Threshold

‘Cody, what’s that in your pocket.’

‘A corn dog.’

‘Why the hell are you taking a corn dog on the ride?’

‘You know, I like real food.’

Later, we are rolling down Platte Avenue, 40 or so riders two by two, sometimes three wide, chatting in the warmth of a 60 degree day. 

The wind is blowing hard enough out of the north to fully extend the gigantic American Flag just before the last small climb heading east.  Everyone knows that the pace will be high on Mark Sheffel Road and I think about the small 50x11 gear I have.  Traffic coming south on Sheffel and a car waiting in the lane force the pack to come to a stop at the turn; I hear Mike swear and then we’re off, standing on the pedals and accelerating up the hill that marks the start of the race-pace portion of the ride.  The hill is a small rise about 400 meters long, but from a standstill it hurts to reach 30mph by the top; the line strings out and I ride towards the front.

I’m always strong on the this leg of the ride.  The road is flat to slightly downhill and I can power to the front fairly easily.  Today I’m planning on adding a thirty mile extension to the ride by turning left on Squirrel Creek Road and riding a loop out to Hannover.  It’s early in the season and, while I enjoy some speedwork with the combination of my low gear and tail wind, I really don’t want to do any sprinting today.

I rotate through the front and freewheel back into the line about seven wheels back.  Byron and another rider move off the front and quickly gap the front of the group.  I’m coasting a bit, dragged along in the draft and slowly move towards the front again.  I’m not working to hard and, when I’m on the point, decide to bring Byron and co. back to the fold.  I’m spun out at about 150rpm, just a bit too fast to not move around on the seat.  Byron slowly comes back and I’m in no hurry and grab his rear wheel after a few minutes of effort.  I brought the group and immediately a rider in a green Scattante outfit slides past and pushes the pace.  I’m a little miffed that he never came past to chase, but this isn’t a race; it’s January.

Squirrel Creek Road comes just before the sprint to the top of Link Hill.  This works for me, short-circuiting a too hard effort up the hill and adding some much needed time in the saddle at endurance pace rather than the crazy race pace that will go on for another seven miles.  Byron looks over and we slide down the pack and then turn left.  We wait for Mike or Erik or Cody to appear, but they don’t so we head off into the treeless distance, the road rising five miles ahead in a long ribbon of asphalt amidst a brown landscape.  The wind blows and the only thing stopping it are the cholla, blooming yellow in the winter spring.

‘Hey Byron, the cholla are having sex all around us.’  We laugh and settle into the task.

Quickie

GeoTagged, [N39.28873, E106.06411]

The post, not the ski. Fun trip up Breckenridge with friends and family. A morning ski up the aptly named Siberian trail with Mark and Glen and then an afternoon jaunt through Troll Forest with the boys. Amazing how much fun one can have with a little snow, some sun and very little oxygen; and no batteries required!