Outages

NOLA Power Outages Thursday morning

Well, we survived Hurricane Isaac without much damage, which is more than I can say for most of the trees around here.  It's Thursday morning and the power has been out since around 2 am yesterday.  At the height of the storm I could feel the house moving in the stronger wind gusts, which is rather disconcerting to day the least.  The map shows the current power situation around 30 hours later (the red lines are the ones without power).  There's no telling how long it will be before we're back on the grid, but I think most of the damage was due to trees taking down power lines, so I guess it could be anywhere from twelve hours to a few days. There are two trees down within sight of my house, one of which took down the power lines, and the other looks like it just took the telephone/cable lines.  Although we had an overnight curfew (it was quite peaceful), traffic is picking up on S. Claiborne now despite the lack of traffic signals.  We have had a few breaks from the rain, but for the most part it has been raining for two days now.  There's some standing water in the low spots of the basement -- seepage from the completely saturated ground outside, and without ventilation it's getting kind of musty down there. At least the cloud cover has kept the temperatures down and it's been rather pleasant sitting out on the front porch enjoying the breeze. The police department has been patrolling regularly and a few looting arrests have been made, so things are much better in that regard than they were seven years ago, and the new floodgates and pumping stations worked without a hitch, so despite a huge amount of rainfall, things were generally under control and there was never any hint of street flooding near my house.

This house, built in the 1920's was designed for New Orleans in the pre-air-conditioning era, and fortunately most of those features have been preserved.  The porch, window screens, casement windows, etc. have really made things tolerable. The neighbors came over for dinner by candlelight last night and even though there was no a/c, the breeze coming through the open windows made it quite pleasant.

I'm guessing I won't be getting out on the bike again today unless it really clears up.  Even if it does, there's a ton of clean-up that needs to be done, and unfortunately I have a brother in law who has been in intensive care in Baton Rouge since yesterday, so we may be driving up there some time soon.  Since I-10 is closed around LaPlace and the Causeway is still closed, it could be a long trip.  We may be able to wait until things are open again, however.  We're supposed to be back at work tomorrow and classes at Tulane are set to resume on Tuesday.  It's about time to give the generator a little break since I'm still not sure where I will be able to find gas......

Sneaking One In

Starting back down the river from Ormond

Last night when Mignon sent an email out to the group asking if anyone was thinking about trying to sneak in a final pre-hurricane ride in the morning, I thought the chances were slim.  As it turned out, however, Tropical Storm Isaac (it remains to be seen whether it was even achieve hurricane status) hadn't really gotten its act together overnight and I awoke to dry streets.  It was, of course, pretty windy, but once the sun started to come up you could see that the sky didn't look all that threatening.  Up on the levee we had Tim, Woody, Mignon, and (!) Richard Hughes, in addition to myself as we rolled out at 6:15.  Most of the ride out to Ormond had a quartering crosswind, and the sections where it was more tailwind than crosswind got pretty fast.  The farther out we got, the more I started thinking about how hard the 20+ mile ride back was going to be.  Indeed, the ride back was hard.  A few times I almost lost it when Tim pulled off and the wind hit me full-force. I was already off of the levee and on my way down Oak Street when it started raining, so I guess our timing was pretty good. After riding I went out and filled up the neighbor's two 5-gallon gas cans, stopped in at Freret Hardware to say hello to Vivian and pick up some lamp oil just in case we end up without power for a long time.  I'm really not thinking this one is going to be too bad here in the city, although the lake is already starting to flood the area between the seawall and the levee.  I did spend some time down in the basement moving some things up off of the ground as a precaution, but here at the house I know that we won't get any water in our basement until it's at least six feet deep in Lakeview.

The Cruel Truth - Take Warning

It's not called "The Race of Truth" for nothing, and the cruel truth was that I wasn't even remotely prepared for it.  Anticipating disaster, I'd stopped by Vivan's house on Saturday and picked up her time trial wheels, hoping they might at least minimize the impact of what I was already expecting to be a lackluster time trial performance.  Donald Davis was arriving at the house Saturday afternoon, so I had already gotten the results spreadsheet and officiating supplies ready, and had even picked up a new pop-up shelter for the club to replace the one that had been flattened by the storm at the Tour de Louisiane back in June.  Everything was ready, except of course me.

