Sometimes I get so lucky it makes me nervous. Like today.
The plan was to ride three 20-mile loops to get in 60 miles, and do it in 6 hours. I didn't make it, but I feel great about it, because I'm still on track to go 67 next Tuesday or Wednesday, which was the original plan. Here's how it went.
The ride started out better than normal, with my legs feeling strong, my energy high, the temperature cool and no wind. I left at 6am, when it was just beginning to get light. It was too dark for me to read my odometer, but I know the route pretty well, now, and when I got to the spot that I recognize as 3 miles out, I glanced at my watch and saw I was 2 minutes ahead of schedule. At the Zion Lutheran Church, where I turn around, and where my odometer always reads 5.9 miles, I looked at my watch I and saw again I was ahead of schedule. (I didn't look at my odometer.) But then a few miles later, where it should have read 8.9 miles, it only read 8.4. Yikes! Where'd that half-mile go? I kept pedalling, but I was in a quandary. This was a major tactical challenge.
I've been working my way up towards 80 in 8 via measured increments -- adding 6 or 7 miles per ride, two rides per week, and holding always to the 10 mph minimum average. But if I couldn't rely on my odometer, how could I possibly gauge my progress? In fact, how could I be sure that I would be riding 80 miles on the big day? My head was full of confusion. And what had happened to my odometer, anyway?
Then I remembered that I had pumped up my tires, yesterday. The first time in a few weeks. That might explain the odometer: pumped up tires = greater circumference = fewer revolutions per mile = lower registered miles on odometer. Okay, so that was the why. But now what do I do about it?
Well, my watch was still working, and I knew I had to be back home well before 8:00, or I'd be riding slower than last Tuesday. After all, the odometer might be reading differently, but the loop was still the same loop. So I just kept up a "cruise" pace, and, since I continued to feel strong, that wasn't too hard.
I got home at 7:49, which meant that I was beating 10mph; took an 11-minute pit stop, and was on my way by 10:00. And by then I had figured out what to do. I would add an extemporanous loop the the loop (a "loop de loop") by going around the outside of a shopping center that I usually ride through. That should add about a mile. If I did that and got back by 12:00, that would mean I was maintaining 10mph even according to the new "calibration" of the odometer. I felt very satisfied with this solution, especially since I was still feeling strong. I dutifully swigged my "Perpetuem" fuel, my Gator Ade, and my ice water, and although it was getting a lot hotter, I was comfortable. Only ... somehow I didn't seem to be going as fast as I thought I ought to be. Yes, the breeze was rising, but it seemed somehow that there was something else slowing me down...
Anyway, I got back home at 9:54, with the odometer reading 20.1 miles. The loop had obviously added .9 miles. Great. Now if I could do this again, I would only be .6 miles short of 60 miles for the day as measured by the new calibration of the odometer. I grabbed a cheese sandwich from the kitchen, slathered on some sunscreen, re-set the odometer and my wristwatch, and was on my way at 10am sharp.
Once out on the street, I noticed there was something queasy about the steering. I kept going -- carefully -- trying to keep up speed while analyzing this new phenomenon. A mile later, the "thump, thump, thump" of my rear wheel go through to me. Flat! (That also explained the queasy steering.) I pulled over and called Anne, who came and got me.
So why do I feel lucky? I was close to home. Anne was there in minutes. And in those few minutes while I waited for her, I realized (a) I had never ridden stronger; (b) I had done it on a tire that was going increasingly flat, so I would clearly have ridden even stronger with a good tire; the 42 (or so) miles I had put in were enough to count for a good training session (what if it had happened 5 miles into the first loop?). So I had passed muster to stay on schedule for my next ride, and could reasonably expect myself to ride 67 miles on Tuesday.
And on top of that, Bike n' Hike in Hillsboro fixed the flat while Anne and I went out for lunch.
