Summer Gunk

I jumped onto the bike this morning, took a few pedal strokes, and realized it was still on the big ring from the prior day's ride.  I pushed on the left shifter, felt it click three times, and waited for the chain to drop down to the small chainring.  It didn't.  I reached down and felt for the cable alongside the down tube to see if it was slack. It was.  That meant that, as usual for this time of year, the derailleur or bottom bracket cable guide was all gunked up.  This kind of thing seems to happen around the end of the summer each year.  After a few months of dripping sweat, and often Gatorade, all over the bike, it's not exactly unexpected.  I know the inside of my shifters must be looking a little gunky, but as long as they keep working I'll probably put off doing anything about it until winter.  I'm quite certain that if I were to remove my handlebar tape I'd find the aluminum bars marked with dusty white clumps of oxidation despite the anodized finish. Just the other day I noticed that Taylor was riding his old bike and when I asked him about it he said that his good bike was at the shop where they were trying to figure out how to get the crank arm off since it had welded itself to the axle during the summer. 

The weather forecasters around here are pretty much throwing their hands up about this weekend.  There's a developing depression in the middle of the Gulf right now and it's possible we're in for a stretch of heavy rain. Or maybe not.  Meanwhile the next storm is about to become a hurricane out in the Atlantic. Guess we'll know in a couple of days if we're in for some trouble.

Another Forty Kilometers

I was loading up the car at 5 am and seriously wondering if I really should be considering doing another 40k time trial.  I certainly had ample excuses - a bad night's sleep, a likely headwind, and of course the fact that I was also supposed to be officiating.  There were also the undeniable facts that I'm not very good at it, and I was basically riding a regular road bike with clip-on aero bars. I suppose if I'd been racing every weekend for a couple of months I might well have decided to sit this one out. As it turned out, however, the NBO guys had pulled together plenty enough volunteers, Mark was there to help officiate, and Robin was there to handle course setup.  So I figured, "What the hell?"

After wrapping up registration we got everyone together and started the stopwatches and race clock at precisely 7:50 am and the start line crew headed off to get things going right on time at 8 am.  My start time wasn't for about an hour, so I had lots of time to get my act together.

I still wasn't really up for a full-on time trial effort, and was looking at this one more as a good hard training ride, so when they said go, I took off at maybe an 80% effort level.  By the time I got settled in, I knew this would be a hard one.  The course headed almost straight into a significant north wind for 20 km, and within the first of those I already knew I wouldn't be doing a very good time.  The whole way out I kept fluctuating between going hard and backing off, all the while fearing that I might overdo it and blow up before the end.  My lagging motivation wasn't helping the situation either, and I ended up spending way too much time in the low 20s.  I'd started out at a nice pace, around 26-27 mph, but over the first few miles I saw that speed drop considerably and was soon struggling to hold 24 mph.  Even that didn't last too long.  I'm sure I saw my speed drop down to 20 mph a couple of times.

After the turnaround it quickly became obvious why I'd felt so lousy on the way out.  With the wind at my back I was able to spend a fair amount of time in the 27-28 mph range.  Still, I already knew I wasn't going to go sub-hour that day.  In the end, I posed a time of 1:00:17, finishing just behind Jorge who had started two minutes after me.  After a quick cool-down, I got started on the results.  I was pretty impressed with the winning time of  53:50, considering the wind.  By 11:45 I was back home working on posting the results.

So last night, or should I say this morning, I was awakened by a loud crash right outside my bedroom window. Looking through the blinds I could see that a police car had run into my own parked car.  It was around 4:30 am.  Sheesh.  I pulled on some clothes and went downstairs as three other police cars appeared. I guess it must have been s slow night.  Anyway, I guess I'll be finding out how good the police department's insurance company is.

Little Changes

There's a whole lot of hot weather still to come, but already I'm seeing those little changes that make me think of Fall.  All week, on my commutes up and down Lowerline and Pine streets, there were Tulane students with loaded-up cars and U-hauls moving into the many apartments around here.  On Tuesday I had finally broken down and put the headlight onto the handlebar for the 6 am ride out to the early levee ride.  Although the temperature hasn't really been noticeably cooler, the shortening days are becoming more and more obvious.  People are starting to think about the local MS Tour and our annual pilgrimage to Dahlonega for the Six Gap Century. Today is move-in day at Tulane, which means a steady stream of confused drivers with luggage on their roofs and foreign license plates on their cars.  Meanwhile, The Wife is working on making dinner for about a hundred students for the catholic center.  I spent some time yesterday evening on the start list and results spreadsheet for tomorrow's LAMBRA time trial championship.  It's looking like there will be about zero chance of rain, but a pretty good chance of a north wind.  Yes, I said "north."  With a big high pressure area drifting to the west of us and the big Hurricane Irene to the east, we're getting a little taste of drier air around here.

