The Ride Before Christmas

It was crisp, cool and clear as I rode out, quite overdressed, to meet the Friday morning levee ride.  Ordinarily I would have been expecting a nice easy ride by myself, but this particular Friday was the day before Christmas and since a lot of people were on holiday, the plan was to meet at the relatively civilized hour of 7 am.  Of course, being a creature of habit, I arrived at 6:40 anyway, so I rode down to the playground where I met up with a few more riders, and then we rode back to the usual starting spot.  Once we finally got going we had about a dozen, I guess.  Scott asked, "Want to ride all the way out to the end today?"  Mignon replied, "How about the 'real' end?"  And so it was decided.  The usual turnaround for the usual long ride is actually nearly two miles from the end of the asphalt since the bike path was extended early this year.

It was a good group today, and everyone was pretty much on the same page.  We took nice mile-long pulls at a comfortable 21-22 mph., for the most part.  With a light tailwind, it felt fairly easy, especially when sitting in the paceline enjoying the draft.  Way, way out near the end of the bike path the pace eased up.  Just then Mignon pointed excitedly toward the river.  "Eagles!"  I had to turn around before I could see them, but sure enough, there was a pair of bald eagles perched in the batture trees.  I stopped and fumbled with my camera, but before I could even turn it on they both took off up the river. Anyway, any ride where you spot an eagle around here is a good one.

So the ride back involved a bit more cross and tailwind, but in general things stayed smooth.  We had a couple of stops when Scott's tire went soft.  He tried shooting in some CO₂ at first to see if he could make it back but within a mile or two it was already going flat again, so we stopped for a proper tube change.  When we got back to the playground I followed Mark to his house to pick up my copy of  the Chasing Legends DVD (and a stray stopwatch that I think actually belongs to LAMBRA).  A few hours later I was at a family lunch, and from here on out the next 24 hours will be devoted mostly to eating pie and drinking wine, or mimosas, depending on the time of day.  Hope everyone has a merry little christmas!

No Draft for the Wheelsuckers

After a couple of warmish days, this morning's 40-something temperature felt positively cold as I rolled out in the dark to meet the 6:15 levee ride.  It wouldn't have been so bad were it not for the strong north wind that had brought in the cooler air.  There were just a few riders waiting when I arrived, but by the time we got to the playground the group numbered somewhere around twenty. I'd started out at the front and soon found myself alone as the group slowed down here and there to pick up various additional riders.  By the time they finally got organized I was starting to feel the effects of the increasing wind and knew it was going to be a difficult ride.  A strong north wind and a big group means just one thing on the levee bike path -- there would be no draft for the wheelsuckers like me today.  As Erich once said about crosswind rides, there's just a table for four on the levee.

Dropping all the way back to the end of the long string of riders I soon found myself fighting for the last three inches of asphalt in a nearly futile effort to salvage just a sliver of draft.  As the followed the bends in the river the wind constantly shifted from crosswind to headwind.  Somewhere up ahead of me the paceline had been short-circuited.  Nobody was dropping back to where I was and unless I wanted to get out into the wind and force my way into the rotation I was kind of stuck where I was. I wasn't really in a fighting mood, and besides, I figured I'd get a good enough workout anyway, under the circumstances.  Then, at the dip, there was a flat, so a few of us stopped to assist, eventually meeting the group on its way back.  Unfortunately, the return trip wasn't much better that the outgoing one, and by the time I got home with forty-something miles on the odometer I wasn't feeling particularly short-changed in the workout department anyway. 

At one point I pulled my camera out of my pocket, then had to battle my way back up the group. I rode there at the end of the paceline, three inches from the edge of the path, holding my camera and losing ground before I finally decided that the cost of taking a picture would be a very long ride home alone, so I shoved it all back into my jersey, almost getting dropped in the process.  There's this one long stretch just upriver of the parish line where a north wind results in a mile or so of direct crosswind.  The group often splits there, and indeed it did so today.  I was near the back and didn't notice the gap opening until Pat looked back and said something.  He then proceeded to pull me all the way across the gap.

So The Daughter is in for Christmas along with her two little dogs, Odin and Echo. Since I couldn't take any photos while riding, I guess the one up at the top will have to do for today.  I expect we'll have a pretty good group up on the levee tomorrow, maybe at 7 am instead of the usual 6:40?

Winter Group Rides

It was still dark as I stood there over my duffel bag considering what to bring for a long ride starting in the low 40s.  I finally just threw my hands up and said, "hell with it, I'll just bring everything and decide later."  "Later" would not come for over two hours because Saturday's group ride called for a drive up to St. Francisville to sample a little bit of the infamous Rouge-Roubaix course.  The first stop, though, was PJ's Coffee at Clearview Shopping Center where I was surprised at the number of riders on hand for the impromptu road trip. 

I drove up with Mignon and Mike, who was in town from Seattle.  The temperature was in the low 40s when we finally got on the bikes up at Bains Elementary, and although I figured it would warm up a bit during the ride, I didn't skimp on the clothes.  The plan was to put in around 80 miles, including a couple of the gravel road sections of the R-R course.  We probably hadn't gone five miles before we had the first flat, which was mine.  I dug a little piece of the levee bike path out of my rear tire and we were back on the road fairly quickly, but it would eventually turn out to have been just the first of five flats we'd have that day. When the group suddenly slowed down to make a turn onto the first dirt road, somebody hit somebody and Ed hit the asphalt.  He wasn't too happy about it, but he was at least relatively unharmed.

Half a mile down the dirt road the pace ramped up and I looked at the computer to see 28 mph.  I was hanging onto the trio Frank, Woody and Kenny as we flew down the nicely packed dirt and gravel and wondering how long I was going to be able to keep it up when we heard someone yelling from behind about another flat tire.  For the first forty miles or so I think we had a flat roughly every eight miles.  Anyway, we finally turned onto the R-R "2nd gravel road" with its infamous Block House Climb.  This time, though, the road was really easy to ride.  The gravel and dirt was pretty hard-packed and you could even get out of the saddle to climb up that long, steep hill.  I guess I've had to walk part of that hill about 40% of the times I've done it, but then usually it's in deep loose gravel.  This time didn't seem nearly as hard as usual.

With all of the stops for flats and crashes and such, we ended up cutting the ride short and skipping the last R-R dirt road, reducing our mileage to only 65 for the day. Although I was a little disappointed not to have been able to ride that last dirt road, it was still a pretty hard ride and around 4:30 pm by the time I finally got back home. 

