4 months!

It's been 4 months since I put something out here. I've had a few rides and 2 races. I should write up the last one, because it was massively uplifting. I thought I was slow and fat...having lost all my fitness to a winter of eating well. (Another proof point that I'm weird, most people who live in Arizona get more for when the weather is 60-75 and sunny every day). But I was not bad. Only 4 minutes slower over 43 miles than last year. There is still power and a little fierceness there 

I also did is the other day in the (new) work gym. Wrote it up in an email to Captain Slow , and I liked it.

* * * 

Another one bites the dust. Written on the plane while flying home

As expected training went to hell this week, but only 1/2 way. I ate well, and too much. I did work out Monday night, Tuesday mornings by and night, Wednesday morning. Nothing really on a bike

Except the spin bike on the main floor of the gym at work.  Which is now broken. 

Either the bottom bracket was at the end of its life having absorbed too much sweat and cleaning bleach over the years, or a mildly frustrated Indian man decided to do 2 X (20 X 30sec) standing sprints on the thing. Having a BMI that registers on the wrong side of "overweight", with much of the over part being in the legs sent those bearings to the scrap heap. 

The slight woman in fancy yoga clothes trying to do her warm up on it did not seem to believe me when I told her it was broke. I think she thought the cranks moving in the plane perpendicular to the rotation was a balance feature. 

So yeah, maybe there's still some power there.

Leadville is in 5 months

Fear

I was scared. I feared I had done something terribly wrong. Not a "was that donation of an old cost worth $250 or $50, and is the IRS going to catch me?"  This was shaking me to my core as a person

I believe in helping others, as much as possible. I'm not so noble as to live as an ascetic monk and give away all my stuff (I like my stuff) but I always hope that when a call came I could do my best to help. 

During the 2015 Leadville 100 I passed a couple riders in trouble on Powerline. I was in a bit of hurt myself, but I was moving  forward. I called out to some, others I just rolled past. Sometimes people don't want you to say anything.  They are in their own personal hell of bonking and cramping and feeling queasy. I have been that guy (more than I would like) and truly, not having to say, "I'm ok" is a blessing. 

At mountain bike races, there are some basic rules.  

1. Help people who need it.  Racers are the first responders.  
2. Don't litter 
3. Be nice 
4. Don't quit  

Rule 1 basically trumps all the others.

Sunday morning, I found out a man named Scott Ellis riding about my pace had died of a heart attack on the Powerline climb. 

I was immediately paralyzed with fear. Had I passed someone I could have helped?  Was I such an asshole racer that I let a dying man suffer in the woods as I pedaled on?  

For days I did not check his splits. I was consumed with the fear that I had indeed failed to help when help was most needed. 

I finally checked. I was ahead of Scott Ellis by nearly 30 minutes at the previous checkpoint. 

While my guilty fear was relieved my heartache and self-preservation concern was not. People are not supposed to die in a race. Especially people who are fit, have done the event before, and "know what they are getting into".  True, the medical statics say if you take enough people, sit them down, and stare at them for 10 hours, someone will have a heart attack.  Over 25 years, something like 20,000 people have ridden Leadville, and it took (most) of them 10 hours or more.  Therefore, someone was going to have a heart attack.  

That doesn't help.

Riding around the following week, making some hard efforts I felt my chest tighten up.  Difficulty breathing.  I'm back in the desert...was it the dust?  Was it lingering fatigue?  Did the fact that I don't really care what I eat anymore (I simply can't eat enough) finally catch up with me?  Then it happened again, JRA (Just Riding Around).  It was hot though.  Close to 100. 

I have a lot more to live for than 2 wheels on dirt and the occasional start and finish line.  What am I doing?  I ride fast enough now, that even JRA and sticking my wheel in a rock and going over the handlebars could kill me.  

Of course, so could standing on the corner waiting to cross the street in New York when a garbage truck misses its turn and squashes me.  Or waiting at a traffic light when some texting fool slams into my car.

Somewhere in the recesses of philosophy and lessons absorbed over the years I was reminded.  Fear has no power when faced head on.  Face the fear, and it becomes the truth of what you are made of.

I won't stop.  I will ALWAYS ask.  Always.  They can curse me later.

The Mayhem

Captain Slow accomplished something special back in July.  He went balls out to crush demons and history, all while narrowly avoiding killing a tequila bottle.

Boy still thinks he might not be that fast.  He's a liar

* * * * * 

Captain Slow Rides a Mayhem

To get ahead, one needs a plan. So I set two simple but crucial goals for 2015.

1. Complete Michigan Mountain Mayhem 200km road ride

2. Not suck at Iceman

All of this is about point 1 because we won’t know until November, about the other.

