Solobreak Weekly

Wow, it's Monday already. Not just any Monday, but the last Monday in March. You know what that means - The Three days of da 'Pan, my traditional beginning of the season training soire around the Blue Hills and Mattapan Square, run in conjunction with the Driedaagse van De Panne professional race in Belgium. It also means The Ronde is next Sunday; the real bike racing season has finally arrived.

I'm working the day job this week, so this might need to be the Three Evenings of da 'Pan. One way or another, benchmarking my first ascent of Big Blue this riding season needs to happen. Should any of my faithful readers be up for it, I can try to work a group ride into my busy schedule. The weather looks good Tues-Thurs. jellysidedown at gmail.

This past Saturday I rode with the Cronoman again. For most of the six hour, 180k flatland adventure it was just the two of us, save for the middle 40k which were ridden in the fast company of every swinging dick (and a few women) who races bikes in New England at the Charge Pond training race. And when I say "in the company of" I mean just friggin' barely, as I nearly got popped in the first ten laps. That's why we do these things -- my body needed the wake up call. It did not help that in my noble quest to minimize the trip distance back and forth to the venue, a few navigational errors were made. Kind of funny as last week in Crono's stomping grounds I knew exactly where I was the entire time. Now this week, traveling over roads frequently ridden virtually as long as I've had a bike, I took us off course. Excuses are many; all the roads look the same once you get into the cranberry bogs. Typically though, we don't have a destination when riding down there -- who worries about which road leads where when you're on a joyride? This time we had a place to go and a time to be there, and I tried to cut a few kilometers along the way by plotting a straight line, rather than sticking to the roads I know best. End result was a total zigzag all over Middleboro, providing a generous addition of distance, and culminating in a two man team time trial across Plympton in order to make the start. At least we were warmed up.

But we made it, with a few seconds to spare. Way Fast Whitey had driven his car down with his kids, and we'd pre-arranged to have him bring donuts. Good thing, as I'd forgotten to pocket any gels. With a breakfast of just toaster pastries, I was already suffering hunger knock when we were still 10k from the race. I scarfed down a donut while pinning up my number, swallowing the last bite about a minute before Christine gave the A field the "roll off" command. The course went the opposite direction from when we raced here last year, so it took me a few laps to get my bearings. It was pretty flat out for a few laps until a break finally got some time and it settled down (both the pace and the donut in my belly). After that I just sat on as best I could, weathering the surges. With 3 to go, there was a dozen-rider takedown at the front of the pack, and that was that. The ride home was uneventful, nice little tailwind, and it was warmer by then. We rode the old district time trial course to get back to Middleboro center. This entire route had only about 30 meters elevation difference from the low point to the highest, which is the corner at the top of my street. Yeah, it's flat around here. Don't fret; some of the best climbers in history come from Holland. Riding flats means you never get to coast.

Busy week ahead, I'll try to post something, but no promises. I've been working hard on duplicating the riding position from my Slim Chance to my other road bikes. The Slim feels perfect. I thought the others were a lot closer than they are, but I devised a high-tech measuring system and it turns out they're way off. Last year while waiting out a rain delay at Wompatuck, I joked to AFM (a stickler regarding position) that I subscribed to "muscle confusion theory" and he laughed. Now I've got some reasons to try to get it correct on more than one machine. Thanks for reading.

Solobreak - Mountain Biker?

Yes, it's true. It works a lot better if you sing it to the tune of "Jesus Christ Superstar":

Solo-break
Moun-tain biker
One little log and he became a hiker

I was going over my training logs yesterday, as in the cold wind that was a more appealing idea than going out and adding to them. Per usual, some comparisons with years past were included in my review. Noting that this year, with minimal running due to my foot injury, my YTD bike hours are way up, even though my ride count is down, I investigated why. You mathematicians have probably already calculated the average duration of my rides this year must have gone up. Correct, good for you, have a donut. It's around two hours. Less short spins on the trainer, and almost zero morning rides before work.

Several reasons account for this. You don't have to be Williard Scott to know that we've been having a cold winter. Then we have the right-wing conspiracy resetting the clocks and robbing us of an hour of daylight each March morning. And I've been staying up/waking up much later than ever before too. I don't really have an explanation for that. Last but not least, my beautiful state-of-the-art mountain bike, pictured above has been left in a mild state of dysfunction this winter.

