Some New B’s

As in newbies? Well, okay. Some people who had been lurking on our club’s Yahoo group turned out for a neighborhood ride last week, and I invited them to ride the roads as part of the B ride Sunday.

It was a good B ride turnout, augmented by some A riders who needed a recovery from grueling efforts the previous day. Yasmin and Frank joined us for the first time,Victoria for the second or third, and Penny came out for the first time in about a year.

I chose a route to Buda, about a 30-mile round trip.

Any concerns I had about the new riders’ ability were dashed when we reached Davis Hill, about three miles into the ride. I couldn’t catch the newcomers going up. Thank goodness for stoplights, so I could work my way to the front of the pack again.

The ride south was made difficult by the brisk headwind we faced, but it was far from the worst I’ve seen. Just a couple of miles north of Buda, here comes George from the A ride. He had won the sprint into the Walgreens store in Buda, and while the rest of the A’s continued south, George decided to ride the rest of the way with us.

The Walgreens, at 15 miles into the ride, is a traditional rest stop. We swapped stories about club members who had broken bones while riding, which I’m sure didn’t ease any concerns the New B’s had. But instead of turning around at that point, we decided to keep going, at least for a few more miles.

Victoria peeled off to head home for a family obligation, and the rest of us headed back to Buda. Here’s where we hit our first glitch.

Buddy was looking back to make sure everyone had made the turn onto Main Street, when his front wheel went into a curb. He did a nice shoulder roll and landed mostly on grass, but complained of a wrenched back. However, he decided to keep going all the way back and deal with the soreness when he got home.

Buddy (second from left) is  rolling again after his mishap.

Buddy (second from left) is rolling again after his mishap.

The group strung out on the way back, and we made several stops to regroup. Our highlight was when we reached Slaughter Lane. That’s a four-lane divided road with no shoulder. We opted to form a “bus” and occupy the right lane for the two miles back to Starbucks. It was a good move. For the first time ever, not one car honked at us while going past.

The get together at Starbucks is often as much fun as the ride itself. Janice, who is killer good with the A’s, couldn’t wait to see if she had regained Queen of the Mountain status for a Strava segment on the A ride. She had, and spent some time extolling the virtues of Strava to Yasmin, who appeared anxious to join the Strava herd.

Judy, George, Laura, and Penny unwind after the ride.

Judy, George, Laura, and Penny unwind after the ride.

Pippa (l.) learns from Janice that Pippa's Queen of the Mountain is no more.

Pippa (l.) learns from Janice (r.) that Pippa’s Queen of the Mountain is no more.

Mike, an emergency room physician, performed a field amputation of some excess chin strap on Penny’s helmet. “This will keep you from looking like a newbie,” he told her. She wasn’t convinced, and was concerned that she would have too little strap to work with when adjusting her helmet. The jury is still out on that one.

"No!" says Laura, Mike's wife. "You're cutting it too short!"

“No!” says Laura, Mike’s wife. “You’re cutting it too short!”

All in all, it was a good ride. We did 34 miles at a reasonable — and sometimes quick — pace. The new B’s held their own with the pack, and it looks like they’ll be back for more. Frank has already checked into buying some club kit.

The Only B

It was Mother’s Day, and I anticipated a small turnout for the Sunday club ride. But riders kept pulling into the parking lot in front of Starbucks. As we sat around the outdoor tables before the ride, there was a lot of good-natured banter. But once the women riders started to come in, New York John said it was time to stop.

“We sound like a buncha construction workers from the ’50s,” he said. He was right.

I was starting to get concerned. The women — Janice, Pippa, and Judy — are all pretty fast. All the guys were fast. When the club president said we should get going, it was apparent that I was the only B-level rider out today.

We always start out easy. I rode at the front with Joe, the president, and we talked about my rear wheel. Our club mechanic had it all day Saturday, and told me it was on its last legs.

“If you replace the rim, the hub is still shot,” he said. “If you replace the hub, the rim is in bad shape.” He said I should start shopping for a new rear wheel.

