Lyle and I are a Little Different

I've always wobbled in the saddle.  Always.  I've been riding a bike for 25 years and I've always been told that I need to lower my saddle or do this or do that to correct my wobble.

Well I have tried.  Many times.  To no avail.  I studied the issue quite a bit a couple of years ago.  You can read about my ponderings in my 2006 posts: Saddle Height and at Saddle Height/Q-Rings.

A friend graciously reopened that conversation for me the other day.  This time I thought about it some more and decided to check LLD - leg length discrepancy.  I carefully measured my trochanter heights - the height from the floor to the tip of the little bony protrusion on your hip bone.  It's the most lateral protrusion of the greater trochanter in this image:

One trochanter is 35” from the floor. The other is 34.25” from the floor. Hmmmm.  It seems that in LLD speak that's about a mile.

I did some Google work and found lots of people rushing to their doctors and trashing all thier shoes because they had a leg length discrepancy of ¼” or ½”.

I seem to have a ¾” LLD goin’ on.

I’m leaning towards the “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it approach; but we’ll see.  I'd like to fix the wobble; and I think the LLD is the likely cause.  But I suspect there's a good chance I'd screw something else up if I started adding shims, et cetera.  And all that would be a pain in the arse, even if only figuratively.

And I haven't had any pain or discomfort, just an occasional snickering teammate.  I can live with that.  Lyle and I don't want to be like the rest of you anyway.

Winter Weights and Cycling

Every year this time (base period/off season for most cyclists in North America), there begins a flurry of on-line discussion and argument about the benefits and risks of strength training for cyclists. It's not hard to find well-known coaches and physiologists to argue either side of the issue. Coggan thinks weights are useless and that the fatigue generated by strength workouts can be harmful to endurance athletes because time is taken away from productive training; Friel has always (at least since the '80s) been a proponent of strength training in the base training periods.


I have a lot of respect for some of the folks on Google Wattage (where many of the heated discussions occur) who dismiss the use of weights and/or strength training because “the research does not show that it helps; therefore it’s a waste of time so it hurts.” Research and real scientific results are crucial to learning how to use your training time most efficiently. It’s perilous to ignore the results of multiple legitimate scientific studies. But I think the anti-weights voices are a little too stubborn in their narrow, but very consistent, response: “the research does not show that weights make you faster.”

Maybe they don’t make you faster. But I can tell you from n=1 that they make you feel faster. That’s worth something. They make you feel more confident. That’s worth something. They might make your bones healthier and more dense. That’s worth something. They make you less prone to injury. That’s worth something. They make you look and feel better. That’s worth something. They make winter training less monotonous. That's worth something. And a whole big bunch of very successful cyclists and coaches have reached the conclusion, for a variety of reasons, that weights are worth the time. That’s worth something.

For me, all those minor ‘somethings’ add up to a lot. So I’m sticking with the weights for a few decades until the researchers get it sorted out.

The Peach Peloton

It will be good to get back home to my fourth year of the Peach Peloton.

Why didn't I think of that?

Caught Some Breaks

On my last post I was bitching that I can't catch a break. Well yesterday and today I caught several of 'em. Just as I was about to cancel my Dahlonega race weekend plans, a friend loaned me a frame. The guys at our sponsor, Bike Tech graciously dropped what they were doing and moved my components over to it.

But wait, there's more: my Specialized BB wouldn't fit the loaner frame (a Blue RC-7). I was offered an SRM BB/cranks to get me by temporarily.

Then I realized the bike fit was perfect except for a slightly long reach. A teammate offered to drive out to L.H. Thomson Co, another sponsor, and pick up a shorter stem for me, then drop it off with yet another teammate who will bring it to Dahlonega for me.

Now that's what I call catching great breaks. Huge thanks to all involved.

Now I need to ride hard this weekend and catch a different sort of break. And then try to stay there.

Consistent

I just noticed this is my 200th blog post - interesting.

Checked my season mileage a minutes ago. Last year on May 12th I was at 4399 miles. This year I'm at 4362. I need to find 37 miles somewhere to catch up.

A Cure-All for the Hypochondriac

It appears that I'm guilty as charged: hypochondriac. Twice in one week, no less.

On Thursday of last week, I was reaching out to lift my bike out of the back of my XTerra and I tweaked my back. At least tweaked is what I thought at first. Two hours later I was dreading walking to the coffee pot at work due to the severe pain. Thursday night I barely slept because every time I moved I woke up.