As many of you know, ThomP is one of the few local cycling bloggers consistently pumping out entertaining content the past few months. What this two-wheeled renaissance man lacks in scientific knowledge regarding things like the solubility of peanut butter in soy milk, he makes up for with superb command of written English and an exceptional sense of humor. Thom's funnies combine the rare but much sought after blend of lateral stiffness and vertical compliance. In other words, he's young enough to be funny, but old enough that I still get most of his jokes.

Thom is a mountain biker at heart, and at lungs, and at legs, and at brain, often lamenting about being relegated to the pavement, for whatever reason. I've written many times in the past how to me bike riders are just bike riders. When I started, there were no "mountain bikers." There were just "bike riders" who bought mountain bikes. I don't think I knew anyone who owned a mountain bike who did not also ride a road bike, because there was no such thing as a "cheap mountain bike" in 1986. Four hundred bucks was about the lower limit then, and in those days the only people who spent $400 on a bicycle were, well, bike riders. I bought my Rockhopper in the fall of my first season of serious riding, in fact before I ever even got a USCF road license.

Borderland, like everywhere else, did not have a mountain bike policy then. There was no need. You would never, ever see another rider in the woods. Blue Hills was pretty much deserted then. You'd see hikers on Big Blue, and equestrians on the weekends over behind Houghton's, but that was it. Very little of the trail network that is there today was not grown over with brush. The primary surface was not the rocks and roots we know today, it was the black peat and disintegrated oak leaves that make up the natural woods floor around here. It was mountain biking au natural. Ironically, today these areas are so overused that 90% of the trails undergo some sort of construction/maintenance, almost like the road. Hell, I think many of the trails in Blue Hills see more roadwork per mile than the "roads" I ride.


More evidence of a mountain biking past

So now everything around here is pretty well worn and rocky. The lovely Yo Eddy above, sweet as it is, does not possess a ride quality anyone would call "plush." Stiffest fucking frame on the planet is more like it. The original fork suffered a stupidity related failure a few years back, and at least the cheap replacement makes up for the loss in steering control with a bit of give on the bumps. But the back end of this thing is pure boneshaker.

Not that I have a lot to compare it too. I've only owned four mountain bikes. The 'hopper was the first. This schoolbussed-wheelbase beast got upgraded to a Cannondale M400 a few years later. This was an employee buy of the lowest end model they made. Most of the shit components got trashed immediately, but all the frames were about the same then. Here it is, fitted with drop bars:



This is a cyclocross race at Wompatuck, but I rode it with drops in MTB races too, notably several editions of both Lynn Woods and the Freetown Fight for the Forest, Wrentham, Surf and Dirt, and even the Hillsborough Classic. Eventually the crimped aluminum chainstays failed and the rear triangle parted company with the front half of the bike. Cannondale warranteed the thing, replacing it with a newer frame sporting a 1.25" headset and aluminum "pepperoni" fork. This bike was just as stiff as the Yo Eddy. I raced it at Putney, Williston, Wompatuck and maybe a few other places. This one did not break, but eventually I was gifted the Yo Eddy and so I gave the Cannondale to a nephew in Medford and it was stolen soon after that.

Where was I? Oh yeah, how come I'm not riding my MTB in the morning anymore? Thom's recent posts got me thinking about that. I used to make a quick a.m. Town Forest - Borderland - Mountain Road loop before work a staple of my spring training. The topic of mud came up over there. I don't like mud, but you scientists may know that it becomes a solid when the temperature drops below 0 degrees C, like it does almost every night around here at this time of year. (but is it a solution or a dispersion, or both?). Heading out at dawn, it's still warmer to ride in the woods than on the road, not to mention safer, as you don't have solar-glare to make you invisible to the motorists. More accurately, you don't have the motorists in the woods. You also don't have to share the woods with too many other users at this hour. It's almost like back in 1986. Truth be told, I don't generally take on too much of the "technical" side of Borderland on these rides. Most of the time I just do tempo on the dirt roads, keeping up a good pace for an hour or so while trying not to kill any dog walkers or errant deer. On the best days the air above the ground gets up into the toasty 40s when the sun comes up, but the ground stays nice and firma-frozen until well after I'm done riding.

