The two I met up with were Jeff and Rob. Jeff is a self-proclaiming “sufferist”. He “loves the pain”. His aura is that of a lion. He thrives on the challenge to the point that his confidence can be misconstrued as arrogance until you see him ride and realize it’s rooted in blatant fact. He is direct and to the point. Not a sugar coater. He told me not to come out to thier rides because I would get smoked, but, somehow, there was none of that weird tension when a person takes a would be jab at another’s pride. I believed him and respect him for his honesty.

I didn’t get as keen of a reading on Rob. He didn’t have the booming personality of Jeff and yeilded the floor most of the time except to occasionally bounce in with a single sentence or two that would completely clarify a situation. While going over the science and nuances of turning as a group he said “think like a school of fish, all moving with a common purpose and following the line of the leader to a “t”". Rob is a climber where Jeff is a power man. Each has their strengths and, with years of cycling behind them, has learned to capitalize on them.

Te ride itself was intense (intense for me, they were being leisurely). A faster pace than I am used to and always on, never slowing, never compromising the group. Rules are strict and the unwritten are more important than the publicly transcribed. My normally on the hoods ridestyle was traded for being in the drops and my “look two people ahead” rule was changed to checking for a cassette change or a leg twitch to anticipate a speed change. This was the difference in recreation and sport. These guys are racers. They don’t look at the scenery, they look for the finish line.

After about 20 laps I was done. Dehydrated because I haven’t mastered drinking and keeping up and humbled to the core. Jeff said “one more lap” and from somewhere deep inside me where idiocy breeds came “alright, but if were only going one more, LET’S GO”. My moronic cry for more was answered with a small chuckle from Jeff and then an explosion of pace. I held on for about……..I dunnno…30 seconds? Maybe? Then they were gone. Finally not held back by El Rook, they let loose for one lap.

When I got back to them, they were circling and waiting on me with grins. I smiled and said through the panting and pain and said “I deserved that.”

Thanks so much to those two for the wisdom they shared today and the experience I gained. Even though I got the cycling equivalent of b*tch slapped today, I’ll be back. And when I get smoked again I’ll just smile and say,

“I deserved that.”

In my defense, they weren’t gym shorts. They were the ultra-thin, lightweight, AF running PT shorts, but, none the less, shorts. When I got to the meeting place, there were only two of the what ended in three other people there (BTW, the two that were there were the ones I didn’t know). Not much convo to start, but as I looked around at the racing attire, Ultegra and Dura Ace components, and streamlined for efficiency bodies I realized I was the new guy and I was ready, willing, and expecting to get smoked.

After we were all there, the ride started off simple enough. Riding along in twos chatting about life and getting to know each other. I got a couple of tips from Dura Ace streamlined guy and eventually deciphered all the hand signals and voice calls. It was easy enough: stay close on that wheel, tell us if there is a car coming……keep up.

At some point, almost automatically, the chatter stopped and the riding began. I was so concentrated on wheels and cars and keeping up (and randomly being chased by an escaped horse) that I didn’t even notice we were in a line now, silent and stealthy. The only sounds to be heard were chains whistling, gears shifting and me panting. It was polar opposite of riding alone. The pace was fast, the responsibility was ever-present, and the pride of being part of a unit was overiding my burning muscles.

We would ride like that for a while and then rest and recover for a bit. The route we took was a usual for them, so they had a routine of work areas, sprints, and rest areas that was explained to me during interludes when the chatting and banter about my shorts would resume. I ended up riding next to each of them for some time and learning. I was a sponge today. I soaked up every word of wisdom, lingo, and “do as I say, not as I do” talk.

On the way back we did a “last man up” type of drill on a road that I felt like took me two hours to ride last time I took it alone. With the concentration on when it was my turn and the constant tiny nagging fear that I was going down at some point (especially when my wheel literally rubbed against another rider’s), it felt like twenty minutes.

It was an awesome experience. I ended up getting dropped a little at the end on some unexpected hills, but I recovered quick and caught up. I thank the three of them for their hospitality of me and my learning curve. They were like horses being held back at one point. I could tell they were ready to run, but they stuck with me. I took a big step today in my tiny little cycling world.

Even though I showed up in shorts.

