Recovering and Drying Out

After a couple of very rainy weeks down here in New Orleans, the remnants of that big blob of high pressure that had lately been baking most of Texas is now sitting on top of us instead. Fortunately the local forecasters have not given up all hope of afternoon rain. Even so, when I got out of the car today after running some errands around 1 pm, my first thought was, "Man, this feels just like a Texas shopping center parking lot in August."  Everything is going very quickly from soggy to dry around here.

It has been a busy week.  With the act of sale on my mother's condo rapidly approaching we have been spending a lot of time over there sorting through a lifetime of possessions, allocating everything among my brother and sisters, making arrangements for moving, dealing with the last-minute legal and real estate issues, and inhaling far too much house dust to which I am rather allergic.  Despite all of those complications, I did manage a decent week of riding even if I have, by now, all but conceded any hope of really getting in shape any time this season.  Saturday's Giro was fairly typical of a mid-summer Giro Ride. After the usual conversational pace along Lakeshore Drive the speed picked up quickly on Hayne Blvd. It was already pretty hot and exceedingly humid, and I think that tended to keep things more or less under control. Although it was by no means an easy ride out to the turnaround at Venetian Isles, the really fast sections were short and there were a number of places where the pace eased up enough to allow those approaching the red zone to recover.  By the time we were halfway back you could tell that the heat was starting to get to everyone and the pace definitely eased off another notch or two.  I got home just slightly dehydrated and an hour later was over at the condo packing and sorting.

Sunday morning seemed hotter but maybe a little less humid, and looking around the Starbucks patio I was wondering what kind of ride we'd have.  Todd and a small group of riders had left around 5:30 am for a 140 mile ride around Lake Pontchartrain.  Sometimes I wish I could do one of those rides.  This, however, was not one of those times.  Even before we hit Hayne Blvd. my jersey was already soaked with sweat and, looking down at my big water bottle that barely fits between the bottom bracket and top tube, I was glad I'd thought to pour in a big scoop of electrolyte mix that morning.  I'd ridden pretty hard on Saturday, a fact that my legs had apparently not yet forgotten. Basically, I was tired, which made an otherwise nice routine training ride just a little bit less nice. As I sometimes do on these rides, I broke the route down into sections and used some to work and others to recover, which worked out pretty well.  When we were about a mile from the Goodyear Sign sprint, the front of the group started to surge.  They pretty much always start too early for this one, since it's just a long, straight drag race.  I was around mid-pack feeling undecided about making an effort.  This is always dangerous here because some riders near the front will typically just sit up when the sprint starts, effectively opening huge gaps.  That, of course, is exactly what happened.  We were still a long way from the Goodyear sign.  I hesitated for a moment, went around a few people who were backing off, and looked up ahead.  The riders ahead of the gap had momentarily gotten disorganized and started to mushroom across the right lane.  I figured, "what the hell," and put my head down, motioning Tim to catch my wheel as I went by him.  Ramping it up to 30 or 31 mph I closed on the front group pretty quickly and with my legs starting to load up hammered past most of it on the left, easing over as I started to fade so Tim could attack, which he did.  Woody must have been expecting it, though, because he jumped just as Tim came past him and they battled it out for the sprint, which I think Woody won.  Apparently having a leadout from someone who's a foot shorter than you is not a recipe for success.  When Woody and Tim turned off on Bullard (they had parked out there) the pace eased up quite a bit.  I think everyone was getting pretty well fried by then.  I limped back home with Daniel dreaming of ice-cold Coke and Popsicles.

So after another afternoon and evening of packing and sorting, followed by a sweaty two mile walk back home, I checked out early with plans for a Monday morning recovery ride.  It was nice out there this morning as I spun along by myself, rarely exceeding 16 mph, and contemplating the recent rumor that the Jefferson Levee District is planning on putting up signage restricting group rides on the levee bike path. Ironic.  They were the cyclists who originally pushed for the bike path, which is technically a "multi-use" path, but if enough iPod pedestrians make U-turns in front of enough cyclists and crack their earbudded heads on the pavement the risk management people always see restricting, or eliminating, the cyclists as the solution.  I suspect that the morning training ride group isn't really the problem, however.  Whenever I've ridden up there in the afternoon I've seen a lot more crazy riding, and walking.  People on aerobars wearing earphones swerving around pedestrians wearing earphones.  Yikes.  Accidents waiting to happen.