Joe offered to lend me a set of American Classics he has in his garage.

“It’s nothing imminent,” I said.

“That’s not the point,” he answered. “Use this time to try out some different wheels. You’ll find out what you don’t like, as well as what might work for you.”

I think I might take him up on that offer.

The riders separated at the first big hill, about three miles into the ride. By now, I was in my accustomed place — at the rear. But Joe’s wife, Judy, wasn’t much ahead of me. She had ridden a killer club ride yesterday, which saw lots of hills out in the country. After that 66-mile jaunt, she was spinning easily today. Joe, as he often does on these rides, held back to ride with her. I caught up, and we were the gang of three, as the peloton quickly disappeared ahead.

Jordan, a club member who lives closer to downtown, met us about 15 miles into the ride. He had tried to time his start to meet up with the main group. “But they were having a criterium!” he exclaimed. Joe and he talked about how the Sunday ride does tend to become a race among the faster A’s.

We rode along Shoal Creek Drive, which is a popular in-town biking route. It is a two-lane arterial through a nice residential part of the city, and has generous bike lanes in each direction. By this time, I wondered where we would meet the A’s on their return leg. I guessed that they would be at a convenience store where we make a rest stop on this route. But they weren’t there.

However, it was only another mile or so before we encountered them, blasting down Shoal Creek in our direction. We turned around to ride with them, and all pulled into that convenience store for a break.

Joe had proposed a departure from the usual return route, to tackle more hills on the west side of town. New York John had other ideas. He had also been on the previous day’s long ride, but he rode an extra 20 miles, because instead of driving to the ride start, he rode from Starbucks. That effort was catching up to him.

“I’m goin’ back the way we came,” he said. “And head home on Mopac (an expressway) instead of the long way.” I agreed.

I thought we had more takers, but it was just John, me, and one other guy. We hit some big hills just past downtown.

“My legs are like jelly!” John complained. He still managed to stay ahead of me. John is 65, but rides a carbon Specialized Roubaix, and is probably 60 pound lighter than yours truly. Over the last two miles, he steadily pulled farther ahead of me. By the time I got to Starbucks, his bike was already on his car’s rack.

It was a good ride for me, but if two tired A riders hadn’t hung back from their usual Sunday pace, I would have been completely on my own. I’ve got some time off work until the summer session begins, and I’ll be spending a lot more time on the bike than I have been. I’ll never become an A, but at least I can build up the stamina to stay closer to them.

Different Rides, Same Result

Because of the odd schedule we’re on at the university during final exam time, I didn’t get home in time for my usual Friday evening ride. So on Saturday, I decided to combine that ride with one I normally reserve for Saturday morning.

I headed for Convict Hill, a neighborhood nearby. As its name implies, there are some hills there and I try to do this every week. It builds leg strength, but it’s not all that tough. One of the nice parts about it is the end. I get to ride a bike lane down the hill, and it’s fun to exceed the posted speed limit for vehicles. In fact, I could sense someone beside me during the descent, and when I looked, it was a guy in a pickup truck, keeping pace with me but not trying to pass. I think he was trying to get a read on just how fast this crazy cyclist was going (33.7 mph).

After Convict Hill, I headed back to my neighborhood. The route stays in the bike lane of a nice wide residential arterial out to Farm to Market 1826. I turn around there, and wind my way through Circle C Ranch, on a route I’ve talked about before. Then it’s a run over to the nearby Veloway, where I did one lap and headed home. A nice way to spend two hours.

This morning, the club ride was doing one of their hills excursions. I’m still not in the ballpark with them when it comes to climbing, so I decided I’d ride on my own. “Oh,” said my wife, as she saw me drinking coffee at 8 a.m. “You’re not riding this morning?”

“I am,” I said. “In fact, I’m leaving right after I get dressed.”

The morning was bright and cool. The wind was light. I decided to do the “Zoo Route,” which a lot of the club members have taken to lately. I rode the first six miles on the same streets we take when we do Fitzhugh, but as soon as I crossed U.S. 290 I turned onto a different road. This one could be considered semi-rural, with houses on large lots hidden behind old stands of live oak. After looping through that area for awhile, I was back on Circle Drive, but soon turned onto Rawhide Trail for the next two miles to the Austin Zoo.

