Team Nature’s Path Racing Blog

The cold iron bars were just a little too close together.  Try as I might, I could not squeeze through.

Eventually the guard brought a filthy bowl full of gruel.  While he watched expressionlessly, I toyed with the gruel, even used the cracked plastic spoon to take a sip of the nasty stuff.  Evidently bored, he turned away and shuffled down the hall, headed for the Tax Library.  Lots of thrills down there.

As the guard grew more distant the sound of his shuffling diminished.  I quickly stripped and rubbed the stinking gruel across my chest and shoulder blades.  Thus lubricated, I again tried to slip between the bars.  I pushed until my chest jammed against the metal, then forced my way further.  I winced as chest hairs were stretched and slowly torn out.  Exhaling to reduce my cross section, I pushed again and my skin scraped against the cold bar.  Centimeter by centimeter I was getting through, though leaving behind substantial quantities of epidermal cells.

With a sudden scrape I was through.  I reached back into the cell, grabbed my clothes and ran, hoping the guard was fully engaged in the consolidated income tax regulations.

*****

At 5:30pm in West Creek, I lifted the machine from the trunk rack.  The official Team Nature’s Path Blue Train was scheduled to roll at 6:00pm, so there was time for a warm-up lap.  Halfway through I saw Des streak past in the opposite direction.  I waved but he didn’t see me.

After one lap at a casual pace, I turned in at the Direct Buy building to find Dan, occasional dungeon co-resident, ready to roll.  We chatted briefly, then headed out together.  On the next lap Des caught up to us, and together we encountered and overtook Tom.  We four then rode in a tight pace line, holding a consistent 18 – 24 inches between the rear wheel of one bike and the front wheel of the next.

As we passed Direct Buy again on the next lap Pascal rolled out and joined us.  With five of us in the pace line the labor force increased by 25%, and we sped along at a higher velocity.  We passed other cyclists, some alone and some in groups.  Down the hill, across the lake and up the next incline, we maintained a steady 23 mph.  I was tiring, but hanging on despite the much faster than normal pace for me.

By consensus we slowed as we began the next lap.  Dan and I rode side by side, and I made a few admiring comments about his slick Cervelo.

“When I STOMP on it the carbon frame reacts immediately. I’ll show you. Let’s pick up the pace again. Watch this!”

The muscles in his quads bunched, the Cervelo surged forward, then rider and bike suddenly blurred around the edges.  Moments later I heard a distinct popping sound as he vanished in a puff of blue smoke.  He briefly reappeared 50 meters ahead, then vanished again, reappearing yet again beyond that.  I’ll need to consult with Stephen Hawking, but I believe Dan and the Cervelo may have been skipping in and out of the multidimensional space time continuum….or something like that.

The Cap 2 Cap Century is a 100 mile round trip between Richmond and Williamsburg, a fundraiser for the Virginia Capital Trail Foundation.

The engine of the Team Nature’s Path Blue Train sat rumbling, steam rising from the stack. At 7:20am the pistons slid inside the cylinders.  Crankshafts, connecting rods and coupling rods strained to turn the polished steel wheels.  Whistle blowing and steam pouring from rectilinear valves, the train pulled out of Rockett’s Landing ten minutes ahead of schedule.

The Blue Train is a euphemism for the Team Nature’s Path pace line.  This day it consisted of Dennis, Dan, Mark, my former boss Steve (please come back!), Tim, the lovely Ann Marie and others…a very fast group.  I was there because every train needs a caboose.

We headed eastward in tight formation.  After a few minutes we climbed the long gradual hill on Old Osborne Turnpike and settled in for the long haul.

In pace lines each person commonly spends several miles in the point position.  On a long ride with TNP, however, the leader rider rotates off about every half mile.  This makes the line faster, and each person endures shorter stints at the front. When it was my turn to lead the pace line, I firmly grasped the bars in the drops, leaned forward to reduce my aerodynamic profile and pushed hard.  At 22 mph it takes 82 seconds to ride half a mile.

I eased to the left, tapped my right hip to signal that I was dropping back, and slowed slightly as the next rider took the lead.  The line rushed by, and in moments the last man in the pace line passed me on the right.  I powered up to catch the end of the line.  That can be a difficult maneuver, and I nearly dropped off.

We blew past the first rest stop as volunteers scrambled to set it up.

After another rotation it was again my turn in front.  This time it was a bit more difficult to maintain the cadence, and much more difficult to hop on the pace line after.  When I ride with TNP my personal energy level tends to decline before the Blue Train runs low on coal.

