Eddie C., both on TT bikes, turn around and join the group. Well, you can probably guess what happened next. Anyway, it was a really good training ride, even though I felt like I spent half the time motorpacing behind large guys on TT bikes going 32 mph.

Back at home we're just kind of waiting for Gustav now. I trimmed some of the oak tree branches that were rubbing on the roof, battened down a few hatches, and moved as much as I could up off the floor of the basement. The models are all taking the center a bit west of the city, but then you've got to remember that it hasn't even gotten into the Gulf of Mexico yet. Once it does, it will ramp up to Category 4, at least. I don't usually mess with Category 4 hurricanes. We're still considering a few options. If by some miracle it looks like it will turn more to the west, we might be safe staying put. If it looks like it's going to plow right over Baton Rouge, it won't make much sense to evacuate to Jackson, LA, which is just half an hour north of there. It would be better to head north or east, the only problem being that we don't have any place to stay if we do that. If it looks like it's coming straight for the city we may go ahead and head for Jackson since even if it's headed there too, it should be down to Category 1 or 2 by then. I guess it will be tonight before we get more really useful information, so that will likely be decision time.

Fight or Flight; Left or Right

The morning air was so thick you could see it, but at least the light wind meant a nice steady Friday ride today. The topic of conversation, of course, always comes back the Hurricane of the Week, Gustav. With a storm track that keeps shifting with each 6-hour update, it's hard to know whether to flee to the relative safety of the Interstate, or dig in and fight it out. I have to admit, my natural tendency is the latter. I've really noticed that some of the folks whose lives were severely disrupted by Katrina are especially nervous about this hurricane. The track keeps shifting, left to right, but always the city remains in the dreaded "cone of uncertainty," which of course means that it's practically certain that we'll get some significant weather. The last two runs of the prediction models have been leaning toward landfall west of the city. This is certainly better than a direct hit, but it is also a whole lot worse than a track that takes it to the east. The last thing we want around here is the strong storm surge and high tides that come along with the northeast quadrant of a hurricane.

So we wait and hope for the best. As unlikely as another major flood is, it is impossible to escape the recent reality of Katrina. The new floodgates on the city's outfall canals are untested in a real hurricane, and the faith we once had in the floodwalls and levees, not to mention the police department, state government, and federal government, is long gone. On the plus side, the early and energetic preparations by city, state and federal officials has been impressive (and quite unprecedented). There have been constant announcements urging residents who need help or transportation to call the special 311 phone number to make arrangements.

So tomorrow I think I'll ride out to the Giro Ride, even though I know that some people have already fled. We already have a reservation up in Jackson LA where The Wife will need to be some time on Sunday if things look bad. The problem, however, is that Jackson is likely to get hammered pretty well if this storm stays its current course. The Dad has already gone to the relative safety of Fort Walton Beach, FL. The Mom, her dog, our cat, etc. will be going with us to Jackson if necessary. It's looking like decision time will come tomorrow night. By Sunday morning I'm sure the Mayor will call for a mandatory evacuation unless the forecast improves dramatically. As I recall, we evacuated for Katrina on a Sunday morning too.

Pain and Preparations

I just got a call telling me that the University will close at noon tomorrow and, depending on the ultimate course of Hurricane Gustav, and probably won't re-open until Thursday of next week. Indeed, three or four of the forecast models are still indicating landfall somewhere along the Louisiana coast early on Tuesday. So at this point everyone is making serious preparations. Hell, even the Mayor is coming back to town! The Wife has sent out an email to the Psychiatry Yahoo Groups list that we created right after Katrina to "reactivate" it, and I expect that normal work around here will be replaced with hurricane preparations this afternoon and tomorrow. I'll have to take a look around the basement back at home and make sure the important stuff is up off the ground in case we get any flooding from this one, and then I'll probably send in the second-to-last mortgage payment on the house. Friday afternoon I guess we'll start talking about what we'll do if we have to evacuate. Assuming the hurricane continues as predicted, the Mayor will call for a "mandatory" evacuation on Sunday, which basically means "if you want to stay you're on your own." The city's 311 phone number is finally getting a lot of calls because anyone who might need transportation to evacuate has to call in to that system. There will be no open doors at the Superdome this time.

So with the backdrop of impending disaster, a pretty big group assembled on the levee this morning for the long ride. VJ was there on his TT bike, along with Tim and Woody, so I knew it would get both fast and painful. My own legs were not too happy today and would load up quickly every time I took a pull. Of course that didn't stop the pace from going up pretty high on the way out, especially after a little break rolled off the front. By the time we got to the turnaround I was just completely drenched with sweat. In fact, all the sweat dripping all over the bike for the last couple of months has really started to do some damage. I had to drip a little lube onto the little thumb shifter gear on the brake levers last week, and this week the front derailleur (probably the cable) has gotten gunked up enough that it's shifting rather reluctantly. I actually had to reach down and push the front derailleur after the ride this morning to get it to shift onto the small ring. I don't even want to know what the aluminum handlebars look like underneath the sweat-soaked tape!

At the turnaround, Tim said, "Did you see the armadillo?" Well, just before the turnaround out at Ormond there had been a little armadillo nosing around in the grass alongside the bike path. As we started back, I stopped for a moment to take a rather blurry photo, at which point Donald jumped off his bike and tried to catch the little critter. It ran. Donald ran. I should have gotten video! I guess he could have caught it if he'd really wanted to find out how sharp its claws were, but we started riding back, so he jumped back on his bike without the armadillo. I have to admit, it reminded me of that commercial with Armadillo Man.

The ride back got pretty fast pretty quickly with Tim and VJ pushing the pace. Then it got faster. At one point I found myself behind VJ, just hanging on for dear life as he pulled me for a couple of miles at around 28 mph. I think a lot of us were relieved when Woody flatted and we all got to stop for a few minutes. Anyway, back on the road things started to get disorganized and riders started to die, and for a while we were going 28-30 into a light headwind. I started thinking, "I can't keep this up much longer." There was a big surge and a gap opened up a few riders ahead of me. When I saw the two riders behind the gap ease up, and then turn and look at each other, as if to say, "You gonna close that?" I knew we were in trouble. I went past and gradually ramped it up to 30 mph and closed about 75% of the gap, and when I pulled off I was expecting there would be a nice little paceline where I could get some rest. As it turned out, though, there was just Mark D. As he came past me he gave me that "you coming?" look, but it was too late for me. I'd eaten my last cookie. The well was empty. He made it up to the break but the rest of us didn't. Fortunately, it was getting close to turn-off time for some of the guys in the break, so they eventually eased up and most of the group came back together in time to watch VJ motor off into the distance. After that, nobody had much left and we rode back in relatively slowly. By the time we got back to the vicinity of the playground, the remnants of our group were scattered out along the bike path for what must have been three miles. I was kind of disappointed that I didn't have what it took to stay near the front today.

