RyanHarne.com

The summer is a time to bike. Warmer temperatures mean your fingers won’t freeze to the handlebars and the easy breeze brought on by a casual pace perfectly offsets the increased body temperature from the riding. Last summer, I was going nuts with my riding and began exploring many of the roads that Blacksburg and the surrounding towns had to offer. Unfortunately, that casual pace cooling wasn’t the case because I was riding hard enough to return home with a film of slime and salt on my skin and a steady tan line building up three-quarters up my arms and legs. This summer, my pace is harder, the sweat thicker, and I don’t feel like exploring roads. I want to race.

I spent the weekend with fellow Rogues in Tennessee while we raced in the Settler’s Life Omnium. After a relaxing 80mph drive on the interstate, we took shelter in a friend’s house, where we resided outside of our racing hours.

Saturday morning was a road race reassuringly called the “Roan Groan”. The course ended on an 8-mile climb up Roan Mountain which is strangely similar to Mountain Lake here in Blacksburg—same gradient, almost the same climbing distance, very similar types of vegetation and shading along the route. My category, Cat 4, only had a 30 mile race in total, the initial 22 miles being nothing more than a ride over to the mountain. Exactly as we expected, the pace over to the climb was easy with all of the sprinters knowing they had no chance of winning, so why bother expend a lot of energy? Our pace to Roan Mt. was so casual that some spectators believed us to be a fancily-clad funeral dirge.

At the base of the mountain, the group split up. I stuck to the front few at that point, making sure that I was the last person in the pack, capable of getting any draft that may exist from the leading riders. One-by-one the riders in the group began to drop. Twenty. Fifteen. Twelve. Ten. Seven. Our lead cluster was filtered through-and-through to eliminate the weak. With 2 miles to go, there were only 4 of us. With 1.5 miles to go, there were 3. With 1 mile to go, just 2 riders remained. And, of course, I was one of those riders (I mean, I’m telling this story , right?).

The other rider was named Noah, a cyclist who races for App State, who I was warned about earlier from some Rogues. In the final mile I started an out-of-the-saddle attack at a high cadence, apparently not a style that everyone finds comfortable. I wanted a 20 second attack. Then I went back to a slow cadence. Then he attacked and I held his wheel. Then I attacked, he keeping up just behind. We kept this finger-pricking up for the rest of the mile and in the final 100 meters, Noah took off. I had his wheel comfortably and was ready to make a greater surge. Then, he increased his rate again; honestly, I was not prepared for that type of two-faced attack (he and I were both fairly well exhausted from the rest of the climb at our pace). He broke away with about 20m left on the steep gradient. He deserved that win and I think I honorably took the 2nd spot. It was still a sweet and satisfying finish, though.

Five hours later there was a time trial. From a satellite image of the course, it appeared to be as flat as a mall parking lot, because the course was, in fact, the perimeter of a large, corporate parking lot. However, once we arrived, we saw the hill which was obscured from the satellite perspective. Since the whole course was 1.7 miles long and the total amount of time spent on that hill was potentially 0.5 miles, the advantage of a TT bike could be debated. I hadn’t planned on using my TT bike for that short length of course, anyways, so I focused on warming up and rolling out feeling good.

And I did. I felt great in the TT. My racing bike position is already ridiculously low compared to most people—my back becomes horizontal when I am in the drops. I kept low, even still, and finished with a time deserving 5th place in my category. Unfortunately, my number was on the wrong side—a casualty of the switch never having been announced by the officials. That day 40 penalties were awarded for that and similar logistical issues—almost 20% of all TT riders. My 5th place turned into 20something-th place. Points I could have earned for the overall classification were lost. And I was in a poor mood for quite some time afterwards, particularly once I received a sour remark from the snotty official when I casually asked about what time I had earned.

I slept off the bitterness, drowning it in made-from-scratch pizza, and prepared myself for the criterium the next morning. The crit course looked enjoyable, with plenty of turns and straights to satisfy the likes of all riders. However, some of the road surface into the turns was less than favorable and downright crumbling at some road-curb connections. Still, it’s the riders that make a race safe or scary, not the road surface. My race was rather nice and once I worked back up to the front after a terrible start—poor starting line positioning and a missed shoe clip-in—I was able to get a 4th lap-to-go preem ($30 bike tune-up at some bike shop in Tennessee that I may never visit).

I never had a chance for the final sprint because I spent all my time avoiding stupid cornering in the last turn. It was all I could do to stay on 2 wheels and avoid a curb that I was pushed into by some careless rider. So a lack of points in the crit jeopardized my standing in the overall omnium. I’m racing for the fun, but, seriously, I’m also racing for the small petty cash.

When the results were posted I let out a sigh of relief—my 2nd place in the road race was a big enough success that I held onto 3rd place in the overall omnium standings. And that’s worth some monies.

So, it was an enjoyable weekend. Once you count in the registration fee that I paid and the amount I helped amass for fuel to get to Tennessee, I actually lost $5. But $5 isn’t much to spend for a weekend of racing and spending time with fellow riders. I could do this a few more times this summer. It sure beats sweating on my own along some back road leading from Blacksburg.