Friday was a little better, but I was extremely doubtful that I'd be able to get into TT position and put out any kind of power for Saturday's time trial in Juliette. Saturday morning things felt OK. After 45 minutes on the trainer, I loosened up. The back didn't bother me much during the race. I had sort of been cured by the bike, I guess.

Sunday morning I performed the ultimate stupid move. I picked up a big 50-pound potted plant and carried it to the truck (a task I would have thought impossible 48 hours prior). It didn't hurt much at first. But throughout the day it got worse. By Monday morning it was worse than the prior Thursday morning. By Tuesday morning it was a little better. A painful, short, easy ride Monday afternoon confirmed that Tuesday Night Worlds was probably out of the question for this week.

Arriving at TNW I still thought I'd have to tool around with a slower group. But with eight teammates there, I had to at least start out with the group, right? As I rode, my back started to loosen a bit. As the effort increased, the pain did not, so I kept riding - staying seated and maintaining a high cadence to minimize torque, both of which seemed to help minimize what by then was only minor discomfort. By the end of the ride only a hint of soreness remained. My back felt better than it had since Saturday.

So I confess to being a hypochondriac regarding my back, I guess. I really did think I couldn't ride both times. And both times I was cured by the bike.

Ron Hill doled out a little nugget of his aged wisdom as we started out on Tuesday. When I said I didn't want to ride hard enough to mess up my back, he said, "It's hard to mess anything up on the bike." Wisdom - and truth.

So add "bad back" to the long list of mental and physical ills that can be cured by the bicycle. But it would still be a good idea to avoid large flower pots.

I am a Homosexual Communist Yankee.

Where to start?

First, I’ll say that the stretch of Silver Comet Trail between Rockmart and Cedartown is a rare gift to cyclists that I had not before experienced. A 10’ strip of concrete laid out among some of the most pastoral landscapes in Georgia. I rode it on a 75-degree sunny Thursday afternoon when there was rarely a soul to be seen on that stretch -- just cows, squirrels, and the occasional sluggish snake. I’m going to go back there – it was too good a ride not to repeat. I might also call the Path Foundation to find out who was most responsible for establishing that section of trail. They deserve a thank you letter.

Now for the other part of my afternoon tale:
“blah, b-blah, b-blahblahblah, FAGGOT COMMIE” from the one in the passenger seat. “Go home YANKEE BASTARD” from the one in the truck bed. Wow. Impressive. Perfect images of redneck anti-cyclists were made flesh before mine eyes. They were either more quick-witted than the average fat rubes or had practiced the insults in the mirror of their F-350 for weeks to get it juuuust right. Whatever the case, I was surprised and amused all at once as they hauled ass away, delivering enough black smoke out of the 6” tailpipe of the monster truck to prompt an edit of “An Inconvenient Truth.”

I’d like to investigate the motive, but first allow me to address my accusers.

Homosexual. I readily admit that from time to time I am overcome by the bulging, ripped, muscular gluteus maximii of my Security Bank teammates, covered by only embrocation and a fraction of a millimeter of lycra, ripping up Pate Hill. But I really, really, really like girls. A lot. So I think the gluteus thing must be more power envy than desire to bed a Banker. I’m sure there are homosexuals in the peloton, but as long as they don’t grab my ass or half-wheel me in a group ride, I really don’t care who they snuggle up with afterwards.

Communist. The guy must have been over 40, because I perceive “commie” to be a very 1980s flavor of insult – you know: Reagan, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall” and all that? Well, there was the time that, after a half bottle of Jack Daniels, I thought about giving all my crap to my neighbor, riding my ‘cross bike to Crater Lake, starting a bike taxi service, and living on Gu in an abandoned school bus. But when I sobered up, I realized that I really like all of my stuff and would like very much for it to remain mine. I might even like to have more stuff one day. A die-hard capitalist with moderate tendencies? Yes. A communist? Not so much.

Yankee. Hmmmm. That one’s pretty funny. I do live north of Macon. But I’ve heard tell that my great grandfather went quite a bit out of his way during the (not so) Recent Unpleasantness to kill as many Damn Yankees as he possibly could before turning 17 and enduring reconstruction eating sweet potatoes three meals a day in a 2-room dirt-floor cabin after Bill Sherman made his brutal march and killed all the family livestock. In 2009 Monticello may be a lot of things, but a Yankee hangout it is not. So I think I’ve established that insult as more than a little hollow.