This morning I rode out to meet the pre-Giro coffee group with both lights blinking and my sunglasses in my pocket.  Since a number of the local riders are planning on riding the time trial tomorrow, including me, I was expecting a relatively civilized Giro Ride today.  Since I'll be both officiating and riding tomorrow, I'm not too focused on doing a spectacular time trial.  I'll be doing this one mainly for the exercise, and probably without much of a warmup, but since it looks like we'll have enough people on hand to handle the start and finish lines, I think I can get away with it.  Based on the Start List that I put up last night, I'll be starting about in the middle, almost an hour after the first rider.  Anyway, as I'd expected, today's Giro wasn't too much of a leg-crusher.  I spent most of the ride toward the back, and although we spent a fair amount of time in the 27-30 mph range, it was definitely a bit less aggressive than usual.  Now I just need to stage everything so I can get out the door by 5:50 or so tomorrow morning -- generator, clock, stand, table, chairs, traffic cones, clipboards, stopwatches, PA system, extension cord, etc. Then I'll need to get my bike cleaned up, tire fixed, and race bag packed.

Lakefront Pile-up

I was feeling unusually tired all day at work yesterday, which was keeping me kind of on the fence about doing the Wednesday Night Worlds out at the lakefront. By 4:00, though, things had gotten pretty quiet and I had a chance to catch the finish of the US Pro Cycling Challenge on Tour Tracker as they raced in to Aspen.  As the pack, mostly all back together after the earlier climb, was closing in on the finish the video feed started getting worse and worse.  Finally, it cut off altogether and they started showing video from earlier in the day and pictures of cute children waiting at the finish line. It has started to rain and, since they were probably already at around 10,000 feet, the helicopter apparently started to ice and had to pull up.  So finally the video comes back on, much to the relief of Phil Ligget, and we get to see a pretty exciting final few kilometers that rather surprisingly ended with a win by that old guy George Hincapie, once again proving the old saying, "Old age and treachery will overcome youth and skill."  Not that George is particularly lacking in the skill department.  So with that, and an opportunity to slip out of the office ten minutes early, I decided I may as well ride out to the lakefront and jump into the training race.

I rode up Carrollton and Wisner at a nice easy pace, arriving at the Elysian Fields traffic circle at precisely the right time, merging smoothly into the 25-rider group as it started its half-lap warmup.  The wind was light at the start and although there were a few attacks and brief breakaways, in general the training race yesterday was staying firmly within the "moderate" range, relatively speaking.  I had decided before the start to sit in for the first two (of four) 6-mile laps before putting my nose into the wind, so when we started lap 3 I moved up and did a little more work, occasionally finding myself off the front when the pace would slacken. At one point there was an acceleration at the front and a gap started opening ahead of VJ.  As often happens, VJ didn't respond, but for some reason the riders behind him were having a hard time making a commitment to go around.  It was as if they were sitting in a nice soft easy chair in a house that was on fire, but didn't want to get up because it was so comfortable.  Of course, eventually riders started jumping around from behind and things got caught up, but not without a fair amount of unnecessary effort.

