Too many updates...

Tim Horton's--not the ideal training diet, perhaps, but at least the company is a cycling sponsor in Canada

There has been so much going on in my little cycling world that I have been hard-pressed to keep up. The last week has not been very good from a training standpoint, primarily due to the stupid weather here. It has been very cold in the mornings and we have had a great deal of rain. On Wednesday's commute home I got totally soaked and can honestly say that I did not enjoy it. Adding to this a four day-long sinus headache and I had to drop all my training plans, plans I usually am very conscientious about doing. And on Thursday evening there was more rain and even though there was a chance it would stop and my headache had cleared up, I have really had enough of riding in the rain since my Animalthon ordeal so I skipped that too. And with the lack of training and the feeling-sorry-for-myself that comes from it, I really broke down and bought two doughnuts at Tim Horton's. I do this very rarely but feel that as a shareholder I must occasionally. Needless to say, my weight has started to go back up.

I did not do a race report from the time trial I did the week before, on May 21. This was one of my worst time trial experiences. I had a good warm-up and felt pretty relaxed. It was quite hot but not uncomfortable. Unfortunately, there was a massive sidewind, even worse than the previous week's. Anyway, as I was being positioned for the launch I asked the holder if he was set and he said okay; it turned out he wasn't holding the seatpost and when I had both feet in the pedals I started to tip over. Luckily, the timekeeper grabbed me. Needless to say, this was not good for my concentration. 10 seconds later I launched but when I was getting up to speed I sat down and could not find my seat! I did a moment later when it jammed into my left inner thigh. When falling, I think it had caught my leg. Anyway, it was twisted way over so that the nose was hitting me on every revolution. I stood up and hammered it back but could only get it partway. At the turnaround when I slowed down I tried again but when I crossed the finish it was still pretty cockeyed. Poor results, needless to say, so the next time I race I will be put up at at the front again I suppose. At least I will be able to pass people, which will cheer me up. Actually, the time was not horrific and put me in 8th place yet again in my age group. I can't imagine what other excuses people were using...and, on the positive side, no cramps!

MacDonald-Cartier Bridge
photo by Jessica Trinity, Creative Commons

This morning it was pouring rain again and I dragged myself around, cleaning bikes and doing household things until it cleared up nicely in the afternoon and I was able to actually do my 3 hour training ride as scheduled. This involves some hard intervals in the first hour but then 2 hours of endurance-speed riding. The intervals went very well, in spite of most of them being into yet another awful headwind, and I felt much happier being out on the bike again. At the end of the ride, I went west and crossed the dreadful MacDonald-Cartier Bridge into Quebec and then turned east and rode the empty bike paths to Gatineau. The roads there are so poor I retraced my steps and arrived home with 80 kms to my credit and a much more positive outlook on things. And tomorrow I will do the first Almonte Bicycle Club time trial of the year, another 40 km ride from Calabogie, so this will make up for missing Thursday's 15 km ride.

Mt. Vesuvius-Naples
photo by fachxx00, Creative Commons

The other cycling things? Well, of course I have been following the Giro d'Italia very closely. Lots of great racing and superb routes--Friday's stage included a climb up Mt. Vesuvius! This is timely as I have been recently sent a new book to review for www.pezcyclingnews.com. It is the first English-language biography of Fausto Coppi and will be released in June. Here is Carlos Sastre on Vesuvius, climbing a whole lot better than I can:



I also have the latest edition of Joe Friel's Cyclist's Training Bible to review so watch this space in the coming days.

The collection of Tin Donkeys grows. I have finished the final touches on a new bike for my wife who wanted a "blingy" bicycle. With some judicious E-Bay shopping and a great deal of care, I have assembled a like-new 2008 Specialized S-Works Tarmac SL2 for her, with Specialized Roval Fusee Star wheels and gorgeous Ice Grey Ultegra SL parts. It is quite spectacular and I will post some photos soon.