One wintry night a few years ago, I was hanging out in my kitchen with my instigator neighbor Jim, and with too much wine in me, I agreed to a stupid plan. Let’s get in shape and do a road ride in Northern Michigan, near the ski areas, in mid-June. There are some hills. 10,000 feet of hills actually. (Yeah OK it’s Michigan. Up 600, down 600, rinse, repeat. Still counts.) And the ride is 200km. So why not, I like a challenge, and I need to get back in shape. And, mostly, wine.

This was 2013. I trained, a little. Not even near to close to enough. I showed up. I faked it. I bailed out and did the 100k loop while Jim and Mike did the full ride. I finished, and I was proud of that, because, bail notwithstanding, it was the hardest 100k course I’d ever been on, and I knew that I hadn’t done the work. The guys said nice job anyway.  But, a hollow victory. I had proven to myself that I am weak, slow, and stubborn. Only one of those is going to get me anywhere, and by itself, it’s not enough.

Last year, I did the same thing and was less proud. Well not at all proud really. I trained I think a bit more. Still not enough. Signed up for 200k and rode 100k. Again. Crossed the line and immediately went to the timing tent to report my fail, so my time wouldn’t screw up the 200k rankings. Again. Waited the extra hours for Jim and Mike to finish. Again. Drank 1 beer and rode the bike 2 more uphill miles so I could move the car to the finish line, again, because slow and weak is no excuse for asshole. Drank more beers and got bitter. Congratulated the guys on their finish and felt worse. Went home and told my family what had happened. I could feel the question “why are you even trying to do this?” hanging in the air. Hell maybe I put it there myself.

Faking the same thing the second time around shows less excellence in, well, everything except fakery.

Now I had two expensive T-shirts that I couldn’t wear. One says right on the back, “Can you handle 10,000 feet?” No. I could not. The other one doesn’t say that, but remains living proof of the same fact. I am not of Mayhem caliber. Shirts stay in the drawer. And churn drives them to the bottom of the pile.

So January 2015. This must be the year. Has to be, if I am going to continue this pretense. I buy a bike trainer that can simulate elevation profiles, and I upload the Mayhem course, and ride it. Hours and hours of work. Riding different sections each day, watching my dot move on Google Maps. I learn the roads, the turns, where the worst hills are. I work and sweat and obsess over watts and seconds and fractions of mph. Mostly I sweat. Salt stalactites form on the bike. My family becomes less enthusiastic and more confused by, or afraid of, what I am up to. Body fat slowly turns into hope, which weighs less, so that’s good. But is it enough? After 4 months of this self-created hell, I’ve completed the Mayhem course a total of 7 times. That’s a lot of trainer miles. But for the actual ride, I won’t have the luxury of overnighting at every aid station along the course.

Spring takes a while to come to Michigan, and it usually arrives wet and sloppy. So there are not as many good outdoor riding days before June 13, as one would maybe expect from, say, looking at a calendar. And I am getting a little over the top with the daily trainer rides and making little hash marks on the course map that is taped to the wall each time I cross that virtual finish line again. I could ride outside? Hmm it’s wet and cold. I might get wet or cold. Can’t have that. But if I ride inside 2 more times, I can make another mark.

Still, I do get outside, which is good because as good as the trainer is, it’s not all that, compared to reality. Real hills are more nuanced um harder, you have to deal with wind, and the crushing psychological blows of dropping to 5mph as you climb a steep hill are lost in translation when it’s just a number on a screen.

I do a few road rides alone to work out the kinks and try to recalibrate. First time out I go right for the longest hardest hill loop that I train on, crush half of it, and explode. Next time I pace a little better and force myself to consume actual calories on the bike, by spoiling my clean refreshing water with lemon chalky grit. Maybe it is orange chalky. I can’t really tell. Since I can never remember to eat on the bike, this is the only way. But it seems to help. Apparently muscles require ready fuel for long efforts. Who knew?

I manage to work in a couple of good training rides with the guys. Mike has done this ride with us both times before, has always been the fastest, and proves this by dropping me, decisively, on every climb. But I am maybe in less pain than before and was that Jim dropping off my wheel just now?  Still back there? Maybe during the ride Mike will take pity on Jim and we can ride at a compromise pace and I could maybe hang on?

The week before the ride, Jim gets the flu. Not the bullshit virus we all call flu, the bad, real flu. He recovers but is not ready to ride. Not expected to ride. Now it is just me, and faster Mike. And, as I find out in the same text, another girl Holly, whom I’ve never met. She is young and fit. She’s doing the 100km but will be starting with us. Shit, what if I get dropped by BOTH of these people that I barely know?

The afternoon before the ride. We meet in a parking lot, and while we are loading the bikes, Jim rolls up to present us with a gift box of Don Julio tequila. We had acquainted ourselves with the Don the previous year, in the appropriate pre-ride dinner fashion. So it now becomes part of the ritual. Jim makes many challenges regarding the use of the tequila. Amounts, times, demands for photographic proof. With that done, he goes home to rest.