Sunday morning I was on the road to LaPlace just before 6 am with the car loaded up with stuff for the event -- generator, shelter, chair, race clock, traffic cones, table, flags, banners, clipboards, computer, printer, etc.  I was already tired.  Maybe it was that half bottle of wine I'd had over dinnner? Peake Racing was on hand with lots of volunteers, so once we handed out all of the race numbers and got the first few riders started, I squeezed into my skinsuit and rolled around for a few minutes before my start time.  I wouldn't call it an actual warmup, but my plan was to start out easy and work my way into it.  There was what felt like a light ENE wind blowing, so I was expecting a mild crosswind with a bit of a tailwind on the way back.  I started out smoothly, rolling up to 26 or 27 mph rather quickly with what felt like a little tailwind.  A couple of miles later the road turned just slightly to the right and my speed started dropping quickly.  I felt like I had no power at all, and I guess I was only five miles into the 40 km Time Trial when I saw 22 mph on the computer and thought, "This is ridiculous!"  If all I could muster was a pathetic 22 mph under those conditions, I was seriously questioning why I was out there.  I forced myself back up to 24 or so, but knew my ride was basically over as whatever motivation I might have had went right out the window.  Some days you just don't have anything to offer, and this was one of those. Mitch, who had started a minute behind me, went sailing by before the turnaround.  A few miles later as I rounded the pylon at 20 km Jorge powered past me as well.  I held his pace for a couple of miles, but eventually backed off again, dropping down to 22 mph.  Grant passed me about halfway back.  I'd have to say that was about the worst time trial I've done in twenty years.  I dried off and sat down at the computer to start entering finish times, and about halfway through realized that they didn't look right at all.  The starter had not written down the actual start times, but instead had written down the time of day, so I didn't have the easy cross-checks that I normally do.  It took me quite a while to figure out that I had forgotten about the 5-minute gap between the 20km riders and the 40km riders, and had to then correct all of the start times.  Anyway, we eventually got everything done, with a couple of mistakes in the Cat. 1/2s because I got a couple of incorrect times that were relayed via cellphone from the finish line.  Amazingly, Frank Moak came on top with a 54:33.  How does he do that?  On a good day I would have been thrilled with a 58:00 myself, and this was definitely not a good day (I coasted in at 1:03:35).

By mid-afternoon on Sunday the news media and city in general was going in to full-on hurricane panic mode as the storm track for Tropical Storm Isaac had shifted more to the west and was now heading directly for the city.  At some point in the early afternoon I was sitting at the computer working on the results when I heard a loud noise.  I got up to see if something had fallen in the kitchen, and checked down in the basement to see if maybe the big pop-up tent or something had fallen over, but couldn't find anything out of the ordinary.  Later than night when I was removing the clip-ons from my bike I picked up the wheel bag containing the front wheel I'd borrowed from Vivian and noticed that the front tire was flat.  When I opened the bag I found everything coated in a white powder.  The sidewall had completely blown out.  I guess the tire was a little old.  At least it hadn't happened during my time trial.  Well, actually, maybe that would have been a good thing, under the circumstances, as I distinctly remember wishing I'd get a flat so I could quit.  Anyway, I got the results posted to the website, uploaded them to the USAC database, and then met with the Tulane Cycling officers to get a start on the club's plans for the year, budget, etc.  By 10 pm I got about halfway through updating the LCCS points rankings before I started falling asleep at the keyboard and decided to call it a night.  Unfortunately I was then "urged" to go out into the night in search of gasoline thanks to the increasingly alarming newscasters.  The closest gas station had a line about two blocks long, the next two were not selling gas, either because they had sold out or were waiting for the price to go up.  I ended up filling up the car way out by Elmwood.  Anyway, this morning the forecast, IMHO, looks more encouraging and I'm not really expecting to have to evacuate the city for this one.

As I climbed the path  up to the levee this morning I glanced over my right shoulder at the red sky and thought, "...sailors take warning."  A Tropical Storm was heading our way.  It was relatively cool and breezy, and of course there was nobody to ride with, but I figured I'd better put in a few miles since the weather would probably become an issue on Tuesday and Wednesday.  Out near the turnaround I ran into a rider who recently moved to town and with whom we'd had breakfast after Saturday's Giro Ride (and whose name of course I can't recall right now), so at least I had some company for the return trip.

