Riding in the Santa Ynez Valley is....

Yes, its tarantula season

...watching startled calves running alongside the road...

...avoiding the tarantula crossing in front of you...

...dreaming to be the red tailing hawk hunting and surfing the Santa Ana winds...

...thanking the field hands working on sunday, all covered up to beat the wind and the sun...

...letting the guy with the tri bike pass you, only to catch him at the next hill and leave him panting behind...

...laughing at the tourists driving hummers stuck in Solvang traffic....

....chilly in the morning, hot at noon, windy always...

...surprising: after climbing Harris Grade, even Lompoc does not look half bad from above, and far away...

...certainty that whatever the event or your dietary needs, there will be a tri-tip BBQ at the end...

...just awesome. You should try it sometimes!

Fantozzi's Cloud

Many Italians are familiar with the figure of speech "Nuvola di Fantozzi". For the others, please see the illustration below:I'll call it the "Tourmalet Curse": ever since this past summer's Etape, every organized ride I'm in is doomed to be a wet one. This morning's Harvest Ride was no exception: after one of the hottest October weeks I remember, I guess it was time for some refreshing rain. We left comfily at 8 this morning from Ventura, looking ahead to an easy ride. The course was mostly flat, with a few classic, and very short climbs (Gubernador Canyon, Skofield Park to El Cielito etc.). One hundred easy miles which came to a sudden stop when my riding partner Dom calls a flat. It doesn't matter, we passed plenty of people already in the 6.5 miles we had been riding. Just one more chance to pass them again.

Then right after the tire is fixed with the kind assistance of the Rotary club SAG team the tube blows up again, scaring almost to death one of the two SAG people. Meanwhile, two more riders pass us, then no one is apparently left. We better move before people from the family ride start arriving and tossing candy at us.

Dom fixes the second flat, and we have the time for a quick rest stop for the rain to start in earnest. This is a familiar scenario to me. First you get drenched, then when you can't stand it anymore you put on a rain jacket. Now you are still drenched but relatively warm. As long as you don't stop of course. I was almost envying the guy with a Rivendell Saluki, full fenders double headlights and tires. Looked like a 2-ton machine of iron and chrome, but at least he did not have a constant stream of water freshening up his nether parts. And clean water it wasn't: pretty soon I realize I'm completely covered in road grime, my legs look like they belong to a neanderthal, but it was not additional hair growing, just tar. After all it hasn't rained in the area for five months or so, and the ash of the Gap Fire was still on the ground. Luckily, I think I took most of it home, so now other, smarter people can go out riding and come back clean.

I also realized that this ride for some reason was taking us through UCSB. I felt quite bad to ride to my workplace on a Saturday. I felt even worse realizing I had to drive to Ventura first to get there. It was too much, I knew had to pull another Tourmalet. After all, 250 yards from the road back lays my house, a warm shower, a hairy dog --feathers for my tarred legs were not available, so I just had to cover myself in dog hair instead.

At the end of the day, I had ridden about a hundred kilometers. After all, I'm European, I guess I'm doomed to measure my athletic achievement in metric units, willing or not. Another occasion for an imperial hundred will present itself soon enough. Local populations, beware, and dust off your umbrellas: I'll be pedaling through town, the black malicious cloud right over my head....

Dawn of new era?

This is a first for me, at least here in the US. I was pedaling up Painted Cave Road today, zen-focusing on the sweat I could almost see evaporating off my skin. A red jeep went by, two men and a yellow lab looking curiously at me. The guy on the passenger seat gave me thumbs up and shouted “I admire you.”

It totally made my day. Even my heartbeat improved, and that part of the climb being mostly an anaerobic exercise, it meant a lot. I want to think this is a start of a new era when car drivers and bike riders will stop stepping on each other’s toes.

I took advantage of the beautiful day and the altitude gained during the indefatigable exercise of the ascent to remind myself that the bike is not (always) an end in itself but also the mean to traveling fast, silently and light, looking at things like no car driver can. I kept pedaling to the end of the paved portion of West Camino Cielo to take a look at the Gap Fire aftermath. Here are some images:

In conclusion

My bike, Aida, followed us on vacation for the next few weeks, and we rode over the cols of the Basque country as well as through the vineyards of Bordeaux. This alone was worth all the trouble in bringing her along. A few thousand more words could be written on what all this meant to me. And maybe one day I will write them.

For now, suffice it to say that riding the Étape was perhaps an impossible dream, a comical failure, an exciting adventure, and above all a great goal that sustained me through quite a difficult time of my life.

I don't regret a single second of it. And I don't think I ever will.

Luz Ardiden

Today I paid in spades for my Hautacam prowess. At the last minute I enrolled in a time trial from Luz Saint-Saveur up to Luz Ardiden, another classic Tour arrival climb. Organized by the Lavedan cycling club and by the local tourist office, the contre-la-montre offered about forty among locals and non-locals a chance to try their skills against each other and the once more unforgiving weather, which presented a menu of thick brouillard and rain all the way up to the ski station.

I thought I could easily make it in the middle positions: how wrong I was! The club riders went up fast, soon disappearing uphill. I tried to chase them, but ny heart and my legs would simply not cooperate to keep the pace, easily going into overdrive on ramps that yesterday I took with much more panache. In the end I made it in one hour eight minutes, definitely not a world record.

Coming down after the refreshment at the top was even worse: once more I'm happy I stopped before the dreaded Tourmalet descent at the Étape. My hands froze in place in spite of the long gloves. Thankfully, they froze in the "brake pulled" position, preventing me from dropping to almost certain death. And thankfully they came alive once more after the mandatory hot shower, allowing me to type this today.

Hautacam

Thinking back about the Etape, I don't think I would ever have made it to the end, weather or no weather. Today I had a chance to try the final climb, Argeles to Hautacam. Hautacam is relatively short but nervous, twisty and vengeful climb, always ready to surprise the daring rider around the next corner and cut his legs with a surprise ramp. With several changes in grade up to 10% average on the kilometer, I was happy just to see a 8% sign.

All this said, this is a fun ride, if not taken on after 150 kilometers and the Tourmalet. There is always a cyclist to race against: Jurassic era French riders on old Peugeot bikes, solid Germans, Tour enthusiasts in full racing uniform. And this season, hundreds of camping cars (we call them RVs in the US) are already lining the road set up for the Tour arrival on Monday. Local paysans are transforming their grandfather's field into parking lots and refreshment stands for the day of the event. Old ladies are already sitting in camping chairs facing the road a full three days and a half before the the Tour. I can just hope that they are going to feed them until then, or at least remove the bodies from the road afterward.

I climb too fast, excited for the course and perhaps thinking too much about Riccardo Riccò's victory in Super-Besse. The last 3 kilometers are totally immersed in the clouds. I'm blind, I have to take off my (prescription!) sunglasses, with the result of making things even less clear. I pedal avoiding the shadows of bystanders and the occasional maneuvering camping car. One shadow I recognize as a young guy, Bouygues Telecom uniform, carbon Trek Madone. He shifts feverishly hearing me approaching. I follow in his tracks, wait for the right time, then take off fast, too fast. I don't want to give him a chance to respond, and I push as hard as I can and more. I feel have started too far from the finish line, my heart at 180, my lungs explode: I just hope he's nowhere behind me. I finally see Monday's finish line with relief, then I stop to catch my breath and wait for my instant competitor to say bonjour. It's just too much fun.

