Same Ol' Same Ol'

It was yet another Giro weekend for me.  I had made a rather weak effort to find some company to make the 5.5 hour drive up to the races in Shreveport, but got no takers.  I just couldn't muster up the enthusiasm for a solo road trip, especially considering the cost and the things I needed to get done back at home.  So anyway, there I was on Saturday morning sitting at the Starbucks sipping coffee again.  It was looking like we'd have a smaller group than usual, and I guess we did, but it didn't seem to have much of an effect on the speed.  The sky was cloudy and, as had been the case all week, there was the threat of rain.  I was expecting to get wet. The ride out to the turnaround was nice and fast, and as usual the group eased up after the turnaround before putting down the hammer again.  The pace was finally starting to wind down as we turned off of Chef Highway onto the service road, as when we later turned to cross underneath I-510 I rode right over some lump of old concrete in the road.  "Damn, what was that?" I remarked.  Unfortunately, I'd pinched the tube which took another couple of miles to finally go flat just before Bullard.  We stopped while I quickly changed it, jumped back on the bike, and immediately discovered that it had gone flat again.  I started to change it out with my second tube when Norman handed me a can of some sort of sealant. Well, that worked for about a quarter mile before I had to stop again.  By now the number of riders willing to hang around with me was down to a handful.  Howard handed me a tube and I finally got going again.  Sunday's Giro was similar to Saturdays, just a little bit slower and smaller.  I got rained on one of those days, but frankly I don't even remember which one it was.  Status quo.

This morning's long levee ride had most of the usual suspects but for the most part the pace was manageable.  There were a couple of people who were pushing the pace every time they'd hit the front, but most egos were in check and things didn't really escalate much.  On the home front, we've got the sale of my mom's condo pretty much all lined up and on a fast track, which will probably mean that I'm going to have to spend one weekend moving furniture.  I'm hoping it won't be the weekend of the Oxford races, but at the moment it's not looking good.

Riding Around the Rain

So with Monday morning a complete rainy washout, and with apologies to America, I got myself undressed and set my sights on Tuesday.  The long ride that day was kind of a strange one.  The group was pretty large, maybe twenty or so, and for some reason the levee was particularly crowded with pedestrians, dog-walkers, runners, and other cyclists.  As usual, this created a lot of problems as the front part of the group, hammering along at 27 mph, weaved its way through the gauntlet without considering the chaos going on behind them.  I mean, just because the first five riders can get around someone easily, doesn't mean the the riders farther back won't need to hit the brakes in order to get past safely.  Somehow we made it out to the turnaround without disaster.  Then, as we started back a few riders started rolling off the front.  I went to bridge up to them and soon found myself going 29 mph without making up any ground.  When I realized that I was trying to chase down Matt who was at the front on his TT bike, I backed off and waited for the rest of the group.

This morning's ride was the complete opposite of Tuesday's. The group was small, the wind was practically nonexistent, and the pace was smooth and steady.  Later, at work, I started to consider going out to the Wednesday evening time trial out at the lakefront.  Today's edition was to be a 2-man TT, and I figured that even if I didn't end up finding someone to ride with, at least I'd get in a few miles riding out there and back.  Then, late in the afternoon, I got a text from Jacob, a local triathlete, asking if I might be able to ride it with him. I figured he must be desperate, so I agreed, to which he replied that he hoped the rain would stop in time.  Rain??  I walked over to the window and was surprised to see a light rain falling.  Naturally, that's when the phone rang and I got tied up with some last-minute work that killed my plans to leave a little early.  By the time I was halfway home it was raining pretty heavily and I was glad I had my rain jacket with me.  Checking the radar, though, it looked like it was ending, so around 5:45 I headed out for the lakefront.  Half a mile from home the streets were bone dry.

There was a big group (Kenny said around 100) on hand for this informal 10-mile 2-man time trial.  I found Jacob, who was in full time trial mode, in stark contrast to myself, and consoled myself with the fact that he was big enough that I'd still be able to get a good draft behind him.  With a light tailwind we took off down Lakeshore Drive at 27-28 mph, and after taking a few short pulls I knew I was in trouble.  There's nothing quite like being the weak link on a team time trial.  Even taking short and relatively infrequent pulls, I was having a harder and harder time recovering once I was back in the draft.  By the time we were halfway through I was more focused on keeping from being dropped than on taking pulls at the front and pretty much all of the pacemaking had fallen to Jacob.  Luckily, he is a really steady and smooth rider, and if there's anything I'm good at it's sucking wheels, so although I didn't contribute much, at least I didn't get dropped and I'm sure I could have taken him in the sprint!!