So off we go to Boyne City. Holly drives separately, so for 4 hours it’s me and Mike awkwardly not talking much in the car. I’ve told this part of the story before, and guys understand. Girls say “what, were you nervous, like on a date?” Well of course not. But you don’t want to be too talky, or too quiet, or really say anything that was supposed to be funny but turns out dumb. So, um.

Check-in. Do people need to show up in full riding kit the night before the ride, to pick up packets and maybe hit the beer truck? We didn’t get that douche memo. We pick up our stuff, down a beer, and head to dinner, where we side step our first tequila challenge (shot-upon-arrival) by sending a photo of a few Don margaritas and the fabricated explanation that civilized cyclists consume tequila in glasses, with ice, laced with hydrating elixirs by professional mixologists, and delivered with a side of Mexican food. That argument does not go far. The retort challenge is a bedtime shot, with photo.

Which is why I end up carrying the still-boxed tequila into the condo, really quite sober, and then proceed to trip on a poorly placed, put your winter wet boots in this, rubber tray. But since I am using both hands to carry my valuable cargo, I have nothing with which to break my fall except my legs and a side table. Hard bang on the knee, big ouch, start to kid myself this is NOT a problem NOT at all. Nope didn’t see any blood taking off my jeans before bed.  Certainly not THAT much blood. Trick of the light.

Nobody does the night time shot. I could have left the tequila in the car. Little sleep that night. My knee hurts. A little. Maybe a lot. Doesn’t matter. Must ride. No other option.

The 6:30am breakfast shot goes down better than expected, video is sent, and we head on to the start. It is a timed ride but you can start whenever. We get going, find a pace, work together. Holly doesn’t know from pacing, so she is all over the place. But I figure that out and let her bound to and fro, like an excited puppy. I take it easy on the hills and let Mike go. And catch back up on the flats and downhills. It’s working, so far.

The second aid station on the Mayhem route is about 30 miles in. This is where the 100km ride splits off from the other two, a 100 miler and the 200k. This is my traditional unplanned-bail point. After the split, the 100k route heads up a long slow hill that crests at the Antrim Country Airport, which in my mind shall always and forever be known as the Airport of Shame.

We relax for a bit, and then with some encouraging words and what I believe to be good course info from my own memory, Mike and I send Holly off to her Shame. We continue. Effectively. Trading the pull, getting over the hills, pounding down some miles. I am still letting Mike pull ahead on the steep hills and catching up on the flats. It is still working. This may all be OK after all.

Then he is not pulling me on the hills.

Then he is not matching me on the flats.

I begin to worry. Not for him, he’s got that. This is pure self-interest. We need to do this together. It is hard to ride alone and the fast groups are long gone. Now it’s just us. Has to be.

At mile 70 Mike has had enough. He cashes in and turns off to finish the 100 mile route. I send him off with my car key and a maybe not so polite reminder that the car belongs in the finish area. I enjoy a few moments of elation. I rode this guy off my wheel. I am fast. I am strong. I am awesome!

But wait. I am not done, really not even close. To get done, I have to ride 50 more miles alone, the wind is picking up, and some of the worst hills are yet to come.

I could be awesomely fucked.

Now it all becomes mental. Fucked is subjective. Pain is subjective. I will decide how much I am hurting and how badly I am fucked. But neither one is important because I am going to PREVAIL. I am going to FINISH. Just by riding the bike. Turning the pedals. Pace. Grind.

I catch a strong tail wind, bang out some more miles, going well. Flying along really, but I know it won’t last because the course is going to turn. I pass some guys that are too slow to work with, and then can’t quite hang with a passing group that could have been a big help. That was probably the last pack of 200k riders, now it’s just you, alone, forever.

The turn. Now head wind and lots of hills. No more bail out roads left. No shorter course. It is riding, or sitting at the side of the road waiting for a van. Vans are not subjective and cannot be argued around. Therefore not an option. Two wheels will deliver me across that line.  Not four.

The leisurely aid station stops with the group are no more. I am doing pit stops. Off the bike, fill bottles, back on the bike, go. No point in walking around or stretching out on the ground for a big old cyclist nap. I will cramp, time is short, I need to ride.

Naturally, one of the worst hills is right near the end of the ride. It consists of a 3 mile grind that gets steeper as it goes, followed by a quarter mile pop of WTF is this thing doing in Michigan. There is an aid station before it all starts, so you can pause to fill your water bottles and properly start to fret. Here I meet some Ann Arbor guys who are paying proper respect to the Wall by planning to ride the 3 mile intro as slowly as possible. So this becomes my plan as well, and for a while we ride and chat. It is nice to chat, I’ve been alone for hours. Then they drop me anyway. Maybe I am out resting them?