Le Tourmalet

Tourmalet

So did I give up? I prefer to think that I postponed the challenges to better enjoy them. After all, competition was never the top of my priorities.

Yesterday I rode down to Luz Saint-Saveur to climb back up to the top of the Tourmalet. All they say about European mountains is true. I don't think I'll be able to ride again in Southern California without thinking what a pitiful comparison our local climbs are to all this. The green, the raging streams in the middle of summer, even the occasional sheep in the road contributed to the tough, spectacular climb up to the 2115 summit. After the descent it took me about 20 minutes to find the right rhythm, which I kept almost to the top, happily passing quite a few locals in the process. Every kilometer a sign announced the distance to the sommet and the average grade. On this side of the Tourmalet the climb is quite constant and easy, usually around 7%, with a few kilometers at 8-9% and a glorious last kilometer at 10%. It took me about 1:40 minutes to realize I was at the top and still ready for more. Too bad it was lunch time and I had to ride back.

Lanterne rouge

And we're off
Originally uploaded by amawby75

What a comedy of errors! I spent six months preparing myself athletically and forgot to make a couple of essential six-minute purchases.

Don't misunderstand me: it was fun, immensely fun, even in the disgrace the day began as.

The night did not go very well. In fact I'm positive I did not close eye for longer than a couple of minutes. And I wasn't the only one: at least a couple of veterans of many battles in our group suffered from the same event-induced insomnia. However, as they said, it's not so important how much one sleeps the night before the event, if enough sleep has been enjoyed in the previous week. Unfortunately, I am not doing well on that front as well, having traveled through quite a few timezones just a few days earlier. Yet that proved to be the least of my problems.

The endless night goes at the rhythm by thunder and lightning. No, the weather was not going to be that good. At sunrise, only a light drizzle salutes the early riders. At 6AM it's time to decide: vest or rain jacket? I go for the vest, considering the previous days of heat. The drizzle will just dry off while climbing under the sun, right? Wrong: while in the pen with other 8500 riders, waiting to start for over an hour, rain starts pouring. We curse the sky, but to no avail. We can't leave or go back now, we're locked in by metal gates waiting our turn to start. People leave in batches of 1000. I have bib number 7170. The rain keeps falling. I suffer in silence. It takes just a few minutes to realize the full extent of the "colder than hell" expression. I realize there is only one way out: after starting, pedal full speed back to the hotel, then back to the race to avoid the feared broom wagon. Yes, because as I found out, my high bib number has another unfortunate consequence: leaving at 7:30 or so leaves only 10 minutes advantage over the dreaded fin de la course.

I literally fly back, adding already a few extra kilometers to the long day ahead. Then I rush back passing the extremely unlucky, those who got all the way here to be eliminated in the first mile due to a flat. Me, I only have myself to blame so far. I'm going super fast, catching up with all the stragglers. But I'm still cold. Even if now protected by the rain jacket I am completely soaked underneath. Worse, my feet are protected only by very light socks, and are drowning in the well ventilated shoes I so appreciated during the Mulholland Challenge. Why didn't I bring my shoe covers? Because, as many other spoiled Sou Cal riders, I own none, nor would I ever ride if such implements where actually needed. But the lack those cheap pieces of nylon could change the course of this gray rainy day. Soon enough every descent will chill me to the bone, and at some point I'll stop feeling my toes.

Yet I'm rocking and rolling to the first hill at Rébénacq, explored a couple of days before, and I catch up with a couple of hundred of the slowest, hungover, invalid and misguided, imagining the broom wagon losing more and more terrain. Old ladies and children defied the weather, standing at the window or along the route cheering and applauding the riders, shouting "bon courage." I'll never forget them or thank them enough. "Yes," I think, "I'll make it!"

Then everything stops.

A couple of accidents in the next few kilometers stop the gruppetto in its tracks for ten minutes or so. I feel my advantage evaporate while the unfortunate victims are picked up by the ambulances. It gets worse: really slow people are descending carelessly on the wet pavement, way above their demonstrated skill level. The group however is spread thin enough that it's easy to avoid the worst elements, and pass them easily at the next hill.

The weather does not improve. When I get to Lourdes, I know I won't make it much further. It would be crazy to climb the Tourmalet in my condition: I'm already shacking for the cold, and there are nine degrees more than the reported three on top of the pass. After all, I'll be in the Hautes Pyrenées for an entire week, and I'll be able to take my chances with the mythical climbs then, if I don't catch my death today, that is. "Live to ride another day," I think, cutting to Argeles-Gazost to the arrival hotel, dreaming of the hot shower that will put an end to this unfortunate, but ultimately epic day.

Le jour avant

Things are not made easier by the news back home. The Gap Fire is lighting up old Goleta, and a mandatory evacuation order is pending for people one block away from my house. The level of anxiety is also not improved by watching a couple of mass crashes in the first stage of the tour in Brittany. Needless to say, stress is not the athlete's best sleeping aid.

The sun has disappeared behind a thick curtain of clouds, and the forecast for tomorrow are uncertain, but mostly bad. Sure, it's nice to avoid the heat while climbing the Tourmalet, but the cold, slippery descent might not compensate for it. After all I train in Sou Cal: when it rains, if it rains at all, we do the easy thing: we stay home!

Everything is ready: bike, clothes, food and supplements. Will I be as ready when the time comes?

Recon

The second day is dedicated to general preparation and recon. After breakfast, however, the first thing we do is play tourists and take in the atmosphere of the place. Pau is a great little town, amazingly green, with a remarkable Chateau where Henry IV was born. As the legend goes, his father right after birth touched his lips with garlic, which made him grimace, then with a drop of the Jurançon, the local, sweet wine, which made him smile. A true king was born. I would have liked more the garlic perhaps roasted on a tartine and accompanied by some red St. Emilion, but on the other hand I'm definitely not that in favor of monarchy.

After lunch I pedaled to the Pau Hippodrome, which hosted the Welcome Village for the Etape. A welcome made of music, blinding sun, and lots of extremely expensive bike accessories: definitely a step up in quality and three steps up in price from any US cycling event. It's hot and humid, and this makes the 50 kilometers recon that follows not entirely pleasant, making me worry about riding in the heat for day of the Etape. Following the advice of local cyclists I explored the first few crowded miles of the course, including the surprise turn and climb at Rébénacq, notorious for claiming unsuspecting victims in group rides. Aside from the heat and humidity, nothing seems out of the ordinary, and I can't wait to ride all this without the obnoxious traffic and diesel exhausts that accompany all my ride.

In Pau

One remarkable thing about the Etape experience has been meeting lots of great people along the way. Yesterday, I spent my first hours in France reassembling Aida out of the Trico Sports Iron case that miraculously brought her intact all the way to Pau. While assembling the bike in a Euro-size hotel room was easier than I imagined, I definitely wanted an expert to take a look at the result. I took a quick tour of the city, also to find a decent pump to bring the tires to the correct running pressure, and to work out the jet-lag with some pedal-pumping.

I stopped by chance at CYCLES DANIEL PLANAS (un pro à votre service: 41, Rue Castetnau, Pau, 05 59 27 50 42). A former pro and all-around nice guy, Daniel kindly checked my bike and fixed the play in the fork my hasty assembly of the headset had left. I ended up spending more than an hour in the store, meeting local cyclists, chatting and learning more about the Etape, its pièges, tricks and tips for the ride. One ocean and some away from home, it was very nice to feel so welcome and to meet other cyclists ready to take on the mountains.