Analysis: I think my perceived strength gain was due to two things. First, I have been stretching very assiduously, thoughtfully, frequently (but always gently) for the past three days. As the days passed I could sense that my movements were more fluid, and there was less resistance from opposing muscles, as I moved around the house, up and down stairs, etc. Second, I think I have to give credit to Hammer Gel and Hammer Perpetuem. While chatting with John at Bike 'n Hike I saw his display of Hammer products (which I hadn't seen before, nor had his store shown up when I had searched the Hammer website for outlets) and I asked him if he had a personal opinion about them. He said he had never been a fan of such products, but on a recent exceptionally grueling long-distance ride he had used Perpetuem and had survived so well that he has to give Perpetuem credit. He shook his head. "I don't know what else could have done it," he said (or words to that effect).
So I still have to puzzle out what to do about the odometer, but in the meantime, I can take pleasure in figuring out th loop de loop, hammer, and stretch.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Sixty miles in six hours before it gets hot
Tomorrow's ride is shaping up nicely. I'm riding three 20-mile loops, stopping off at home after each. It's supposed to be hot, but not too hot until mid-day, by which time I expect to be done. Best of all they're calling for little if any wind.
Starting around 7 am should have me done by 1:00 p.m. It's supposed to be only 84 degrees by then.
The "Tour de Parks" I rode in July was 64 miles long, and ended up hot -- in the mid-80's as I remember it -- by the time I got to the end, which was about 4 pm. I was taking it easy, that day, with frequent leisurely stops, so tomorrow's ride will be more demanding. But from the standpoint of heat, I learned on that long July ride that you create your own breeze by riding.
I'll be well armed with fluids -- liquid fuel drink, Gator Ade, and icewater, all ice cold as I leave, and all to be replenished at each pit stop.
The loop I ride never takes me further than 6 or 8 miles from home; I ride with my cell phone; and Anne will be the "Houston" I can call if I find I have a situation.
And I'm in good shape. I've been stretching assiduously and will continue to do so. I'm hoping to catch a nap this afternoon. And if I sleep well tonight (a challenge, because concern that I might not sleep well often makes it difficult to sleep) tomorrow should be a breeze -- self-created, of course.
Starting around 7 am should have me done by 1:00 p.m. It's supposed to be only 84 degrees by then.
The "Tour de Parks" I rode in July was 64 miles long, and ended up hot -- in the mid-80's as I remember it -- by the time I got to the end, which was about 4 pm. I was taking it easy, that day, with frequent leisurely stops, so tomorrow's ride will be more demanding. But from the standpoint of heat, I learned on that long July ride that you create your own breeze by riding.
I'll be well armed with fluids -- liquid fuel drink, Gator Ade, and icewater, all ice cold as I leave, and all to be replenished at each pit stop.
The loop I ride never takes me further than 6 or 8 miles from home; I ride with my cell phone; and Anne will be the "Houston" I can call if I find I have a situation.
And I'm in good shape. I've been stretching assiduously and will continue to do so. I'm hoping to catch a nap this afternoon. And if I sleep well tonight (a challenge, because concern that I might not sleep well often makes it difficult to sleep) tomorrow should be a breeze -- self-created, of course.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
54.2 miles in 5 hrs 24 1/2 min. = 10.0216 mph
Warning: This post could prove tedious for anyone not interested in the complexities of training for a timed ride.
At first I thought I'd missed the 10 mph mark for today's ride. About a mile from the end of the final loop, a 7-miler, I had about given up.
I had started the loop a couple of minutes late. If I had started it on time -- 11:42 -- all I would have needed to do was to ride the 7 miles in 42 minutes (a 10 mph average) which would have gotten me to the end by 12:24, and that, in turn, would have given me a 10 mph average for the entire 54 miles.
But because of my late start, 42 minutes wasn't going to be good enough. I had to do it in 40 minutes or less. And a glance at my trip odometer and stopwatch (a function of my wristwatch) convinced me I wasn't gonna. As I saw the odometer come up on "6.0," my wristwatch showed 34 minutes and some seconds. That meant I was doing better than 10 mph, but not a full two minutes better. I hadn't had time to take in how many seconds more than 34 minutes had elapsed, I only knew that it was more than 34 minutes, which meant I was making up less than 2 minutes.