So how come I haven't been doing that this year? In Williespeak, I dunno. The Yo could use a bit of TLC. The cranks and BB have seen better days. The brakes suck. This machine was originally built for Magura hydraulics (not the disc kind) so it doesn't have the proper cable stops, and needs full length housing to the rear. Squishy. The bars are cut too short too, making my hands uncomfortable. And it's just not the same with this fork. Should I go all out and restore it, have Igleheart or somebody make me a new "big one inch" fork, do up cable stops, repaint, maybe even do disc mounts? Seems like a lot of work and money for a bike that will still be too stiff for my aging skeleton. I'd rather have some sweet new 29'er dualie, but even a middle of the road model would still run more $$$ than I've ever spent on a bike before, and weigh 28 pounds to boot. I don't know about that idea.

I'm just a bike rider. Thanks for reading.

BOB Annual Team Meeting

Where else but Team BOB do cycling teams get down to serious business in a Chinese restaurant karaoke lounge? Armand and Duano rock the house around 12:30 am with a stirring rendition of "I Fought the Law." Duano was pulled over twice on Friday, detained the second time, but somehow made bail in time for the meeting. Thanks for reading.

T.R.D. rides again!

Just in case any of you are worried about happy drugs in the water supply or something, fear not. Yours truly can still be a Training Ride Dickhead (TRD) when the situation calls for it. Joe Biker had a post a few weeks backed about the downside of "no drop" training rides. There have also been a few recent posts regarding "rules for group rides" themes and so on. Last week, an invitation to a group ride came to my inbox. The other invitees were all solid riders, experienced, fit, and evenly matched. The weather forecast was chilly, but otherwise ok. Most of the riders on the list verified they would like to attend at the appointed 10 am Saturday time slot. The host then responded with a link to a map of his proposed route in south central New Hampshire, where all the invitees except me live. I of course reside in the tropics of southeastern Massachusetts, but still know the ride area well.

Being somewhat opinionated, I responded with a few suggested changes. 10 am on Saturday is second only to 4pm on a weekday as a sucky time to ride busy roads with a large group. There would be only six or seven of us, but nonetheless I see no reason to plot a route over busy state roads with no shoulder when many less-traveled alternatives exist. The other issue was the route on the supplied map was only about 115k or so, a bit light on distance for this group at this time of year. I submitted a counterproposal navigating the same general area, avoiding routes 13 and 101, I also cleverly ended the mapper once the loop part of the route rejoined the out and back part of the loop, hoping nobody would notice the 120k on the mapper did not include the fifteen or so back to the starting point. As I was traveling the furthest of the group to join the ride, my changes were accepted and the ride was on.

Two nights before the ride I talked with my team captain on the phone. He's a sprinter and does not like hills, but had agreed to make a rare appearance on a ride with real climbing. Well, he was feeling sick now, and expressed doubt about making the ride. He did not want to hold us up if he were having a bad day. I told him I understood. Then on the eve of the ride, a confirmation email went out, but mysteriously a new name was added to the list. Great guy, but not nearly as fit, experienced, or just plain able as the rest of us. With an Eisenhower-like hairstyle, we'll call him General Motors, or GM for short. GM did not belong on this type of ride, at least the way it was originally planned. Already over the course of the week's emails, the ride had been downgraded from a "character building smackdown" to a "manageable tempo man-boy lovefest" and now to a "we will wait for everyone lamb teat suckle." Fucking great.

Ride morning my team captain calls me up, and keeps me on the phone for 45 minutes explaining why he won't be on the ride. Lobbying that with our newly scheduled guest along, our captain would be able to keep up pedaling one-legged, I got nowhere, but I did manage to make myself late. So I kitted up in advance and made the hour drive to Nashua. I was sort of back on time, but after lengthy exchanges of pleasantries and fussing over clothing choices, we rolled out a 10:18. Then I found we would meet two more riders "on the way." One was originally scheduled to ride and is a reliable, excellent ride mate. The other is an solid and fast rider who is prone to deferred-maintenance equipment failures, and is generally late for everything. No worries, but then I learn that we're meeting them well off the revised route, and in fact we must ride down the suckiest roads in the area to get to the appointed spot. It takes about a mile before we get buzzed by an irate F350 driver, who nearly takes the host's head off with his mirror. Welcome to New Hampshire.