The other Tin Donkey is not yet ready to be photographed. It is a 1985 Raleigh professional team replica and I have been acquiring Campagnolo Super Record parts for it. Marinoni will paint it and build a new fork for it later in summer. The parts hunt is almost over and next week I will pick up the wheels for it when I go to Cirque du Cyclisme in Virginia. Several posts will be devoted to this interesting bike that even my wife admits to liking.

Yes, back to Cirque! I really enjoyed it in 2007 in Greensboro and now that I have the Marinoni restored and the new Raleigh pro bike (admittedly not ready until 2010) I feel that I really am a fellow lightweight bike-collecting geek and will fit right in. Jan Heine, whose book on racing bikes I reviewed for Pezcyclingnews, will be a speaker and framebuilder Peter Weigle will talk about bike restoration and how it doesn't have to be totally authentic to be fun. I will be bringing the Marinoni to display as a show bike; the organizer of the event actually has a Raleigh identical to mine!

Immediately after Cirque, I will join Dr. Chef, the Badger and Mrs. Badger and we will ride the Great Allegheny Passage from McKeesport, Pennsylvania to Cumberland, Maryland. The Passage is a rail-trail that links up to the C&O Canal towpath in Cumberland, so the route basically takes you from Pittsburgh to Washington, DC (well, the bit from McKeesport to Pittsburgh is still not complete and is apparently some way off). This will be a three day tour of 132 miles and I promise to bring back lots of good photos and stories of local colour.

And after all this, I can still look forward to my trip to Europe on August 4-16th. The Giro dell'Inferno will see us spending a few days near Munich where we will be able to drink a lot of beer before heading to Bolzano for some serious climbing rides (and drinking more beer afterwards). The group will be about ten people and everyone is already pretty excited about the trip. Custom jerseys are being prepared. I will order the just-released Naxos scenery DVD (with Beethoven) to get into the right frame of mind.

Cycling: Not Just For the Beer

A very nice piece appeared in the New York Times describing a bicycle tour of wineries in Oregon, and you can read it here.

Looking at the writer's bike, I can imagine that this tour was quite a workout!

It's All Downhill at the Giro d'Italia

There is an excellent article (find it here) in today's Wall Street Journal, of all places, on the skills that it takes to descend if you are a racer in the Giro d'Italia. Most non-cyclists think that climbing is the hard part (well, sometimes it is!) but there is an art to descending that probably makes it even more challenging. As a fairly heavy person, I accelerate so fast on downhills that I have to brake a lot and envy riders like Young Jeff who can just fly through the curves. It is an aspect of racing you do not see very often on live coverage since the motorcycles and their camermen cannot keep up with the racers through the narrow curves. Exciting stuff, and an excellent article.

And here is Christian Vandevelde, who unfortunately crashed at the Giro yesterday and is out of the race, commenting about the type of race the Giro is:

"There are days where you go through a town and you might be going easy or you might be going hard and than all of a sudden you have random people like Bettini sprint to the front. You wonder, 'What's going on?' and then everybody slams on their brakes.

"Suddenly you have people passing out pastries, cookies and ice cream and everyone grabs as much as they can and start stuffing their faces. Then they jump back on the bike and keep on riding. That's just weird and crazy to me [laughs]. We get back on the bike and everyone acts like that's a normal thing and you go on with the rest of the race."

While riding home...

I mentioned in my report of Saturday's not-quite-completed Animalthon brevet ride that I took shelter at a cabin museum where there was a small display devoted to the Pileated Woodpecker, an extremely interesting bird that I have never actually seen. I have read a great deal about one of the most spectacular birds to have gone extinct in the United States, the Ivory-Billed Woodpecker, and the Pileated resembles it closely although it is somewhat smaller.

The weather in Ottawa has become quite wonderful, with clear blue skies, although the mornings are still just above freezing. Yesterday I rode home a bit later than usual, enjoyng the sunshine. I ride through residential streets and as I passed a house with a small tree in front I suddenly saw a large black bird swoop down and land on the trunk. It flew so strangely that I stopped to watch and--behold!--there was a male Pileated Woodpecker. It was about the size of a crow and did not pay any attention to me although I was only a short distance away. He ran methodically up to the top of the tree over the next few minutes and then flew away. A marvellous sight and one that I certainly did not expect to see in town.