Blasts from the Past

Late last night I got an email from Tim Fitzgerald, and attached to it was a black and white photo from the 1984 Race Across Louisiana.  I have to admit it was a little hard to admit how long ago that was.  Anyway, I figured I'd put it up on the NOBC History page at some point and went to sleep.

It was relatively cool this morning as I rode out to meet the 6:15 am ride on the levee.  It was another reminder that summer was coming to an end and hurricane season was reaching its peak.  As the mornings get darker, riders start showing up later and later, so I wasn't surprised to find just a couple of riders there when I arrived, nor was I surprised when a quite a few others suddenly materialized within just a couple of minutes. It was a pretty normal Wednesday ride with everyone taking long steady pulls, all within a narrow range of a couple mph of 20.  The one non-normal thing was the presence of Adam Watts (of Bicycle World fame) who I probably hadn't seen on the ride in six months. As remarkable as his presence was, the fact that he had promoted one of the Race Across Louisiana races around the time the photo I'd received seven hours before had been taken was even more remarkable.  Anyway, I'd been planning on riding out to the lakefront after work for the training race, but by the time I got home it was nearly 6 pm already, so I opened a bottle of Malbec instead ..... using a Campagnolo corkscrew, of course.

Tuesday

Decorated Water Meter Cover on Oak Street

It's that time of year when it seems each morning is noticeably darker than the previous one.  I don't like that.  It signals the beginning of Fall, and those of us who get up before 6am are the first to feel its effects.  I took a few minutes to put the lights on the bike and headed out just as the dawn was filtering over the horizon.  Down on Freret Street, as I rode through a little cloud of marijuana smoke and approached the 4-way stop that I ride through every morning, a few school children waited for their bus.  Ahhh, the telltale signs of public school back in session. I should mention, for the benefit of those from elsewhere, that here in New Orleans, that public schools here are probably not what they are where you live.  My aunt, who was a school teacher, used to have a great story to explain the fact that one segment of the population here has a rather unique accent that sounds a lot like Brooklynese.  Way back in the early part of the century New Orleans already had a well-established parochial school system. The public school system was populated largely by recent immigrants.  It was also a disaster, so they city brought in a new director who happened to be from Brooklyn.  He then proceeded to bring in a lot of teachers from Brooklyn.  Since most of the children in the schools were from immigrant families, they learned English primarily from their school teachers.  Anyway, it's a nice story.

So there was a pretty big group up on the levee this morning, and to make matters worse there were a lot of other people up on the levee enjoying the relatively cool morning, or perhaps starting to train for the annual MS Tour ride.  As a result, it was a lot of stop-and-go for the first few miles today.  Otherwise it was a pretty uneventful ride and I ended up spending a lot of time sitting on the back of the paceline kind of zoned out. It wasn't until the last few miles that I snapped out of it and got back to work.  I stopped in at Zotz for a quick cup of coffee on the way home and noticed that someone had decorated all of the water meter covers.  The design on these old covers has become something of a New Orleans icon despite the fact that they were all cast in Wabash.  At any rate, you can actually by jewelry modeled after our water meter covers.

The Far Corner: Rocky Mount Weekend

Hanging on in the Cat. 1/2/3 Criterium

It wasn't a great plan, but at least it was a plan.  A grant proposal that I expected to come down to the wire on Friday had already eliminated any reasonable option I might have had of driving up to Shreveport early.  Instead, I was resigned to a 1:30 am departure for the long drive up to the far northwest corner of the "L" state. On the plus side, since I was the only crazy enough to do something like this, I had lots of room in the Volvo.  The forecast for the weekend in New Orleans was dismal, so I figured that perhaps there would be a bit less rain a few hundred miles north.  I arrived at Rocky Mount right on schedule, leaving just about an hour to register before the 8:05 am start and get my act together.  I was pretty sleepy, but I figured I'd knock out the road race and have plenty of time to catch up on sleep because there was no afternoon time trial this year. I signed up for the 55+ race since the 40+ and 55+ would all be racing together and I figured my chances of winning my entry fee back would be better in the 55+. At the start we had a good-sized field of 30 with riders from Louisiana, Arkansas, Mississippi, Texas and Florida.  One of the nice things about this particular race location is that it brings together riders who don't always get to race with each other.  It's a longer drive from New Orleans than from Dallas. 