And the cyclists are coming in droves: yesterday, the small plane that took us from Paris to Pau was full of them. All looked like your average Joe, until the baggage carousel started unloading a dozen bicycle cases for rouleurs of all ages and fitness level. Cycling is in the air here, even our chubby cabbie wen on about the Etape, the roads and expectations for Sunday's event as well as the imminent start of the Tour de France.

Les jeux sont faits

This is it!

Yesterday I pedaled today my last 100 or so kilometers. Wednesday I finally leave for France. There is not much left to say: I'm packing my things, starting with bike and accessories, hoping it won't suffer too much on the trip.

Whatever happens, it was totally worth it. Training for the Etape was a great, rewarding experience in itself: the sense of achievement, the pure pleasure of feeling one's body starting to perform better and better, and pain and fatigue subsiding to the pure pleasure of the ride.

A big thank you to Gio, Jiro, Charles, Elke, Bob, everyone else I rode with these months, and of course Laura, who kept me very well fed: without her, none of this would have been more than a fleeting fantasy.

Why am I doing it

One of the reasons why this blog exists is, of course, to make sure I don’t back down. It is all here, visible to the public, and no matter if people read it or not, the fact of having written it somehow seals the pact with myself.

When I tell people about what I intend to do in twenty-one days, I generally get two kinds of reaction. One is a wide mouthed “cool, I so wish I could do that.” The other form of reaction is perplexity: why would you or anybody else do something so tiring/crazy/senseless. Here, I would like to address the second group. And for once I will not talk about pedaling cadence, sweat and electrolyte balance.

First, the difficulty or senselessness of the upcoming event is just a matter of perspective. There are of course several much more tiring enterprises. For instance I have a friend who would like to enter the next Brest-Paris-Brest, an inhumane 1200 km, 90 hours limit randonnée. It is clearly possible, that participants to that event might be amazing athletes, but that's not the point. What rather impresses me is the dream of something bigger, something above one's given possibilities that allows to emerge free from the the bog of everyday life, from routine or from daily frustration. It is shaping one's life, in a process similar to creating something new, even if for just a moment. Something that will brand one's memory with the flame of glorious effort. The outcome might be successful or not, but the real miracle are the energies mobilized in the quest to attain something previously impossible.

We live in the illusion as an ascending parabola, sometimes mistaking our career for our actual life. The contrary is true: the older we get the more we substitute the institutionalized goals of rank and money for real life, often just to fill the void. And not everyone has a meaningful career, or actually any serious perspective to raise in any sort of hierarchy. Some might even have struggled with their physical limits, or had to give up on what they loved to do, their damaged bodies incapable to keep up. But if there is one thing I learned in this country, is to never give up without a fight. This will to continue, to find different avenues of self-assertion is perhaps the only cultural treasure here, the only surviving gem of real or imagined epic times. It is in the eyes of the immigrant worker, blinded by the sun in the fields, or in the powerful arms of the disabled athletes, who sometimes ride alongside me, propelled forward by pure willpower.

And if there is one thing I learned during my otherwise disastrous high school years, is what Machiavelli wrote in "Il Principe":

"A wise man ought always to follow the paths beaten by great men, and to imitate those who have been supreme, so that if his ability does not equal theirs, at least it will savour of it. Let him act like the clever archers who, designing to hit the mark which yet appears too far distant, and knowing the limits to which the strength of their bow attains, take aim much higher than the mark, not to reach by their strength or arrow to so great a height, but to be able with the aid of so high an aim to hit the mark they wish to reach."
-- Niccolò Machiavelli, Il Principe, Chapter 6: Concerning New Principalities Which Are Aquired by One's Own Arms and Ability

And that is, very simply, why I am doing it. I am just aiming high.

Back with a vengeance (well, almost!)

It’s nice, no, nice doesn’t cut it... it’s great to be back training once more. After the two weekshttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif setback I’m taking things slowly, planning to build up until the end of the month, then absolute rest to get through the long trip to Europe in one piece. I’m riding hills, from challenging to serious, twice a week. Wednesdays I ride the classic Old San Marcos Pass, pretty much the official Goleta climbing gym. Right around the corner, the old stagecoach road is always there to challenge anyone with two wheels and a desire for quick intense workout. I always feel bad for the poor horses that had to pull people up there: the climb to the pass is short but intense, 3.45 miles, 1253 feet or about 7% average, with a couple of steeper points. If that is not enough, just crossing the 154 offers many more miles of ascent, to Painted Cave first, then following the aptly named Camino Cielo all the way to La Cumbre Peak, the highest point in the Santa Barbara area.

So yesterday I went for the full monty: climbing up from the other side, Gibraltar Road, our mini Tourmalet. The real climbing starts right after the Santa Barbara Mission, but Gibraltar proper is an amazing (and amazingly poorly paved) stretch of road that gives access to the backcountry, hand-glider diving spots and even what looks like a still populated hippy commune from the days gone by. The climb is best performed with cooler weather, but it is doable year round. I measured 8.54 miles for 3067 feet of ascent, with an average 6.8% slope. Riding Camino Cielo was amazingly refreshing, ocean breezes blowing all the way to the top of the mountains, steep slopes on both sides of the road definitely inspiring the empowering feeling of riding on top of the world. And once the adrenaline rush of the 40mph descent is over, one would like no better than going back for more.

Restarting (almost) from scratch

I'm back after two weeks of very low mileage and short bursts of activity. Today I climbed San Marco Pass after a quick 30 miler yesterdays above Montecito. Looking at my stats I feel like I'm back in March. Definitely not good, with 35 days to the big event and counting. I'm planning a slow, structured comeback, making really sure not to injure myself again, and also trying not to overplan, to leave some space to sensations on the bike, the feedback from my legs and everything else. I think I have to re-learn how to climb. Little by little, one hill at a time.

Refocusing

After the last week, having been forced to eat humble pie, I'm revisiting my goals. I have unfortunately to scratch the Ojai Valley Century from my plans. I will try again next year. This year it's just too important to get to the Pyrenees in good shape, if not at peak condition. Let's face reality: my body is too fragile to take repeated abuse. Even if I would love to have an additional 100 miler in my legs, recovering and doing specific training now is too important. Another week off would definitely decrease my chances to finish in Hautacam.

Back to studying and preparing for the long climbs, starting with this video (and more specific ones) I just received from Cycle Films:

Cyclosportive Survival Guide - Climbing

Colnago vince!

Not the first time in this Giro, but definitely the most spectacular stage with Emanuele Sella's amazing heart-breaking (in more ways than one) performance.

I'm in!

I checked, and I'm indeed listed among the participants to the Ètape:

Not that there was any doubt, but just in case. It's the classic "I'm not dreaming" pinch of reality. Forty-nine days to the event, as revealed by the classic countdown widget that I added to the blog page.

I', more than a little undecided on what to do next. This week I am still recovering from last Saturday's century so I went for 52 easy miles along the coast. It's getting warmer here, and in two weeks the appointment is with the Ojai Valley Century, that goes from the cool coastline up in the sometimes scorching inland. More prolonged hill climbing is definitely in my near future, and the Ojai Century will definitely have some of that, although on much reduced scale from my ultimate goals.