If I had the heart of a lion and the spirit of a champion, I would have turned on the afterburner right then and burned rubber. But I had no motivation beyond doggedly keeping my pace. The ride seemed plagued with encumbrances, anyway. The biggest slow-downer was Nature: Nature called me twice, and answering her required 8 minutes in the bathroom at the end of the first 20-mile loop, and another 3 at the end of the second. And that was what made me late starting the final loop. Then, a little over a mile into that final loop, there was the traffic light at 229th and Cornell that I love to hate, which turned red in spite of my long and hectic race to beat it. (I had seen that it was green from 100 yards away, stood on the pedals hard, determined to get there before it changed. It went to amber, and for an instant I considering charging ahead, but then decided against it, and braked to a stop, only to watch it stay amber for an insultingly, teasingly long time, sneering at me as I realized that I could easily have gotten through the intersection before it turned red. I timed it: it was red for a full one minute and 30 seconds!) Coming back across Cornell at Brookwood a while later, I miss-timed that light, and that cost me another minute. Then on a bike-and-pedestrian path near the library I came up behind three men ambling along three abreast, taking up the full width of the path. I pressed the thumb thingy on my bell, but it jammed; pressed it harder again and it rang, just as I came up on them so close I had to brake. They startled, and two of them moved to the right, and one to the left, indecisevely, while I mumbled, "'Scuse me" and wobbled at snail's pace through the narrow opening they had provided and up the path, which, of course, at this point was uphill.
And so it was that I came into the final stretch, with no oomph left and no optimism about today's time. I pulled into my driveway and grabbed my pencil to jot down the time. My stopwatch read 0:41, when I ached for it to read 0:40. Then I pressed the button that flicks it over to time of day: 12:24. I blinked. Looked again. It was actually 12:24:30. I was only 30 seconds over my deadline! How could this be?
No matter. What it is, it is, I thought, and hung up my bike, put my gear away, and took a shower. Then I came back and looked at the notes I'd made during the day, and it came clear.
First, I'd simply made a mistake about how late I was starting that final leg. I was only one minute late, not two. The note that I'd made just as I was starting it showed that it was 11:43, not 11:44. So riding it in 41 minutes was good enough to make up the time lost by the late start.
But then something even better emerged. I realized that had ridden 54.2 miles, not 54. How could this be? Well, you see, my bicycle "computer" has two odometers. One registers total miles ridden. It rounds the miles off, not showing tenths. The other is a trip odometer. It shows tenths of a mile. I always reset the first of these at the beginning of a day's ride, but I re-set the trip odometer at the beginning of each loop. And I write down what it records at the end of each loop. And today, I wrote down "20.1" at the end of each of what I've been calling the 20-mile loops. The overall odometer, however, rounded off these tenths, and showed, simply, "54".
So to get the accurate measure of my overall ride, I added the loops (20.1+7+20.1+7) and came up with 54.2. I divided that by 5 hrs. and 24.5 minutes, and voila! I did better than 10 mph for the day.
Whew!
At first I thought I'd missed the 10 mph mark for today's ride. About a mile from the end of the final loop, a 7-miler, I had about given up.
I had started the loop a couple of minutes late. If I had started it on time -- 11:42 -- all I would have needed to do was to ride the 7 miles in 42 minutes (a 10 mph average) which would have gotten me to the end by 12:24, and that, in turn, would have given me a 10 mph average for the entire 54 miles.
But because of my late start, 42 minutes wasn't going to be good enough. I had to do it in 40 minutes or less. And a glance at my trip odometer and stopwatch (a function of my wristwatch) convinced me I wasn't gonna. As I saw the odometer come up on "6.0," my wristwatch showed 34 minutes and some seconds. That meant I was doing better than 10 mph, but not a full two minutes better. I hadn't had time to take in how many seconds more than 34 minutes had elapsed, I only knew that it was more than 34 minutes, which meant I was making up less than 2 minutes.