As expected, I wasn't feeling too sharp for the start, and when they announced a KOM prize for the first time up the "big" hill, about 3 miles into the official race (about five, counting the neutral section). Naturally there was a sprint for that, but fortunately nobody tried to capitalize on it and everything came back together right away.  Two riders rolled off the front around that time and the pack gave them quite a bit of rope before there was any sort of response, and I was really wondering if they were gone for good.  Donald and a couple others finally put the hammer down and reeled them back in.  There were a number of rather sharp attacks on the second of the three laps, but by then the rest of the group was apparently not willing to take too many chances and nothing stuck for long, so we came into the third lap all together.  One bit of excitement was when we were coming up to the right-hand turn #3 and half of the field was way over the center line approaching the somewhat downhill turn.  Suddenly a truck coming from the left turned right into the group, and luckily there was still just enough time for riders to get out of the way as the surprised driver turned onto the shoulder. 

I knew that at least a couple of riders were definitely going to attack the big climb on that final lap, so I made sure to stay toward the front of the group.  The big guy who I think had been in the early break took another shot at it, but it didn't last long and the pace slowed down again.  The whole race was like that.  There would be a really fast attack that wouldn't last very long, and then it would slow down when it came back together.  By the third lap I was actually feeling better on the climbs and as we started up the big hill I was keeping my options open in expectation of a hard attack.  We were about halfway up when I heard a crash behind me.  Practically simultaneously there was a attack at the front.  I never had a chance to look back, and only mumbled, "Damn," as I lugged my overgeared self over the last half of the climb and around the right-hander at the top.  The lead riders kept the pressure on and the next couple of miles of rollers were really fast and hard.  As it turned out, the crash had split the field and the surge afterward had made it impossible for many riders to get back on, so as we made the right turn with maybe seven or eight miles to go the group was down to I guess eight or nine riders.  There were a couple of short attacks, but most riders in the group were resigned to a sprint finish up the really big hill to Rocky Mount, so the pace started to really lag, dropping down into the teens now and then.  I looked back and could see a small group of three chasing.  At the speed we were going, I figured they would catch, and we were about a mile or so from the finish when they did.  The finish is a departure from the race circuit and is basically a one-kilometer climb that tops out 250 meters before the finish.  As we started up the climb I was behind Donald Davis and could tell he was anxious to go. He was momentarily trapped behind the front row which hadn't strung out yet, and as soon as there was an opening he attacked.  It was too early for me and I had to let a few more wheels go before making a big effort.  Coming over the top I found myself kind of in-between a lead group and the rest of the group, and rolled across the line in 6th, I think.  That was good for 1st in the 55+ race, so I was happy to have covered my entry fee!

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening sleeping and catching up on the LAMBRA LCCS scoring, finally getting that all up to date.

Sunday morning was a criterium at a community college.  It was a nice but very open course with one section with some nice technical turns, but then a long half-kilometer that was basically a big semicircle. The masters race was fairly fast, but no at all steady because of repeated attacks.  A couple of miles into the 45-minute race Donald went to the front and just hammered for most of a lap.  That was enough to split half the riders right off the back.  As expected, the finish stretch around a long right-hand curve got really fast and since I wasn't sufficiently motivated I ended up I guess 8th or 9th or something, but still 1st among the 55+ riders, so I was happy to have covered the hotel bill too!  I wasn't really very happy about that. My sprint felt really weak. 