No Prisoners

Judging by the riders who showed up for the northshore training ride, I was pretty sure they wouldn't be taking any prisoners this morning.  We had a fairly small group - maybe ten or so - but it looked like practically everyone who was there was there for the real deal. With the threat of rain hanging over our heads, both literally and figuratively, we headed out from the Lee Road Middle School, just north of Covington, for the standard 65 mile training ride.  The air was warm and really, really humid as we rode up toward Enon.  Although the pace wasn't particularly fast, it had that sort of unrelenting, determined feeling that sets a serious training ride apart from the more routine country rides.  I was feeling pretty good, but with Woody, Isaiah, John D., and a few others on hand to drive the pace, I figured I'd better not be reaching into the cookie jar too early on this one. After a brisk section along Choctaw Road, we arrived at Highway 10 missing one of John's teammates.  The group soft-pedaled for a little while while John and I looked back for him, but within a couple of minutes the statute of limitations ran out on him and, hoping that he knew his way home, we continued on. 

The next long section of this ride, from Hwy. 10 to Sie Jenkins Road, is always fast, and along the way there are a couple of sprints to keep things lively.  Despite a light tailwind, there were a few times along this stretch where it was all I could do to stay in the draft.  I was glad there were a few tall guys in the group providing a good draft.  All along this part of the ride, and for that matter all along most of the rest of the ride, there were occasional attacks on the little uphills.  After the sprint for the Enon sign, we stopped at the store to refuel.  By the time Woody walked out with a bottle of Gatorade in his hand, most of the group was already back on the road and heading for the watchtower hill, so we had to chase for a couple of miles to catch up.

The last five miles or so, along Tung Road, always seem hard to me.  It must be because it's always at the end of a long ride, because there aren't any significant hills along that stretch.  Today was no different.  Isaiah, Woody and John soon started challenging each other, and riders started dropping off the back. I was deep into wheelsucking practice, myself, taking a short pull every now and then, but mostly just hanging on.  Anyway, it was a good ride and I was glad that we somehow managed to avoid getting rained on.  When we got back to the parking lot I jumped into the car, and headed home with plenty of time to take a shower and make a 1:00 lunch at Landry's Seafood.

Another Fast One

I opened the door and looked east.  The horizon was dark and ominous, but the sky above was better.  Double-checking the Ziploc bags that held my phone and camera, I headed off for my Saturday morning coffee and the start of yet another summer Giro Ride.  By 6:35 am I was sitting outside of Starbucks contemplating the rapidly increasing amount of horsepower rolling up to the patio.  It was going to be another fast one. 

We rolled out as usual toward Lakeshore Drive as more and more riders filtered in.  Traditionally, the five mile stretch along the lake is ridden at a conversational pace of around 15 mph.  Halfway to the end I looked down and we were going 23 with riders already forming up into a long slender paceline.  The front of the group was already fifteen seconds up the road.  That was the easy part.  Once we got to Hayne Blvd. the pace went up to 28, then 29, and pretty much stayed between that and 31 mph all the way out to Venetian Isles.  By the end of Hayne gaps were already starting to open here and there, but for the most part the riders in back weren't having too much trouble hanging on because there was a light tailwind and the pace was pretty steady.  Even so, I don't think I ever saw the front all the way down Chef Highway.  When the whole Giro is strung out at 30 mph and going out into the wind to move up is not a particularly viable option, there's not much you can do except to hold on and stay on the wheel in front of you.  I was actually feeling pretty good except for some kind of stomach ache that had been nagging me since I'd started.  Even so, I was nowhere to be found when the front of the paceline sprinted for the turnaround.  I weaved around the numerous riders who'd blown up early and at least put in an effort, but that was about the best I could do under the circumstances.

The ride back started out with a couple of easy miles, but soon enough we were back into the upper 20s.  Things finally started to ease up along the service road(s).  As we went underneath I-10 I looked up and saw Mike W right in front of me practically at a stop.  Shocked, I locked up the brakes to keep from plowing right into him.  Apparently he was having a minor asthma attack.  Anyway, I put in some efforts on the bridges and rode back uptown with Brent, happy to have gotten in a good workout before the rain started.  Tomorrow I'm planning on doing the northshore ride, even though I'll have to rush back across the lake to make a 1:00 lunch thing with my father and some of the family.

