In Like a Lion, Stay Like a Lion?

In Like a Lion, Stay Like a Lion?

One of the perks of having a pro cyclist as a partner is access to unlimited opportunities and invitations (usually from him) to the events and races that he is traveling to and competing in. Most of the time this is awesome and completely amazing, but the other 10% of the time it’s pretty rough. Supporting Gordon in his riding and racing is one of my top 10 goals in our relationship and when my schedule allows, this usually takes the form of discussing race schedules and events, listening to him monolog about SS gearing, assessing and internet stalking his competition (only the fastest ones, so if you’re slow, don’t worry, I haven’t stalked you), bottle hand-offs, wardrobe consultations, nutrition support (i.e. shoving food in his mouth), and anything else that I am capable of helping him with as long as it doesn’t involve actual bike maintenance (with the exception of being able to change a tire and lube a chain). However, in the last 6-8 months I’ve started “magically” getting signed up for more and more events to not just support Gordon in, but actually race myself. Not only have I gotten signed up for things, I’ve also (thanks to the Valentine Fairy) received a fabulous new hand built bike that was specially made for all of my racing needs.  And what’s a girl to do with a gorgeous new blacked out 650b Hometown? Well, race it of course. 

As we all know, this winter has been rough. I have done more inside workouts than I would care to count and I have certainly ridden more trainer miles than I would care to recall. In fact, I have had less than a handful of rides off the trainer since before Christmas! Embarrassing really. Despite all this, I have somehow been able to maintain some semblance of fitness (even if it is only in my head), and complete a couple cool events at the start of this new season. Monster Cross was the first event of the year for me and I had a great ride there and met all of my goals while still feeling pretty darn good for 50 miles of hard/constant pedaling. So with the first official day of spring landing sometime last week and the  Cohutta 100 coming up within the next month, it was time for another big ride and a chance to test out my new racing wheels and my trainer conditioned legs.

(Enter: Bikereg magic)

Gordon: “Hey, Em! I got you a new t-shirt! You have to ride 50+ miles to get it though and climb approximately 7000 ft.”

Emily: “Ok, what’s the weather going to be like?”

Gordon: “Raining with a high of 36.”

Emily: ………………..

 

The HARDford 50 Gravel Road Race was just that- hard. It would’ve been a beefy race without the freezing temps and constant rain, but the conditions made it, by far, one of the toughest days on the bike that I’ve ever had…and that saying a lot considering I’ve ridden the Shenandoah Mountain 100 in the rain, not once, but twice! We left my house early and somewhere along the drive it started raining. Hard. I was nervous. Not only was I nervous about the weather, I was nervous about taking my new bike out in the terrible conditions for a long and certainly muddy ride. I was also nervous about being cold and being able to finish because of the rain. I am one of those people that when I get cold on the bike I generally stay cold and the fact that I knew I would be wet on top of being cold worried me. Despite my fears, and in an effort to “support” my man (or at least that’s what I told myself I was doing), I put on everything that I packed and reluctantly shivered my way to the start. The roll-out was easy and a good pace for me. I’m slow to warm up and don’t usually get out of the gate fast so I was happy with the easy pace and a chance to benefit from the protection of the group. We hit the first climb very soon after the start though and I immediately found myself alone, in between the front and back group, and soaked through from the rain already. Great. This was going to be a long ride.       

 

About halfway to the first aid station I caught up to a couple who were riding at a steady pace and latched onto them for a while until they stopped to wring out there socks. Not a good sign for them. Another girl caught me shortly after that and we had a great time conversing and attempting to distract one another from the miserable conditions and the gnawing concern that we might actually lose digits from the absurdness of the weather. We finally reached aid #1 and while my companion stopped, I kept rolling for fear of getting too cold while not moving. I don’t remember much of the climb to aid #2. I know I passed a handful of people, heard some talk of DNF-ing, lost feeling in my other foot as well as my hands, and had the thought that if I did in fact make it back alive that I should see if my insurance paid for psychological evaluations. Aid #2 came none too early and I promptly grabbed a piece of French toast (AMAZING!), asked how long ago Gordon had come through/was he in the front group, and started the long 8 mile grind to aid #3 on the top of Max Patch.

The climb to Max Patch was a dark place. It wasn’t a hard climb, it was just long and I was cold. Very cold. I caught a group of 3 guys, rode with them for 2-3 miles and then dropped 2 of them on one of the pitchier sections. I tell you what, that 1/11 granny gear is the bomb. I had several men lusting after that pie plate gear through the fog and deep gravel. Aid #3 provided a handful of peanut butter m&m’s, half a coke and some beta on the long descent off the mountain. I knew it was going to be a cold ride down so I just tried to get it over with. The fog was so thick that you could not have enjoyed the scenery if you’d tried, so my goal was to get home and get home fast. Suspension was nice and I was thankful that I was not on a cross bike as I was never entirely sure if my fingers were actually on the brakes since I could not in fact feel them. My bike handled like a gem though despite my impaired skills and I caught the 2^nd place girl (on a cross bike) about 10 miles from the finish on the technical portion of the descent. The last 8 miles of the course were all paved, downhill rollers with one or two pitches where eager dogs were waiting at the top. At this point though I didn’t care. They couldn’t hurt me anymore then what I had already gone through and even if they did, I wouldn’t have felt it due to the cold.