Gustav and Cipollini

I was up way too late last night doing mostly unproductive things, although I did put up some fresh photos from the Meridian-Cuba race on the LAMBRA website. I couldn't decide which of three photos, taken by Sharon Scheib, would be best, so I ended up pasting some javascript code into the HTML file to rotate all three of them. It's a little clunky, but I'll probably take it out after the next race anyway. The photo of the finish of the Cat. 4 Road Race is particularly interesting because in the background you can see one of the Tiger Cycling guys running up the hill carrying his bike. It looks a bit like he might have ripped his derailleur off by putting it into the spokes. Anyway, I thought it was a worthy photo.

The weather this morning was pretty nice, and we did the usual ride with everyone taking longish pulls at a fairly steady pace. Things were going along fine until, on the way back, my turn at the front came up and I stepped the pace up from 22 to 24 mph. This didn't seem so bad, since we'd already been up to that speed a couple of times already, but when I pulled off, the next rider (I think it was Jay?) ramped it up another few mph and next thing I knew gaps were opening up and we were going 27 mph. Eventually it all settled down again, though. For reasons I cannot explain, I was feeling pretty good this morning and found myself riding a bit off to the side in the paceline just to keep my effort level up.

So today the talk of the town is Hurricane Gustav. OK, well technically it's back down to a Tropical Storm this morning but we all know that's just temporary. The consensus model is still taking it straight for New Orleans, so everyone is on edge. Well, everyone except our esteemed Mayor who was up in Denver dancing around on the floor at the Democratic National Convention. The Wife called me before I got to work to tell me that the Psychiatry department is beginning to make plans to relocate operations to Jackson, LA, and I expect that by this evening we'll start to hear more from the University and city officials. You can be sure that none of them will be waiting around until the last minute this time. The city will no doubt sound the alarm particularly early in order to get an early enough response from enough people to minimize the crisis if this thing actually continues on its projected path. With my usual morning routine slightly interrupted by The Weather Channel and a check of Wunderground's tropical weather pages, I somehow forgot completely to shave! So I guess I'll be going for that Mario Cipollini look today. I guess I should have worn my Armani underwear. Anyway, although Gustav is going to be a problem for sure, it's still too early to tell where it's really going. As the Wunderground folks wrote this morning, "The official forecast is very similar to the previous NHC track through 72 hours and is shifted a little to the right by day 5. One should not read much into such shifts of the forecast track since the typical error of a 5-day prediction is over 300 miles." Nonetheless, I'll probably do some backups this afternoon. It looks like Saturday afternoon will be decision time on this one.

Here We Go

The minute I got up today I thought, "I'd better check the radar." It was so dark I figured it just had to be cloudy. It wasn't. It's just that at this time of year you actually notice the change in sunrise when you're getting up at 5:45 a.m. Anyway, I swear it actually felt cool this morning for the long levee ride. Rob K. was back after a couple of months of nagging back problems, and by the time we'd picked up Eddie, VJ, Tim and Woody I figured it would be a workout. On the way out to Ormond, however, it seemed that Tim and Woody were taking it relatively easy (probably planning their subsequent escape). We made the turnaround with pretty much everyone together. Along the way I discovered that the last year or two of sweat had really taken its toll on my little handlebar bell, though. I guess the spring must have broken, or perhaps it's just gotten gunked up with corrosion, but anyway it isn't ringing very well lately. I guess I'll have to invest in another, because I've really come to like having it for those levee rides.

Shortly after the turnaround, while people were still sitting up and regrouping, I noticed Tim zigging and zagging through the other riders and rolling off the front. Then, when he was joined by Woody and Eddie, I knew we were in for a chase. Suddenly the pace in the group went from something like 12 mph to 29 mph and we were not closing. A rotation formed at the front of five or six, and the chase was on. I was afraid it might have caught everyone else off guard, but after a few miles when we slowed down a bit I looked back and the rest of the group was right there. We were still chasing pretty hard although there was only a handful of us pulling, but once we got close to Jefferson Parish we could see that Eddie had dropped off. Not too long after that Woody did too and the chase settled down considerably. Toward the end of the ride Tim eased up and came back to the group, and as he came alongside me he looked over and said, "How come y'all stopped chasing?"

So it's the end of August, just a few days from the 3-year anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, and now we have Hurricane Gustav getting ready to cross Cuba into the Gulf of Mexico with a projected course heading straight for New Orleans. Here we go again..... The folks at work are already getting anxious since this one looks like it'll easily get up to Category 3 in a couple of days, if not sooner, and more than one of the computer models has it heading straight for the mouth of the Mississippi. Yep, this is one to worry about.

Heading Our Way

Listening to: You Keep Me Hanging On by Vanilla Fudge on WTIX-FM
Drinking: Pinot Noir left over from dinner with the neighbors
Feeling: A bit melancholy

The forecast for today was bad, and the first thing I did when I awoke was look out the window. The street was wet from a light shower, but it wasn't raining. I knew I was going to ride. Running a few minutes late I headed out the door wondering if I'd be coming home in the rain. The levee was practically deserted, but the overpowering winds of the past couple of days were gone, so I put my head down and just motored at a steady pace. It felt good to be out there alone for a change, and by the time I got back home some thirty-odd miles later I felt both satisfied and dry. To make matters even better, I had a nice tailwind all the way to work.

The rest of the day was pretty much downhill and by 5 pm I was feeling that dragged-out kind of tiredness that you get from sitting in front of a computer all day accomplishing practically nothing of value in the grand scheme of things. Maybe that three day old Central Grocery Muffuletta that I ate had something to do with it. They are days like this when I think about slapping a set of panniers on the old Pennine and disappearing into the asphalt web in the general direction of Colorado -- or the Carolinas. I can never decide.