Summer

There's nothing like a few days in the Northwest, followed by a quick return to New Orleans, to remind you that it's Summer.  When I stepped out the door early Tuesday morning it was like walking into a sauna.  The long Tuesday ride was mercifully moderate, which certainly helped with the transition, and although I arrived back home a little more wilted than usual, it wasn't really all that bad.  Of course I figured my legs would be somewhat worse for wear by evening, considering how long I'd been off the bike.  They were.  Fortunately the two consumables presently available at home fall into the Merlot and Ice Cream food groups, so all was well.

It was hard getting out of bed this morning, which threw a monkey wrench into my rather tight routine, ultimately requiring me to rush out to make the morning ride before it left without me.  On the positive side, that bit of extra effort served to loosen up my legs which needed a little loosening-up.  Otherwise, it was a typical Wednesday ride with the group's pace staying within a few mph of 22 practically the whole way out and back.  I'm hoping I'll be able to make it out to the training race on the lakefront this evening if I can get past some of the work I have on my plate today.  It feels like we're getting into that familiar mid-summer routine now.  The 10-day weather forecast looks like it was made with a rubber stamp, and a good portion of my weekday riding time is spent in a kind of mind-numbing heat-induced stupor. Well, at least more of a stupor than usual.

Off the Grid, Off the Bike

It's been a week since we flew up to Iowa City to help The Daughter move to Olympia, Washington. We cleaned and packed, dropped off a truckload of stuff at the local Goodwill center, locked up the Pods container in the driveway, loaded up the Jeep, drove a bit over 2,000 miles, spent an afternoon hiking in Mt. Rainier National Park, and will be heading home on Monday.  It was a trip.

The driving started late in the evening when we decided that rather than sleeping on the floor of the empty apartment we may as well hit the road.  The only problem with that plan was that we didn't really know where we'd be spending the night.  Ordinarily, that wouldn't be much of a problem, but since we were travelling with two dogs, our options would probably be limited.  We ended up driving around 300 miles that night and staying in a very questionable motel in Lincoln, NE.

The next day was our longest, taking us from there all the way across Nebraska and Wyoming and then northwest into Idaho where we spent the night at Shannon's mother's house in Mountain Home. Much of the drive was spent battling crosswinds and headwinds along I-80.  As we got into the mountains along I-80 the rather overloaded Jeep Liberty started struggling a bit on the climbs.  The combination of weight, headwinds, climbs, and 75 mph speed limits kept the automatic transmission quite busy shifting out of overdrive in order to maintain speed.  We arrived in Mountain Home around mid-afternoon and decided to check out Shoshone Falls along the Snake River while we had a chance.  With the car still fully loaded, and following some sketchy directions, we turned off the highway onto a road that went straight down into the gorge.  I was seriously wondering if we'd be able to coax the Jeep back up the steep slope as we descended.  Unfortunately, our directions had taken us down the wrong side of the river and we had to turn right back around and climb back out (in 1st gear).  We made our way around to the other side and spent an hour or so walking the trail and checking out the falls and Evil Knievel's famous launch ramp. 

The next day's drive was a bit shorter and was going well until we got into Oregon.  First, The Daughter misplaced her cellphone and we ended up backtracking fifteen miles and searching through a Chevron station, only to finally discover the phone wedged between the car's seat cushions.  Then I got pulled over by a state trooper with bad aim who claimed I had been going 81 mph (the speed limit in Oregon is 65 and you aren't allowed to pump your own gas there).  I'd been on cruise control at 65 mph since we'd crossed the state line, and if we'd gotten that Jeep up to 81 mph I think I would have noticed.  He refused to acknowledge his mistake with the laser gun but let me off with a warning anyway.  The warning I took away from that was, "stay the hell out of Oregon." 

Anyway, for the few days prior to this we'd been negotiating a pre-listing sale of my mother's condominium, which had been a little difficult for me since I was trying to do conference calls in-between trips to the dump and at random rest areas along the interstate.  However, when you get an all-cash offer that might work before the house officially goes on the market, you can't really put it off. It worked out pretty well and we got the house under contract a couple of days ago, so unless there are any big surprises that may be one more thing I can check off of the list.

So by Sunday, with The Daughter all settled in, we drove out to the Mount Rainier National Park for a really nice 4 hour hike up to Lake George in picture-perfect weather.  The last mile of the trail was largely covered with snow, and I was glad I'd packed a long-sleeve shirt.  For the most part, this was the most exercise I'd gotten in a week.  About half of the hike was along a rocky fire road, but eventually we turned off of that onto a more traditional trail marked by an abandoned bike rack and an old "no bikes" sign.  It got a little slippery once we got into the snow, especially since I was wearing regular cross-training shoes, but somehow I managed to keep my socks reasonably dry.  As usual, the photos really don't do justice to the scenery.