I enjoy my short commute every day and opportunities like this would never come if I was in the car or on a bus. It is a pleasure to hear the bird singing, or seeing people out walking their dogs early or enjoying the sight of ducks and geese on the Rideau River. This aspect of bicycle commuting is not touched on much compared to the exercise or fuel savings or more prosaic elements but it certainly makes it worthwhile for me. Especially if I don't have to drag the bike through ice and snow to do it!

Animalthon: It Ate Me Up

On Ferguson Lake Road

After my recent bold success at completing a 200 km Brevet ride with the Ontario Randonneurs, I planned to do one more long ride with them to improve my season’s training. The 300 km Animalthon was scheduled for yesterday and I made some useful preparations. I put the rack on the Marinoni, together with the rack trunk I have, so that I would not have to use a backpack to carry my supplies, and put the bike rack on the car so I would not have to reassemble the bike at the starting point.

Waking up at 4 a.m., I checked the weather and things looked pretty good. There was a threat of some rain showers and perhaps even thunderstorms in the afternoon but I did not think these would be too much of a problem. I did pack my windvest, just in case, and was soon in the car, drinking a nice strong double espresso, and heading towards the jump-off point.

First problem. It turned out that the directions from Google were wrong and it took some time to find the Cheshire Cat pub in Carp since the directions took me most of the way there and then went somewhere else. I arrived around 5:50 a.m. to find that there were only two others doing this ride, and the both left by the time I had the bike set up and was ready to go myself. Peter, the organizer, gave me my check-in card and I was off at 6:15 a.m. into the coolish morning air. I put on the windvest but thought I would have to take it off fairly soon.

Leaving Carp, I cruised comfortably along the country roads at around 28 km/h. I was hoping to average 25-26 km/h for the day, which would easily bring me back to Carp before darkness. There were a lot of birds singing, and I saw some cardinals and a blue jay fly by. At one point I thought I saw a deer lawn ornament but when it turned its head to look at me I realized that it was the real thing!

The Prince of Wales drank here!

The ride began with a headwind but my progress was good and fairly soon I caught up to Trevor, the slower of the two riders. He had also been on the 200 km Brevet ride. In fact, so had Mark, the first rider out, but we never saw him on that ride and would not on this one as well. Trevor and I had a nice chat was we rode through Almonte and then rode towards Lanark and the turn that would take us most of the way to Calabogie. Trevor pulled off at a convenience store to get some Gatorade but I wanted to stay warm and kept on going.

Gravel to asphalt...

The road to Calabogie was particularly nice, with some interesting climbs and some small lakes to look at. A fox came up to the edge of the road but ran away when I approached. There was almost no traffic and the road was in quite good shape. Unfortunately, after a brief stop, my Garmin GPS fell off the mount on the stem and landed in the grass. The mount had cracked and when I tried to reattach the GPS, the tongue holding the unit in place broke off. The GPS would function since it was not wired to the bike but by carrying it in my pocket I could not read off the directions or distance on the ride easily. But I guess randonneuring is about self-sufficiency and I knew that I could easily order a new mount once I was back home.

The road looked familiar and I realized that I was riding the same route that the Almonte Bicycle Club uses for its excellent monthly 40 km time trial and almost before I knew it I was back in Calabogie. I had my card signed off at a gas station/restaurant featuring one of the most unpleasant washrooms I have seen in Canada and prepared to start on the next leg. As I was pulling out, Trevor, who clearly is not all that slow, called out as he arrived at the gas station. We chatted for a bit, but as he was going to go in and have breakfast I decided to keep going. Clouds were rolling in and I wanted to get back in Carp preferably dry.

Riding out of Calabogie, which was at the 95 km mark, I came to Ferguson Lake Road, which took me on some quiet byways through woods and fields and past the small lake-of-the-same name. The road turned into gravel but it was not too bad, although I had to slacken my pace a bit. It was a pretty road but at one point I reached down when I felt something on my sock and discovered blood–it was black fly season! For those unfamiliar with these pests, they come out in swarming clouds in May for perhaps two weeks. Unlike mosquitoes, they don’t sting but actually rip out bits of your flesh. Nasty things and so I made sure to keep my speed high enough to keep them away.