They’ve done a good job of screening the zoo from the road. Some of my friends tell me they’ve seen critters through the trees in the past, but none were in evidence today. At the end of the road is the old Paisano Ranch, formerly owned by renowned Texas author J. Frank Dobie. The road ends at the gate, and I turned around .

I had come just a tad over nine miles, so I was looking for more mileage. I knew that some riders will head back, but divert onto a road that intersects Texas 71, several miles west of our neighborhood. I got through the stoplight at that intersection along with a large furniture delivery truck that had no use for me, and eventually made it to Southwest Parkway.

I used to like riding on Southwest Parkway. The shoulder is wide, and the road is hilly. But a few years ago, the county chip sealed it, and for much of its length, it’s jouncy.

At the high point, where AMD has its new semiconductor plant, the parkway dips in a longish downhill where you can achieve a decently-high speed. Farther on is a neighborhood called Travis Country, and I turned onto the road that loops around the periphery. Lots of cyclists like to ride this area, and there were a number out this morning. I didn’t make contact with any of them however, and continued my solo ride.

After Travis Country, it was time to head home. I pulled into the driveway, stopped, and glanced at my bike computer.

27.7 miles. One hour, 59 minutes, 33 seconds. Avg. speed: 13.9 mph.

Remarkable.

Not because I broke any speed records or anything, but because the numbers were so similar to Saturday’s: 27.5 miles, one hour, 59 minutes, 5 seconds, 13.9 mph average speed.

Except for the first three blocks, I did not ride any of the same roads on Saturday and Sunday. Since I had never ridden the Zoo Ride before, I had no idea what to expect in distance or time. But they came out to almost the same distance and same riding time.

I’ll have to figure out a route next week on still different roads, and try to approximate the same distance and time again. I think I know where I can do it.

Riding On Residential Streets

My friend Rick has been in the cycling doldrums lately. “I’m getting bored with our usual routes,” he said. “I had to struggle to get out and ride yesterday.”

But he broke up the boredom by picking an entirely new route — one he made up as he rode — and one that was unique for sticking to residential streets in our neighborhood.

“I rode more than 14 miles before I even crossed Escarpment,” he said. Escarpment Blvd. is the main north-south road through our subdivision, Circle C Ranch. Circle C covers a good chunk of Southwest Austin, and the developers continue to find ways to throw up more houses, even though we’re supposed to be under tight building restrictions because of a delicate water supply underneath.

“I just kept turning onto side streets, going up and turning around on cul-de-sacs, and I really built up the miles,” Rick added.

Rick’s news was something I could relate to. While I’ver never done a complete ride solely on residential streets, I recall being pleasantly surprised that I could rack up a 27-mile ride and never get more than four miles from my house. Since then, I work in a ride that includes many residential streets at least once a week.

A residential street I often ride. Cars parked on each side can be a problem if there's traffic -- which there often is not.

A residential street I often ride. Cars parked on each side can be a problem if there’s traffic — which there often is not.

Circle C Ranch might have advantages for this kind of riding that older subdivisions, suburbs, and cities might lack. For one thing, it’s fairly new. My house was built in 1994, and is among the older ones around here. So, it’s a somewhat upscale place, with home prices between $200,000 – $500,000, and mostly in the lower half of that range. Like many areas of that ilk, it was designed more for cars than for people, with wide, curving streets, few sidewalks, and few pedestrian amenities.

My wife negotiates a curve a few blocks from our house on a rainy day.

My wife negotiates a curve a few blocks from our house on a rainy day.

But those wide, curving streets are great for riding. While I wouldn’t want to spend as much time on the truly residential streets as Rick, mainly because of parked cars and drivers who don’t expect to see bikes there, I do have a few areas I visit all the time. The arterials are often four-lane divided roads with bike lanes and relatively low speed limits for cars. Those are great.