We meet up with the other two and now we have seven. They are pissed because we're "late." As if (one of them) never did this to us before. We are also off course now, on Route 13 heading back to Mass, no shoulder, big group, lots of cars flying past six inches off our hips. So much fun. I went to the front, you know, self-preservation. It's always the last two who end up in the funeral home, heh-heh. The group makes it to the turn off. We've been riding a bit over an hour, and finally we're on a decent road with little traffic. Someone complains about potholes. STFU. Grrrrr. Why do I do this to myself? Does it get better? Of course it does. The story that is.

When the "no drop" clause was brought up earlier in the week, the proposal was "we regroup at the top of the climbs." WTF is the point of that I asked? Can't be training, because I've never had the leaders wait for me in a race. This group had almost 125 years of combined racing, and presumably group training, experience. If we're going to "wait," then why drop anyone in the first place? Climb at the pace of the slowest rider, then hammer the crests, flats, and downhills so the weaker riders can sit on. Everyone gets their work in, and the group stays together. The group agrees -- but then does the exact opposite. On the very first "climb," a gradual grade of 4k at something like 3%, "GM" pops almost immediately. Of course, half his problem is that he can't ride a wheel. In fact, he dangles close behind, as the pace is not too severe. If he'd stayed on the group, he probably could have kept up at the power level he was producing. But he didn't, and couldn't. By the flat at the top, he was 500 meters off so we all did a nature call while waiting.

Now we're on Route 119. I'd purposely included this road because there's a 20-25k stretch of easy grades with a wide shoulder. Over this span there are maybe two traffic lights, few side roads, and sparse development. The perfect place to rip a six man echelon for a long, solid effort...

We roll out of the pee break into another grade. GMotors pops immediately. I go back and ask him if he knows where we are going and he says no. I'm disgusted, because he lives less than 40k from here. I live 150k away and I know where the fuck I am. Let this become the new 11th commandment of group riding: If you are within 60k of your house, don't say you're lost. TFB. We were on a numbered road for fuck's sake.

I sprint up to the front and collar the ride host, telling him, hey, you invited him, you slow down. He pleads ignorance, claiming he did not know the guy was dropped. There is about 70% snow cover out here, and it's cold, but I'm boiling over with anger. This ride sucks balls. We slow to a crawl. The guy catches on -- until the next little grade. The guys in the group up the pace, GM pops. Then they slow to 15 kph on the flats. I'm past boiling now, but of course my reputation as a TRD means I'm not supposed to say anything, even though I'm looking down and my Polar is reading 68 bpm at times. Mile after mile of road prime for hard pacelining passes by, but the obnoxious pattern continues. The General will not excuse himself and turn around. The ride host (we'll call him Ensign Matyr - "EM") refuses to tell him to get lost; he's too kind and nice. Fucking cat lover... A few of these guys know that I'm not usually bashful about telling someone -- anyone -- to pack if they're holding up a ride and it's cold out. But today it's not my job...

I give up. I stop to pee again, and figure at least I'll be able to chase for a bit and get warm. But they all stop too, except for GM and one other guy, who head up the road in an apparent attempt to gain some ground. Our de facto navigator (always late, mechanical issues guy), who knows most of these roads well anyway, has a prototype marine Garmin the size of a PDP-11 strapped to his handlebars. I guess he told General Motors not to get too far ahead, as he was going to choose a shortcut to get us back over to Rt 124 for the return trip. But GM did not listen. The remaining five of us started riding a good tempo, but we pass not one, but two potential shortcuts before the "break" is contained. The navigator announces the new plan to the entire group, they'll be taking the next right, which comes up very soon. I'm at the back taking my jacket off (too cold without it at 15 kph, but a bit warm with it while chasing) and I tell the last guy before the turn that I'm staying on the original route. We've gone only 57k in well over two hours and I'm going to salvage this ride on my own. And I do.