The plan for Sunday was to ride out with the Giro Ride group, make the turnaround, and then catch the NOBC club ride, which was starting half an hour behind the Giro, on its way out.  It felt pretty cold as I rode out to Starbucks to meet the group at around 6:15.  The group was on the small side, and as we rode over the two bridges Tim and Woody rode off the front before the rest of the group even noticed.  I didn't realize they were out there until we were halfway down Hayne Blvd., and by then they were essentially out of sight.  The group wasn't really going all that hard, but once we got onto Chef Highway a nice rotating double paceline formed up, so that was nice.  I was behind Howard in the paceline as we shared the work into a moderate headwind.  The only problem was that Howard would pull off but not slow down, forcing me to accelerate.  I put up with it once or twice but eventually I just eased up and left him up there since the surges were threatening to dismantle the paceline. 

On the way back I found myself a bit off the front chasing with two of the guys on TT bikes.  We were going pretty fast with a bit of a tailwind, and by the time I spotted the NOBC group coming the other way we'd reached the part of Chef Highway that has a median, so it took me a while to actually turn around.  When I did, and that headwind hit me in the face, I figured there was no way I was going to catch them, but fortunately they had seen me and slowed down, sending a couple of riders off the back to help pace me back up.  That was nice. I'd left the house without taking anything to eat, so by the time I made the turnaround at Venetian Isles, for the second time that day, I was starting to feel a little bonky, but I decided to just go with it and see how long that cup of coffee would actually take me.  After a quick breakfast (well, it was more like brunch by then) at Kona I headed home with Steve who was putting in a long day and was going to pick up the levee bike path and ride all the way out to Ormond.  I ended the day with sore legs and 75 miles on the computer.  Shouldn't been much of a problem to take an easy day tomorrow, I think.

"Rest Day" (yeah, right)

As they always say, "If you don't like the weather in New Orleans, just stick around. It'll change."  Change it did indeed.  Thursday morning the temperature was back above 60.  Since I seem to have a hard time adjusting to these fluctuations, and knowing that all that water coming down the Mississippi was still just as cold as it had been on Tuesday, I pulled on the knee-warmers anyway.  Why risk a winter bout of tendonitis just for one freak ride in shorts?  The Thursday ride had a pretty good turnout, especially considering how low the turnouts have been lately, and as the group made its way up the river that little bit of tailwind kept nudging the pace higher and higher.  With Brady and Woody and a few others taking long pulls at the front, we had a nice fast ride out to the turnaround that was still manageable by everyone.  By then people were pretty warmed up and so there was a bit of a break for some "wardrobe adjustments."

The light headwind on the return trip kept things pretty much under control, so all-in-all it was a good training ride, as I rode with Brady back down Oak Street toward home he said something about Zotz as we went past, at which point my bike suddenly made a u-turn and, next thing I knew, I was enjoying a cup of dark roast.  As I sat there I indulged in a little guilt trip about the current status of my fitness and the blatantly obvious reasons for its recent decline.  It seems I've been taking an inordinate number of "rest days" lately, and that, combined with the usual holiday surplus of ad libitum chocolate, cookies and wine, are already taking a toll. It's just so damned easy to skip a ride this time of year, and it doesn't help that so many neo-coaches keep writing about how riders are always overtraining and need more recovery time.  I mean, really. Recovery from what?  Old age? At the level that most of us train this time of year, the risk of true overtraining is pretty damned low.  It sure makes for a good excuse, though.  In fact, I kind of employed it just this morning.

Today I awoke to grey skies, a temperature in the low 60s, and a disturbingly low level of motivation.  It would be a perfect day for yet another "recovery ride."  Somehow, though, I felt chilled from the get-go.  I got dressed, got on the bike, rode a few blocks, and said -- out loud -- "this is crazy."  It was just one of those days when I didn't want to ride.  I even convinced myself that my legs felt sore from Thursday.  I'm sure part of it was the depressing weather, and perhaps the lingering depressive effects from the shopping coma induced last night by an unwanted trip to Wal-Mart and Pier One and some other place like that. Whatever, I certainly can't blame overtraining for this one. Anyway, after aborting the morning ride I loaded up the bike with four bottles of wine (office Christmas gifts) and headed off to work a little earlier than usual by way of Starbucks.  As I rode cautiously down Lowerline, listening to the rattle of glass wine bottles in my bike's "grocery pannier." I suddenly noticed that the street below me was littered with those pretty bright yellow leaves of a Ginkgo tree.  There's nothing more spectacular than a Ginkgo tree in the fall, but those bright yellow leaves only last a little while. I looked up and just had to stop to take a picture.  I'll bet the big Ginkgo back on campus next to the Architecture building is pretty impressive right now.  When I got to work I saw that Mark had picked up the nice PA system that I'd found yesterday on Craigs List.  It looks like it was a really good deal for the club.  The last couple of years we'd been renting a PA system for our races.  This one should pay for itself after two events.  We can also rent it to other clubs in the area if they need it.

Worth a Try

It was some time early Monday when the local weatherpersons started sounding the alarms.  Warnings were issued, shelters were opened, the city braced for imminent disaster.  Yes, the temperature was going to dip below 32° F.  The prediction for the city went as low as 27, but I had my doubts about that. With all of the water around us here in New Orleans, and its attendant specific heat, along with the abundance of asphalt and concrete in the immediate vicinity of my own house, we rarely hit the predicted lows.  So when I woke up this morning and saw the thermometer reading around 32°, I wasn't too surprised.  I knew it would feel a couple of degrees colder up on the levee, but the wind was relatively light and had already started switching around to the East, so I layered up in winter gear, including my brand new Giordana NOBC jacket, slathered some chap stick on my cheekbones and nose, and set out for the levee.  It was definitely worth a try, even though I knew there was no way I was going to make it all the way out to Destrehan as we usually do on Tuesdays. Nor was I holding out a lot of hope that there would be anyone else out there, but at least I knew I could easily get in 25 miles or so without getting too uncomfortable.  These modern riding clothes are just awesome.  There was a time when this sort of weather would find me either sleeping in, or riding in wool tights with a scratchy leather chamois, a heavy wool and nylon jacket with newspaper stuffed underneath, and suffering immediately with cold hands and even colder feet.

To my surprise, there were two people waiting when I got to the levee (a couple of minutes late, of course), and so we headed up the river without delay.  Once we rounded the Ochsner bend the light wind, which seemed to be coming largely from the east, was more or less at our backs, keeping us relatively warm, or at least relatively less cold. Within a couple of miles I was already reaching for the zipper on my wind vest as I sat there in Woody's draft.  Of course, the bike path was particularly quiet this morning, so we pretty much had the whole thing to ourselves. Every now and then Woody would reluctantly drop back so we could each take brief pulls, but for the most part he was doing more than his fair share today.  We turned around at the parish line, knowing better than to gamble on extending the downwind leg on such a chilly day.  The return trip turned out to be mostly into a light headwind and as we made our way back toward town I could feel the cold starting to work its way through shoe-covers and gloves into my feet and hands.  Our timing was good and I got back home a bit cold but still a long way from miserable, feeling good that I'd made the decision to give it a try today. 