A typical arterial street that moves traffic through Circle C Ranch. Note the generous bike lane.

A typical arterial street that moves traffic through Circle C Ranch. Note the generous bike lane.

I like to start one of my rides by heading into an adjacent subdivision with a few decent hills. It winds out to a busy Farm to Market road, where I turn around, and zoom through some other streets. Then, I catch one of the arterials and ride two and a half miles to a different subdivision, where I can follow a twisty route that would confuse many of my friends, and ride out to another arterial. This one takes me north a couple of miles into yet another subdivision that appeals to me because the houses are very different looking than most of the cookie-cutter ones around me. I’ll wind around there a bit, catch another main street south and head out to Rick’s part of town, on the far southwest side of Circle C. A nice wide street gets me to the same Farm to Market road I hit early in the ride, and once again, I turn around. This time, I take a nice wide connecting street through another upscale neighborhood to a fun downhill that bends to the left. I can easily hit 34-35 mph on that hill, but at the bottom, I have to be careful of cars crossing. They’re not expecting a bike to travel faster than the speed limit through there. The end of the ride finds me heading back to Escarpment, climbing the hill past the HEB supermarket, and winding my way back home. It’s a nice 20-miler, and I can do it whenever I’m bored with my regular Friday evening ride, which uses some of these same streets, but adds two or three laps around the Veloway.

I can add an almost unlimited list of variations to this basic ride that keeps it interesting, because it puts me on streets I don’t often ride. Distances vary from nine miles to 27 miles. It’s not the kind of country riding I prefer, but it’s a nice chance of pace.

Do you have a route through mostly residential areas?

Looking Around on a Ride

Sorry to be so long between posts, but it’s been a busy week around here. My wife’s mother passed away last weekend, so everything was put on hold as trips had to be made, arrangements finalized, and services held. We’re back to normal now.

I was ready for a good ride this morning, and the club president designated Fitzhugh Road as our route this week. That suited me fine. I like Fitzhugh, since it’s out in the country and features a lot of rollers. Usually, I’m on my own, dropped within the first 10 miles. I turn around at a road that will give me a 30-mile round trip. Today, I planned to go the entire route, for a 46-miler.

Maggie, whom I rode with last week, was on hand as well. She’s relatively new to the club, and had only ridden Fitzhugh once before, on her first ride with the club. That time, she tried valiantly to keep up with the A’s, but couldn’t do it. Today, with me in tow, she had a good chance to see the route.

The ride got off to a fast start. The A’s tend to hold back and warm up for about six miles or so, but today, they were gone in about three. “These things take on a life of their own,” said my friend Rick, who himself was “moseying” along on the ride after going hard the previous day. “Somebody goes off the front, and some others think they have to keep up with him, and next thing you know, it’s like a race.”

We were doing anything but racing. Although Rick might have been moseying, it was all I could do to keep him in sight. Maggie, too, got well out in front. The endless rollers kicked my butt, which bothered me after riding well last weekend on another route that had a lot of rollers. But these were more frequent, and some were tough.

Finally, it was just Maggie and me. We decided to throttle back a bit and enjoy the ride. After all, we still had to get to the turnaround point, and then make our way back home — another 23 miles.

Once we cross Ranch Road 12, the landscape becomes more rural. I had heard of a ranch with wildebeest along the road, but had never seen them on previous trips along here. But Maggie, who was leading me by a bit, called out, “Wildebeest!” and there they were — a nice herd of maybe a dozen or so, off to the left, milling around in some trees. After passing the exotic game ranch last week, this was another wildlife treat.

We had almost reached the turnaround, when she called out again. “Look at the turkey!”

A wild turkey was poking at some dried grass, several paces back from the road. We were almost at the turnaround, and knew we would see him again on the way back.

The nice thing was, the group was still at the turnaround when we got there. We had a chance to grab some water, and shared a sandwich. But the last ones to the rest stop get the shortest rest, and in minutes, we were headed back the way we had come.

Some of the A riders at the turnaround.

Some of the A riders at the turnaround.

