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The Bad Ride

09.11.2010 by Ray Niekamp // 11 Comments

I really enjoy riding. Even a quick half-hour jaunt through the neighborhood leaves me feeling good.  So I was looking forward to my Saturday morning 25-miler.

About four miles into the ride, I had to stop for a red light.  I moved the bike out of the right turn lane, unclipped my right shoe, and made the fatal mistake: I turned the handlebars to the right.

That caused the bike to lean left, and I was still clipped in on that side.  I frantically tried to wrench my foot loose, but I went down on the left side.  If this has ever happened to you (come on, now — I know it has!), you know your only concern is to get upright again, so all those people at the intersection don’t laugh and point fingers.  In this case, there was only one cyclist who had just crossed in front of me.  When she heard me go down, she immediately stopped and asked if I needed help.

I grinned and said, “No, I just didn’t clip out in time.”

“Oh, that’s happened to me,” she said.

I got moving again, glad that the bike seemed all right.  But in a little while, I felt an odd sensation at the back of my leg.  Blood was pooling in my sock from a puncture wound left by the chainring when I fell.

The blood and the chainring tattoo made an interesting pattern.

It didn’t seem as bad as it was, so I kept going.

Several miles later, I turned onto a four-lane divided street that runs through my neighborhood.  It has a bike lane, but as usual, the lane was littered with debris.  It wasn’t long before I sensed that my rear tire was going flat.

I pulled off onto a side street, in the shade, took off the wheel, and found the problem. A tiny nail, a brad no more than a half-inch long, had made a neat puncture in the tire.  I yanked the nail out with my teeth, and changed the tube.

One move I have always had trouble with is remounting the rear tire after a flat.  I can’t seem to get the cassette and chain to mesh properly, even though I have it shifted into the smallest cog.  I must have done something stupid, because suddenly, my shifter cable popped out of the brake hood on the handlebar.

I fiddled with it and fiddled with it, but couldn’t get it to reattach.  I was a little more than a mile from home, and rode in the big ring and smallest cog all the way.

In the bathroom, I cleaned the wound and put a Band-Aid on it — but in a few minutes, I was back in the bathroom again, when the Band-Aid became saturated with blood.  After putting on several gauze pads and applying pressure, the bleeding stopped.  Sort of.

Then I tried to sop up all the blood spots from the bathroom carpet.  The results are less than stellar.

I like to think that every time I’m on the bike, it’s a good ride.  Not today.

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Categories // Injury, Rides Tags // clipless fall, flat tire, Injury

Anatomy of a Personal Best

09.08.2010 by Ray Niekamp // 1 Comment

Jeff Hemmel overcomes thoughts of smooth legs and Gatorade to set a new record.

Once upon a time I rode for pure enjoyment. But today, whether I like to admit it or not, I’m sometimes fueled by outside influences. The chief offender? Longtime readers may know it’s my bike computer, a seemingly innocuous device that I just can’t help but paying attention to…especially when I’m solo, on one particular 30-mile stretch of road that has become my own personal measuring stick.

The other day I won the battle with the computer on this stretch of pavement. The back-story, however, is much more interesting. Here’s what really transpired…according to the digits of my favorite companion.

Jeff on our ride in July. He must have been training for his PB then -- he led most of the way.

0:00:00 Attempting to establish some new benchmark for time wasn’t in today’s original plan. My itinerary initially called for a 45-mile ride north that would include climbing several large bridges. My riding partner nixed the idea in a 1 a.m. email detailing how he needed to take his dog to the vet first thing due to a bout of “volcanus.” Wisely, I don’t ask for details…

00:09:19 The road is mildly busy, but soon I leave the morning commuters behind and begin to enjoy the somewhat open road that leads out to the park. It’s an island, situated at the mouth of Tampa Bay. Many days the wind is blowing relatively strong. Today, it’s surprisingly calm.

0:20:25 Early on in a lot of rides my legs feel heavy. This one’s no exception, but I’m hoping my “sensations,” as Alberto Contador would say, improve soon. I’m also hoping I ate enough for breakfast. Hey, is that bacon?