The originally planned turn up in Ringe turns out to be less than 3k further on 119. Cathedral Road cuts back to 124. It turns out to be a great road for riding, little hills, no traffic, decent pavement. 124 is fine too. I should be going at least 5k more distance than the "shortcut" so with any luck I won't catch the group until we're back in the hills of Mason, close enough to home that maybe they'll agree to drop GM and thrown down some. I'm doing well now, averaging around 30 kph, jambing the hills, tempoing the flats (which are few) and flying on the descents. After maybe thirty minutes, I'm passing a side road...and the group comes out! W. T. F??? There is no way I should be catching them this soon. No way.

I did not even slow down. I'm already a TRD, so it can't get worse. Actually, I'm praying the strongest amongst them will capitulate too, and chase me down, and it will be on. A big rise appears, but I can see the crest, so I stand up and hammer, not looking back. Power to the crest, but oops, that's not the crest, it's just a little flat spot. The next rise is three times the size of the first, and just as steep. I'm in zone 5, but I can't sit up now, so it's race pace over the top and screaming down the other side. After a while I looked back and nobody was there. Fuck. And I'm out of water. I calculate that they MUST have found a country store on their shortcut and made a pit stop already. There was no other possible way I could have taken back 5k from them in just a half hour (turns out there was a reason). I stopped at the New Ipswich market, refilling my bottles. I had about three hours on the watch. No idea if they passed while I was in there, or if they hadn't got this far yet. I think they must have passed, so I hammered to try to catch them by Mason.

Mason Road has some great punchy little climbs, and I worked it hard. The descent was not so nice, as it's normally frost-heaved, but today complete with sand, dirt, and moon craters big enough to swallow a Subaru. Didn't see the others. When I rolled into "downtown" Brookline (NH, that is) I had just under four hours. The ride back to the base takes only 45 minutes, so I was going to need an extension somewhere in order to meet my duration goal. Taking 130 back toward Hollis, I turned onto the road where the Hollis dump is. The climb after that is one of my favorites, not too steep, and twisty enough to keep you motivated. That leads back to 122, where a couple of the guys on the ride live. I went that way but still did not run into anyone. Improvising a bit more, I took some other roads I sort of know, bobbing and weaving my way back to Nashua.

I arrived with 5:18, 147k (90 miles). The rest of the group, sans General Motors, was there and in good spirits, I guess they did in fact smarten up and ditch him as soon as they thought he could find his way home. They took a different route, skipping Mason. I missed out on the ensuing slugfest. Oh well. I may be a dick, but at least I got in a decent ride. That night I saw GM and told him he was never coming on a ride with me again. He laughed, and so did I, but I wasn't kidding. The "no drop" rule has no place. Once you tell people "no drop" then you're bound to it. The weak get a false sense of security. It's much better to have a "no waiting" rule, every ride. Each individual should be responsible for knowing where the fuck they are and how to get home. And you can always wait for someone, just don't make a rule that says you have too.

Yeah, I know, I'm a dick. 2200 words, think Moby. Thanks for reading.

Smile

From Mr. Ray of Sunshine to you. Trust me there are reasons. Wipe off your grizzly face and be happy. Spring has sprung. Thanks for reading.

Con Game

Today's lecture will focus on the role of confidence with respect to our athletic training endeavors. The number one problem I detect among blogger athletes is an apparent lack of confidence in their training program's effectiveness. On the flip side, oddly enough, in a close or maybe even disputed second place, is the overconfidence of some riders. In fact, within the bike racing populace as a whole this is probably the larger group. Maybe overconfidence isn't the right word, as what I'm talking about is more like faith in divine intervention, as if some miracle is going to happen and these guys aren't going to get dropped. But bloggers tend to bellyache more about sucking than they write about being great.

So we have two groups, the first that trains their asses off yet still needs constant validation in the form of testing, race results, or pep talks, and the other who can barely fit into their bulging skinsuits, yet still pony up for races which will inevitably be cut short for them as soon as the wick gets turned up. We won't waste too much time on the latter group. You know who they are, I know who they are, they know who they are. The only training advice that relates to this group is don't invite them on your training rides because: a) they probably will have an excuse to not show up anyway, and b) even if they do, they'll only drag you down to their level, and c) most importantly, if dishing out a training ride ass-whooping to this group does give you confidence, it's the wrong, phony kind (see b).

