Wednesday Double

The thing that kind of surprised me Wednesday morning was that it wasn't quite as miserably hot and humid at 6 am as I'd been expecting. On the way out to the levee I had a few extra minutes to contemplate that little meteorological glitch when I had to stop for a train crossing Monticello Street.  Luckily, it was a short one and I didn't miss the group. The ride itself was unremarkable; a steady 22-24 mph out-and-back to the parish line like we do every Wednesday.  Fortunately, that wasn't all that Wednesday had in store.  After a late afternoon meeting with a real estate agent, I stepped out into the stifling heat, hopped back onto the old commuting bike, and slowly made my way back home, only to change into riding clothes and go right back out into it a few minutes later.  The first challenge is to survive the rush-hour traffic gauntlet represented by Carrollton Avenue between Earhart and Canal.  After that things eased up a bit and I arrived at Lakeshore Drive just a few minutes after 6:00, so although I missed the start of the Wednesday Training Race (aka WTR), I was able to jump into the pack within the first couple of miles, just as the pace was really starting to ramp up. It took me a few minutes to get adjusted to the faster speed, but once my breathing and heart rate were back under control, more or less, I moved up closer to the front.  I ended up doing a fair amount of work for the first couple of laps, alternating between ill-advised attacks and mid-pack recovery. 

We were halfway through the third of the four 6-mile laps when yet another break rolled off the front.  There was kind of a frantic chase as the pack momentarily splintered, but eventually most of us got back into the draft shortly before the Armory loop, leaving a small break about twenty seconds up the road.  At that point I still had a lot of momentum, so I just kind of kept the pressure on around the loop.  When I looked back I could see that the group had given me a lot of rope, more than enough, as it turned out, with which to hang myself.  I started to fade and was expecting to get back into the pack when it came past, but by the time they caught I'd let myself slow down too much and they had started ramping up the pace.  Basically, I got streamed. Right as I turned into a headwind the paceline came flying past on my left.  I'd completely missed the draft and the paceline was now in full-on chase mode.  I held the gap steady for a little while hoping they would ease up, but it didn't last long, so I backed it down to 22 mph or so and rode with John Egan down to the other end of the course where I turned around and jumped back onto the end of what was left of the group.  Indeed, the paceline that had streamed past me had caught the earlier break, so everyone was together for the last lap.  I stayed at the back so I wouldn't interfere with anything, and when the sprint started I sat up, at which point I was surprised to see a couple of riders desperately going around me.  Sorry about that.  I didn't realize there was anyone behind me who was still in the race!  Anyway, it was a good workout and a good 60-mile day.

This morning I headed out for the long Thursday ride feeling a little tired.  There was a big group on hand -- I'd guess twenty or so.  We started out with a couple of riders taking long, long pulls at the front. It was probably ten miles before I finally took a pull.  On the way back we suddenly came up on one of the levee police cars parked in the middle of the bike path and everyone had to hit the brakes.  The officer actually apologized to us as we made our way around him, saying that he hadn't realized we were back there.  Unfortunately, the front of the group put the hammer down again before the back of the group had gotten going again, and the group fractured.  It was another mile or so before word of that got up to the riders in front, thanks to Howard who put himself out into the wind and rode all the way up the paceline.  At that point they eased up, but it was too little, too late for most.

Greener Days

Well another week has somehow slipped through the time portal and I have little to show for it except for a few empty wine bottles and six days of missing blog posts.  It always seems that when I'm busy doing fun things I somehow find time to update the blog, but when things are kind of on auto-pilot and there's nothing really exciting going on, I just can't seem to find the time.  This time, though, I think that the thing that threw the monkey wrench into the works was The Daughter's annual training camp.  This year there were, I think, seven gymnasts and a couple of parents (one of which slipped away mid-week).  They spent most of the week training across the lake, but returned to the house on Friday for a couple of days of sightseeing before boarding the train back to Iowa City.  It all went pretty smoothly, though, and I felt lucky that in a house with 1.5 bathrooms and nine women, I still managed to get into the bathroom when necessary.  Also, although I had to reluctantly pass on Sunday's northshore training ride, at least I was able to do both of the weekend's Giro rides.

