Numbers

Three weeks ago I kicked butt on the Acacia Ride.  Two weeks ago I was dropped.  Last week I didn’t too bad, hanging with the big boys into the last sprint. 

An image pops into my head of an graying alchemist perched on a stool in a dusty room, piles of books stacked randomly on the floor, an oil lamp casting a weak shadow of a beard, over-perched by a long nose and the hat of an academic.  In his lap he is looking at a laptop computer running WKO+.  Charts populate the screen: mean wattage, watts per kilogram, CTL/ATL, TSS scores and IF numbers.

It is an alchemy of sorts, piecing through the numbers that quantify the efforts that fill in the qualitative assessments, ‘I kicked ass today’ or ‘I was dropped like a hot piece of dog crap.’  I don’t obsess about my numbers too much.  I know a small piece of viral protein can ruin a ride or a week of rides.  But it’s heartening to see a number jump out at you once in a while, perhaps an omen or a talisman of good things to come.

A Sunday ride a week and a half ago with my team up in Denver took the six of us south to Castle Pines.  It was a hilly route and I was the largest fellow in the group, so I was ready to be in pain.  We assaulted Jackass Hill (which is really fun to write; no one in the group knew why it was called that.  There’s a park by the same name as well, ‘Honey, I’m taking the kids over to Jackass this morning.’) and I focused on spinning and felt good when I didn’t fall off the back.

They were taking it easy on me, though.  We hit a series of climbs and soon I was off the back, ahead of one fellow, but behind four others, bouncing away up the climb.  Denver has had a lot of snow and it was all melting and pooling in the road with the cinder used for cars.  At twenty five miles, the turn around, we all looked like cyclocross riders out in the mud.

We pushed back and descended a hill.  On the flipside climb, my rear derailleur made a snapping sound and shifted into the smallest cog.  The cable had broken and I was now demoted from a sleek 20 speed carbon racing machine to a two speed instrument of muscular torture.  I was fine descending and on the flats with my 50x11 and 34x11 gears, but any climb was an agony of low cadence, Jan Ulrich-inspired diesel pedaling.  Ten miles in, and my legs were hurting. 

Short, non-dramatic story; I made it, even if the guys did have to soft pedal a couple of times (sorry guys).  Back in the dusty room ten days later, doffing my medieval cap and moving the lead out of the way on the desk, I notice the number, 600w for 1 minute average.  That was a good 140w higher than any 1 minute average in the previous year. 

What doesn’t kill you…

The last dingleberry

Two bright red Planet Bike jerseys move through the paceline, Katie Compton and her husband Mark, smooth into a twenty mph wind out of the south, southwest.  Marksheffel road moves back and forth, first putting the wind on our noses, and then it pushes on our right shoulder.  The group is riding into its own red, guys not yet ready for the pace of the silver medalist in the Cyclocross World Champs; it’s February!  The riders push a bit too hard.

I’m in the echelon, shaded from the wind by the left thigh of a young rider.  He’s clueless and suddenly moves left and hits my bars with his leg.  He thinks its my fault and I make a note not to ride near him again.  It’s important to trust the person you’re riding behind; they control your fate, whether you will be pushed backwards as they blow up, or worse, hit the tarmac as they do something unpredictable.  My bars wobble and I hear my friend Cody snort; he’s in my draft, the sweet spot behind the biggest guy in the pack.

Planet Bikes move forward into a rotating paceline a few miles south.  I’m coming off some kind of viral thing, power wasn’t back all week, and I choose not to rotate, but sag back behind ten wheels or so.  I’m feeling myself out today.  The sprint up Link Hill will tell me where I’m at, but the legs actually feel strong.  I take a pull before the left turn and get myself towards the front as the pack turns onto Link Road. 

I don’t see it.  The truck that was standing still when I pass, moves forward into the apogee of the turn for the second part of the pack.  Brakes squeal and bikes slide on the loose cinder in the turn.  Mark rides directly into the ditch and then back out of it.  I’m ahead, no longer taking turns, feeling the road rising and the twelve or so wheels in front of me accelerating.  I just want to hang.  Glen and Marissa are on a pink tandem, coming slowly backwards through the group.  They offer a nice draft and I slide in, complacent with just keeping a good pace up the climb.  We’re over and a gap of about 100 meters to the riders in front.

The gap is closed by a train crossing, barriers down.  A break for the legs. 

Fresh, we jump on our pedals and the stragglers that have caught up, are off again.  It’s amazing what a two minute break will do for the energy levels, I push hard and move into the paceline.  It’s much easier to do this than to ride alone into the wind.  A new guy, young and on a tt bike, is in the rotation.  As he moves into the crosswind, he leans down and goes into the tt bars.  Katie glances over and shakes her head.  The second time, she yells at him.  I give up a spot and yell over to him that he shouldn’t ride ‘on the bars’ in a group, in a crosswind.  He looks bashful and says ‘sorry’.  I smile back; this is the way we learn.

Where the road splits at Old Pueblo, there is a rise over a bridge and then it’s a mile to the sprint line, our turn-around.  Another new guy sticks his nose into the wind and pushes hard, ending our rotation with me in third wheel.  Mr. Planet Bike is in front of me, pushing hard and there is a gap.  I push and close it and holding on is like holding my breath.  I keep it there just a bit longer than comfortable and then wiggle my left elbow, ‘come on by; I’m done.’

No one does.  We’re going 30+ into a heavy wind and everyone else is thinking that it’s much too comfortable to sit behind me.  Finally, a few riders come through, and I see Katie has been sitting in my draft.  Mark has also come through and we all ease up and roll a bit before turning back north.