0:22:01 My early start has limited my fluid intake, and I’m already dying for a sip of Gatorade. Problem is I go with water in my first bottle for roughly half the ride, and save the Gatorade in the second bottle for the last half. As a result, bottle Number 2 currently contains mostly just a scoop of powder, and lots of ice cubes. It won’t be drinkable for a while. I munch on a Clif shot block instead, and wonder if all these sugar cubes are the reason I’ve recently gotten my first cavity in about 40 years.

0:26:39 Decision time. My ride resembles a backwards J…if that J was drawn by a five-year-old who skewed the top, horizontal line to the right and dragged her pencil across the page to add a dogleg. That means in about 30 seconds I’ll be approaching a T. Usually, the huge flag that flies at this intersection makes the decision for me. I tend to go into the wind first, reasoning I’ll suffer now, but make up for it with a lengthier downwind run. Today the flag’s not flying, so I agonize over this ridiculously simple detail for the next 29 seconds.

0:27:08 Seemingly without making a conscious decision, I check for traffic, notice there’s not a soul in sight, and roll left through the stop. Quickly, my speed drops below 20 mph. A little background? My best solo time out here has been a 19.6. Today, I want that 20.

0:32:17 I reach the first turnaround and loop back in the direction I came. Usually when I’ve been heading into the wind, this marks the point of the ride where things get suddenly quiet. Panic briefly sets in when I don’t notice any real difference.

0:36:12 Back to the intersection and headed straight, paralleling first the Bay and then the Gulf as the road doglegs north. Looking at my legs pumping up and down, I find myself daydreaming about how good they would look smoothly shaved. For this thought alone, non-cycling friends would likely kick my ass.

0:38:59 Would I trim everything first with an electric razor and then shave, or just lather up and go? Maybe they still make that Nair stuff, but for men? I notice my speed is dropping into the 18s and mentally slap myself back into action…

0:43:00 I’m feeling a definite headwind. It’s bad news, as this stretch roughly parallels my route home. I swap my bottles, and start to break into the Gatorade supply. It’s still icy, so the mixture’s not right, but at this point I’ll take what I can get.

0:46:02 I’ve been purposely avoiding checking out my average speed, but the pacer arrow on my computer goes blank for a moment, a telltale sign that I’ve just seen my current average — 19.8 mph.

0:47:11 Once again I loop through a turnaround and head back in the way I just came. Testing my legs, I bump up the gears and then spring up out of my seat, churning the pedals hard. My butt appreciates the break.

0:56:00 Back to the intersection, I turn left and head out the way I came in. This will be the longest remaining stretch, and my last real chance to improve upon my time.

1:07:05 Again I see the pacer arrow go momentarily blank at 19.8 mph. Time is running out on gaining those last few tenths. I swig a little more Gatorade, reposition myself on the seat, and push harder. Suddenly I remember that on my previous best I drafted for a brief section behind another rider. Damn those leg hairs…they’re creating wind resistance!

1:13:42 I crest the top of one of several bridges, and note how beautiful the sun has lit the water and shorelines of a sheltered inlet to the west, the red and green channel markers reflecting off the mirror-like surface. In one brief moment of clarity, I remind myself to appreciate the beautiful, if flat, place I call home.

1:13:59 Pass over a large stain in the road that about a year ago was fresh road kill. Wonder why no one ever cleaned it up…and ponder how much of the remains have splashed onto my water bottles over the past 12 months. So much for beautiful thoughts…

1:17:16 Approach my first stoplight in about an hour, and pray it will be green, as I have to make a left-hand turn and need every spare second to achieve my goal.

1:17:37 It’s red. I come in hot, then brake relatively hard, trying to avoid any moments of coasting. Looking for any advantage, I decide to pour the remains of my original water bottle over my head, blasting the liquid through my helmet vents with a lasting squeeze. The driver beside me recoils in horror at the middle-aged guy in Lycra reenacting the splash scene from Flashdance.

1:17:40 Feel a refreshing, dare I say almost icy blast of coolness drench my head and drip down my back…and realize I just doused myself with Gatorade.