The second rest stop was at an intersection 27 miles into the journey. Someone yelled “Go through” and the group maintained its speed.  I peeled off, however, recognizing that if I persisted at that velocity, my ability to finish would be in question.  I rolled in, wolfed down a banana and a granola bar, rolled out.  Average speed so far was 20.6 mph.

The terrain was slightly rolling.  Riding sometimes with other groups, sometimes alone, I maintained a brisk pace, varying between 18 mph and 22 mph without undue fatigue. That could mean only one thing.  Tailwind.  It may seem odd to a non-cyclist, but on a bicycle you don’t directly notice a tailwind.  There’s no perceptible “push” at your back.  Listen, however, and you will observe that it’s quieter because of the lower relative speed of the air as it rushes past your ears. Of course it should also be obvious from the speedometer readout, but as my friend Lanny says “There’s no such thing as a tailwind. You’ve either got a headwind, or you’re having a good day.”

Just before the turnaround point we crossed a bridge spanning the Chickahominy River.  This bridge was a huge hill in the middle of otherwise generally flat territory.  It must have been constructed to enable aircraft carriers to pass beneath.  Across the river I pulled into the halfway rest stop just as the Blue Train emerged, heading back on the return trip.  My average speed eastbound was a respectable 19.7 mph.

I refilled water bottles, scarfed down another banana and got back out on the road.  Climbing the bridge westbound, I had to fight the wind, which was stronger than I expected.  I stood in the pedals and hammered up the incline, then sat in the saddle on the way down and kept the pressure on to gain momentum.  Once back on terra firma I tucked into the most aerodynamic position possible sans aero bars, and settled in to battle the wind as best I could.

A few miles down the road a group of five riders zoomed past in the opposite direction.  My pal Phaedra occupied slot number two, her features characteristically focused and intense.  I checked my odometer and did some calculations in my head, considering that I had 45 miles to go and she was four miles behind me.  Phaedra has the strength and determination to close that much distance on me in 45 miles, on a good day.  Maybe.  Or maybe not.  I decided (well, hoped) that this day it would be NOT.

Minutes later a group of three riders came by in similar fashion, with my friend Kelly leading the pack.  This was her first century, and for that matter, her first ride longer than 52 miles.  She looked capable and powerful, and the two hangers on looked like they would soon be falling off.

The wind momentarily let up, and I cranked past the next rest stop without stopping, at the non-spectacular speed of 14 mph.

I rode alone for five or six miles. Although riders in ones and twos came toward me, it had been some time since I had seen other cyclists riding in my direction.

In 1996 Dad was diagnosed with colon cancer.  Surgeons removed his descending colon and relocated his transverse colon diagonally across the abdominal cavity.  The procedure was lengthy and difficult, and afterwards he had the hiccups.  With each little “hic” he grimaced and contorted his torso in great pain.  He looked as though he were being strangled.  He suffered through a year of chemotherapy.  It was awful.

No other riders were nearby.  Eastbound on Route 5, clearly I was headed in the right direction, but I was unsure of whether I was still on the official route.  The road passed through open farmland, with no sheltering trees.  The hot wind battered me.  At times my speed was below 10 mph.

One day a few years later Dad’s urine was bright red, and we learned that he had bladder cancer.  More surgery and chemo left him weary and unsteady.  Suddenly and for the first time, he seemed very old.

Several more cyclists cruised past in the opposite direction.  My nemesis headwind was their tailwind and they zipped along with minimal evident effort.  These must be among folks who had started the day in Williamsburg, now on their return trip.  If I hadn’t strayed from the official route, I must have missed a rest stop.  I was running low on water.

Dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  Surgery and radiation therapy left him weak and feeble.

A diesel engine approached from behind, the increasingly shrill mechanical whine a textbook demonstration of the auditory Doppler Effect.  In an explosive blast of sudden presence, a tractor trailer truck blew past, the air itself pounding with the characteristic clatter of compression ignition.  Small cyclones of debris trailed in the truck’s wake.  The wind of the passing machine shoved me sideways.  I held the bars firmly and remained in control.

Dad quit smoking decades ago, but recently he was diagnosed with lung cancer. Thankfully the tumor was small, contained and operable.  His ribs were spread slightly apart and the doctor reached in with a special tool, cut out and extracted the malignancy. Dad recovered from this invasive procedure with some difficulty.

Soon Dad will celebrate his 86^th birthday.  I don’t think he can survive another occurrence.

