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.
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