On Wednesday I rode out to the lakefront to watch and help with the officially unofficial time trial.  Since we've gotten back into our more normal summer weather pattern (30% chance of scattered afternoon thunderstorms), the area vegetation has been looking greener and greener.  On the downside, one must pay more attention to the weather radar.  An afternoon shower, or perhaps a brisk and shifting wind, was probably responsible for a slight reduction in the number of time trialists on hand for the Wednesday night 10-mile time trial, but the turnout was nonetheless pretty good at about 35 riders.  Frank Moak happened to be in town that day and just happened to have his time trial bike with him, so he proceeded to take 25 seconds out of Brady's time, and everyone who finished remarked that the wind had been a major factor.

Saturday's Giro ride once again had a pretty big group, and as would be expected, the pace was fast.  Even so, it was definitely a notch below that of the prior weekend's Saturday Giro. As I rode home in the rapidly rising summer heat I remember thinking that I should have spent more time at the front.  There wasn't much wind, and so it had been oh so very tempting to roll along at 27 mph safely tucked into the draft.  Since I knew I wouldn't be able to make this coming weekend's races, I guess I was a little short on motivation as well. 

The girls train wasn't scheduled to depart until around 1:45 on Sunday, so I had lots of time for the Sunday morning Giro. Riding out to meet the group at Starbucks I noticed that it already felt warmer and more humid than it had the day before.  The turnout for Sunday's ride was relatively slim, likely a combination of the rising heat and the concurrent northshore ride, but that didn't seem to be slowing things down all that much as we headed out along Hayne Blvd.  I swear, sometimes the rides with the smaller groups feel harder than those with the larger groups, even though the speeds are usually a little slower.  This ride was no exception.  After the turnaround we had a brief recovery period before things ramped up again.  When someone flatted on the service road, I heard at least two people mumble, "thank God!"  By the time I got home I was tired, hungry, dehydrated, and happy to twiddle along in a 39 x 15.

This morning's long levee ride had a good turnout, but when I saw that Rob had brought his time trial bike I knew there would be trouble.  By the time we were five miles down the road the number of people taking pulls was down to about four and gaps were opening all over the place.  It seemed like nobody really wanted to be going that fast, but they also didn't want to get dropped.  It all made for an inconsistent pace.  At one point Donald decided to counter one of Rob's fast pulls and basically attacked.  Rob responded, and a big gap opened that took a little while to close.  That happened a couple of times on this ride, and I think a lot of the riders were kind of sitting at the back of the paceline and enjoying the show. I was glad to see Courtney riding strongly again.  In fact, she was getting particularly frustrated by the uneven pace, and eventually motored to the front for a while to straighten things out.

Epidemic Punctures

The return of southerly winds has finally, hopefully, broken the drought we've been having around here, but along with the rainfall and wet streets has come an epidemic of flat tires.  It always happens that way.  It's as if all these little sharp pieces of rock just lie in waiting until the streets get wet, and then they stand pointy-side up waiting to embed themselves into your tires.  Monday morning I pulled the commuting bike down from its hook in the basement and when it hit the floor I knew without looking that the rear tire was flat.  I pulled the tube out and patched the hole that the edge of the Mr. Tuffy had made (I've seen a number of flats caused by them) and all looked good.  Then, when I left the office, after waiting out a little rain shower, it was flat again.  I changed out the tube with the one I carry around in my messenger bag and made it home OK.

Tuesday morning I got dressed to ride and when I looked out the window I immediately noticed two things.  It was a little darker than usual, even for 6:00 am, and there was a light rain falling.  I retreated to The Weather Channel.  It looked like a little passing shower, and a few minutes later I headed off for the levee where apparently the threat of precipitation had brought out only a handful of riders.  We headed up the river on the wet bike path as I searched for that sweet spot where I could keep from getting too much wheel spray up my nose while still enjoying a bit of the draft.  Woody, Howard, Scott, Max, Judd and a few others got the pace up into the uncomfortable zone pretty fast, and although I was basically feeling like crap I figured that if I was going to get all wet and gritty I may as well get a good workout out of the ride.  Well, a few miles later I felt my rear tire going squishy and pulled out of the paceline, telling the riders around me to go ahead and commenting that it probably wouldn't be the last flat of the day.  They took pity on me anyway, though, and stopped while I fixed it, so a few minutes later we were back on the road. 