So now there's a new Tropical Storm heading our way. Just what I need. At least it's been lively in the neighborhood around Tulane lately. Move-in day was last Saturday, so the students are all back in town and things at least feel normal again. I think I know how the ancients felt every year when it started getting colder and darker and they didn't know if summer would ever come back. We stopped in at Starbucks on Maple Street yesterday morning and it was really busy. I sat outside on their big deck in a light rain shower. Next to me were two tables with dogs waiting patiently for their humans to finish their coffee. Across from us was a mother and daughter, one of whom was obviously a college student, looking through the classifieds for an apartment. Customers were riding and walking up to the shop in the rain. These are some of the things that give me hope. As H.G. Wells put it, "When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race." I guess I kind of feel the same way about college students in general.

Wind and Water

Thanks to a tropical storm approaching from the east, the weather on Saturday was predictably wonderful. It's always great when there's a depression in the panhandle of Florida because we get some nice north winds. The air felt cooler and drier than usual, and it was almost easy to forget about the gusty north wind. Almost, but not quite...

I rode out to the lakefront for the Saturday Giro Ride feeling rather energized, and apparently I wasn't the only one. The group hit Hayne Blvd. and things got fast pretty quickly. With a pretty good crosswind, I knew there would eventually be carnage in the paceline, so I tried, with only moderate success, to stay up near the front. I think most people hung in there until the end of Hayne, at which point we turned south and got the full force of the tailwind. I knew what would happen next and made a little effort to move up a few spots. By the time we got to the short stretch on the Interstate the guys at the front had put the hammer down and the pace shot up to 38 mph. The paceline was getting shorter and shorter. I thought it might ease up a bit on Chef Highway when we were back into crosswind territory, but no such luck. After a very brief regrouping a little break went off the front and so things stayed plenty fast all the way. We got a nice paceline going and started closing the gap. When it was down to about ten seconds, though, a couple of people inexplicably started attacking and trying to make the bridge. It didn't work, of course, and it took us a while to reorganize and get the paceline going again, but we did eventually make the catch. Toward the end riders were dropping off the back of the dwindling paceline with alarming frequency. I was happy to be able to stick it out until the sprint really started, at which point the rider in front of me sat up and there was no way I was going to be able to close the resulting gap so I pretty much shut down at that point.

After the turnaround I rolled off the front at an easy 21 mph just to keep things from slacking off too much. A few minutes later Mike W. came up to me and rode right past. He had made the rather questionable but predictable decision, on this particularly windy group ride, to ride his track bike, complete aero bars, disk rear and deep dish front wheel. I let him go. A few moments later Woody came past, so I latched onto his wheel, and then Mike latched onto us and next thing I knew we were doing a 3-man Time Trial. Naturally, I ended up behind Mike. Well eventually I just couldn't take the combination of minimal draft and weaving back and forth, so I skipped a pull or two and switched to Woody's wheel. By then the pack was hot on our heels, but we made it close enough to the Goodyear sign for the sprint to start, and when it did, I eased up. One of the guys in the pack came past me just before the sign. Anyway, I took a little break after that, but by the time we were halfway back down Hayne I was going hard again with a little group and we arrived back at the parking lot wondering where everybody had gone.

So I was really wanting to do a long ride on Sunday, but by morning the tropical depression had started pulling a lot of rain clouds over the city. The streets were wet when I got up, but after checking the radar I figured I had an hour or two before things got bad. So I headed out on the wet streets around 7 am and didn't get two blocks before it started raining. I made a quick u-turn and raced back to the house. It couldn't' have taken more than a minute, but by the time I got there the rain had stopped as suddenly as it had started. I stood there under the crepe myrtle tree weighing my options, and finally said, "to hell with it, I'm riding." I ended up getting in around 35 miles without a drop of rain, but plenty of gusting winds in the 25 mph neighborhood. Half an hour after I got pack it started raining. Eleven hours later it's still raining, so tomorrow morning is kind of up in the air right now. At least I had some time to update the LCCS results on the LAMBRA website and pick up the repaired LAMBRA clock from Bicycle World so I can fashion some sort of Visqueen rain cover for it.

The Riding Routine

It was a routine Thursday ride up on the levee bike path, and the only thing that stood out about the ride was Brady getting stung by a bee. These bee stings are surprisingly common on the the bike path. I suppose I get stung at least once a year, and those are just the lucky bees that happen to be quick enough to grab onto something when I plow into them. This time of year I often feel bees hitting my helmet or arms during the rides. Most just bounce off an go on their merry ways, but every now and then one of them is quick enough to do some damage.

So yesterday we had the usual krewe up there and the pace was fast but relatively steady. For mysterious reasons my legs were actually feeling pretty good. It would be a good weekend for racing if, in fact, there were any races in the vicinity. There aren't, though, so I'll probably just do the Saturday Giro Ride.

Thursday night we went out to dinner at a little neighborhood place called Vincent's with the neighbors, one of whom is around two years old. He was quite entertaining. I had some nice chicken Marsala and of course more than a couple glasses of wine, so even though it was an early dinner I was pretty much out for the count by 9:30.

Friday's ride turned out to be a little faster than usual, but it was good anyway. I had taken Friday off from work because we had to go up to Baton Rouge and work on the property that The Wife's parents owned and that they are trying to sell. Apparently the insurance company was worried about things like what they identified as poison sumac growing on the fence. Go figure. Naturally, I resorted to chemical warfare for that, although The Wife still found it necessary to cut it all down and bag it. Although I think they misidentified the vine, my own relationship with urushiol is less than stellar, I avoided contact anyway.

Car Chases and Bike Bells

I made it home yesterday without getting wet. The Wife had instead taken the Tulane shuttle bus uptown and then walked half a mile to the house, so while my trip took fifteen minutes, hers was more like an hour. A minute after she got home we heard multiple police sirens screaming down South Claiborne Avenue. They just kept coming and coming, and a moment later they were all screaming down the road in the other direction. I was washing something in the kitchen sink when I heard The Wife say something about it, and when I finished I noticed the front door was open. Looking outside I was surprised to find half the neighborhood walking toward the intersection, and half the police force parked in the middle of the road.

It was a car chase that had ended badly for both parties. One of the police cars had slid on the wet streets, wrapping the rear half of the cruiser around a tree and injuring the officers. As we later learned, the truck they had been chasing, which had been flying down Claiborne at around 60 mph, had been caught. I'd venture to say that guy is in some serious trouble. So anyway, the police shut down the 3-lane roadway for the better part of an hour, strapping the police officer to a back board for a trip to the hospital. One of the other officers told us the injuries didn't look too serious. The whole thing was much more interesting than the six o'clock news, though, and we all hung around outside until things calmed down. For a moment I thought about bringing out a bottle of wine and some glasses. You know New Orleanians use any excuse for a party.

