Pre-Season 2009: Serious Cycling Training at the Fix Studio

2009 has certainly been a very interesting and eventful year for me and my family. Following my wife Laura's bad bike accident in May of 2008 (see my story "Rider Down" in the Southwest Journal) the year started with a mix of indoor training (for her), winter bike commuting (for me) and preparations for my first racing season by researching spring cycling camps (see previous post on CCSD).

I felt really good about my fitness in February, having attended several power training classes with Larry Foss at The Fix Studio in downtown Minneapolis. Larry and his wife Sophie, former pro racer, operate an outstanding studio in their warehouse district apartment, with a series of power-meter equipped TacX bike trainers, a large-format projector for displaying workout data and an awesome sound system. Larry, a serious cyclist himself, served as soigneur for several domestic pro teams as well as the U.S. Olympic cycling team. He really knows his stuff in terms of nutrition, training, bike fit, massage and a host of other cycling-related topics. Prior to my first class with Larry I was expecting something like a "spinning" class for serious cyclists. It was far from it.

First, Larry conducts a critical power test by having your perform a 20-minute time trial to capture average power and heart rate data. Fortunately he coaches you on how to approach the test. I'd done one indoor time trial at a local shop a few months earlier and done exactly what Larry instructed me not to do: Hammer right from the start. Instead he has you perform a structured 10-minute warm-up, during which you reach upwards of 120% of your estimate critical power wattage (i.e., the average power output you can expend for 60 minutes). After the warm-up he begins recording your data, taking a snapshot of heart rate and power levels every 5 minutes (in addition to capturing average HR and power at the end of the test.

If felt SO much better during this test than during my ill-fated virtual time trial at the shop. Instead of shooting way above my sustainable heart rate and power, suffering miserably the entire ride and watching my power steadily decline for 20 minutes, I was properly warmed up and able to peg my power output just below what I thought I could sustain. This allowed me to actually increase my power during the final quarter of the test, finishing at a wattage well above my average for the ride.

Here are the numbers Larry captured during my test:

AVG WATTS		315
MAX WATTS		372
AVE CADENCE		97
MAX CADENCE		116

HeartRate at CP:		166
CP WATTAGE :		315
CP to Weight Ratio:		4.2

That last number (power-t0-weight ratio) is the key. At 5'9" and 160 lbs. I'm not going to be able to create the same kind of power as a rider 6' and 185 lbs. But I don't need to, because I don't have to push that extra mass mile after mile, or climb over a mountain pass with 25 extra pounds. Larry seemed quite pleased and reasonably impressed with my results, and after I checked a few sources online to see how a ratio of 4.2 stacks up, I was pretty happy, too. For example, Cozy Beehive, a blog maintained by an avid cyclist who's also a mechanical engineer, claims a power-to-weight ratio of 4.2 puts me near the top of Cat 2, and nearly up to Cat 1. That would be quite remarkable if true. I would have been happy with a solid Cat 3/4 power output. Click here for his power-to-weight chart.

Unfortunately, I got quite sick a few days after my CP test. I had a bad head cold, which turned into a sinus infection, which morphed into an ear infection (I don't think I'd had one of those for roughly 38 years). Needless to say, this bout threw me for a loop and really derailed my pre-season training. It even caused me to push back my bike camp trip by about 3 weeks. Fortunately I was able to attend the camp and use the opportunity to get back to form.

In the next post I'll tell you about my first bike race of the 2009 season -- the Minnesota and Wisconsin season-opener in Durand, WI.

Bay Area Finale: Old Lo Honda Road and Tunitis Creek

To round out a near-perfect week of cycling I took a short flight from San Diego to San Jose to visit my brother and ride with his cycling partners. I had just completed 5 days (and 325 miles) of mountainous riding with Cycling Camp San Diego (see posts below) where I had pushed myself to the limit each day. To my surprise, each day I seemed able to do it again. But on the 6th consecutive day, despite a huge meal the night before, I felt pretty listless. That changed, however, once I got on the bike on some of the most scenic road I've ever ridden.

Jeremy's friend Paul loaned me a cross bike with 28 mm road tires for our ride. Although it was a little bulky, with its steel frame and old-school bar-end shifters, it was a surprisingly comfortable and reasonably fast ride. We spun at a moderate pace from our meeting place to the base of our first big climb, and I got to know Jeremy's friends John and Beth Stearns (two very strong riders, and very nice people). We were joined by Don, a friend and co-worker of Jeremy's who has joined us on now on three mini-tours, and Paul, whom I met on last year's 3-day Big Sur tour.

