Suddenly, Autumn!

I've had the opportunity to live in many places across the US - Vermont, Virginia, Illinois, and now Texas.  Every place I go I hear the same thing: If you don't like the weather, wait 5 minutes and it'll change.

Summers in Texas tend to bring very consistent conditions.  Hot.  Sunny.  Convection oven breezes.  There's no "wait for to change", it simply doesn't change for 3 months.

This year was different, with the bulk of July avoiding any real resemblance of heat.  We even set some records for lowest highs with some places reporting highs in the upper 70s.  Seriously.  In a state where July usually means LOWS in the upper 70s, frequently the low 80s.

As cyclists, we were not just enjoying this, we were living it up.  It was wonderful.

Finally, summer arrived in August, and we've been seeing more "normal" temperatures.  With that heat came my typical heat-induced physiological failure: my performance guttered.  For 3-4 weeks, I suffered through having a short wick that burned far too fast, and dealt with much longer recovery times that reduced me to a single hard ride a week - and that ride was still soft.

Demoralizing, every year.  This year, it hit right as we came into the prime of the Texas road racing season, kicked off by Hotter than Hell.  Well, at least it continued to live up to its name.

August is the build up for the grand finale of the year, the Texas State Road Race Championships, ridden on Fort Hood outside Copperas Cove.  The heat played a double-whammy on me this year, waiting until August to shred my month of preparation going into my first "real" attempt to race (and hopefully place) in the Championship.

Tuesday, Wednesday were late-blooming heat waves last week, setting new high temperature records on Wednesday (101F).  I had intended to reel back the effort on my ride Tuesday so I'd be rested for the upcoming weekend of racing, but the group was spritely and I let myself get sucked into 25 miles of attacks, and blistering pulls, and generally hard riding.

Oops.

Cloudy skies on Thursday kept temperatures reasonable as I managed to dial back my effort in our group ride.  I took out the TT rig to make sure it was riding reliably before the second stage of the upcoming race: an individual time trial held on Saturday afternoon.

But as they say, if you don't like the weather, wait a bit.  It'll change.

And change it did.

Texas is amazing in one regard - the ability to have downright radical changes in weather in a very short period of time.  A few years ago at the Texas Time Trials the overnight countryside temperatures reached 32 degrees; we were freezing our asses off.  12 hours later, 4 in the afternoon, and it's 96 - with a 30mph south wind.

That was without fanfare.  More amazing is when fronts roll through, taking 80F to 50F in minutes.  Those tend to have a little more excitement - 60mph straight line winds, at least, as the front passes.

So this past weekend was the Coleman Chevrolet Stage Race held in Douglassville, TX, about 30 miles outside of Texarkana in the east Texas countryside.  And it was 101 on the Wednesday before.

But not this weekend.  Friday morning brought the sound of raindrops on our skylight as we awoke.  It was downright chilly as we drove to work that morning.   WOOHOO!

We were fortunate to have perfect weather conditions all weekend, with highs in the upper 70s and lows in the upper 50s or low 60s.  You couldn't ask for a better race weekend.

This coming weekend is the Texas Time Trials, where I plan to ride the 6-hour solo "upright" (non-recumbent) event.  TTT is technically not a "race" per se, although the promoters make that mistake on occasion.

That said, I have, or had, designs to chase the course record, but again Texas weather will likely get in the way: we're going to get heavy rain Saturday afternoon.  Looks like I'll be taking precautions to ensure I have a safe ride.

I have a State Road Race Championship to prepare for.

The Rules...and Life

No matter how you feel about them, The Rules have some truths about cycling, and life, worthy of consideration.  I'll admit, I don't follow all the rules, I am not a Velominatus, but I do subscribe to some of the ideals that it represents, both on the bike and off.

When you look at the real intent of the rules, you see it's really about being committed.  In cycling, there's a certain aura, even mystique, to being a roadie; reading these rules you can see that.  From color matching on the bike and color-coordination in the kit (clothes), to well-tended tan lines, using kilometers (instead of miles), and only allowing espresso and macchiato (instead of coffee or lattes).

