Transitions

The past two weeks have been all about transitioning. The most obvious transition involved me moving. Granted I moved all of ten-blocks, maybe a 1/4 mile as the crow flies, but it feels like a world away.

I also came to the realization a few weeks ago that the old Eddy Merckx adage of "ride lots" doesn't work for me. A lot of the folks I ride with do just that. They ride lots, and race into shape. The "season" involves racing every weekend and the midweek crits. Then beyond that, they ride lots. 2-3 hours a day. Lots of group rides that inevitably turn into races.

I'm not one of those people who is adverse to "training." A lot of others are. I'm also not one of those people who is always training, for whom every ride is a training ride, and misses the "soul ride".

Over the past few weeks some of my goals have been met. Unsurprisingly, others were not. You can't make yourself fast over a 9 hour race and make yourself fast over a group sprint at the same time. Now if you already had the endurance for the 9 hour race, you could train yourself to sprint faster, or vice-versa but not both at the same time.

I looked back and figured out what worked previously. I saw the most improvement in my fitness back when I was following workouts from Carmichael's Training Systems. Granted that was when I first began really riding. But rather than just the increase in riding (up from nothing, to 3-days or so per week, to riding 5-6 days a week), following a training plan helped too. Then I tried another coaches workouts. These didn't work, and actually just made me tired both physically and mentally.

So I'm going back to a structured training system, although one built by me. According to the majority of what I've read 3-weeks of hard racing is about all that someone can take. With the Mohican 100 -> Tour of Tucker County -> 24 hours of Big Bear, the spring season is over.

I've given myself a couple of weeks to move and get in some soul rides. Now it's time to transition to Cyclocross season and build myself back up for an hour of pure lactate threshold.

The new target for race peak fitness starts October 9-11 with the OVCX UCI 3-day weekend, then Granogue/Wissahickon Cross nearby Philly, and finishes with DCCX on October 25th. There are a lot of other races like Charm City Cross, the Renfrew Ras, maybe even Michaux or the Wilderness 101, and a lot of weekday crits before then, but those results don't really matter.

Training Crits

Last night at our little version of wednesday night worlds, the ACA training crit did the P-Course rather than the Oval course. Ruggery skillfully documented the normal Oval course a few years back by saying "this is the "cornerless crit". On a course this easy, it's possible for one motivated fat kid on a tricycle to bring back nine guys from CSC when they're doing a team time trial."

While warming up last night that point was driven home when Mike Friedman was riding around the course and rode the entire banked turn at over 20mph with his hands off the bars while he was gesturing and telling a story.

The P-course is an entirely different beast, mind you. It starts off with 50 yards of straight away and shoves you into a hairpin 180-degree turn. At this point everyone sprints up an incline and down into the fast bend to the S-shaped chicane and back down that straight away.

For the first 9 laps or so, the pace is blistering and the field inevitably shatters. Then everyone slows down a bit. But instead of allowing the lazy to sit in and rest, they still have to accelerate out of every corner to keep pace.
By about lap 20, you're looking up and thinking, "damn we're only halfway done?" As you make your way through lots and lots of lapped riders. It's then that you realize that this is like a cross race, only faster.

By lap 30, you're weazing and looking for more air anywhere you can find it. Meanwhile, Mike Friedman is marshalling the course right behind you...with his mouth closed.

All in all, it envisions everything I feel the training crits should be. The only purpose for them is to turn yourself inside out. The moment it presents itself, you need to ATTACK!!! When you inevitably get reeled in. It's time to attack again, and again, and again. Until your legs are burning so badly that you wouldn't even be able to cramp if you needed to.

If you can't finish, the course only covers 200 square yards. The wind can blow you back to the stands. It's not like you're 30 miles away from the finish on a back road in West Virginia being chased by an animal that is the rough approximation of a dog.

In the P-Course there isn't any hiding in the pack as with the Oval or a lot of the road races. There's no room for the wheelsuckers here. The constant turning, accelerating, and gaps opening up really separate the strong riders, the skilled riders, and the aggressive riders from the others. If you think you're fast, you'll quickly find out how fast you are when racing this course. Exactly the way bike racing should be.

That said, this was my second time on the P-course. Last time a gap opened up, I didn't force my way around the rider, and I ended up in a second group. That group was lapped. Last night I stuck in the mix. I began falling backwards, but kept attacking to move past anyone who let a gap open up. Mostly I just barely hung onto the back of that group. I finished with that group on the lead lap this time, which to me is a sign of improvement. At one point I almost fell off the pace, but my mind was telling me that everyone else was hurting just as bad. I finished gasping for air for at least another 5 minutes. It was the hardest and fastest that I've pushed myself since Big Bear. I had thought I pushed myself far, but I didn't.

