High Pressure

The weather here in New Orleans has been nothing but hot and dry for over a week now, thanks to a big high pressure system that parked itself right on top of us. It's the kind of weather I expect to find in Dallas, not New Orleans, except that here the humidity keeps the temperature from dropping much overnight. So with no races this weekend, I was up kind of early Saturday morning before the Giro Ride. There's been a few riders who have started meeting at the Starbucks on Harrison Avenue at 6:30 am for a little jolt of caffeine prior to the Saturday Giro Rides, so today, since I was actually up early enough to get there on time, I did. It was already hot, so I went for the Frappuchino. After that, it was kind of hard to leave the comfy chair and ride out into the sun to the lakefront. The Saturday Giro Ride was a bit different today. First, there was some confusion about which group was the 'official' group. We were nearly to the end of Lakeshore Drive by the time we were sure everyone was together. After hitting Hayne Blvd., the pace ramped up as usual and soon we were stung out in a three block long string going 28-30 mph. The line snaked over to the right at one point and I found myself up against the curb in the loose stuff. Eddie was right behind me and I immediately heard his tire puncture. Problem was, the guys pushing the pace were too far ahead to hear us, so it probably took half a mile before somebody made it up there to tell them to back off. At that point we slowed down and soft-pedaled, looking behind every now and then for Eddie and the guys who had stopped behind him. When we got to Paris Road and they still weren't in sight, we decided they must have taken the shortcut, so we got back on the gas. A while later we're just getting going on Chef Highway when a little motorcycle with two people on it pulls alongside and starts motorpacing the guys in front. I never did find out who they were, but somebody knew them.

Anyway, we ended up in this long, long string flying down Chef with Matt glued to the motor and the rest of us kind of hanging on for dear life at 30 mph. Every now and then the motor would surge (rumor has it that Matt was prompting them) and a few more guys would lose contact. I was one of them. When you're going 30 mph and a gap opens and the wind hits you like that you have about ten seconds to close it or you're done. I made a short effort and wasn't gaining ground, so I eased over a bit and motioned for the rider behind me to come around.

To make a long story short, it was a mostly fast Giro Ride. I sprinted up both overpasses at the end, and arrived back home with 65 miles, empty water bottles, and completely toasted. Then I spent all afternoon in Baton Rouge, mostly sweating in the sun, before returning to NOLA by way Barnes and Noble, and then in the evening spent some time drinking wine with the neighbor who had her gall bladder removed a couple of days ago. (To clarify, I was drinking the wine. She wasn't.)

So Sunday morning there was an impromptu group training ride on the northshore that I wanted to make. I woke up feeling pretty tired. Maybe it was the Giro; maybe the wine; maybe the heat; maybe all of the above. At 6 am Sam texted me that he was bailing out, so I drove over alone. We had only six at the start, and really only five for most of the ride, since Keith had to turn back early. Although we'd started at 7:30, it was already getting pretty hot by 8:30, and I was really suffering. It was one of those days when it feels like your bike is made of lead and your legs are blocks of wood. From what I could tell, Steve was feeling even worse, while Jay and Jorge seemed fine while Isaiah clearly wanted to be going faster. As if Steve's day wasn't already going badly enough, he flatted on the way out. I think, though, that most of us were more than happy to stop and take a little break while he fixed it. Later, on the back side of the course where it gets kind of hilly, things got a bit competitive. I attacked up one of the bigger climbs and soon afterward Jay and Isaiah attacked another. I hung with them about halfway up and blew, so I waited for Jorge so we could work together to limit the damage. Steve was already way off the back. Anyway, it was a really, really hot 65 or 70 miles and I'm frankly a little puzzled why I felt so lousy, but sometimes you just have a bad day and there's nothing you can do about it.