JHS Class of  '71, 40th Reunion

As we approached Kenner we could see a dark cloud up ahead and soon a few raindrops started to fall.  There was discussion about whether and when to turn back.  A few turned back at the little dip, and the rest of us settled on turning around at the Big Dip.  We hadn't gotten very far on the return trip when we came upon the first group stopped fixing another flat, which turned out to be their second. A little while later we passed Taylor who was just finishing fixing his own flat.  I think there was yet another flat before we got back around River Ridge when it started raining again.  By then, Woody was pushing the pace since he was probably going to be late for work. When the speed got up to 31 mph around the Huey P. bridge, I finally backed off, and right after everyone else turned off around the Playground, leaving me on my own, the sky really opened up.  My last few miles on the levee were in a stinging horizontal rain that finally seeped through my shoes and soaked my feet.  That's when you know you're really wet. Naturally, the rain stopped about a mile before I got home, where I peeled off all of the soaked lycra, threw it all into the washer in the basement, and walked upstairs stark naked to get a clean start on another day.

Wilted

The City of New Orleans arrived at Union Station a little earlier than scheduled on Saturday afernoon.  Along for the 19-hour trip were The Daughter and six or seven of the gymnasts she coaches, plus a couple of their parents.  Here for their annual training camp and visit to New Orleans, they seemed none the worse for wear as we shuttled them over to the streetcar stop on St. Charles Avenue for the ride uptown to our house.  The temperature was well into the mid-90s by then, but they were lucky on two counts.  For one, they didn't have to wait more than a minute to board the streetcar.  For the other, the streetcar made exceptionally good time. After loading their luggage into two cars, I decided to take the long way home thinking that we would surely pass the streetcar somewhere along St. Charles Avenue.  As it turned out, the streetcar was making better time than the auto traffic, and we all arrived at the house about about the same time. A few hours later I drove downtown to Acme Oyster House to see what my 40th high school reunion had to offer. I hate driving downtown, and if it hadn't been so hot I probably would have ridden the bike instead, but the idea of showing up drenched in sweat was sufficiently unappealing that I opted for the motor.  The reunion itself was, as I suppose most are, a little weird. There were well over a hundred people in my graduating class, and my circle of friends was, as it still is, quite small.  That, combined with the fact that few of us look a whole lot like we did in 1971, meant that most of the people there were essentially strangers, the only things familiar about most of them were their last names.  After five years of wearing nametags on our shirts, even I got to know most of the names.  Anyway, although most of the people I knew best weren't in attendance, there were of course a few who were.  I just wish it hadn't been so loud in that old upstairs French Quarter room (thanks no doubt to the tin ceiling) that I could have carried on a conversation without alternately screaming and straining to hear.  Anyway, after enjoying more than my share of raw oysters, I slipped out after the photo, mainly because of the situation back home.

Sunday morning started out hot and humid, and as I rode out to Starbucks I wondered who would actually show up.  The Saturday Giro had prompted a number of emails and facebook posts, all saying something like, "Man, that was the fastest Giro I ever did."  I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to see a much smaller group on Sunday.  Even so, the pace on the way out was pretty fast, but by the time we were halfway back the temperature was pushing 95F, the humidity was off the charts, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.  The pack was really starting to wilt in the heat, and the last ten miles were substantially slower.  I limped back home, sucking the last drops from my one remaining non-empty water bottle, and spent the rest of the day trying to rehydrate. I was already quite certain that I wouldn't be riding on Monday.

No Race? No Problem.

When I rolled up to Starbucks a bit before 6:30 am there were already a bunch of riders there, including a visitor from Santa Barbara.  That was the first sign.  I hurried inside to get an iced coffee and immediately realized I'd left my coffee money at home.  Luckily Eddie D was standing right there and offered to cover it for me.  Thanks Eddie!