At 90 miles I ran out of water.  At 93 miles I came across three Cap 2 Cap guys in lawn chairs.  They directed me to continue straight ahead.  Apparently the ferocious winds knocked out some of the signs.  They kindly gave me two bottles of water.  I immediately drained one, and used the other to fill the bottle on my bike’s down tube.

After 101.6 miles I crossed the finish line at 1:45pm, ten minutes behind the Blue Train.  My average speed for the round trip was 16.9 mph.

In 1,975 hours I will ride from Sturbridge, Massachusetts for my 12^th Pan Mass Challenge.  Please visit my profile at http://www_.pmc.org/profile/RT0014.  As always, thank you for your encouragement and support.

The physician’s assistant released my arm and gave me The Look.  “This shoulder is still pretty stiff.  You need a cortisone injection.”

“Okay.  I can come back Monday or Tuesday…whatever works.”

“Take off your shirt.”

Moments later her fingers held a hypodermic the size of a baseball bat (apparently the really big one was unavailable.)  She smoothly inserted it into my back and squeezed.  I tried not to squirm as the viscous fluid slithered into me.

“Given that this uncomfortable event is necessary, I’m pleased that you are the one administering it.”

She smiled….a little…not much.

Eventually the hypodermic was empty and I was full of cortisone.

“Here’s a copy of today’s medical record.  Give this to Megan at your next physical therapy session.  The cortisone should make a significant difference”

And she was right.  When I saw Megan a few days later, she said I was making good progress.

*******

Climbing is fun but it hurts.

On a recent Saturday morning Dena, Monica, Des and I rendezvoused in a parking lot below Wintergreen, where we prepared ourselves and our machines for the day’s altitude increase.  Dena and Monica are with River City Women’s Racing.  Des and I are members of Team Nature’s Path.  Monica and I have climbed Wintergreen before, though for both of us this would be the first time since undergoing shoulder surgery.  For Dena and Des this would be their first attempt.

The ride to the summit is only 6.75 miles, but that includes 2,626 feet of climbing.  The average grade is therefore an appallingly steep 7.4%.  That’s the average.  In three places the grade briefly touches 15%.

The route includes only two turns at intersections, which I explained to Dena and Des based on the likelihood that we would become separated.  In a normal ride one can ratchet the pace up or down to accommodate other riders.  That’s simply not possible on an extended, steep climb like this.  The Wintergreen Ascent is fundamentally a solo effort.

We rolled from the parking area and pedaled in the direction of The Beast.

The first mile is a “false flat.” It seems level but if you watch the brook gurgling beside the road, you’ll observe that there is a noticeable incline.  I pushed through, maintaining a steady cadence, knowing that this was the easy part.  After another half mile the angle of ascent was significant, and at two miles there could be no doubt we were on a mountain.

The bike I rode has a compact crank, which means the gears in front have 50 and 34 teeth rather than the standard 53 and 39.  Moreover, the largest gear on the rear cassette is a 28 rather than the typical 25.  The combination effectively provides two or three lower gears at the bottom of the range.

Over the course of the third mile Des gradually pulled ahead.  I shifted to the 34 and started to work my way up to the large gears on the cassette.  The false flat was long behind us.

After three miles I opened a gap on Dena and Monica, just as we reached the first 15% section.  I tried to pedal at a steady cadence, pushing the pedals around in slow circles.  Consciously cranking through a circular stroke delivers more power through the entire pedal stroke.  Every minute or so I stood for about 10 seconds.  I doubt this provided any real benefits in terms of applied torque, but it made me feel better.

There’s a right turn at 3.5 miles, at the enormous WINTERGREEN RESORT” sign.  The 15% grade continued for another hundred meters, then eased slightly at the guard house.  The road turned for a long, straight climb at about 9%.  I stayed in the saddle, intense and focused, thinking of nothing but the climb ahead.  Ahead of me, Des was beyond visual range.  Behind me, Monica and Dena were beyond auditory range.  I rode in deep, contemplative solitude.

A switchback can be good because it breaks the tedium of a long unrelenting climb.  A switchback can be bad because often it is steeper then the comparatively straight sections both before and after.  I saw and heard no traffic, so I navigated through the switchback in optimal fashion, crossing the double yellow line as necessary to maintain velocity, such as it was.

After the switchback a roadside sign warned against feeding the bears.  Now there’s a comforting thought.  Outrunning a bear should be no trouble when careening downhill at 35mph.  Climbing at 5 mph, however…   And come on, what sort of nitwit would actually try to FEED a roaming roadside bear?