The Wall hits 18% and that is steep. I’d made it up the first year (how?) and walked it the second. Both times with 60 fewer miles under me than today. This time, I’m not at all sure that I am capable of walking, so decide that I must stay on the bike. Therefore the bike must always move and not be falling over. So as the road rises up, I follow imaginary switchbacks, tacking back and forth across both lanes, at walking speed, gaining a few feet at a time.  At one point a stronger guy goes up on the actual road line (that is, straight up) and while I may have offered encouragement, my principal reaction is annoyance that I must alter my slow and wavy line to let him by. The next day, I note that the data from the bike computer says that the ascent took me two and a half minutes. Or hours.

I make the top. Leg cramps hit, that’s real pain, not so subjective. I want to stop but fear that would be the end. So I drink some more foul energy concoction, and try to spin back up. Hey I made it up the Wall. I cry a little. Not too much, must stay hydrated and save some for the finish. Only 6 miles to go. I think this part is easy, I think I remember that from before. What I told Holly. Well maybe after this hill. Or that one. Nope, I am full of shit, it’s just going to keep on coming. I gave Holly bad post-Wall info. Right now she must think I am an asshole. No you idiot, she thought that HOURS AGO because she is already done. That bitch. Grind. Asshole. Grind. That ridge on the horizon has to be the other side of Lake Charlevoix. Which means the finish is before the horizon. So I may still make it. Grind. The computer clicks over actual 200k, and while I know that’s not the end, never was, wasn’t supposed to be, I get mad anyway. But, grind more miles. And finally a downhill, and I know this one, it’s the real end. Roll back into town and there is an inflated red arch at the line and bunch of riders and spectators who are cheering everyone in, and THAT is what is awesome. I cry some more.

This time I could look at the bike computer. 128 miles. 9,662 feet. 8 hours on the bike, 9 on the course, with stops. The computer didn’t say how many times I bent my left leg, but that knee hurt every one of them. Tequila always wins.

None of this, except maybe the pit stops, is remotely competitive in this race-not-a-race. But not a DNF, not a DFL, not a van, and I did not see that airport this year.

It's not a race.  Just a ride with numbers and a timer

Proper behavior from a sick ride mate...send fancy booze 

DC Kit.  Enough said

Proof, demons slayed.  Time to eat

What is this all about?

I started writing this blog in Feb of 2013 when a friend (a real friend) complained that all they saw on Facebook was updates about my rides, my bikes, what I was thinking when I was riding, what I was wearing, what I was eating...you know, stuff I felt was really important and critical to share with all my "friends".

But I got the point.  I'm lucky to have an awesome family and people wanted to see pictures of them.  Pictures of a cake my wife made are far more interesting to the Facebook crew than a picture of an empty GU wrapper next to a summit sign with a bike shadow in the background.

Since I was starting the adventure of training for the Leadville 100, I decided to create an alternative Facebook page.  Then Facebook became a pain in the rear to deal with, I could not put the pictures up in the way I wanted, etc.  So I created this blog, as a place to dump my cycling blather.

I guess I could have started a journal, or kept this all on my PC, or just kept it private.  I made up some reason about wanting this all on the cloud backed up on Google's infinite server capacity, or being able to share my cycling journey(ies) with any friends and family easily.  Really I just want someone else to read this stuff.  I'm as narcicisstic and self absorbed as the next guy.

As I typed away I realized what's most interesting to me to write about, and what I get responses on from the 3-5 people that read the posts are when I write about what's in my head.  Sure, the weather, the quality of the dirt, the incline of the hill, the contents of my bottles and jersey pockets are fascinating...but what I enjoy sharing is what I'm thinking and feeling when I'm out there. 

Besides, I can't continue to bore my wife with these stories.  My S-1 number would go down, and that would be tragic.

So here it is.  The Bad Dads Cycling Blog.  What's in your head?

What's On the Bathroom Mirror

Mid December.  In most parts of the country, cyclists are thinking about their next trainer session, spin class, or perhaps getting their fat bikes or cyclocross rigs out in the mud and snow.

In Arizona, it's time to go racing!  The 12 and 24 hour events are in full swing, and the MBAA series is ready to kickoff. Wrapped around all that you have registrations and lotteries opening for Leadville, The Whiskey and the rest of the Epic Rides events, Gravel Grinders a plenty, and a pile of unofficial official events like SingleSpeed Arizona.  Plus.... Iceman registration is right around the corner! This is a super-motivating time to be a mountain biker in the desert. 

Unless you're me, and you're feeling a little sluggish and dreaming of warm fires and snow covered landscapes of the Midwest, Northeast, and the Rocky Mountains. 

So it's time to look back and look ahead least I sit and drinks pints of Guinness and eat shepherds pie until I'm over the weight limit for the carbon bits on the bikes.