With no nearby races this weekend, there was a lot of pent-up horsepower on the Giro Ride today, and although everything remained cool for the first few miles, as soon as we hit Hayne Boulevard the speed kind of went right though the roof... and stayed there.  Next thing I know I'm in the 53x13 and the group is strung out in a long thin line about two blocks long.  Erich's in there riding his track bike with something a 49x14 and I'm wondering how he can possibly spin that fast.  I didn't know exactly who was up there driving the train, and although I had my suspicions, I wasn't going to be making my way to the front any time soon.  I looked over at the rider next to me and commented, "I don't think they're going to be taking any prisoners today."  We got to the end of Hayne and the group hardly slowed down.  Then, when we turned off of the service road to cross underneath I-510, Kenny flatted.  A number of us stopped, but predictably the front of the group was kind of on autopilot and just patronizingly slowed for a little while before resuming the hammer session.  Once we got the flat fixed, we got rolling pretty fast, and when we got onto Chef Highway we were in full-on chase mode.  I took one pull at around 29 mph and spent the next ten minutes sitting in trying to recover.  Kenny put his MyTracks route info. up on Google Maps. 

After the turnaround there were a couple of easy miles as people recovered, but we were well back into the red by Highway 11, and although there were a number of places where the pace slacked off a bit, for the most part it was a pretty fast Giro, made just a little harder by the hot and humid weather.  Needless to say, I took it easy on the ride home.

Officiating Hats

It's the Thursday after the Tour de Louisiane and I think I have everything more or less wrapped up.  The post-event reports are on my desk at home awaiting the 4-digit check for USAC, results have been uploaded, the LCCS points standings have, finally, been updated, and the big stack of release forms is ready to be filed away for the recommended ten years (really?). This year's Tour was, by all accounts, a pretty successful one, unless of course you measure success by whether or not the event turned a profit.  We had a total of 187 riders, didn't need to call 911 a single time, there were no big problems or delays with the results, and it didn't rain.  The races themselves were pretty interesting and competitive, and although the Lakeshore Drive criterium course may not be the most technically challenging, it proved to be plenty hard enough and was great for the spectators. Erich Mattei once again served as official announcer/DJ for the criterium, keeping the crowd entertained throughout.  The Cat. 1/2/3 road race got splintered by a couple of successful breaks that yielded big time gaps.  The Masters race also saw a successful break, that included Jorge and Mike, that took a good six minutes out of most of the field.  Of course, from my perspective, it was a long hot weekend of squinting at sun-drenched laptop screens, calling numbers and times into tape recorders, and hauling equipment around from venue to venue.  Much of it is still scattered about in my basement until I have a chance to clean and reorganize it.  I guess it's been at least twenty years that I've worn my now-traditional and entirely un-official officiating hat for the road race, although in recent years I've switched to a regular officials cap for the criterium.  There are links to some great photos by Malcolm Schuler and David L'hoste on the results page. 

So after spending last weekend mostly standing still and sweating, I was finally back on the bike on Monday feeling like I hadn't ridden in a week. By Tuesday morning, two LAMBRA races, Meridian-Cuba and Mt. Driskill had been cancelled, and the next day they cancelled Sugar Land over in TX which was supposed to be a LCCS points race.  Wow!  It sounds like Mt. Driskill might be resurrected for the weekend that Meridian-Cuba originally had, but it's too early to say for sure yet.  Anyway, the closest race next weekend is in Tennessee, I think, but I couldn't go anyway because The Daughter is coming to town on Saturday with her gymnastics camp girls.

At least I got in some good training yesterday.  After a nice moderate morning levee ride, I rushed off after work, jumped onto the old Orbea, and rode out to the lakefront to catch the 24-mile Wednesday training race.  It was somewhere in the mid-90s when I left, and I was feeling kind of dragged out, but the training race is not to be missed.  I think we had 25-30 riders for the start yesterday, and so the early attacks got chased down as you'd expect.  By the third lap, though, we'd lost a number of people and you could tell that riders were getting tired.  I found myself kind of stuck near the back without the energy to go out into the wind and move up where I knew I should be. About halfway through the race we got a little rain shower -- just enough to make a complete mess of the bike and clothes, and not enough to wash away all of the grit.  With just about one 6-mile lap to go a small break rolled away.  I looked around nervously, wondering why the group's pace hadn't changed. A couple of riders attacked down the left side to bridge, and then Tim went flying past in overdrive.  The front of the group didn't respond at all.  A few more riders went after Tim and eventually most or all of them made it up to the front group.  The rest of the pack was completely dysfunctional.  With a gap of around 45 seconds, there was no way a solo rider was going to make the bridge, but rather than organize a paceline, individual riders kept attacking the group.  Needless to say, the gap continued to grow.  Oh well, at least it was a good workout, and besides, I shouldn't complain too much because I myself spent most of the race sucking wheels.