I realized this when Carl Flink, who was in the same group that I was in, finished the race; kept riding around; and said how he was cramping for the last 4 laps of the race. He then lined up for the start of the A race.

Fort Cherry Road Race

This was my first time on the course. One thing is for sure, I'd like the road races around here to be longer. This 30-ish mile stuff is way too easy. At least 40 miles would be cool.

I didn't know what to expect on the course. The course is also on awesome roads. The kind of roads you can't wait to get on during your rides out of the city. I had heard there were some blind corners and lots of rollers. There really aren't. It's almost entirely flat with the most gentle rollers ever. There is one corner that takes some skill to make at speed. There are lots of places to make a break if you want. Here's my run down of the course.

It starts out down a hill. This intersects with the loop of the course. For the 4/5s this is neutral until the (only) climb. There is a gentle uphill, then a right turn before the climb.

The part of the course from the end of the loop turn, up the gentle hill to the hard right turn, and then all the way up to the top of the next hill is a great place to attack. The hill isn't hard, and can easily be ridden in the big ring. The hill is followed by a downhill that is smooth and flowing. It doesn't have any technical turns and you can just bomb it.

The downhill is also just fast enough that you can put some time into everyone on it. The downhill is a little faster than Mingo, plus it's followed by some real speedy roads with the slightest incline. If you're strong, you can stay away.

After this you make a kinda sharp right to a road with lots of wind that comes in from lots of angles. This is another good place to start some attacks because only the best wheelsuckers are going to be able to draft in anything but a large pack.



There is a right hand turn that can be taken with massive amounts of speed, but most people will slow down. If you are on the front and want to tire people out, again attack here. From there you have the gentle rollers, which would be another awesome place to up the pace to tire everyone out.

If you take it easy during the race you will have to deal with everyone on the final hill. The hill isn't a climbers hill, nor is it a sprinters hill. It's a pure big-ring power hill that only takes about 2 minutes to climb. Once you see that last left into the climb, you better be in the front of the group or you won't be able to get up the hill in any better than 20th. Unless you've done some work to whittle down the pack.

Honestly, the course is awesome for the time trialist/big engine folks. If you like to push a big gear, you can probably ride away from most of the pack. 2 or 3 people could easily get away from everyone else on this course.

Going through the motions

That's kind of the theme recently.

I actually have like a back-log of posts to share, hopefully sooner than later.

For starters, I've already accomplished two of my goals for the season. I survived a 100-miler, and actually did well. Two weeks ago the Argyle team made it to the podium at the 24 hours of Big Bear. Both teams that beat us had racers who have been in movies (Gunnar Shogren's team won, and Cameron Chambers who beat Chris Eatough to win National Championships in "24 Solo" CORRECTION:Cameron Chambers wasn't in 24 Solo, but has won multiple solo 24's, and one National Championship in 2005 and one singlespeed world championship 24 in 2003).

But even with those results, something is missing. I feel like I've lost my killer instinct. The blood lust that drives you to win. I'm no longer wired to win, and my circuitry has come undone. Overall, Attitude. That's the topic for one upcoming post.

A lot of that has to do with how I've been training. I've realized that just riding lots and racing isn't enough for me. I need more structure, but really numbers are the most important part. Something to test yourself against, and something to watch the progression with. That's going to be the topic for another post.

Last weekend was the perfect example of both of those things. I kind of signed up for the Fort Cherry Road Race reluctantly. I really shouldn't be racing at all right now. My legs were still sore on Friday from the previous 3 weekends of hard races(mohican, tour of tucker county and big bear).



What went down at the race was amazing. I've never seen anything like it. My plan was to just chill in the pack. Somehow, EVERYONE else chilled too. We literally averaged 21 mph. I go faster on group rides?!?!

I was awestruck by how many people just sat in. Even people with 2 or 3 teammates with them just sat it. Jake and myself had just finished 3 crazy weeks. At one point I was on the front. I'm riding don't feel like the pace is hard, look back and the pack is hanging out 20 yards back. I think "man am I really going that fast". I look down at my speedometer, and it says 23??? This goes back to my prisoners dilemma post from back in April about the Mingo Race. In the end some dude who kept falling off the back of the pack actually won. If it had been faster I don't think he would have been with the first group. crazy...