The first test of the day came on the climb from Old La Honda Road up to Skyline Blvd., a well-known training climb for cyclists from across the Bay Area. It was a beautiful morning and the road was full of cyclists, who outnumbered cars at least 10 to 1 up this climb. The six of us set our paces as the road rose and John and I found ourselves riding together at the front. I really hope to return and try the climb on fresh legs, since I've heard 20 minutes to the top is a good goal for a strong rider. Neither John nor I set our watches but I'm sure it took us over 20 minutes. Jeremy tells me (perhaps apocryphally?) that former speed skater turned cyclists Eric Heiden has the all-time record, at just over 14 minutes. I find this a little surprising since he was always a pretty big guy -- extremely powerful and built more like a sprinter or track rider than a climber.

Here's an image of part of Old La Honda Road as it serpentines its way west of Skyline Road (not part of our climb). The other image was taken along the road as it climbs toward Skyline.

About mid-way into the climb, after passing quite a few cyclists on their way up, we found ourselves behind a young woman on a time-trial bike working hard, so we settled in and engaged her in a little conversation. She was surprised to see a cyclist from Minnesota enjoying riding in the mountains (on his 6th day nonetheless). Near the final quarter mile we passed her and John yelled out some words of encouragement. When we got to the top she looked at her bike computer and began to celebrate. "Thank you guys for helping me there at the end. I just finished in my best time!" Apparently she was training for a time trial and using the course as her benchmark.


Following this opening climb we had some screaming descents down toward the coast. Eventually we made our way to the base of Tunitis Creek Road for the climb back up to Skyline Blvd. Now, I've had an opportunity to bike in some startlingly beautiful places before -- the mountains of north-central Spain, Cape Town, South Africa, the Red Rock region around Sedona (AZ) and California's Big Sur coast -- but this was one of the most memorable stretches of road I expect to ever encounter.

It was an amazingly quiet and cool ride through the redwood forest with almost no traffic. The road meandered. It rose and fell (mostly rose), skirting the burbling creek with patches of intense sunlight piercing the thickly-forested hillside. And it went on and on. It was as gorgeous as it was challenging. While the 10% average grade wore me down, the tranquil forest seemed to provide the energy to carry on. By the end we had climbed some 600 meters, by my estimate.

The rest of the ride is now a bit of a blur. I remember a delicious lunch of coffee and sandwiches somewhere along the way. I remember a blazing fast descent on a freshly paved roadway that couldn't have had a better surface. I remember winding our way through the Stanford Campus and stopping for more coffee at the end of the ride. There was some kind of crazy skeleton with an automatic weapon. I even recall stopping by Paul's house and helping him carry down some enormous piece of furniture from his second floor (I'm not sure what this has to do with my bike trip but I do remember it).

Then it was over. Jeremy and I headed back to Mountain View. We had a big meal and drank some good beer. I saw my charming sister-in-law Eva and smart little nephew Alex. Then I hopped on a midnight flight back to Minneapolis, where I landed at 6 a.m. after maybe an hour of sleep. I was bone tired. After some 400 miles and 35,000 feet of climbing, it took me a full two weeks to get my legs back. But once they were back, I was ready. Ready for my first season of bike racing. Over the next few posts I'll report on my performance in the first 5 road races of the season, and a few crits to boot!

Cycling Camp San Diego -- Continued

After 60 miles of hard riding the day before (including some lung-busting intervals) I was pretty sore. So that evening I took advantage of yet another of CCSD's fine services -- cycling-specific massage by cyclist and certified massage therapist Susan Tudor. Susan operates a business called Cyclist's Massage and she supplies very generously discounted services for CCSD participants. If you attend a CCSD camp you must take advantage of Susan's services. I can honestly say there would have been no way for me to have ridden as hard as I did, day after day, without her help. After each of our two interval days (Tuesday and Thursday) I used what turned out to be a very effective recovery strategy: I got a quick blast of carbs and protein (20 g of protein within 20 minutes), put my feet up and iced my legs for 30 minutes, and had a brief massage. After this regimen my legs were certainly still tired, but the soreness was mostly gone.