If I had the heart of a lion and the spirit of a champion, I would have turned on the afterburner right then and burned rubber. But I had no motivation beyond doggedly keeping my pace. The ride seemed plagued with encumbrances, anyway. The biggest slow-downer was Nature: Nature called me twice, and answering her required 8 minutes in the bathroom at the end of the first 20-mile loop, and another 3 at the end of the second. And that was what made me late starting the final loop. Then, a little over a mile into that final loop, there was the traffic light at 229th and Cornell that I love to hate, which turned red in spite of my long and hectic race to beat it. (I had seen that it was green from 100 yards away, stood on the pedals hard, determined to get there before it changed. It went to amber, and for an instant I considering charging ahead, but then decided against it, and braked to a stop, only to watch it stay amber for an insultingly, teasingly long time, sneering at me as I realized that I could easily have gotten through the intersection before it turned red. I timed it: it was red for a full one minute and 30 seconds!) Coming back across Cornell at Brookwood a while later, I miss-timed that light, and that cost me another minute. Then on a bike-and-pedestrian path near the library I came up behind three men ambling along three abreast, taking up the full width of the path. I pressed the thumb thingy on my bell, but it jammed; pressed it harder again and it rang, just as I came up on them so close I had to brake. They startled, and two of them moved to the right, and one to the left, indecisevely, while I mumbled, "'Scuse me" and wobbled at snail's pace through the narrow opening they had provided and up the path, which, of course, at this point was uphill.
And so it was that I came into the final stretch, with no oomph left and no optimism about today's time. I pulled into my driveway and grabbed my pencil to jot down the time. My stopwatch read 0:41, when I ached for it to read 0:40. Then I pressed the button that flicks it over to time of day: 12:24. I blinked. Looked again. It was actually 12:24:30. I was only 30 seconds over my deadline! How could this be?
No matter. What it is, it is, I thought, and hung up my bike, put my gear away, and took a shower. Then I came back and looked at the notes I'd made during the day, and it came clear.
First, I'd simply made a mistake about how late I was starting that final leg. I was only one minute late, not two. The note that I'd made just as I was starting it showed that it was 11:43, not 11:44. So riding it in 41 minutes was good enough to make up the time lost by the late start.
But then something even better emerged. I realized that had ridden 54.2 miles, not 54. How could this be? Well, you see, my bicycle "computer" has two odometers. One registers total miles ridden. It rounds the miles off, not showing tenths. The other is a trip odometer. It shows tenths of a mile. I always reset the first of these at the beginning of a day's ride, but I re-set the trip odometer at the beginning of each loop. And I write down what it records at the end of each loop. And today, I wrote down "20.1" at the end of each of what I've been calling the 20-mile loops. The overall odometer, however, rounded off these tenths, and showed, simply, "54".
So to get the accurate measure of my overall ride, I added the loops (20.1+7+20.1+7) and came up with 54.2. I divided that by 5 hrs. and 24.5 minutes, and voila! I did better than 10 mph for the day.
Whew!
Monday, September 5, 2011
Fifty-Four Miles tomorrow, and All's Well
The ride tomorrow calls for two 20-mile loops and two 7-mile ones, for 54 total, or 7 miles more than last Saturday. Feels very do-able. Psychologically, all I have to do is what I did Saturday, (20-7-20) then add the 7-mile loop, which always feels like the easy one.
The weather looks good, starting off cool and rising to about 80 at noon, by which time I'll be back home again. Best of all, there's supposed to be little or no wind!
And I'm feeling very rested. This is my "short rest" period, only two days since my hard ride in the wind last Saturday, and I didn't expect to feel this good. Had a nap this afternoon for insurance. My legs are a bit stiff, but they haven't felt all that tired, today. We walked out for groceries and some shopping, probably 2.5 miles in all, and I've been up and down stairs all day.
