Carondelet Park A Legit Training Race

After my laywerly duties concluded today I suited up and went down the road to St. Louis' Tuesday Night World Championship training race in Carondelet Park. It was a legit race. It's a quick little loop with a tough hill. When Coach Adam, Joe Lafico and I rolled up to the start line we were joined by 50 other guys. Like I said, it was a legit race.

I've done training crits in a lot of places and most of them are pretty tame and not well attended but tonight was not the case. It was 50 minutes + 3 laps and there wasn't much time to sit back and relax. because the racing pretty much went from the gun. Again, the stars and bars on my team kit were recognized at the start line. It's really entertaining how many people recognize a DC-based team when you're not in DC. It's really a boost of confidence that folks have the respect enough to acknowledge NCVC/Inova Health System.

Coach Adam was a marked man pretty much from the jump. He tried a few moves early on but was instantly countered. I spent the first half of the race curbing my nasty tendency to...well attack in the first half of the race. I've been consciously trying to make my attacks more focused and less desperate this season and a big part of that goal is to improve my timing. We were turning laps at about 1 minute intervals which made the first half drag on for a while.

After the 25 minute mark I started to play a little bit more. Adam got up the road with a group of about 6 guys. They were working together pretty well and fighting off the field. I jumped across to try bridge as we headed into the downhill. Two guys tagged on and I pulled them about half way there. I signaled for one of the guys to pull through but instead of pulling through he jumped both of us. This made me just a touch angry and sent me back into the field.

Adam's break eventually came back and the field began in earnest attacking itself. I bridged up to a group of two who had established a move off the front. The moment I arrived the two of them just quit racing, which led to a little more anger and then me quickly being caught by the field. The race ended without much more from me.

I was really impressed by how the entire training race was run. It was smooth and professional and everyone took it serious. The pace never really slackened and overall it was a great workout.

Bike Riding in St. Louis: Creve Coeur, MO

Ok, the name of the town is just cool. The riding here isn't anything special, in fact I only road for an hour today and all at recovery pace. It's just a town with a cool name. However, what was really great about today's ride . . . it was in the 70s and I didn't have to wear winter clothes!!!

I found some more pictures from yesterday's bike race:

This is the four-man breakaway going up the hill with one to go. Who says that bike racing isn't fun. I was having a great time, riding above my lactate threshold and even got to shoot the cameraman the thumbs up.

A few seconds later. It looks like a smile, but in reality it was a grimace. The result of climbing out on the West Coast and hours going up the Blue Ridge has made me much more comfortable when the road turns up. Still, there is nothing like a Kansas headwind to make you feel small and your legs feeble.

That's Tom Price in the blue and orange Lincoln kit. This is lap five going up the hill and he is setting a killer tempo. Tom finished the race with a solid 3rd place. The GP Velo Tek rider is right over my shoulder. It was right at this point that I realized that the race was about to get painful and we were about to get our sprint on.

I realize now that I need to get cooler sunglasses.

In the Saddle in Kansas

Day 4 of bike racing on my two-week long work trip to the MidWest and I'm back racing the Perry Road Race. The ride out today was a lot more pleasant than last week when Coach Adam, Jason Knight and I fought a 25 mph headwind for an hour and 15 minutes. Today we did the same ride with a couple of extra fresh legs in 55 minutes and never once saw our power go above 250 watts. It was definitely a better way to warm-up for a race and didn't leave me blown before the start.

30 guys lined up for a 5-lap road race. The first lap was a "mountain goat" lap which had the added bonus of providing a few series points to the first three finishers. My legs weren't feeling fresh on the flats or in the crosswind sections but going up the half-mile climb they felt great. On the first lap a rider from GP Velo Tek got off the front at the base of the hill and the guys from 360 immediately went to the front. However, instead of countering or trying to bridge they just rolled up the hill. I jumped around a couple of them to steal 3rd and a sprint point. The leader was quickly caught after the crest.

The second lap proved entirely uneventful. A few cheap breakaway attempts but nothing stuck. On the third lap going over the dam another GP Velo Tek rider rolled off the front. I remembered him from the day before and since no one seemed to care about him being up the road I lept across to him. I got there clean in about 20 pedal strokes and we were off. Tom Price joined us about 2 minutes later and now our break was 3. Tom and I had put in 2 1/2 laps worth of a breakaway the week before so I knew what he was capable of doing and I also knew he had a motor. A fourth guy joined us later that lap just before the turn onto false flat leading into the climb.

