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Two Cycling Viewpoints

01.19.2012 by Ray Niekamp // 12 Comments

An interesting discussion flared up on our club’s email board this week. It all started innocently enough. The club president posted that riders new to the club shouldn’t worry about getting dropped on club rides.

“For some part of nearly all of my rides I could fairly be said to have been dropped,” he wrote. “The fast movers [they are NOT all guys] will head off into the distance while I am apparently not bright enough to wait for the slower riders.”

But he added that eventually the fastest of the slow riders will catch up to him, and they will pull each other to the next rally stop.

“At that point it is not at all unusual for some riders from both groups to talk about heading home while others continue to make tracks,” he continued. “Practically never do I ride home alone.”

Our main club ride is on Sunday morning. We meet at a local Starbucks at 8 a.m., and roll out at 8:15. Most of the riders usually fall into what I call the A group. They can maintain a pretty good clip. Last week, they averaged over 17 mph for a 50-mile ride. That’s a pace that would scare off newcomers.

He was called out by the club secretary, who lives some distance west of town and seldom does the Sunday rides, unless a group heads out to her neck of the woods to ride the Hill Country.

“This message is a bit misleading,” she posted. “I know if I rode with the group, I’d have to bust my rear to keep up, and then would eventually poop out and be dropped.  Not fun.”

She added, “Unless a person is a hammerhead (not that there’s anything wrong with that!), he/she won’t particularly enjoy the regular club rides.”

The president’s wife, who started out as a B rider but worked her way up to A level (athletic woman, she) chimed in with a valid point: “The reason the Sunday ride has become what it is, is because it has been the one consistent ride of the group [departing every Sunday] and these are the riders who have consistently showed up.” ‘Tis true. That may be one reason that the club has a reputation around town of being a bunch of hammerheads.

This has been an issue at least since I joined the club several years ago. I got tired enough of trying to keep up with the fast pace of the rides that I started calling for B-level riders to come out, and we’d do our own thing on Sunday. That met with some success, especially in the more temperate months. The fellow who began the B rides in our club has now rejoined after living elsewhere for several years, and he’s begun organizing B rides again. Turnout is starting to pick up — even bringing in some A riders who want to go easier on a given week, for whatever reason.

The controversy (perhaps too strong a word) may be situated in differing objectives for different riders. The president revealed his point of view later in his post: “Don’t pass up the opportunity to test yourself a bit,” he wrote. That seems to indicate a point of view that cyclists ought to strive to get faster, maybe to ride longer. But it’s just that point of view that puts off a lot of would-be members.

“I do love to ride, and love the workout it gives me,” the club secretary posted.  “I just prefer to get my workout a little more slowly.  I’m in no rush.  The social factor is a big one for me.  If I’m riding so hard that I can barely breathe, then I can’t talk either.”

That viewpoint is shared by most of those who call themselves B riders — including yours truly. Some riders want to physically improve themselves. Others like cycling for its recreational value. I just posted a B ride for Sunday, so whatever a rider’s tastes, we can accommodate them.

Is this yin and yang between different ability levels unique to my club, or does it exist in yours, too? Comments are open.

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Big Ol’ Club Ride

09.11.2011 by Ray Niekamp // 1 Comment

The word went out early in the week: Our club sponsor, the Bicycle Sports Shop, would be involved in today’s club ride. They would have a mechanic on hand at the beginning of the ride, and make water, Nuun, and energy bars available. Afterward, they’d furnish a light breakfast. The member who posted the ride urged a big turnout of both A and B riders.

And he got it. I counted 38 riders at the start. Our typical Sunday ride draws 15-20. We jammed the parking lot of the Starbucks where we traditionally start our rides, much to the consternation of casual coffee drinkers who tried to negotiate their way to an open space.

We do tend to clutter the parking lot.
A Bicycle Sports Shop mechanic fixes a flat before the ride.
Pre-ride chit chat.
Penny, Judy, and Barbara. Judy is the A rider.

Although I often lead the B rides, I opted not to today, since both As and Bs would be traveling the same route. The Bs would just turn around sooner on the familiar out-and-back. So there was no designated B ride leader. That probably led to problems later.

One problem that set in involved my cyclocomputer. I cleaned the bike yesterday, but didn’t realign the speed sensor with its magnet, so I got no reading for the first two miles of the ride. When I stopped to fix things, most of the peloton had passed me by.

A few people were straggling, I knew. We take a convoluted route to get out to the main road for this trip, cutting through Granada Hills, a hilly neighborhood with lots of turns. If you haven’t done this ride several times, it’s easy to get lost. My friend Penny pointed me out to several riders who were back with her. “See that guy in the club jersey?” she said. “He won’t leave you behind.”

I almost didn’t. I made a bad shift going up a hill and dropped my chain. When I stopped to get it back on, several more riders passed me. I guessed I was now at the end of the pack. Unbeknownst to me, Penny and three other women were still a bit behind, but they lost me in all the left and right turns I made through the neighborhood.

I got stuck at the stoplight at U.S. Highway 290, which we have to cross to continue on our route. Now I was alone, and catching the group was out of the question. But it’s also a familiar feeling to me on this ride, so I didn’t fret about it.

Soon I came up to a rider on the side of the road. It was Rick, Penny’s husband, talking to her on the phone. He waved me by, then caught up to me a few minutes later.

“Penny got lost in Granada Hills,” Rick said. “I told her to track the route on her GPS. She’ll be okay.”