So I've been pretty much off the grid for the last week, which means that I'll have some catching-up to do when I return, but I think it's good to take a break from the routine now and then.  The only real downside, I think, will be the time off the bike and the work it will take to get back into some semblance of shape.  I kind of knew this would be a tough year from the start, though, so no surprise there.  By Tuesday it will be back to normal, I'm afraid.  Thank goodness I'll at least have the Tour de France to keep me interested.  Assuming, of course, that they stop all of the crashing and can start concentrating on racing.

Danger at the Back

The back of the pack can be a dangerous place.  In return for a good draft and easy pedaling, you always flirt a bit more closely with disaster. That fact was driven home today no fewer than three times. 

Because of an early Sunday ticket to ORD and planned subsequent cross-country adventure to what is practically the farthest point in the contiguous Unites States from New Orleans, I had to pass on the Vuelta de Acadiana races over in Lafayette this weekend.  The consolation prize, as usual, would be the trusty old Giro Ride. Friday night was the annual welcoming party for the new Psychiatry residents. It's a nice casual affair with hamburgers, salad, Plum Street snoballs and ad libitum wine and beer. At least one of those ingredients must have been responsible for the difficulty I had getting going this morning.  However difficult it was, however, I still dragged myself out of bed and was on the road by 6:10 am, headed for my Saturday iced coffee at Starbucks.  Since it was a holiday weekend, and since there was a race in Lafayette, I wasn't expecting a very big turnout.  That expectation was confirmed, to a certain extent, but fortunately we still managed  to gather the quorum necessary for a good Giro Ride.

I was thinking it might be an easy one, but by the time we were a couple of miles down Hayne Boulevard I knew it wouldn't be.  Kenny was really on a tear today.  At one point I found myself on his wheel as took a monster pull that must have been three miles long at an average speed of at least 29 mph.  When he finally pulled off I pulled for maybe twenty-five pedal strokes before I had to retreat to back of the paceline.  That turned out to be a bit of a mistake. 

So we're flying down what's left of Paris Road, and come across the I-10 overpass, dropping down to the I-510 spur where we have to two lanes of interstate traffic to get to the right lane and, about a mile later, the exit ramp.  I'm sitting near the back of the pack, and glancing over my right shoulder I can see a couple of cars coming around the curve.  I yell, "Cars!"  The first car goes past, the next is coming.  The front of the paceline cuts in front of the car to the right lane.  By the time the back of the paceline gets there, the car is overlapping the riders ahead of me and the driver is completely confused.  I see the brake lights go on and have to hit the brakes to keep from slamming into the back of the car.  Crap.  By the time I extricate myself and go around the bewildered motorist there's a big gap to the rest of the field.  I pick up Scott and and shift into time trial mode.  The group is not slowing down, but at 25 mph or so I'm generally holding the gap steady. We come off of the interstate and make the left turn onto the service road, running through a red light in the process.  Somewhere along the service road I lose Scott, but I'm not quite ready to throw in the towel yet because there's a pretty good chance they'll ease up for a little while when they get to Chef Highway.  I luck out and don't have to slow down as I turn onto Chef, and up the road I can see the group spreading our across the road.  This is my only chance, so I bury myself for half a mile and finally catch them before the pace ramps up again.

Back in the pack I figure I'll stay near the back for a while to recover. Apparently I'm a slow learner. Kenny is driving the pace again and it hardly ever drops below 27,so I'm still hanging out near the back.  Somewhere around Highway 11, I hear, and then see, a little dog dash out from a driveway into the back of the pack.  I immediately have one of those deja vu experiences. I swear, my collarbone started to ache! The front of the paceline didn't even see the dog, but at the back there is chaos.  The dog, suddenly realizing he's in the middle of a pack, panics and starts bouncing around like a squirrel in a pinball machine as riders swerve and slam on their brakes.  I've got two handfuls of brake myself, and feel my rear wheel come momentarily off the ground, but then somehow the dog makes it to the shoulder and we're all past him.  A short chase and we're back to the group just in time for the pace to ramp up again.

As we made our way back from the turnaround the temperature got higher, the pace got slower, and the conversation sagged.  As I rode back up town with Brett all he could talk about was how good that cold recovery drink he had waiting at home was going to taste.  Shortly after I got back home, and still in my sweaty riding clothes, I fire up the laptop to watch the live video feed from the first stage of the Tour de France.  It's looking like it will be a big pack sprint until, about 7 km from the finish, one of the riders nails an errant spectator and riders start going down like dominos.  Only the riders near the front were spared.  The rest will get to start Day 2 of the Tour over a minute down on GC.