Insanity at Tyson's Corner

"They" say that insanity is doing the same thing time and time again while expecting the result to be different. "They" may be right.

I say that because today was the Tyson's Corner Circuit Race, and much like the Vint Hill Crit, I came within the top-10, but found myself a bridesmaid yet again. But why? That's the question you are surely dying to know.

The race started out with a frantic search for an ATM. I hadn't paid my entry fee yet, and I remembered that just as we turned off of the freeway. Thanks to gamjams.net and the handy "List-Lurker" I found out that the Tyson's Corner race was open to registration a bit late. That's because it's still early in the season, and a bunch of guys still like riding their bikes right now. That means the races fill up in minutes, and if you miss the boat you're stuck in the waiting list. Which is alright if you aren't real dedicated to racing that weekend or you don't have the cash on hand given that you don't have to pay to be on the waiting list. You will, however, need to have some cash when you register. Which I didn't.

So we searched rather frantically for an ATM in a remarkably ATM-unfriendly area. Thanks to the Subaru turbo, we found a cash dispensing device, and promptly got lost trying to get somewhere near the course.

Thanks to the good people at Apple, we got even more lost. Seriously, fix your "maps" app. It seems to suck only when I need it most.

But then we got there, and the course was really well marked, well road-guarded, well staffed at registration, and really rather good. Thanks (not sarcastically) to the guys over at NCVC.

I got all the essentials taken care of, and then took off my heart rate monitor's strap. My Garmin was plugged into the computer at home. Sweet.

So I warmed up without any idea of where my heart rate was. Which was absolute tragedy. I mean, I could have used my finger, a watch, and my neck/wrist/thigh to figure it out, but I couldn't have possibly done that while knowing exactly how fast I was going. And when the race got underway, I knew I'd be hosed because I would watch people ride away from me trying desperately to make a break, and I wouldn't know how fast they were going. Or if I was going to die trying to catch them.

That or I just tossed the stupid strap in the car. It's uncomfortable anyway.

And then the smoke started.

Coming from an NCVC tent was the real-life smoke monster. It smelled strangely like grilling meat, but I guess on Lost, you never really find out what the smoke monster smells like. So right as I crossed the area of the start-finish line, I got to breathe in charring meat smoke, and

think about how sweet that would be for like 20 laps.

We staged up, ready for the race, and were ordered to "Take a lap!" because we had staged earlier than the USA Cycling Ref. would have preferred. It's worth noting that this might have been for our benefit given that we were sitting there right in the stream of smoke.

And then we started racing, and you know what? Not that remarkable. If I'm honest, it was a rather boring race. I didn't help with that at all, and most of the time that I was on the front, I quickly found my way back a few wheels. I mean, really though, I didn't have any other teammates there, and it was destined to be a sprint finish. So I stayed at the front, took a pull when it was necessary, and waited with breathless anticipation. Or I was gassed every time we went up that damn hill. Whatever.

The bit that matters was, of course, the sprint finish. This one went up a bit of a hill, and while it wasn't "A climb" it was definitely an incline. I came into 1 lap to go in absolutely dreadful position some 30 places back or so, and managed to make up about 25 of those spots on the downhill. I don't know how or why, but I seem to descend quicker than most other people.

I'm not really that much heavier anymore, I'm not riding some crazy bike or wheel combo, and I'm actually much taller than most. Whatever. I made up some spots, and sprinted up the hill.

I really mucked up the gear selection, though. about a hundred meters from the line I was spun out, and I was waffling between trying to spin it out all the way or drop a gear. I figured if I dropped a gear I'd lose a place, and if I didn't, it could go either way. So I stayed where I was, looked around to see that I was 5th, was content was that, and then saw someone pip my 5th right at the line.

So why is that insane? Why is 2 top-10s in 3 races bad? Because I'm not first, damnit. I just don't have the kick at the line that I did last year (as in 3 podiums, 1 win). So it's time to hit the gym and get these chicken legs back where they were. I thought it was a good thing that I had lost weight in the legs, but it seems that there have been some side-effects. So why don't I do that, and I'll let you know how it goes.

On a very positive note, I won real money today.

That's $15 to be exact.

And I promptly spent it the way I believe all prize money should be spent.

So if you'll excuse me, I need to attend to said winnings, and watch the rest of Paris-Roubaix.