I've got my Hammer endurance fuel measured out, my odometer re-set to zero, and my alarm clock set.
So it's time to eat my spinach (I sautee a big frying pan of it and roll it in a wrap. Joe Friel says spinach builds muscles!) and have a glass or two of wine, get in my jammies and onto the couch with Anne to watch some Netflix on her laptop.
It's been a big weekend. The story in the Oregonian generated no end of pleasant exchanges, in e-mail and in person, and when I go to sleep tonight I expect I'll be feeling not anxiety, but a warm fuzzy glow.
The weather looks good, starting off cool and rising to about 80 at noon, by which time I'll be back home again. Best of all, there's supposed to be little or no wind!
And I'm feeling very rested. This is my "short rest" period, only two days since my hard ride in the wind last Saturday, and I didn't expect to feel this good. Had a nap this afternoon for insurance. My legs are a bit stiff, but they haven't felt all that tired, today. We walked out for groceries and some shopping, probably 2.5 miles in all, and I've been up and down stairs all day.
I've got my Hammer endurance fuel measured out, my odometer re-set to zero, and my alarm clock set.
So it's time to eat my spinach (I sautee a big frying pan of it and roll it in a wrap. Joe Friel says spinach builds muscles!) and have a glass or two of wine, get in my jammies and onto the couch with Anne to watch some Netflix on her laptop.
It's been a big weekend. The story in the Oregonian generated no end of pleasant exchanges, in e-mail and in person, and when I go to sleep tonight I expect I'll be feeling not anxiety, but a warm fuzzy glow.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
As I write this, Leslie Newman -- a friend from an earlier life who has been coaching me via e-mail since last spring -- has no doubt finished his 100-mile ride for the day, the "Tour de Valley" in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. I've lost track of the number of 100-milers ("centuries") he's ridden this year. (And his average speed for them is usually over 20 mph.) In between his centuries, he takes short rides -- 3o or 40 miles -- after work in the evenings.
This is a guy who, several years ago, was in an auto accident and messed up his knee so bad his doctor told him that from then on he'd better settle for riding his bike no more than an easy five or six miles at a time.
Leslie has been giving me unstinting coaching and support from 3000 miles away ever since he learned about what I was hoping to do. A small example of his determination to support my effort is the "care package" from Hammer Nutrition Products he shipped me last week. (Extreme Endurance Fuel, Rapid Endurance Fuel, Recovery Drink, Electrolites.) I had told him that Hammer products weren't much in evidence in my neighborhood -- so he shipped me a bunch. (I tried some of them out last Saturday, and I think they're going to cure me of my peanut-butter sandwiches.)
But more important than the care package is the information he's given me, drawing on his experience to answer questions on subjects from tire pressure to recovery time, from pacing to hill climbing. Any time I had a question, I'd ask Leslie, and he'd fire back an answer. He recommended a couple of great books on cycling (such as Friel's The Cyclist's Training Bible) and countless useful websites. But most of all, by fielding all my questions, he's enabled me to compress a few years' experience into a few months, and in this particular project of mine, time is literally of the essence.
I've known Leslie for ... let's see ... about 40 years. He grew up with my kids, in rural Virginia. We lived on opposite sides of a creek about a quarter of a mile wide, and Leslie used to swim over to visit. He was a great kid, and we were always glad to see him. He'd ride his bicycle with our kids, too. They didn't go to school together, because we lived in different counties, but they spent a lot of time together, and when the idea of a bicycle trip together came up one summer, Anne and I gave our blessings. Somehow, we felt that Kevin, Sean, and Leslie could look out for themselves. I believe they went all the way to West Virginia. The only details I remember was that Kevin's bike kept breaking down, and that they had a fantastic tail-wind on the way home.
Anyway, I figured it was time my readers knew a little more about the "Leslie" who's been signing those useful comments to my blog over the past few weeks. My "secret weapon" should be a secret no longer.
This is a guy who, several years ago, was in an auto accident and messed up his knee so bad his doctor told him that from then on he'd better settle for riding his bike no more than an easy five or six miles at a time.