So why was I the target of the unprompted verbal salvo by the big bubbas? I wasn’t even on THEIR road – I was on a prissy little big-city funded side trail and completely out of their precious way. Funny thing is, I can shift pretty smoothly from cyclist to redneck when I want to. I guess that makes me a double agent? I hunt, drive a truck (sort of), eat cornbread, drink sweet tea, and can talk real rural like. I think Lewis Grizzard was great and that the SEC can kick the PAC 10’s ass. So what’s the root of his hostility?

Maybe they saw my chiseled calves and thought I’d steal their women? I’ve got news for them: I’ve got a woman that is, by observation and by definition, smarter and finer than anything they could ever lure into the black hole of enlightenment they call existence. So there’s no threat to them there.

Maybe they want all the 2010 earmark money for more lanes on Highway 278. Maybe they thought I might use my faggot wiles and communist trickery to successfully lobby for more miles of trail, taking their tax money and limiting them to four lanes, requiring them to slow to 80 mph the next time three people decide to drive from Rockmart to High Point in the same afternoon.

Or maybe they are simple prudes. Maybe the sight of my gleaming bare flesh and the bulges in my bibshorts reminded them of their mothers’ beating the crap out of them for looking at girly magazines before they turned 35 and finally moved away from home.

Hmmm. I seem to have mentioned glutes, calves, and bare flesh a lot – maybe I’m seeing a common thread here?

Whatever the reason, they can both kiss my narrow ass, because although there are many that feel and act exactly as they do, the fact that I can ride from Rockmart to Cedartown and beyond on a path dedicated to cyclists and other non-motorists, built partly with our precious transportation funding proves that they are beginning to lose the battle. There are people in Polk County, even a few heterosexual capitalist southerners, who like the Comet; they appreciate it and support it. Thanks goes out to all of them. I know it’s not so easy to be on that side of the argument. And I don’t mean to pick on Rockmart and Cedartown. The situation is similar throughout these parts.

DZ Manipulates the Earth's Forces

I'm plaigerizing again, but I could not resist. I'm fascinated with the mental aspects of time trialing. A teammate sent me a great article by Juliet Macur of the New York Times (thanks Doug): As Leipheimer Coasts at Tour of California, Armstrong Is Part of the Pack


I encourage you to read the article, but in case you don't, here are some of my favorite parts and quotes:

• Other riders agree that tunes about being happy and carefree should never be the soundtrack for a time trial, an individual race against the clock that is often synonymous with pain.


• But, Lim said, the winner of the time trial will need another quality to be the fastest on the course: the ability to manage pain better than anyone else.


• As soon as a rider takes off, his body starts hinting at betrayal. His legs start to feel like anchors. His lungs start to burn. His arms start to ache from holding onto the handlebars with death grips.


• "Your body feels pain as a protective mechanism, so when you are going as hard as you can, all your body wants to do is fight it," Lim said. "It's telling you: 'Why are we doing this? What bear is chasing us? What are we doing this for? Stop this, just stop this right now.' "


• "I told him, 'Maybe it's not anger that motivates you anymore,' " Lim said. " 'Maybe it's love.' And [DZ] said: 'Ooh, love. O.K., man.' And that was that."


• "Being good at the time trial, it's mostly mental," Zabriskie said. "If you think you are having a good day, you are probably not going fast enough.


• "I truly believe I can manipulate the earth's forces and use them to my advantage," [DZ] said.

The Plagiarist

I always try to resist the temptation to play copycat, but I could not resist plagiarizing this little section from "Coppi and Me, Part II" by Padrig over at Belgium Kneewarmers.

In the series Gino Bartali reminisces about racing against Fausto Coppi in the 1940s and 1950s. They were both good friends and bitter rivals. The segment below is what Bartali had to say about Coppi's Achilles heel. It reminded me of the almost imperceptable signals I get from some of my companions where they are in difficulty (hollow eyes or barely perceptable changes in hand position on the bars).

It is a perfect metaphor for the intricacies of cycling and the sometimes frivolous and comic nature of our great sport.

Bartali recalls:

"So I studied him, I looked at him, I scrutinized him, passing all I observed through a sort of sieve set to catch the least eccentricity that would imply fallibility. And then, one day, my tenacity was repaid. I perceived something. Finally, I had it!