Day Three: 75 miles, 7,000 feet climbing
On this day I met another very cool ride leader: Gary, a level II cycling coach and owner of the Adventure Travel Group, a bike touring company based in San Diego that offers guided and supported bicycle tours for serious cyclists throughout Europe, South America and Canada (did I tell you that Rob seems to know everyone?). On this day we did "lactate threshold" intervals, keeping our heart rates at 80-82% of their maximum, which trains the body to more efficiently process, or "flush", lactic acid. So, although there wasn't much time in the "red zone" it was a long day in the saddle at a good tempo with a lot of climbing.

Fortunately I love to climb and I found myself off the front of the group following our first big ascent. Gary was dispatched to chase me down and we had a great time (or at least I did!) discussing the best places in the world to bike. Clearly he has much more experience in this department but I told him about my own private Tour de Austurias (north-central Spain) with my brother and his brother-in-law Joaquin as well as my once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to ride in the world's biggest bike race in Cape Town, South Africa. He told me about riding in the Alps, Pyrenees, Dolomites and beyond. As on day two, we were joined after our last SAG stop by other strong riders ready to crank up the pace and race home to Alpine. Gary and I took some nice long pulls as did Greg and Eric. A couple of others hung on for the ride. I recall smokin' it back along Japatul Road into Alpine to close out another great day in the saddle. That evening we discussed the benefits of "isolated leg training" (or one-legged spinning) for building strength and aiding in neuromuscular development (i.e., training your muscles how to more efficiently and properly "fire" during the pedal stroke).

Day Four: 65 miles, 6,000 feet climbing
Day four saw the return of hard VO2 max intervals, with Bill Holland back to make me suffer. This time I was committed to stick with him to the top of the climb on the last interval, and I came damn close. Near the top he had gapped me by about three bikes lengths so I eased up slightly. Surprisingly I got a second wind after only about 10 seconds at tempo pace and stood on it to catch him near the top. Fortunately, I guess, I had forgotten my chest strap for my heart rate monitor and had to simply use Bill as a guide. Once again we had some time to recover and ride to the SAG stop. I have to say, fig newtons (or Fig Newmans as they were) never tasted so good.

The highlight of the day, if not the entire trip, came later in the day on our ride down to Honey Springs -- a screaming descent down into a beautiful valley on Honey Springs Road. At the bottom Rob convened the group to discuss our ride back up. It was at that point that I realized that hammering as hard as I could down the mountain with Bill on my wheel was a little short-sighted. It was a blast though. I don't think I've ridden so hard on a descent before or since, or as tight. I remember feeling totally comfortable with Bill just inches away from my wheel, and Greg on his, even as we passed 45 m.p.h. I've ridden faster before but never in such a close formation. It was exhilirating. On the way up, Bill set the pace. It seemed moderate at first, but the climb was eternal. About 5 minutes in Bill told me "I set my stopwatch . . . let's see what we can do." I can't recall how long it took us but I remember him pulling away from me about 2/3 of the way to the top. I had him in sight most of the time and once again had a second wind once I saw the crest. Bill claims (quite generously) that he was waiting for less than a minute at the top and said we'd both finished in a very respectable time. It was some solace knowing he'd had a rest day the day before, but it's humbling to realize a guy 10-15 years older is a stronger rider than you. Fortunately I'm able to do the same thing to most of the younger riders I ride with. Hopefully this will still be the case in 10 years.

Day Five: 75 miles, 6,000 feet climbing
The fifth and final day of the camp was just as hard (and just as memorable) as the days with intervals. That's because Rob, directeur sportif, cracked the whip on Viejas, an unpaved horse-riding and hiking trail that climbs about 3,000 ft. (by my estimate). The group rode together to the base of the climb where Rob gave us some advice about the terrain. It was dirt and loose gravel, making it particularly challenging because your back wheel would slip on steep sections if you weren't careful about your weight distribution. Just as he was leaving he said he'd see most of us at the top, but for those taking it slowly we'd descend down into the valley on the other side where the van would be parked for re-fueling. Then he was gone.