Warmup and Winter Winds

A nice little warm-up in the weather on Friday found me up on the levee looking for a little down-time.  The levee police must have been thinking the same thing, because they had the bike path closed underneath the Huey P. Long bridge.  I turned around and rode back down the river for a little spin around Audubon Park and an early return to the house. By Saturday morning it was a little cooler, but the more serious stuff was still eight hours away as I made my way out to meet the Giro Ride at Kona Cafe'.  It was going to be a complicated Saturday.  The plan was to ride out to the Giro, do part of the ride (out to Chef Highway), return to Kona (where they had free coffee for Giro riders), catch a ride to the northshore with Mark to help with the Junior Training Clinic, and finally return home to put up a few holiday decorations. 

The ride itself had been a little unusual.  Right when we started from Marconi someone apparently had a little mechanical problem that the front of the group, including I, didn't know about.  We were way out by Leon C. Simon when I finally looked back and said, "Where is everybody?"  So we slowed down even more until the group finally caught up somewhere near the Seabrook bridge.  A few riders went off the front on Hayne and the pace ramped up quickly until the gap was finally closed, but since I never saw the front it wasn't to hard from my perspective.  Out at Chef I turned back with Mark, Vivian and a few others.  The timing worked out nicely and we arrived at the training clinic right on time where we spent a couple of hours with Bob M. instructing a few of our junior riders on proper cornering technique.

The forecast for Sunday morning was a little harsh.  Temperature in the low 40s with an official high-wind advisory.  Regardless, we had about fifteen riders for the start of the northshore ride and we turned out of the parking lot directly into a 20 mph north wind.  I was wearing the clothes I'd normally wear for temperatures in the 30s.  Considering the wind, I thought we would have a fairly easy ride, but within the first few miles I knew it was not to be.  Despite the unrelenting wind the effort level, if not the actual ground speed, remained high, putting a few riders into difficulty almost from the start. By the time we reached Highway 10, a bit less than halfway through the day's 65 mile ride, a few riders had turned back and a few more had decided to take a shortcut back.  That left us with eight or nine for the remainder of the ride.  We finally got a decent tailwind as we turned east, but that just meant that the speed went from 21 mph to 29 mph, and I could finally take off one pair of gloves and start unzipping things. I guess we were about fifty miles into the ride when I really started feeling my legs.  After an absolutely brutal trip down Hwy. 1072 in a quartering headwind, I'd been hoping for a good tailwind for the return trip down Lee Road, but by then the wind had shifted a bit and the best we got was a crosswind and some protection from the roadside trees.

The last stretch, from Enon back to the Lee Road school, felt pretty hard.  I guess that was partly my own fault for refusing to drop back when things started to split up coming over the firetower climb.  So it's 4:30 pm right now and I'm sitting here with feet that are still cold, watching the Saints game on the TV and the USAC men's cyclocross championships on the computer.  Tomorrow's going to have to be an easy day.  Really easy.  Could be worse.  Up in Iowa City right now it's 10 F with winds gusting to 30 mph and a forecast low for tonight of -4.

Beginning to Feel Like Winter

The morning levee ride have been hit hard by the recent drop in morning temperatures.  Yesterday I was running a little late, and when I finally got to the levee bike path I ran across Woody and a couple of other guys going in the other direction. "We going to ride around Audubon Park," they said.  The only rider who had actually shown up at the usual time was Big Richard, so I went with the larger group and turned around.  I ended up with a nice hour's spin.

This morning the alarm went off at 5:45.  I reached out from under the covers and turned it off.  At 6:00 the alarm on my watch went off.  I shoved my hand underneath the pillow until it stopped.  At 6:10 it went off again.  This time I fumbled for a button to silence it, but still didn't actually get out of bed. It was nearly 6:30 by the time I actually got up. I still would have had enough time to make it to the ride except for the fact that I'd left practically all of my riding clothes in the dryer down in the basement. By the time I'd pulled out the gloves and shoe-covers and other essential cold-weather gear I knew I'd be late.  The sky was grey and so it was darker than usual when I finally hit the road, and when I arrived at the levee three minutes late I didn't even slow down. For the next half hour I just cruised at around 20 mph out to Williams Blvd., by which point I realized that there probably wasn't anybody else out there.  When I turned around I met up with Donald who said, "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."  Apparently he had been chasing me the whole way out.  So we rode back together into a light headwind. Eventually I dropped back into his draft.  Sometimes riding with Donald is like riding with a diesel truck. He just keeps going and going and going.

It's been a busy week at work so far, but I sense that things will be winding down rather quickly over the next week or so. This little surge of activity is probably just people trying to wrap up some things before the holidays.  Speaking of holidays, I'm always surprised how early exams are at Tulane (and elsewhere).  I think most of the students will be finishing up their exams in the next day or two.  For our own office, it won't make much of a difference except that it will start getting hard to find some of the faculty.

Weathering Winter

Those  barriers seem higher than they look

It really feels like winter around here today, and that can mean only one thing.  I'll be complaining regularly about the cold weather despite my incongruous compulsion to ride in it anyway.  Just to get things started, let me complain about this very morning. I awoke to a temperature in the upper 30s, with a north wind to match, and thought long and hard about whether it was worth going out on the road for what was probably not going to be much of a recovery ride. I did it anyway, of course, and as usual it wasn't quite as bad as I'd imagined. After all, the upper 30s doesn't quite qualify as arctic.  It's all relative, though, and relatively speaking I was pretty cold.  I was also a bit sore from yesterday.