Leslie has been giving me unstinting coaching and support from 3000 miles away ever since he learned about what I was hoping to do. A small example of his determination to support my effort is the "care package" from Hammer Nutrition Products he shipped me last week. (Extreme Endurance Fuel, Rapid Endurance Fuel, Recovery Drink, Electrolites.) I had told him that Hammer products weren't much in evidence in my neighborhood -- so he shipped me a bunch. (I tried some of them out last Saturday, and I think they're going to cure me of my peanut-butter sandwiches.)
But more important than the care package is the information he's given me, drawing on his experience to answer questions on subjects from tire pressure to recovery time, from pacing to hill climbing. Any time I had a question, I'd ask Leslie, and he'd fire back an answer. He recommended a couple of great books on cycling (such as Friel's The Cyclist's Training Bible) and countless useful websites. But most of all, by fielding all my questions, he's enabled me to compress a few years' experience into a few months, and in this particular project of mine, time is literally of the essence.
I've known Leslie for ... let's see ... about 40 years. He grew up with my kids, in rural Virginia. We lived on opposite sides of a creek about a quarter of a mile wide, and Leslie used to swim over to visit. He was a great kid, and we were always glad to see him. He'd ride his bicycle with our kids, too. They didn't go to school together, because we lived in different counties, but they spent a lot of time together, and when the idea of a bicycle trip together came up one summer, Anne and I gave our blessings. Somehow, we felt that Kevin, Sean, and Leslie could look out for themselves. I believe they went all the way to West Virginia. The only details I remember was that Kevin's bike kept breaking down, and that they had a fantastic tail-wind on the way home.
Anyway, I figured it was time my readers knew a little more about the "Leslie" who's been signing those useful comments to my blog over the past few weeks. My "secret weapon" should be a secret no longer.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
47 miles with only 2 minutes to spare. Wind sucks!
"Rain or Shine? No! Shine Only!"
That, or words to that effect, is the advice of my son Sean, regarding my Birthday Ride. He's tough, and he's no stranger to endurance feats, so his suggestion that I should not be bull-headed about riding in the rain carries a lot of weight with me. When still in his teens, he rode out of our driveway one morning, pushing his rat-trap pedals with his bare feet, and came back in the evening announcing that he'd been to Richmond and back -- 65 miles away. He and I had a five day cycle tour through Nova Scotia when I was in my 40's, and to say I couldn't keep up with him doesn't begin to tell it. After moving out to the Portland area, he traded his bike for running shoes and ran Hood-to-Coast for Nationwide until sidelined by a brain tumor and ensuing illnesses.
So when he suggests I plan to allow myself to be rained out, I listen. Especially when I remember the grueling 35 miles in the rain I rode last July 18. No, I don't think I want to try to do that for 80 miles.
And after this morning, I was wondering whether I should be ready to postpone on account of wind conditions. Because the breeze I was riding in today offered a major challenge. On one stretch where I normally travel about 12 mph, I was heading directly into the wind (East North-East) and I was struggling to go 6. I figured the breeze to be between 10 and 15 mph, and when I got home I checked accuweather, which put it at 13, so I was probably close to right. I was riding a loop, so there were times when the wind was (diagonally) at my back, actually helping me, some, pushing me along. (And there were times toward the end, when the temperature approached 90, when it was undeniably refreshing.) All in all, though I think it took a toll. You'd think that the headwind I encountered going east and the tailwind going west would cancel each other out, but it sure didn't feel that way.
But no -- I can't postpone because of wind. I can't postpone, period. We've got other commitments starting the weekend following my birthday (the 28th), and I'll need the preceding days to get ready. I could arguably postpone the ride one day, but I have an orchestra rehearsal on the 29th, and I'm pretty sure I'd be too tired to play my violin the night after I rode 80 miles, so that won't do. (I'll be missing three rehearsals in October as it is, and I can't afford to miss a fourth.) So I'll just have to handle what wind there is as best I can, and hope for the best.