See you at Dolan next week (Another up-hill finish) and stand by to learn about my ride along Skyline Drive. It was totally epic! OK, so it wasn't epic at all. It was just a really great ride along a road that was laid for no reason other than to showcase how awesome our planet can be in one of the best non-California parks around.

The Easy Race

On my way home from the Union Grove Road Race I was thinking of what to write about it. I had intended on basically writing a big bitch-fest. There was a lot for me to dislike today. Then I went to the bathroom and about 5 minutes later I felt much better, and had decided to do something other than that. Besides, that's not exciting to read.

But I still want to talk about the race because even though there were things to dislike, there were as many things to learn. After all, if I didn't call this a learning experience it would have been quite the waste of time and money.

The day started out early. Very early. Like 4:45 early. With an 8:30 roll time and a 2 hour drive, it couldn't be helped. By the time we got going, I hadn't warmed up, I was freezing (the temps were in the high-20's), and my head wasn't in the game.

Basically everyone had failed to get a proper warm-up, and because of that we had what could be called a neutralized start. Or just a really slow start. Which was cool with everyone. We had 7 laps for a total of 52k to ride. I figured that after the first couple laps we would start the racing in earnest.

It turns out that I was wrong. After 2.5 laps, myself and another guy went off the front and stormed up the short, steeeeeep climb. We had a little gap, but we had been going so slowly that I pegged the rev limiter and couldn't get my heart rate down fast enough to be of any use. So we were swallowed up. I knew once we went off the front the speed would get going, and guys would rip off the front left and right.

I was wrong again. We just went back to a leisurely pace. In fact, I believe that we went from being in a break to being the guys pulling the pack instead of them coming up and just swallowing us up. This race just didn't want to get going.

And it didn't get going at all. Ever. There was, and I'm serious here, not a single point at which I felt like the pace was race-like. Most of the time, the pace wasn't even as high as most of us go on a team training ride. I would get to the front to pull for a while, and when I was tired, no one would come through. I ended up leading the race for at least a lap and a half (of 7) and probably closer to 2 full laps. Most of it was at a pretty slow clip because no one wanted to go faster than the pace I was setting. Which was purposefully really really slow.

What I learned (And I know you're waiting for this part) is that my legs need to be told what they're doing. If I'm taking them out for a training ride then they know that they don't have to go full-out, but they need to learn how to go hard and be efficient. If I'm in a TT situation, they know that they need to find their limit and stay there. And in a race they know to go as hard as necessary for as long as necessary, while leaving just a little tiny bit in the reserves for the sprint.

Today, my legs never got the message that we were in a race. They thought we were cruising. Maybe somewhere between a group ride and a training ride. They just never got to the stage of really doing the work necessary to go fast. Because of that, they stayed cold, never really woke up, and didn't want to do much of anything when it came to the business-end of the race.

At the 1K mark, I was 2nd or 3rd wheel. At about 700m someone went off the front. I tried to follow his wheel but after a hundred meters or so I realized it was probably too early, and I didn't have the legs to do it. So I fell back to the group and figured I'd rip it up in the uphill sprint.

I was wrong again. After not really getting my heart, lungs, and legs into race mode, they all just didn't recover from the initial hard effort, and when it came time to sprint up the finishing climb, I just didn't have anything left.

I probably placed in the 20's or so, and maybe down into the 30's. Which is among my worst results.

I never really thought it was possible, but I realized later that the race was just too easy for me. My legs never woke up, I couldn't get into "race mode", and in the end I just didn't have what it took to get fired up for the finish.

A few factors conspired to make the field a bit weak other than their basic laziness. The promoter was a bit lacking. We all stood on line in the shade at 7:45 in the morning when it was 27 degrees for well over 20 minutes to register. Even though we had already pre-registered. The weather was bitterly cold, though it was dry, and most of us didn't get a chance to warm up prior to the race start. I think there were very few of us that really wanted to be there.

What I've realized is that I don't do well under certain conditions. My body doesn't react to the cold very well. I'm from California, so what do you expect? I'm not a morning person. I just never have been. And I don't "race train" at a low level which means that if the race doesn't get hot, I'm rubbish.

So I won't do races that are super cold, early in the morning, and full of lazy blokes. That seems easy enough ... Until I get a 'cross bike.