Sunday morning I had made the drive up to Baton Rouge for the second day of their 2-day CX-Palooza cyclocross race with the idea of helping out with the officiating and jumping into the "A" race for a few laps.  As it turned out, the weather was pretty much ideal for this sort of thing.  Well, at least it was ideal for somebody with 30mm tires and a complete lack of cyclocross skills.  So after scoring the "B" race, I quickly changed into riding clothes and sped off for a couple of practice laps on the Highland Park course.  Luckily for me the entire course, except for the two sections of barriers, was rideable, even on my road bike masquerading as a cyclocross bike. It was a nice long course with lap times for the faster guys of around 5 minutes and for the slower guys like me, 6 minutes.  I lined up pretty much DFL and for the most part maintained that slot throughout the 45 minute race.  It was actually a lot of fun even at my mediocre pace.  After a nice long and flat finish straight there was a sharp right turn up a hill, around a tree and back down the hill, another U-turn around a tree, and then the first set of double barriers.  My first couple of tries over those things were really ugly, but I started getting the hang of it eventually.  Another few twists and turns and then the course went across a little bridge and straight up a very steep washout. I was glad that my low gear of 44x26 proved adequate to keep my feet off the ground on that one.  That was followed by a few tight and swoopy turns and then a fast downhill with an off-camber right and quick crossing of a soft muddy spot where I was sure my front wheel would eventually dig in and send me over the bars (it never did, though).  Then a right up a little hill and a second set of barriers that I had a lot more trouble with than the first. Coming over the barriers the route continued uphill for a little bit, so you had to run a few steps before you had enough momentum to leap back onto the saddle and try to clip in.  The clipping-in part seemed to be a big problem for me, as I'm really not used to those old-style shimano mountain bike pedals and cleats.  After that there were a number of curves and some easy rolling terrain that was fairly fast, including a trip through a sand trap underneath a park swing set.  Then there was a final downhill with a sharp right turn back onto the finish straight. I felt like I got a good workout despite getting lapped twice by all of the leaders.

On the officiating side, I discovered that in order to be able to pick up rider data for everyone who has a cyclocross license I need to download both the USCF and the NORBA databases, since both types of licenses include cyclocross.  Unfortunately, for riders with only NORBA licenses there are no club or team listings. Rather inconvenient. I spent a lot of time Sunday night getting the results ready for posting and uploading, especially considering that there were only 23 riders!  Then, after wasting all of that time, I discovered a little link way down at the bottom of the USAC promoters download page that said, "CROSS all riders."  Crap.

Ninety and Knobbies

The weather around here has been changing faster than I can change clothes lately.  This morning I went out perfectly attired to meet the Giro Ride, but I knew my pockets would soon be stuffed with discarded clothes. My original plan of doing Saturday's Baton Rouge cyclocross race had been rearranged when I got a request to officiate Sunday's 'cross race.  I also needed to pick up The Wife from the Westin downtown in the afternoon, so I set my sights on Sundays cyclocross race and figured I'd do the NOBC club ride out to Fort Pike this morning.  After a quick stop for coffee I met the Giro Ride group at Robert E. Lee Blvd. and was surprised how many riders were there.  Since the NOBC group wasn't leaving for another fifteen minutes I decided to go ahead and ride with the Giro group out to Venetian Isles and then pick up the NOBC group when it came by later.  It was a good plan.  The Giro turned out to be pretty fast and so rather than sit around at Venetian Isles for twenty minutes or so, I started riding back down Chef Highway until I finally saw the group coming a few miles later. 

The NOBC group had a good paceline going and with a nice little tailwind we made pretty good time out to Fort Pike.  For a change, the view from the top of the bridge was great today. I was feeling pretty good, but by the time the odometer was reading 65 miles my legs were starting to feel the distance a bit.  Later, a few of us stopped at Kona Cafe to eat.  By the time I got home I had 90 miles on the computer and I had a feeling my legs were not going to be too happy about that cyclocross race on Sunday.

It'll be interesting to see if my bike holds together for Sunday's race.  My poor-man's retro cyclocross bike is a 1972 vintage English frame with 5-speed friction shifting. I finally broke down and bought a couple of 30mm cyclocross tires for it.  The problem was that the wheels on the bike were 27".  I had a nice pair of 700c 6-speed clinchers, so I figured I'd just swap the freewheel over to the those wheels and all would be good.  Unfortunately the old freewheel had welded itself to the hub and the removal notches were mangled, so I never could get it off.  Luckily the LBS actually had a 5-speed freewheel in stock. 

Then I just had to fix the loose headset, reposition the brake pads (which I hope I don't actually have to rely on), replace the missing bolt holding the cleat onto my mountain bike shoe, and replace both derailleur cables (the front one had gotten water inside the housing and was in pretty bad shape).  While I was at it I installed a "new" old-style Concor saddle that's been in a bag for the better part of twenty years.  Hopefully nothing will come loose because I didn't really have a chance to go out for a test ride.  Fortunately I won't have to worry about slowing anybody down tomorrow since that would require me to be in front of them and we all know that's not going to happen.

Long Tights and Blinky Lights

Heading back downriver into the morning sun

The days are growing shorter now and together with our most recent cold front it is beginning to feel a lot like winter. I stepped out the door this morning and looked up to see a beautiful bright crescent moon accompanied by the planet Venus.  It took a little while for the 40-degree air to penetrate my somewhat excessive early-winter layering, and as I rode slowly past houses already adorned with holiday lights, I thought to myself, "I'd better start getting used to this."  Indeed, it was the first morning here in New Orleans on which I felt the need for both long tights and blinky lights. That lower-40s temperature range, which we seem to get a lot of around here in the winter, is probably the hardest to dress for, particularly for morning rides.  It feels good and cold at first, but you know it's going to warm up significantly within an hour or so.  I usually tend to err on the side of warmth, which means making full use of zippers and pockets later in the ride.  I had started with long tights and shoe-covers, base layer, arm-warmers, heavy long-sleeved jersey and a wind vest. It felt about right for me. Wednesday's ride, for which only four of us showed up, had been nearly as cold, but the later start time had at least allowed me to leave the lights at home.  Today, however, a relatively large group had gathered up the courage, or become sufficiently desperate in an OCD sort of way, to show up for the long Thursday ride.

The northwest wind was relatively light, and the group started out at a moderate pace with riders taking surprisingly long pulls at the front. I myself wasn't feeling all that energetic, so I was keeping my time at the front down to fifty or sixty pedal strokes or so, preferring to wait until the return trip to see if I had anything to offer.  Most of the way out we were cruising along at a comfortable 22 mph, except when Howard would hit the front.  As usual, he would surge up to around 25 mph each time and I would let a little gap grow between the rider in front of me and myself, knowing that it wouldn't last too long and we'd soon be back to cruising speed.

The return trip was a little weird, though.  Right off the bat, Woody started rolling off on his own as the rest of the group was still getting re-assembled.  Then Howard took off with Mignon on his wheel and bridged up to him.  They didn't appear to be killing themselves, though, and the rest of the group could have easily closed the gap with ten minutes at about 24 mph.  Mignon sat up and waited for the group, but Donald was on the front and was holding a speed of around 22, which was just slow enough that the gap to Woody and Howard was ever so gradually increasing.  For a long time nobody wanted to come around him and he wasn't pulling off, so I watched from the back as Woody and Howard started getting smaller and smaller.  Eventually one of the guys got tired of sitting in the draft and surged past, so I went with him.  He was going a bit too hard to survive long enough to close the gap, which by then was probably around 45 seconds, but when he started to back off I came through anyway since I needed a little exercise anyway.  Next think I knew Donald came surging past and things got kind of messy, but the gap definitely started coming down for a while.  I think Scott took a pull, but in general the rest of the group didn't seem interested so things eventually settled back down with Donald again sitting on the front.  I went to the back and started taking occasional pseudo-pulls by moving out of the draft for a minute or two in order to get a little more exercise.