I jumped a little in the last mile. Got about 50 yards away, then was reeled back in. Most people passed me on the hill. I finished without feeling like I killed myself. Which is exactly according to plan, but I feel guilty about it too. I've been feeling like I haven't been pushing myself hard on most rides/road races/workouts. Oh well, I guess just rest up, start rebuilding, then get back to it.

For me it fit into my schedule perfectly. For most everyone else, what were you doing out there?

Mohican 100

Nothing can prepare you for doing 100-miles of mountain biking, except 100-miles of mountain biking. The amount of pain, pushing, emotion, self-evaluation, and ambition that it takes is ridiculous.

If time trials are the race of truth, 100-mile mountain bike "races" are the race of lies.

You have no idea how hard to push, so you don't push hard at all.
You have no idea how it can be so hard to go so easy.
You have no idea how un-hard you are pushing at mile 70, when it feels like you are pushing as hard as you can.
You have no idea when you are going to bonk, only that at some point you will.
You have no idea how you are going to push through it, just that your will power won't let you suffer defeat.

To sum it up, you simply have no idea.

I don't remember breathing hard until a climb about 75 miles in. I never let myself put the bike into a gear that really required me to push. At mile 46 I was smiling, and thought that this was easy. Starting at mile 48 I began getting little cramps and was wondering what it was I was trying to do to myself. It wasn't until mile 99.5 that my hamstrings seized leaving me unable to move in any manner, including collapsing on the ground. It wasn't until crossing the line at mile 100 and standing in a bewildered haze for 15 minutes that I realized what I had done to myself, and just how good it was.

In the Mohican 100, the first 46 miles are mostly singletrack and trails. They're fast. They flow. They let you get your groove on. It's awesome. You feel like you could ride it all day.

Yes, the singletrack tires you out, but it's the road, trail, and fireroad sections that really kill you. They're easy on you physically, but if you're alone they drain all will-power from you.

The race can crush your spirit, but the more time that passes after the finish the more rejuvenated it becomes.

It's all a bit blurry but sometime after aid station 3 at mile 46, maybe even after aid station 4 at mile 72 I was riding on a ghost road and there was a little gap where a bridge used to be. The gap was 5, maybe 10 feet across. On the other side of the gap is a course direction arrow point straight ahead on the continuation of the dirt road. I remember stopping there for what seemed like an eternity trying to figure out how to get across, oblivious to the ribbons on the sides of the bridge pillars that led to the trail that went through the gap.

For some it may have been the incredibly steep and rocky quad trail late in the race. For others it may have been the rope and wood suspension bridge. For me, that gap embodies everything that the race was.

If you've never done a "hundie", you should. The months of day-long training sessions are totally worth it. It's grueling, fulfilling, exhausting, challenging, demanding, awe-inspiring, taxing, and rewarding all at the same time. In a word: epic

Return to Rothrock

I've been reading a lot of books that are essentially bike racer diaries interspersed with my typical spy/detective/thriller type books. The latest was Joe Parkins' "A Dog in a Hat." So far most of these books have been pretty much the same. I'll sum all of them up for you right here so you don't have to read any of them.

Bike racer is the best bike racer ever.

a) Bike racer has the talent to win every bike race he's ever entered, but doesn't because he either becomes ill, peaks early, is tired because his coach has him in too many races and fails to perform up to par. Everyone else but our protagonist uses the dope (except perhaps once or twice). Bike racer misses out on life, becomes old and bitter.

or

b) Bike racer does win every race ever beyond all odds and overcomes every obstacle whether it's coming from an underprivileged poor household of the upper-middle class, life-threatening illnesses, emotional distress, or usually all of the above. Everyone else but our protagonist uses the dope. Bike racer becomes rich, but is old and bitter but only because everyone else is so far below the honorable and world-changing life of bike racer

If I find one that doesn't repeat one of these two stories, I'll let you know.

This weekend, I fell firmly in the latter category. The flannel crew returned to Rothrock. I choose the exact right weapon for the terrain in my 1997 Schwinn Project Underground single speed conversion complete with ultra-short top-tube and low standover, the bike felt like a little kids bike compared to the other bikes I've been riding. With over a mile of vertical ascent on the first day, I was set for an easy spin w/ the 32x18 gearing. The vertical mile of rocky-singletrack descending would be cushioned by the ever so stiff Judy elastomer fork and stopping would be taken care of by the powerful 90s v-brakes.

To add to the 1990's element, I've added stubby tree-grabbers to this bike. I had contemplated letting the party come out in the back via my hair, but thought better of it.