Behind the right knee a vein inflated along 5 or 6 centimeters, apparently under the pressure of ridding his leg of toxic waste. This apparition made itself obvious between 160 and 180 kms into a race. At this moment Fausto became vulnerable and he lost a bit of that fluid plastic motion he normally displayed.

One day, in the 1948 Tour of Italy, the stage to Naples, I decided to see if I could profit from my research. I told my lieutenant, Corrieri, to survey the hollow behind Coppi’s right knee and let me know if he saw any change. Sure enough, right about the time I expected, Corrieri came rolling through the peloton crying at the top of his voice, ‘The vein! The vein!’ Of course no one knew what he was yelling about, least of all Fausto, but I knew and I slid through the group to verify the good Giovannino’s spy operation. One look and I could see the vein was indeed inflated!

’Go! Go!’ I yelled to Van Steenbergen, to Koblet, to Kubler, and anyone else around me. ‘Coppi is in difficulty!’

‘Are you nuts?’ queried Van Steenbergen.

'Follow me!’ I yelled.

Everyone attacked, and at the finish Fausto had lost four minutes!"

What a great story. This past weekend I think I discovered a 'vein' in one of my more genetically gifted associates. It'll be fun to test my theory on the roads this summer!

The Vein!, The Vein! also reminded me of Tatoo:

The Plane!, The Plane!

Seven Stages of Road Racing

The holidays gave me a few minutes to browse other cycling blogs, something I haven't done in a while. I saw this post on Stuart Lynne's blog and found it amusing:



http://tt-training.blogspot.com/2008/03/seven-stages-of-road-racing.html



Sounds just like my 2006 season.

LeMond, Armstrong, and the SRM Dope Dog

I’ve been studying cycling from every angle for the last few years. It’s increasingly rare that I encounter a truly new idea or perspective that “opens a new door” or provides me a completely original line of thinking about cycling performance or culture. But I stumbled upon one on Friday.

A little background: In preparing for a 3-hour drive to Ringgold to see the inlaws (a visit which was enhanced by a 40-mile ride over new Tennessee roads with my Lovely Wife), I downloaded onto my Shuffle several cycling-related podcasts: a couple Fredcasts and a couple from The Spokesman. One of them contained stuff from Interbike 2008. That’s where Lance gave a press conference this fall to discuss his return to competitive cycling. A sort-of-hard-to-hear recording of his press conference was included in the podcast.

I already knew that Greg LeMond had attended Lance’s press conference and, based on what I’d heard, had made an ass of himself with all of his repeated questions about Lance’s new doping controls. Lance has, in lieu of a salary, requested that Astana hire a dope testing specialist to set up and carry out a continuous testing program for Lance for the 2009 season. All of his data will be published on the web in real time.

Well, Greg repeatedly attempted to grill Lance and his consultant about it. In the recording you couldn’t hear the questions very well, but you could tell that Lance and pretty much everyone else in the room wished he would just shut up and go back to selling bikes.

Greg and Lance in '94 - before they had much to argue about.

But that’s not the interesting part. Greg’s been doing that for years and everyone’s used to it. The guy who runs the Fredcast hung around to work on some technical stuff after the press conference. A little while later, Greg LeMond and Lance’s drug testing consultant entered the room and continued in private their heated discussion. As Greg turned to leave, he held a brief interview with three or four journalists. That’s the part that got me thinking.

One last caveat before I finally get to my point: Although I’m an admirer of Greg LeMond for his accomplishments and for what he’s contributed to American cycling, I’m not particularly fond of his constant Lance attacks (airing of American cycling’s dirty laundry in public goes against my grain and hints at a character flaw in LeMond – although Lance has his share of those as well).

In the interview after the press conference, which can be heard at http://www.thefredcast.com/?p=406, Greg made his point. Essentially, he said that no matter how the doping labs test professional riders, and no matter how sophisticated their testing methods get, the riders and some of their teams will always be a step ahead and be able to evade some of the testing. Maybe that’s true. I have very little doubt that Lance will race clean in 2009, but will everyone in the peloton be clean – no. CERA stays in your system for about 60 hours. Blood doping with your own blood is virtually undetectable.

LeMond proposed that there is one ironclad way to catch dopers: use an SRM. Measure their race power output.