Changes in Latitude

Jingle Cross Rock - Saturday on the Mt. Krumpet

My last day in Iowa City, Saturday, included a fun few hours at the Jingle Cross Rock race (as a spectator), and another chilly but nice ride in the countryside north of town.  The weather was just a little warmer and there was a bit more sun, and by then I was finally starting to acclimate to the northern latitude anyway.  Sunday morning we were up early and ready for the drive back south by 6 am, but couldn't actually hit the road before scraping the frost from the windshield and stopping at Starbucks for a little travel caffeine.  The long drive was uneventful until some time around 7:30 pm when I suddenly felt the engine missfire a bit going up a little rise in Mississippi.  A couple of minutes later the dreaded Check Engine light came on with the cryptic message, "Slow Down or Use Higher Gear."  Huh? We were close to McComb, so I backed off the accelerator a bit and watched the warning light go on and off depending on how much load I was placing on the engine.  In McComb I filled the tank, checked under the hood for loose vacuum hoses, and finding none, fired the car up again.  All seemed fine, so I eased back onto I-55 and latched onto the draft from a big US Mail truck that was going a nice steady 65 mph.  This worked fine and I didn't see the Check Engine light again until the truck pulled into a weigh station and I lost the draft.  For the next couple of hours I stayed in the right lane feathering the accelerator and watching the warning light go on and off, but somehow I made it home before 10 pm.  Monday morning it was rainy so I took the car over to the Volvo dealer, got a ride back home in a messy cab that reeked of some kind of nasty air freshener (which I smelled for the rest of the day), and rode in to work.  About $600 and five hours later I picked up the car after having one of the ignition coils and all the spark plugs replaced and the intake system serviced.  Turned out to have been a very expensive little trip.

So this morning the streets were a little damp and the radar not looking too promising, but I headed out anyway expecting to be riding alone. The temperature was around 70F, the sky was grey, and the air was thick with moisture. To my surprise, I found Woody, Mignon, Zack and Howard up there, so we headed up the river hoping to get in a decent ride before the weather closed in.  We ended up turning around before reaching the parish line because the northwest sky was looking pretty threatening and we were beginning to feel a few little droplets of rain.  The pace started creeping up as we were all subconsciously trying to stay ahead of the rain, and at some point I saw Zack pull out of the paceline and sit up.  A little while later I came off the front to find only Woody left.  Then, all of a sudden, we felt this freezing cold downdraft hit us like ton of bricks.  Within thirty seconds the temperature dropped at least ten degrees and a 25-30 mph gusty wind started trying to blow us right off the road.  Woody looked back at me and said, "Better give me a little wiggle room!"  After he pulled off I eased up for a minute and Howard caught up, but after the playground I was on my own again and the drizzle was starting to catch up with me.  By then, though, I was starting to pick up a serious tailwind.  I blasted down from the levee onto River Road and flew down Oak Street at 30 mph, arriving home a bit damp and cold but not really too wet.  A little break in the weather allowed me to ride over to a meeting on campus, but on my way back it started raining, so I got pretty wet anyway.

All Layered Up

I was looking forward to today's high of 34°. After scraping the frost off of the windshield so I could drive down to the local coffee shop, and after suffering through a couple of hours at the shopping mall, I was finally ready to get all layered up in winter cycling gear that hadn't seen the light of day since last March.  I'd been hoping for a nice sunny day, but the best I could do was an overcast grey sky and blustery wind.  Fortunately, I was desperate.  After three days off the bike I was up for just about anything. 

As headed out around 2 pm, I was surprised that it didnt' feel nearly as cold as I'd been expecting.  I rode the same route I've ridden before, crossing I-80 and heading for Sugarbottom road.  My out and back 34 mile ride included some nice rolling hills through the countryside around Iowa City.  Considering the conditions, I wasn't planning on a hard workout or anything, so I kept the effort level under control and enjoyed the uniformly grey scenery.

We made it over to the Jingle Cross race site just in time for the start of the elite women's race at 6:30.  I was amazed at how long and difficult this course looked.  It must have been at least two miles around and included what looked like a really hard bit of climbing up the side of a big hill.  We stayed just long enough to see the first lap of the elite men's race before heading back home in search of warmth.  It looked like a fun race, and I think I'll try and get over there at some point tomorrow.

Sunny and Sixteem

It's 16° F right now in IC, but there's hope.  Rather than yesterday's 20-something high temperature and cloudy skies, today it's clear and sunny and may get all the way up to 38.  That means I might actually get out on the bike for a little while.  We'll see.  I spent most of yesterday sitting on the couch eating and watching movies, and haven't been on the bike since Monday.  I'm hoping I'll also be able to make it out to see a little bit of this evening's Jingle Cross races.  For now, though, I need coffee.....

Chamois Time

It was a weekend of nice weather and long group rides, in many ways not so much different than the one before.  On the agenda for Saturday was an NOBC club ride out to Fort Pike. Although we were scheduled to start fifteen minutes after the Giro from Kona Cafe' on Lakeshore Drive, I decided to stop at Starbucks and have a cup of dark roast with a few of the Giro riders before heading over to Lakeshore Drive to meet the NOBC group.  It was surprisingly chilly, and even though it was supposed to warm up considerably, I rode out there with knee and arm-warmers.  I didn't regret it, either. 

Over at Kona I found a good turnout for the club ride.  It can be a little tricky sometimes finding just the right group speed that will keep everyone together.  The ride turned out to be pretty good, despite a steady stream of speeding dump trucks along Chef Highway.  We have been dealing with the trucks for months already, and I suppose it will be quite a few more before the levee work out in the east is finally completed.  At any rate, it will be nice when the work ends and our weekend rides can return to normal. Unlike the Giro, the club ride stopped a few times to regroup and make adjustments for the rising temperature.  We even posed for a picture on top of the Rigolets bridge.  Kyle, who moved here recently after completing his degree at Purdue, was nice enough take the photo, although I'm afraid my little camera struggled a bit with the focus.  After the ride, a number of us stuck around at Kona to eat, so by the time I got home it was after noon and I had almost 90 miles on the odometer.  Thanks to the moderate pace, however, I felt I'd be good to go for the Sunday northshore ride.