Looking back, this was a pretty ambitious year. I crossed from setting goals like "finish" to goals that had times in them. At the start of the year, these were the results i targeted:

McDowell 40 -- 3:30

Whiskey 50 -- 4:30

Leadville -- 10:00 (though you're always going for 9)

BarnBurner -- 8:30

Iceman -- 2:00

In the middle of the year, also added the Tahoe trail, and I wanted to go 4:30 for the 100K. 

I came into my race season lighter, stronger, and on a faster bike than last year...and yet...I made exactly ZERO of my goals. I came close at BarnBurner, and with the time bonus because of the ambulance delay, I did come in faster than 830.

3 races had weather issues (Whiskey, Barn Burner, and Iceman), 1 had a clothing and tire issues (Tahoe) and I was just an idiot in Leadville not prepping my bike properly and not eating during the first 1/2 of the race. 

Though the results not where I wanted them, looking back, I learned a little something about myself that I had come to doubt over the years.  I am tougher than I give myself credit for.

• At the McDowell 40 I broke 2 ribs 7 miles from the end.  I could have bailed out about 4 miles from the end, but kept it together, even after I crashed for a second time on the same side.  3:48, 18 minutes off my goal
• The Whiskey was some seriously nasty weather.  60mph+ wind, huge amounts of snow, rain...but I held it together, made sure I got numbers instead of DNF, 5:51.  
• Tahoe Trail, I had 2 flats.  Still managed to beat the cut off.  Also wore some really bad socks.  They almost made me DNF.  Socks are important
• Leadville is Leadville.  I came in faster than last year, nowhere near my goal, but still under 12.  I'll take the buckle.
• Barn Burner I actually made my goal...and survived a downpour, thunder, and lightning that sent a lot of riders looking for their cars.
• Then there was Iceman.  I wanted 2:00.  Settled for Sub-3.  

Worse than the results were the lack of motivation that started creeping in mid-way through Tahoe, Leadville, Barnburner, and Iceman.  In all of those races I hit a point where I was wondering what the heck I was doing out there in the crap weather, hundreds or thousands of miles from the family...I was never going to be on a podium...I had done all of these races previously...what the heck was I doing?  Playing at 10,000' is for professional dirtbags, people with huge sums of money....or me?  Is it for me? Am I a total poser?  I found myself at pivotal points during these events doubting why I was riding them at all.  Wanting to be home flipping pancakes or driving kids to swimming...or even possibly riding with them.  But there I was, on a racecourse, with a number strapped to the handlebars and many miles to go before the finish.  

This was a serious problem. 

Winning has never bee the motivation.  In my life I have one exactly 1 sports related "podium". That was senior year of high school at a tennis tournament.  Won the 3rd doubles flight at a little team tournament in northern MI. Even if I was motivated by winning, the reality is I won't be on a podium for several years. My path in life has been different than anyone who considers themselves truly competetive.  Maybe if I keep at it, and keep getting stronger there may be some podiums once I'm 55+. Ok, given the number of 55+ that beat me, it's probably more like 60+. 

Losing motivation in the middle of a race is a bad. I don't want this happening next year. The more I read, the more I realize this is an issue for many of my fellow MAMILs. I believe it's the next part of the test.  Need to keep it up. Keep it going. There are personal achievements out there, and there is no reason not to keep pursuing and achieving them. I may not stand on a podium at a bike race for 15 years, but if I keep moving, keep pushing, stay motivated -- it is possible. Life is a not a sprint, so time to keep at it.

Another pretty interesting and exciting thing happened this year.  I'm starting to have the virtual team come together in a very exciting way. A least one friend here in AZ is committed getting to Leadville in 2015.  I kind of pulled him along this year with advice, encouragement, a few spare parts, a little advice...and I think I have him hooked.   Another friend in Michigan is locking in 2016 for Leadville (he says 2017, but we'll get him there before then), there's my Iceman gang (both the long tenured and the new) that are starting to expand riding beyond northern Michigan.  I am pretty convinced I'll have one of them on the corner of 6th and Harrison one day.  Then there's all the folks at the local shops and clubs that make up my personal extended Leadville family.  I'll draw my inspiration from these folks, and return (hopefully) a little to them. These people provide challenges, and show me that there are many big challenges that can be overcome. Mental toughness and emotional strength matter a lot in endurance events.  Paraphrasing Rebecca Rusch, training gets you the first 4 hours of any event.  The rest is mental.   

Time to recommit. Time to commit to myself, to my family, to my friends.  They are all behind me and I am behind them.  What am I committing to?  Here we go:

McDowell 40ish -- 3:15
McDowell Relay Race -- have a blast.  go fast
Whiskey Off Road --  4:30
Lutsen 99er -- 6:30 (if it happens)
Leadville -- 9:00 (there, I said it)
Barn Burner -- 8:00

Iceman -- 2:00

That's another big year.  I have a plan for fitness, for eating, for sleeping, for life.  I'm a happier person when I'm training hard, and this will be a massively transitional year for me personally, so I'll be training hard.  I'll also need to remind myself what it means to turn myself inside out.  As in, really work to the point of failure...and maybe even fall over doing it.  Last time I did that was 10th grade.  Let's see if I can get it back.