We were taking 30 second pulls and working good. My fear was that we would come apart on the hill and that someone would try to attack. I told my breakaway mates to keep it steady and then went to the front and laid down a 350-watt tempo up the hill. The pace got nasty going down the other side of the hill and onto the dam but the field was nowhere near us. I kept expecting to look back and see someone on the front chasing but there was no organization in the field.

One of the guys in breakaway started to stumble a little on a small rise on the lower portion of the dam. He had been a serious motor on the flats and I was content to let him pull because he could hold a hard tempo. I began to get concerned as we neared the right-hand turn up onto the false flat before the base of the hill. I remembered the week previous and how my lead had evaporated instantly on the climb. I was not going to let the pace slow down so I went to the front and set the tempo high. Tom joined in and we pushed on.

We hit the base of the hill with Tom in the lead, me second and the GP Velo Tek rider third. We made it up and over the first rise without incident. I kept waiting for something to come. I knew that I had the legs and the power to sprint the steeper last 100 meters but I didn't want to be the one who lit it up first. The false flat came and it was clear that Tom wasn't leaving his position on the front. I faked a jump to get the GP Velo Tek rider to go but he didn't bite. The road turned steep again and it was time to go.

I jumped hard but not at a full sprint. I half thought someone was going to come around me and wanted to be able to reaccelerate if I needed to. I took 6 hard pedal strokes and a quick glace back. It was me and the GP Velo Tek rider and he was 10 meters behind me and wasn't gaining. I dropped it into the next gear, went en banc and dug for the crest of the hill and the finish.

In the end my jump proved too much and I rode in for the win. It's a relief to get this win. A lot of effort and sweat was rewarded and more than that the pressure of getting things going again is gone. I've got my first win and now it's on to the next challenge. The win and the sprint point has thrust me into contention for the series which concludes next week.

(photos courtesy of Alyson Abel)

Well Heck

A quick flight back last night to KC from Northern Kentucky where the bourbon flows like water. Two sprint depositions exhausted me which was just exacerbated by the flight back and the greasy pizza from Johnny's. I actually passed out in my clothes later that evening from exhaustion, and not from drinking. I woke up 7 hours later, realized I was still wearing my jeans and then passed back out again without taking them off.

Today was the Spring Fling crit, 29 laps of one-mile fury. It was identical to last weekend but this time there was no wind, which in Kansas means less the 15 mph. All I gotta say is "seriously, what does it take to break a field?"

Thinking back now I realize I have never been in a breakaway in a crit that has actually stuck for the win. I've made the selection and ended races in small fields, but never off the front. Five times today I rolled off the front. Five times I found myself attacking the field. Five times they dragged me back.

The professed theory of bike racing, at least n the Midwest is that the 3rd attack will be the one that sticks. Three attacks in a row and the field will let the third one go, at least for a little while. It's what you do when you get up the road that matters.

I made my first attack at 21 to go when the field slowed after a sprint point. It was a lame attack in the neighborhood of 500 watts, but it got me up the road. I took a couple guys with me but we were dragged back 20 seconds later. My second attack was when a group of four established a break. Each big team was represented and before they got too far away I knew I had to get to them or else my rogue racing self would spend the rest of the race chasing. I made the juncture bringing one guy with me. Somehow, my presence in the break was too much for the field to bear and they dragged us beak half a lap later.

My third and fourth attacks were close in time to each other More than anything these attacks broke the will of the largest team to attack the field in a coordinated manner. For the previous five laps they had repeatedly assaulted the field. One of their guys would get up the road and then the field would chase just long enough for them to launch a counter attack. It was a pretty sweet plan until I put them on the defensive. They stayed there the rest of the race.

Another guy from a KC team came to the front and laid a nasty tempo down. It started as a breakaway attempt but he was swept up quick. He slowed up after two strong efforts in a row and then I made a jump for it. It was about 5 to go and my jump wasn't powerful. I only hit mid-400 watts but then I stuck my wattage between 300-350. I know I can hold that pace for ten minutes. I know that if need be I could stay there for the final 5 laps, heck maybe someone would jump to me.

I was all alone and 50 meters ahead of the field. I looked back and the big team I had put on the defensive sent a guy off the front to bring me back. I sat there at above 300 watts undeterred. I broke him. I broke him like he was a little girl. The field recoiled and I dove through another corner faster and stronger. I had been off the front for a lap. Down the little hill and up the hill again and a second surge from the field came. This one came up within 10 meters of me before the surge slowed, but they were too close and a couple guys lept across the gap and tagged on.

I wasn't about to bury myself any more to pull them around the course so I sat up and they swarmed me. I stuck it out in the field and was in position to take the final sprint until I got chopped in the final corner and found myself going in reverse quick. I was out of position and just rolled in. So another field sprint and a 1700 calorie day. Tomorrow back to the uphill finish.