Hoping for Rain

I looked down at my computer, and then my watch.  6:30 am and the paceline was already strung out at 28 mph, racing upriver through that light morning haze we get on summer mornings like this.  I'd listened with both ears to my body telling me to take Monday off, and I suppose it must have helped because I felt reasonably decent on the bike.  Less than halfway out and the paceline was starting to stretch really thin.  Little gaps started turning into bigger gaps and then, as we negotiated our way around some pedestrian obstacles, there was a big gap. 

Someone attacked down the left to try and bridge, but I had to wait a moment to get out from behind someone.  I took a pull, then Jordan went to the front and ramped it up to 31 mph for probably half a mile.  I didn't dare look back.  The main power sources at the front were planning on turning back early, at The Dip, and as they started to ease up we all came back together for the last five miles or so out to the turnaround at Ormond.  Although the pace didn't slack off dramatically, it did drop down just enough to make 26 mph feel like recovery, at least if you were a few wheels back into the paceline. The wind was, for once, negligible.

As usual, the return trip started out easy and then gradually ratcheted up to somewhere between pain and suffering.  Situation normal.

Today there are lots of emails bouncing back and forth among the handful of people organizing this weekend's Tour de Louisiane.  The latest drama was a new requirement, about which we were informed this morning, that the "Non-Flood Protection Asset Management Authority" be included on the Certificate of Insurance along with the "Orleans Levee District."  Never mind that the Non-Flood Protection Asset Management Authority, which is charging us $300 plus police costs for the criterium course, is just an office withing the Orleans Levee District for which we had already requested and forwarded a Certificate of Insurance, which itself is not strictly necessary since they are covered under the event general liability policy whether or not they have the aforementioned certificate in hand.  Thanks to USAC, though, because it took exactly 12 minutes from the time I made the request to the time I got the new certificate from the insurance company.

Yesterday a strong thunderstorm rolled through here, bringing a heavy rain that we badly needed.  Here at my office the rain was pounding the windows.  Imagine my surprise when I got home at the end of the day and discovered that hardly a drop had fallen there, only a couple of miles away.  At least it cooled things down a bit.  We got a little more rain this afternoon, so I'm hoping some of it fell at home this time.

The Tour Course

I reluctantly removed a water bottle that I knew I'd later want, cut the top off of it with my pocket knife, and inserted a big can of road marking paint, wrapped in a can-cozy to keep it from rattling.  It was 7:30 am and we were getting ready to start our annual pre-ride of the Tour de Louisiane road course up around Stony Point, LA. My job was to freshen up the course markings and arrows that were painted around the 16 mile circuit.  Since we've used this same course for a number of years, most of the old markings just needed to be freshened up, so I was hoping that one can would suffice. The road course is a little complicated, so the markings are important, especially for the lead vehicles and the riders who might be off the back.  A couple of the turns come up on you pretty suddenly, too, and although paint on the road can be easy to miss when you're in the middle of a race, it's better than nothing.