I had to work pretty hard just to catch him near the beginning of the climb. The weather was cooler this day than on the previous four. We'd had perfect conditions -- dry and in the 70s-80s. Friday morning was about 50 degrees, windy and overcast. I remember starting the climb wearing a headband and wind vest. By the mid point I was already overheating but I wanted to stick to Rob's wheel so I suffered through it. There was no way to ride no-handed to remove my vest or temporarily take off my helmet to get at my headband because the surface was too inconsistent. About 3/4 of the way up I finally hit the wall. I was on the verge of bonking. I stayed with Rob to the top but was starting to feel queasy and disoriented, a sensation that wasn't helped by being soaking wet with sweat and condensation (we had climbed into some low-hanging clouds and fog). We waited at the top for quite a while before a few others made it and I was shivering hard and lightheaded. Rob had told us to "eat, eat, and then eat some more" and I'd tried. After five consecutive days of riding to the brink of cracking I was finally starting to wither.

After another 15 minutes and a few more riders we descended into the valley on the other side. I recall feeling funny on the descent but not knowing why. When we reached the van I took my helmet off and started looking for something, anything, to eat. 10 minutes later, as we began to get ready to roll again, I looked around for my glasses and couldn't find them. Rob and Jeff (our SAG driver) helped pull nearly everything out of the vehicle looking for them, but to no avail. I told them there was a chance I'd left them at the top of Viejas as I recalled wiping them off while waiting, but I was almost certain I had put them back on. After all, I don't see well at all without them and couldn't believe I would have descended at high speed and not noticed. Finally, Jeff said "get in the van, we're riding back to the top." Sure enough, when we reached the summit, there they were, sitting on a large rock where I'd rested. I'd been so disoriented I hadn't even noticed that I couldn't focus. Kind of a scary thought when you consider how fast we took the descent.

The van ride with Jeff ended up being another unexpected trip highlight. Rob had told us on day one that "there's no shame in getting into the van" but I hadn't expected to need to do so. It turns out I did, but not because I couldn't ride any more. In any event, it was nice to dry out and warm up a bit, not to mention eat a little more while listening to good music and chatting with Jeff. Then he put me back on the road to catch up with the group. Once back on, we rode together into the quaint little town of Julian, famous for its delicious pies. It certainly didn't disappoint. We had an excellent and well-deserved lunch before heading out on our final ride of the camp, back into Alpine. Rob, Greg and I rode hard together, with Rob doing nearly all the work as we battled headwinds and crosswinds. Even though I had recovered from my near-bonking experience I was happy to take a break. It was hard enough staying on Rob's wheel. He's a very strong rider.

Back in Alpine the group began to disperse. We said our "goodbyes" as riders came in, with everyone on a different schedule for returning home. I packed up my bike in my travel case and Rob graciously shuttled me to the airport. Although camp was over I had one more day or riding ahead of me. I'd be taking a short flight from San Diego to San Jose to see my brother. After a few hours of rest, Jeremy and his crew would take me up Old Lohanda Road (a famous training climb) and Tunitis Creek (an ascent featured in the Tour of California). There would be a sixth and final day of "spring training" for me before I was able to rest and recover. I wasn't convinced my legs would hold out.

Pre-Season Cycling Camp in San Diego

Each year over the past 6 years I've taken a spring trip to kick off the season, but this year's experience was a little different. First, in preparation for my first true "season" of bike racing I wanted to push myself hard to get ready for the stress and do what I could to be competitive from the start. In years past, my spring trip has provided the opportunity to connect with my brother and his friend Don for a long weekend of riding (typically 2.5 days). This year I wanted to ride harder and longer than I had ever before -- and I certainly got my wish.

Another important difference this year had to do a certain milestone I reached in March. I turned 40 (ouch). That big number gave me a little more bargaining power at home and helped me lobby for a week-long experience.

After researching my options (and coming to terms with a limited budget) I chose Cycling Camp San Diego. The price was much more reasonable than Carmichael's camps, and others of that ilk, but it still looked to be professionally operated (and it was). I made contact with the camp's director, Rob Panzera, and he responded promptly and courteously to all of my many questions. He assured me that I would get a lot out of attending.

I have to admit that when I first me the dozen or so other campers during our pre-camp meeting at the Alpine Ayers Alpine Inn (Alpine, CA, 25 miles east of San Diego) I was a little surprised that they were mostly older and primarily interested in training for individual events (triathlons, long tours, etc.). It was Sunday night before the first day of camp and we sat around the hotel's lounge a little nervously talking about our riding experience and sandbagging about how we'd do at camp. There were just a couple of other serious racers during my week, and Rob told me the composition of each group is different, with some of his camps have drawn a higher proportion of racers. As a result, I was initially dubious that I'd be pushed hard enough. Boy was I wrong. By the end of the week I had developed a great deal of respect for every one of my fellow campers, and I had ample opportunity to push myself to the limit each day.