Presentation

First off, I had started writing this with some sort of intention to be anonymous. That way if I said something that offended someone, it could matter less to me personally. Which was a great idea in terms of keeping myself insulated from anyone with hurt feelings.
It's really a bit hard to write that way, though. You may have noticed that I have hardly written anything here. Last year I kept a blog and I updated it far more frequently than I have this one. A lot of that is in trying to skirt around issues like who I am.
In reality, I realized, I don't give a damn if people get upset. Well, to a point. There are still crazy people out there.

Hi, my name is Brian Parker, and I can be a bit sharp-tongued at times. I'm sorry if that gets you all worked up, but I can't say I'll change it.
So let's get one thing out of the way that I have no problem saying straight-away.

If we happen to all find ourselves in a bicycle race and you feel as though the pace isn't high enough for you then you should, by all means, move to the front and take a solid pull. If your pull is so hard that the guy behind you can't hold your wheel then you may have just made an unintentional break-away. Go you!

If, however, you find yourself somewhere between 10 and 20 wheels back, comfortably in the middle of the back, in a sub-sub-maximal effort zone, and you don't want to get to the front and pull: Keep your damn mouth shut.
"Come on guys; up the pace!" is not what I want to hear after I've been at the front rotating with 5 other guys to pull in some breakaway. We're gassed, and we did it to get the entire bunch up to some other bunch. You've been having an armchair ride. Be thankful for that, and then come around us in the sprint because we just got you to a good position at our own expense. Don't thank me by telling me to go harder.

Anywho,
I realized at last weekend's race that when I'm at that place where my heart can't beat much faster, my lungs aren't taking in enough oxygen, and everything is saturated in lactic acid, I look like shit.
This may not come as a huge revelation to the non-cycling public. Most mortals, in that scenario, look rather poorly. Cyclists, however, tend to have a certain amount of dignity when they're in the red.

Here's Lance Armstrong in the time trial up Alpe D' Huez in '04. Relatively calm, looking fairly cool. Really, he looks like he's not doing that much to his body. The truth is that he's climbing one of the fiercest mountains in the world, and he's doing against nothing but himself and the clock. That's the hardest kind of riding there is. In sharp contrast, I offer:


More specifically:



We all look a bit worn down, but I look like I'm getting ready to shout at someone. Really, I was just trying to breathe. Air in, air out, repeat. That was a bit tough at the time.

What I really noticed based on this and other similar photos is that I have no chance at being a good racer. The fact that I finished 5th in my second 3/4 race (the last one, an insect bit me on the forehead in the sprint) and my 3rd race as a cat. 4 doesn't really matter. If I can't start looking better, no one will want to take pictures of me. If there aren't any pictures of me then there are no pictures of my kit. And how do you convince sponsors that they should get behind a team with a rider no one will photograph? I guess that somehow, I need to start looking much, much better when I'm totally gassed.

At some point in time I may come across the finish line first. If the first person photographed finished second then my win will really be worth nothing.

New!

Well, the new season is nearly upon us. Or, it is if you're me. Or anyone else in this particular area and circumstance.

Which is to say that the training series I would have been racing in every weekend for the past month was cancelled. First, there was a ton of snow everywhere. Then, the snow melted, the ground was saturated, and pot-holes formed. Those holes were apparently rather large, and couldn't be patched cold. I guess someone didn't watch the Daytona 500 this year.

So the first race is next weekend. That's like a week away!

Which means the things going through my head are frantically "Holy crap! Next weekend! Am I ready? Of course I'm ready. I mean ... Yeah, I'm ready. Right? And no crashes! And don't be sketched out by all the people that seem to want to destroy you. Holy crap! Man, I'm not ready!"

This is much different than last year when I thought almost nothing but how excited I was to finally be able to race my bike. I didn't know what to expect, and there was more than a bit of trepidation, but I was just stoked to finally be able to do what I had wanted to do so much.

This year I've got a good idea of what to expect, and I think I know where my fitness is. I haven't been out there racing though, so I really don't know. If the form really is where I think then I should do well. But if I'm just being cocky then this could be a real wake-up call. Oh well, I guess I'll just wait and see what happens at the Vint Hill Classic.

Refinement

This will be my second year as a competitive cyclist, and only my third year as a road rider. Not that I was really a serious cyclist of any kind before that, but I did get to the trails every now and then on a mountain bike. As of now it's been almost two and a half years since I smoked a cigarette, and I'm all of 25 pounds lighter than when I started riding bikes seriously. That's mostly all muscle that I worked desperately to build up, and then realized was quite counter-productive to climbing mountains by bike.