 

Seeing Gordon and Pippa (her first race, by the way) at the finish was the best feeling in the world. I could not have been more pleased to be back, safe, alive, with the chance to get dry, warm and fed. The bike was a star, the course was amazing (I will go back when it’s dry), entry fees went to a great cause and the food was fantastic. While many of the starters did not finish and while Carey Lowery finished a good distance in front of me, I am so proud that I finished, so thankful I still had all my fingers and toes, grateful for an opportunity to race and support Gordon (who won overall!!!), excited to ride a kicking bike that was absolutely flawless, and finishing 2^nd was an added bonus! The HARDford 50 was hard and the weather made it harder, but something about those mountains and amazing climbs make you want to go back for more. Certainly a race worth putting on your calendar for next year.

Bricks, Blogs, and Blitzkreigs

The time of year it either comes together or falls apart. Youve done your homework or your scrambling before class to get it all together. Either way, cheating off Wilson wont help. Too many beets probably.

 So lets start with the bricks. Everybody loves a good brick. Its not all on the Big Red STRAVAAAAA(!!!!!) but its getting done. Rest and recovery are part of the puzzle and Whether you're into periodization, reverse periodization, marginal gains, or whether your bottle cages run on batteries its what youre doing right now that makes the magic happen in a few months. So get in your bricks. The other guys is. So is his girlfriend. And you dont wanna get beat by her.

 And if your not doing it apparently blogging is the new facebook. Which was the new blogging, which is probably still formatted poorly and violates your privacy. But the good news is that the NSA doesnt care what you look like after you shaved your beard. Everybody's got one!

 Now on to the fun part. I dont car much about race reports, unless they are interesting. What happened in your sprint to the line for 7th in the B race is of little consequence. If you did a wheelie across the line thats a little more interesting. If you wrecked and have carnage shots blog about that. If you had a catastrophic failure tell me about that. Where you bought your wheat germ is pretty irrelevant to me. Now if you pulled a Rad Ross and chose the baconater as your go-juice then thats a little cooler. So I wont bore you with a detailed breakdown of every single success and failure, unless its really good or hurt enough I just gotta share to make it go away. Post 1 explained thats not gonna be my thing.

 But as far as Blitzkreigs go ive got a bit of a post-race from monstercross that I think could qualify. Brother ran a 38x16 at the urgings of those in the know. I rebuilt the illest of the ill Superfresh (no literally I think its about to die. Bearing surfaces and gold spray paint are no peas and carrots) but the Surly Singleator wouldn't get enough wrap around the 16 so a 17 had to do. Sitting in the front of the elite group really happy with the gear and ready to pound out 50 I was a happy camper. Then the mud came. It gunked up my tensioner and made the bike jump and skip worse than the 16 did. I cursed, spat, and made a tail of myself until it was clear I would not be able to continue for 45 more miles like that. Trailside I cursed and spat some more as the horde caught up to me. 800 people on a start line is a ton, but 800 people zipping by one at a time feels completely endless.

You get a funny gauge on things from that position. Somebody might holler: "you got it quadsworth?!!" and I would know the voice. I would catch a familiar jersey out of the corner of my eye. I put together a timeline in my head as I was pulling a link out of my chain and searching for my dropped power-link. I had no concept of how much passing would have to be done but it would be a lot. Having taken a link out and tightened the tensioner to way beyond reasonable I tightened my quick release and hopped on. only to squeeze a brake lever and find out the wheel wasn't seated. Avid we're through... Again trailside I pulled the tensioner off and threw it in my pocket, determined to run whatever tension those precious links could offer. Magic* I had magic geared the bike to 38x17 and never was there a greater sign from God above that that race was to be finished. Tensioner pocketed in case of emergency It was go time. GO...Time.

The view for an awful lot of people. I wont claim its pretty but it wouldn't be there long.

Immediately I realized how good I could feel. Winter miles bring summer smiles but this was february! Who cares. It was unbelievable freeing to run a single cog and ring without the aid of a tensioner. I had forgotten how amazing that feeling is. Tensioners are to singlespeeding as Wine Coolers are to Travis Williams. Hard to get the job done with sub-par equipment. That sense of freedom was cut a little short as I remembered I had given that black XX lever of weakness a squeeze. I didnt dare pull over and see how much rub there was but I knew that as I put watts in, watts were being absorbed by the morons in Chicago Il. They probably have a watts bank where they store all the watts their brakes rub off. But soldier on I did. Because God himself and John Belushi were counting on me.