Lawrence: Paisley and Black

I was out to dinner on Sunday night with Col Randy, Kathi and Kanak and the topic of life in Lawrence was brought up. I had met the mom and pop part of the family back in 2001 when I was still a student at KU. We subsequently all found ourselves living in DC together in 2006 before they moved back to Lawrence. They love it here and who could blame them.

We were discussing me moving back to Lawrence and whether or not I could see myself living here. As I ride around Lawrence these last couple of days I realize that I could move back and that I would enjoy certain aspects of it just like the old days. However, I paused when I thought about my life, the dream house I wanted to build and how things here were just foreign to my "vision" of myself.

I enjoy wearing a suit and tie everyday, I enjoy the hustle of the Metro and the warm smells o f stores in Georgetown and I dream of one day owning a house that looks like a plantation home of old. These things are foreign to most in Lawrence. Given it's laid back nature and Midwestern farmhouse appeal, these parts of me would probably appear a little out of sorts. At least that's what I stressed to the other members of my foursome at Free State Brewery.

Kathi shot back however with a genius thought, nothing in Lawrence ever really looks out of place. Anything goes here and that was part of the charm which drew her back. It makes Lawrence the equivalent of paisley and black. Absolutely nothing goes with paisley and everything goes with black. In some sense that is just what Lawrence is, it's the place where things make sense even when they don't make sense. Maybe that was the allure that guided my ill-formed thoughts to chose this place for college. Who only knows what I was thinking about at that time. I'm glad I did.

Kansas Field Trip: Weekend One

It's on like donkey kong here. I've come back to the place where the home fires burned to get in a series of races before Jeff Cup. It looks like between then and now I'll probably race 8 times including a pair training races. The adventure began with the Spring Fling, which is a four-corner crit with a short downhill and a short uphill on the finishing stretch.

Terrain is not biggest obstacle in Kansas racing, the 20 mph wind and the gutter however do cause some troubles. I'm a rogue rider here but my kits stars and bars are easy to see in a field and led to me being marked. The race started quick but I started in the front and after learning my lessons at Valley of the Sun, I didn't relinquish that spot.

There were 3 strong teams in the field and they kept taking shots off the front. I kept leaping to the breaks and the field kept coming with me. I found myself in a break of two which was working but my cohort let me drag him around in the tailwind section and then jumped me in the head wind. This of course drew an expletive from me and I sat up and let the field catch me. A solo rider is not going to survive in this wind.

Somehow a 3-man break got up the road about 5 to go. It was one of a bazillion breaks but this one somehow stuck. So the field was sprinting for 4th and I was determined to fire it up in the sprint ala NCVC days of old.

The finishing stretch was in a head wind and down a slight hill for 300 meters and then up for 100 meters. I hit the final corner in the field in about 5th wheel and drafted down about 250 meters. The guy two in front of me jumped and we rolled with him. I put my sprint down and jumped. I ended up passing someone right at the line and finishing 3rd in the field sprint and 6th overall.

Day two of the weekend featured the Perry Dam Race. Nothing like warming up for your race by riding for an hour and twenty minutes into a 30 mph head wind. The race is only about 15 miles from Lawrence and we always ride out to it because the route is bone flat and along the Kansas River. Today the wind was blowing right into our faces and I was in a group of 3 going 300 watts and holding 14 mph.

The race itself takes the shape of a golf club and goes along an Army Corps of Engineers dam. You head along the top of the dam and then take a sharp right hand corner down a quick hill to a parallel road right underneath the dam. That road then heads left and then right into the club part of the course and into the kicker...a short steep stair stepper.

It was a 4 lap circuit that in total took us about an hour to do. The field was a combine 1/2/3 field and there were a couple boys from Mercy Cycling team. That didn't bother me because one of them was Coach Adam. Lap one was uneventful but saw a third of our field get shattered on the stair stepper.

Lap two was were I put myself in harms way. I had been riding behind Coach Adam, who was a well marked man, and I was content to wait until the hill again to shatter some more of the field Under his breath, or at least I think so, as we are heading down the road under the dam I hear him say "go now, go now." I jumped and got clear of the field. One of the local 3s jumped across to me and we were gone.

We crested the hill and then down onto the dam with the tailwind. We spent the entire lap 3 off the front and just at the crest of the hill Mercy boys joined us and plunged us down across the dam again. From stories afterwards I found out that one of the local squads put together a lap long coordinated effort to catch us in the break. After the catch, they were never seen again.