What I'm saying is that a lot has changed in the past few years. It's easy to think that the bike sort of stays as a constant, but the fact of the matter is that our bikes need to adapt with us. We're always looking for new gear and trying as hard as we can to make the most informed choices about the equipment we buy. Sometimes the parts we buy for our bikes are necessary simply because they're lighter or better built, and sometimes we just buy something for the sake of having something new.

One of the things we rarely give enough credit to is the way we sit on the bike with the parts we have right now.

At a training ride, myself and a few others ended up sprinting for an imaginary line at about 40 mph. Or maybe faster. I wasn't really focused on the computer quite as much as the wheel to my left, and whether or not I could turn it into the wheel behind me.

Afterward, it was mentioned that myself and another teammate were at a disadvantage relative to the other 2 because the others had deep-dish carbon wheels with significant aero sections.

I won't mention the placing, but let's just say the advantage seemed rather insignificant. That's not to discount the benefit of having aerodynamic wheels, bikes, helmets, and all the rest. What I'm saying is that at that speed there is something on your bike that acts more like a sail than any box-section wheel.

I speak, of course, about the fat ass atop the bicycle.

Getting that fat ass into a more aerodynamic position will speed up every single bit of the ride whether it's the sprint or a descent. It's also worth noting that being more comfortable on the bike will lead to more power in everything you do, and the ability to keep putting that power to the pedals for longer periods of time.

And that's what my strategy will be this year. Don't get me wrong; I'll still be the consumer I've always been, but more than anything else I plan on making subtle changes to my position on the bike in an attempt to be more comfortable and aerodynamic. The changes don't stop at position, though. There are little things that can make a huge difference. Tire pressure comes to mind, as do things like how tight your kit and shoes are.

Hopefully I can find the time to write about some of those things, and shed light on them for anyone who cares to read. A certain Mr. Merckx said the key to being faster was to "Ride lots." That is still true, but there is also a lot to be learned from sitting down and thinking about how you ride, and making the subtle changes necessary to get the most out of your body and your bike.

Gear Review: Too Little

I wrote this a while back and never got around to posting it. I don't really know why. Here it is now, a season late, without any sort of proper segue as to why I hadn't written it earlier anyway.

A big reason for not writing this is what has been a record snowfall. For individual storms, for the season, and for all damn time, we've had more of the white powdery stuff than ever before. This is, of course, one of the worst things that can happen to a road cyclist. I say "a road cyclist" because my full suspension mountain bike is down for repairs, my hardtail jumping bike was just sold, and my 29er as well as my cyclocross bike don't exist. Which leaves me with nothing but a road bike.

On to what matters though: A gear review from someone that just barely knows what he's talking about. Now, I will grant you that there are a ton of places that you can find reviews by people that have very few years racing. I, however, am basically the exact same. Or I mean ... wait ... OK, so the fact of the matter is that I'm not that experienced, but sometimes that's good. I haven't been doing this and learning to hate things, or even worse, refusing to try things. That means I can give you a fresh impression. One that may be much like your own.

The gear I'd like to tell you about: Having too little.

That's right; I'm not going to write on about some brand name or specific piece of equipment that you absolutely can't live without. I'm going to tell you a little story. Hopefully you'll learn just as much from this as you will from hearing that a frame is "laterally stiff and vertically compliant."

A week out, the weather looked piss poor for Sunday, and poor for Saturday. The team keeps trying to get big rides going even though it's winter, but this weekend in particular didn't look so great. As the day came closer, the e-mails began to take a slightly less positive tone. People that were so-so early in the week turned to definitely not making it. People that were going to definitely go became so-so. A few said that we'd definitely be there.

Then, a few became two. Just myself and one other. The other guy that decided he'd make it is originally from Minnesota. That probably should have given me a bit of hesitation. It didn't.

The day of the ride I pulled my car up next to my mate's, and he got in the car where the heater was on full. I pulled out my trusty iPhone where the Weather Channel App told me it was 17 degrees Fahrenheit with a wind chill of -1. It did not dawn on me at the time that this is the exact temperature I keep my freezer set to.