Before moving on, you may be asking "Why is confidence so important in training anyway?" Glad you asked. Or that I asked for you. Going back to the second group, we see that too much confidence hurts. More accurately, misplaced confidence is the problem. Be realistic and honest about your abilities, as these abilities are what should be dictating your tactics, but have confidence in your training to improve them, or at least bring them to a peak when you're needing them the most. Notice how I cleverly introduced timing into the discussion. We've now answered the opener for this paragraph; confidence facilitates patience, and patience is the key to peaking, or at least to being near your best at the times most important to you.

Let's look at how this might work. In January our example athlete embarks on his/her annual journey toward competitive greatness. Already they've made a mistake. This shouldn't be an annual journey. In fact, the journey never ends. You never get where you want to be. For some reason though, many athletes think one year is some kind of magical time period during which any athletic goal can be accomplished. Why this lack of patience? It takes most people four years to obtain an undergrad college degree, and that's after thirteen years of "base." Show a little more respect for being a good athlete too then, and have some friggin' patience, and understand the magnitude of what you're trying to accomplish. Here's a little free Nega-Coaching for you: If you can't stay focused for more than a year or two, then give the fuck up now, because you don't belong in this sport. That felt good.

Where was I? Oh yeah, so our athlete is training his/her ass off all through the cold, dark winter, but then gets smoked on a training ride or at some stupid indoor time trial, then goes into "I suck, my life is meaningless" mode. With "real" competitions just four weeks away, panic ensues, shovels are readied, the "plan" gets tossed, and deeper hole digging begins. There's nothing wrong with making some adjustments, but a properly confident athlete won't be put into the position of doubt by one or two "bad" performances. The smartest ones might be more worried by going too well too early. I'll admit, it's a lot easier to be confident if you've got experience. There's nothing quite like getting dropped one week but then dishing it out the next to demonstrate the powers of patience and timing.

The good news is underconfident athletes keep a lot of coaches in business. One of the hallmarks of the no-cons is their need for constant validation, which of course has to be external. Overtesting yourself, be it formal tests, timed intervals, or simply always having one eye on your average power are sure ways to find a plateau. A high plateau isn't the worst place to be, which I guess is why many riders find comfort there. But it's not a peak. It's not what you're training for. If you try to make a breakthrough every time you swing a leg over the bike, you're bridging the gap from underconfidence to faith in miracles.

I probably did a shitty of taking this where I wanted, and the it's almost light enough to head outside, so that's all you get. Don't be afraid to comment. Maybe that will help me finish. Thanks for reading.

The White Stuff

Solobreak: "What do you think of my new shoes?"

Cronoman: "I hope you plan on winning some fucking races if you're going to wear those things out in public."

Ok, so I've never exactly been the flashiest rider in the peloton. I don't own a single item of clothing from Rapha, Assos, or even Castelli. We won't talk about eyewear choices. My bikes are not always clean and shiny, although in my defense, in over 400 races, I've never had a dnf mechanical, and I do all my own work... My preference for ratty, black cloth handlebar tape has been noted on this blog several times. And you all know I don't replace saddles before their time just for appearance sake. So WTF is up with the white shoes, and pedals to match? Damned if I know. For that matter, white could be so 2008 and I wouldn't have a clue. I don't read Eurosport or whatever. This stuff doesn't match my team kit either, at all. Let's just say the white theme kinda grew on me during my trip. Thanks for reading.

"You have brought shame to our squadra"

Image resides on cyclingnews.com

"It came the day after he finished dead last in Saint-Etienne and the second day after his team manager's harsh speech following stage two, where the riders with the four leaves clover had a poor showing. Marc Madiot told them in Vichy, "I'm ashamed." They were ashamed too."

Marc Madiot gets the Nega-Coach seal of approval. I like the FDJ kit too, in case you didn't notice the hat in the pictures below. My first "10 speed" when I was a kid was a LaPierre too. Thanks for reading.

AToC Redux, TBOV, and Random Photos

Because I'm too lazy to write. Just in case you didn't pick up on the steepness of Ballard Canyon Road, here's one that might help you get the idea.


Robin and Rock Racing.