For some reason I was already feeling kind of lousy from the start. Although there was no valid reason for it, aside from perhaps old age, my legs were loading up and aching on every climb as our group headed down the highway from "Cucumber Corner" where we'd parked to the actual road course.  I had this vague feeling that I might be coming down with something.  Anyway, the plan for the first lap was to ride easy so that I could stop ahead of every turn and freshen up the spray painted arrows. Unfortunately, I ran out of paint with two turns to go, so a few of us turned back toward the cars while the rest continued on to start the second lap.  I picked up a second can of paint and we backtracked around the course, painting the missed turns and then meeting up with most of the group, which by then had split, about half-way around. As we started lap #3, with the temperature rising and Jorge and a couple others pushing the pace, I retreated to the back of the paceline.  My legs hurt, I was feeling a lot hotter than I should, and every little climb was starting to feel like a mountain.  Something was definitely amiss, and it was time to pay attention to what my body was telling me.  Anyway, I hung on for the rest of the lap, at which point most of us headed back to the cars.  I don't know if I was dehydrated, fighting off a little cold, or what, but I didn't really feel good for the rest of the day.  At least I got most of the Tour de LA race bible finished -- just need to add in a few of the new sponsor logos -- so it should be up on the website tonight. 

While I was updating the "winner's circle" list with the names of last year's podium riders, I was looking back over some of the old names and wondered if Dan Casebeer was still around.  Naturally, I found him quickly and saw the he was running a bike shop in Minnesota.  As soon as I saw the rotating images with the pair of old Maresi shoes, Legnano bike, and embroidered wool USA jersey, I knew I was in the right place, so I checked for him on Facebook to let him know that the Tour de LA, which he won once and raced in a number of times, was now 40 years old.  He replied, "I do remember those days with lots of pleasure! I see a few of the characters from those days too...Mike King (who almost got arrested for public exposure (peeing in the trees) Tom Schuler who lives in Wisconsin and FB many others. remember the year I crashed in the TT on the famous bump I flatted and road the wheel to almost the finish line..still got 5th..."  I'm sure I've told that story to a hundred people over the years.  It's part of Tour de La lore now.  I vividly remember him powering down Lakeshore Drive in the time trial on a flat tire that he'd been riding on so long that the wheel was coming apart.  He almost made it to the finish line before the spokes went flying and it locked up and he went down.  While I was still wandering down memory lane, I got a new Facebook notice that Boyd Fink had posted some old Tour de LA photos from 1975.  I immediately stole them and added them to the NOBC Archive! 

Watermarks and High Heels

It was late Thursday night when I finally conceded.  There was just no way I was going to make the weekend of racing up in Tupelo and still get the Tour de Louisiane race bible finished in time to avoid a last-minute rush.  Although it would have been a long drive, I knew the racing would be great and that the event would have strong fields with riders from Tennessee, Georgia and Alabama.  And so I came to find myself sitting at the Starbucks on Harrison Avenue at 6:30 this morning, sipping an iced coffee and looking up at the permanent marker on the wall memorializing the Hurricane Katrina water mark.  I had made good time from the house, hitting nearly every green light on the quiet early morning streets.  I'd been awakened around 2 am by one of the dogs trying to dig a hole in the carpet in response to an unexpected thunderstorm.  I spent an hour lying on the couch with the light on and one hand on the dog's collar.  It might have all been worth it if the aforementioned thunderstorm had graced us with at least a few drops of badly needed rain, but the streets were still dry and the plants still parched in the morning.

There was a big group for the Giro today, but since the Herring guys were racing in Mississippi I thought maybe the ride would be relatively sedate.  I couldn't have been more wrong.  By the time we were halfway down Hayne Blvd. I was spinning the 53x15 at 28 mph and my glasses were already obscured with the sweat dripping from my face.  As it turned out, 28 mph was just the warmup speed.  Shortly after turning onto Chef Highway someone toward the back of the pack flatted. The group slowed for a while, but only a handful of us actually turned back to help.  The rest of the pack soft-pedaled for a while, but by the time we got going again they were three minutes up the road and going hard again.  So we just pacelined out toward Venetian Isles and caught them on the way back.  It wasn't long before we were going 31 mph again, and for the most part the pressure stayed on the rest of the way back. I was really feeling the heat today (it's 94° F right now).  Riding back home down Fontainbleau Drive with Jordan I glanced up to see a pair of black high heels hanging from one of the overhead wires. My first thought was, "We must be Uptown!"  Definitely more classy than the usual tennis shoes.  Anyway, I'm sure there's an interesting story behind that pair of shoes.