With about half a lap to go the group was still mostly intact and although the pace was getting faster and more aggressive, it still wasn't putting too many people in difficulty.  The wind had started picking up and was coming from the lake as we headed east, which resulted in a pretty long line up against the right-hand curb.  I was up near the front six or seven with Daniel, Kenny, Francis, and Allie, among others.  There had been a little surge that had just subsided and just ahead of me and to the left Kenny and Francis suddenly eased up.  Apparently they had both started to attack through the same gap at the same time and when each realized that the other was doing the same they both backed off at the same time. From behind I thought they had actually bumped shoulders or something, but anyway the effect was that a couple of riders went past them on the left and the rest of us, including the rider in front of me, went right, which put us right up against the curb.  It all happened very quickly, and just as quickly we got straightened out and everything seemed fine.  I had time to say aloud, "What was that about?"  I'd no sooner gotten the words out of my mouth when I heard the sound of crashing riders behind me, complete with some rather harsh "vocalizations."  We eased up and turned around, and I was surprised to see so many people on the ground.  I guess that the sudden slowdown, together with the light crosswind, overlapping wheels, and end-of-race jitters had made for a bad combination.  By the time I got back there Charlie D. was sitting on the curb with the back left shoulder of his jersey shredded and what looked like an obvious collarbone break. Robert M. was still lying on the road with blood all over his lower face, and a few others were still trying to untangle themselves from the pile-up.  The fire department and ambulances arrived shortly thereafter and a few of us spent some time searching the roadway for a couple of broken teeth that Robert was missing. I think it was Doug who also had a shoulder injury - maybe just an acromyoclavicular joint issue - and Elizabeth had jammed her wrist badly enough that she couldn't pick up her water bottle.  In addition, there was a fair amount of road rash and broken wheels all-around.  Once the first riders had gone down, it looked like most of those behind them had no option but to plow right into, or over, them. It was a pretty big crash, but it had been caused by a combination of four or five little things that, by themselves, wouldn't ever have caused problems.  As I rode with Allie back uptown, feeling like I'd really dodged a bullet, I was glad I had left the blinky light on the bike from the Tuesday morning ride because it was a bit later than usual by the time I got home.

The Blue Shirt

The Saturday Giro was remarkably civilized this week, probably because a number of the regulars were planning on doing the LAMBRA Team Time Trial Championship the next day.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, I was scheduled to officiate that one with Mark D. since it was fairly nearby.  That meant that I had no reason to conserve on Saturday and was therefore able to ride at the front now and again with reckless abandon.  Seriously, though, it was really quite a nice Giro Ride -- good and fast at times and otherwise respectably brisk.  The night before I had cleaned the bike, something I seem to do less and less frequently the more I ride.  It took some time for me to remove the sticky spots and streaks down around the bottom bracket where HammerGel-laced water had repeatedly dripped and dribbled over the previous week.  It reminded me why I don't usually like to put anything except water in my water bottles.  After the ride and back at home I charged up the LAMBRA clock, double-checked the registration and results spreadsheet, and staged all of the needed equipment in front of the basement door in anticipation of a 5:00 am departure.  Registration was set to open at 7 am down in Labadieville, LA where there is mostly just sugar cane and water, and 37% of the population claims French or French-Canadian heritage.

At 4:30 am the alarm went off and I slipped on The Blue Shirt for a day of official officiating.  Somehow I got the car loaded up and was on the road Sunday morning about five minutes ahead of schedule, and with the Garmin lady giving directions made my way across the Luling suspension bridge, coming down onto those long flat lonely highways that connect towns with names like Thibodeaux, Pierre Part, and Napoleonville.  The local club, appropriately named Bayou Country Cyclists, arrived in force just ahead of me, and within half an hour we were all set up for registration. This was the club's first race, which they were co-hosting with Tiger Cycling out of Baton Rouge, but since we had been working on the details for a few weeks, everything was working pretty well.  Of course there were the usual riders who had forgotten their licenses, or had, presumably, renewed their licenses online the night before, etc.  Anyway, things went quite smoothly since there were only 21 teams on hand.  Now that the Team Time Trials no longer count toward individual LCCS points, I think we need to combine some categories for these events to make it easier for clubs to put together their teams.  Something to think about for next year.  Results were done about one minute after the last team finished, so I just had to bring the laptop back to the registration area, print out the results, and hand out the medals.  The only problem was that, after spending about an hour in the sun, the laptop's mouse stopped working.  It's happened before when it got hot like that.  I think I need to be more careful about keeping the laptop, and myself, in the shade.  The course must have been pretty fast because the Herring team posted a 1:00:22 time for what was apparently a 29.4 mi. out-and-back course, which means they were rarely looking at anything under 30 mph the whole time.  A Cat. 4 team posted the next fastest time.  Perhaps some of those guys need to be thinking about upgrades.

This morning's ride was the usual early morning levee route.  I was up a little earlier than usual and today was the first time I put the headlight on the bike for the ride out to the levee.  I always find it kind of depressing when the days start getting shorter like this. The group was pretty big today and the pace was fast out to The Dip, but about half of the riders turned around there, or before, so after that the pace settled down into the 23-24 mph range for most of the remainder.