After watching one or two of the other races, and since I had to stay until the end in order to bring some of the LAMBRA equipment back with me for the upcoming time trial, I was lured into entering the Cat. 1/2/3 race by the discounted second-race $10 entry fee.  My plan for this one was simple.  Try not to get dropped and see if you get lucky at the end.  With none of the Herring riders in attendance, the LaS'port team had everyone out-numbered and out-gunned, so their plan was obviously to launch attack after attack, which they did nicely.  Luckily for me the other riders from S3 and various other teams were being pretty attentive. I had teammate Robert Monahan in this race, so since it was my second of the day I figured I could take a few chances and helped chase down a break or two.  As often happens, I was actually feeling better for this race than I had for the Masters race. I can't explain that, but it isn't unusual at all.  I may not have a lot of snap left in my legs, but in general I don't usually feel like the first race takes all that much out me otherwise.  Anyway, as you might expect I was spending a lot of time near the tail end of the field as the LaS'port traded attacks up front.  The problem with hanging out at the back of this race was that these guys were going through the technical section way too slowly.  I don't know what the problem was, but every lap I'd be on the brakes coming in to the first of the two tight turns, and then having to sprint out of the last one as the accordion came back together. At one point I saw Robert drifting back to where I was and told him he needed to get back up front asap.  So despite LaS'port's best efforts, I think everything came back together by the end.  I had moved up into a good position at the start of the last lap, and was surprised to still be about fifth wheel after the technical section, but then with only about 300 meters to go the riders on the front inexplicably eased up and we started getting streamed.  My sprint again felt weak and I ended up 9th, easing up just before the line as Robert came past to take the last spot that was in the money.  It was a great weekend, made even better by the fact that back home they had nothing but rain, some of it quite severe.  Around 2 pm I hopped back onto I-49, set the cruise control, and settled back for the long drive back, having timed it just right to miss the last of the rain as I came in to town.

Track, Time Trials and Taxes

6:33 am, Saturday:  "What about this weather? Is race going to be rained out?" I checked the radar and was rather surprised to see a line of thunderstorms between me and the Team Time Trial Championship course up in Vacherie.  The start wasn't until 9 am, so there was still hope.  Donald Davis, who would be riding with three Midsouth Masters riders, had spent the night at the house on his way in from Pensacola.  We headed out at 7 am to make what would normally be an easy one-hour drive, but by the time we were crossing the spillway we were in the middle of a pretty severe storm. Soon I was down to 50 mph and straining to see where I was going.  Up on the roof both of my track bikes were getting a thorough cleaning.  The Team Time Trial was just the first part of my weekend plans.

I was scheduled to ride the 29 mile TTT with teammates Keith Andrews, Mark McMurry and Chuck Bell. We had a second team lined up as well, but soon after we arrived a couple of members of that one had to cancel.  Also, soon after we arrived, the rain started again.  We ended up pushing the start back by a full hour, but by then it was down to a light drizzle.  The course was on a freshly asphalted road that felt pretty fast.  It looked like we'd be starting out with a significant headwind, but in fact it was barely noticeable.  We started out nice and easy, keeping it at 25-26 mph most of the way to the turnaround.  It was really smooth, which should have been a clue that we weren't going quite fast enough.  I found myself taking pulls of 50-60 pedal strokes before my legs would start to load up and I'd drop back. Since I was by far the smallest on the team, however, I felt fully recovered by the time my next pull came up.  We tiptoed around the turnaround on the still-wet street and settled into a pace of around 27 mph for most of the return trip.  A mile or so before the finish Mark took a really long pull, ramping it up to about 30 mph, at which point Keith dropped off the back.  Then, when Mark pulled off Chuck maintained the pace.  Unfortunately Mark didn't realize that Keith was gone and a big gap opened.  I yelled to Chuck to ease up and backed off myself.  We were still going pretty fast, and were probably only 300 meters from the finish, so I doubt it cost us much.  Unfortunately, just as we got to the finish line a big semi stopped in the right lane ahead of us.  I was on the front at the time and started to go around on the right but spotted someone with a dog standing there and thought better of it, switching over and going around in the left lane that was fortunately clear.  We ended up with an OK time of 1:05:09 which turned out to be only 3rd in the masters and 8th overall.  On the plus side, I wasn't particularly tired or sore afterward!  It was one of the smoothest team time trials I've ever done.

