Off Sunday, Monday Off

It was good long weekend for riding, although we're now starting to wish for just a little bit of rain around here.  The temperatures are working their way into summer, and lots of riders are schlepping two or three bottles on routine two-hour training rides already.  The 3-day Memorial Day weekend offered a couple of nice twists.  On Sunday there was the Feliciana Road Race, a nice nearby race on good roads with some decent terrain and even some partial shade.  Then on Monday was the now-traditional Memorial Day ride where we  visit the Chalmette Battlefield, Metairie Cemetery, and the WWII museum.

The Saturday Giro was kind of interesting.  A number of riders were planning on racing the next day, so I was expecting things to be a little subdued.  The ride out to Venetian Isles, however, was really not particularly subdued, averaging around 26 mph for the most part. The return trip turned out to be much more civilized and was in general slow enough for conversation, at least at the back. I wasn't feeling terrible, but on the other hand I wasn't feeling great either.  By the time I got home I was beginning to realize that summer is here.  The jersey was wet, the glasses coated in sweat, and my single large water bottle empty.

I was glad to see a couple of New Orleans expatriates who have been living in Texas, Colorado, and now West Virginia, which is one of those states I'd probably have trouble picking out on a map. Traci and Gary have been very active racers in road, mountain bike and cyclocross for a long time and I was glad to see that they were both obviously in good shape.  Neither was having any trouble with the faster sections of the ride, and as usual Traci seemed always to be in a good position near the front of the group.

So Sunday morning I was feeling kind of off as I drove up to the race in St. Francisville with Brian Baum, arriving a little later than planned.  Brian, who hadn't pre-registered, had to talk his way into the race since for some reason they didn't want to register any race-day riders that late.  Anyway, he did manage to get his bib number for the Masters race.  Our field was about typical for this year, which is to say the combined 40+/55+ had only twenty. The 66-mile, 3-lap race wasn't likely to be very easy, however, considering the riders who were on the starting line.  I hadn't been feeling too sharp and probably should have done an easy ride instead of the Giro on Saturday, but that didn't stop me from accidentally rolling off the front with a couple other riders practically from the start. With most of the horsepower still back in the pack, I knew we wouldn't last long and wasn't putting much effort into the break.  I figured it would be a nice smooth warm-up and might shake something loose when the chase started.  We were out there for seven or eight miles at around 24 mph before a line of riders flashed past at about 28 mph.  I had to make a pretty significant effort to get up to speed there.  There were some attacks and a counter took Brian Baum and Kevin Landry off the front.  I smiled.  This looked like a good deal for Brian since few of the riders in the race knew him (he loves to time trial and can motor along forever) and Kevin had five teammates in the pack who would definitely not be pulling. Jerry Simon, who had only one or two teammates who could help, would have to work pretty hard if he wanted to close the gap.  Unlike some of the races earlier this year there were a few other riders willing to pitch in for chasing duties. I was feeling like crap and was pulling through only when the pace was a little slower, but in the back of my mind I was thinking that there were enough strong riders in the pack to have a chance of catching without forcing teammate Mark McMurry or me to kill ourselves.

That little dot at the back?  That would be I.

Unfortunately, they had already given the duo up the road way too much rope.  I know I heard they had 90 seconds at some point, probably with about 25 miles to go, and thinking they weren't going to be caught. We were only halfway through the second lap and Jerry was already getting frustrated with having to do so much work at the front and having so many riders sitting in.  At one point the pack split and I had to put my head down and motor at 30 mph for a while to regain contact, unfortunately bringing most of the rest of the group with me because the first group kind of eased up as I caught.  By then I was on the ropes.  We were about mid-way through the last lap when we saw Brian up the road by himself and I knew the group would catch him.  I had no clue how far up Kevin was, but we never saw him and once we caught Brian everything started slowing down as everyone decided to race for second place.  Brian was starting to cramp up and I wasn't feeling too good myself.  The last few miles have a couple of significant climbs, the last of which tops out about 300 meters from the finish.  I usually have a lot of trouble with those 300 meters, even under ideal conditions, and conditions for me were already starting to deteriorate.  One thing at which I really suck is the matched sprint.  Accelerating from zero to 30 is just not something I am built for.  Unfortunately, the end of this race was starting to look like it would be a 12-person drag race.  Of course there was an attack as we hit the last hill which is about a kilometer from the finish, and I didn't really have a ton of trouble with that, but then it slowed down - a lot - before the next attack.  I was already too far back and when that went it seemed like I just went backwards.  I really don't know why I had so little power at that point, but I just had nothing and most of the group started the sprint.  I pretty much stopped pedaling with 200 meters to go and rolled across the finish line in like 10th place.  It was kind of disappointing.

We had Monday off, and when I got up with surprisingly sore quads I immediately thought to myself, "You have been spending way too much time sitting in the draft and way too little time sprinting and climbing."  It wasn't exactly a revelation.  I rode out to Starbucks to meet a group that would then be riding to the French Quarter to meet up for the Memorial Day ride.  For reasons that are beyond me they departed almost an hour before we were supposed to meet downtown, despite the fact that it's a ten-minute ride to get there, so I rode halfway there with my still-hot Americano in one hand.  We finally got rolling a bit after 8:00 after a history lesson by Kenny, with occasional commentary by a local street person who was drinking out of an almost empty half-gallon bottle of Smirnoff.

We made our way out to the Chalmette Battlefield, came back to town and then out to Metairie Cemetery, and then back downtown to the WWII museum.  There we gathered outside as a 93-year old Marine from New Orleans told us all about his experiences during the war.  This guy, who still runs 3 miles every morning and works at the museum, was a Pearl Harbor when it was attacked (and shot down a Zero), and spent the rest of the war at practically every single battle in the Pacific. In the middle of all of that he came home on leave, met a girl at a dance, married her the next day, and shipped out again.  Then, after the war, rather than going home he was sent to a few other places, including Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Amazing guy. You would have guessed the guy was 65 years old, but whatever, he was one damned lucky soldier.  Later that evening I watched Pearl Harbor on TV.  Nice way to finish out Memorial Day weekend, even though it is only barely acknowledged as a holiday down here.