He argues that through chemistry, physics, and physiology, we’ve established very accurately the relationships governing the energy systems of cycling. A calorie is a calorie is a calorie. And a watt is a watt is a watt. VO2max, or the amount of oxygen that your body can process per minute, limits and controls how much energy your body can produce. Everyone's career-best FTP (and other power outputs) has a set ceiling.

Your VO2max is largely determined by genetics. Training level and age can also play roles. For a 25-year-old, very highly trained cyclist it’s virtually a constant number. It will drop slightly with age, but not much until you reach your upper thirties or forties. And even then it changes pretty slowly if you remain highly trained. {And for Causey and Ron I think it’s a universal constant.}

Improvements in racing tactics, training methods, teammates, nutrition, and your mental approach can all make you a more successful cyclist. But if you are a very highly trained professional cyclist (alreadying eating and training at the highest level possible) your maximum power output won’t change much after a young age even though your endurance can be greatly improved with additional years.

LeMond argues (and he has physiologists to back up his argument) that there should be a baseline VO2max established for every professional rider. Based on that VO2max, assuming the highest mechanical and metabolic efficiency that’s possible for humans, there would be a maximum functional threshold power (FTP) calculated for every rider in the peloton. Competitors (randomly or all of them – he doesn’t say) would have their bikes fitted with SRM power meters during race stages. Any rider who demonstrated long-term power output exceeding the theoretical maximum would be considered a doper and immediately removed from the sport for life – end of rule. LeMond says riders like Merckx and Anquetil never produced a FTP of 8 watts per kilo and doesn’t think modern riders are doing it honestly. (Van de Velde reportedly stayed with the front Tour group in the mountains in 2008 with 5.85 watts/kilo – something he’d not been able to do in the past with the same power output).

While this approach would be a very radical idea - I’m certainly not sold on it -- it’s a fascinating one. It would also be terrible for cycling and cycling fans.

Would the SRM dope dog weed out dopers of all types – I don’t see why not. But it would turn professional cycling into more of a video game than it already has become. It would be like having Johan Bruneel, Bjarne Riis, and Jonathan Vaughters sitting across the table from each other with monitors and joysticks. Dopers would shift their focus from max power output to maximum recovery ability, and the dope race would continue.

Knowing the exact FTP of every rider in the peloton and having race radios to completely control all of them would remove from cycling what magic that remains in the sport. The echoes of Anquetil and Merckx would finally and completely be dampened by technology and the modern era. Let's find another way.


Jaques Anquetil


Eddie Merckx

Suffering

Last night I finished the hardest workout I've ever done. Honestly. It wasn't complicated - just get on the computrainer and go as hard as I could for 45 minutes.

The cave result was a good one for me - 290 watts (4.34 w/kg), only about 22 watts lower than the number that big 'Hoppa stamped out down there a couple of weeks ago.

But the new level of suffering started me wondering - are the higher numbers due more to adaptive physiology or psycology? Have I become a stronger cyclist or a better sufferer? I guess in the end it doesn't matter how much of each has contributed, because racing requires plenty of both.

It's been plenty cold this week, at least by Georgia standards. So I'm throwing in a couple of zaps from the BBQ ride - when it was a little warmer. One of the reasons why we suffer on the trainer in the winter:

Tour Average Speeds

Scientific American, August 2008

There are lots of ways to interpret this graph - throw out your two cents to the right. (The consensus was that there are too many variables for the chart to show a meaningful trend.)

Damn Crashes (and Dog Days Race Report)

If you're going to race, crashes are unavoidable, I realize that -- but they still suck. I've had more than my share of crashes this year, three. I figure one per year is inevitable, but three is more than I bargained for. If I was a sprinter mixing it up to every line, I'd expect it more. If I raced the under 35 division, or in cat 5, they say I should expect it more. If I raced crits a lot, I should expect it more. But my crashes have been in training rides, 35+ road races, and straight 4 road races. So much for those theories.

In March, I think it was (I'm sure Trey can tell you the exact date), Trey and I both went down at probably 15 mph on a gravelly turn on a training ride. I got road rash, an involuntary goatee from my inability to shave my chin, and soreness for a week - he got a fractured trochanter and an unfortunate end to a season that had barely begun.

On June 22nd in the LaGrange RR -- about 300 m from the finish -- we were winding up for the sprint on an uphill grade. The guy in front of me touched a wheel, I guess, went down and I went over the top of him at 23.5 mph. I think it was my hardest crash ever, but luckily I escaped with lots of road rash, a black eye, a week-long limp from a swollen hip joint, broken handlebars, and a snapped brake lever. I think I broke my finger, too - it's still swollen almost 60 days later - but it still works.