Sunday morning was cold and the last thing I wanted to do at 7 was hop on a bike and start riding. But the weather forecast was for blue skies and warm temperatures—yet, why the torturous chill so early? And why did they decide to start a bike race at that terrible hour?

Ok, well, it wasn’t exactly a race. But having the licensed riders roll out in their own, first, separate wave before the citizen riders doesn’t exactly make it seem any less competitive. Still, the cold made me grumpy. I refused to wear arm warmers because I knew they would have to come off at some point. So, in nothing more than a thin Rogues kit, I started biking towards the 103 miles to the summit of Mountain Lake.

East Coasters was the title sponsor of the event and is also the title sponsor of Rogues Racing, so it was nice to represent the team on my own while the rest of my teammates were racing in North or South Carolina. Somewhere. Plus, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, particularly after hearing Nik’s gruesome report of the difficulty of that final climb. Nothing, though, was changing my mental focus from this cold; I know that some of the citizen riders would take 12 hours to complete this thing, but we racers shouldn’t be punished for that discrepancy.

About an hour into the ride my fingers were moving around freely, I was drafting the wheels of the guys in the front and just enjoying the scenery of a truly gorgeous sunrise over the eastern mountain range. Even up to mile 60 I was riding the rear wheels of the older—and larger—guys who wanted to hammer early on. Their girth didn’t bode well for the climbs, so I wanted to take advantage of their extra wind-shielding as long as I could. At John’s Creek Mountain, 60 miles in, I broke away with about 30 other riders. Once at the top, we broke into further groups and then descended in pieces. I stopped on my descent for a banana and also to receive an encouraging kiss from Becky. But, having received a shout from a passing cyclist who was planning on doing a lot of pulling for me on the way back, I re-mounted my bike and raced away. Some photographers were taking shots at the base of John’s Creek, and their incredibly low-res free samples are online (I’m wearing green & white).

Our pace back towards the last quarter of riding was lightning fast. The strange lack of wind that morning assisted our speed and allowed us to catch to groups of riders not keeping equal pace. By the next turn, I was only two groups back from the leader, and had tons of energy to bridge those gaps. Working on my own, I bridged one group and then started away from that one with two fantastic riders named Ted and Flavia. By the time us three reached the base of Mountain Lake, we had minutes over the last group we passed but were still minutes behind the next group—a group whose numbers we were unaware of, we guessed about 10.

At Mountain Lake, I went away. Given my smaller frame, I can tackle mountains unlike most cyclists of my height. I passed three more people on the way to the finishing summit and watched as my trip odometer crept closer and closer to 103 miles.

I finished somewhere around 5 hours and 30 minutes and was told that I came in sixth. Now days after the event, official times and places have been posted. It took me 5 hours, 29 minutes, and 23 seconds to ride 103 miles with over 10,000 feet of climbing and I officially came in 6th place. Not bad for my first attempt. As expected, riding with other people shrunk my time significantly, not to forget the total lack of detrimental wind—both major factors for my large reserves of energy in the final 20 miles.

Without the encouragement and patience of Becky, I’m sure I would have allowed the exhaustion to creep in earlier, so… Thank You.

Mountains of Misery was really a great time, ignoring the large entry fee. This coming week, a few of us Rogues will travel to go racing in Tennessee. I’m enjoying this whole summer racing routine and I plan to keep it up while I’m attentive enough. And I will also point out that racing increases my bike upgrade lust. It’s a symptom I must and will suffer.

As the summer weeks begin to roll on, I’m increasing my crossword puzzle intake a million percent year-over-year and I’m biking like crazy. However, I think some of my riding is now looking like training rather than just attempting to get miles in, and that’s a great thing. Setting targets makes the riding have purpose and eliminates some of the frustration I feel when entering a head wind.

I raced this Tuesday in Winston-Salem, NC, at the (Cat 3/4). Since there were no changes in elevation that I could perform well on, I was content knowing that I’d just end up helping out some of the other Rogues guys however I could. The field was huge on a tiny, uncomfortable and uncomfortably flat half-mile track. I made two fake attacks trying to wear down some of the other riders who would bite. The effectiveness of this maneuvering was variable—us Rogues finished all in the field, no points or money won in the finish.

But, we did go to IHOP afterwards and I loaded up on multi-grain pancakes which made the 2-hour trip entirely worthwhile. I’ve entered a strange pancake fixation lately. It’s an addiction than I plan on encouraging, at least for a time.

This Sunday is Mountains of Misery, an event that I’ve been specifically training towards. I did a full-scale reconnaissance this past Saturday, taking an easy pace to discover how my energy would drain, and did this recon after a full week of hard riding and no rest days. It took me a terrible 6 hours to complete, a near-collapse on the final 2 mile vertical climb told me to look for a spring nearby for some cool water.

I am fully aware that the event is not a certified race, but this is probably my only chance all year to “compete” in a “race” that is longer than about 40 miles. One hundred miles and ten thousand feet of climbing is a type of ride that I can shine on. So, my diet and training schedule have been tailored towards this brutal Sunday morning exhaustion. Thankfully, Becky will be there to support me and lick the salt off of my face at the finish.