A few weeks ago, I was rolling almost every day, constantly pushing my boundaries and building my skill level. Somewhere down the road, I got it in my head that the “season” (like I’m hunting and my license ran out or I’ve had my share of ride days and fun this year) was over and I let a weeks full of fantastic riding days slip by. The wierd thing was, every day, I wanted to ride but somehow found an excuse not to. I “didn’t drink enough water yesterday”, or “didn’t get enough sleep last night”.

It seems like by letting that first day go by that I didn’t ride or try my hardest to that it became like a cancer on my motivation. One day’s excuse (not rest) became a week of looking outside and wondering why I wasn’t riding. I was reading about everyone else’s rides like they were somewhere different and I was in some wintery hell where bicycling wasn’t allowed, even though it was 70 degrees and cloudless here most days. I was stuck in some kind of fog that allowed me to think if all the conditions for exercise weren’t met (temp, when did I eat or need to eat, time, work, sleep, supplements, etc.) I couldn’t go.

After coming to this realization today, I literally had to will and drag myself onto my bike to head out for a 20 miler. Through the first 5 miles or so, to my surprise, I still wasn’t out of the funk. I was huffing and puffing and b*ching to myself, but I knew it was a head thing that I had to push through. I know I love riding my bike, period, but for some reason I was having to prove it to myself.

By mile 10 or so, the mood was wearing off. I started looking around and taking in the scenery. I noticed that I was breathing hard (not bad hard, but that deep “I can feel my body processing the oxygen” hard). So, right then, the Rocky theme song came on and I took off! Shifted front chainrings and got out of the saddle, push push push. My legs were burning and I knew that if I were running they would have given out but DAMN, it felt good to let ‘em fly.

When I sat back down, I breathed in re-invigoration, determination, and commitment and breathed out the (de)motivational demons that had possessed my “exersoul”. I ended up doing that 2 more times on the ride. By the time I got back home, the endorphins were flying and I was high as a kite on my own willpower and self-discipline. I felt comfort and resolve. I felt…….motivated.

Motivational memo for those who may be facing the same thing:

“Think Easy, Light, Smooth, and Fast. You start with easy, because if that’s all you get, that’s not so bad. Then work on light. Make it effortless, like you don’t give a shit how high the hill is or how far you’ve got to go. When you’ve practiced that so long that you forget you’re practicing, you work on making it smooooooth. You won’t have to worry about the last one – you get those three, and you’ll be fast.”

                                                                      -El Caballo Blanco (Micah True)

Everything was going tremendous and I was so excited to finally be involved with a group of people that will inevitably further my abilities and experiences, until I started getting the stats emails that said how far and fast these guys are going every time out. Fifty or sixty miles and 19+ mph pace! What!? That’s farther and faster than I have ever gone and it’s their regular milage.

It breaks my heart to know how badly my abilities will be exposed and sqaundered on the pavement in the coming months because pride won’t let me not go out. All of my previous accomplishments will fall by the wayside as, hopefully, I will be growing as a cyclist and, unavoidably, as a person by having my confidence shattered and rebuilt stronger, sharper, and more true.

I actually thought the season was “winding down”, but the Fairfield Peloton apparetly goes strong all year long (good slogan?). So, in the next few days I’ll be re-psycing myself up for some serious training and long hard rides, but I’ll be damned if I’m not stoked about it!

Im from a Southern Baptist/Pentecostal background and, while none of the religion stuck, I am awkwardly spiritual. Countless societies have built temples, mounds, mosques, and churches on the highest points they can find in order to get closer to their God. Many of these cultures value the journey over the destination, even to the point of saying the destination can not be appreciated without the journey. Like I said, I am far from religious, but in this concept, I believe.

The season for cycling is winding down and while riding is definitely not out of the question on any given day, it leaves me with a quandary about where to go from here. I have built such an amazing base in the last 3 months, totally revitalizing my life and health, but I want more. So I took a walk, that turned into a run, and into a climb to the top of a small mountain (or big hill depending on where you’re from).

There is a park where I live that I ride through a lot. I have heard about off road tracks out there that the MBikers ride, but never paid much attention. When I got there and started running, I found quite a few of these trails to be challenging even to me on foot and started climbing. I would get to the top of one hill and see another that was a little higher. Scout my way over and get to it. It was marvelous that in the middle of my city, I had totally lost contact with it. It was like being back home in the Texas backcountry with no one to speak of for miles. I had scaled a few hills when I came upon a gravel trail that led up and around a corner. I couldn’t see the top, but I could tell this was the highest. When I started, I would look out over the city and be flooded with different emotions. The freedom of knowing that I was doing something different. The anxiety of not knowing when to stop. And at some point, cold. I could spend at least an entire post on the transforming feelings of climbing, but I only want to talk about what was there when I got to the top.

