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.