Maggie and Bike Noob. I really am not that grumpy on rides, but I had just dropped part of my sandwich. The road we took is in the background.

Maggie and Bike Noob. I really am not that grumpy on rides, but I had just dropped part of my sandwich. The road we took is in the background.

Sure enough, the turkey was still pecking away when we passed by again. And once again, we were quickly dropped by the A’s. But just as in the previous week, some of them were sidetracked by a flat tire, that turned into two flats as one of the guys who stopped to give aid was also punctured.

We regrouped at a convenience store to shed layers, now that the sun was warming things. That was good, because we all got to start in a group again, and the first 200 yards after the convenience store is in the center lane of a four-lane highway, so that we can make a left turn onto another semi-rural road.

It took no time for the A’s to leave us behind. We both laughed, and Maggie allowed that going slower was good, because that way, I could show her the tricky twisting route back through an unfamiliar neighborhood. We finally pulled into our regular Starbucks starting point, 46 miles and 2600 feet of climbing under our belts.

The only seats left at the outdoor tables were with several of the really fast A’s, who invited us to join them.

“Did you see the turkey?” asked Maggie. “Turkey? Uh uh,” said one. “It was pretty neat, right along the road,” she said.

“Did you see the wildebeest?” I asked. They shook their heads again.

“You see, the problem with being fast riders is that you’re focused on the road straight ahead, and you miss all the cool stuff,” I said.

“We saw a roadrunner,” said one of the guys. But we can see roadrunners on any trip around the Veloway right here in town. Wildebeest and wild turkeys, not so much.

So being a B-level rider does have its advantages. I’m already looking forward to next week’s ride to see what we will see that the others, in their single-minded pursuit of speed, will miss.

The B’s Beat the A’s

Well, not in the realm of speed. But the Sunday morning club ride turned out to be a real morale booster for at least two of us B riders.

We were going to head out on a route I’d been wanting to do for some time, but for some reason never got around to it. I had ridden it last about three years ago, and recalled that it approached 50 miles. It also features a few hills.

Twenty-four riders set off at 8:15 on an overcast day, with temperatures hovering in the low to mid 60s (18C). As usual, we quickly separated into a fast group, a less fast group, and the B riders. Four of us made up the B contingent today: me and Maggie, who has been riding with the club for a couple of months, and two newcomers, Mark and Victoria. Actually, Mark qualified as an A rider, but he was content to stay back with Victoria.

By the time we reached the rural part of the route, we couldn’t even see any riders ahead of us anymore. I directed Mark to turn right onto a road that leads around the back side of a country club, hoping that was the way the A’s went — not that I thought we’d ever see them again.

But in a few minutes, we came upon several riders alongside the road. Janice, who is usually near the front of the pack, had hit what she called a “crevasse” in the asphalt — a big crack that swallowed her rear wheel. The tire was badly damaged, and she was lo0king for someone with a boot. I carry a piece of a ride number to serve that purpose. It’s made of a Tyvek-like material, and it’s no problem to cut a ride number in thirds, and stuff them into the seat bag.

Too bad I hadn’t done that recently. I came up empty. Jerry (not the same Jerry who broke his leg in a fall a couple of weeks ago) did have one — a nifty little unit the size of a credit card he bought from Park Tool. Janice made do with it — “I really needed several today,” she said — and abandoned the ride to head home.

A mile or so up ahead, the A’s had all gathered to wait for Janice to catch up. When I told our ride leader that she would be turning around, we all headed out in a big group again. Then the fun really began.

Satterwhite Road is a rural road in Hays County that gets a lot of bike traffic on Sundays. It’s fun, because of its rolling hills. I was following Maggie at speed down one of the hills, when the road surface at the bottom just didn’t look right. It changed in an instant from semi-smooth old asphalt to torn up. It looked as though a giant scraper had been over it, ripping up the old asphalt and leaving only what was underneath — hard-packed dirt, gravel, and stones.