The lead Mercy rider was holding 450 watts across the dam and we were gutter riding anyone that could stay on, the outside of my foot was literally scrapping the guard rail that separated us from the abyss and I was the 5th rider. The pace let up as it was clear that the field was back together.

Coach Adam then started unleashing repeated attacks and was dragged back each time. One, two, three, four attacks came and it was clear no one was letting him go. The field let up after it caught him a little over 2 miles to the finish. I jumped the field right into the head wind. They let me go. I got up a head of steam and they just let me go. I turned back to look and I was clear.

I couldn't believe it, my stupidity of just throwing myself off again and again. was working. I began the climb and I was spinning and spinning up. I reached the false flat in the middle of the stair stepper and I was still alone. 300 meters to go and I had it in hand. Then from the back right I hear the most unpleasant sound in the world . . . shifting gears.

The field swallowed me hard and spat me out. I wanted to accelerate and jump up the last of the climb. I wanted to launch an assault that would end all assaults, but I didn't have it. My legs were fried my body was dumped. I was 300 meters from winning in a solo break. 3 out of 5 times I would have won.

I spent the better part of half the race off the front either in a two-man break or by myself. If the finish had been flat it would have been over. If I had jumped into a cross wind rather than a 25 mph head wind it would have been over. There were 3 times in the race that I thought I had broken the will of the field. Damn bike racing, when will I learn.

A New Adventure

Tonight I head back down into the storage closet to get Hayden's luggage. We are preparing to head back out on the road again for what is going to be my most ambitious travel to date. Work has called for me to spend the next two weeks in the great Midwest and I'm taking full advantage of this opportunity.

I'm heading this weekend to Tulsa to race with Coach Mills in what I want to be a breakout performance for this season. I echo statements made by Mr. Tilford recently in which he recounted a race down in Texas and draw encouragement for it. My performance at Valley of the Sun was good but my results didn't match what I was hoping they would be. I felt fit and I was in the mix but it didn't click when I needed it to. It's a great sign for my fitness but it's time to take that fitness and make results out of it.

I reemerged at the end of last season after about 5 years of moping around. I put together my first set of top ten results since returning to the sport in earnest and I want to continue this trend this year. It's time to stick my nose in the wind at the finish line. I've got a sprint and I'm determined to use it.

After Tulsa we are headed back to the bastion of cycling in Lawrence for a couple of days of hard riding followed by a solid race that weekend in St. Louis. The weekend afterwards will feature my return to racing on Kansas soil in the Spring Fling and Perry Races. A set of races that as a rookie I used to catapult myself up the ranks and out of being a Cat 4. These races are nothing fancy and the scenery pales in comparison to the epic mountain races to come or the crits on Pennsylvania Ave. None of that matters to me. What matters is that I drop the hammer and get this season going the way last season ended.

The MABRA season starts at the end of the month and the Jefferson Cup looms like a dangerous thunder cloud on the horizon. By the time I reach that race I should have 8 starts in my legs and a dangerous head of steam. All that remains is to keep the focus up. Pictures and race stories are sure to follow.

Red Rock Country

After Phoenix Hayden and I, along with a special guest, road up to the high desert. The scenery was beautiful

and the riding was great. Sedona rests above the Verde Valley among the most beautiful red rocks I've ever seen. I spent most of my time absorbed by how different it is from Virginia's green hills. On day two of our time up there I rode from Sedona 2000 feet down to Cottonwood at the base of Mt. Mingus. Half way up the mountainside lies the town of Jerome. A mining-ghost town that was turned into a tourist trap. Cottonwood lies at 3300 feet and Jerome was at 5200 feet. About 30 minutes later a sickening sign popped up on the side of the road indicating that I was crossing 6000 feet and apparently the snowline. It was sickening because I knew that the summit was at over 7000 feet.

I climbed for over 100 minutes. By the end I had climbed higher and longer than I had done previously. Timie for the next step.

Racing in the Valley of the Sun

Hayden and I have done it again. We packed up and winged out of DC for greener pastures. Well, in this case it wasn't greener but was definitely warmer. The Valley of the Sun is a three day, three stage race in Phoenix, AZ. It marked the beginning of the season for me but not for the boys in the desert.

Life is going to be tough when you roll up to the line and the guys around you are talking to each other saying "dude, I haven't seen you all season." By the time I went to this race I had put in about one week worth of intense efforts so my top end was still developing. The desert boys have been putting in top end efforts for well over a month longer. To say the least, they had access to power that I was only just beginning to understand. I guess it's the price you pay for our season running into September and their season ending long before then.