Mechanicals

It all started Tuesday night.  Around 9:30, The Wife, who would probably be perfectly comfortable sleeping in a refrigerator with a fan blowing on her, announced, "It's 77 degrees in here."  Her tone made me feel like it was somehow my fault.  In fact, I quickly realized that the central a/c blower wasn't blowing.  Hoping it was something simple, I went down to the basement to check the circuit breaker, but alas, it was fine.  Something was broken.  Just a couple of days before this the icemaker in my freezer had stopped working and I'd ended up ordering a new one since the part I needed to fix it cost almost as much as a whole new one. Anyway, since the low temperatures around here have rarely been below 80F, it was a rather uncomfortable night despite the ceiling fan.  The next morning I called the a/c folks who had installed the unit just two years ago, and by 11:00 or so the technician arrived.  He spent at least an hour checking things and making phone calls, and finally narrowed it down to either the circuit board or the blower motor.  This did not surprise me, since those were really the only two possibilities.  The problem was that in order to run the diagnostic on the electronics he needed a testing device that, at the moment, happened to be on another job in Belle Chasse, so he took off to meet up with whoever had it, and returned a few hours later.  Then, after another hour or so of testing, he decided that the problem was indeed the blower motor, which, of course, they didn't have in stock since it's a variable-speed blower controlled by no fewer than sixteen colorful wires.  We'd have to wait until Wednesday afternoon for the part to arrive.  I stuck my little emergency backup window unit into the bedroom window, cranked it up to high, and closed the door.  It was probably around 85F in the house by then.  Some time around 1 pm on Wedesday I got the call and headed back home to meet the technician who spent another couple of hours installing the new blower and scratching his head.  In the meantime, the replacement icemaker showed up, so I installed it.  Things were looking up.  Eventually he got the blower working, checked the compressor, checked the air temperature, and took off with my check for $300. Luckily, the motor itself was still under warranty, so that was just for the labor. I was never convinced that he really knew what he was doing, however. By then it was really hot in the house, but I wasn't planning on sticking around long since there was a team time trial out at the Lakefront that I'd agreed to ride.

I'd actually been looking forward to this little Team Time Trial, since I knew I wasn't going to be able to ride in the district championship one this weekend, having, in a weak moment, volunteered to officiate it.  So the night before I'd bolted on the aero bars.  By the time the a/c guy was gone I was running a little late, so rather than ride out to the lakefront wearing a geeky TT helmet after being stuck in a hot house all afternoon I figured I'd throw the bike in to the car. I got one of the last parking spots across from Kona Cafe, pulled the bike out and took off in search of Charlie.  As it turned out, Mark G. couldn't make it, so we were already one rider short, but we quickly recruited Diego who was there looking for a team.  We went out for a little warmup, since we were the 27th team to start and had a little time to kill.  I was feeling pretty good and the team of Charlie, Squeaky, Diego and me seemed to be really smooth. Finally our turn came up, and we took off, quickly getting organized and rolling along at 27-28 mph, which seemed like a good starting speed.  Well, we weren't a mile down the road when I heard the sound of air escaping from a tire -- mine.  Crap!  If you're going to flat in a team time trial, you don't want it to be in the first mile.  You want it to be near the end when you really need the excuse, hanging on for dear life and barely able to get onto the back of the paceline after taking a pull.  I pulled out of the paceline and told Diego I'd flatted. Feeling extremely frustrated, I changed the tube, pumped it up, rode back about 200 yards, and realized that it was going flat again. I ended up just riding the rest of the way very slowly on the flat front tire because I was just too pissed off to stop again and change it.  When I got home the house was cooler but it still wasn't down to normal.  In fact, it was still 77F at 10 pm.  This morning the a/c had finally caught up with the thermostat, but I'm a little worried that something got screwed up.  I guess I'll find out this evening when I get home.