My diet for Mountains of Misery will consist of high-carb energy bars. I don’t expect to stop at any of the rest stops for any reason, but I found out that they will have some legitimate food and gels available, so I might grab some stuff at the top of John’s Creek Mountain. But, to get a head start on the extreme number of carbs I will lose Sunday, Saturday morning I am taking a glorious banana&buckwheat pancake breakfast at Gillie’s.

Matt Phillips, on the lazy end of a tandem bike, recorded several videos on this week’s Wednesday Worlds race ride. The video of me going by is about 2 miles from the finish and is on an 6% average grade to the top of Harding. Somehow I stayed in the original break but was exhausted by the time I got to the bottom of Harding. Still, a great Wednesday to go biking.

I think cycling was a good choice for me. It has a thorough culture and various subcultures. While I don’t empathize with or particularly enjoy the fixed-gear/hipster culture, the rest of cycling culture is quite encouraging, like a book club, and the internal workings are not nearly as concealed and shady as the occasional media coverage may make it seem. I’m sure if bodybuilding received even a slice of the media coverage that cycling gets, there would be enough doping stories to last a decade or five. But, no one wants to see images of elephantitis-suffering crotches hidden behind a thin layer of spandex on the 6 o’clock news. Fortunately, American cycling and American cycling events are so heavily controlled (i.e. require thousands of drug tests before/during/after events and during training) that cycling doping is going extinct rapidly.

Anyways, the Tour de Georgia is going on right now. American events are considered fairly relaxed compared to the Pro Tour races; the Pro teams open up the pace once they feel like it and thoroughly destroy the Pro-continental teams still hanging on. The easier levels of duress encourage a bit of playfulness within the peloton, in addition to greater interaction with the media. And, thankfully, many of the riders like to blog. David Zabriskie, who rode the fastest Tour de France time trial ever, is keeping up with his blog. Several riders are contributing to cyclingnews.com blog section, like the popular Rory Sutherland and Trent Wilson. The Jittery Joe’s Pro Cycling Team is keeping everyone up to date with photos and videos.

Then there’s Ted King of the new Bissell Pro Cycling Team. Similar to the humor of Zabriskie, King is so popular among pelotons that he was in the running for “most loved rider” during the Tour of California, alongside the likes of the George Hincapie. Ted King’s blog is pretty nice. He took some photos with his iPhone during the Tour of California, while he was actually riding along in the peloton, and then posted them to his blog that night. Were I not afraid that the other Cat4 riders in my races would freak out and crash when they see me racing with one hand and taking cameraphone pictures during a race, I would absolutely do it.

Cycling blogging must becoming an everyday affair, considering other riders from the VT team. Four other riders have their own blogs, complete with plenty of visuals (sometimes even photos that I took…), to stimulate the Watts-watching geek inside of all of us. Yes, this was a good group to begin getting involved in. Fits like a nice carbon sole. Plus, the footage is always a blast (ad before video).

This past Saturday I participated in a road race/ride in Wytheville, VA, proceeds benefiting a support center for abused women & children in the area. It wasn’t exactly a race because it wasn’t USAC-sanctioned, but it was closer in feel to the Blacksburg Wednesday Worlds race rides. The name of this ride is Mule Hell-Roubaix.

If you’re not familiar with Paris-Roubaix, then allow me a moment to explain the reference. The oldest of all cycling races still held today, Paris-Roubaix is known for brutalizing the best riders out there from the start in Paris to the finishing velodrome loop in Roubaix. Dozens of cobblestone “sectors” are chosen each year for the course, which varies year-to-year based on the condition of the roads. This year’s course was 260 kilometers long (~180 miles) and contained 28 cobblestone sectors totaling 50km. Half of the time, France is doused in rain during the spring turning Paris-Roubaix into a demoralizing slop.

Mule Hell-Roubaix doesn’t actually take you to Roubaix but does include several gravel sections - cobblestones are hard to come by in Wytheville. This year’s ride had some showers at the beginning which tapered off as the day went on. The course was 50 miles of flat terrain with a finish of steep rollers in a residential neighborhood.

Several of us Rogues racers went out to support this local event. The pace split up the group on 2 or 3 occasions leaving a group of 9 of us as contenders for the finish; the pace never really let up and only accelerated towards the finish. Fortunately, 5 of the 9 remaining riders were Rogues and there was a general agreement among the Rogues to set me up for sprinting up the hard rollers at the end. Unfortunately, no one wants to really finish a race ride on a slow note, so not long after I was off the front sprinting, a few other Rogues started the chase as I reached the flat, time-trialing section before the line. But, I was about 10 seconds ahead by that point and was just moments away from the finish. Where I finished alone, alongside several tables of prepared food and drinks. It’s not common to be treated to a small banquet after a local ride, so we enjoyed that.

So, it was a good start to the weekend. Then, once home, I napped and then headed back to the lab for a group meeting. Wow, the fun never stops. Actually, the fun slows down a bit once the semester ends in another week. Thankfully.

As 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.