The Wednesday ride was interesting! The usual plan for Wednesdays calls for a nice smooth paceline with speeds in the 20-23 range. Today, though, we had Jay and Ali (on his TT bike) who started pushing the speeds up on the way out to the turnaround. As a result, the group speed was fluctuating quite a bit depending on who happened to be on the front at the time. When Jay took a particularly long and fast pull, Donald came past me on the left saying something like, "Oh, so they want to play?" So Donald flies off the front even faster. For the next few miles it was kind of a race up there near the front, and I guess we dropped a few people along the way.

As usual, that made for a relatively slow start to the return trip, not that it stayed that way. We ended up pushing pretty hard most of the way back, but it was much smoother and consistent.

The School of Public Health and Tropical Medicine, which is in my building at work, is starting classes soon and as usual the Bike Room is starting to fill up with commuter bikes of all shapes and sizes. Some of them are getting kind of interesting. I've definitely noticed more people commuting by bicycle lately, and I've especially noticed that more and more of them are riding bikes with sensible commuter things like fenders and racks and panniers. This morning I thought I'd take a few pics of some of the more interesting things. There's the single-speed conversion bike with the leopard skin seat, a nice collection of oddball bells, an old Schwinn with a relatively rare old Brooks saddle (with springs!), and various baskets and handlebar accessories, some of which I can't even identify. And of course there's The Wife's bike. It sure would be nice to see this trend continue, but I guess as soon as the price of gas gets back into the comfort zone people will start driving again.

Hurry Up and Waiting

I have a lot of trouble starting my engine on morning like this, especially when I'm tired from staying up late watching the Olympics. The fact that it's dark now when I get up for the 6:15 ride doesn't help, either. It was already 6 a.m. when I glanced at my watch in-between pump strokes. It had probably been over a week since I'd pumped up the tires on my training wheels and they were both down to around 70 psi. I'm not too obsessive about tire pressure, obviously, but then I get kind of a free pass thanks to being relatively small and light. A big guy on 23mm 70 psi tires probably wouldn't make it two blocks on our fine city streets without a pinch flat. As sluggish as I was, I still had ten minutes in hand when I left, and after so many trips to the levee I knew I'd make it there with a minute or two to spare. Down near the end of Freret St., out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the telltale flicker of a super-bright headlight on the road alongside me. That would be Brady and his helmet-mounted light.

The group today grew quickly to well over a dozen, and after a few miles of warmup the speed started to climb in fits and spurts. I don't really know why it seemed so unsteady this morning, but I did know that a couple of the horses powering the front would probably be turning around early, so I dove right into the rotation. At one point I swung off the front after taking a nice little 27 mph pull, and by the time I went to get back into the paceline I had to ramp it up to 31 just to stay in the draft. The pace never went too far past the limit, but it certainly nudged up against it a few times and it was clearly taking its toll. By the time we were approaching the Dip, a lot of the guys were staying at the back, shepherded I think by Donald who was doing gatekeeper duty midway down the paceline, buffering the surges and keeping the pullers in front of the pullees. As I expected, a few people eased up and turned back at the Dip, so after that the pace got a little more steady for a while until there was the usual long drag race preceding the turnaround.

So anyway, it was a fairly typical ride 40-something mile ride this morning. Back at the house, though, I felt tired and sleepy. Still do.

Right now I'm kind of stuck at work, where its been raining most of the afternoon, waiting for a little break in the weather. Unfortunately, the radar isn't offering a whole lot of hope and I'll probably bite the bullet at some point soon and resign myself to a wet ride home. At any rate, it'll be a better ride, wet or dry, in half an hour when the bulk of the rush hour traffic is off of the city streets and sitting bumper-to-bumper on the interstate. I'll quietly snicker at the long line of red brake lights as I glide across the Jeff Davis overpass, and despite the rain and the delay I'll still be home, dry, and sipping on a glass of cheap Merlot before they pull into their three-car garages. It's all about priorities, you know.

Weekend Wrap

At the start of the Cuba road race the air felt cool, at least by August in Alabama standards, and as always seems to happen on this course a little break rolled off down the road early. The pack was only moderately interested, preferring, I suppose, to wait for the long climb at mile eleven. Before we got there, though, we passed the scene of a big crash in the Cat. 1/2/3 race that had sent a couple of guys to the hospital, one with a broken clavicle. By the time we went past, there were just a couple of guys, one of whom was holding a shredded carbon-fiber bike. When it comes to bikes, "the lighter they are, the harder they fall."

So the early break was brought back around the hill at mile 11, and not too long after that there was another attack. I looked up the road and saw jerseys from most of the teams represented along with a few of the stronger riders and knew that with a little blocking it could definitely go. With no teammates in my race, I was on my own, and the place to be was definitely in the break, so I took off in pursuit. I screamed full-bore down a long downhill, and as the break came to a sharp left-hand turn I finally made the catch. It was a good thing, too, because I was about an inch from blowing up completely.

This break seemed to have everything necessary to stay away except for one thing -- cooperation. I don't really know what the problem was, but people were surging and opening gaps and just generally not riding like you should in a break. A couple more guys bridged up to us and we slowly -- very slowly -- started to get a little more organized. I was still thinking that we would stay away, though. A few miles later when we came though the feed zone at the end of lap 1, however, I looked back and the pack was RIGHT THERE. Damn. I'd thought there might have been enough blocking to prevent that, but apparently not. I heard later that a couple of guys took some monster pulls that brought the pack back into striking range.

So soon it was all back together. I dropped back into the pack for a little rest, and just about then a strong 3-rider break materialized off the front. Again, the pack didn't really react and I watched as the gap slowly opened. One of the Alabama teams wasn't represented, and one of their guys was on the front trying to get a chase going. I went up there too and took a few pulls, but there really weren't many others who seemed willing to chase. So with ten or so miles left to go all attempts to chase fizzled completely and the pack was starting to resemble a Sunday coffee shop tour ride. One might have thought that they were starting to play cat and mouse in anticipation of the finish sprint except that there were apparently few cats left in the group. I remember looking down as we went up a tiny little uphill and noticing that we were going 14 mph. I went back to the front and tried to ramp things up a bit just because it was so embarrassing!

