A week on the rear

There is now a certain comfort in the routine of the Saturday training ride in Colorado Springs.  People are beginning to look familiar, their riding styles apparent, even while focusing on the 23 millimeter width of their rear tire from behind, and I’m even remembering some names.  Cody stands out, a fellow has large as I am, arms and legs tatooed and a ready comment in the pack.  One of the few fellows in whose draft I can really recover after a long pull.  I readily give up my place in the paceline when I’m behind one of the 90 pound women and search for Cody.  It must be reciprocal because he’s close enough behind me that I can hear him breathe. 

Patterns and routines, moving from week to week, and then year to year.  During our ride Saturday, under brilliant blue skies and an easy breeze, I felt the first twinges of winter in my legs.  The first year I was taken by surprise; what’s wrong with me, my legs just don’t have it and I’ve been training so hard.  Now I know that I’m coming up against my annual week off the bike, an annual chance to scrub the fatigue accumulating in my body and mind and begin the training process anew. 

As we head south, I take my turn pulling into the breeze.  I take the first turn, as we lack the heavy hitters of previous weeks who turn the screws the first chance they get.  So I hit the front, put some pressure on the pedals and crest the rise at 27mph and glance back.  Cody comes by and pushed the pace again.  He seriously enjoys putting the hurt on the smaller riders.  Into the wind, mass has its advantages.  I let a few riders slide by and take a turn again.  Rinse and repeat.  This is now easy and the miles tick off to the first sprint point.  A tired sensation begins to boil up from my quads and I push it back down.  We turn east and I can see the road rising and then the final rise to the sprint.  I’m positioned well, on the outside of the line, maybe six bikes back and it’s all about relaxation and spin here.  People work to get behind me and I hear Cody’s laugh; he’s pushed his way in, another advantage of mass.

But I’m tired.  I suddenly realize this and three of the riders fade back to the right.  I’m second wheel and know that I have nothing in the tank, the hill is going to hurt bad.  I say in a conversational voice, ‘Want a leadout?’  ‘Hell, yes’ floats back and I dig into the downhill and move off the front with Cody in tow.  We touch 40 and then I sprint into the side of the hill, digging myself into a deep hole of pain.  Two thirds of the way up, Cody comes by in full sprint and I fade, fade away through 30 riders standing on the hill.  Two of Lance’s Livestrong riders come slowly by and I go over the hill last in the group, hanging on, but spent.

One of Cody’s charges, a fellow he’s coaching for triathalons, asks why in the world I would lead out Cody and give up my chances.  ‘That’s what makes bike racing so much more interesting than triathalons,’ I tell him.  He ponders this as we spin north back the twenty miles to town.

So, it’s a week off the bike.  An attempt at a ride on Monday to meet folks in the cold rain at UCCS was aborted as my legs felt like two pieces of timber.  Fatigue from the move, from acclimating to the elevation, from the increasing time on the bike can lead to other bad things if I don’t rest.  The forecast of four days of snow, sleet and general wet, nasty weather aided the decision. 

We’ll start the next season this Saturday with the gang at Bijou and Tejon.