 The gear turned, the legs burned, and the horde thinned down. I saw a bunch of you out there, spoke my peace as I passed and never caught a draft. A few tried, but there was no time for pleasantries. I knew I had been passed by several single speeders and had no concept the volume of work that needed to be done but I was doing it if it killed me. Passing two thighs in a RBS kit I knew I was getting close. Wilson had been riding strong and would know where he stood. "One guy in blue" he said, "spinning an easier gear." Words of encouragement but with less than 5 miles to the finish I didnt know how long those "couple of minutes" he gave me would work. The road laid ahead but it was a long road.

I charged off fired up on getting close. Nerves set in a little as i new the speed I had sustained would have to be upped. The brakes rubbed, the miles turned. If i had know who was ahead im not sure I would have done it differently but within a couple hundred feet of the finish i sat up a little and acknowledged the work that had been done. I was counting wheels passed all morning and it was over 200. Perhaps that number is blurred by hypoxia, perhaps ill scribble it in chalk on my top tube. Doesnt matter to me. The ride I put in to reel in all but a couple of riders on a bike thats destined for the scrap frame pile that early in the season is something im intensely proud of.

Roger Masse, the stud who beat me deserved that win. He is a tough guy with even tougher heart, lungs, and legs. Kudos both virtual and non-virtual to Wilson too. Those beets must be working or something. And Im proud of that forest raid. Good seeing you guys :)

Spring Power Test

I did my first Pantani ride three years ago. Sight unseen, details unknown, and arguably highly unprepared. Not that there is any amount of preparation in the traditional sense that will do any good: but it helps you sleep a little better the night before. Even if you're "squealing I like a piggie" coming up broken back in the morning and you've peed your bibs just to stay warm, at least you've got a good night sleep.

What was great about that ride wasn't the falling snow; though that was a factor, it was the experience of living and hopefully riding the way Marco did. He danced on those pedals because that's what he did. He climbed and descended and rode with a vigor and verve that we just don't see anymore. In a world of "marginal gains," watts, and wind tunnels we've lost what it's like to get lost. Get lost in the moment. Moving elegantly up up up. It doesn't happen often, heck sometimes it doesn't happen for months but when it does, it's Marco. Watch him climbing up an alpine pass and a tell me you don't see an angel. A lean mean mustachioed angel of a man. He had his demons; no doubt, but they couldn't pedal as fast as he could...not half as fast.

Every ride since that first has been different. Last year it was cross bikes and mini-vans. Ill advised gear selections maybe, and even more ill advised directions probably. That was a long hard solo ride home to an empty farm. This year it was company. Company new and old. 80 friends and teammates who rolled in for some good old fashioned Johnny Cash Hurt. There's no way around it we all found our Marco out there even if only a little. Mine was on Simmons. I felt good. Smooth, elegant, lithe like all the winter miles, small meals, and determined dreams had brought me to this first test of the season. A lot of folks do power tests throughout the season, there's a lot of benefit to that but I prefer a test which not only tests my physical mettle but also puts the heart and soul to the test. Think of the time you rode outside yourself to bring back the group or charged off the front or finish the last ten miles of a hundred mile day. Twenty minutes on a computrainer staring at a screen doesn't bring you that kind of power. So for me Pantani is the spring power test.

I spent much of it with Bryan and Charlie. Charlie I have known for a while, Bryan also in a different capacity. And it was great to spend time on those ribbons of dirt and gravel with those guys. I've always recognized and cherished the camaraderie of the cycling scene. We were racing at times. Eventually we had to I suppose when it came down to it. But much in the fashion of Marco we let the crux of the ride do the talking. W rode smoothly and comfortably together up Simmons and down until the bottom of broken back. Bryan charged, I countered and stayed smooth, Charlie no doubt more powerful and stronger in a sprint suffered and a gap opened. As Bryan became excited and realized what he had created (and the monster inside him began to growl and whine with fire in its eyes) I said "stay smooth bud, keep it smooth." Whether I was talking to him or myself I'm not fully sure but one thing I know is that we had seen the power. To us, in many senses the ending became irrelevant. We had seen inside ourselves and came to the top together. Almost peacefully. Were it not for the pounding of our hearts in our heads I bet you could have heard and felt a light Italian breeze blow on the summit.

And that's where I'll leave it. I love that ride. I dread it in the same way many athletes dread power testing. I know I'll have to dig and dig deep. But I always do. We always do. And we always like what we find. And if you don't, well stick to your Tour de France rerun on the trainer and leave the good life to the rest of us.

And when you see Marco crane his neck to look behind him here a hint: he's not looking for his competition.