I finished in the top 50 on the GC largely because my time trial, while better than normal was still weak. My time trials need to improve. The big action came in the 79-mile road race. An amazingly simple triangular course of a little over 16 miles that we did four and a half times. The course featured a 3-mile 400-foot climb. The finish line was a little over a km after the crest of the climb. The field was geared up and over 90 guys.

I found myself in a spot of trouble on the second lap going up the climb. Somehow I had let myself get behind a few too many people and got gapped off the back as people sprinted for one of two king of the mountain sprints. The gap had dropped about 30 guys off the back of the field and I was one of them. I chased back on for 3 miles and then reintegrated. As soon as I caught I rode right up to the front and stayed there for the rest of the race. I was determined not to get caught behind any more guys with jerseys from Utah.

I followed a couple breakaways up the road which I thought might catch the field off guard but got quickly swallowed up. Our average speed on the flat sections was just too fast for a breakaway to develop unless it's members were dedicated to destroying themselves. The last climb was were the race turned into a twisted mess of carbon and aluminum.

One of my teammates had come down from college in Colorado and was determined to show his climbing prowess. Russ jumped at the base of the climb and the 50 or so remaining guys struggled to stay on his wheel. Russ couldn't get away and he couldn't get the field off his back. He jumped again and the field dragged him back. The efforts proved too much for Russ and the field swallowed him whole and spit him out the back just before the crest.

I had been riding in the front half but a surge on the opposite side of the road pushed me way too far back to make a go of things. Especially since the race officials decided that the final km was not going to have an open road. So 40 guys were sprinting down a slight hill on a one-land road. You know what happened next. A couple guys surged on the left side of the field with about 500 meters to go. Some other guys saw an opening and wanted to join the train only to run smack into other guys moving up. Wheels touched, handlebars locked and bodies hit the pavement.

I jumped around a wreck barely missing the outstretched limbs of one guy and landed up on the white line ofnthe wrong side of the road. I looked up at the field about 5 meters in front of me and saw it literally explode. I didn't bother to stick around and find out what the total count of guys involved in the wreck was. I finished with the same time as the field and ended up 34th, which is pretty good given that I had to dodge bikes in the last half km. A pretty good start to a season.

Fire on Ice

It's cold here. Ok, it's not cold like it is in Chicago or possibly like it is in Alaska; however, I have specifically chosen not to live in either of those places right now. I live in Washington, D.C., where it is supposed to be warmer than this. My problem with the cold is not that I am too much of a pansy to go out into it; but rather it is my hatred of the trainer. This problem necessitates my voyaging out into the cold when sometimes I should sit inside and spin in front of the TV or one day in front of my PlayStation 3 (that is when I get the money to buy one).

Applying strict Topeka Cold Weather Riding Rules, I should have ridden about 23 miles today. Instead I voyaged out for a normal two hour ride. However, I was saved because I hit the jackpot recently with a gag gift my Mom bought me for Christmas-- Little Hotties.

They are packets of warm stuff that you put in your shoes and they keep your feet warm. They are absolutely genius. I'm sure that the chemicals inside them will give me cancer or cause fertility problems but right now I don't care because my feet stay warm and I love it.

The trainer is an evil device that should not be allowed. It's the cycling version of the treadmill which is also a device that I completely don't understand. My thought is that there is this place called "the outside" which is wonderful. It's full of birds and clouds and fun things to look at. It is also the place where bikes are supposed to be ridden (unless you race track). Things that keep me from riding my bike outside are like little restraints on freedom. Thus, the trainer is my personal version of cycling prison. The only purpose it serves is to help me warm up for criteriums that take place in urban settings.

So, today I put my kit on and headed out for my first VO2 Max workout of the season. It only seems like four months since I did my last such workouts-- oh wait it was. Despite the recency of those workouts, my legs reacted to today's workout as if it was a full-on assault on them. I know the muscles are buried beneath a layer of base-riding pinkness but it was difficult to access them. I guess in the end, I just need to go out and do some more of these because I do, in fact, hate myself and enjoy causing myself pain because of the high I get from endorphins. I admit it, I've been living a life as a closet endorphin junky. Off to get my next fix.

The Winter Solstice/The Winter Duldrums

Winter in the Mid-Atlantic has its fair share of grey dull dreary days. The beauty of the summer sun is replaced by patterns of clouds and rain and then just misty overcast days. I've spent more time the usual on the back country roads of VA these last couple weeks. It's a change from suburban MD and DC. The roads are empty and the scenery is quiet. There is a solemn pride I feel in myself when all I hear is the sound of the chain and the rolling pavement under my wheels.