So after the TTT, I jumped in the car and continued up the river to Baton Rouge where I was scheduled to officiate the LSU collegiate track meet that afternoon and the next morning.  They had an OK turnout for a track race, but of course it all took longer than planned (doesn't it always?) and by 10 pm everyone was more than ready to call it a day.  My Blue track bike got a lot of use, as did the vintage front wheel from my Viner.  Despite the fact that a number of riders were riding the track for the very first time, the races all went pretty smoothly and there were no crashes, much to my relief. Things wrapped up on Sunday around 1 pm so I was back home in New Orleans by mid-afternoon with lots of time to get ready for my next adventure, getting my property tax assessment reduced to something more reasonable.

So Monday morning after gathering up the necessary dated photos, insurance papers, comparables, etc., I headed over to City Hall where I expected to wait in line for a couple of hours in order to meet with an assessor about the 300% increase in my assessment.  What I found was beyond belief.  There were a couple hundred people lining the entire block-long length of the ground floor hallway.  I took my place and the end of the line, writing my name on a paper tablet next to the number 460.  Six hours later I was still in line in the hallway.  Someone came down from the 4th floor office and started handing out tickets to people who wanted to come back first thing in the morning rather than take a chance on being able to see an assessor that day.  I took a ticket.  it was after 4 pm and I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since 8 am, so I figured that any negotiating skills I might have had already been severely compromised.  So this morning I was back at City Hall bright and early and was ushered practically immediately up to the 4th floor ahead of the two hundred or so people already waiting in line in the hallway.  My optimism started to sag a couple of hours later when I was still waiting in the 4th floor hallway outside the assessor's office.  Finally we were called into the office where we were given new tickets and told to wait once again.  I guess another hour went by before my number came up and I got to sit down with a Service Representative who was basically doing triage for the actual appraisers.  She looked up my house on the computer and it was immediately obvious that they had estimated the house's living space by about 100%.  Fortunately I had brought an old appraisal with the correct number.  So I got a new ticket and moved to a new line where I waited another hour or so to finally see an actual appraiser who immediately corrected the square footage number, pulled up similar properties in the neighborhood, and said "Looks like most houses are at around $280k.  How's that for you?"  After agreeing to this highly scientific assessment, which reduced my appraised value by over $185,000, I was finally out of there,wondering if I should have held out for an even lower number.  Now I'm basically a couple of days behind with work, and in particular a $3.4M grant proposal that is due on Friday.  It may be a couple more days before those race results get uploaded to USAC and I get the LCCS points updated!

Wednesdays on the Levee

It's interesting the way that group rides evolve.  The morning levee rides, for example, have become reasonably predictable with each day of the week having developed its own little routine.  Wednesdays, coming of course the day after what is typically a fairly hard Tuesday ride, have become the days for long pulls in a smooth, small paceline.  Today was pretty much the definition of the current Wednesday ride.  I don't think the group ever numbered more than six or seven, and except for a few brief surges the pace didn't venture much outside of a narrow range from 21 to 24 mph.  On these days I'll typically take pulls of maybe 100 pedal strokes, as compared to 40 or 50 on a faster ride.  Some riders take slightly longer pulls at slightly slower speeds, others take shorter pulls at slightly higher speeds, but the differences are small -- on the order of one or two mph at best -- so it's always pretty easy to stay in contact.  Sometimes where the rider in front surges more than that, I'll just let a little gap open and then slowly close it up rather than make the more sudden acceleration that would have been needed to stay on the wheel in front.  This, of course, is not a particularly wise tactic if you are in either an actual race or a fast training ride.  Anyway, it was a typical ride today and on the way home I stopped in at Zotz for an iced coffee.

After getting home I spent about an hour searching all over the place for an old property appraisal and taking photos of the house to back up my upcoming trip down to the city assessor's office next week.  I've also tracked down the recent listings and sale prices of a couple of houses in the next block, all of which have a lot more living space and other amenities than mine but sold for way, way less than the amount the city would like to base my property tax bill on.  In the process of rummaging through files and storage boxes I ran across an old photo of me in what must have been one of the very first bike races I ever did.  It's from 1972 and I'm riding my recently upgraded Atala that had cost $110 new.  I'd just swapped out the steel cottered cranks for a new Nervar Star alloy cotterless crankset and upgraded the steel wheels to fiamme red-label tubulars. I'm wearing the NOBC club jersey, but also cut-off shorts and tennis shoes, and of course the old classic leather helmet, and you've got to love the hairy legs.  In the background is the Southern Yacht Club (destroyed by Katrina and later rebuilt) and the old Coast Guard lighthouse (also destroyed by Katrina but now in the process of being rebuilt and restored).  That might even be my girlfriend's convertible Oldsmobile Cutlass parked along the lakefront.  Fortunately, I haven't changed at all since then......