We all hit the brakes and rode gingerly through the mess. Two riders flatted along here. Whenever we hit a stretch of asphalt that hadn’t been torn up, we rejoiced — only to round a bend and get hit with another bad road surface. This lasted for several miles, when finally we could turn onto a new road.

I saw the A’s up ahead, waiting at an intersection. It looked like they were going to take a shortcut back home. But Maggie and I had discussed our ride options, and she wanted to go a little longer. We shot past the startled A’s and kept going. Our route added probably six miles to the one they chose.

After a rest stop at the convenience store in Creedmoor, we set out for home. Maggie had to pick up her son from a sleepover at noon, and we would be hard-pressed to get back by then. We both pushed it harder than usual, taking turns at the lead.

Our route passed the exotic game ranch behind the big landfill, and the animals were out in larger numbers than I had seen before. Lots of small deer and antelopes, but also ostriches and emus, a zebra, and a number of scimitar oryx — African antelope with long, curving horns. Magnificent!

Just before reaching the Starbucks where our ride began, Maggie and I peeled off in different directions, she to get her car and me to head the last mile home. This afternoon, the club president posted his summary of the ride. The A’s did 41 miles. The B’s — Maggie and yours truly — did 48! I believe this is a first. The B’s have never ridden farther on a club ride than the A’s. In the overall scheme of things, not much perhaps. But it was a little feather in the cap for Maggie and me.

Riding When I Want To

Not a great riding weekend. I look forward to the weekends, because lately I have not been able to squeeze in a ride during the week. Late Friday afternoon, then, is something I wait for all week long.

I got out for a 20-miler Friday, and anticipated a longer ride Saturday. But Saturday morning dawned overcast and misty. The roads were wet. I decided to wait until conditions got better.

They never did. In fact, they got worse. It never really rained, but the mist got heavier. I decided to forget about riding, and wait for Sunday.

The Sunday forecast called for rain in the morning, but according to the weather radar, that had passed through the area about an hour before I woke up. Again, the streets gleamed with light reflected from standing water. I decided I wouldn’t be doing the club ride at 8.

It amused me to see how panicked some of my fellow club members got over the weather. The 8 a.m. ride was delayed until 9:30. The Yahoo board lit up with posts from people debating whether to go on the planned ride (about 55 miles into a very hilly suburb to the west) or do something flatter and potentially safer. Then some folks decided to go at 10 instead of 9:30. I leaned back in my easy chair to drink some coffee and read the paper.

I guess everyone got out all right. I rode with my wife at about 2:30 p.m., when the temperature had risen to 67 degrees (19C) and the roads had dried off. Ever notice that 67 in February is much cooler than 67 in June? It’s true. I was underdressed on our ride, and downright chilly pedaling into a light wind from the north. When my wife turned into our neighborhood, instead of peeling off to put in some more miles, I went with her.

So my mileage for the month is way down, what with one-and-a-half rides this weekend. You know what? I don’t care. We enjoy good biking weather here year around, and if this weekend wasn’t so great, I know great ones are just around the corner. From here on out, I’ll take advantage of that, and ride when I feel like riding. That means I’ll skip some days because they’re too cold for me (on that day, anyway), and other times, I’ll be first to show up for a ride in even colder weather. I’ve decided to skip riding during rain, and even in wet conditions after the rain. Call me a wuss, if you like. I enjoy my bike too much to ever feel like I’m forced to ride.

Sometimes, Everything is Good

Have you ever had a ride where everything — I mean everything — fell into place perfectly? Sunday’s ride was that kind of ride for me.

After going many weeks with no other B riders out for the Sunday club ride, I posted on our club’s Yahoo board that I wanted to get a B ride going. Two others responded: Buddy, who has often ridden with us before, but hasn’t been on the bike regularly lately; and Maggie, who did her first ride with the club last weekend. She found herself with the A’s, and told me she wasn’t sure about coming back this week. But she was ready to try a B-level ride and see how it went.

Maggie arrived at the Starbucks where we start our rides to find that she had forgotten her cycling shoes. “I’m just five minutes away,” she pleaded. “I’ll be right back.”