Cruisin' the Conejo

Cruisin' the Conejo 2

This is a first. For the first time, I had fun pedaling for 100 miles in the Cruisin' the Conejo event. No, the course wasn’t that great, we had to stop at what it felt like a 100 signal lights in the suburban mall & condo nightmare that is Thousand Oaks. For a while, however, we revisited the Santa Monicas, climbing up to Mullholland drive then down a steep roller coaster descent. Long stretches among the fields and unending climbs back to Moorpark and then to the starting point completed the day. Yet, even if only half of the course had worthwhile views, climbs and twisties , it was a glorious day, mostly spent passing other people, which definitely adds to the fun.

We started fast, but not as fast as a group of middle aged riders wearing a light blue Amgen jersey. They were fairly organized, and took off after a little while. We had to let them go, feeling their rhythm was unwise at seven in the morning, having several hours of riding ahead, and some of the worst climbs after twenty miles or so. It was with great satisfaction of course that I met all of them again twelve miles from the arrival. They did not look so fast then, but still traveled as a group in the flats passing me and clogging the road ahead at the first hint of a hill. After the recent Saturday event I don’t feel really comfortable riding in a group of obviously tired people whose overall riding skills are unknown. After a couple of replays of the same game, I just could not stand it anymore, and went around to pass them all uphill. I raced down the other side, never looking back, grabbed a couple of green lights and they were gone forever.

I’m adding one additional 100 miler to the training program, but the focus though May and June will be hill climbing. Today, muscles are sore, but I can’t wait to put my rear end on the saddle and my feet on the pedals: must be a good sign!

It's not about the bike?

I blame Lance Armstrong, or at least the title of his autobiography. Yes, you might be able to do anything with willpower, but some good genetics is fundamental for success, and lacking that, preparation might definitely help. But it’s not about the bike: many seem to think that they can participate in a bike event with whatever piece of metal the kids left in the garage. Sometimes some obviously large amount of money has been spent, but on things whose value in the situation of a century of sub-century event seem pointless, if not even self-destructive.

Today we cruised pleasantly up and down the mountains all morning before crossing path again with the sub-century riders. Around a corner, a traitorous hill was waiting for us, and them. Suddenly we cam across a crowd of bizarrely-attired cyclists who had left the pedals and were pushing the bikes uphill, with us slaloming among the slow movers intent in their walk of shame. Many of these were riding with multiple packs, which I imagined containing changes of clothing or perhaps overnight bags. How much stuff do you really need to bring along a fully assisted thirty miles ride? Apparently a lot. A lady had come with a spanking new and obviously expensive cruiser, with a harley-style seat with silver studs probably heavier than my whole bike. Somebody should have explained to her that the seat size needs to be proportional to the sit bones, not to her rather generous behind. Then Gandalf, white beard and an incredibly expensive Rivendell machine with loads of really classy bags. There’s at least one in every century, sweating uphill yet swearing on the superiority of expensive steel bikes. Then people with regular road bikes walking along their ride equipped with a 53-39. If you can’t push a 39 on a steep hill (and believe me, I understand that very well), why not spending the bike money on a compact, or better, a triple. Most cheap entry level bikes sport three chainrings for a reason: if you haven’t biked much, that third ring will come in useful in cases like this.

Of course my hero is Mike Rotch. No, this is not his real name: it refers to a funny episode from my last century event and an even funnier misunderstanding. Mike rides a tri-bike. He’s a veteran of many battles, but for some reason thinks that the forward position with a solid disc wheel in the back. The ideal on long hills and steep descents on uncertain pavement! He pedaled with an odd, wide legw position, that might be the result of his antics.

But we sure did not see him walk, and I definitely wish to have his stamina, and courage, at his age.

Pain

Pain is doubt.

Doubting one's actual capabilities. Doubting of having made the best choices.

Saturday we pedaled the perfect ride in view of next weekend's century. Sixty miles of moderately challenging hills and relatively low-traffic roads, from Santa Barbara to the top of Casitas Pass and back. We call this the "simmetrica" due to the shape of the elevation chart:


Usually I like rides that develop into loops, I hate riding the same way back and forth. But this one is special and fun, and the best hills acquire a definite sense of novelty when climbing up from the opposite direction. On top of Casitas pass, colored writing on the asphalt still cheers for Steve Cozza, George Hincapie and Paolo Bettini from the recent Amgen Tour of California. It's just a great place to be, to stop for a second or two, admire the amazing landscape, the emerald-colored lake below, before diving down the hill again and start the second half of the effort.

Less exciting is waking up with lumbar pain the day after. The body can respond with pain when something is wrong, but what? Too much effort? Too low a saddle? Something completely unrelated? Muscle pain is good, brings back the memory of the glorious effort and tells of future even greater endeavors. Back pain is insidious, and hard to deal with, especially with an event approaching. Even at low intensity or controlled by anti-inflammatory medication it makes its presence continually known, and throws additional fuel on the fire of doubt.

Things I learned yesterday

1. Do not eat a leek & spaghetti omelet before a century (sure there might be people who'd advise never to eat such a concoction ever again)
2. Do not plan your future when climbing up under the sun to the even more scorching pass
3. Doing a self-supported century us much harder than an organized one, even when the organization is poor.
4. Heat kills. OK, I did not learn that directly, but I had a feeling that it's not too unlikely to just step over the tipping point
5. If you can't choose the weather, take your time, pace yourself carefully.

The course:

Virtual Etape

Cycling.tv has posted an excellent Rider's Guide to the Ultimate Sportive (note: if the link does not work click on "Video on Demand," and look among the free2view selection). And the "ultimate sportive" is of course none less than this year's Etape du Tour!

It's still winter in the Pyrenees and the Cycling TV team previews this year's course talking about gearing, nutrition, allocating one's energies to be able to finish the course. The two main climbs are detailed, as well as the two preliminary ones.

With the Tourmalet climb being the main event of the day and therefore somewhat "accounted for" in everybody's mind, there are two things that emerge from the video. First, the Tourmalet descent will be scarier, and much longer than the recent experience descending Deer Creek (although pavement could hardly be worse, unless completely absent). In the video of course the snow and ice still present on that side of the mountain make things seem probably a little worse than they will be with the summer in full bloom. Second, the final climb to Hautacam will probably be the hardest bit: all happening in the last 15 kilometers with relatively steep terrain and probably very little left in the legs. Clearly that will be the time to go down to the 34x25, but time is also a factor: the organization has posted the course with the elimination times. In other words, "just making it" won't cut it this time, least suffer the indignity of the voiture balai.

How to train for something like this? Short of arriving in loco a couple of months earlier to try out the course, the best that I can imagine doing is to do multiple centuries at a steady pace, interspersed with extended climbing weekends. After working on my "base" for four months, and sweating my way up and down the Santa Monicas in the Mulholland Challenge, it's finally the time for the serious miles.

Entwined

I make a point to stop along my daily bike commute take in the details of the world we live in. Every day there something new, or something old and usual that sparkles in new light. In the good season, there's an old lady sitting on the porch of her trailer. Sometimes she knits, always wrapped up in a heavy winter coats. She's there when I bike by in the morning, she's there when I come back in the afternoon. More than once I have seen vultures praying, sitting on top of a pole spreading their wings to salute the sun.

