The Raw Talent Ranch

They roll.  Geared up and feigning resilience.  Ten strong.  No one wants to be the guy who cracks.   Forty five degrees, windy and raining for starters; the radar says no relief.  A big sprawling nor’easter pattern.  The same type that delivered us TWO blizzards this winter (and don’t forget about the DEEP FREEZE that preceded it!)

Off the mountain, through the switchbacks, downward for maximum chill a damp twisting snake of riders, trying to get one in.  The season is here.  Races have already happened and others are filling up.  It’s bite the bullet time.  Group consolidation.  Got to get it on.  If you go I go.

Alongside streams that are well beyond crested; just another down pour from road wash outs.  They roll.  With fenders, double gloves and capes; fashion aesthetics are on hold as the elements have their way.

My former club (‘97 through ‘06) and the promoters of our jaunty little road race, the Lost River Classic, the NCVC Elite Team brought ten willing warriors (or fools depending on how you look at it – me, RTR ride guy included btw) to gain a foothold against what mother nature was serving up.

We set out aiming for four to five hours with a couple junction/bail out points if conditions turned really angry.  Fortunately no one faded and while the atmosphere didn’t exactly open its arms it also didn’t throw any sucker punches.  We knew what we were going into and we rode steadily towards and ultimately through it.

With the variety of groups coming to the barn it always surprises me how well they ride; especially at the elite level.  New batches of guys coming up, some sustaining and some holding on and mentoring.  When running those double pace lines for long big ring stretches their determination is evident.

Obviously, and a quick glance at the results clearly notes this, there are differences, but they are in very small subtle ways.  Timing, experience, patience, composure, pain thresholds, pure desire, motivations and on and on.  Small footnotes that separate the elite athletes from each other in cycling or any sport, but at 25 miles an hour on a wet into the wind pace line, with no cheering crowds, the similarities are greater then the differences.

One can observe deeper, step back and look at the formation and start to see indicators.  Team dynamics.  Rider’s familiarity.  Pedal smoothness.  It’s all there, in the graph but the increments are minor.  That those degrees are the measures between winning and losing is just the harsh reality, but bottom line, is all these guys (and gals) are throwing down.

When the kits were rung out we had 68 miles; 4 hours 20 minutes.  Only one tiny stop at 7-11 so I could purchase some $2.99 gardening gloves (Pugs) to replace my completely useless after twenty minutes $60 cycling gloves (if any one wants to do R&D to develop some actual water proof riding gloves I am happy to be a test dummy having spent most of the last 19 years on a bike – courier/touring cyclist/racer – feel free to contact).

All in all a solid ride.   A steady pace.  A team building session.  One where, at least for me, the idea of finishing was a major thrust.  I’d say the scenery this time was a strand pulling me toward the end rather then a back drop absorbing me on the whole.  Put it in the books and wait for the returns.

Maybe I have enjoyed my most recent rides because I am at no one’s mercy.  Solo and sightful, albeit it long and grinding: four hours fifty minutes.   Sixty five miles and fifty seven hundred climbing feet with enough muddy dirt (i.e., resistance training for maximum value), to warrant a full post ride hose down.

RTR camps start next week and it will be consecutive beyond.   Yesterday was a recon mission to make sure some of the more remote avenues are passable–remote being a relative word.  It is telling when you stop at a corner store about five miles from some pass and ask if it is plowed, to hear “what road…… Ummmm…. I reckon, I never go up there.”

So I contemplate that as I man the counter, sip my Yoohoo and consume the blueberry frosted pop tarts before pressing back into the unknown.

All the paved roads are plowed yet there is still a foot of snow outlining.  A sharp and enticing effect.

The dirt is mostly clear except where some of the narrow high up spots get drift recoated.  Totally rideable for the players!

The only question remaining is how much pain awaits me when other riders are introduced into the equation.  Being ride guide, it doesn’t look good or bode well for me to get dropped.  That is a given, but how hard do I want to work to stay with a team’s leaders or is it even possible?

The layers and levels of form at this time are wide ranging from folks just coming off blocks (the kind of blocks a car goes on, not training blocks) to those returning from AZ, FL, CA, TX or any of the other cyclist hotspots.

The sensible camps run smooth steady valley tempo and let individuals sort their fitness out on the climbs.  Inevitably competitions spice the whole thing up and that’s what pushes the fitness forward.  ’Forward’ being the key word, not off the rails.

I am there to outline matters while the group personality has the final say on how things go down.

At the very least I know next week at this time my muscles and body will be much different then they are now.  The depth/intensity and how I will respond is as of now an unknown.  I’m thinking that I may try and climb with the sprinters and let the new jacks fire sparks beyond my perimeter of temptation.  That is what I think now, before the crunch.

Out on the machine again today for the first real ride in a month except for some erratic and not very intensive courier action.

Like many on the east coast this winter my fitness has been on lockdown. During the storm weeks I haven’t made any strides toward a wind trainer or a gym. My exercise has consisted of massive shoveling, sit ups and push ups and barn carpentry projects, as well as idling/rest and a steady mantra of, ‘fitness will still come, it always does/real conditioning will just come later this year’.

The roads in Lost River are remarkably well plowed. Long back-woods stretches are basically clear. The county and the state have been out in full force and farmers with their own rigs fill in the gaps.

It was warm enough to ride but not too warm for a big melt so surfaces were dry. We had a fresh two inches last Sunday that made it look even cleaner and newer. Long narrow blacktop strips through bright white rolling meadows. A bike pathway with four foot high plowed borders. A nice effect and diversion for the generally hurtful first roll out.

I was glad to be solo and not at the mercy of a group or other pressing jousting athletic rivals. Basic RTR stats: 57 miles; 6200 feet; 4 hours and 22 minutes.

Just trying to get a feel for the road and the bike. Get back into a groove. The hardest part was the very first climb. Not even a climb. A little hill after the three quarter mile dirt road (that was snow and mud today) descent from the house driveway. Later in the ride I rode past the barn ascending from the steep back side. I saw 23 percent on the Garmin for today’s high.

Anyway, it is kind of striking how hard it can feel at the onset as well as potentially discouraging. You know, four cold hours to go and I’m creeping and struggling up this slight incline, but that is the (off) rhythm part. It really had little to do with fitness. My body was just out of sync and it took some miles to dial it in. That is some of the reason why I maybe avoid the stationary. The motion just can’t be duplicated. The way it all works: climbing, standing, breathing, shifting and maneuvering. Once fluidity is regained the oxygen can make its way to the muscles and the efforts aren’t quite as daunting.

This takes into account that my ‘efforts’ were minimal beyond responding to the natural forces of five and six mile up hills. No stops. Just trying to keep it steady and give the body a preface for future weekends.

All in all a good day on the bike. Despite the big anchor the snow has thrown us this season I was seriously digging it today. Maybe being out of the city and encountering it clean and undisturbed. A route I have done many times was framed a new. The blues, reds and greens looked sharper and stood out. A random door on an old shed suddenly had an identity and a slanting red building in the distance appeared lit up.

I avoided any black ice and made it back to the start point. Now I can walk down stairs and feel that distinct knee pain that reminds me how great it is to be a cyclist!