But 8:15 came and went, and the main ride started to head out. “Are you coming, Ray?” asked one of the riders.

“We’re waiting for Maggie to get back,” I said. “I don’t want her to get here and find there’s no one left.”

“You’re going to go to heaven, Ray,” laughed Laura, who pedaled off after the group.

Maggie arrived within a few more minutes, and the three of us set off for Creedmoor, about 17 miles away.

Weather conditions were great. Temperature about 45 degrees (7C), sunny, and no wind. We chatted while riding along Davis Lane, and I learned that Maggie had done a lot of the routes we do, and was familiar with the one we were taking today. Sometimes she passed me and took the lead for awhile, other times, she dropped back to talk to Buddy, who was deliberately pacing himself after not riding with the club since September.

Our route passes an exotic game ranch near a large landfill. Usually, the animals are far back from the road, but today a mother emu was right up to the fence, with a gaggle of emu chicks. Maggie, who had already pointed out a large hawk perched on a nearby power pole, clucked with joy when she saw the chicks. A few hundred yards farther, several African antelope gathered near the fence. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten as good a look at the animals as today.

I noticed that I was getting stronger, if anything, on this ride. I accelerated from stoplights faster than usual, and I had more reserves of power going up the mild rollers out in the country. I didn’t know why — maybe it was the oatmeal I had for breakfast instead of my usual eggs, or maybe it was the intervals I had done the previous day. I had trouble believing that one interval session would make much difference, but whatever the cause, I was glad for it.

We stopped for a short rest at the convenience store in Creedmoor, then set out on our return leg. Buddy, who has issues with cramping, continued to pace himself, but managed to stay close to us. He said later he had a few twinges near the end of the ride, but nothing he couldn’t handle. We climbed the last major hill about three miles from the finish, and settled in for an easy ride the rest of the way.

Nothing out of the ordinary. No great feats of riding heroism. No Strava KOMs. Just a ride that was just the right distance, the right amount of time in the saddle, the right pace. We all agreed we were up for more like this. We’ll see what the coming weeks bring.

Going Fast Sooner Than Planned

I’d been pretty good at following my slow biking strategy since the beginning of the year. But today being Sunday, I decided to do the club ride. The main ride would go north in the city — a ride I’ve been on before, and liked all right, even though I’m not a big fan of urban riding — but I was concerned it would be too fast for me.

The club also has a Saturday ride, that was canceled Saturday because of wet conditions. They rescheduled for today, and planned to start later than the regular group, at 9:30 instead of 8:15. The leader of the Saturday group always adheres to a “no drop” policy, unlike the main ride, and I figured its pace would be more to my liking.

I was disabused of that notion early on. One rider with a reputation for going fast showed up on a tandem, and his stoker was a blind female triathlete who apparently has something of a stellar record in big events — like Ironmans. The others who wandered in were mostly A riders as well. Oh, what the heck. We set off.

To my surprise, I stayed with them for quite awhile. In fact, I fell back only when one of the other riders told me there was some concern about my rear wheel alignment. One person thought it was out of true, another thought it was off center, perhaps due to the axles not going into the dropouts correctly.

The group waited at the Walgreens in Buda, and several milled around my bike when I arrived. No one was able to find anything wrong, and one rider opined that it was my 25 mm tire that was the cause of the problem — because it fit between the rear stays with little clearance. “You’ll prefer using 23s on this bike,” he said. I didn’t tell him that I’d dropped the 23s I used to run in favor of the 25.

Out of Buda, I was with the group again, until we reached Farm Road 1626. That road has a good shoulder, but it’s a slight uphill grade for several miles. I’m terrible on those. By the time we reached the turn toward Kyle, I was trailing by a wide margin. Again, they were kind enough to wait, and even insist that I grab a breather before we got going again. “It’s no fun to push yourself to catch the group, and then not get a little rest,” said one. “I’ve been in that situation lots of times.”