Sometimes I take pictures, never enough, I never seem to have my camera when something cool happens. I love bicycling as it renew the physical contact with the outside, something that most car drivers have long forgot, anesthetized in their airtight cabs, their brain stunned by bubblegum muzak. How much do they miss of their lives?

Today I was flying down the bike path, wind in my favor, when I saw a cyclist, stopped on the side of the narrow ribbon of asphalt that crosses the once glorious Goleta slough. I glanced in passing to figure out what he was looking at, and soon I was braking and doing a quick about-face. Non two yards from the bike path, two gopher snakes were mating, dancing, the entwined lovers moved slowly in the grass, twisting more and more around each other, their tongues flicking, looking for each other. I had never seen anything like that "live". Beautiful, and surprisingly tender, in an unexpectedly wild way. Soon people started to stop and see what was going on, observing at a distance, talking about their own reptilian encounters. Try doing that on 101.

But the biggest difference is in feeling truly alive, our hunting genes being satisfied by the physical exertion, our natural curiosity by the sheet beauty of every day's discovery.

"I never feel that I am inspired unless my body is also. It too spurns a tame and commonplace life. They are fatally mistaken who think, while they strive with their minds, that they may suffer their bodies to stagnate in luxury or sloth. A man thinks as well through his legs and arms as his brain." -- Henry David Thoreau

Evening ride

I have always loved daylight savings time. As a kid, I remember adults hating to have to change their habits, one miserable hour lost until Fall. They sounded like they had lost their wallet, or something irreplaceable. For me it was freedom, spring, coming out all of a sudden of the endless gloomy northern Italian winter. Finally we were walking back to school with plenty of light left to play. Soon enough school would be over, it would be the time when the carnival hit town. That's when the very taste of air changed to a melange of warm air, poplar pollen and brittle from the nearby carnival. Night would not fall until way past our official bedtime.

I still greatly enjoy extra long days, but I have always considered myself a morning rider. Mornings feel so full of hope: the air is fresh, the body well rested, the mind still to asleep to rebel against the perspective exertion. The day lays ahead, virtually unlimited. As time goes by, it will be warmer, perhaps the sun will burn through the marine layer and, like somebody said there will be light. After work rides are fun and relaxing, but the feeling is quite different. I have already given my best to a thankless job, the sun is seriously thinking about splashing down in the ocean and the air is getting cooler by the minute. One has to think about returning before it gets too dark and dangerous for bikes that shed all those heavy lights or reflectors.

Maybe there's an underlying metaphor to this feeling. Sitting now comfortably in the warmth afternoon of life I might be pedaling down the slope of experience, but I pretty much know what lies ahead. Better pedal a little faster, to get where I want to be there on time, just before dusk.

Recovery week

I considered this past week a recovery time after last saturday's Mulholland Challenge. My efforts were directed simply towards having fun on the bike, low mileage (112) and fun sprints and climbs.

Reminding myself about the fun factor is an essential intermediate stage. I remember last season, feeling exhausted after a horrible century experience, and even hating my bike. Certainly my old bike was a lot easier to hate than my current dream ride. What I tried to do this season is to build up gradually my strength and resistance. I am almost done with my first objective, with over 1500 base miles (almost 2500km). Now the season can begin in earnest.

I have two century events coming up in May, and I will have to add more climbing-specific training. I'm more than a little worried about the long and intense Pyrenees climbs, so I plan to find something equivalent around here, and work on that front. Clearly altitude will be a problem: after sixteen years at sea-level even six thousand feet might feel heavy.

One problem at a time. Meanwhile, I'll be enjoying the following yoga routine:

Myths

I remember a couple of years ago, following the endless Tour scandals, a friend from my younger days dropped an email. He pointed out the most recent scandal, and candidly asked me if I was also doping, given my passion for anything bicycle related. I was amused, but also thought cycling had been really hit hard (and some might say unfairly, compared to other sports) if now the public connected pedaling with doping rather than extreme fun. At the time of course I pointed my friend to the website for my favorite form of doping.

I still think it's better to laugh about it, so here's my favorite (warning: politically incorrect) song from last summer:

EPO TE QUIERO - LAPLAGE
Uploaded by laplagerecords

L'Ivresse des Sommets

Imagine yourself trying to keep your heartbeat in check, yet having to keep your pedaling rhythm up an impossible hill. You are dehydrated, your legs are tired from previous climbing, so the effort sends your cardiac muscle in overdrive, your breath gets shorter, you lose your timing. It’s not the hill the enemy, or at least, that’s a static adversary: it does not move under your wheels, it does not strike you when you are not paying attention. The bike, if it’s a good bike, is a good ally, responding appropriately to your every movement.

It’s 96F, and all you hear is the beat of your heart in your ears, the heat coming up from the asphalt almost intolerable. There are people walking their bikes. One stopped in front of a locked gate to lay down in the shade. You ask them if they are OK, then you focus back on your battle. The fight, you realize it by now, it’s with yourself. It’s the purest form of martial art, the ultimate control. If you give up, you lose. If you ask too much of yourself, you lose even more. You count the money in the bank, every calorie, every ounce of strength, every drop of water you have left in your bottles. You count, or sing a song in your head that soon begins to irritate you. A crow caws its welcome. You are not dead yet, you explain, come pick me up after the next turn. There is always a next turn, you have been climbing since the beginning of the century, the past one. But one of those turns, you know, it’s the magical one, the one that turns defeat into victory, or at least so needed temporary relief.

You need to slow down. You tell the crow, you tell the lady walking her bike who thinks already that you are crazy or hallucinating, a sunstroke victim or a fanatic, or both. You need to slow down to go faster. You don’t need speed, not now, you need constant velocity, and fuel. You slow down, not enough to bring the heartbeat down below the threshold. That’s OK, that’s all you can do, keep it as slow as you can, and keep moving, power through the next turn, it gets just a little steeper, but don’t overdo it.

Then the last turn is there, you see the green of the valley beyond, it’s rolling hills to the next stop, just a quick one to fill your bottles, to put your head under the faucet if you’re lucky and there is one. But there is so much more than fresh water in you now. You were dead , and now you are reborn. You were lost and forlorn, and now you are in love with life. You were almost defeated, but you triumphed. It’s Eros and Thanatos the cycle of life and death just within every determined individual’s grasp.

And soon enough you’ll dart towards the bottom of the valley, hugging the turns, the landscape merging into one green blur.

Things I learned today

Climbin'

1. Don't think the guy in front of you knows what he's doing
   
2. If the guy is actually a girl, she might know, but she's too slow uphill and you have to pass her anyway
   
3. It's not about the legs. It's about the neck, the back. Work on those!
   
4. Potassium pills work! Or at least, they work for me, and results were absolutely amazing. They gave me a couple these and I took up the scariest hill like I just swallowed Super Goof Goobers. That stuff should be illegal. But seriously, I just realized today how a small thing like lack of electrolytes (of perhaps just of the right kind) can make a huge difference.
5. Avoid Planet Ultra events. I'm sorry to say, they are (almost all) nice people, well meaning, but the organization was, at best, amateurish. That does not work well with an extreme challenge, set in remote areas with no cell reception. Running out of water before the major and hottest climb of the day simply cannot happen: even if it did, drive fast to the closest supermarket, buy all the water bottle stock, come back. And maybe hire people and volunteers who can give directions and have some idea of the area.
   