I also suppose you're only allowed to take dainty sips from white china with your pinkie finger out while holding the tea plate in your other hand underneath.

I suppose it's ok to use plastic if you're on the team bus prepping for the next stage.

Side note, if you ride / race and don't drink coffee, 1) more power to you; and, 2) you should.

Deep down, the rules aren't just about cycling; they're about life.

As the Rules say...
...it's all about looks.  Appearance is everything in road cycling, and many roadies will quickly rate those around them by how closely others tend to their appearance; the better kept a cyclist is, the more they follow the written and unwritten rules of form and fit, the more respect they get.

Rule 7: Tan lines should be cultivated and kept razor sharp.

The ring of lighter-colored skin above the deeply-set tan earned through hundreds of hours outdoors on the bike: it's unattractive, and looks unkempt.

This can be hard, even for people like me, as kit can vary in fit, but there's also a practical reason to keep tan lines sharp: burns.  There's nothing worse than having a perfect tan line at the bottom of the shorts with a quarter-inch burn ring just above it.  It hurts, and it looks terrible.

Rule 8: Saddles, bars, and tires shall be carefully matched.

Isn't she beautiful?

I cringe whenever I see a bike with different color tires, wheels that don't match or are the wrong color for the frame or tires, bright bar tape that doesn't match the palette of the frame.  It's like seeing a car with different wheels on it; the owner simply doesn't keep up with maintenance or doesn't pay attention to details.

Rule 33: Shave your guns.

Let's be honest: there's always tells; at a bicycle ride hairy legs is one of them.  I'll be the first to admit there are some strong, talented, hairy-legged (ew) people out there; I didn't shave my legs until I finally got serious enough to buy a real bicycle, and that was only 3 years ago.  But, in general, hairy legs means quick dismissal.

Rule 53: Keep your kit clean and new.

This really speaks for itself.  Dirty clothes are dirty (and look dirty).  Clothes wear out.  Don't let your inability to maintain a wardrobe result in you looking sloppy.

Looking Pretty.

On the surface these rules can seem unfair, and even a little bit prejudiced.  By my experience, however, it's also generally true: you can judge a cycling book by its cover.

The rule really is this: always look better than you have to.  Cyclists may take this in a certain direction, setting specific rules to maintain a mystique, but in the end it's really about representing yourself in the most positive light.

Whether it's mismatched kit or a novice-level knot on a tie, never forget that appearances count.  Look good, and you'll be received well.  Look good, and you may have the opportunity to do well.


Another aspect of the rules...
...is about being a positive contributor.  Cycling, and life, is full of people who don't contribute, don't bring light to the life around them.

Rule 67: Do your time in the wind.

No cyclist likes wheelsuckers, people who use the draft solely to their benefit without making a contribution.  Cyclists especially detest wheelsuckers who do so then take off in the dwindling miles to leave behind the people who did all the work.

We all know wheelsuckers, people who only work to grab the coattails of someone else's successes.  We even know a few who have made an art of sprinting ahead of hard working people to claim completion and credit.

Earn what you receive.  Do your time in the wind.

Rule 19: Introduce yourself

Although this is a little about networking, it's a little more about joining existing social networks.  Joining an existing club ride can be very daunting, especially for a new cyclist; and even for veteran riders there's plenty of pitfalls.

Take the time to introduce yourself.  Learn who the group is, and who the primary people are - who the leaders are.  Learn the rules, and follow them.

Rule 43: Don't be a jackass

As a common group, cyclists share a common perception from others.  It's absolutely critical that we think of what our actions may mean for the greater community.  What we do could come around to haunt someone else, whether it's immediate response to something we do or adding to pent-up emotion that results in someone's action later.

This is true in all things.  Be respectful of those around us, treat people fairly - as they would want to be treated.  Earn karma, and help others pass it along.


Finally, the last bit of advice from the Rules...
...is about commitment and dedication.  Like in life, cycling will only give what you put in, and sometimes you have to put in a hell of a lot more than you're going to get out - pay it forward.