Yesterday at the Dog Days Road Race in Canton we were approaching the finish line (200m?). I was accelerating steadily, moving up the right side, and looking for a top 10 sprint finish (that would have been a good result for me because I can't sprint at all). Just as I stood up to begin my last kick, the two guys in front of me decided to zig/zag different directions at the same time. As I remember it, the guy on the right swerved hard left and the guy on the left swerved hard right. They hit each other hard and went down hard. I had probably a full second to anticipate going over the top of them. At the crash I was at 121 rpm, 442 watts, and 42.2 mph (see graph).

Oddly enough, I only got relatively minor road rash in all the normal places -- elbow, knee, and hip - and no bike damage, although I did total my helmet. You'd think the faster the crash, the more injured you'd get. But so far there's not much correlation. Maybe there's really something to the skidding hypothesis.

I've had three crashes (so far) this year. If you 'believe' in statistics, that means 2009 will be completely crash-free. Maybe I'll only order two kits for next year.

One last crash note: On Jake's advice (and he should know), I bought some Nexcare Tegaderm transparent 'fake skin', I guess you'd call it. It works like a charm - good call - highly recommended. And it even has picture of a cyclist on the front:

Dog Days Road Race

The Cat 4 division rode three 16-mile laps of a rolling, somewhat technical loop. I had no teammates -- Iron Data, Reality Bikes, Cycleworks/HDR, and Aarons seemed to have the biggest numbers. I thought the race was a little harder than our typical GA Cup 4/5 races. I jumped off the front and bridged to other jumpers a few times, trying to get a successful break going, but was having no luck making anything stick. About a quarter of the way into the last lap, I ended up off the front with riders from Iron Data, Reality Bikes, and Aarons. I thought we had the right combination to stay away, but we were reeled in - by Cycleworks, I guess. Everything stayed together until the finish. I moved to the front without too much difficulty with a couple of miles to go. I think I was in a pretty tired field. There was a little two-tiered climb up to a right turn with about a mile to go till the finish. I figured if there was any way I could gather enough juice to jump at that point, I might get away. But the climb took so much out of me (and everyone else, I guess) that I could not make a jump. I was sitting about 10th in the field as we started the long downhill sprint. We had a headwind, so I planned to wait as long as possible to make my final jump (there was actually a pay-0ut to 6th place - wow). Then there was the crash.

A rider in front of Bill went down and Bill went over him in the Cat 5 race. He didn't have too much road rash, but he injured his hip that was broken a couple of years ago. He was hobbling around, but hopefully will just be sore for a few days.

I understand that Doug and Jeff did lots of good work for Jake in the Cat 3 race. Doug was sick and didn't contest the finish. Jake made a very last second, very fast punch to the line and took 2nd in the Cat 3 race. From where I stood, it looked like he passed 20 guys in the last 20 meters and would have won it if he'd had 25 more meters to the line. Congratulations.

I'm not sure how Eduardo fared other than he finished with the pack.

Good Racing Names

Part of the fun of watching Phil, Paul, and Bob comment of the Tour is the rider names. Each of them seem to pronounce the riders’ names differently – and there are some very interesting names in the tour. Those that have watched for a few years have become so familiar with some of the international names that they don’t sound strange anymore -- Hushovd, Ciolek, Zabel, Cancellara, Pozzato, Efimkin, Freire, Siutsou.

You’d think that the Georgia Cup race series, located in the southeastern US, would be full of Anglo-American names like Todd Wilson, Jake Andrews, and Ron Hill. There are a few of those, but many of the guys riding beside us in those rural pelotons have names that sound like they could have come right out of the Tour roster. Here’s a sampling of some I’ve noticed:

Andrew Schluck (Andy Schleck)
Carlos Saavedra (Carlos Sastra)

Olbap Rojas
Wael Amara
Jan Kolar
Eduardo Avila
Victor Karm
Julio Quinpana
Jordy Wetzel
Predrag Prokic
LaFayette Brazil
Keir Plaice
Sven Eisenhour
Nello Teer
Nicholas Savadelis
Xavier Cortez
Javier Rozo
Vincent Maggioni
Faizal Glen
Enrique DeAgostini
Ernesto Lua
Leigh Valletti
Karel Sumbal

I wonder if a Belgian guy playing baseball would feel more powerful at the plate if his opponents had names like Todd Wilson, Jake Andrews, and Ron Hill? I wonder if any Belgian guys play baseball?