Climbs generally lead to downhills. Horner was not fucking around.



The Hope and Anchor Sporting Association spokesmodel refuels with a tri-tip sandwich at the top of the TT climb.



Just a portion of the the crew from the Bicycle John's ride, including Robin, Mike from Bicycle John's, Paul, Armand Schleck, and Ben Serotta.



The spread that Bicycle John's had for us, right at the summit of the ride. Warm clothes were transported to the top too, so pro.



The calm before the storm. The riders flew over this thing.


This is as close as I'll ever get to being a King of a Mountain.



Robin, Armand, Solo, and Paul. Yes, that is snow. We're at 4900 feet here.


The Quickstep guys were the only ones up there with dry jerseys for their riders. I tried to get one but they said it was the start of the season and they needed them all. Come back in October... I handed up about a dozen newspapers. The riders were flying and it was tougher than I thought. We have a video of the riders and caravan coming through, but Quicktime doesn't like something about it. I'm still working on it.


Robin and Jeff from Trek Bikes of Ventura hooked_me_up on this trip. I could not have done it without them. Thanks guys!


How often do you get a loaner bike that blows yours away?


Jeff rides this 6.9 with Aeolus wheels and SRAM Red. It was on sale too, with just a few hundred miles on it, my size and everything...


Riding on the PCH was not too tough to take. And out there, white kits stay white...


The view of Yerba Buena Road from above on Sandstone Peak. This is what me and Armand Schleck tackled the first day. This is an amazing stretch of tarmac. Thanks for using your bandwidth and I hope you enjoy the images.

And now, the weather

Doing TV weather in SoCal doesn't seem too tough.


Of course, you need to know about the all important surfing conditions.


But basically all you need is a short skirt and a pair of weather balloons. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Thanks for reading.

Solvang TT Redux

Freddie's TT bike looks almost as sad as mine. He was an early starter and did not have a follow vehicle, then he flatted and had to get the rear wheel from neutral support.


Some of the Liquigas guys took the casual approach.


Tyler had some sort of chain problem.


This was no flat TT.


The tifosi were out even for the early starters. I wonder if that's Todd on the back of the moto?


It's disturbing enough that the guy owns this kit, but choosing to wear it on a day when he knows he'll be seen by thousands of people...


Floyd employs an interesting toes down pedaling style out of the switchback.


Boonen, the man, the myth, the legend.


Vincenzo Nibali was up there on GC so Liquigas came up with a TT bike and nice wheels for him. Here he powers over the top and into the downhill. Thanks for reading.

Just in case

Zencycle and Il Brucie thought I was kidding.

No mint on the pillow but...

My suite at the Hotel California came stocked with energy foods. After 30 hours of riding, I still had this much left.


I trust the cyclocross motif meets the approval of most of my audience.


All this long sleeve stuff spent most of the week just hanging in the closet.


These turned out to be a waste of packing space too.


No Pambo nor Hoff sightings though. It wasn't quite that warm.


But damn was it nice. Thanks for reading.

Rock, Solo, Tuna

The ride starts out flat...


but there might be some hills on this route...


Yeah, there are hills...

It's Monday, game over. I was scheduled to get home on the red eye last night, but thanks to the snow that was canceled, and I'm on Flight 54 to Oh Hair! right now, hoping to get back to Beantown later this evening.

The weekend got busy and the neighbors must have setup an acl on their wireless network, hence the lack of updates. Friday was the piece d' resistance of the trip, an epic solo of nearly seven hours duration. I'd planned on about five, as Thursday I was already feeling pretty toasted on a two hour ride over to Balcom Canyon Road (did not scale "The Wall"). Heading out at 10 am, after cruising across the flat plain it was up Potrero Road (1.2k @ 12%), then up and over the little bump into Hidden Valley, where a helmetless rider in Fuji-Servetto clothing sailed past. It was Ivan Dominguez. He gave me the over the shoulder look to see if I was going to jump on, but since this was the 1:30 mark of a planned long day in February, I had none of it. Don't let anyone tell you sprinters can't climb, as he left me in the dust going up Westlake Boulevard (2.1 miles @ 8%). Not that it would have been difficult. I had the camera and should have chased him for a photo op, but Solobreak doesn't think that quickly, especially when I'm on vacation (nice mix of first and second person solo...)