There were probably only six or seven miles left when we saw one of the break riders standing on the side of the road with a flat (and no follow car), so now the pack would be racing for third -- or so it thought. Next thing I know two riders, one from Midsouth and the other from Jeep, are flying off the front and the teammates of one of them are sitting there enthusiastically soft-pedaling. It took a little while for me to get past, and when I did I ramped it up to 29 mph or so and closed over half the distance, but when I glanced under my arm all I saw were Jeep jerseys. This was not good, and indeed as soon as I eased up, so did the entire pack.

We were getting pretty close to the last turn by then and I guess they all wanted to sprint for fifth place. The problem, really, was probably that this race was a combined 35+, 45+, 55+ race, so I guess some of them were shooting for higher placings within their age groups. I hate these combined races. The pack just never reacts the way I expect when only a third of them are actually in the same race. Anyway, I was already guaranteed the win in the 55+ age group (hey, we needed the gas money!), so I guess my motivation for the sprint must have been a little lacking. At 300 meters one of the guys attacked down the left side. At the time, I was way over on the right, and the stream of riders who went after the attacker went past on the left and then kind of swarmed over to the right and as we started up the finishing climb everyone in front of me started to blow up. Basically, my sprint was over before it started and so I just shut down and coasted across the line.

Fortunately, Stephen had already salvaged the honor of the team by winning the Cat. 5 Road Race and also the Omnium. We waited around for what must have been well over an hour for the results, stopped at a Subway in Meridian, and headed back to NOLA through a number of rather impressive rainstorms.

Although you wouldn't know it from my overall placings, I had a lot of fun racing last weekend, and since I'd entered my age-appropriate race we even came home with enough to easily cover gas and the hotel, which always makes for a happy ending.

Meridian

It's late and I'm kind of tired, so this one will be short. The criterium in Meridian today went off pretty well. In the Women's race, Debbie Milne took off with one other rider in tow, dropped that rider, lapped the field, lapped the rider who had been with her, and was about 100 meters away from lapping the field a second time by the end. Judith and Vivian were 3rd and 4th in the pack sprint. In the Cat. 5 race, Stephen Mire rode really well, finishing 2nd in a very close sprint that he probably would have won if he hadn't had to go around a rider who swung over in front of him just as he started his sprint. The Masters race was quite fast with lots of attacks, a few breaks that didn't stick, and a pack sprint in which I finished somewhere around 8th, give or take. They hadn't put up the masters results by the time the Cat. 1/2/3 race ended, so I really don't know. In the Cat. 1/2/3 race Mike Olheiser basically rode away from the field despite a pretty decent chase that held his gap at 15 second for a long time. Eventually, though, the pack gave up on 1st and the gap opend up. I think it was Eric Murphy who won the pack sprint, although I could be wrong on that.

Shawn, Nastia and Edith

OK, I admit it. I fell asleep too early last night to see the women's gymnastics all-around competition. There were reasons. The sister-in-law stopped in for dinner on her way back from Grayton Beach, so I had some nice fish, a lot of salad, and more than a bit of wine. Anyway, I was still thrilled to hear that Shawn and Nastia took the top two medals. I watched the video of their routines on the nbcolympics.com website and they were just so incredibly solid. It was particularly nice to see Nastia's dad, though. I've been through a lot of gymnastics meets with The Daughter, and the bigger ones, like Regionals and Nationals, were pretty stressful for the parents. You'd sit during beam and bars and just think over and over, "Don't fall, don't fall!" It only worked about 70% of the time. I can't even imagine what it must have been like to be not only "dad" but also "coach" and also at the Olympics with a gold medal (and to a certain extent the reputation of your business) on the line.

There's also a little bit of a connection with Valeri Liukin and WOGA in Texas. You see, one of the gym's founders, Yevgeny Marchenko, originally came to the U.S. through the efforts of The Daughter's gymnastics club, Riverbend Gymnastics, in New Orleans. He and his acrobatic gymnastics partner coached there for a couple of years before he and Valeri and some other Russians got together and started up WOGA. I was sad to see him go because he was a genuinely great guy and The Daughter really learned a lot from him. For a few years back then we would spend a week or two in Dallas every summer and The Daughter would work out at WOGA. It was a lot different from her home gym in New Orleans. At the time, the gym was in a little strip mall in the space that had once been a grocery store. At WOGA the emphasis was very firmly on competition and although the coaching was excellent, it was a lot more harsh than it was back home. It was not uncommon to see one or more of the girls in tears during practice because the coaches did not usually mince words when they got something wrong or wimped out. Most of the girls in the upper levels were home-schooled so that they could spend more time in the gym. I think The Daughter learned a thing or two about what it takes to be a champion from those visits. I guess toward the end Nastia was probably working out there too.


Today was the funeral of Edith Gulotta. Back when I started racing, Edith and her husband Buddy ran the oldest bicycle store in the U.S., Gus Betat & Sons, in New Orleans. For years, I was a regular fixture there on the weekends. It was a family-run shop and as I was getting into racing one of their sons, Greg, was beginning to take charge of the operation, especially the special "10-speed store." That was back when "10 speed" referred to the total rather than just the number of cogs on the rear wheel. Betat's was the club's original sponsor, and remained a sponsor pretty much until it finally closed down in the 80's. Edith and Buddy attended a lot of the local races back then. When Greg died suddenly back in the 70s the Tour de Louisiane was still in its infancy and without him the survival of the race, if not the club itself, was in serious question. I guess that's about when I started to take a more active role in the club and the Tour de La. It was great to see Gulotta family again and a little frightening to know that Glenn's son is now an M.D. working at Ochsner in Radiology, and even more frightening to know that Glenn currently has a 2 year old daughter. Anyway, we should all be thankful to the Gulotta family and to Betat's for all they gave to the New Orleans racing community, not the least of which were the NOBC and the Giro Ride and all those Bottechias and Atalas and Raleighs that I know are still hiding away in garages all over the city.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot. We had a nice smooth uneventful Friday ride this morning up on the levee. Just what I needed. Tomorrow we'll be heading up to Meridian, MS for a criterium and road race. For some reason I haven't been feeling too sharp on the bike the last week or so, but hopefully I'll survive the masters races.

