Damned Cold

After last weekend's nice weather and even nicer rides, I forced myself out the door Monday morning on a much colder and brutally windy day. I didn't want to lose the momentum from the prior week's training, and although an easy recovery day was clearly needed, it turned into a slow and painful little ride all alone up on the levee.

By the next morning I was already starting to feel a sore throat coming on and since the weather had gotten even colder I decided to skip Tuesday morning.  It was all downhill from there.  Later that afternoon I went out and bought a box of zinc throat lozenges in hopes of at least slowing down viral replication long enough for my immune system to get the upper hand. Perhaps it helped, but at any rate I spent Wednesday at home, mostly in bed, as the soreness progressed closer and closer to my lungs. By Thursday I was feeling a bit better and although I made it in to work I skipped riding once again.  The thing I was trying to avoid was having the damned cold get into my chest, and since we were in the middle of an unusual cold snap that had the morning temperatures down into the low 40s, I figured riding would just be a bad idea.

So on Friday there was a small group planning on riding to Slidell in the morning.  I had the day off from work and the weather looked like it would be excellent.  The sore throat was gone and although there was a little lingering head and chest congestion, there was no cough and no fever.  My plan was to ride out to meet the group at the lakefront and see how it went.  If it got fast, or I started feeling badly, I'd turn around and limp home.  Considering the makeup of the seven rider group that I found out there, I was not expecting to see Slidell. 

Fortunately, everyone was on the same page and the pace on the way out remained steady and smooth at around 22 mph.  I claimed a spot at the back of the paceline after telling everyone that I wouldn't be taking pace, and enjoyed the exceptionally smooth ride offered up by a small group of well-experienced riders.  After the turnaround at Slidell I decided to get in on the action for the stretch back down Chef Highway and was surprised to find the legs ready and able.  Still, despite all of the wheelsucking I'd done, there was not denying that 92 miles at an average speed of 20.5 mph is still 92 miles any way you cut it.  My legs were sore, but otherwise I was feeling quite optimistic that I'd somehow averted the worst of that damned cold without losing a whole week of training.

Saturday morning I rolled out in the dark to meet the Giro.  The turnout prospect of warming temperatures and sunshine resulted in a rather large turnout this morning.  I was feeling pretty good under the circumstances and would have even taken a few pulls along Chef Highway if there had been any way of getting up to the front without literally pushing people out of the way. The pace was fast, but the wind was with us and so even the 27-29 mph pace along Hayne was insufficient to string things out very much. I latched onto Mark's wheel for the Venetian Isles sprint, backing off after the first 100 meters or so at 34 mph.  A moment later a string of riders came flying past on the left as I eased over to the right edge of the road.  The ride back was pretty typical and my plan to contest the Goodyear sprint was foiled when we caught the Fortier Blvd. stoplight and everything came to a stop.  Later, along Hayne, Charlie flatted and a few of us stopped for him as the bulk of the group, most of which was still together, continued on.  Tomorrow I'll do another Giro Ride before domestic entanglements consume the rest of Easter day.  So despite missing three days of riding I guess I'll end up with 220+ miles for the week which won't be too bad under the circumstances.