Escape from the Giro

During a normal summer, which this has thus far definitely not been, the Giro Ride serves as a convenient training ride on the one or two non-race weekend a month.  Just after 6 am on Saturday I headed out from home for another Giro.  I'd completely lost count of the number of Giro Rides I'd done in a row.  All I knew was that it was a lot. It was a pretty big turnout and things were rolling along as normal as the speed started to ramp up along Hayne Blvd.  Suddenly there was a loud bang up ahead and I saw Mignon coasting over to the curb with a flat front tire.  A number of us stopped, but since the speed had been pretty high when it happened, I didn't really expect everyone to wait.  The tire had blown through the sidewall in a place where the casing had separated from the tire bead.  I had a piece of an old Tyvek race number in my bag and we put in a temporary patch, but there was no telling how long it would hold.  Mignon headed back with a couple of others and the rest of us got going again.  I was surprised to find that pretty much everyone had waited for us.  So it turned out to be an otherwise normal Giro.  As we were on the way back I asked Jay if the northshore guys were planning on doing the regular training ride on Sunday.  For a change, I didn't have anything on my card for Sunday. I was more than ready for a ride on the northshore.

Later that evening, after a few emails, I learned that Jay, Jason and some of the other northshore riders were planning to do the MS Tour training ride route, but that they wanted to start at 7:30, ahead of the official 8:00 start.  It was a little early, but I quickly decided to do it. Jordan had mentioned he was interested in a northshore ride, so I arranged to pick him up on the way.

We arrived at the Tammany Trace trailhead with about half an hour to spare, and by 7:30 we had a nice little group of six or so as we rolled north on the bike path.  The official route was only 45 miles, but we added a little loop on Kenzie and Section Road to add a few miles.  We picked up a few additional riders along the way and in general the pace was what I'd call moderately fast.  It felt good to be riding the little rolling hills, but for some reason my legs were really burning on the climbs.  Perhaps I'd pushed it a little too hard on Saturday.  Anyway, it turned out to be a good training ride and the early start got me back home well before noon.

There's an unofficial 4-person time trial on Wednesday out at the lakefront.  I think I'd like to do that if I can find a team willing to have me., especially since I won't be able to do the TTT championship this weekend because I have to officiate it.  I spent a good three hours today cleaning up the final results of the Oxford races for which we finally got the license numbers that I need for the club and team information.  As usual, there were a number of riders who didn't have valid licenses, had wrong license numbers listed, and even one who was a Cat. 3 but raced in the Cat. 4 race.  I still have to format the results of all three races for the USAC database upload, and then score it all for the LCCS, which I really should get done in the next day or two.  But not tonight.......

WNW

I walked out of the office promptly at 5 pm, trying to ignore the stifling heat as I made my way over to the bike rack.  For a change, I wasn't running too late for the local Wednesday Night Worlds training race out at the lakefront.  The weather around here lately has been pretty warm, and although we've been getting little afternoon rain showers here and there, it hasn't interfered too much with riding.  I'd done the long levee ride on Tuesday morning, and then the regular morning ride today, and as I rode the commuter back to the house I briefly considered the wisdom of putting in another thirty or forty miles, but really, the training races are just too much fun to pass up.

Back at the house I filled up the water bottles, put on the still-damp gloves I'd worn that morning, and headed off into the Carrollton Avenue traffic.  Somewhere around Canal Street, Jordan rolled up from behind and we rode together (OK, mainly he pulled and I drafted) out to Lakeshore Drive, arriving just in time to catch the group during its half-lap warmup.  The next four 6-mile laps were pretty fast, animated in the beginning by Diego's relentless attacks.  My plan for the day could be easily summed up with, "Don't get dropped."  It wasn't as easy as it sounds, and by the time we were halfway through we'd already shed a number of riders.  Of course, despite my best intentions, I still found myself closing a few gaps and putting my nose into the wind occasionally, mostly when the pace wasn't too fast.  Amazingly, everything was still together at the end.  I think it was Jordan who finally jumped, way too early for me, drawing a few riders with him.  I waited patiently, mostly on Kenny's wheel, and finally but in a little 34 mph effort at the end. It seems lately that I'm only good for about 150 meters or so before I blow up.  There's actually a little video of the finish on the WNW facebook page. 