Some time early Saturday morning the Sewerage and Water Board's big water treatment plant lost power for a few hours, and as a result almost the entire city was under a "boil order" until Sunday afternoon.  Really sucked for the restaurants.

So Sunday morning I drove across the causeway with Woody, who was trying to recover from a head cold, for the regular northshore ride.  It was much warmer than Saturday and although I started out wearing arm-warmers, I knew they'd end up in my pocket pretty soon.  The group was big - about twenty-five, I think, and we headed north from the school at a smooth but brisk pace.  Things stayed together nicely up through Enon and along Choctaw Road to the sprint just before La. 10, but then we had a long delay because Kurt (was it Kurt?) broke a spoke in his rear wheel and it went too out of line to clear the seat stays.  After loosening a bunch of spokes, though, we finally got it to where it would roll, so he and Elizabeth headed back.  I think a few others had also turned back early as well, so as we turned onto the hilly stretch heading toward Sie Jenkins Road we were down to a nice well-matched group. 

The rest of the ride was pretty good - fast enough to be a good workout but not hard enough to make me a worthless couch potato for the rest of the day.  We did cheat a bit and take the Dummyline Road shortcut, probably because some people had plans for the early afternoon Saints game.  The last ten miles or so got fairly fast, and by the time we were on the last stretch my legs were beginning to complain.  Anyway, although I was back home by about 1 pm, I sure put in a whole lot of chamois time this weekend.

That afternoon I picked up a copy of the new Peloton magazine which has a nice article on New Orleans and Kenny that Jered put together before leaving for Europe.  Tomorrow (oh, well actually today I guess) I will have a lot of things to wrap up at work because we'll be driving up to Iowa on Tuesday. 

Chaos and Droppage

It seemed darker than usual, and as I glanced up at the pre-dawn sky all I saw were fast-moving grey clouds.  Perhaps I should have taken it as an omen.  I was already running a few minutes late for the 6:15 am levee ride, and despite its 59 degree temperature the thick air cut right through my two jerseys as I rushed out to the river.  Up on the levee I could feel the full force of the wind and knew the crosswinds would make the ride a little more difficult than usual. "A little more difficult" turned out to be an understatement.  The ride started out smoothly enough, but for some reason Scott decided to stay on the front for a really long time.  Ordinarily that might not have presented a problem, but on a day full of crosswinds it meant that four people were getting a draft and ten more were strung out along the edge in futile attempts to hide from the gusts.  So after a few miles Luke rode up to the front and told Scott he had to pull off more quickly when there was a crosswind.  It didn't seem like he took it well, but he eased up and I came through, took a short pull, and started to drop back.  By then Rob had come up to the front and the pace started to ramp up.  Almost immediately, riders started letting gaps open since most of them hadn't had any real draft since the start, and the whole thing degenerated into chaos.  Then other rides would surge past.  It was like the whole group had gotten into a big bag of crazy pills.  I looked over at Woody and said, "I think we need to have a workshop on pacelines!"  There was another surge, but with five or six already at the front it was almost pointless to go with it since there wasn't hardly a sliver of draft left to be had anyway. A few riders had already come to their senses and dropped off the back. So we let a little gap open and started a nice second paceline which was rotating smoothly and holding the gap to a manageable distance quite nicely.  Just as we were hitting our stride, somewhere around the Country Club, Woody flatted.  I coasted for a little while, and then turned around, riding back to the little cluster of riders standing there.  As I came up to them Woody asked if I had a wrench.  A wrench?  I looked down at his bike and saw he was riding his track bike.  As it turned out he'd had a flat before the start of the ride, and when he'd fixed it he'd left his peanut-butter wrench in his truck. (There's a Wikipedia listing for peanut butter wrench??) Well, needless to say, none of us happened to be carrying a 15 mm wrench, so Woody ended up riding back on the flat.  Good thing it was his front tire.  

So the rest of us rode out to The Dip, where a couple went ahead, a few turned back, and soon it was just Mignon and I.  Rather than turning around at The Dip, we decided to ride easy and catch the group on the flipside, hoping that by then some of the craziness might have dissipated.  At first it seemed fine, but after The Dip, and another stop for another flat the ride back again started getting a little out of hand.  Mark and Howard stormed off the front, and then Max, who was on his TT bike, started ramping it up and up and up, which naturally resulted in some significant droppage in the rear half of the group due to the aforementioned crosswinds.  Suffice it to say, the last ten miles were pretty fast, at least for the handful of hard-headed survivors.

After a quick stop at Zotz for a cup of dark roast (the temperature hadn't risen a bit since I'd left home), I made my way home and then out to the westbank to renew my driver's license.  Every eight years we have to do this in person, I guess so that they can make sure that (a) we're still actually alive, and (b) we can still see.  Apparently I passed both tests, thanks to my glasses and, I suppose, a sufficiently broad interpretation of the term "alive."  On the plus side, I had taken some good advice and driven an extra couple of miles out to Gretna where the process was somewhat more pleasant and efficient than it had been the last time I did this at the office on Airline Highway.  Every time I go to some state or municipal office like this I always wonder where all the normal people are.  They must go to some special office, the location of which is a closely guarded secret.  The large bra-less woman with the saggy breasts and dirty t-shirt next to me was holding a letter documenting the expungement of some sort of first-offense felony (the word "felony" was printed in boldface).

Dirt, Gears and Ferries

"B" Race riders negotiate the barriers

It's November, and that usually means some significant deviation from the usual riding regime, so Friday evening found me down in the basement trying to cobble together something suitable for the HooperCross cyclocross race up in Baton Rouge.  Rather than take the easy way out and use my 1980's vintage mountain bike, I decided to go really retro and see what I  could do with the 1970's vintage Pennine (aka my rain bike).  I pulled out that big box of discarded bike parts (admit it, you have one too) and started travelling back in time.  Pushing aside the old road pedals with toe-clips still attached, and the odd-diameter seatposts, I eventually excavated my way down to the 5-speed Regina Oro freewheel that I'd bought for a cycle tour of Colorado 1983.  Even better, I also found the all-steel long-cage Japanese derailleur I'd picked up somewhere around Crested Butte after deciding that I really did need to be able to get into that last ultra-low cog in order to haul my fully loaded bike over the continental divide.  Together with the bike's 44-tooth small chainring, I figured I was more or less good to go.  There was, of course, the little matter of not having any cyclocross tires, but since the weather has been dry I thought I would try and get by with the $9.95 commuting tires that were already on the bike's 27" wheels.  So I removed the fenders, swapped out the freewheel, changed the derailleur, and installed a nice new $11 chain.  Then I wrapped the steel top tube cable clips with some leftover handlebar tape and electrical tape so they wouldn't dig into my shoulders or hands.