How's the Weather

All cyclists are obsessively preoccupied about the weather. I'm certainly no exception. In fact, if I could I'd probably be running my own private weather station. Fortunately, we now have the internet and TWC and the Weather Underground to keep us from doing anything foolish. Yesterday morning was a case in point. The alarm went off as usual and as I started to get out of bed The Wife mumbled "it's raining." Indeed it was raining pretty hard at the time, but of course I now had to know if it was just passing over or if it was going to be an all-day affair. So I lit up the Palm Pilot to check the radar on its little screen and, damn, it was not looking good. I briefly considered going out on the full-fendered Pennine, but that would have also meant riding to work in the rain, so I decided to skip it. It turned out to have been the right decision that day because I pretty much rained nonstop until late afternoon, at which point the clouds parted, a north wind blew in, and it quickly went from miserable to beautiful. Anyway, it reminded me of that joke:

On Saturday morning, a roadie gets up early, as he has for so many Saturday morning rides, and softly slips out of the bedroom. He dresses quietly in the next room, grabs his helmet and water bottles, and goes out to pump the tires. As the garage door opens, he's confronted by an icy, windswept rain. He's ridden before in these conditions. He doesn't like it, but when it's Saturday morning he never misses. He ponders the dismal conditions and then retreats to the kitchen to tune a small TV to the Weather Channel. The forecast only sounds worse. This is one Saturday when he just can't summon the determination. With a sigh, he slips off his shoes, quietly returns to the bedroom, undresses and slips back into bed. There he cuddles up to his wife's back and whispers, "The weather out there is terrible." To which she sleepily replies, "Can you believe my husband went riding in that crap?"

So we left work a few minutes early (since we'd gotten there a good hour earlier than usual) and The Wife and I went for an easy ride on the levee. My only mistake was not taking the Pennine because some of the streets were still pretty wet and I had to go really slowly on the street-level part of the bike path because it was covered in water still draining off of the levee.

Thursday was better. We had a long line of riders this morning and the air felt just a tiny bit cooler than usual, although the humidity was still pegged at 100%. As they say, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity." So here we are in a long paceline with Woody and Brady up at the front going hard when there's a little surge and, once again, someone lets a big gap open and then pulls out of the paceline. Same as Tuesday and even the same person. VJ goes flying past us on the left as Donald harasses him for not helping pull the rest of the group across the gap. I go around and start picking up the pace but by then the gap is about fifteen seconds and they're still going hard. I see VJ make contact, but I'm about done and there's nobody on my wheel, so I wait for reinforcements. Donald comes to the front and takes a long pull and after a while the lead group eases up a bit and we finally all come back together. At least my legs were feeling a little better today.

On the way back, though, I was trying to take is just a little bit easier than usual since I'm planning on racing up in Meridian this weekend. There were a few riders at the front pushing the pace, but after a while Donald put on his Gatekeeper hat and just sat there about four riders from the front letting the front guys back in ahead of him while the rest of us had a nice easy ride in his draft.

Missing the Rain

With legs still a bit sore from the weekend's abuse, I rolled out he door Monday morning wondering if I'd be lucky enough to miss the rain. The sky was already cloudy and the forecast was for rain, and lots of it. I was in full "active recovery" mode, which is what OCD people use instead of real recovery, and so I doubt I exceeded 15 mph for most of my ride. There was just the lightest of misty drizzle falling here and there. In fact, the word "drizzle" would be too strong. It was lighter than a drizzle and more sparse than a mist. Something like a light "mizzle." Anyway, I had lots of time to admire the scenery and contemplate drippy semantics since I was practically the only person up on the bike path. At least I arrived back home reasonably dry and satisfied that I hadn't yielded to the bedcovers and forecasters. A few minutes later The Wife called to tell me to drive the car to work because the real rain was on its way. I did. It was. Still, it was over by the time we left work, so I might as well have taken the bike.

So after staying up last night until midnight watching the Olympics and staying on to see the end of the Men's Team Gymnastics (nice teamwork, USA!), I was on my feet again in the dark at 5:45 stealing AAA batteries out of non-essential devices in order to get my little blinky light back in action. Today was the first blinky light day for me this summer. After my little orthopedic siesta this season, it seems like the summer has just flown by. The kids are already back in school, and the universities will be starting up their Fall semesters in a couple of weeks.

We ended up with a good-sized group this morning and despite the dire meteorological prognostications the sky was clear. Of course, it doesn't really matter much if it's raining or not when the relative humidity is pegged at 100% the whole time. Anyway, things got rolling pretty fast and the crosswind was causing a lot of grief beyond mid-pack where there was little draft to be had. Then, maybe halfway out, Brady took a long fast pull at the front that surged the pace up another couple of miles per hour and the rider in front of me started letting a gap open. I couldn't tell if he was going to close it or not until it got pretty big, and he wasn't pulling over, but finally I went past and made a long fruitless effort to close. When I started to fade I pulled off, only to discover there was nobody on my wheel. Sheesh. So I backed off and waited for the now-splintered group to get its act together, watching a little break roll off down the road. Finally we got kind of a loosely organized rotation going and the gap at least stopped growing. There just wasn't sufficient consensus in the group to mount a real chase, though, but at least we were holding our own. Eventually the break disintegrated, leaving Brady out there solo. He hung on almost all the way to the turnaround, but once he was alone the gap started coming down and the motivation in the group started going up, and finally VJ or Max or somebody made one last long effort and it all came back together.

I was still feeling the weekend in my legs the whole time, though, and was glad that the pace stayed conversational for the first few miles of the return leg. Of course, that didn't last all that long and we had a pretty fast ride back. On rides like this, the organization always seems to crumble somewhere around Williams Blvd., and today was no exception. People start to get tired and so if there's a little surge in the speed they stop taking pulls and the group rotating at the front dwindles down to a handful. Anyway, at least we didn't get rained on like I'd feared. In fact it looks like all of the weather is, at least for now, well north of us, so the rain will probably miss us altogether until things really heat up in the late afternoon. At that point, it's anybody's guess as to where the random thunderstorms will pop up. Just normal summer weather around here.....

Clear Skies and Training Rides

I put in my best effort, but couldn't quite do it. By 1:00 a.m. I was already starting to doze off and I knew I wouldn't achieve my goal. The NBC live video of the Olympic road race was great, but with no commentary it was getting hard to stay awake. The live text ticker at Cyclingnews was pretty good, but it wasn't quite enough. Then, when the entire U.S. team somehow failed to put someone in the big 25-rider break that included most of the top riders, I was in complete disbelief. I could see that they sent Jason McCartney up there to sacrifice himself pulling the break back. With most of the top cycling countries represented in the break, he was just getting help from Russia and by the time I finally fell asleep for good, around 2:00 a.m., it was far from certain that they'd catch in time.

So a few hours later when I got up to for the Giro Ride, I checked the still incomplete results and thought my worst fears were confirmed. I was glad to find, after returning from the Giro Ride, that they had indeed caught, and although the U.S. missed out on medals two of the guys finished quite respectively.