Ironically, my team was once sponsored Reynolds Wheels. They made a solid product and I enjoyed riding them until one day I blew one of the wheels out. Suddenly, the company was nowhere to be found and wouldn't return my phone calls to try to warranty the wheel. Needless to say, I'm not buying their product again until someone from that company actually gets back to me. The wheel set I used was the Solitude and I found myself alone many times while using them.

When you ride alone you find yourself thinking a lot and then you find yourself a lot of the time not thinking at all. The winter weather amplifies this effect because the beauty and warmth of the Summer is gone and the grey landscape makes you feel more isolated and insular. My second training cycle ended this weekend and I'm on rest phase number two. This cycle didn't go as well as the last. I know that I'm fitter now than I was last year-- rides that lasted 3:30 hours last winter now last 3:10 and my wattage is high. However this last cycle was filled with bad weather days, scheduling upsets and annoying distractions from all angles.

So a rest phase is in place right now and in a week's time I'll be back out on the road in full force. My first race is now only a month and a couple days away. It's time to shake the cobwebs and get ready to light the fires. Time is ticking and not even the shortest days of the year can stop me now.

Bloomington: Hoosiers on Parade

I drove down I-65 in pursuit of witnesses for one of my cases and on my vain quest to complete my 50 state sweep of places where I have ridden my bike (now up to 25 states). In the winter Indiana is a pretty cold and vast expanse of white corn fields. It brought back to mind the commercial for Indiana Beach that I saw repeatedly in my youth. It would always end with "...there is more than corn in Indiana." If that is the case, where is this other stuff?

There are a surprisingly large number of used car dealership in Bloomington. I imagine that the movie Breaking Away somehow spurred the creation of these dealerships and they have been living on the momentum of that movie for the past 20 years? Sadly, Dennis Quaid did not join my on my ride that day. However, this is a great pose for him.

Even though I escaped from the frozen tundra of Chicago, the frozen part stayed with me. Fields were still covered in snow and the wind still was like an icy iron fist in my face.

While I could imagine how pretty the area could have been, this picture just did not match the cold gray reality of this particular December day. However, I am working on perfecting that particular pose to be used next season.

I enjoy riding around college campuses. It's interesting to me to picture what it would have been like had I chosen to go to there. I took in the locale fare at Nick's and Opie Taylor's, both excellent recommendations; however, I did miss out on a game of Sink the Biz. I promise that I given my numerous Hoosier friends in DC that I have played my fair share and have surprisingly little talent at the game.

After a solid ten days of resting my legs are now, hopefully, ready to be opened up again and it's back to hard training. As I take a deep breadth, and think of the miles to come, I remind myself that it's all in the pursuit of some higher purpose-- the perpetual quest for HMF points.

Road Salt White

Hayden and I have come to realize that we may have taken the wrong turn when we left DC. Instead of turning south and heading to the warm sandhills of North Carolina we headed north towards the frozen tundra of Chicago. I should have known I was in trouble when the VDub hit PA and saw fields of white and I'm not referring to cotton.

Winter riding is about finding balance. The balance between too much and too little clothes; between riding too hard or too slow; and knowing when the trainer is the better option. I dislike the trainer and do everything in my power to avoid riding on it except for warming up for crits. I miss the hot days of summer right now.

I enjoy riding in snow, not on icy roads but the first couple of moments when the snow starts to fall. I got that opportunity today and am a happy camper to be back inside now. It was a cold day outside and makes me wish for those days of 90 degrees. There is something disturbing about that stinging when slushy snow hits you in the face. I know that these are the miles that I need to ride to get better. These are the days that I need to keep going so that when it comes down to it in April and May that I'll have that endurance in my legs to put in that final push.

Coffee Makes Me Happy

My coffee intake has not slowed down; however, the hours I spend on a bike has decreased. As a result my sleep pattern has been thrown way off. I'm living it up at home in Naperville for the next couple days prior to heading back out into the cruel world of lawyering. This occasion has allowed me to get back to my roots and reconnect with a few neglected friends.

It's a well-known fact that I am addicted to Facebook. Of course the joy of Facebook is finding people you once knew and seeing what they are doing. It's all the fun of reunions with none of the awkward silences or the necessity of saying "remember when" all the time. The best part of this cyber-phenomenon is to see what bizarre paths people have taken and how one person's life actually does effect so many others.

I count myself lucky to know so many incredible people. When I was younger I would marvel at all the "stuff" or the "famous" people that adults knew. Slowly, as I am forced to consider myself an adult, I find that this trend isn't the result of being well-connected or even famous yourself, but the natural outcome of growing up. I'm sorry for all the people who I've lost touch with over time. I rarely have a good excuse and shouldn't even try to explain myself because it all ends up sound like pathetic lies.