When I arrived at the Hooper Road park, somewhat early, there was only one other person there. Eventually riders started filtering in and the promoter headed out to set up the course. I think we ended up with about twenty entries. There were two races:  "A" and "B."  Since my license says I'm a Cat. 2 in Cyclocross (which I am definitely not), I entered the "A" race.  I knew it wouldn't matter anyway, since I was planning on starting at the back and staying there. After a few warmup laps I had a good feel for the course and knew I'd be fine with it.  There were a couple of long fast stretches in a field, a technical section with some tight turns, a section of 4 barriers, and a nice bit of single-track through the park's mountain bike trail.  Everything was flat and although there were some sandy turns and three kind of crazy moguls (basically piles of dirt), it looked like I'd be fine with my road tires as long as I didn't try anything foolish.  So according to plan I started more or less last and took my time negotiating the barriers on the first section (hey, I'm short enough to need a step-stool for those things).  I wasn't really trying to be competitive since this was the first cyclocross race I'd done in probably ten or fifteen years.  Still, I was having fun and starting to get comfortable riding in the dirt when I came up the the barriers for the second time and had a little trouble getting unclipped before lifting the bike over them. Then, I had more trouble getting my left foot clipped in again, at which point Will Cheramie sped past me.  I finally got clipped in and gradually caught up with Will who seemed to be taking the turns with a large dose of caution.  I was right behind him, or maybe next to him, when we came up to the barriers for the third time. This time my left cleat would not release, despite the fact that I had my foot turned at about a 90-degree angle.  Since I had nowhere to go and was already committed to dismounting on the left, I fell like a sack of cement in front of the barriers.  When I finally wrenched my shoe free I looked at the bottom of it and found that the cleat had lost one of its two screws and was completely loose, which explained why I wasn't able to unclip.  So I walked over the barriers and then straightened out the cleat before hopping back on.  I got clipped in again, but of course there was no way I was going to unclip, so for the rest of the race I would stop at the barriers, grab onto the fence, unclip my right foot, get off the bike, unclip my left foot, walk over the barriers, straighten the cleat out, and start up again.  Needless to say, I was lapped twice by the end, but still had a great time.  Maybe I'll break down and invest in a couple of cyclocross tires.

Sunday morning there was this charity ride, the Tour de Jefferson, that a lot of the local riders were doing.  I was afraid it would just be a slow 45 mile conversational ride, but when Mignon suggested riding to and from the ride to add another twenty-five miles or so, I decided to go for it.  After all, it's November.  We rolled out from my house a little before 6 am in order to take the 6:15 Canal St. ferry across the river.  From there we rode back upriver through Gretna to Westwego where we met up with Woody and Eddie and the northshore crew.  Since it was still a bit early, this whole group went for a little warmup ride before registering at the Bayou Segnette park.  Since the westbank is essentially a foreign country, I was pretty much lost for most of the day.  There were about 600 riders for this ride, so we all made sure to move up to the front before the start.  Well, my fears that this would be an easy Sunday ride were quickly dispelled, and within a couple of miles we were rolling along at 25-27 mph until we had to stop for a while at a train crossing.  When the route turned south and we picked up a little tailwind the group started to string out as the pace ramped up to around 30 mph.  This was starting to look and feel a lot like the Giro Ride!  I recognized almost all of the faces in the front group, which, by the time we to the the southern end of the ride, was down to maybe 15 or 20, followed a couple of minutes later by another slightly larger group.  At that point we all piled onto a little aluminum ferry boat to cross Bayou Barataria. Luckily most of the second group made it onto the first ferry, because there was no waiting around and re-grouping on the other side. 

I'd been expecting the ride back to be a little slower because of the headwind, but it really didn't feel any easier at all.  Crossing one of the big bridges a gap opened and the group split.  I looked up ahead to see Tim and Mark at the front and knew there would be no slowing down, so I hung around on the back of the group, just pulling through once in a while.  By then I was starting to feel the effects of Saturday's race and was getting a little sore in unfamiliar places.  At one point the whole front group was strung out in the left lane behind the lead motorcycle going about 30 mph.  A little gap opened leaving just Tim and Mark on the motor, at which point the rest of the group eased up for a moment.  By then we were almost back to the park, though, and were busy thinking up ways to harass Tim and Mark about drafting the motorcycle!  I stuck around long enough to have some etouffe and a beer before we headed back down the river to catch the ferry and make our way back uptown so Mignon could make it to the Oak Street Po-boy Festival where she was working a table for her son's school.  I was planning on going down there too a bit later with The Wife and The Neighbors, but by the time I got home they were already on their way back home.  I was sorry to miss my soft-shell crap po-boy, but by then I was definitely ready to put my feet up anyway.

Too Fast for Fall

The outdoor thermometer read just a couple of degrees below 60F.  I decided to skip the knee-warmers since it was bound to warm up.  Five minutes later I was regretting that decision.  Along with the slightly warmer temperature and come a surge of humidity. The chill felt significantly worse than yesterday, despite the extra couple of degrees.  Of course I knew it would warm up once the sun came over the horizon, but there's just something particularly uncomfortable about those first few miles in the morning when you feel a tad underdressed.

We had a typical group for the long Thursday ride today.  The pace on the way out was actually uncharacteristically sedate with a number of riders content to sit at the back and let people into the paceline in front of them.  By the time we were halfway to the turnaround the group rotating at the front had dwindled to five or so, but since the pace was hovering around the 23 mph mark, it wasn't really a big problem.  Donald was taking his usual long pulls, and for some reason that eventually must have gotten on Rob's nerves because somewhere way out around Destrehan the two of them got into a little shouting match at the front.  The rest of us just kind of ignored it and went around them.  I mean, after all, it's November.

Unfortunately, that kind of set the stage for the return trip.  Rob and Donald kind or rode away up the road right from the start.  Maybe they kissed and made up.  I dunno.  What I do know is that we soon had a pretty significant headwind.  I guess it must have really picked up because I definitely don't remember much of a tailwind on the way out.  Eventually we got close to Rob and Donald, and at that point things kind of got out of hand.  The pace surged, and then surged again, and soon the paceline came completely apart.  After a little while a new group of five or six formed just ahead of me.  I started to put my head down and chase, but then I thought, "Do I really want to race all the way back to New Orleans?"  So I eased up and waited for a few others. The group up the road was just going a little too fast for fall, and I just didn't feel like playing that game today.  So I rode in with a little group of four or so.  Somewhere way behind us were the remnants of the original group.