Day One: 50 miles, 4,000 feet climbing
The first day (of five) was the shortest day of riding and were instructed to stick together. This was a warm-up day, where Rob and his staff would evaluate our form and make impressions about our skill and fitness levels. That evening, just before dinner, we gathered for Rob's discussion concerning VO2 max interval training, which we'd be doing the next day (each evening before dinner Rob would hold an educational meeting to share training tips and discuss the plan for the next day). Rob is himself is a former Cat 2 racer and certified coach, so he's quite knowledgeable about bike-specific training, nutrition and other topics of interest to competitive cyclists. I began to get a little nervous about what the next day would hold.

Day Two: 60 miles, 5,000 feet climbing
On day two we met outside of Rob's room and met that day's assistant ride leaders. Rob seems to know nearly everyone in the San Diego cycling community and he assembled a different group of support staff each day. That way, riders of every level would have someone to guide them. This was very important for a camp like CCSD, since there was quite a wide range of fitness and bike handling skills. That morning I was surprised to meet someone whose name and reputation I'd already known. Bill Holland is something of a legend among custom bike frame builders. My neighbor and friend Paul rides a custom Holland titanium-carbon frame and loves it.

As the ride started I introduced myself to Bill (pictured in the orange jersey) and he remembered Paul well. We had a nice time talking as we rode to the starting point of our intervals. Rob had marked the road with symbols to indicate the starting and stopping point for each set of intervals, which would be based on our heart rates zones (we were expected to already know them before arriving at camp). Fortunately I'd had a HR and power threshold test earlier that winter at a cycling studio in Minneapolis and had pretty accurate numbers to work with.

As the group started the intervals, individual riders began to separate, since some could ride at a quicker pace while maintaining their HR in the desired zone. During each of the six intervals we were expected to ride at a higher percentage of our maximum heart rate, with equal periods of recovery between them. I quickly found myself with Rob, Bill and another strong rider (Greg, one of the other two racers). We moved through 3 of the 6 sets, which eventually approached 95% of our maximum heart rates, and just Bill and I were together at the front of the group. Now, Bill Holland is in his early 50s and is in impeccable shape from riding in the mountains nearly every day. The guy is a machine. On the last interval (all were on climbs, none on descents) the road steepened considerably. I stuck to Bill's wheel until the last couple hundred yards when I discovered a new maximum heart rate (I know, I was supposed to keep it at 95% but I was having too much fun).

After finishing this 6th and final interval, Bill and I looked around and found that no one else was in sight so we rode together to the first SAG stop. SAG for the camp was outstanding, led by a guy named Jeff who wrenches for a San Diego-area shop and formerly worked for Mavic. He drove a van packed with complimentary bars, gels, sports drinks, fruit and a very well-stocked tool kit. In any event, this was my first of many hours riding off the front of the group with Bill. I have no doubt Rob could have ridden with us but he had the responsibility of shuttling between groups to check in on other campers. Even though Bill and I rode hard, we took the opportunity to discuss bike making, travel and life generally. It was a real privilege not only to meet him but to ride with him and engage in several hours of interesting discussion.

After re-grouping at the rest stop, we did some skills training, including bumping and crossing/rubbing wheels (on grass) and descending. After these on-the-road clinics, Bill and I were joined by another ride leader as well as Greg and his Portland-area racing partner Eric (in the photo Greg is on the left and Eric right). We hammered together for about 40 miles to close out an exhausting but productive day on the bike. I took the opportunity to spend a lot of time pulling up front because my goal for the week was to see how many days in a row I could push myself to the brink of exhaustion and still recover to ride the next day. I recall Greg yelling up to me during a few long pulls "You guys are amazing!" -- certainly a compliment from a fellow (and more experienced) racer. I had decided not to save myself for rides later in the week because I didn't want to get to the end of camp with anything left in the tank. What was there to lose? So what if I cracked on the 3rd or 4th day? At least then I'd know that I'd reached my limit.

In a subsequent post I'll summarize the remaining three days from my camp experience along with my day of riding with my brother and his cycling partners near San Jose. When it was over, I'd had my first 400-mile week (with 35,000-plus feet of climbing) and I was ready for my first season of bike racing.