After 2 hours of climbing, including the other climbs, I reached the top of the tallest. The wind was howling at a deafening 40 mph, and it was cold. The whole trip up had been so full of noise and bright setting sun. It just seemed like so much static, but when I go to the top it all melted away with the perfect picture, the perfect setting, the perfect ending, and left me with one burning question:

Who would sit with you at the top of the mountain?

As pumped as I was to train and get on the supplement wagon, it had been a while since I hung out with freinds so I invited a few over and we had some tasty beverages (by some I mean a plethra and by beverages I mean Keystones). Wow, did Sunday (my first “super-train” day) come early after that fiasco. Woke up at 12 and spent the next five hours trying to convince myself that I had to do what I said I would and go ride. I already had the ride picked and my clothes laid out because I know myself and the night before I stumbled around to get everything set up to allow no excuses. I bet I was as humerous to my freinds as I have ever been laying my things out for my twenty miler the next day while I was piss drunk at 4am.

But twleve and a half hours later I peeled myself off the couch and went out. If any of you dont know, alcohol dehydrates you. That’s why you feel like whatever that smell is around the factory the next day. I told myself that beer is 90% water, therefore I should be VERY hydrated (sounds good right?). I was wrong. VERY wrong. I was only on the bike 1:15 and both my bottles were gone in 30 min. Turns out supplements dehydrate  you as well. Apparently it says so right on the bottle (as pointed out to me later while b*&ching about them not working). It sucked but I made it, passed out early, woke up much better for my “new personal best” ride on Monday.

Fall is setting in here in Nor Cal so the temps are going down. It is a beautiful time of year to ride. It allowed me to start later in the day and to get my food and new sups (this is what I will be calling them from now on becuase the whole word sucks to type) on the right track. I ate a big bowl of spagetti, took a serving of N.O. Xplode and my AMP edurance stuff, packed two gels, some sport beans (which are the sh*t BTW), and two bottles of ole H2O and headed out. The ride was awsome. Beautiful country, low temps, I stayed out of the wind for the most part and my new bibs were like the gold at the end of the a** pain rainbow, but when I got home (35.32 mi and 1100 cal later), drained didn’t begin to describe how I felt. I was invigorated to a point that it had gone so well, but being beaten with the stick of triumph is the same as being beaten with any other stick. I made up another bowl of pasta and started in on my “recovery drink”, but noticed I didn’t have an appetite. I was starving, my body needed fuel, but I only got down about 2/3 and laid down about 8p.m. with a terrible stomach ache. Turns out (again), that taking supplements on top of eachother, as I had been doing all day, can “upset your natural cycle”.  I was totally exhausted from the weekend, starving but couldn’t eat, and miserable with a stomach ache. That’s not how a “new personal best” day is supposed to end. I laid down at 8 but didn’t fall asleep until about 1 a.m.

And to top it all off, I had that thing going where only one nostril was stopped up. Apparently some people can live with that, I can’t function. I would rather have both than one. Just insult to injury in my opinion.

So kiddos, hopefully this is yet another lesson you can learn from me and not from experience. We are really racking up on these since we started.

1. Alcohol dehydrates you

2. Supplements dehydrate you

3. Don’t stack supplements or your “behind” will explode for multiple days in a row

First, and possibly most exciting, is my iBikemount. In one of my first posts I spoke about trying to attach my blackberry to my “flightdeck” and the shortfalls that came along with that. But since I’ve switched to an iPhone and could not be happier. If any of you use MapMyRide, you have definitely seen the ad for the iBikemount. It’s everything they advertise and more. It mounts directly to the stem or bars and comes with a case for the iPhone that twists into place. This thing is badass. With cycling related apps (to be addressed shortly) on the rise, your iPhone can be your cycling computer, iPod, emergency device, GPS, and above all, no more figuring out where to put it while you’re riding. If you have a bike and an iPhone, the iBikemount is a must.