Maybe I'll even learn to do group rides!

What's on my bathroom mirror?  Same thing as last year:

Bathroom Mirror

Humbled and on a Mission

I am humbled today.

A friend (who I've never met...that's the internet for you) posted this on FB:

I've never thought of myself as an inspiration, and I am honored that Hans would consider me one.  I'm just a guy trying to get his daughters to grow up right, be healthy enough to be around for a very long time, and be the best father/husband/son/brother/friend I can.  Oh, and make time to ride as much as I can.  

But Hans has laid it down.  I'll consider that label of "inspiration" as a challenge as well as an honor.

I take on this challenge.  Get Hans across that finish line at 6th and Harrison in Leadville Colorado the 2nd Saturday of August, 2017.  According to my computer, that's the 12th.

As of today, I plan to be putting my knobby tire on the line myself.  If that plan does not work out, I'll be there to captain the crew.  

In the meantime, the rest of my Leadville peeps have some work to do.  Between Randy working for a buckle in 2015, Laurel saying she wants one in 2016, and myself going for a big one...that's a lot of miles to share with friends.

So, Hans...get those cranks turning.  Randy...figure out how to eat 400cal/hour without causing issues.  Laurel...be a rockstar.  

And I'll see you all in Leadville.

So there's this climb

Climbs are legend in cycling.  I only know of one sprint that is truly famous, the Tour de France finish on the Champs Elysees.  There are many famous tracks, the velodromes Roubaix, Mexico City, and the Velodrome du Lac in Bordeaux to name a few.  But it's the mountains who's names everyone remembers.  Alpe d'Huez, Galibier, Ventoux, Stilvio, Koppenberg, Vail Pass, Independence Pass, Oakville Grade, Columbine, Powerline...

It is the climbs where the Grand Tours are won.  It is the climbs where a cyclist suffers, and it's the climbs that make or break your day at Leadville. 

Then there's the other climbs.  The ones named in local clubs routes, local races route lists, or even individual cyclists brains.  They have names like Nine Mile, Skull Valley, Chain Breaker, Spring, Sunset, Sunrise, Anita's, Mt Gary. 

In 2011, I found a climb by chance.  My wife's parents had moved to Corona Hills, CA.  When visiting for the first time, I was expecting a random LA exurb, golf course, mall, boring.  I expected flat roads, lots of traffic, and no fun for a cyclist.

What I found was magic.  A neighborhood at the base of Santiago Peak, right on the border of the Cleveland National Forest. From their house, I can roll out, cut through a walking path, hop a curb onto "Forest Boundary Road" and climb dirt for miles.  Being a national forest, there's not much single track accessible, but the road is not very "improved".  A road yes, but a road with lots of rocks, ruts, and turns to make a real mountain bike (vs a cross bike or gravel grinder) required.  

According to maps, if i climb for about 7 miles, I can intersect the Main Divide Road, which runs along a ridge separating Orange County from Riverside County.  I could ride the Main Divide road all the way North, and have a ripping descent into the town of Corona, then take the paved roads back to the house.

This climb I'm talking about is not used much.  I've never seen another bike on the road.  Strava only has 10 people listed as doing the climb.  You see it's steep.  In about 6.4 miles, it climbs 3000 feet.  That's a 10% grade.  Average.  That's steeper than Columbine, and longer than the real climb bit.  The climb has become a marker of progress.

In 2011, the first time I tried the climb, I made it about 1.5 miles.  After hopping onto the Forest Boundary Road, I made it up the half-mile paved section with my heart exploding through my chest.  There's a left turn about 100m after the road turns to dirt, then a .5 mile climb at 11% before a hairpin switchback.  I made it about 2/3 of the way to the switchback before I had to walk.  So I walked to the switchback, turned, and tried to ride.  This is where the grade increases to 12-13%. I made it about 50m, and walked again.  Made it to the Forrest gate, pointed the bike downhill, exhausted.  Took my an hour to go about 2 miles.

Spring of 2012, I made it to the first switchback.  Then I stopped, doubled over, and puked.

Fall of 2012, I made the first switchback, rested for 10 minutes, then made the gate. Rested, grunted out another 100-200m, rested.  In that fashion, I made it about 3 miles up the climb.  Took about 75 minutes.

Spring of 2013.  I'm in for Leadville.  I made the gate without stopping.  Since the gate was closed to cars, I rested a bit, then continued up.  I made it about 4 miles.  Discovered that after 3 switchbacks, false flats begin occurring every 50m or so

Winter 2013.  Post Leadville.  4.5 miles morning after relieving my father-in-law of a couple bottles of wine.  Made it all the way to a descent that twisted around the mountain further than I could see.  Worried about how far down it went, I turned around and made it back before all the bacon was eaten.