I wish I could say that I vow in the future not to let this happen but that would be the worst kind of lie. At least with Facebook and an over-abundance of espresso drinks coupled with way too much sleep I have the ability to catch up a lot easier. Now, if only I could answer the age-old question "what the heck was I thinking dating her?" Maybe they should make a website for that one too.

Winter Training 2008: Chapter 1

Periodization is one of the greatest developments in training since the discovery that dopers really do suck, see e.g., Ricardo Ricco. While the details behind the science of exercise physiology escapes me the one thing I enjoy about periodization is that every so often a rest phase gets tossed in and training becomes easy. I came to cycling after swimming where periodization was not utilized. The swimming theory of training was simple-- if you swam 15000 meters today you should swim 15500 meters tomorrow and 16000 the next day. Looking at it from hindsight this is the equivalent of fighting dehydration by drinking a cup of Drano.

I have no idea if that is still how swimmers are trained but the poster boy of periodization, Lance Armstrong, was winning Tours when I was swimming so it wouldn't surprise me that very little has changed. In my 20 years of swimming the most technical piece of equipment I used was an electronic clock. When I go riding nowadays, I monitor my heart rate, speed, time, cadence and wattage. Everything is scrutinized afterwards and trends are studied.

While my training lately hasn't been as intense as it was towards the end season I've definitely put the miles into my legs. My trip to the West Coast cracked my tired legs. It's been a long time coming for me but I have arrived at a rest period. A blessed rest period to repair the damage that has been done to my tired muscles. The rest period marks the end of one training cycle and the beginning of another one. It's like a muscular new years; a time to recharge and ask what's next?

The Emerald City

I have reached the far corner of the continental US and the last stop on my trip. Seattle is one of my favorite cities and a place I enjoy coming to. This time, I'm lucky enough to have a couple extra days to help enjoy the local scenery. Plus, it's NOT RAINING.

When I come to Seattle I make sure to take in the coffee and the sushi; both are the best around. However, tonight I ate at the Metropolitan Grill and had a steak the size of my head. It was simply one of the best steaks I have ever had. It rivals anything I've eaten in Chicago or Kansas City. I am in a state of absolute bliss. The scenery around here is pretty too.

Riding in Seattle is no joke. There are bike lanes everywhere and they are free from the garbage that normally finds its way onto the DC paths. There is even a bike lane along the side of I-90 and runs across the surface of Lake Washington which is almost as eerie as the sidewalk along the Golden Gate. However, don't let anyone fool you, I saw no cougars while climbing Cougar Mtn. However, the view from the top was worth the trip.

On my first ride in town on Saturday I crossed no fewer than 10 group rides. I had heard rumors of the "Seattle rules" to group rides but I imagined that they were exaggerations. However, at least one rumor is true -- they use fenders on their rear wheels. It makes sense in a place where the roads often have a layer of water on them and knowing that there are few things less pleasant than riding through someone else's rooster tail. Using a fender eliminates a lot of the road spray but it's just odd to see.

Since I've been here I've been in the best mood. It's possible that super strong caffeine highs are putting a smile on my face but I really think it's just getting in some great rides and have getting to unwind which is doing it for me. The return of the Peppermint Mocha at Starbucks doesn't hurt, it's my favorite dessert drink. Kelly, my gracious Seattle hostess and tour guide, opined that it's the northwest lifestyle kicking in making me happy. I try not to think too much about the cause but just enjoy the end result.

Seattle would be a great place to live, but I'm not sure I would be accepted into polite society. I'd have to totally rework my wardrobe. I don't own a hoodie and the only stocking caps that I have are for bike riding. Until that time I think I'll stay comfortably back on the East Coast.

The NorCal Hustler

I left behind the safety of San Francisco for California's Wild Rivers Coast. About 4 hours of driving through some of the tallest trees I've ever seen landed me in Eureka, CA and the foggy shores of Humboldt Bay. Eureka is a small town by most standards, but for this area of California it is one of the largest and it attracts people from all walks of life.

After a days work I set out on what I wanted to be a three hour ride. There are scant details on the interwebs about good rides in the area so I headed out in one direction to do an out and back. After the day before, I wanted to ride somewhere with fewer hills but that was not to be the case. I ended up heading inland after a few miles on the 101 and found myself deep into a California redwood forest. The road appeared to end but soon I learned it switched back on itself and headed straight into heaven. I had no idea how long this climb was going to last but I knew that it wasn't going to end soon. An hour later I had gone up about 2200 feet and had been riding for over 6 miles up to the little town of Kneeland, CA.