The Giro Ride was going well for me until we turned onto Chef Highway and I felt the telltale rear tire squiggle of a flat. I quietly dropped off the back, found a nice shady spot, changed it out and did a nice little time trial, turning around when I saw the group on its way back. I ended up going pretty hard and probably would have benefited from some recovery time back at home. Back in the parking lot after the Giro Courtney stretched out on a towel to work on her problem hip and got some help from both Max and Robin. I don't know, but although she looks nice and relaxed in the photo, it looked kind of painful to me! Actually, I should probably be doing the same thing after my rides, although I doubt I'd get such enthusiastic attention from Max and Robin! Anyway, you know that recovery time I needed? Well, I didn't get it, and instead ended up spending three or four hours outside trimming the big Oak tree and cutting up the resulting truckload of branches in to tiny little pieces while subsisting on little more than soft drinks. Sore hand, sore back, sore shoulders. Shortly after I'd finished that The Wife tells me that the neighbors are coming over for dinner. She runs out and comes back with boiled crabs and shrimp and makes up a nice salad and pasta. It was good, but I most definitely consumed a bit more wine than advisable for someone planning on doing a northshore training ride the next morning.

Today's ride was a good one, despite three flats (not mine this time). Like Saturday, the sky was clear and the air felt just a bit cooler than normal for the first hour or so. Our group of ten ended up doing something around 65 or 70 miles, much of which was pretty brisk. It was a real treat to ride over the famous Watchtower Hill on fresh, buttery smooth asphalt. I had planned on taking some photos when we climbed it on the return trip but forgot all about it when the pace surged. It was a little more than I was willing to handle, so after I came over the top I got together with Charlie and Jaro and we started chasing, because as everyone knows, if you get a gap on the Watchtower Hill, you have to stay on the gas all the way to Tung Road. It's a rule. Ed missed our group, no doubt suffering the effects of his 90 mile Saturday. Anyway, we lost Jaro after a couple of pulls but since we were slowly closing the gap we kept up the pressure. Charlie took a long pull and then shortly after I came through and started pushing up a little hill I heard him say something to the effect of, "I'm done." Ten more pedal strokes and I was back in the draft and shortly after that we came to the Tung Road turn and everybody eased up to regroup. By the time we got back to the car after a final five-mile stretch of hard paceline Ed and I were pretty well cooked. That Subway sandwich I had on the drive back really hit the spot, though.

Long Black Path

It was another hot and fast summer ride on the long black bike path. At first it looked like the turnout would be small, but I think that was a result of the later sunrise more than anything else. People always start showing up later and later this time of year. By the time we started, a few minutes late, many of the usual crew was just showing up. Riding up the river and under the Huey P. Long bridge, Tim and Woody took over the front with a surge, followed by another surge, and another. I was trying to take some pulls, but you know it takes a little longer to warm up old meat and I hadn't really been expecting it to go so fast so soon. Even so, I was thinking that the pace they were setting into the wind wasn't sustainable over the whole 40+ mile ride, even for them. For a while it was just the two of them taking pulls as the rest of the group struggled to close the gaps and settle into this fast morning paceline.

Eventually they dropped back and some of the regular riders filtered up to the front which slowed things down by about three miles per hour. Somewhere way out there I dropped to the back too, where I stayed for quite a few miles contemplating weighty questions like "Do they know how far we're going today?" and "Am I getting too old for this?" I didn't really notice where exactly they turned back, confirming my earlier suspicions about the sustainability of the pace, but I guess it was somewhere around the "dip." By then, though, the group had settled on a more typical consensus speed and so the pace didn't slow down appreciably. As it turned out, I had a pretty hard ride both coming and going, doing a lot of work in the last five or six miles when it was clear that a lot of the group was really starting to fade. As is the usual case this time of year, I got back home soaking wet with sweat, with my glasses stuck into the holes in my helmet because I couldn't see out of them any longer for all the sweat that had dripped onto them. The fronts of my legs, and for that matter all the leading edges of my bike, were covered with a thin film of dirt interrupted here and there where big drops of sweat had fallen. I was pretty well toasted by the time I threw a leg over the commuter for the ride to work, and I could feel my legs protesting as I stood to climb the Broad Street Overpass. When I finally sat down in my office my body was successfully convincing my brain that it was time for a little nap, so I had to go pour myself a cup of caffeine just to keep my head from bobbing up and down on my keyboard.

I've been noticing something lately that's both exciting and disturbing at the same time. They're the kids of old bike racers who keep showing up in the news. First there were the riders like Axel Merckx who is the son of Eddy Merckx who was winning the Tour de France back when I started racing. Axel not only raced in the TDF and turned out to be one of the top professionals, he's already retired! Then there's the rapid rise of Taylor Phinney, currently in Beijing, and son of two of my all-time favorite U.S. cyclists and Olympians, long since retired from racing, Davis Phinney and Connie Carpenter. In the recent Tour de France the top U.S. rider was none other than Christian Vande Velde who is also on the current Olympic team and whose father John was one of the top U.S. riders, and an Olympian, back when I started racing. Now I suddenly hear about Peter Stetina winning the U23 Nationals and I think, "That's got to be either Dale's or Wayne's son." Sure enough, he's Dale Stetina's son. Well, at least Dale and Wayne are still racing -- in the 55+ age group.

The Olympic Road Races this weekend will probably be, as always, kind of a lottery. Some of these pro riders always seem genuinely confused when they're thrown into a one-day race like this without the usual teams. At least the course sounds like a pretty hard one, so it should be interesting.

It's great to see this new generation of riders following in their parents' footsteps, of course, but these are things that do tend to make one feel kind of, well, OLD.

Another Fast One

Donald heads back after the turnaround

It was so dark this morning when I got up that I immediately checked the radar for rain. There wasn't a trace, but the combination of changing orbital inclination and a completely overcast sky sure made it seem dismal. For the first time since Spring I wore my clear lenses instead of my dark ones. When I arrived at the levee Woody was already there but it was otherwise deserted. It seems that Woody is starting a new job out around Elmwood, so we may have the opportunity to be pummelled by him on a more regular basis. With a nice little tail/crosswind the pace picked up fast today for the long levee ride and before long the number of people rotating through the paceline began to dwindle. My legs still felt sore from Sunday's ride, but I couldn't resist going kind of hard today. Woody and Donald, among others, were pushing the pace today. It was already looking like it would be another fast one by the time we hit Kenner, and soon thereafter Jeff, who was just ahead of me in the paceline, pulled over and waved me past. I think the pace had surged up to something like 32 at that point and the group had already split. I was already skipping pulls, and then for the last few miles I just sat at the back letting the other guys in ahead of me. Survival mode.