No Coffee, No Race

It was another hot weekend of Giro Rides for me, although up until around 8 pm on Saturday I'd still been considering the solo 5.5 hour drive up to Oxford to make the Sunday criterium.  Needless to say, it didn't happen.  Saturday started out with a slightly diminished Giro thanks to a fair amount of missing horsepower in the group.  That horsepower was up at the Oxford Endurance Weekend.  I made the best of it, though, and got in a pretty good workout despite the rapidly rising temperatures.  I imagine it could only have been worse up there in Mississppi for the time trial and circuit race.  That afternoon we packed up and moved most of the remaining contents of my mother's condominium after having spent all of Friday in the company of a couple of movers from "Mr. Move." This wasn't a simple case of taking everything in one house and moving it to another.  My nephew drove over from Baton Rouge with a U-haul truck, we picked up a U-haul trailer for the niece in Jackson, and of course the movers had their big truck. We had tagged all of the furniture and boxes so that, ultimately, it all got distributed among three houses in New Orleans, an apartment in Baton Rouge, a house in Jackson, and a storage unit in Jackson (ultimately to find its way to Orlando).  Anyway, there was still a lot of stuff at the condo on Saturday afternoon that required attention, including multiple trips to the Salvation Army and the local dumpster, and I think it was almost dark by the time we gave up for the day.  When the dust settled around 10 pm I briefly contemplated the wisdom of getting up at 3 or 4 am and driving up to Oxford in time to make the Master 40+ race, but ultimately decided that my chances of falling asleep at the wheel were significantly greater than those of a good placing.

So Sunday morning I was once again making my way down Carrollton Avenue trying to decide between Iced Macchiato (which at Starbucks is really more of an iced Latte) and regular coffee when, just as I passed the Mexican bar at Tulane Avenue (which was still going strong at 6:15 am), I heard the whack, whack, whack, of something stuck in my tire. The first thing I thought was, "Damn, I'm not going to have time for coffee."  My rear tire had been impaled by one of those damned sheetrock screws which I had to carefully unscrew from the tire.  I changed it out and pumped it up as best I could with my little mini-pump, sacrificed a bit of precious water to rinse off my hands, and continued my trip to rendezvous with the Giro Ride.  Once there, I figured I may as well skip the coffee, and instead walked across the street to where Mark G. was parked to borrow his floor pump.  The group on Sunday was even smaller than it had been on Saturday, but I guess we eventually accumulated 25 riders or so.  Anyway, just as I'm putting my helmet back on and everyone is getting up to start the ride, Mark walks out of Starbucks with a fresh cup of coffee which he ended up carrying with him as we warmed up along Lakeshore Drive.  There were at least four riders on TT bikes this morning, so I knew it was going to be a nice smooth paceline ride.  One of the TT bikes was piloted by Mike W., who recently returned from masters nationals with a couple of medals in an age group that to which we can all still aspire.  He seemed particularly unstable this morning as I watched him swerve from center line to curb along Chef Highway trying to put a water bottle back into one of those triathlete seat-mounted bottle launcher things.  Anyway, as I'd expected, the ride was a bit on the inconsistent side, depending on who happened to be on the front. By the time we were halfway down Chef Highway, still on the way out to the turnaround, it seemed like the number of people interested in being at the front had already gotten pretty small, but luckily we had a nice little tailwind that kept the speed up.

After the turnaround where Mike W went hammering off the front with one rider in tow, things got substantially slower.  Between the headwind and the heat, the group started to get pretty anemic as the pace hovered around the 24 mph mark.  After making a small effort over the Seabrook bridge with Noel, who continued straight on Leon C. Simon to head home, I came around the curve onto Lakeshore Drive and looked back to see the remnant of the group still going up the bridge. So it was a long solo ride back home as I rationed my remaining water and dreamed of vanilla ice cream.

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.

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.

Wednesday Double

The thing that kind of surprised me Wednesday morning was that it wasn't quite as miserably hot and humid at 6 am as I'd been expecting. On the way out to the levee I had a few extra minutes to contemplate that little meteorological glitch when I had to stop for a train crossing Monticello Street.  Luckily, it was a short one and I didn't miss the group. The ride itself was unremarkable; a steady 22-24 mph out-and-back to the parish line like we do every Wednesday.  Fortunately, that wasn't all that Wednesday had in store.  After a late afternoon meeting with a real estate agent, I stepped out into the stifling heat, hopped back onto the old commuting bike, and slowly made my way back home, only to change into riding clothes and go right back out into it a few minutes later.  The first challenge is to survive the rush-hour traffic gauntlet represented by Carrollton Avenue between Earhart and Canal.  After that things eased up a bit and I arrived at Lakeshore Drive just a few minutes after 6:00, so although I missed the start of the Wednesday Training Race (aka WTR), I was able to jump into the pack within the first couple of miles, just as the pace was really starting to ramp up. It took me a few minutes to get adjusted to the faster speed, but once my breathing and heart rate were back under control, more or less, I moved up closer to the front.  I ended up doing a fair amount of work for the first couple of laps, alternating between ill-advised attacks and mid-pack recovery. 