6. Do not ride a time trial bike in a century, especially something like this. Try something less rigid and with more than one riding position available. If you insist on riding such a bike, try at least to restrain yourself from rushing into the arrival area shouting "my crotch, my crotch!" I'm sorry for the poor crotch-damaged guy, but it was just too funny to hear the painful cry and watching everyone present pretending nothing had happened.
   

Packin'

I’m on my way to the first century of the season. This one will also have to count as the one "mountain event" towards my preparation for the Tourmalet, if nothing else because we miss serious mountains around here. More climbing-specific training will follow of course, but this will probably be only mountain event with organization and assistance. I'm aiming relatively low, 100km or 12,000 feet would be an excellent result before bailing out.

More details on Sunday, if I survive of course.

Meanwhile, I’m working on my packing list for a century.

• Cycling gloves (can't ride without these)
• Cycling shoes, socks (several, you never know)
  
• Helmet, headbands
• Clothing: variety of jerseys, bibs
  
• Vest & rain jacket (the forecast says warm & toasty, but I'll be out pedaling at 7AM, when the sun barely woke up)
  
• Arm warmers (easier to pull out that long sleeve anything)
  
• Water Bottles (no camelbacks, in spite of what the organization says, I hate riding with them)
  
• Food: gels, dried fruit, energy bars (they will be handing these out too, but there's really no substitute for food one is used to).
  
• Extra packets of cytomax (again, that’s what I’m used to drink and one does not want to switch the day of the century. I plan to go for water jug only).
• Cycle computer +Heart rate monitor strap (more than any other day, better to keep things in check).
  
• Sunglasses
• Sunscreen
• Safety ID Tag (to ID the corpse, if need be)
  
• Post Event Snack, a few gallons of water, flip flops, some very comfy clothing to wear afterwards
• Extra tubes, allen wrenches for last minute checks/fixes
• Floor pump
  

Undoubtedly, the most important item will come to mind once far enough from home to prevent a double-take. But whatever that is, it'll sure make the list next time!

Hastily added to the list:

• Map to get to departure
• Other documents (hotel reservation, proof of registration in the event)
• Chamois cream
• Lube (these last two items sound quite hilarious together, so I will specify that the lube is for bicycle chain and parts)

And the last minute duh:

• One should remember to load the bike, if any riding at all needs to occur!
  

Riding the Clouds

Look Kéo Carbon

Il giorno fu pieno di lampi;
ma ora verranno le stelle

Saturday I was riding the clouds, going as fast as I could, yet taking the time to look around, trying to be aware of every sound besides my labored breath while climbing the Carpinteria and Santa Barbara foothills. A low hanging marine layer wrapped the coastline in a cold embrace. I just left the bike shop where I had the bike going through it’s first check up. The rear wheel needed minor truing, the slightly defective right brake lever was swapped with a replacement one. And finally, my Look Kéo Carbon pedals were in, making Aida finally complete. Bike perfectly in tune, super light pedals really gave me the feeling of pedaling through air, it was too perfect, too easy, I had to introduce an element of suffering in the equation: I had to make it worth it.

Climbing up Romero Canyon, comfortably seated for once, I kept wondering why. Why do we do this? Middle aged men, challenging our failing bodies, gearing up to defy the inevitable? Or simply living our life to the max now that we have understood that, perhaps, not too soon we hope, there might be an end to the good days?
Are we trying to prove something, are we just trying to forget our dead end careers? Somehow I don’t think it is so simple. A few of us have done this forever, our challenge to ordinary life has been going on as long as we can remember. I believe our bodies know more than we consciously, do, influenced by upbringing, set in our often absurd and wasteful ways. Once we were warriors, hunters and gatherers. We ran, lived in the delicate balance of having enough calories to gather more with all means possible. Striving that balance, I believe, is still the key to well-being. Not everybody understands that, not everybody is able to leave their sheltered zone of comfort to challenge their bodies they way they love to be challenged. The fact of being, perhaps, a minority does not imply being the anomaly, quite the contrary actually.

I can see the lack of challenge it among the self-destructive, among the mall dwellers. Their compulsory habits, their forgetting their bodies destroying them or draping pretty new colored things, like that could reshape what they have long neglected. Some think acquiring as many symbols of material comfort as possible, their eyes sparkling in search of further prefabricated excitement.

So I did feel a little guilty sitting on my new bike, and thus pedaled just a little harder

Blood

After the previous day happy strolling up and down the Santa Barbara foothills, I was not sure if I wanted to head out in the morning fog to join the usual coffee group ride. As it turns out, it might have been a good idea to stay in bed. Or perhaps not, as I might have missed learning something along the way.

There were just four of us at the usual meeting place, the others involved in a group ride out of town just a few did not know about. I already had the 8 miles from home to the rendez-vous point in my legs, and that felt extremely good. The air was damp and mildly cold, at least relatively to what passes as cold at these latitudes. We took off along the usual route, and little by little the group swelled to 15 or so, some known faces, many unknown. But it wasn’t the same as usual, the pace was slower than average, but the stop and go much more frequent than usual. I came to realize that much later, busy as I was pushing on my new pedals and enjoying my new plushy ride. In retrospective, what I think happened is that we were missing the people who usually hold the group together, force the pace up maintaining a constant speed and serve as good role models keeping straight lines in turbulent sprinting situations.

We race up and down Hope Ranch and later on Foothills as any other Sunday, then we get to the infamous sprint zone on Cathedral Oaks. I’m surprised I can easily keep up-- but it’s not just the new bike. And it’s probably a good thing I’m unusually up ahead rather than in the middle of the peloton. I catch the wheel of a veteran, hopeful that he’ll provide good guidance.

How wrong I was.

I’m not able to recount what happened, a fact that I find mildly scary in itself. Somebody crossed somebody else’s path, they braked, somehow I move out of the way. Somebody else did not brake or find an escape route fast enough. Wheels touched, then the terrifying noise of bikes and bodies hitting the asphalt at 30 mph, rolling and crashing again. There was no time to scream.

Then somebody calls the crash, we’re stopping, turning around watchful for cars, the wide emergency lane we ride in this area is a real blessing. I drop my bike in the soft grass off the road. Three riders down, laying across the pavement. One landed on his face, there’s blood all over the road. They are in shock, Lycra torn and road rash showing through. One rider, Joe, we were talking just a few minutes before is down badly, banged up and bloody. Cars are stopping, a few people come out. Before riders start chatting on the cell phones with the emergency responders, there is silence on the road, just for a few instants. It’s 10 am, the sun is behind the fallen riders, and it all looks so tragically beautiful and unfair.

A very Euro experience 2: Revenge of the Airlines

There are indeed differences between the former new and the old old world.

I called Delta a few weeks ago in order to check on carrying my bike overseas and back. Yes sir, no problem sir. No one really knows anything, but at least in theory everything is possible.

The first leg of the trip, however, is with partner Air France. I check with them as well, since from previous investigations, their policies were quite different, and transportation possibly more expensive. I had been told "just call back when you have a ticket," and, as the exemplary citizen that I am I did just that. I called back. Everybody is extremely nice on the phone. But no one really knows anything, and nothing is possible, without asking first authorization from Paris. You would think I wanted to carry a car, a steamboat or a concert piano.