Rick pulled away in an effort to catch the main pack. I plugged along, and a half hour later reached the turnaround point for the Bs. Several other riders were there, and two I had passed came up to round out the group. We had an uneventful ride back for seven miles, when we pulled into a convenience store. (I wish I had some pictures from the road, but I dropped my camera, and had to reassemble it once we got back.)

Three women who had started with the group were at the store. I think they were part of those who lost us early on, because they were joking about having to find their way back through Granada Hills again, and weren’t sure they could do it. Even though two wore club jerseys, I had never seen them before and did not know them.

“If you wait five more minutes,” I said, “I’ll show you the way. But let me rest a bit.”

“No, that’s okay,” said one of the women. “You’ll probably catch up to us anyway.” They headed out with some other riders.

I remained in the lot with Barbara, whom I had ridden with several times before. We talked about dogs and drank some cold water, then I said I planned to take it easy on the way back. I knew she wasn’t familiar with Granada Hills either, so I told her I’d stick with her to guide her through it.

It was a good thing I did. At several intersections, she wanted to turn the opposite way from the route. We finally got to Starbucks, where we joined the Bs who had set out from the turnaround before us. The three women weren’t there.

Barbara bought her coffee from Starbucks, rather than drink the outside stuff.

Bicycle Sports Shop made good on their breakfast plans. Bagels with different varieties of cream cheese covered one outside table, as well as a container of coffee. I’m not sure about bringing outside coffee to a Starbucks, but I was grateful for the food. By the time I finished my bagel, some of the A riders were drifting in. Soon, the three women showed up.

“We couldn’t find our way through Granada Hills,” one of them told me. “After we rode around in circles, we finally asked some residents how to get out. It turned out they were cyclists. They got in their pickup and guided us out.”

“I got lost in Granada Hills” became an oft-repeated refrain as more riders showed up. Although it’s a twisty route, I thought once people rode it two or three times they’d have it figured out. Nuh-uh.

Penny rolled in, too. She did find her way out of Granada Hills and rode over to the Veloway to get in some extra mileage. “My GPS kept sending me out to Highway 290,” she said. “It thinks I’m a car, and won’t show me the side streets to take.”

Despite the problems, everyone seemed happy with the turnout and the ride. It’s the biggest club ride in my memory, and I’ve been a member for more than three years. But if we go through Granada Hills again, I think I’ll have to ride sweep.

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I’m Through Riding With the Club — Unless…

06.19.2011 by Ray Niekamp // 7 Comments

The club ride posted for this morning would take us west of town into the Texas Hill Country. The hills aren’t killers — they’re mostly rollers — and the road doesn’t have too much traffic. I figured that on Father’s Day, traffic would be even less than usual.

I told the ride leader that I would turn back at Ranch Road 12, which makes for a nice 30-mile round trip. The rest of the group would go another eight miles before turning around.

“Good,” he said. “You can wait for me there.”

He always jokes about being a slow ride leader — even hangs a tiny red lantern from his saddle.

About 13 of us started. Father’s Day held down the turnout, too. Most were A riders, although I was happy to see “Big Steve” turn into the parking lot. (We call him “Big Steve” to differentiate him from “Little Steve” — a former state champion in the time trial and road race in the 60-64 year-old class.) “Big Steve” is younger, taller, and a hefty 240 pounds.

As usual, a pleasant rollout. Less than a mile into the ride, a tiny fawn — not much bigger than a dog — darted across the road in front of the lead riders. We got a good dose of warmup hills going through a nearby neighborhood.

Out of the city, speed picked up as we got closer to Fitzhugh Road, which would be our main route of the day. I noticed that the gap between the group and me was starting to widen. But I caught and passed Big Steve, who seemed to be having trouble with the rolling hills.

Usually, when we turn onto Fitzhugh Road, the peloton regroups to wait for laggards. I made the turn, and no group. I looked back, and no Steve. Hm. He must have abandoned the ride. The wind was fierce, and I started up Fitizhugh by myself.

Church Vacation Bible School sign at RR 12 promotes "Hometown Nazareth -- Where Jesus Was a Kid"

The run up to Ranch Road 12 is about six miles. I was alone for the entire six. Crosswinds threatened to knock me off the bike. The ride was more of a slog than I like.

I got to Ranch Road 12, and the group wasn’t waiting there, either. They’d moved on. I turned around and moved the bike off the road into the shade of some trees. The temperature was well into the 90s by now. Time for a break.

And who do I see coming up the road but Big Steve!

“Man, I’ve been off the bike for two weeks,” he said. “It really catches up to you fast.”

We chatted a bit while munching on energy bars and drinking water. Then it was time to head home. Steve took the lead, and it was fun for me to draft the big guy. He pedaled like crazy, while I coasted. But it wasn’t long before the hills got him. I passed, and pulled him most of the rest of the way home.

Under a flapping umbrella at Starbucks, we talked about the ride. Both of us agreed the Sunday club rides had lost their allure for us.

“The group is getting smaller,” Steve said. “We used to have lots more come out.”

“A process of self-selection seems to be going on here,” I said. “The fast riders turn out, and when slower riders show up, they’re scared off because they get dropped just like we were today.”

I mulled it over a bit, then made my decision. I won’t be doing any more Sunday club rides.

Unless…a couple of years ago, we had a small, but reliable, cadre of B-level riders who would come out on Sundays, if they knew there would be a ride for them with people of their ability.

Maybe it’s time to revive the Bs.

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