'Round the loop

Morning dawns on the bike, the sunlight sliding up the backside of Neulous behind our village, lights up Le Canigou in pinks and reds. The temps are in the single digits again and as I descend the village road to the valley, they drop a bit more.

The miles are starting to pile up. Since I arrived here on January 6th, I've pedalled 1612 miles, burned 75,000 calories, climbed more than 70,000 feet and spent exactly 100 hours in the saddle. For serious riders here, these aren't big numbers. For me, they are a complete departure from my typical skiing and roller riding this time of year and their effect on me physically and mentally is interesting.

I've lost weight, not sure exactly how much (there's no scale in the rental house), but it's been significant. My bike skills are slightly improved, ability to hold a line, read a corner, descend a crappy mountain road--better, better, better. But the most marked improvement has been in my ability to focus on the minutia of a ride under physical stress. Riders know what I mean. Sometimes at a critical time things can just get foggy, while other moments, time can stand still and everything is in sharp relief. In a race, the slight movement of a wheel or the clicking of a gear two riders in front of you tells you to be ready for an acceleration. But that's when you're sharp. Sometimes things can happen and you have no idea why, or what, or who and you're sitting on the ground, or off the back scratching your head.

The Canigou's lower ridge lines are still covered in pink snow as I crest the little rise to the rondpoint. Geoff rolls up in a few minutes and we're off to the club run, a repeat of the route I just did, and down to Argeles and back along the Alberes road.

As riders we often break down our training on purely physical terms. So many miles, so many feet climbed, so many hours in the saddle, but what we are really doing is trying to guage how long we can keep that fog of exhaustion from creeping in during a hard effort. The more fit we are, the longer it stays away and the more likely we are to have success. Again, like most things related to training, once you put it into words, it seems idiotically simple.

We get to the meeting place in Amelie a few minutes early, no one there, so we head up the hill a bit and roll back through the village center on the parallel road. People are waking up and a few are on the sidewalks with their dogs, or their baguettes. At least the baguettes aren't crapping all over the place.

More riders have arrived and we're soon coasting back down the hill. My first time up in January seemed like such an effort; climbing the valley grade all the way to Amelie. Now the villages roll past with an easy familiarity and I look forward to the uphill route as a source of warmth in the cool morning. Coasting down towards the sea, my heartrate is in double digits and I'm zipping up the jersey and tucking in behind the biggest rider in the bunch for a bit of shelter.

My legs are heavy today. The run up the Madeloc on Friday, the Wednesday near-century with the pros and yesterday's hike with the kids back up the Madeloc all combine to this slight feeling of tiredness. As Geoff says, when the legs are aching, it means your getting stronger. And he's essentially right. The hurt comes from the torn fibers of muscle that, once mended, will be stronger than before. The systems running food and oxygen to those muscles will become more efficient. Too much damage and the system goes down, too little and nothing gets stronger; the essential zen of training.

On the flats at St. Genis, the pace picks up and we're flitting along at 21mph. This isn't hard for me and I stay just behind the front guys. This is more than me not taking a pull in the front; there's a pecking order in the group and I won't be allowed on the front until someone needs a blow from the effort. That's alright, I'm wondering how my legs will feel once we climb again.

After today's run, I'll be taking a reduced week, maybe 8 hours, to recover and consolidate my fitness. Next Sunday is my first race of the season in Narbonne. A 95k rolling circuit and a chance to see where I'm at right now in my fitness.

The road climbs past Sorede and the two leaders pull off for nature's call. The pace slackens but then jumps back up as a fellow goes on the front to drive the pace towards the first climb. He's not a great climber himself, and Geoff thinks he just wants to get to the hills first so he doesn't get left behind once the effort goes up and the paceline goes taut. We go up and I'm feeling OK. The little guy falls off the front and I'm setting the pace now, up past Villelongue. This is good for me, I put it right at 12.5mph and leave it there. Another fellow is next to me and we effectively put off the huge acceleration that will inevitably come. A kilometer before Montesquieu, it comes and Blaze, the big fella that can climb, shoots by with Geoff on his wheel. I try to lift the pace and stick, but get gapped in the process and fall off. I watch as the five riders twist up the serious grade before leveling off at the village.

Geoff offer some advice when we reconnect. 'Don't try to accelerate like that when someone's coming by. Keep your eyes open and ease off just as they come through and then accelerate to grab their wheel.' This is a huge insight for me. Again, simple, but something true. At Montesquieu I'm in that fog and Geoff holds out a plastic bag. For me to puke in? A candy falls out and the fog clears.

The rest of the run up the valley whittles our group down to about 8 riders. I'm feeling a bit squirrely just past Ceret and make an acceleration at the front to see how folks are doing and Blaze comes right up to my wheel, but breathing hard. I fall back and decide to watch. It would be nice to take a sprint today, but I don't know if my legs will let me. I rest and then find my way back to second wheel behind the big guy. He seems strong today.

I know Geoff will contest a sprint, always will he contest a sprint, but Blaze blocks a lot more wind than Geoff does. At the sign for Amelie, still 2k from the 'line', Blaze falls back. I'm on the front. This isn't good, but then I remember the ride two weeks ago when no one sprinted. Nothing more foolish than winning a sprint that no one is contesting. I keep the pace up, and sure enough, Jean Marie, Geoff and a young rider come by on my right in full sprint mode. I tag along, but I'm done and they strike out for the the bus stop, Geoff winning by a bit. There's a heated discussion about Geoff squeezing through a gap left by the youner rider, soon joined in by other members of the club long since dropped in our approach, but we're all happy deep down, satisfied in our effort.

4:15, 75.2, 2560ft