But on this bicycle, AirFrance central will need to be consulted. I can't avoid imagining my incredible request trickling up to PDG Jean-Cyril Spinetta, who in consultation with First Madame Carla Bruni will decide on the fate of my unusual claim.
"Un velo??? C'est rouge???"
Let's hope they don't think it's a socialist bike.

Stay tuned.

Carbon Dreams 3: the gory details

Aida's components, for bike geeks only:

• Frame & Fork: 2007 Colnago Cristallo
• Headset by Colnago.
• Stem by FSA, as well as the K-Wing carbon handlebar
  
• Gruppo: mostly Campagnolo Centaur, Record chain, Chorus Carbon crankset, compact (50-34). I matched it to 11-25 cassette. I have opted for a 11, which according to Sheldon Brown's online gear calculator http://sheldonbrown.com/gears/ is more or less equivalent to a 53x12, while the compact option shall reveal itself useful for the upcoming climbing indigestion.
• Wheels: Campagnolo Neutron. Absolutely gorgeous. Period.
• Seatpost: Campagnolo Chorus
• Seat: Selle Italia SLK. I have a saddle from Selle Italia on almost all my bikes, and so far it’s the best match I found for the most important part of my body.

Final Weight: 17.8 with everything, including the old anvil-heavy pedals, soon to be replaced with new Keo Carbon. And here are some images from the building, and the final result:

Carbon Dreams 2: sometimes dreams come true

Se quel guerrier Io fossi!
se il mio sogno S'avverasse!...
Un esercito di prodi
Da me guidato... e la vittoria...
e il plauso Di Menfi tutta!
E a te, mia dolce Aida,
Tornar di lauri cinto...
Dirti: per te ho pugnato,
per to ho vinto!

When I bought my previous road bike, a few years back, I named it Non Sequitur to make sure it would be the last one I would ever spend money on. As it often happens in my life, I can once more shout “how wrong I was!” I could even sing it, over and over, perhaps to a Verdi tune.

A couple of weeks ago, in occasion of my birthday, my wife Laura made me an offer I could not refuse: I had to stop whining about my lack of a decent bike, forever and ever. In exchange, she’d match whatever I wanted or could spend: simply shutting my big mouth would basically double my purchasing power. There was a small catch: the bike and mostly anything on it had to be Italian. My purchase power suddenly took a dive as steep as the dollar in the last months. Besides, I argued, where we would ever find somebody who actually stocks Italian bikes in beautiful but commercially impaired Santa Barbara?

Well, we couldn’t. Ironically, we had to drive just a few miles South to Carpinteria, an even smaller dot on the Southern California map. I had talked to the shop owner on the phone a few minutes before, printed out the usual Google Map, and yet we completely missed the place. I did see a shop with a funny banner sign.
Not that, I thought, looking at a wooden shack of perhaps 300 square feet, with a bunch of bicycles outside. Those are probably rentals for tourists, I concluded. Looking better, revealed a Colnago C-50 with a $10k sticker shock price. We were in the right place: Bikesmiths!

There we met owner and meccanico eccellente Jim Hopperstad. Jim helped us first by giving us a good idea of what a bike could be like, where to save money and where to splurge. We learned how much it would cost to build a reasonable dream bike, and how long it would take. Plus, he invited us to assist to the bike building work, having a chance to check it part by part, take picture, and hang out in one of the nicest and friendliest bike shops on the West Coast. At the end of the discussion we had a list of parts, and prices. This was too good to be true, I thought, and once more I was wrong. Once home, we remembered that we live in the Google era. We checked the assembly of a comparable bike on the web by some anonymous sale-by-mail shop. Jim was coming in cheaper, and this without even counting the fit, clearly something quite difficult to obtain via web.

After a few days we were back at Bikesmiths', ready for the start, and pomptly parts came out of the box and started assembling themselves like magic after dancing in the air. Ok, just kidding on that part, but barely so. On Jim’s invitation we had provided the soundtrack, 100% Giuseppe Verdi, in the hope that the music would seep through the carbon fiber and enter the very soul of the bicycle. It was a 1974 recording that did it for us, Placido Domingo and Montserrat Caballé, directed by Riccardo Muti. Hence the name of the red and black beauty that was taking shape under our very eyes: Aida.

Celeste Aida, forma divina.
Mistico serto di luce e fior,
Del mio pensiero tu sei regina,
Tu di mia vita sei lo splendor.
Il tuo bel cielo vorrei redarti,
Le dolci brezze del patrio suol;
Un regal serta sul crin posarti,
Ergerti un trono vicino al sol.
Celeste Aida, forma divina,
Mistico raggio di luce e fior

King of the Hill

Things to remember

It does not matter if I am the first one halfway through the hill. The only thing that matters is being the first one (or as close to as possible) at the top.

Corollary: slow down, save energy, don't get dropped later.

The 45 minutes midweek workout

If you are one of the few, crazy people who agree that having problems walking up the stairs to your office means that your early morning was well spent, well, I might just have the perfect workout for you.

This is an early season/beginner workout inspired by this magazine and this post. Actual times and sequence might have to change depending on the availability of appropriate terrain: I’m lucky enough to live very close to the foothills, so I have quick access to what I need to make this an approximately 45 minutes workout.

Phase 1: warm up
I warm up for about 15 minutes total, with high cadence, mostly flat road, then I climb a relatively steep hill not too fast, standing on the pedals, trying to get every muscle in my body involved and ready and my heart rate up. This first few miles also take me up to the training ground I found, in the Goleta foothills, where traffic is quite low in the morning hours. Climbing a relatively steep hill is also great to wake up and get ready for a workout: much better and faster acting even of the best Italian coffee.

Phase 2: strength training with uphill repeats For an absolute beginner (and a short workout) 3x1’ climbs up a steady 5-6% incline with 53x17. Low cadence is inevitable (if it’s not, you need a harder workout!), and I keep it up for a whole minute, with a two minutes or so recovery in-between. It’s great to do this on a quiet road, where you can just pull a u-turn when done, and cruise back downhill, spinning your legs to get rid of the bad stuff.

Chorus Carbon Compact Crankset: my next set of gears

Phase 3: cadence & speed At this point I cruise down the hill, get back on the flats, and pedal at high cadence (90-110) for 10-15 minutes on a 39-17 or equivalent. That’s more difficult than it sounds (well it is for me, at least) but it works very well as a follow up to the strength exercise, keeping the muscles warm and supple.

Phase 4: putting it all together for power
At this point I change direction and head back home, for the last 10 minutes or so. I switch back to the big ring and spin it as fast as possible, keeping a high cruising speed for the longest possible time. How fast and what gears you can use is up to you: write the numbers down and see if next week, or next month you can do better.

If you get home tired and feeling like you have accomplished something, this is already a success!

Carbon Dreams 1

Not finding or not being able to afford what I would like to ride, I find myself imagining the bike of my dreams. It’s a lucid dream, white on black as a negative image of my current rides, usually punctuated by many a kick in the ass from my current aluminum frame. My lovely bike, companion of so many miles it’s all but a lightweight. I think it could be a solid tourer, and indeed that’s probably what it was designed for. It sports a comfortable riding position, lending itself to upright sitting. It can easily fit 25mm tires and perhaps larger ones and has all the granny gears needed to go up long inclines with a moderate load.