The scenery got to Hayden and brought out her environmentalist side. When we paused at the crest of the climb before turning back she decided to hug one of the local inhabitants.

She got upset when she realized that the tree was to wide to hug and threatened to cut it down to use as our new Christmas tree. She realized that it was a wee bit too tall to fit in to our house. Surprisingly, Hayden had gotten a little moody but I realized she just had a nasty case of the munchies. I thought the fog I had been riding through was caused by the weather, but really it was just smoke from all the pot that was being smoke in the valleys below.

The descent back down into the flat lands was incredible. The street was wet from the heavy fog and it made the switch backs quite treacherous. By the end of the decent my hands were cramping from grabbing the brakes. This was two days in a row that I had been more challenged by going down than going up a hill. The folk in the area were pleasant but after all, when the fog lifted the views were so impressive that who wouldn't be happy.

Hayden wanted to see the Pacific so we headed out on the sand dunes. Hayden's sister Yoko has spent some time in the sand pits racing cross but this was Hayden's first trip to the beach.

I walked for about half a mile but the fog was so thick that I could never find the ocean. I knew it was out there and I could hear it rolling in but I could never get to it. Next stop, the Emerald City.

Mt. Tam and the Pacific Coast Highway

I love my job. Something has to be said for Emerson and taking the path less traveled. When I came upon a fork in the "legal" road I took the path less traveled and it has made all the difference in the world for me. I woke up in San Francisco and was determined to find a ride that befit such an opportunity. The day prior I had run into a fellow customer at the Bike Shop who alerted me to the climb up Mt. Tam and how it would change my perspective on bike riding. He didn't lie. By the end of the day, I had climbed more than 4000 feet and lost my cycling innocence forever.

While Hayden is only a year old and has trouble with her reading, she knows that a sign such as this means trouble ahead. At least this time she knew exactly how long we would be in pain. Before beginning the ascent, a brief pause to look at the scenery:

Then I was off. Mt. Tam is a nasty set of switch backs that lasts about 5 miles past this lake and took me up to 2000 feet. It is wooded most of the way up. The trees are right on top of you and with no traffic it's an awe inspiring close in experience. You feel alone and in a tiny bubble of a world. The whole trip from the city of Fairfax to Stinson Beach I passed one vehicle.

At what I thought was the top I paused to shot this picture:

I would say that this is the face of determination, but in reality it's not. I later learned that this wasn't the top but the beginning of the steep section. I had rode above the clouds and the protection of the trees and the wind began to pick up as I summitted. The drops of sweat and the fog that I descended through turned my arm warmers white with frost. I was smart enough to put my arm warmers back on but the gloves didn't make it on till I reached the Pacific Coast Highway. That made for icy fingers.

I've ridden mountains on the East Coast, Colorado and So. Cal, but never before have I encountered as technical a section of road as the descent to Stinson Beach. I'm sure that the locals dive bomb that section without thinking, but for me it was a serious challenge. I think I almost fell off the edge no fewer than nine times. My power meter recorded 40 mph speeds right next to 5 mph. Perhaps I have a weakness in descending?

I reached Stinson Beach and thought that the hard part was over. Somehow I had gotten it into my head that the route back on the Pacific Coast Highway was going to be cake. I imagined with the word "coast" in the name that the highway would be somewhat flat. I was dead wrong and about 5 miles later I was unhappy.

The entire ride was incredible, but the best part of the whole thing was taking Hayden across the Golden Gate bridge:

It was so cool to ride across the fogged in bridge. This has to be one of the most famous bridges in America and the idea of being that high up over the water was amazing. I was however, very excited to get back onto dry land on the other side.

The Road Trip

Tomorrow starts a great odyssey that seeks to put to shame my previous bike riding voyages. Tomorrow I am getting on a plane in DC and getting off a plane in San Francisco. I am staying in the Bay Area for a day or two then driving up the California coast to Eureka for a couple days. This stay in NorCal is followed by the long drive up to Seattle for the weekend and part of next week. The bike box is in my living room, laundry is being done and the weather has been checked. All seems to be a go.

For good measure, I'm stopping in Eugene, OR to ride my bike too. I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity of adding another state to the list of places where my bike tires have touched pavement. I'm bringing the camera and have my route up Mt. Tam planned. Everything else, I leave in the hands of Providence.

I AM

I am the listless wanderer of the earth,
the singer of songs and the teller of tales;
I am a profit and the historian,
the oracle and the reporter;
I am cursed to a love of the open road,
the never-ending journey without a home;
I am a citizen of the world,
the child of everywhere and nowhere;
I am the Bard.