Rule 10: It never gets easier, you just go faster.

Training to get faster, to get stronger, never gets easier; in fact, the effort and regiment necessary to gain becomes greater and greater as your capability grows.  You may get out of training what you put in, but the returns decrease over time - faster by smaller and smaller increments.

You have to build a system in which to grow, and you have to dedicate to that system in order to get anything out of it.  Life never gets easier, you just gain more experience and knowledge to deal with it.

Climbing a hill is like wrestling a gorilla.  You don't stop when you get tired.  You stop when the gorilla gets tired.

Rule 9: If you're out riding in bad weather, it means you're a badass.  Period.

Riding in the cold, wind, rain, snow (or some combination) is the sign of insanity - or complete dedication.  It's not about passion, it's about commitment.

A rainy 42F in February, and we're racing

Such as it is in life.  It's not always bright skies, warm days, light winds; more often than not life throws in a challenge we must surmount.  Whether it's 100F+ temperatures, 30mph winds, or changes at home or at work that rock the boat of our lives, it's those that get out there with a smile and dedication to move forward that will ultimately gain and grow for the experience.

Rule 93: Descents are not for recovery.  Recovery Ales are for recovery.

Reaching a peak doesn't mean the end of the road (except in mountaintop finishes, but even then typically the race goes on the next day).  The race continues, and the descent off the top is no time to stop putting in the effort to stay ahead of the pace.

Success starts early, even immediately following success.  Don't relax; use each pinnacle to drive for more, perhaps higher opportunities.  There will be time to recover and prepare for the next chase, be sure to wait until that opportunity comes before starting to relax.

Rule 64: Cornering confidence increases with time and experience:
This pattern continues until it falls sharply and suddenly.

Falling on a bicycle sucks, well and truly, and nothing does more to shatter riding confidence than to have a major wreck.  Unfortunately, they happen, sometimes because of our own confidence, and sometimes because the world is a difficult place.

...and this is going to suck.

We all suffer failures, on the bike as well as the lesser parts of life.  Physical wounds from these failures take time to heal; challenging ourselves to outperform our past will help heal our mental injuries, and only through that will we begin again to gain and grow.

Rule 5: Harden the F**k up (HTFU)

Cycling is hard.  You're in a pack, halfway up a climb.  45 miles in, 17 to go.  The pace has been brutal, and even now the tempo is painful as you work the sustained 8% grade.  Your legs are screaming so loud you can't hear your own breathing over the sound.

Through the fog...you see it.  The head flick.  The glance over the shoulder.  Then it happens, someone attacks.  A moment passes, then someone chases.  From within the oxygen-deprived, heart-pounding, lactic acid-fueled haze, the voice: chase, or lose.

This is absolutely not about "getting over it."  You don't get over it, but you do have to bear it.

Opportunities don't only come when you're prepared to chase them.  Sometimes you have to grit your teeth and work through the pain of failure, loss, and hard work to grab on to something truly valuable.

Life is hard.  You just need to be harder.

But, really, it comes does to one thing in the end:

It doesn't matter how fast you go...you must never give up.

Progress is progress.  I've hit the wall so hard I could barely balance on the bike for how slow I was moving; many of us have.  We just have to keep going and we'll eventually get there - where ever there may be.

And that's how it is.  You don't have to chase every break, you don't have to always be at your best.  You don't always have to be primped and polished, and you don't always have to have a smile on your face.

You do have to keep moving.  It's only through that effort that you'll find yourself in a different, hopefully better place.

And remember Rule 4: It's all about the bike.

Training with Power

Thanks to Fatty for his post that triggered this entry.

I'm a bit ridiculous with my bicycling, and I always have been.

Very soon after getting back into riding about 10 years ago, I was looking for data.  First, it was a simple cyclocomputer.  Speed, distance, average speed, time.

Very soon after, it was a heart rate monitor, a cheap one that displayed on a wristwatch which I mounted to my handlebars with a drafting eraser under the band to hold it in place.

Yeah, I was the epitome of road bicycle style, hairy legs and all.