Today's ride was successful, under the circumstances. Forty-seven miles in elapsed time of 4 hrs 40 minutes = 10.07 mph. Not much of a cushion, there. Doesn't leave much leeway. However I was feeling stronger than last Tuesday, and I think I handled the wind better than I would have a few days ago. So I'm going to go on the assumption that the training is working, that I'm still gaining strength and endurance. I'm on track.
Can anybody tell me: is September usually windy in these parts?
And if any experienced cyclists reading that can tell me: Is it my imagination that the tailwind doesn't make up for the headwind, or is it real?
That, or words to that effect, is the advice of my son Sean, regarding my Birthday Ride. He's tough, and he's no stranger to endurance feats, so his suggestion that I should not be bull-headed about riding in the rain carries a lot of weight with me. When still in his teens, he rode out of our driveway one morning, pushing his rat-trap pedals with his bare feet, and came back in the evening announcing that he'd been to Richmond and back -- 65 miles away. He and I had a five day cycle tour through Nova Scotia when I was in my 40's, and to say I couldn't keep up with him doesn't begin to tell it. After moving out to the Portland area, he traded his bike for running shoes and ran Hood-to-Coast for Nationwide until sidelined by a brain tumor and ensuing illnesses.
So when he suggests I plan to allow myself to be rained out, I listen. Especially when I remember the grueling 35 miles in the rain I rode last July 18. No, I don't think I want to try to do that for 80 miles.
And after this morning, I was wondering whether I should be ready to postpone on account of wind conditions. Because the breeze I was riding in today offered a major challenge. On one stretch where I normally travel about 12 mph, I was heading directly into the wind (East North-East) and I was struggling to go 6. I figured the breeze to be between 10 and 15 mph, and when I got home I checked accuweather, which put it at 13, so I was probably close to right. I was riding a loop, so there were times when the wind was (diagonally) at my back, actually helping me, some, pushing me along. (And there were times toward the end, when the temperature approached 90, when it was undeniably refreshing.) All in all, though I think it took a toll. You'd think that the headwind I encountered going east and the tailwind going west would cancel each other out, but it sure didn't feel that way.
But no -- I can't postpone because of wind. I can't postpone, period. We've got other commitments starting the weekend following my birthday (the 28th), and I'll need the preceding days to get ready. I could arguably postpone the ride one day, but I have an orchestra rehearsal on the 29th, and I'm pretty sure I'd be too tired to play my violin the night after I rode 80 miles, so that won't do. (I'll be missing three rehearsals in October as it is, and I can't afford to miss a fourth.) So I'll just have to handle what wind there is as best I can, and hope for the best.
Today's ride was successful, under the circumstances. Forty-seven miles in elapsed time of 4 hrs 40 minutes = 10.07 mph. Not much of a cushion, there. Doesn't leave much leeway. However I was feeling stronger than last Tuesday, and I think I handled the wind better than I would have a few days ago. So I'm going to go on the assumption that the training is working, that I'm still gaining strength and endurance. I'm on track.
Can anybody tell me: is September usually windy in these parts?
And if any experienced cyclists reading that can tell me: Is it my imagination that the tailwind doesn't make up for the headwind, or is it real?
Friday, September 2, 2011
Forty-seven miles tomorrow, and the "Cycle of Anxiety."
I'm feeling good. Rested. Legs are tight, but I'm still stretching, and I have reason to hope that they won't give me trouble. The bad knee is quiescent.
Casey Parks put a story in the Oregonian (see "Related Links" on the right-hand edge of your screen) that sums up what I'm trying to do here much better than I've been able to, in all these posts. I hope you have time to read it. She's a gifted writer. She tends to put me in a better light than I deserve, but she catches the essence of what I'm involved in: taking what steps I can to stem the encroaching frailty associated with advanced age.
