Zen through fear, and fast little circles

I was back out at the track last week, the first time since that unseasonably warm day after Thanksgiving (forever after to be known as 'Track Friday').

And I have to admit this: I was afraid. Being away from it for so long, that pitched turn seemed ridiculous. I would have to re-learn how to ride a single speed bike with no brakes. I would be up on that track with a lot of other people at the same time, something that I usually try to avoid.

I was at the Cleveland Velodrome to take the first of my Track 201 classes (three are required to be eligible to race on the track, and I want to race on the track). The class is meant to teach you how to ride safely with others on the track, either in a paceline, or in passing. Riders above and below me, side by side, scare the crap out of me.

Tim from North Coast Endurance teaches this session. He's patient and persuasive, which is what I needed that day.  Teammate and Track Goddess Beth was there, always a breath of fresh air. She's at the track more than anyone I know, and has inspired me to become an advocate for the Velodrome. She's a confident, graceful track rider. Her enthusiasm for riding fast in little circles is contagious. My day was looking better already.

GPS data for Velodrome riding is a little like string art.

I have to admit that, going into Tim's training, I was ready to bail when things got a little hairy. Some of the training exercises weren't even in the same room as my comfort zone.

I carry around with me a little piece of paper, something that I pulled out of a fortune cookie years ago.  I've memorized it, often using it as my mantra: "Do the thing you fear the most, and the death of fear is certain."

In spite of my hesitation at what we were being asked to do, I decided that I would at least try. And so we worked on pacelining, passing on the rail, riding 2, then 4, side-by-side. We did standing starts, in which you have to pour on the power immediately so you can get through Turn 1. We did lots of things I didn't think I'd be able to do, but I did.

When the class ended, I hung out in the infield for a while with Beth and other friends. Whatever dark cloud followed me to the track was nowhere to be found. What was left was this feeling of peace and calm, and satisfaction. It was a potent endorphin high that lasted for days.

Cycling is a psychological outlet for me. I've ridden away so much stress and anger and sadness, and bullshit, over the years that I'm starting to think I should write my bikes off as a medical expense. Most of it comes simply from the physicality of the sport, the hard efforts that require focus and attention and the ability to let everything else go but the ride.

But, clearly, there's something about the Velodrome - about riding those tight little circles, about hanging onto the top of that wall - that seems to be a direct line to Zen. I tell everyone that the Velodrome is transcendental, riding the track is sublime.

Next time you need a mood-altering experience, I suggest skipping the fleeting benefit of a massage/spa day, spare yourself the time (and effort) of yoga or meditation, save your cocaine money. Come ride yourself into inner peace, 1/6 of a mile at a time.

Barry-Roubaix 2013 Recap

To read other racers' accounts of the 2013 Barry-Roubaix, you might think that this was somehow a 'fun' race. You would be wrong; it was not. Those other racers are either lying or crazy.

There is very little about this race that I could say I actually enjoyed.

It was cold. Roads weren't so much 'gravel' as they were stretches of potholes or sheets of ice. The first turnout onto the dirt may have actually been the surface of the moon. It was a wasteland of things that had rattled themselves off of bikes and riders: water bottles, whole sandwiches, whole sets of teeth. Surprisingly, I was OK with this part.

In spite of the irritatingly-ubiquitous advice, I was unable to keep the rubber side down on the iced-over parts. Once I got tired of all this falling on ice, I stopped to let more air out of my tires (advice given to me by people who know, and that I should have paid attention to before the race started). This helped me stay upright on ice, but 1/4 mile later the worst of the icy roads ended, and I was riding mushy tires on pavement. No, I didn't pinch flat. But don't think that thought didn't cross my mind.

I just wanted this race to end, honestly. "One and done" was the mantra that kept me going to the finish line.



Of course, these kinds of events are always better when they're over (or as a friend of mine likes to say, 'It's not fun until it's done!'). The gathering of friends and teammates all weekend (and at the beer tent, in spite of my craving to get out of the cold and into the nearest hot tub), was not to be missed.

So, there you have it: 36 miles of never again. Unless, of course, I can somehow learn to ride a bike on ice. Then I might consider this for next year.

Emily, Angie, Kris, Me, Dave (with a spike sticking out of his head), Julie, Vicki, and Billy.

Flying to the finish line, and to the beer tent!
Note the flat tires. I would be surprised if I had 20 psi in them.

Probably not a bad idea to change my race goals now...

Barry-Roubaix update:

Some re-routing of the courses will be necessary because the recent cold/wet/snowy conditions have left a number of the roads ice-crusted and treacherous. Like this, presumably:

So now would be a good time to change my race goals from 'finish in 2 hours' to something more realistic.

Here, then, are my race goals for the 2013 Barry-Roubaix:

1. Get to the beer tent before it closes.
2. Finish with the same bone count as when I started.
3. Remember that the worst rides make for the best stories.

For all my teammates and friends racing this weekend, best of luck, ride well, have fun!



Angie and I out for a training ride this evening on the towpath, to test our bikes and gear for the cold, muddy conditions we expect on Saturday.

My 'Happy Place'

I'm alone.

The desert sun is high overhead. The winds are starting to pick up, just a little.

I'm poised at the summit, looking over the Valley spread out far below me. The salt pan shimmers like a mirage. Dust devils swirl somewhere miles away.

I aim toward that long, flat horizon. Tuck position, back flat. Invisible to the wind, the crosswinds that could knock me sideways, if they could only see me.

The road roars beneath my wheel. Sleek black ribbon of twists and dips, whatever it brings me I'll accept.