An electric speed detection device sat on a trailer at the side of the road, five and a half miles from our starting point.  As I approached, the flashing digits read “6 MPH”…most impressive.  Just past the speed limit sign I turned left toward Devil’s Knob, struggling to climb.  It is so steep here that beside the roadway there are stairs instead of sidewalks.  I stood in the pedals for more than the traditional 10 seconds, forcing the bike forward. Together, my bike and I weigh 161 pounds, but we felt much heavier as we trundled through this second 15% incline.

The road leveled out momentarily turned left in front of a tourist restaurant.  With one mile left I drank deeply from the water bottle, then I tossed it to save a little weight.

The road turned sharply right, then it slapped me in the face with the final 15% climb.  I powered through, sitting back in the saddle for increased leverage.  For an instant my front wheel lifted from the pavement, so I shifted my weight slightly forward.  This helped me keep the rubber on the blacktop where it belongs.

As I struggled past the scenic overlook I smiled in the knowledge that I was nearly finished.  The angle eased, then reached a plateau. I pedaled through the final hundred yards, saw Des smiling and yelling encouraging things like “Where have you been?  I waited for a while, then strolled over there for a haircut and a beer.”

“Arrgghhhh,” I replied with perfect enunciation.  After 1:07+ on the bike, I reached the summit.  That’s the worst elapsed time of any of my in seven attempts….sort of a reverse personal best.

But I did it, and I felt good.

Monica arrived moments after I did.

Not so very long ago, Monica and I underwent similar surgical procedures to repair torn muscles in our right shoulders.  This was a significant test for us both.  Speaking for myself, I thought I could reach the summit, but I was less than certain.  Perhaps Monica was more confident than I was. The photo that Des took consisted of 2 friends, 33 lbs of bicycles, 4 torn muscles sown together, 6 titanium screws penetrating scapulas and humeri, at the summit of Wintergreen.

I learned later that after 5.2 miles Dena pulled over and stopped. She waited for us there and we reconvened for the somewhat terrifying descent.  There’s no shame in not quite conquering Wintergreen Mountain the first time out. Next time she’ll reach the summit with us.

I held the four-pound weight straight out behind me and winced.
Reagan frowned. “Not like that. Try to keep your palm down. The motion should be like bowling.”
“I’m a horrible bowler. Most golfers would be thrilled have a score like my bowling score.”
She smiled, but stayed and watched to be sure I exhibited the correct form.

On October 31, 2009 I crashed while riding in the rain. When my shoulder hit the pavement I did some serious damage, aggravating the old flying trapeze injury. On January 6, Dr. Higgs repaired tears in my labrum and rotator cuff, and my humerus and scapula now sport permanent Titanium screws to match the Merlin. Now, more than ten weeks later, the focus of my regular physical therapy sessions is to regain flexibility and rebuild strength. I am progressing on both fronts, though not as quickly as I had hoped.

“Out to the side now, give me ten repetitions, three sets”
“Okay, but Jeez that hurts!”
Reagan pointed to the sign on the wall, bright red diagonal stripe slashing across the word WHINING. “That’s the house rule. Don’t make me mad.”
She really is very nice, and a cyclist / marathon runner to boot. She is doing all in her power to help me recover.

After working under her supervision for 30 minutes with free weights and a variety of machines, Reagan turned me over to Megan for some serious stretching.

Standing by the table, Megan pulled my arm up and back and in and out. She worked the ball and socket shoulder joint through every conceivable direction. My range of motion is still limited, but a little less so at each visit.
“Did you take the pain meds this morning?”
“I never come here without first doing so. Go ahead and take me to the edge of consciousness.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.”
Megan is very precise and knows exactly how far to push.

I’m lucky to have escaped more serious injury in the accident, and so very fortunate to be working with a team of dedicated professionals during my recovery.

Last week I returned to the instructor bike at the YMCA. Soon, very soon I hope, I will be back on the roads, sweating on the hills, fighting the wind and trying not to drop off the Team Nature’s Path pace line.

I can’t wait.

Submitted by Pete Raimist

Master 40+ results from the Dismal Dash today.

Ed Baumgartner – 6th
Ed McNelis – 9th
Jim Burns – 10th
Pete Raimist – 11th

I’m not sure how the other 40+ guys felt today, but I think the Masters field is getting stronger and more competitive each year.  My hat is off to everyone who made it down to Suffolk.

Pete

Submitted by Ed McNelis

The juniors had a great day riding in clear weather with modest temps (51 degrees with 12 mph winds compared to last year when it was 36 degrees, driving rain, and winds gusting over 20 mph).