We were halfway through the third of the four 6-mile laps when yet another break rolled off the front.  There was kind of a frantic chase as the pack momentarily splintered, but eventually most of us got back into the draft shortly before the Armory loop, leaving a small break about twenty seconds up the road.  At that point I still had a lot of momentum, so I just kind of kept the pressure on around the loop.  When I looked back I could see that the group had given me a lot of rope, more than enough, as it turned out, with which to hang myself.  I started to fade and was expecting to get back into the pack when it came past, but by the time they caught I'd let myself slow down too much and they had started ramping up the pace.  Basically, I got streamed. Right as I turned into a headwind the paceline came flying past on my left.  I'd completely missed the draft and the paceline was now in full-on chase mode.  I held the gap steady for a little while hoping they would ease up, but it didn't last long, so I backed it down to 22 mph or so and rode with John Egan down to the other end of the course where I turned around and jumped back onto the end of what was left of the group.  Indeed, the paceline that had streamed past me had caught the earlier break, so everyone was together for the last lap.  I stayed at the back so I wouldn't interfere with anything, and when the sprint started I sat up, at which point I was surprised to see a couple of riders desperately going around me.  Sorry about that.  I didn't realize there was anyone behind me who was still in the race!  Anyway, it was a good workout and a good 60-mile day.

This morning I headed out for the long Thursday ride feeling a little tired.  There was a big group on hand -- I'd guess twenty or so.  We started out with a couple of riders taking long, long pulls at the front. It was probably ten miles before I finally took a pull.  On the way back we suddenly came up on one of the levee police cars parked in the middle of the bike path and everyone had to hit the brakes.  The officer actually apologized to us as we made our way around him, saying that he hadn't realized we were back there.  Unfortunately, the front of the group put the hammer down again before the back of the group had gotten going again, and the group fractured.  It was another mile or so before word of that got up to the riders in front, thanks to Howard who put himself out into the wind and rode all the way up the paceline.  At that point they eased up, but it was too little, too late for most.

Greener Days

Well another week has somehow slipped through the time portal and I have little to show for it except for a few empty wine bottles and six days of missing blog posts.  It always seems that when I'm busy doing fun things I somehow find time to update the blog, but when things are kind of on auto-pilot and there's nothing really exciting going on, I just can't seem to find the time.  This time, though, I think that the thing that threw the monkey wrench into the works was The Daughter's annual training camp.  This year there were, I think, seven gymnasts and a couple of parents (one of which slipped away mid-week).  They spent most of the week training across the lake, but returned to the house on Friday for a couple of days of sightseeing before boarding the train back to Iowa City.  It all went pretty smoothly, though, and I felt lucky that in a house with 1.5 bathrooms and nine women, I still managed to get into the bathroom when necessary.  Also, although I had to reluctantly pass on Sunday's northshore training ride, at least I was able to do both of the weekend's Giro rides.

On Wednesday I rode out to the lakefront to watch and help with the officially unofficial time trial.  Since we've gotten back into our more normal summer weather pattern (30% chance of scattered afternoon thunderstorms), the area vegetation has been looking greener and greener.  On the downside, one must pay more attention to the weather radar.  An afternoon shower, or perhaps a brisk and shifting wind, was probably responsible for a slight reduction in the number of time trialists on hand for the Wednesday night 10-mile time trial, but the turnout was nonetheless pretty good at about 35 riders.  Frank Moak happened to be in town that day and just happened to have his time trial bike with him, so he proceeded to take 25 seconds out of Brady's time, and everyone who finished remarked that the wind had been a major factor.

Saturday's Giro ride once again had a pretty big group, and as would be expected, the pace was fast.  Even so, it was definitely a notch below that of the prior weekend's Saturday Giro. As I rode home in the rapidly rising summer heat I remember thinking that I should have spent more time at the front.  There wasn't much wind, and so it had been oh so very tempting to roll along at 27 mph safely tucked into the draft.  Since I knew I wouldn't be able to make this coming weekend's races, I guess I was a little short on motivation as well. 