Back on Top

Well, I was back on top of the levee early Tuesday morning, feeling quite acutely the effects of seven days spent sitting in conference room chairs.  The morning temperature was on the chilly side, and for the first time this fall I felt the need to pull on the knee-warmers and full-finger gloves.  As often happens this time of year, the group was on the small side and nobody was looking for a hammerfest.  This was good.  Even better, the time change meant I could leave the headlight at home.  It's funny how much of a burden that little headlight seems to be.  It always feels like such a relief to take it off the bike, as if it weighed twenty pounds.  I suppose it's because of its location on the handlebars where you just can't ignore it, and the fact that it symbolizes rides that are cold, dark and/or windy.  Anyway, it's mainly a psychological gesture, like the way I remove my water bottle cages for 3 mile time trials.

So the ride was pretty steady and routine, and aside from the fact that I felt chunky and sluggish, like I'd been off the bike for a week, it was otherwise pretty featureless. Later that day, back in the office, things got quiet and slow and I started thinking about that long to-do list in my head with the "bike racing stuff" heading at the top.  Should I go up to Baton Rouge for the cyclocross race?  What would I ride? More importantly, what disguise would I wear? It was also time to start getting my act together for the annual LAMBRA business meeting, order the 2010 LCCS trophies, check on the new jersey order, update the calendars, update the LAMBRA website with the 2009 LCCS winners, etc.

Wednesday's ride was also quite small.  At the start there were only four of us, even though it was warmer than the day before.  I can never quite figure out when riders are going to show up for a ride. The first thing I noticed was that my legs felt a little stiff.  Apparently jumping into a 40 mile training ride after being completely inactive for a week does have its downside.  We had a nice steady ride, eventually picking up a few more riders along the way.  On the ride home I decided to stop at Zotz for a quick cup of coffee where I could ponder the upcoming Oak Street Po-boy Preservation Festival which would probably be my last chance to see the good ol' Radiators play.  They just announced that they will be disbanding after 33 years.  As one commenter commented, "First the Beatles, and now this?"  Even though I am compelled to admit that The Radiators arrived just a little bit after my time (I'm more of the Deacon John and Ivories vintage), they have certainly been a defining fixture on the local scene ever since.

So after getting home this morning I pulled out that big old cardboard box that we all have, the one full of discarded but potentially usable bike parts, and found a couple of 5-speed freewheels with really low gears.  Hmmmm.  Suppose I put one of those on the old Pennine and call it a 'Cross bike?  Cyclocross tires would be a nice addition, but there can't possibly be any in a 27" size within a hundred miles.  I wonder if I have a 700C 5-speed clincher hanging around somewhere.....

Up in Colorado Springs

Looking through the fence from the OTC at Pikes Peak

It has been a long week. In the last eight days I've ridden exactly 20 miles despite having been in places with great rides and awesome weather.  Friday morning the taxi pulled up at 5:30 am for another ride to the airport, this time for a trip to the USA Cycling Local Associations Summit at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs.  Friday night we had a reception at the USAC headquarters where they have recently taken over a bar conveniently located in the middle of their building (it will soon be remodeled into a conference center).  By the time we got back to the dorm at the OTC I was already getting my 24-hour Colorado headache, but before going to bed I fired up the laptop.  Just as I was opening an Excel file listing the meeting attendees, everything stopped, and then it happened.  The dreaded Blue Screen of Death, followed by an automatic reboot resulting is a "media test failure" message.  Crap.  After a few more tries, along with visits to safe mode land, the machine booted normally again, windows loaded normally, everything worked for a while, and then -- BSoD.  I shut it down and went to sleep.  Thank goodness I had the BlackBerry.

After breakfast at the Athlete Center where there were a number of huge wrestlers and impressive women swimmers (some with ice packs on their shoulders), we assembled in the conference room on the other side of the USOC campus.  There was the usual recap by the CEO followed by a lively session with Shawn Farrell, the Technical Director, where we were able to give some input on the proposed 2011 rule changes just prior to the Board meeting where they would be formally considered.  The next day we would learn about the outcome of the meeting where, as it turned out, sleeveless jerseys were legalized for time trials, a whole host of proposed Junior equipment restrictions were defeated, and a long list of other rule changes covering everything from UCI riders in categorized USAC races to Cyclocross feed zones were made.  The rest of the morning consisted of frightening sessions about insurance and nonprofit organization legal issues.  Then, after lunch, we got to see the new USAC online registration and post-event reporting system.  I was impressed with the online registration system. I love BikeReg and would not be inclined to switch unless the USAC system had everything they do at a lower cost.  It looked like it does, and as an added bonus it checks rider entries against the current membership database and won't allow entries by riders with expired licenses.  Promoters who indicate that they will use the system will be able to get their event permits done online without sending a fee to USAC since the fee will simply be deducted from the online entry revenue.  The online post-event reporting met with some significant problems, however, regarding Chief Referee vs. Promoter responsibilities, so that component may take a little longer to get ironed out.  Anyway, the online registration system looks quite viable to me and you can't argue with the benefits of keeping the money (I'm sure USAC has worked it out so they come out a little ahead on this) within the cycling community. 


Colorado Springs visit in 1922


Saturday evening we got on the bus for a nice little dinner at the Phantom Canyon Brewery in the old part of town, across from the Hilton Antlers Hotel.  Although the current Antlers hotel was built in the 40s on the site of the original one (actually the original two since the first one burned down), it was still kind of interesting to see it because it was mentioned in my grandfather's honeymoon trip diary.  Back at the dorm I fired up the laptop and this time it booted normally, so before touching anything else I copied a couple of gigabytes of documents and photos over to a thumb drive while I had the chance. That took quite a long time, but everything went smoothly and it didn't crash again until an hour later.

Sunday's sessions included a presentation on the MyLaps chip-timing system (we had already had a presentation on the Times-7 system), along with an update on the results of the Board meeting on rule changes, a good session on the growing Collegiate program, and coverage of USAC's media and public relations activities and the National Events calendar.  All-in-all it was a great meeting except for the computer issue and the fact that the weather was nothing less than spectacular the whole time we were sitting in the conference room.  Every time we'd have a break I'd walk outside and stare longingly to the west wishing I had a bike.  The flights home were long.  After a two-hour layover at DFW I was more than ready for the relatively quick hop to New Orleans when they announced that the flight would be delayed because the flight crew, which was coming from Barbados, was held up in Customs.  It was well after 10:30 by the time we finally lifted off, and around midnight by the time I got home.  I guess I'll spend tonight trying to diagnose the laptop problem to see what my options are.  The big question with these sorts of random bluescreen errors is "hardware or software?"  I love a mystery, though.  It chilly this morning and I was way too tired to get out of bed to ride, so I guess it will be tomorrow before I'm finally back on the bike.