the day i rode a bike
Sunday, April 6th, 2008As I’ve succumbed to the hard-faced fact that I will never be a professional cyclist, my perspective and training focus has changed. It is strange to say that I still train even though I am not looking to the future for some cycling breakthrough. The training I do nowadays is really just solid, daily exercise. Only on a few occasions will hopping on the bike result in a casual ride - the instant I clip in, the race to adrenaline-pumping heart rates begins. It’s clearly more intense of an activity than standard exercise but I don’t have the type of goals that other guys on the cycling team aim for. I aim for better fitness, not for points to upgrade into a new USCF category.
Climbing has always been my forte and love. When I approach the base of some mountain, I now realize that I mentally prepare for the suffering and am able to find a grueling but attainable balance between pace and pain. There’s a wonderful gratification waiting for me at the top of the climb and that simply pleasure allows me to maintain a higher threshold than usual.
This weekend, the VT Cycling Team hosted our round of races (most schools in the conference host a weekend of races each season). Unfortunately, due to a number of reasons mainly stemming from some research-related work I absolutely had to complete Saturday morning, I missed the Saturday road race. The worst part about the busyness was that I never had a chance to hop on a road bike to get in some quality riding. However, three trips to and from the Plantation Road lab and another 45 minutes of Huckleberry Trail riding on my father’s old Schwinn Super Sport allowed my legs some fun. Sunday’s race I would not miss, not only because I had to pass on Saturday’s road race, but because it is exactly the type of race I love.
Today was the Mountain Lake individual time trial (also considered a road race because it was mass-start). After 1.6 miles of flat, you turn onto Mt. Lake Rd. and climb 6.8 miles to the summit & hotel.
I left the house at 9, hoping to bike up 460 to the staging area in Newport. A few minutes away, I came across some other VT A-Cat riders who asked if I’d be interested in taking the long route over, namely by the river. I had no reason to deny myself a peaceful river ride before the race, plus, I was leaving super early and didn’t savor the idea of sitting around for so long; so, I turned around and was absorbed into our small cluster. Along the way, due to a consistent dousing of rain in the last month, we passed by some lush, green rolling fields and then came the river. Smelling as rivers should, the New River rolled along in our direction, as endless numbers of tributaries and pipes fed fed the waters’ momentum. A few minutes later and we arrived at staging.
We lined up and I was shivering slightly, the rolling creek beside us keeping the temperature down as my heart rate also relaxed. As soon as our group escaped the flat stretch, I started making pace. A few minutes later I realized that I wasn’t hearing other cranksets and chains spinning behind me. I turned and I was alone.
I’m not the quality climber I used to be. Since Thanksgiving, I’ve steadily gained weight and I don’t have the sprightliness in my legs that once flourished. However, the more intense riding I’ve done lately has given me more strength to compensate for the added weight. Around mile 3 of the 7ish total, a new rider appeared and grabbed my rear wheel. He must have bridged a huge gap to catch back up with me - he was breathing heavily and most audibly. I kept my pace and he kept my rear wheel.
In fact, I kept my pace and he kept my rear wheel for the rest of the climb. This is actually advantageous for him in a racing sense, because he is able to know my thresholds and then save when possible for the final sprint. To me, I really didn’t care. I knew this was the case, but my pace was comfortable for me; I would often overhear his heavy breathing right behind me and I would respond with a casual increase in speed and a tiny smile appearing on my face amidst my own steady breathing. As we reached the last kilometer, the fog inhibited our view and my sunglasses (mainly to protect from debris) were effectively hindering my performance. I didn’t feel like taking them off, though, since it surely would have broken my pace in the final moments.
At 200 meters, I realized I had done what I’d hoped to accomplish once during the entire collegiate cycling season - absolutely tear apart the field. On the climb, I’d caught the entire women’s A group who started 5 minutes before us and caused an enormous rift in my own group by setting a pace only one other guy could handle (and with a little aerodynamic help, I might add). With about 100m remaining, I got out of the saddle for a short sprint but had no desire to do so. If the guy riding my wheel wanted the collegiate racing 1st-place points, he could have them; I was ecstatic that I’d been the one leading the entire race and had put this wheel-sucking guy in serious pain. He quickly sprinted around me in the last 20m and his wheel touched the line less than a second before mine did.
Biking home, I felt like a million dollars. Since I don’t have long-term pro cycling plans, I don’t need points - I need to enjoy the races. What a fantastic time today.