Winter Came and Went

OK. I'm a terrible blogger. I haven't had a new post since last fall. That's OK, though, since the only readers at this point are those I notify of new posts. I promise I'll try to get better at this.

It's June, and although winter should seem like a faint memory, it isn't. Not with temps in the mid-40s again. This past weekend I went on my regular 100-mile Sunday ride with the Flanders guys and "enjoyed" a cool mist and lots of wind. It wasn't so bad until I had to leave early to get back to our sitter and headed back home into a stiff headwind. After flatting twice, with no patch or pump at hand, I had to call a friend for a ride home from East Union (45 miles from home). Not my finest hour as a cyclist.

But this post is meant to provide a brief recap about my winter experience; and an experience it was. This was my first season as a year-round commuter, and it takes a little (a lot) more commitment to ride through winter in Minnesota it does for my west coast brethren (Jeremy, et. al).

That said, I had a blast -- and I mean it. My goals each year have been to ride 1,000 more miles than each year prior, and to drop my temperature threshold by 10 degrees. So, last year's goal was 4,000 miles for the year and a commitment to ride anytime the temperature was above 30 degrees. I beat both goals by a longshot, finishing with 5,200 miles and riding in temps as low a zero!

To prepare for the season, I picked up a used cyclocross bike -- a Bianchi Axis with some nice knobby tires. I didn't find it necessary to use studded tires under most conditions, though I had a couple of dicey rides in the late winter when a thaw and re-freeze left the bike paths particularly icy. The bike performed really well except for a few particularly "slushy" days when I wished I'd had a single-speed. The rear cassette became totally useless when frozen slush formed on it and prevented it from shifting.

Here's a photo of me with Jim Flanders (owner of Flanders Bros. bikes in Minneapolis) and Jack Stack, English professor, Flanders club comedian and strong all-around rider. The weather here was 6 degrees above zero and we put in about 30 miles.

I learned quite a bit this year by riding in such conditions. Surprisingly, you don't need to wear much more on your body for 10 degree weather than you do for 30 degree weather. You do, however, need to focus on keeping your extermeties warm. All I ever wore for my core was a long-sleeve Craft cool-weather base layer, long-sleeve jersey and a relatively thin shell (as shown in the photo). Feet require special attention. On the coldest days I'd have thick wool socks, chemical toe warmers, Lake winter shoes and neoprene shoe covers. Likewise, to keep my hands warm in really cold weather I used an oversized pair of REI mittens with wool glove liners and chemical hand warmers.

One of the main challenges was actually to avoid overheating, especially when stopped (even momentarily). I would often stop midway on my commute to work (25 miles roundtrip) at my favorite cafe, and I'd have to quickly remove my helmet, balaclava (with helmet hat on top) and neoprene facemask. Then I'd quickly take off my jacket and unzip my jersey.

I'll pass along some more tips as winter 2009 approaches. Hopefully by then I'll have my 6,000 miles for the year!

In the Crucible: The Pleasure and Pain of a Hard Group Ride

Last year I regularly rode the Flanders Bros. Saturday "Coffee Ride" -- roughly 40 miles at a respectable pace of 18-20 mph. That's pretty fast for a so-called "social ride." When my wife began road biking earlier this year, she joined a club that rode on Saturdays, so I had change my routine. The Flanders Sunday ride is a longer, harder ride that typically covers 60-120 miles at a faster pace (20-24 mph average). It was a big step up for me to try to keep up with these guys, but it's been a lot of fun trying.

As you'll recall from previous posts, my wife had a major accident on her bike this spring, which limited my availability to ride on the weekends for a while. Fortunately her recovery has proceeded well ahead of her doctors' expectations, allowing both of us to ride quite a bit lately.

Up until yesterday I'd taken the mid-length option (about 100 miles) during the half dozen or so Sunday rides I've joined. There's a turn-off point midway into the Sunday ride that roughly half the group takes, which makes for about a 65-mile route. Then there's the "La Sueur" loop -- 120 miles of pain and suffering (at least for the mortals in the group like me). I hadn't had an opportunity to try it until yesterday.

The ride started fairly innocently, with a moderately fast pace around 20 mph as we headed out. One of the riders was having trouble with a bad bearing in the rear wheel hub so we got a bit of a slow start, actually stopping at another rider's house to pick up a spare wheel. It was then that the ride began in earnest. I think some in the group were frustrated with the slow start and wanted to make up for lost time. In any event, the screws began tightening.