Out to the End

End of old section, start of new.

I heard the garbage truck outside the bedroom window Saturday morning as I awoke.  It seemed darker than usual for 5:45 am, but I didn't think much about it as I got dressed for the Saturday Giro.  Down in the basement I fill water bottles under the single bare light bulb, and before putting on my riding shoes I opened the door to bring in the empty garbage can.  As I stepped out into the thick humid dawn I felt something hit my face.  A raindrop?? A light rain was just beginning to fall.  I went back upstairs to have a look at the weather radar. 

End of the path near Norco.

It didn't look good. 

I sat there or a few minutes watching the animated radar and wondering if I should pump up the tires on the rain bike.  Then I heard the first clap of thunder. I shut everything down and climbed back into bed, still wearing my team kit and put in a couple more hours of sleep while the rainstorm drifted through.  I heard there were a few riders at the Starbucks who sat around drinking coffee until finally throwing in the towel and going home.

So by 10:30 am or so the rain was over and it was looking a lot better.  I've been feeling rather mileage deprived lately, having missed riding on Thursday entirely, so I thought I'd head out to the levee and ride all the way out to the end.  The bike path had been extended upriver recently, and in fact was not yet officially open, and I thought I'd go check out the new asphalt.  It was already getting pretty warm by the time I left.  Considering the heat and the fact I'd be riding solo, and the likelihood of a little headwind for the return trip, I stayed in a low gear and tried to keep my speed between 18 and 20 mph.  The bike path was still rather deserted as I headed up the river, but most of the water had evaporated. I could hear my seatpost creaking inside the aluminum seat tube and knew that water and grit had finally worked their way down in there. Somewhere way out around the Luling bridge I saw Rolan riding toward me.  "I'm going all the way to the end," I yelled as he slowed and made a U-turn to join me.  A couple of miles later we came to a barricade across the bike path.  On the other side was fresh blacktop, still missing its center line stripe. 

Naturally we went around it.  Over the next few miles we had to detour down onto River Road a couple of times to get around pipes near Norco, but back up on the levee the asphalt continued.  A little while later, though, we came to the end of the paved road, maybe a mile before the Spillway, and turned back.  Rolan turned off about halfway back as the heat got hotter and humidity got heavier.  I sucked the last drops of water out of one bottle and started in on the other, riding all the way to Audubon Park and adding a couple of laps around the road there or good measure.  I was a little surprised how tired I was by the time I got home, but at least I'd gotten in 56 miles on the bike.  I was already wishing I'd gotten in the car and made the 6 hour drive to race in Oxford, but complications on Friday, including a dying car battery and ridiculous property tax assessment had pushed that a few spots down on my priority list.

So Sunday morning looked a lot better as I rode out to the Giro Ride.  Unfortunately I'd miss my pre-Giro coffee because I'd fallen back asleep after shutting off the alarm clock.  I'd be there in plenty of time to make the ride, but my usual twenty minutes of caffeine loading were definitely out.  There were a few key riders missing, of course, thanks to the races in Oxford, and there were a couple more TT bikes than usual (the Team TT is next weekend), but turnout was still good.  As soon as the pace started to pick up I noticed that my legs felt a little sore.  Really?  From what?  This sort of thing never happened when I was 25, but now it's a fairly frequent occurrence. 

Anyway, the Giro was fairly fast today and even though I wasn't riding aggressively enough to be on the right side of the splits for the sprints, I got a good workout, again went through every drop of water I'd brought, and got home feeling quite empty.  I ended up logging about 250 miles for the week, which it about normal for this time of year.  I've always said that I don't start to feel like I'm in shape until I have a few consecutive 250-mile weeks under my belt.  I heard there was some Olympic bicycle racing going on this week over in England, but you wouldn't know it from NBC's prime-time coverage.  I did, however, see hours of women in bikinis and horses leaping over things and even British celebrities and royalty cheering for the track races that they didn't show.