The Rider -Tim Krabbe'

I just read this again for the first time in a couple of years (probably my 5th time reading it). Do yourself a favor and do the same.

Here are a few good lines from just the first 32 pages of a 148 page book that describes a single 150k amateur bike race in 1970s Europe. Even out of context it's good stuff:

------------------------

"Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafes. Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me.

------------------------

"... a rider in a light blue Cycles Goff jersey is sitting on the curb, deep in thought. Before him on the street lies a back wheel, beside him a wooden box full of sprockets. His gears: he still has to decide which ones to use. There are four cols today, no one knows exactly how steep. I do: I've been over the course."

------------------------

"I forgot my figs... should I make it four? Or five? Ballast... I never eat more than two during a race, the others will just end up glistening brown with sweat."

------------------------

the "mind has recourse to two instruments, a body and a bicycle..."

------------------------

"Good legs?"

"We'll see. And you?"

"He shrugs and starts telling me how little time he has to train. All riders say that, always. As if they're afraid to be judged by the part of their ability they can actually take credit for."

------------------------

"I started on this sport fifteen years too late."

------------------------

"The first climb won't be for another 30 kilometers, at Les Vignes. I'm longing for it, just like when I'm doing it I'll long for it to be over."

------------------------

"What never happens will happen today. This is the decisive breakaway."

------------------------

"Always attack as late as you can, but before the others do."

------------------------

"I have an aversion to the expression 'allowed to escape', because it usually comes from people who have no notion of the tremendous power needed for that 'being allowed to'."

------------------------

"A man shouts 'Faster!' Probably thinks bicycle racing is about going fast."

------------------------

"Climbing is a rhythm, a trance; you have to rock your organs' protests back to sleep."

------------------------

"The group was sliding away from me. How sad."

------------------------

"Why'd you let them go?"

"I couldn't do it"

"Just one more kick, couldn't you have managed that?"

"Yeah, God, one kick, yeah."

"So why didn't you?"

"I couldn't"

"... the forest was quiet again"

"... at a certain point you just can't do it any more, you get dropped. Too bad. Nothing to make a fuss about."

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"It's so incredibly pitiful that I ever wanted to do this, but now I'm stuck with it." "My legs feel black. On a bike, your consciousness is small"

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And toward the end:

"Because after the finish all the suffering turns to memories of pleasure, and the greater the suffering, the greater the pleasure."

The Progression

Aspiring Cat5

Cat4

Cat3

Bullseyes Over and Over Again

Does this picture look familiar?



If so, you're probably one of the many that regularly visit the "Belgium Kneewarmers" blog http://www.belgiumkneewarmers.com/. I've read it on and off for a year or more, and I'm constantly surprised by the diversity of the topics and the quality of the writing on the site.

The posts that each of us likes the most will vary depending on our interests and our approach to life. But there's something over there for most everyone, I think. My lovely wife, also a cyclist and a baker, really enjoyed the recent "Baking" post. I thought the "Bike Room" post nailed perfectly my unarticulated feelings toward my bike room - if one can have feelings toward a room. And the finish of "The Balance" is about as close to a work of art as cycling blogs get (or as close as we'd want for them to get):

I’m slower for drinking wine, there’s no doubt. I’m also poorer for it. Nonetheless, my life has been enriched by it as much as it has been enriched by cycling. It has taught me to take my time with meals, the value of slow food, and in a world being inexorably homogenized by big box retailers, bringing home a bottle of wine from my travels can be a way to bring home a real reminder of a place, an actual taste of the place itself. Long after my memory of the roads begin to fade, I can open that bottle to bring out the sun of a perfect day.

Kudos again to Padraig and Radio Freddy - I hope you keep up the good work for years to come.

Tailwind

It's unusual; almost unheard of: A 2.5-hour out-and-back constant tailwind. Betty Jean and I spent the weekend at George T. Bagby State Park in southwest Georgia. We rode to Eufaula and back on Saturday. The out section was toward Eufaula directly into a brewing thunderstorm, and the wind was being sucked up into the thunderhead, giving us a strong tailwind. We left Eufaula right as the storm came into town. It chased us all the way back to the park with a stiff tailwind. We rode at TT pace for over 50 miles and barely broke a sweat.