1:19:01 As I approach the drawbridge leading home, the procession of cars beside me miraculously clears. Once again I jump out of the saddle and push forward, actually increasing my speed on the uphill. I’m hoping oncoming motorists see my straining muscles and half-zipped jersey and think German ace Jens Voigt…and pray they’re not thinking German crooner David Hasselhoff.

1:22:52 As I fly down the beach road at 25 mph, my eyes are smarting from the strange, sticky yellow sweat that has begun to cloud my vision. Note to self: wash helmet before next ride.

1:29:43 Finally pass my driveway, and resist the urge to claim it like Cavendish. By the clock I already know the result, but I check the average speed just for the satisfaction — 20.0 mph. A personal best.

But obviously, there’s much more to the story than that…

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Categories // guest post, training Tags // Gatorade, personal best, training

I Must Be Improving

09.05.2010 by Ray Niekamp // 12 Comments

Sometimes, I feel that the last three years on the bike haven’t been leading up to much. Oh, I can tell my fitness is getting better, and I can climb hills that I couldn’t climb a year ago, but overall, I don’t feel I’m any great shakes on two wheels.

Then a weekend like this one comes along.

Bike Noob in a group during the MS150.

Saturday morning, Pat and I took a newbie friend out on the Mopac loop. Usually, I sprint ahead of Pat and wait for her at several points along the route. This day was no exception. But when I stopped at the top of a long downhill, I saw Pat’s friend, Cynthia,  coming up on me faster than I had expected. She went by me before I could get clipped in. Another rider was coming up fast too, but I pulled out ahead of him and started to gather speed on the downhill.

I glanced over my shoulder, and the other guy had grabbed my wheel.  “Okay,” I said to myself, “let’s see what you’ve got.” We caught and passed Cynthia doing 31 mph and getting faster.  I got into an aero tuck, and pushed in my highest gear. When I reached the big left bend at the bottom of the hill, I looked back again.  The guy wasn’t there.

I waited for Pat and Cynthia at the top of another hill.  A rider in a blue U.S. Postal jersey led Cyn up the hill to me.  When he pulled even, I asked, “How ya doin’?”  He seemed surprised.  “Fine,” he said, and he spun by easily in a high cadence.

Once Pat caught us, we set out again. We caught U.S. Postal, and both Cyn and I passed him.  A little farther on, Cyn said, “That was funny when he decided to draft you.”

“That was the guy?” I asked. “He was there, and suddenly he wasn’t. I thought he might have crashed.”

“Nah,” she said. “He ran out of gas, and just stopped pedaling.”

This morning, we were together again at another Mamma Jamma training ride.  Pat was doing the 22-mile route, Cynthia, her friend Liz, and I were doing the 37-miler.  I knew from past experience that Pat would be waiting about an hour for us, and I didn’t want to keep her too long.

We got out into the country, and I fell into a comfortable pace. But that pace put me well ahead of the rest of the 37-mile group. I made it to a convenience store about nine miles into the ride, where I stopped to wait. The 46-milers, who had started a little before us, were just pulling out.

I decided I wouldn’t push too hard for the rest of the ride, and when we got started again, I fell in behind several others.  But my comfortable pace took over again, and pretty soon I was out in front.  I stopped at an intersection another five miles along, and waited for everyone to regroup.

Again we set out.  Again, I went into the lead.  I raced a dog that wanted to get in some speed work. I waited for the group one more time before we pulled back into the convenience store for another break.

The ride leader seemed content to lolligag at the convenience store, and it must have been another 15 minutes before we finally pulled out. He and I separated from the group quickly. When we reached a turn three miles down the road, he said he would regroup again. I told him I was going on.

I got back into my comfortable pace, and soon caught some of the laggards from the 46-mile group — then some more.  When I got to the starting point, Pat told me she had waited more than an hour. I loaded up the bikes and we pulled out — with no sign of the other 37-milers.

Sometimes when I ride with my club, I get discouraged about my lack of progress.  I’m always bringing up the rear.  This weekend, I was out in front so much I felt out of place.  My average speed was 15.1 yesterday, and 15.5 today, so I’m not burning up the road. But I wasn’t tired, never was short of breath, and felt good throughout both rides. It might not always seem like it, but I’m a better rider than I used to be.

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Categories // fitness, Rides Tags // improvement

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