Spring 2014.  5.25 miles up, past the descent, and up a steep little climb to another false summit.  Took me an hour to get up there as the sun came up over the mountains far to the east.  15 minutes to get back to the house, made it back before the kids were awake. 

Fall 2014.  Post Leadville II.  5.5 miles.  No stops. Under an hour.  2 quick descents on the way Had to turn around when the sun dropped below the mountains.  I had strength left.  I could have made the Main Divide Road.  

That's the goal for Spring 2015.  6.5miles up.  More elevation gain than Columbine. In the same distance.  

I've found my training hill.  It's me vs the mountain.  Solitude above the urban sprawl of LA and the Inland empire.  The climb makes my heart want to explode through my chest.  Makes my quads burn fierce, and my calves strain just to keep the bike moving on the truly steep bits.  I know there's no reason to do this, other than to get better.

Makes me feel like a cyclist or something.  

The Tyranny of Expectations

Bikes are fun.  Riding bikes is more fun.  Racing bikes is really fun. If you are stubborn, like me, and ride and race long enough, eventually you start thinking you might actually be good at it.

So as races approach on the calendar (why did you sign up? because of this) you start to look at historical results.  You look at the cut-offs.  2 hours?  3 hours?  8, 9, 10?  What's possible on this course?  Do you recognize a name on the results sheet?  Can you be as fast as that person?  You wonder if this racer who made it around the course in "under X" has a Strava account? Maybe you can compare what they rode to what you rode on a  similar segment.  (This is where Strava is truly evil by the way...makes it so easy to be soooo overt analytical about a ride). 

Since very few people ever get to stand on a podium, the cut-off for "sub-whatever" becomes really important. Sometimes there's a trophy (Leadville buckles...) and sometimes there's a tangible incentive like a finisher's medal or a entry into another race, and sometimes (mostly) it's just bragging rights (any chance someone will beat Conrad at Iceman this year?  No? Ok, how about sub 2:15, or sub 2:00?)

So one goes through all of this math and posing and trash talking about how many beers were or were not drunk in the weeks preceding the event, and through that process a time gets in your head. 

That time represents an expectation of performance. And because you entered a race, it matters. 

So you work hard. You eat right. You train properly.  You wake up and strap a light on the handlebars at 4am. You follow rule 5. You convince yourself that you are hard as a nail and have the capacity to suffer. 

And you begin to tell yourself the lie that you are fast. 

Now the expectation grows. 

That expectation grows and grows until you're (politely) elbowing for a position at the start line. And it grows through the start, through the gun, and it grows as you make the first turn and climb faster than you even believed you might. Oh my god!  You're flying you are A CYCLING GOD!  THE JENSIE COULD NOT CATCH YOU!

And then you cross a mile marker and you look at the clock. You're not as fast as you thought.  You're behind your goal time. You better work. 

And now the race is a little less fun. Because you are working. Hard. Then you remember rule 10.  You start to feel better.

Soon, you're in a little bit of a panic. Will you make your time?  Will you beat your friends? 

The clock only goes in one direction and that average speed is annoyingly refusing to move closer to what you need to achieve your expectation of sub- SOMETHING....

You begin to think. 

Will your family be willing to wait for you at the finish or will you need to bum a ride from someone because you have just become so daaaaaamn slow there won't even be any beer or bacon left when your slug of a marshmallow soft body drags this carbon fiber racing bike you don't deserve over the line?!?

The expectation is shattered. You're not fast. You're not that hard. You're not even sure why you put a number plate on your bars.

But you're in a race. You're not on a ride. You are racing. 

So you keep going.

And eventually, after a bit more suffering. A bit more humility of being passed by a flabby dude or chick on some POS steel machine a bit more elation of passing some on with an IM tattoo, and you cross the line.  

You didn't make sub- whatever. You did likely make the final cutoff. And if you're me, you were doing this in the mountains, in some amazing scenery, with some great friends. And someone has a beer. And it's for you. 

But for all that, you're still disappointed. You had that expectation. You fell for the lie all racers tell themselves, and now it's eating at you. 

After you finish your beer, hose off the bike, hug your friends and kiss the family, reminding yourself how lucky you are to have a spouse and kids willing to let you put on silly outfits and shoes that are too tight to play in the mountains regularly, There's really only one thing to do to fight he tyranny of the expectation. 

Enter another race. 

Whiskey Off Road Part End

Before I tell you about the end of the Whiskey off road, a moment of even further introspection.  (actually, this blog is pretty much all introspection and some amount of chest thumping, but you knew that already if you've read this far)

I have not posted in over a month.  Never got around to finishing the Whiskey ride report, never posted about the Moab Trip...and have not said anything about training, eating, kids, etc. for about 6 weeks.