Click up, pushing hard on the cranks in my attempt to reach escape velocity. I could probably do it,  but I've run out of gears. All I can do is up the cadence, legs burn in a good way.

I'm flying.

I'm back now, in the so-called 'Real World'. My annual indulgence/escape/challenge/whatever-necessary-thing-it-has-become is over for this year. But when things get a little too real here, you may see my eyes glaze over, my attention take a momentary break. Please, just give me a minute. Let me go back there - I won't be long. You know exactly where I am.



The Stats

Recap from my week of cycling in Death Valley National Park:

# of ride days:                                     7 (consecutive)
# of hours on the bike this week:        30
Distance covered in those 7 days:       446 miles
Longest distance covered in one day:  147 miles
Total elevation gain:                            29,000 feet
Average speed over the 446 miles:      14.8 mph
Top speed (descending Hell's Gate):    41.2 mph
The soundtrack in my head:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FsrPEUt2Dg

Why I'll be back again next year:
Because there's nothing like pushing yourself to the edge of your limits, and realizing you're not even close.

The road to Hell's Gate is paved with good friends and plenty of event support

March 3, 2013

CorpsCamp is over, the Death Valley Spring Century is history, and I haven't had a lot of time to update my blog this past week.

That's not a bad thing. Camp days are packed. If you're not on your bike (which you are, for hours and hours every day), then you're probably getting ready to ride your bike, fueling up to ride your bike, cleaning up after riding your bike, re-fueling after riding your bike, talking about riding your bike, or sleeping. The days fly by. It makes you feel like you've entered some kind of time warp.

Sitting around the Furnace Creek Ranch fire pit with friends and fellow riders turned out to be a regular (and favorite) evening event. Here's where we all can be smug, talk trash, toast our accomplishments, and tell stories* with people who appreciate how hard it is, truly, to ride a bike in Death Valley.

Jill and Tim, and he's sporting a  super-cool T-shirt!

Because riding in Death Valley isn't like riding anywhere else, or at least it's not like riding at home in Northeast Ohio. An easy 34-mile round trip somewhere back home might take a couple of hours, but an early morning out-and-back to Badwater from Furnace Creek, although still only 34 miles of flat to rolling, takes longer and feels, well, different somehow.

Maybe it's the too-cold-then-too-hot mornings or the prickly dry desert air. Maybe it's because the flats are all false and the winds are always there, whether you feel them or not. Maybe the awesomeness of the Valley simply causes something deep inside you to slow down - just a little - because you can only absorb so much of it at one time.

 This was my best CorpCamp experience so far. The weather was perfect: the wind gods appeased (maybe because Jason brought his stunt kites and was hoping for some wind. Fickle wind). I rode farther, ascended higher, descended faster, climbed stronger than all my previous Camp years. And I did it in great company.

Angie and I at Hell's Gate. HELL YEAH!!!

And now all that's left is the screaming 35+ mph hour, 10-mile descent back to Hwy 190...

*We give special treatment/pay rapt attention to the Furnace Creek 508 Race vets, whose stories are often very colorful and maybe even a little crazy. Here's Steve 'Protoceratops' Barnes, captured for all eternity: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzWsRht-9dg


I'll have more post-CorpCamp/Spring Century blog updates soon. I promise.

If the wind doesn't kill you, the climbing might...

Yesterday was the first day of CorpCamps, and the usual ride is the innocent-looking but leg-busting Artist's Drive loop. This route has become my nemesis. It never gets easier, I just know what to expect. And I know that I can do it although it always feels like I can't.

There are forces at play here in Death Valley, some that I have power over, and some that I do not.

I have power over most weather conditions. I have learned the hard way that conditions can change here without warning, and in directions that are completely unexpected. But if you know to be ready for anything, then you will be.

Wind is a little different, and I have some power over it but there are limits to that, as you certainly know if you follow this blog.

Climbing, I feel I have some power over. I love to climb, and I brought along a bike that has a couple extra gears for exactly the kind of terrain you get out here. I have some power over elevation grades.

But what I'm finding I have ZERO power over is my ability to say NO to Tim Marks when he suggests something that may otherwise seem crazy. Like when he mentioned to me that he was planning on climbing the road to Dante's View the next morning (the same day as the planned Artist's Drive loop), I weighed it out carefully in my mind (50 extra miles, unpleasantly steep grades, cold and windy at the summit) and recklessly agreed. And, actually, I didn't exactly agree to anything, because Tim didn't exactly invite me to join him. He simply mentioned it, and I invited myself. Or, maybe he dropped the gauntlet, but I think he knew I would pick it up.

Dante's View is, according to Tim, one of the 10 most difficult climbs in California. It rises 5500 feet in 25 miles, with the last 4 miles averaging around 10%, with a set of even steeper switchbacks as you near the summit. There are vehicle size limits imposed because of the steep, tight turns. The National Park Service stopped allowing AdventureCorps to include this route as an option because of the tough terrain and narrow roads. And of course, I've always wanted to try it - kind of an American version of Alpe d'Huez, I guess.

And since Tim suggested it, I was going to do it.

It was a tough climb, of course. It took us 3 hours to cover the 25 miles from Furnace Creek to the summit (it was a relentless uphill the entire way). That set of switchbacks toward the top had me thinking I might be walking my bike to the summit (which I didn't). The descent was terrifying. The thought of having to tackle the climbs on Artist's Drive a couple hours later weighed heavily. But the satisfaction of having climbed Dante's Peak - thanks to Tim, and to Jill, too, of course - is more than I expected for this adventure in Death Valley (and I have a lot of expectations for this trip).

I guess I should be grateful that I can't control every little part of my life. Otherwise, I might miss out on once-in-a lifetime opportunities like these.