Parker Brookfield finished 2^nd in the Boys 10-14 and Taylor Clark finished a very respectable 6^th in the same category.  Mallory McNelis was 2^nd in a very tough field of Girls 10-14.

Abby had an SAT prep class so we had no participation in the 14-18 junior ranks.  If anyone has a 15 to 18 year old son they would like to sacrifice for the club on the altar of BAR points, please let me know.  That is our biggest gap with the junior program at the moment.

Great job juniors!

Submitted by Dan King

Jake Tremblay -cat-pro/1/2 – 1st (2nd 1//2/3)
Dan King -cat-pro/1/2 – 3rd (4th 1/2/3)

Submitted by Pete Raimist

Richmond Raceway Crit – Masters 35+ from Bryan Vaughan on Vimeo.

ANDREW TROY
Wake Forest TT & Criterium 2/21 road race 3rd

Submitted by Marc Warner

Snowball #2 was held on Sunday under the beautiful sunny skies of Chesapeake, VA.  We traveled down with a small squad of 3 and were the benefactors of an extended warmup as none of the previous 3 fields could safely navigate the back corner with the bump on the inside and the sand on the outside.  The race started off in the usual fashion with my nose on the stem and my butt in the air staring intently at the wheel in front of me.  The usual early attacks went including a strong one by Mark Hardman who owns more Stars and Stripes jerseys than I own neckties.   Eventually a break of 5 formed that included Matt “shelly” Carlton who some of you might remember from last year when he was regularly breaking legs in the cat3 field.  Anyway, maybe because he had only been on his bike for 3 weeks, or maybe because he was worried that Dan King and myself were lonely, Matt decided to work himself off the back end of the break and into the front of the field.  Dan’s words of advice were the profound “uh-oh thats a problem”   Fortunately with the help of a guy coming in at 6’6″ and 350 pounds, we were able to both bridge up to the break at which point Goliath was dropped.
So now we are 30min in and have a solid break of 5.  Craig Dodson, Bill Collins, Gene Rutledge, Mike Hosang, Dan and myself.   Basically 2 sprinters, 2 all rounders, 1 mountain biker, and a guy who couldn’t outsprint Carolyn Goble if you put her on a beach cruiser. Despite the heady competition, with 2 in 6, our chances should be pretty good.   Everyone rotated through nicely until the break was well established at which point some of the folks started skipping pulls as the focus went from maintaining a break to winning the race.
At this point, Im going to editorialize, and you should probably skip it as Ive been riding a bike for 3 years and dont really know what Im talking about.  It concerns the topic of working during the race.  By the time one finishes with cat 5, one needs to realize that working during a race is for one purpose only, to promote you or your teammates chances of crossing the finish line first.   Pulling or riding hard for any other reason doesnt make you a good guy, it makes you a fool.  (Now if you never pull, it may help future chances, as no one will ever want to work with you again)  The flip side of that is that a guy who skips a pull because its in his best interest to do so is not a bad guy, he’s doing what he’s supposed to do.  If a sprinter is latched on to your break and is not working as hard as you are, that’s YOUR PROBLEM its not his.  Yelling, insulting or grabbing is just stupid and is very uncool.  (Although it always amazes me how people will change their game plan just because someone is yelling at them)
So the options as we saw it were 1) wait until the end at which point I can lead Dan out for the sprint 2) Insinuate myself between the lead of the break and the sprinters and “float” them off the back. 3) Attack the break, forcing the other riders to chase and giving a free ride to the teammate who subsequently finishes them off or 4) Wait until Dan gets to the front at which point I lay my bike down in one of the corners allowing him a free shot at the finish.  I dont think Im fast enough to be effective at 1) Marnie wouldnt like 4) and if I tried 2) I think the sprinters would just jump around me leaving me off the back by myself.  So we tried 3) which we had discussed before the race.  I would attack,  the other guys would close, Id wait a lap and attack again.  After the 3rd or 4th time I looked back and I was finally in the clear.  I settled into my sustainable pace and started thinking about where I was going to spend the prize money.  I felt a wobble in one of the corners which is not particularly unheard of with my bike handling skills, but then I noticed the speed falling off for the same power.  When I stood up to try to get it back, the bike washed out from under me.  1.5 laps to go and my steed is lame.  I asked a guy who we were lapping for the 4th time if I could borrow his bike, but he politely declined.  Fortunately, in the final stretch, the little guy emerged and finished off the deal, so not all was lost.  Ultimately a well executed first win of the season.
Respectfully submited