I was definitely up to the challenge ahead, leaving the task of finding the perfect downhill to unleash what I've been training a lifetime for. I was staking out the venue. Shittaka, while downhill, was far too gradual for my grand show. The upper and lower Shingletown trails provided for great really hard, soft crashes last time we were here, but I needed a new venue. The descent from Bald Knob was tempting, but I thought it might kill me rather than just put me in the winners circle.

Then when thunderstorms were about to roll in, a vision appeared in the form of two drunken hillbillies in their "beater car" looking for a cell-phone signal. After commenting on Special-Chunk's color choice of spandex, they invited us down to their camp for some frosty beers. We didn't take them up on their offer. But it set the stage for my debut, Wildcat Gap.

All winter I've been training. Trying to find the perfect balance between lactate-threshold and VO2max, where I'm able to finish and still walk away. During the last Coopers Rock outing I nearly overdid it, but I found the limit.

I set off on the descent. The trail had some deep cut sweeping bends in it, the kind you could arc your bike right through. Then rough stuff that begged to be wheelie dropped, giving you just enough air time to savor the moment filling your veins with adrenaline to keep you alert enough to stick every line as you gracefully navigate treacherous life-threatening terrain.

Somehow a bike with 10+ year old geometry, v-brakes that barely slow you down, and a suspension fork that only cushions the most intense of hits doesn't inspire that sort of feeling. It's a little more like "Oh shit, I'm totally going to die".

I made a quick left hand turn in some loose dirt, launched off a well placed rock with my patented in-air correction-of-direction, put the front wheel down first at a 120-degree vertical-angle giving the proverbial one fingered salute to gravity, and drove that wheel right off the trail in a continuation of my left turn. I'm not quite sure how it happens, but somehow you manage to get unclipped in these situations, as instinct takes over and screams "get this bike away from me". I immediately tucked into an army roll, only I somehow forgot about the rolling part, and began a high-speed army-sliding-crawl, the kind they only teach to special ops forces, face first towards a sharp-edge of Pennsylvania rock.

You can actually see the trail to the left, and my bailout line straight to the rock on the right in the picture of Nate masterfully negotiating the terrain.

My thought process went something like, "use the hand to catch that rock. no wait DON'T DO THAT, it hurt really, really, really bad last time, what am I going to use to stop my inevitable death on that rock, wait I can use my arm it's bigger than my hand and should hold up better". I managed to get my arm between my head and the rock to cushion the impact.

With only one downhill left to go my first place prize was nearly secured. After the Shingletown trail downhill it was complete. I scored the venerable over-the-bars prize of the flannel coleman camp stove, only I have no place to store such a thing. I managed to stash it at the Special Chunk base of operations until the next outing.

Aaron Shelmire, falling head first since 1980, remember it, respect it, honor it.

The ever sought after night ride didn't happen on this outing, largely due to the rare-mid-Pennsylvania hurricane that came through. I'm anxiously awaiting it and everything else that a Fall Rothrock trip has in store.

Until then, I have to go back to being old and bitter...

Road Bikes

I spend more time on my road bike and cross bike than anything else. If the weather is nice, I might head out on the mountain bike, but anymore with the issues I've been having with mine, I don't even do that anymore.



That said, the drive train on my road bike is on it's last legs. The left/rear shifter no longer sits near the brake lever. The right shifter shakes. The derailleurs are still good, the crankset is nearly brand new, the bottom bracket is brand new(replaced it when I thought the shaking was it, the shaking ended up being the spokes on my lightweight wheels flexing), one cassette is newish, the other has thousands of miles but is still good.

I'm stuck with a dilemma.

choice 1:
1. Sell the road bike and buy a new bike with the money from that and the wheelset I'm selling + some of my own

2. Upgrade the parts to mostly sram rival

Both options cost me about the same in cash.

The new road bike would be all aluminum w/ a carbon fork. The current frame is deda steel w/ a carbon rear triangle and fork. I had an aluminum trek 1000 before, it rode like garbage, the current frame is a lot smoother. Rumor is the caad9 aluminum frame rides nice. The caad9 weighs almost exactly what the current bike weighs.
This bike is mostly used for crits right now, and the vast majority of my bad weather and winter miles.

thoughts?

btw, the pic above is completely not how the B-race went down. That is me trying to close a half lap gap after the 10 UPMC sat there with one guy in the break of 6 guys(others were Iron City and a Steel City Endurance guy). We ended up getting lapped.