Tomorrow, I expect to do the 20 mile loop shown above followed by a 7 mile loop and then the 20-miler again. That will make it 7 more miles than last Tuesday. I plan to take a short break after each loop, but be back on my bike in time to maintain a 10 mph average. The weather looks good, starting off cool, and only getting up to the high seventies by noon. I hope I remember to put on sun block, because it's going to be a bright one.
I've become aware of what I think of as a "Cycle of Anxiety." I think of what's ahead of me, the task of riding longer and harder than I ever have, not knowing whether I'll meet my goals or not, not knowing whether I'll have that ghastly feeling of the body simply refusing to respond to what I'm asking of it. High anxiety, and it often hits me as I'm riding. But then -- so far, at least -- a remarkable thing happens: I start realizing I'm not feeling so bad after all, and I'm actually feeling stronger halfway through the ride than I did at the beginning. To be followed quickly by a sensation of impending exhaustion, during which I wonder if I'm dehydrated, or need more fuel, or simply have used up all those mysterious reserves which often lurk beneath a surface of panic. Then a warm glow may creep over my legs, for no reason at all, calling to mind that elusive "second wind" which so often seems like no more than a myth until it suddenly arrives, miracle-like.
That's a very sketchy description, but I hope it gets across the way anxiety comes in cycles, alternating with sensations of well-being and empowerment. And what's interesting to me is that every swoop in this roller-coaster comes as a surprise. I can never seem to tell five minutes ahead of time how I'm about to feel.
I'm telling you this to help me remember it tomorrow. I've ridden 47 miles before, but never at the pace I intend to keep up tomorrow. So, yes, I'm anxious. But I'm also excited, because I hope to find that I've gotten stronger, so that -- overall -- I'll ride these 47 miles as easily as I did the 40 last Tuesday. That would be mighty fine. That's what I want to remember during those periods of anxiety tomorrow.
Casey Parks put a story in the Oregonian (see "Related Links" on the right-hand edge of your screen) that sums up what I'm trying to do here much better than I've been able to, in all these posts. I hope you have time to read it. She's a gifted writer. She tends to put me in a better light than I deserve, but she catches the essence of what I'm involved in: taking what steps I can to stem the encroaching frailty associated with advanced age.
Tomorrow, I expect to do the 20 mile loop shown above followed by a 7 mile loop and then the 20-miler again. That will make it 7 more miles than last Tuesday. I plan to take a short break after each loop, but be back on my bike in time to maintain a 10 mph average. The weather looks good, starting off cool, and only getting up to the high seventies by noon. I hope I remember to put on sun block, because it's going to be a bright one.
I've become aware of what I think of as a "Cycle of Anxiety." I think of what's ahead of me, the task of riding longer and harder than I ever have, not knowing whether I'll meet my goals or not, not knowing whether I'll have that ghastly feeling of the body simply refusing to respond to what I'm asking of it. High anxiety, and it often hits me as I'm riding. But then -- so far, at least -- a remarkable thing happens: I start realizing I'm not feeling so bad after all, and I'm actually feeling stronger halfway through the ride than I did at the beginning. To be followed quickly by a sensation of impending exhaustion, during which I wonder if I'm dehydrated, or need more fuel, or simply have used up all those mysterious reserves which often lurk beneath a surface of panic. Then a warm glow may creep over my legs, for no reason at all, calling to mind that elusive "second wind" which so often seems like no more than a myth until it suddenly arrives, miracle-like.
That's a very sketchy description, but I hope it gets across the way anxiety comes in cycles, alternating with sensations of well-being and empowerment. And what's interesting to me is that every swoop in this roller-coaster comes as a surprise. I can never seem to tell five minutes ahead of time how I'm about to feel.
I'm telling you this to help me remember it tomorrow. I've ridden 47 miles before, but never at the pace I intend to keep up tomorrow. So, yes, I'm anxious. But I'm also excited, because I hope to find that I've gotten stronger, so that -- overall -- I'll ride these 47 miles as easily as I did the 40 last Tuesday. That would be mighty fine. That's what I want to remember during those periods of anxiety tomorrow.
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