While my phone is in the mount, while I’m riding, I am using MotionX. It’s aGPS tracking app available in the app store that keeps track of everything your computer does now plus the added wonderful-ness of managing your iPod inside the MotionX app. It also saves the track so it can be accessed again later and followed. But the best feature is the newest. GPX files created on the net can be loaded into the app and followed. That means routes can be predetermined and loaded! So no more pulling over to look at the map and figure out where you went wrong. Yet another useful feature is the option to mark a “waypoint” with the exact GPS location and/or a picture that can be accessed later and used for geo-caching or impressing friends.

Third, my shoes and pedals. The shoes are Specialized S-Works with a carbon sole for stiffness. Road shoes are sized with a European method so if you’re in the market, make sure you get sized before you buy. Apparently I wear an American size 12 in Specialized shoes. My tennis shoes are a 10.5 so like I said. Get sized.

My pedals are Shimano and I got them for two reasons. One, the were only $70 and they came with the cleats. Two, the LBS tech made a good point by saying that almost every bike shop will be able to work with those pedals if something goes wrong. Even with the most high end pedals, I would have only saved a gram or two.

Lastly, and most humorously, my new Cannondale Carbon bibs. After my last ride, the need for new padding down there was oh so apparent. When I went into my LBS and talked to the tech the conversation went like this:

I was standing by the bibs when the tech came over and I awkwardly said, “I need some…”

He just said “yeah” and went into explaining some of the cheaper but functional shorts.

I listened but looked concerned (I was scarred from the pain so “low end” didn’t interest me).

I said “Um, I need something, uhhh, more, uhhhh….”

To which he replied “OOOHHHH, get these, they’re the sh#t.”

Haven’t tried them yet, but for $150, they better be the sh#t. But no worries, I’ll let you guys know.

Alright, now that I have that off my chest, I can go in to the story. I have been feeling like my training has been lacking the luster lately so I decided to step it up a notch and take a few long rides on consecutive days. The first was a 20 mile loop down some roads I had been eyeing for a while and that went great. Plenty of climbing (which was what I felt I was lacking in a few other rides) and the distance was good. I actually caught up to and rode with some one for a few miles as well (something my rides have also been a little low on is company).  No flats, got plenty winded, and felt really good about myself (which always precedes either epic failure or pain).

The next day was my long ride for the week, 35 miles. I was excited too, because I was taking on route that I heard about when I started this torture-fest (that’s what I’m calling it until it gives my dignity back). I was to go up a local interstate on a road that  runs parrallel and into a cute little town on the way to the lake called Winters, Ca. and then back down a fairly familiar road and into the arms of my congratulatory and uber-supportive new wife. 

If only I were that lucky.

I started later in the day than I wanted so it was 80 degrees by the time I left around 10. It was warm, but that meant no wind. Around here you have one or the other in the heat of summer. Either its Africa hot or hurricane windy. On this particular day, though, an anomaly struck me when I turned onto the  road that would take me all the  way to Winters (about 15 miles). By anomaly I mean it was blazing hot and superlatively windy, and by struck I mean I was pelted by wind to the point that struggling in my granny gear was only getting me to about 9mph. I got so frustrated with it, I felt like I was pushing and pushing and getting nada in return. Like swimming upstream but not being a salmon (ate salmon tonight, had to make a reference).

I screamed out loud, got a flat, talked mad sh#t to the wind and cursed the heat, but above all, I made it to Winters (where I went through this awesome bridge). I was elated. So happy in fact that I accidently hauled ass through cute little Winters and was back in “Strugglesville” before I caught my breath. When I turned the corner back onto known roads, I had about 12 miles to go and started feeling “the burn”. I was so uncomfortable that I took my headphones out and played my iPhone outloud (not sure why or how that is related, but for some reason, that’s what I did to fight the pain).  Every pedal stroke after that became more and more agonizing. And to make matters worse, the wind that was against me on the way was totally nonexistent on the way back. It got worse. Because I spent so much energy (mentally and physically) fighting the California sized fires in my nether region that I totally exhausted myself and by mile 32 it had become a struggle just to push and pull on the pedals.

I came up on a last chance turn to get back to the house without going all the way around and take on another climb and gave in to the torture-fest. But I’m not disappointed. It didn’t have anything to with my effort, will, or drive to get the job done. I have a new respect for the task I am working for now. It isn’t just a test of physical ability. It will be a test of knowledge as well. Of myself, my bike, and my surroundings. Cycling became a 1 mile sport for me at that time. The mile ahead was all that mattered. The last mile seemed like it was days before, the mile after next seemed days ahead, and the goal was one mile away.