The girls train wasn't scheduled to depart until around 1:45 on Sunday, so I had lots of time for the Sunday morning Giro. Riding out to meet the group at Starbucks I noticed that it already felt warmer and more humid than it had the day before.  The turnout for Sunday's ride was relatively slim, likely a combination of the rising heat and the concurrent northshore ride, but that didn't seem to be slowing things down all that much as we headed out along Hayne Blvd.  I swear, sometimes the rides with the smaller groups feel harder than those with the larger groups, even though the speeds are usually a little slower.  This ride was no exception.  After the turnaround we had a brief recovery period before things ramped up again.  When someone flatted on the service road, I heard at least two people mumble, "thank God!"  By the time I got home I was tired, hungry, dehydrated, and happy to twiddle along in a 39 x 15.

This morning's long levee ride had a good turnout, but when I saw that Rob had brought his time trial bike I knew there would be trouble.  By the time we were five miles down the road the number of people taking pulls was down to about four and gaps were opening all over the place.  It seemed like nobody really wanted to be going that fast, but they also didn't want to get dropped.  It all made for an inconsistent pace.  At one point Donald decided to counter one of Rob's fast pulls and basically attacked.  Rob responded, and a big gap opened that took a little while to close.  That happened a couple of times on this ride, and I think a lot of the riders were kind of sitting at the back of the paceline and enjoying the show. I was glad to see Courtney riding strongly again.  In fact, she was getting particularly frustrated by the uneven pace, and eventually motored to the front for a while to straighten things out.

Epidemic Punctures

The return of southerly winds has finally, hopefully, broken the drought we've been having around here, but along with the rainfall and wet streets has come an epidemic of flat tires.  It always happens that way.  It's as if all these little sharp pieces of rock just lie in waiting until the streets get wet, and then they stand pointy-side up waiting to embed themselves into your tires.  Monday morning I pulled the commuting bike down from its hook in the basement and when it hit the floor I knew without looking that the rear tire was flat.  I pulled the tube out and patched the hole that the edge of the Mr. Tuffy had made (I've seen a number of flats caused by them) and all looked good.  Then, when I left the office, after waiting out a little rain shower, it was flat again.  I changed out the tube with the one I carry around in my messenger bag and made it home OK.

Tuesday morning I got dressed to ride and when I looked out the window I immediately noticed two things.  It was a little darker than usual, even for 6:00 am, and there was a light rain falling.  I retreated to The Weather Channel.  It looked like a little passing shower, and a few minutes later I headed off for the levee where apparently the threat of precipitation had brought out only a handful of riders.  We headed up the river on the wet bike path as I searched for that sweet spot where I could keep from getting too much wheel spray up my nose while still enjoying a bit of the draft.  Woody, Howard, Scott, Max, Judd and a few others got the pace up into the uncomfortable zone pretty fast, and although I was basically feeling like crap I figured that if I was going to get all wet and gritty I may as well get a good workout out of the ride.  Well, a few miles later I felt my rear tire going squishy and pulled out of the paceline, telling the riders around me to go ahead and commenting that it probably wouldn't be the last flat of the day.  They took pity on me anyway, though, and stopped while I fixed it, so a few minutes later we were back on the road. 

JHS Class of  '71, 40th Reunion

As we approached Kenner we could see a dark cloud up ahead and soon a few raindrops started to fall.  There was discussion about whether and when to turn back.  A few turned back at the little dip, and the rest of us settled on turning around at the Big Dip.  We hadn't gotten very far on the return trip when we came upon the first group stopped fixing another flat, which turned out to be their second. A little while later we passed Taylor who was just finishing fixing his own flat.  I think there was yet another flat before we got back around River Ridge when it started raining again.  By then, Woody was pushing the pace since he was probably going to be late for work. When the speed got up to 31 mph around the Huey P. bridge, I finally backed off, and right after everyone else turned off around the Playground, leaving me on my own, the sky really opened up.  My last few miles on the levee were in a stinging horizontal rain that finally seeped through my shoes and soaked my feet.  That's when you know you're really wet. Naturally, the rain stopped about a mile before I got home, where I peeled off all of the soaked lycra, threw it all into the washer in the basement, and walked upstairs stark naked to get a clean start on another day.