After tackling the 30 switchbacks, I continued east on Muholland. Once passing Encinal Canyon Road, I was breifly in (for me) uncharted waters, and soon came upon the epic descent of "Rock Store," just over 2 miles at 7.5% with hairpins all the way down. One of the motorcycle magazines had a photo shoot setup, and some dude clad head to toe in white leathers was dragging the fairing around the bends, back and forth for the cameras. The valley below led out to where we'd ridden on Monday, and so I sort of knew where I was going.


Two miles of this.


The rock from which the Rock Store gets its name.

I headed to Stunt Road, 6.5k @ 6%, all marked out from a race in days gone by. At the top I passed more cafe racers as I continued up Schuren/Saddle Peak Road, shown on some maps as "Muholland Raceway." This led to my ultimate destination for the day, Tuna Canyon Road, made famous by the Red Bull Descenders Challenge. Only problem was, do I go left or right? I have a feeling the race went right, down to the coast, but I'd been advised the PCH was not that great for riding when you got this close to Santa Monica, and besides, left looked more twisty on the map. It was unreal. Several miles of banked hairpins marked at 15 mph, one after another in a seemingly endless sweet flow. This road is way more built up than the others, with gated driveways all the way down, so you had to watch it a bit, hence, no photos from this part of the ride. This was both hands on the bars stuff, braking required. Once at the bottom it turns to Topanga Canyon road, where, no exaggeration, 50% of the vehicles are Range Rovers. I guess that's the ride of choice in this part of Malibu.

A short distance later I turned off on to Old Topanga Canyon Road, which by contrast looked like East Tennessee. I guess it's a bunch of hippies, religious nut camps and communes, etc, and just plain recluses. In my wisdom, for some reason I imagined this road would be flat, and of course I imagined wrong. Steady, shallow climbing typical of the canyon roads turned to steeper stuff as the houses disappeared, and of course this all led to another epic switchbacked descent, eventually leading back to Muholland way out near where it turns to dirt. At this point I had four hours on the road, and I was passing Muholland Highway mile marker 28. My base camp was about 21 miles from mile marker zero... That's right, 4 hours down and 49 miles to go. Including the ascent of Rock Store.


Doing my best tetaequalsboobie impression.


Up Rock Store. I've got five plus hours invested at this point...

Your hero had a bailout option though, simply going back the way he came. Even though descending Muholland to the coast was the original plan, by now it was getting late in the afternoon and that meant two potential perils on the PCH, a) heavy commuter traffic, and b) a stiff gale in the face for all 10 miles back to Mugu and friendly Lewis road. So I turned right at mile marker 10 and once again descended Westlake Boulevard. Some dude in a pimped out Chrysler 300 with chrome 22's squeezed me good as he passed, and I jumped right on his bumper. I hardly know this descent, having only ridden it once a week ago and once more about twenty years ago, so having a car to follow was a big help. When he really lit up the brake lights and squealed the tires I knew there was a sharpie coming. We wailed down, him gunning it S to S, and me riding as fast and smooth as I dared, way faster than me and Armand rode it on Sunday. The scariest part was that some other dudes in a clapped-out Datsun stake body nearly kept up with us all the way down.


It was a downhill finish nstuff...

Once into Westlake, I felt I was home free. One more little climb out of the valley and into T.O., then motorpacing off yet another crazed trucker, this time an Iveco box van, down Potrero. At the bottom an Amgen guy on a tri bike caught up to me, just doing his commute. He was happy to have reeled me in with his backpack on and all, but I think I sort of burst his bubble when I told him I'd left Camarillo 6.5 hours early. Total damage for the day was 6:45 on the road, minus 15 minutes or so to take on and let out fluids. I had no odometer, but near as I can guesstimate using online mappers the trip was just over 100 miles. The "major" ascents add up to 5000 feet or so, but on a ride like this all the little bumps could have added several thousand feet more of "climbing" to the total. This was the second 6+ hour day of the trip, and left me feeling like I'd exceeded all my riding goals, so the rest was going to be gravy. With a major goal of not getting tendonitis on my plate, caution would be the rule for the rest of the trip. Thanks for reading.