What my bike definitely does not do is high speed. And, it’s not very maneuverable even compared with my commuter bike, a mid-nineties Giant Perigee: heavy chromoly steel, downtube shifters, but a wiser size choice than my current behemoth. I need a nimbler bike, possibly lighter and definitely more apt at soaking up the killer bumps that rock and sock me like an opening act pugilist.

After looking around and not finding anything I would really be interested in spending the little money I have in, I am quite inclined in having a bicycle built to spec. For me only, exactly the way I want it, the color I like it, with the parts I'd love to have and the custom fitting I need to be comfortable. I don’t want overly expensive or super light components, but I do want them to be of the kind I want (and need). Shallow drops that allow me to tuck down even with my limited flexibility. Light wheels to get even minimal (psychological?) help I need climbing without pushing my heart rate monitor into self-destruct mode. A compact crankset that will actually shift when I want and to the ring I want (beware of triples unless you are into touring and not really in a rush). And what a handlebar I can actually reach, resting comfortably on the brake hoods? That would be nice.

So I dream, and plan, and look around. A bike like the one below would be nice, if it did not break the bank (and I did not fear hearing the cheesy soundtrack for all my future rides).

The leader of the pack

The feeling of riding in a group is a unique experience. Dangerous sometimes, but always exhilarating. It's not just the opportunity to chat and get to meet other cyclists: it's something more purely physical, that does not have equal in most other sports. In cycling the pack is alive and dynamic. There's strategy and rivalry but also mutual help and support. Some of it is aerodynamics. But there is more.

Every ride is different, with its unique story. The race to win the sprint, the unfortunate crash. Saturday a kid on a beautiful carbon Time went down on the pavement. It looked like a hard landing, but he bounced back up easily, like I think I remember doing at his age. Nowadays they'd have to scoop me up and reassemble. We stopped, picked him up, gave directions to his parents to retrieve him.

Then the rush for the sprint. I would not get there until much later. As we descended the last hill I saw people whizzing by, going around me. I looked behind. No one was there. I was the last one. Then the gap increased beyond the magic distance that glues us together like a 30mph multi-wheeled and multi-headed monster machine. I felt a slap in my face, it was just the wind, which I was left to literally fend for myself. I saw the group getting farther and farther away, and a couple of red lights later, I was all alone.

As Chris Carmichael puts it, never sleep:

Field splits often happen because the riders in the front accelerate and someone who’s not paying attention doesn’t realize he has to speed up until it’s too late. He’s too slow to react because he was only watching the wheel ahead of him and failed to anticipate the acceleration.

I'm that guy, and that's one of my reasons to be there Saturday mornings. I don't want to be that guy in the 66 miles of rolling hills that precede the ascent to the Tourmalet. I want to be the guy that rides in the group, saving strength for what has still to come.

Miles

This past weekend's rides bring my total weekly mileage to 121.57, 865 miles so far in 2008.
I added a little km counter widget to the sidebar. Kilometers are easy (easier than miles) and using the bicycle every day for transportation helps accumulate the leg mileage. The best part of the day of course is passing the occasional cyclist while commuting.

I'm lucky enough to bike daily the beautiful Obern Trail (see map here), and I challenge anyone in the world to come up with a more stunningly beautiful and fun commute. Not many people are around in the morning, children and dogs are otherwise occupied. Thus, when I finally reach the Obern trail, I give it a little gas to know how my legs are feeling. Today my legs were feeling like jell-o, after the beating in the very short but brutal saturday sprinting.

Luckily enough, a group of lycra-clad 20 somethings boxed me in on the last two miles straightaway, right after a crossroad. They settled down around me, two in front, two behind, chatting away and disturbing the Zen-like atmosphere of well-trued wheels cutting through the morning air. I clearly could not stand for it. I signaled, got out on the passing lane, mashed the pedals with my marshmallow legs, and left them behind. Once I passed them, I could not look back or, even worse, slow down and let them pass me again. I could just keep pedaling. The funny thing is that even with a heavy messenger bag, the more I pedaled the better I felt. At least until I reached the minuscule hill that leads to my workplace. By then, however, my imaginary opponents were just a far spec of colored lycra and carbon fiber. 4 cyclists, half my age, I think that counts at least for 8 points. Onwards!

(Photos from the Santa Barbara Bike Coalition site)

Happy B-day to me!

Today I turn 42-- it's one of the main reasons why I'm doing the Tourmalet this year rather than in, say 2028 (when I predict the bicycle will actually the only way to get up there without walking). I mean, 42 is the answer to the Ultimate Question, after all. It's older than I ever thought I be (when I was in high school).

Today I even joined the Echelon Saturday Morning Ride and got dropped only once-- and I could even blame my bike for it (if indeed the escuse was remotely believable). I'll blame the weather instead, cold, windy even stormy tonight, very un-Santa Barbarish. I am working on the bicycle angle, visited a couple of bike shops this afternoon feasting my eyes on carbon dream shapes. More of that later. Now it's sushi time!

Solvang 1/2 century

It's the greenest of springs in recent memory, recent rains washed away the gold colors of later summer and winter and painted the valleys over in Swiss green. The wind is strong, as usual, a an invisible hand almost pushing me off the road. But the air is cool, refreshing, keeping the heat from the implacable sun and our over-revving engines at bay. We are surprised by how many overdressed people, especially women, we pass for the whole 50 miles. I can't imagine pedaling with long pants and rain jackets on a day like this where the only shield one needs is sunscreen.

On Santa Rosa Road the first casualty of the day goes down on the asphalt. Nothing too bad, she seems ok, no bleeding, but the impact was definitely harsh. People are taking care of her, we continue pedaling against the wind. I pass many more people than I get passed by, which is good, although the variance in cycling power and capabilities is huge on the short 50-miles course. Often people pass me pushing me at notable speeds, only to fall back and disappear when we approach a hill, having shot their wad for nothing while I was riding their wheel.

For some reason the organization thought that a panoramic tour of Lompoc was a good thing. Definitely good to convince us to never move to such a place. Leaving town we hear the second crash, another woman against the door of a minivan. The cyclist is clearly in shock, she keeps asking if the huge driver of the oversized metal contraption is ok. She looks much definitely better off than the one holding her bike with a bent fork.

Volunteers arrive, we take off once more on 246, all straight lines and long hills which we pass in relative ease. Some guy with a black pickup truck with oversize tires and dangerously raised suspensions honks furiously at us and gives us the finger, immediately imitated by the following guy on a Harley. I laugh thinking about one of my favorite movies from many years ago, Easy Rider, where the rebel bikers get shot by rednecks in a truck. How things have changed, with the ridiculously inefficient Detroit locomotives on two wheels being now the almost exclusive domain of rabid conservatives and bourgeois poseurs. Clearly the rebel two-wheelers nowadays ride much skinnier contraptions powered by pure human energy.

But I digress. In the last ten miles Gió Turbodiesel picks up speed and disappears up a hill, I won't see him until the finish line. Right there I meet my two perfect teammates, they go exactly at the speed I want, pulling up the long hills on 246 at 20mph or so. The problem, if we can call it a problem, is that one appears to be in his early, and the second in his late sixties. Nothing wrong with that, but I'm seriously thinking of tinting my hair gray and competing in the senior categories. We chat, pull hard and get to the finish line. Good average speed, for my standards, and excellent first time out for the season. Now on to the next step.