Jerry, the ride leader, decided to pace me all the way into Kyle. We trailed the peloton by a considerable distance, but finally got to the gas station that serves as a rest stop and turnaround. The break was only about 10 minutes — just right, I thought. I looked forward to the return trip, which featured a fast downhill with a tailwind most of the way back to Buda.

Okay, I trailed again, and Jerry paced me again. We made pretty good time, but the rest of the riders got to the town well before me. We regrouped, helped by a red light, and began the final 15-mile push to Austin. This time I wasn’t so far behind, because the tailwind pushed me a bit. We took a hilly, curvy road up to an intersection where all the traffic was stopped by a freight train., Then it was a recently-paved shoulder on a mostly downhill leg where we could make good time.

Pow! My friend Rick ran over a shard of glass and punctured a tire. Four of us stopped — the rest were too far ahead to realize what had happened. I was sent to catch up to them and tell them to keep heading for home — Rick and the two other guys would meet us at Starbucks.

The last couple of miles involves riding on Slaughter Lane — a divided four-lane that I hate to ride. Traffic is usually heavy, and not tolerant of bikers, who do not have a shoulder here, but must take the right lane. We did, and didn’t even get honked at. After sitting at another stop light, I took off after Nancy, who jumped out ahead. We pushed hard to the Starbucks where our rides begin and end. There, some nice outdoor tables awaited, and we could unwind with riders from the earlier ride, and swap stories.

It wasn’t until after I got home that I realized just how hard I had pushed it. After a quick shower and a sandwich for lunch, I couldn’t stay away from the bed. I flopped down, but didn’t get my usual post-ride nap — I was just too worn out to sleep.

At 43 miles, the ride was the farthest I’ve gone since the new year began, and to couple that distance with the faster speeds of this group really wore me out. I’m glad I’ve been practicing slow riding lately, but it’s obvious that it’s time to step it up a bit in order to tackle longer distances at a decent pace.

It’s a Good Thing I Like to Ride Alone

It looked like this would be a great day for a ride. The temperature got into the 40s (4+C) relatively quickly, and I suited up to head over to the club ride. The evening before, I had posted on the club’s Yahoo group that I would be riding, and expected to follow the main group at a B ride pace. I hoped that would bring out some B riders to share the road with me.

But once again, I was the only B on the ride. Our club president, who usually picks the route for the day, sent an email that he was recovering from a tough ride yesterday and would spend the morning as a couch potato. It turned out that some of the other riders weren’t keen on the route he had picked, and decided to go another way — south instead of southeast. Okay by me. South would take us to Buda, and it would be easy to turn around whenever I felt the urge. The main group was planning a 54-miler. I figured I’d wind up with something over 30.

As we left the Starbucks where our rides begin, the road we took is a gentle downhill for a quarter mile. I found myself out in front of the entire group, because my bulky body gives me an advantage on downhills. Three miles later though, we turned onto Davis Hill — a hill that can test newer riders, although the A riders in the club like to attack it. As my friend Rick once observed, “The difference between A and B riders is that the A’s stand up and attack that hill, while the B’s sit and spin.” As I sat and spun, I had to admit that he was right on.

I watched as everyone passed me going up the hill. I deserved to be passed — they do a lot more hill work than I do, which is practically none. By the time the road leveled out some distance past the crest of the hill, the peloton was well ahead of me. I wasn’t too concerned, since I knew a stoplight would hold them up in another couple of miles. But when the light came into view, I could also see that it had changed — and the group was accelerating across the road. Of course, by the time I reached the light, they were already out of sight, and I wouldn’t see them again for the rest of the ride.

I made it to Buda, about 16 miles from the start, and pootled around the old part of town for a bit before deciding to head home. On the way back, I saw many more bikers than I had seen on the way out, but they were all headed where I had just been. Apparently, a lot of cyclists had decided to wait a bit until the temperatures warmed up some more.

I got home in plenty of time to do a bit of yard work before the football games started in the afternoon. Another terrific Sunday morning ride — but decidedly lacking the social aspect we associate with club rides. I’ll keep trying to enlist some B’s to come out and join me, but I’ll also resign myself to riding solo until the warm spring mornings arrive.