American Road Cycling: PSL : Thursday Ride

THURSDAY RIDE
04/10/07

- SlingShot

It only took four rides back in NY for me to blow out my knee, my other knee, my back and my other back.

Therefore, after my fourth hard ride in five days, I figured it was time to go for a club ride in order to test the theory that I have some self control and can avoid finishing off any of my body parts not already broken.

I judged that things would be ok if I went easy and gave myself one single solitary goal: under no circumstances get on the Bank Street hill after the ride.

It is way too steep for my current condition, and it would likely finish off what little I have left of knees and backs.

Therefore, all day before the ride I just kept reinforcing my resolve by chanting quietly, "No matter what, no matter who, no matter how, no Bank Street hill!"

I also made sure I wouldn't find myself fumbling for a cue sheet by coasting over as quickly as I could to ask Palletman what the ride was.

I know he is very busy at the start of rides, so I made sure not to waste his time with chit chat.

He seemed to really appreciate my consideration and spent the next ten or fifteen minutes thanking me for not bothering to say hello before asking about the ride.

Cranky pulled up and asked me a question about her trip computer.

Of course, I don't know a thing about trip computers, because they are all different, and I wouldn't even hazard a guess about how any one of them works without spending a few hours with the very specific documentation that comes with it, what most people call the users manual and never read.

Her question was about the position of the speed sensor, whether or not it should be placed further or closer to the hub. At least I knew enough about the way these things work to tell her it doesn't really matter, because the sensor is only counting the number of times the magnet goes by, so whether that happens at the rim or the hub makes no difference.

After I pointed out the computer would be comparing the number of rotations to the size of the wheel to decide how fast and how far she was riding, I really liked the brief slackening of her jaw as the thought passed through her pretty little head, "What? How accurate could that be?"

She only said, "On the last ride, it reported two miles shorter than the ride."

I said, "It might need calibration, or you might be getting dropouts."

I thought, "Did you think I've been writing about how inaccurate these little devices are for my own amusement? Oh, that's right. Cranky only skims. She probably hasn't seen any of what I've had to say on the subject, and she most certainly has not read its manual."

In any case, this whole affair was rather ironic, because I don't have a clue about much of anything, but we were standing right next to the Bicycle Doctor, Rich Cruet, who is (by the way) a national treasure and a wealth of cycling information. The technical term for somebody like Rich is the real deal.

Actually, it is probably better that Cranky asked me instead, because everybody knows that it is a major faux pas to ask Rich any fucking thing at all about bicycles on a ride.

He is a tenured career professional, and he fields all kinds of numbskull questions like this all day, most every day, and has been doing it for more years than many of the people on the ride have in their life, let alone on their bike.

When Rich is on a ride, it is for fun not work. We are all very much aware of that, and we are smart enough not to rock our lucky boats by making him wish he wasn't there.

Besides, it is much better to show up at his bicycle shop to ask such questions. That way you can get him cornered in the back of the showroom, and he can't get away.

The ride started without further incident. I was happy to be without the Widder for a change; because, since we got back from Florida, everybody's been gunning for her; and I have been getting caught in the cross fire.

It was good for Widder too, because she had just posted four personal bests in the previous five days, so she needed a day totally off, despite being accused of turning into Joe Straub, who has recently achieved the unholy reputation of choosing performance over group rides.

Fortunately, I learned a whole lot about performance in Florida this winter by drafting behind Mary and making her work like a dog. Soon after the ride started, my knowledge came in handy.

When we finally turned the corner onto the first longish climb, I quickly became aware I was pulling five-hundred watts or more. Since I know that is above a world record performance in terms of pure work effort, I knew that even I would not be able to sustain it for the full length of the hill. Previously, I believed knowing this stuff about my performance (and my weight) was a little like knowing what goes into sausage (and I'm not referring to my appearance in Lycra), but all of a sudden I realized the good side of that equation.

I knew precisely and for a certainty that I would be able to maintain that level of output exactly to the third big tree on the right, just over the next rise, but that would be it. My heart rate would max out in the next seventy-five feet, and I would spend the remaining hundreds of feet in a world of hurt, only to be dropped anyway by the likes of Crackhead Ryan.

I've never been so happy to have solid reliable performance information. I merely chanted my now worn mantra, "No matter what, no matter who, no matter how, no Bank Street hill!" and immediately quit.

After that I spent the next several miles keeping the group in sight until they disappeared into the turn-off at the top of Prospect Road, holding almost the exact distance behind them that I had lost on the first hill.

I was almost back on their wheel in Craigville, when Mary Lou and Dr. John Handago appeared riding in the opposite direction. Mary Lou was busy giving John a coronary, and I thought it would be fun to watch, so I turned around and went back to catch them on their climb up 94.

I made a brief note to remind Palletman that the cue sheet for the ride had failed to include the crossover of the Handago/Mary Lou ride. Good thing I didn't take one, or I might have missed it.

I say Mary Lou was busy giving John a coronary, but that is merely the lay term. In fact I believe Mary Lou would choose the more technical term: Full on Seminar Regarding Power to Weight Ratio, pretty much the same seminar Widder has been giving me since our return from Florida.

After the climb Mary Lou complained about pulling John and me uphill into the wind, but I didn't see her point at all. It all seemed perfectly fine to me. It gave me a chance to review my mantra of the day, "No matter what, no matter who, no matter how, no Bank Street hill!"

Once I got back to the parking lot, and the group had arrived from a different direction, the first thing anybody said to me was Tom Folkl asking, "Bank Street? You know it's probably going to be raining for a few days."

I thought, "Whew, that was close. I sure am glad I've been practicing my mantra all day, 'No matter what, no matter who, no matter how, no Bank Street hill!'"

On the second loop up Bank Street, I started in the wrong gear, got spooked by a car, and had to pull over onto a driveway to regroup.

That made the third loop a necessity in order to make sure I wasn't just making up the whole wrong gear thing.

By the third loop the only person going past me was that motherfucking Crackhead Ryan.

I could tell he was still trying to figure out where the hill was, but Tom Folkl had satisfied his curiosity on the first loop and went back to the parking lot.

At least I had done my job by getting in front of them on the bottom of the hill, taking my head start, and providing the target for them to laugh past.

When I got home the Widder almost cried when I told her I got dropped on the first hill. She knows she could have easily been off the front of that group, so none of it makes any sense to her at all.

This winter in Florida, she never heard me breathing hard even once (on a bike), so I reminded her of her recent seminars in power to weight ratio, and made her jealous by mentioning I had just gotten another one from Mary Lou and Dr. Handago.

Then I added, "Did you know that Crackhead Ryan weighs 130 lbs? That's only 8 lbs heavier than you. He might be a problem this year."

We commiserated how getting Crackhead Ryan married didn't help with his weight problem at all, that is to say his lack of weight is a real problem for us, so I suggested we tie him down and inject him with fat.

Note to self: make sure those fat injections for Crackhead are saturated fats, so maybe they'll kill him sure as doughnuts.

this page last updated: 02/01/2015 10:39:11 PM