It didn't look like many, if any, of the riders not in the front group ever made it to the turnaround, but we picked up some more people on the way back and the pace was relatively calm for a few miles. We were riding into a pretty good headwind, and although our speed on the way out had been in the 26-29 mph range, we were now down to something more like 23-25. When Woody came to the front, with me on his wheel, he held 24-25 for what seemed like five miles. He was cruising along with his forearms on the bars and I was scrunched down low trying to get every bit of draft I could. You would have thought I'd have been rested enough, but when he finally pulled over for me to take a pull I probably got in 25 pedal strokes before I started slowing down and had to pull off. Suffice it to say that we had a pretty good fast training ride today that left me drenched in sweat. I spent quite a while at home stretching out my tired legs after that one. Somewhere out there the old ErgoBrain clicked over to 78,000 miles.

So it looks like there's a recall of 2004-05 Look Keo pedals. I'll have to check the date stamp on mine because although I got them less than a year ago, when you buy your stuff from those shady underworld types who advertise on eBay, you never know! The Giro de Rankin race got officially moved so as to avoid conflicting with Six Gap today, so it looks like it will be a pretty busy Fall season around here. August, as usual, will be pretty quiet with just one big LAMBRA event, but September will have something painful every weekend. It sounds like a lot of people want to do Six Gap this year. Also today I got a call from the Race Clock people who are fixing the LAMBRA clock that got wet. It seems that the keypad shorted out, so repair costs will be reasonable and we should have it back inside of two weeks.

Not so Easy

That tropical storm down in the Gulf was on my mind this morning when I awoke. I grappled for the remote in the dark and clicked on the TV, quickly hitting the mute button and scanning over to the weather channel for a quick look at the radar. It looked good, so I hopped out of bed and immediately discovered that -- surprise! -- my legs were sore. It would be a good day for an easy Monday recovery ride, though, and considering that the unpredictable weather might yet wash out Tuesday's ride, I figured I may as well get in some miles. I arrived at the levee quite a bit early and spent ten minutes riding around in little circles wondering if anyone else would show. None did, so I rolled up the bike path at an easy pace and with a strong tailwind, already thinking about turning around early. A moment later I met Donald who turned around to ride with me. Clearly, his legs didn't feel the same as mine, and although we rode all the way out to the turnaround side-by-side, I could tell he was holding back. Every now and then he'd speed up a bit, notice I wasn't there any more, and coast for a moment to slow down again. So after we turned around and had the wind in our faces, I just sat on his wheel and he pulled the whole way back into the wind at a speed that did not encourage me to come around. Even so, I guess I ended up going a little harder than I'd planned, but it wasn't too bad since I never had to pull into the wind.

Yesterday, Ed and I were driving back from Enon, we got on the subject of birds and he mentioned that he'd seen a Swallow-tailed Kite the other day. I told him that I never saw those around here, but had seen them in Florida before. Well, about two minutes later I look up and one of them flies across the road right in front of us. That was strange.....

Up and Down and Round and Round

I was up early Sunday and by 6:30 am Ed and I had departed Starbucks and begun our caffeinated drive up to Enon to meet six other riders for some road miles in the country. Just a couple of miles before Enon, the road comes over the infamous "watchtower hill," yielding a nice panoramic view to the north and, for the last thirty years or so, a rough and bumpy road to the Bogue Chitto bridge. So I was thrilled to come over the crest to see a magnificent and silky smooth road of nice fresh asphalt stretched out before me. Finally! And this was the real thing, not that chipseal crap they usually like to use on country roads.

So anyway, as we headed north out of Enon I remember thinking that the air felt rather pleasant -- a little cooler and maybe just a touch drier than usual. The really unusual thing, though, was that it was coming from the North. We almost never get a North wind in August around here unless something unusual is going on. That unusual something happens to be a little tropical storm that is developing in the northern Gulf of Mexico a couple hundred miles to the East.

Our group didn't waste too much time this morning before the pace ramped up, and I knew right away it was going to be a pretty hard ride. The pace stayed pretty brisk but steady as we worked our way generally North to Highway 10. After that, I always feel like I'm in uncharted territory on this ride. The roads are hilly and winding and without many landmarks, and the route makes a few rather complicated loops so I'm always kind of disoriented up there. It didn't help that my head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton thanks to some moldy house cleaning up in Baton Rouge yesterday. It feels like we're riding around in circles the whole time, which, apparently, we are. Anyway, despite my cartographic confusion, the roads are great and the terrain challenging, and today this group was taking no prisoners. I think by the time we stopped at a store after fifty miles or so everyone had about ridden himself to near-exhaustion. By then it was getting pretty damned hot and I treated myself to a nice cold Coke, half of which I poured into my water bottle, mainly to prevent myself from sucking down the whole thing in one swig.

As fast as the ride had been up until that point, it was even faster all the way back thanks to a nice tailwind. After the Enon sign sprint, contested by just Keith and Jason (I think), I arrived back at the car pretty well toasted and happily pulled a beer out of Jason's ice chest for rehydration purposes.

So I was sad to see that Chris Horner broke his collarbone yesterday up at Elk Grove. Maybe I'm just sensitized to it this year, but there sure seems to be a collarbone epidemic this year.

Raining not Training

It was ominously dark this morning, and as I pulled on the riding clothes I wondered if I'd be coming home wet -- again. Out the door and down the street, and I can feel a light misty kind of drizzle already falling. The car windshields are wet and a look at the southern sky offers no reason for optimism. Since it was a Friday and I had a pretty good week of training under my belt, I decided to bail. A few minutes later I was back at the house already feeling guilty for not riding, but the dye had been cast, the water was under the bridge, and what had been done was done. Half an hour later the mist had turned into legitimate drizzle, and half an hour after that it was officially raining. Walking out to the car in the rain I at least felt I'd made the right call today.

It's 2 p.m. right now and it's still raining off and on, mostly ON. The weather and the fact that it's a Friday must be having an effect on everyone because my emails and phone calls from this morning have gone mostly unanswered and all I can hear is the rain pounding on the sheet metal outside on the roof. On the plus side, it looks like there will be a group ride on the northshore this Sunday, and I could definitely use some time on the country roads.