Pacelining
I was feeling pretty good during the initial series of pacelines. For those new to the sport, pacelines are single or double-file lines where the lead rider(s) take a few minutes "pulling" up front before peeling off to the rear to rest (riders up front expend roughly 20-40% more energy compared to those behind; thus the benefits of drafting).

Then I got caught up front during a fast stretch with "Alex" -- a big and very strong German chap who probably eats little guys like me for lunch (actually, he's a pretty nice fellow but he's not afraid to drop weaker riders). I kept up pretty well for the first few minutes, as we powered along a gradual descent at 30 mph. But he clearly didn't want to go to the back until I asked for mercy. Fortunately one of the other power riders sprinted up to the front and took over before slowing the group to let a rider who'd experienced a mechanical issue hook back on.

Reverse-Pacelining
I realize now that I should have swallowed my pride and moved to the back sooner. I burned through a lot of energy in just a few minutes trying to power through this section. Over the course of our 6 hour-ride, I took my fair share of time in front, and sat in on a little over half of the reverse-paceline rotations (during reverse pacelining, the last rider pulls out and rides alongside the single file group to take the lead position). Moreover, I felt quite good during the last third of the ride, even sitting in on some fast rotations that involved three of the strongest riders (the rest of the group opted out and sat on on the back as we drove the pace).

One thing that really helped me during this long ride was forcing myself to eat enough. I have my wife to thank for this. She's much more disciplined than I am and actually reads books about cycling (with big words and not a lot of pictures) whereas I tend to read books about politics and history (which haven't seemed to help my bike skills much).

Fueling
Since I'd been able to keep up on the 100-mile training rides I felt that whatever I was doing was working. Fortunately, about a week or so ago she calculated how much food I should be consuming during my rides and determined I was eating less than half of what I really needed. I always seemed to carry enough food with me (energy bars and gels) but often returned with most of it uneaten. So, after a few hard pulls up front (and at least once every hour) I'd eat a bar and/or a gel. As a result, I felt much stronger at the end of the ride than I have in the past.

When I looked down at my bike computer near the end of the ride I could hardly believe it. Even though we'd had to slow down and briefly stop several times due to mechanical problems our average was 21.5 mph. Without these stoppages we probably would have averaged 22+. And amazingly I felt strong at the end.

But here's the real high point: Near the end of the ride, about 115 miles in, two riders, independent of one another, rode up next to me and told me I rode well. One rider in particular, who kind of took me under his wing early in the season, said it was probably the hardest training ride of the year. "You looked real good today, Fred," he said. "Real good."

For someone who just started riding with the "A team" this year, those words meant a lot. Sure, they might be simply trying to encourage me along as a newer member, and they did give me some good ribbing for overdressing for the weather, but I'll take it at face value. When you're riding with guys with as much race experience as these, you need to take every compliment you get.

Why I Ride on the Road

The latest installment in my Shifting Gears column in the Southwest Journal just hit the streets and I wanted to provide some substantiation for a few statistics I cite in the piece. As soon as the story is posted on the Journal's web site I'll provide a link, but in a nutshell I explain why I feel safe riding my bike on the road, with traffic. I've actually come to prefer riding on the road rather than on dedicated trails and paths

The figure I cite regarding the average number of cyclists killed in car-bike crashes in Minneapolis (1-2 per year) was taken from a conversation I had with Don Pflaum, city of Minneapolis Bicycle Coordinator.

The observation that "about half of all car-bike crashes are caused by dangerous behavior on the part of cyclists, such as riding on the wrong (left) side of the road, turning left in front of passing vehicles, running through red lights and stop signs or riding at night without lights" was drawn from Robert Hurst's excellent book The Art of Cycling: A Guide to Bicycling in 21st Century America (p. 161).

The estimate that "a decade of experience will reduce a cyclist’s accident rate by roughly 80 percent" originally comes from John Forester's Bicycle Transportation: A Handbook for Cycling Transportation Engineers, published first in the early 80s but updated in a second edition in 1994. I first noticed this claim on Ken Kifer's web site (www.kenkifer.com).

The general observations regarding the relative safety of biking versus driving were drawn from Ken Kifer's research. Sadly, Kifer (a writer and dedicated cyclist) was tragically killed by a drunk driver in September 2003 while riding his bicycle near his home near Scottsboro, Alabama. His web site, referenced above, contains a remarkable amount of practical information for cyclists.