I quickly saw that heart rate wasn't telling me anything, especially without some data recording capabilities.  I'd feel great with my heart at 165bpm, and feel like I was about to pop at 140bpm.  Heart rate was just not very helpful.

I was also deluded into thinking I was truly fast.  I was occasionally able to beat the other riders in the Tuesday/Thursday pick-up ride on my aluminum framed Specialized.  They knew me by name, and I even had a nickname: Red Chris.  (I wore red kit exclusively for years, and my bicycle was red.)

I thought I was cool.  I thought I was fast.

So I bought a power meter: a CycleOps PowerTap SL 2.4, built with Mavic Open Pro wheels and DT Swiss spokes.  Top notch kit.  I put my shiny new wheels on my hardly new Specialized, tripling the value of the bicycle with the swing of a quick release skewer.

I was so cool.  No one else had a power meter at the time.  They were still pretty rare even at the pro level.  I ran out and did a hard ride.  I recorded heart rate, power, speed, cadence.  I rush home, hook up the LYC (Little Yellow Computer) and download the data.  I bought software to help me analyze and track my power training.  I reviewed my power in detail.

And I realized that I stunk.  I was slow.  Weak.  Pathetically weak.  Didn't register on the charts weak.

Buying a power meter was one of the most demoralizing moments in my cycling career, if you could call it a career.  I suddenly knew my standing in the world of bicyclists, and it simply wasn't very high.

My ego was badly bruised.

Then I read the instructions.  I need to zero out the torque!  Next ride, I get out, zero out the torque.  I reset, ride hard, capturing all this data.  Go home.

I still suck.  My ego was almost fatally crushed.  My dreams of riding in the Tour de France were fading fast.

For years after that, I capture my data.  I don't buy a new bicycle.  I regret the investment in a power meter that cost as much as a sweet new mid-level carbon bike.

I realized that the fastest way to see how much you suck is to buy a power meter.  There are times when you're suffering, you feel like you're working yourself to death.  Legs screaming.  Heart pounding.  Gasping for air.

Look down, you're doing 50% of your normal power.  And you can't turn up the wick.

At least, with a simple cyclocomputer, you can delude yourself.  Sadly, high technology doesn't lie, it tells the cold hard truth.

But, it's those moments where you learn.  And learn I did.  Over time, I started to understand what my power meter was saying.  I learned what it meant about my performance in a broad sense, and my body's response to my activities.  I started to get faster.

I learned a lot that had nothing to do with power and everything to do with making power.

I learned about hydration, and the impact it has on power.  Food, and the impact it has on power.  Temperature.  Riding position.  Sleep.

I learned a lot about power, too.  I learned about the impact of using power, the impact of accelerations, tempo, threshold riding.  I had sudden clarity on the idea of "matches" and what happens when you light them.  I gained clear understanding of the advantage of drafting, both as the drafter and the draftee.

I learned how to manage my performance; how much capacity I had, how to have capacity when I needed it, and how to develop more through training.

Even more, I learned how to combine information.  Heart rate and power.  Power and cadence.  I learned how each affected the other, how to utilize them to my benefit.  I started to understand how my body would act when I was tired, dehydrated, hungry, poorly fueled, hot, cold, sick.

Today, I have two wheelsets with power meters, and I seriously considered putting a power meter on my MTB wheelset (still regret not doing that, the stats would be really cool to compare and contrast with road).  I know my thresholds, I know my limits, and I can see them play out on a screen in front of me when the time comes.

I also know how I compare to typical competitors, and I know what I need to do to be competitive with them - or to force them to respond.

And, most importantly, I know how to see when I need a break.

Buying a power meter was the best thing I ever did, despite the outrageous price tag when I did it.  A power meter is the most powerful tool available for bicycling, right behind the bike itself.  I wouldn't be half the rider I am today if I didn't have all the knowledge I gathered through simple observation of my power meter.

And I'd probably still be deluded into thinking I could ride the TdF.  Today I know that'll never happen.  Cat 2, or maybe even Cat 1, but not that.

Hey, we gotta dream.