In the time it took me to put on my sock liners, thick socks, shoes, and shoe covers, I had begun to lose feeling in a couple toes. When I was pretty much completely dressed I told my mate I'd need to take a minute before we headed out. My fingers, while being inside super thick Gore-Tex motorcycle gloves, had begun to sting something fierce from the whole 4 minutes it took to put my kit on.

For the record, I've ridden my motorcycle (without any fairing) at 70 mph when the temperature was 34 degrees, and while cold, my fingers didn't hurt like they did before that ride.

After a brief break behind the car and in what you could kind of call the sun, we rolled out.

It was cold. Winds over 20 mph, gusting to 40, and then adding 15+ mph I started to wonder if I was properly dressed. The ride starts with a mild climb, and then descends for a bit. After about half of the climb I was working my way from wondering to getting a feeling. We stopped so I could adjust my scarf and get it up over my cheeks which were starting to sting from wind burn.

A scarf is not only fashionable with the right outfit, but can be a very useful piece to add to your wardrobe when it's cold. I've even used a scarf with great success on the bike. There are certain things that a scarf can't do, though. This was one of those things.

As we neared the top of the first little incline, I began to know I was under-prepared and started to do the very loose calculations of just how much I could stand. We were climbing, so that was the warmest I could expect to be. But I wasn't really warmed up. What about when we went down though? A 35 mph head wind on top of everything? I don't really want that. But what about if the wind dies down on the other side of the road? And besides, I've gotta stick it out. Look at the guy next to me with the walrus moustache hanging out of his balclava. I don't want to disappoint the driving force behind getting the team rides started so early in the year.

Just over the top of the hill, I gave up. My cheeks were starting to feel like they were covered with sand paper and not cotton, my big toes were numbing while the toes descending from them were increasing in their pain levels, and my legs still hadn't even begun to come to life.

The moral of the story is that sometimes you don't have the right equipment for a particular circumstance. When that happens, it might be best to pack it in. If you get outside and realize you don't even want to stand there in street clothes, it might not be the best day for a ride.

My gear was too little, and I do not recommend it to anyone. If you've got the "too little" style of gear then do like I should have done and stay your ass inside. Trust me, it's more fun that way.

p.s. There is always one exception, and that is racing. If there's a race that you're underprepared for then go out there and do it anyway. You'll forget about how cold you are in no time.

Off That

You may have noticed in my previous post that I mentioned my legs being smaller, and that I had no way to confirm that numerically. The reason for that is because I'm not using data this winter.

Currently, I have a Garmin Edge 305 and a couple of CatEye cyclo-computers that all work. The Garmin needs some love every now and then, but you get the point. Why, then, would I not use them?

Because I don't have to. I decided that for the off-season this year, I would ride my bike whenever I could, and I would enjoy riding my bike for the sake of being on it. The theory is that by not constraining myself to training in a digital, numbers-based way, I'll have more fun, train harder, and enjoy myself more. After all, I'm not a professional racer, and that means that I ride my bike for the enjoyment of it.

I know that there are huge gains to be made by following a proper training plan, staying within the specified zones of heart rate or power and playing by the rules of a coach. I just didn't want to do that. I have coaching and training plans very much available and at my disposal, and they're all very good. Sometimes, you just have to realize that certain things aren't for you. Not right now at least.

In the future, I'll spring for a power meter setup and I'll go through all the enjoyment of figuring out my zones so I can train to different specialties.

For now, though, it's all about the fun and the feeling. A lot of people say that's just being Italian, and some might even say it's snobbish to simply rely on the feeling of my training. Really, it is all of that and more. By taking the computers off the bikes, I've really found that I look at the world around me a lot more. Even when there's snow at the side of the road and the sky above looks like it's going to burst open, it's all just so much better to be riding next to a river and really be able to watch the water fall down boulders that have slowly-thickening layers of ice forming. I'm not concerned with exactly how fast my heart is beating, and I'm not concerned with what percentage of my maximum that rate is. I am concerned with the responsiveness of my body on that particular day, how my bike is riding, and how I'm feeling about life.

Really, that's what bike riding is all about. Even when I get back into the digital style of training, I'll still take a lesson from what I've been doing the past few months and take the computer off for a ride every now and then. Sometimes, that means cruising through the hills and communing with nature while at other times, it's a team ride where we forget about the fact that "Today is supposed to be zone 2-3."