Why?  Why?  riding and writing about it on this blog seem to be a lot of fun for me.  Why would I cut out part of it?  Was not work or personal stress, it was total self consciousness.  Silliness.  Time to face it head on and get back to having a little fun.

So here's the facing into it.

There are a bunch of true athletes here in the valley that i have much respect for.  All of them deride the self-indulgent blogs, BragBook postings, and generally schmoes like me talking about our "big" accomplishments.  And....they have a point.  I was cowed into not writing about one of the things I truly love to do, because I was worried about what others may think of my accomplishments, and my writing.  Damn.  I was right back in that place that made me miserable all those years ago and rears it's ugly head every once in a while for all of us.  Self doubt and self consciousness all rolled up into a nice tidy package.  

In the overall grand scheme of life, I know my accomplishments on the race course are nothing.  I overcome no physical, emotional, or major life hurdles.  I'm a regular guy with a loving family and great friends who likes to turn the cranks as often as I can.  Nothing to see here...move along.   On the writing front I have 110 problems.  Style is inconsistent, I never edit anything, and I use way to many ellipses.  

As often happens, I thought back to riding, and racing.  And the Whiskey.  (really, it's all coming full circle).  I posted a bunch of pics on FB about the nasty weather.  

This post ensued:

•  Why on earth is it snowing somewhere in the end of April? And pray why did you decide to voluntarily ride through it??? Geez things we do for a kick!!

  April 27 at 1:54pm · Unlike · 1
• 

  Rohit Bery why? that's a question a few folks have been trying to answer for a while. Suman may join you in this pondering.

  April 27 at 2:33pm · Like · 1
• 

  Rohit Bery there's so little where you really get to prove yourself...be a little tougher than you think you might be, by some objective measure say you might be a little tougher than the next guy. I won't be on a podium unless i keep doing this until i'm like 65 or so and there's only 3 of us in the race, so in the meantime, i'm happy to finish out of the bottom quartile, shoot for the top quartile, and on days like this, look at the DNFs and say..."not me"

  April 27 at 2:35pm · Like · 3

So there's my answer.  I look at the DNFs and I say "not me"

Which brings us to...

Whiskey Off Road -- the final 25 miles

Up up and more up from Skull Valley to the Sierra Pieretta overlook.  This is the climb that defines the Whiskey.  2 years ago I ended this climb curled up on the side of the road, needing some serious help to get moving again. This year, I pointed the bike uphill, and started cranking.  

A I climbed (and it was definitely "I" at this point...the fast guys were long gone, and about 1/2 way up I saw the last of the people still descending), the temperature started to drop again and there was the occasional snow flurry or rain drop.  The climb is incredible because unlike most bike courses, you can look up and see the peak you are going for. 

It was shrouded in clouds and mist.  Some bizarre juxtaposition of The Hobbit and Raising Arizona.

The climb hurt.  When it started to hurt, it got steeper, so it hurt more.  Then it got steeper again.  and it hurt more.  Then, out of nowhere...the aid station that signals about 2/3 of the way up.  I stopped to refill the camelback and try to eat something.  everything tasted awful and threatened to come back, so I sucked down some water, and started up and up again.  

As the road went into the tall pines, there was a great little memorial to the Granite Mountain Hot Shots. I was alone, it was quiet, the pines muffled the wind...another one of those moments.

About 2 miles before the overlook, the road makes a sharp left hand turn.  this is where we usually find the insane party of the Whiskey 50 beginning.  Not so much today.  It was darn cold again.  There were 5 guys around a fire giving high fives and the occasional push...and they rocked.  

On the final steep road to the overlook i got passed by the women's single speed leader.  I thought to myself "damn, how'd you stay in front of the women's single speed leader this long?"  The race marshal and forest ranger manning the mini aid station at the overlook gave me the once-over, asked if i was OK (not in the head...they must have known i was so NOT Ok in the head if I was still out there) and waved me on.  That's when I noticed the mini bus FULL of riders waiting to be sagged down the mountain.  

Not me.  Not DNF.  Not today

so up the (really) steep short single track climb to start the long (mostly) descent to Whiskey Row.  My watch came back on briefly.  I was up at the peak at about 5:00.  This means I had climbed the Skull Valley to Sierra Pieretta in about 2 hours!  This was awesome. This was uplifting.  this made me go "YEAH!"

45 minutes later, 2 bacon hand ups, 2 insane downhills, one uphill (cramp hill) that I did not cramp on by did have to walk, 3 stream crossings and a ripping down Thumb Butte road and I was crossing the line on Whiskey Row.

I rode the 2nd 25 miles in exactly the time I was looking for.  I finished strong, I did not DNF, and I got myself another pint glass.

Overall, a great day on the bike