So things are ramping up for the 40th annual Tour de Louisiane.  It's hard to believe it's been 40 years; even harder to believe I was there with my Pocket Instamatic for the first one.  We're doing a ride on the road race course tomorrow during which I'll be re-painting the turn arrows and marking any potholes or other road hazards.  At some point today or tonight I'll start working seriously on the race bible so that it will be ready for printing on Monday.  Late last night I *think* I fixed the West Feliciana stage race results, which I still need to post to the website.  Then I need to score those races for LCCS points, update the LCCS web pages and upload the detailed workbook before reformatting it all for uploading to the USAC database.  Hopefully I'll get that done before I get the results from the Tupelo races, at which point I'll have to score those 21 or so separate races for points and do it all over again.

Back to the Lakefront

Things were not quite back to normal on Tuesday as I reluctantly turned around at the parish line, leaving the rest of the morning levee ride group to continue out to Ormond.  An early work meeting was the culprit this time, but at least I resisted the urge to soft-pedal all the way home.  The Daughter, whose flight back to Iowa City had been inexplicably cancelled, was scheduled for an 8:30 am departure on Wednesday, so yesterday morning's ride was out the window.  Luckily, there was the Wednesday training race out at the lakefront.  I'd missed the last one, but from all accounts there was a good group on hand for a return to the old traditional 6-mile circuit that runs between the fountain traffic circle at Bayou St. John to the Seabrook loop at the industrial canal.  For reasons that only the Levee District could possibly comprehend, the Seabrook loop itself is closed to traffic, but it's easy for cyclists to get past the big plastic traffic barrels.

So despite my best efforts, I didn't leave work until well after 5:00, which meant I didn't step out the door at home until 5:45 or so.  It was painfully hot as I raced the cars and buses down Carrollton Avenue and sprinted across the always-exciting section where it crosses Palmetto, splits off a couple of Interstate highway ramps, and dips underneath I-10 and the railroad tracks.  Once through the Palmetto gauntlet, I climbed back up out of the underpass, slipped across Tulane Avenue against the light, and settled into a somewhat less stressful pace through mid-city, eventually meeting Marconi Avenue for the last few miles alongside Bayou St. John.  Glancing down at my watch, I could see I'd be just a few minutes late.  As I turned onto Lakeshore Drive at the traffic circle I scanned the road for bikes, but saw none.  Had the group already come through?  It was 6:05.  If they'd started down at Elysian Fields a bit later than the 6:00 start, and were keeping it more or less neutral for the first couple of miles, there was still a chance I wouldn't miss a whole lap.  I continued on, crossing the levee at the London Avenue Canal, and there they were coming toward me, headed for the traffic circle.  I turned around and watched for the group to come over the levee so I could join in.  One rider was off the front, and then the whole group, maybe about twenty, starting to string out in chase mode.  I put my head down to gather some speed so I wouldn't get swarmed too badly.  I figured they were going around 27 mph.  Finally I slotted in near the back, already breathing hard from the effort of accelerating to race speed.  I'd just missed half a lap.

The 4-lap training race was just what I needed.  The group was big enough that there was always some place to hide from the wind, and there were always a few riders willing and able to chase the breaks.  After the second lap I was finally feeling sufficiently warmed up, so I figured it was time for me to get some exercise. I moved closer to the front, taking a few pulls and chasing a few things down, occasionally dropping back into the more comfy draft of the group to recover.  The last lap started with a good breakaway that I though might survive, but the group ramped it up another notch and finally closed with around four miles to go.  In the process, however, a number of riders came off the back.  After the Seabrook loop another break went clear and this time the response from the pack was a little slow.  I'm not even sure exactly how many ended up off the front over the last mile or so, but anyway, Jordan won, a few more finished, and the pack sprinted for whatever place was left. By then my glasses were covered in sweat and I was glad I'd brought along one of those extra-large water bottles. I rode back uptown with Jordan who was running late for something, which is to say I sucked his wheel most of the way home.

This morning's long levee ride felt hot and pretty hard to me.  It's getting to that point in the summer where even the morning ride starts out hot and sweaty.  There was a significant wind today, but somehow the group stayed mostly intact all the way out to Ormond.  On the return trip, however, the crosswind seemed much worse and eventually things fell apart a bit.