But it was getting darkish now and the first drops of rain were falling. It seemed pretty light and I was in good spirits as I approached the first of a series of climbs on Opeongo Road. The rain was heavier now, and I stopped at a small cabin that was the local historical attraction (there was in interesting outdoor display about Pileated Woodpeckers and their nests!) and had some of my sandwiches. It did not look like the rain was slackening so I rolled out again onto the silent road and began climbing the first of seven hills which would eventually take me to the highest point in Ontario. I did mind the climbing, which was moderately steep, but the rain was hard and I turned on my blinky lights as I approached some stretches of fog. When I finally reached the t-junction that was at Foymount Road, I was completely soaked and soon, with a massive descent, become even wetter. The downhill leg would have been quite exciting in nice weather as it hits grades of 14 percent, but today was not so nice as the rain slammed into my face at 70 km/h like needles and I could feel my lips swell with pain.

This was followed by a rather dull stretch that brought me into Eganville, where I checked in at the local coffee shop and had my card signed. It was only 1:45 p.m. and I had ridden more than 170 kms, so I was pretty much on schedule. After I drank two large hot chocolates, I went outside to get on the bike and found that the rain had increased and I was instantly freezing cold. I rode two more blocks and then saw a German restaurant where I pulled in to figure out what to do.

I still had 140 kms to ride. It would be quite flat and most of it would probably have a tailwind. My legs felt good and I had been eating sufficiently along the route. But I was wet and very cold and had no additional clothing (as if that would not have been soaked through in a few minutes anyway). For only the third time in my cycling I decided to abandon the ride. I ordered a mushroom omelette and a salad and then used my cellphone to call home for rescue. Two hours later, my wife arrived bearing that most welcome of things–warm, dry clothing. I got changed at the restaurant, we loaded up the car and she drove me back to Carp through evil rain and thunderstorms to where I retrieved my car at 5:00 p.m. Trevor’s car was still there, so he had clearly determined to keep going or else was making other arrangements. When I got home, I sent the organizer an e-mail to let him know I would not complete the route today. I also ordered a new GPS mount.

After a good dinner, including a fine Doppelbock beer, I was sound asleep by 9:30 p.m.

At least I did the climbing...

Although I did not meet my goal this time, I did ride more than 170 km on a challenging course so at least I met my goal of more training mileage. The Animalthon is offered again later in the summer by the Ottawa Bicycle Club, but with the cue sheet I have there is no reason I could not do the ride on my own in better weather since I was riding this one by myself anyway. My average speed, including the climbing, still worked out to a respectable 24.8 km/h so I definitely could do it in daylight. This will be the longest randonneur I plan to do since I have no interest in riding at night.

Race Report: May 7 Ottawa Bicycle Club 15 Km Time Trial

We have had unsettled weather recently and I was worried that there would be thunderstorms but when I arrived at the parking lot it looked good, albeit humid. During the warm-up the rains did in fact show up and I got pretty wet but just kept at it anyway. By the time I was done on the trainer the rain had ended and we were getting very mild temperatures. There were about 74 riders in all, including some newbies--including one who was seeded ahead of me.

At the start, I realized there was a slight headwind, the opposite of what we invariably have, so I decided to change my game plan and push hard at the start and then use the tailwind after the turnaround. I had an excellent launch and brought up the power very smoothly, seeing some good numbers (40-42 km/h) on the computer. I passed my 30-second man about 4 kms into the ride and just kept churning on. My heart rate was quite steady at a surprising 168 bpm.

I passed two more cyclists and then began the climb to the turnaround, where I ran into more headwind and saw the speed fall off to around 35-37 km/h. Unfortunately, at the turnaround I could not cross over due to four cars passing and I had to slow down quite a bit. This was very irritating as I had barely passed the 11 minute mark, making this my fastest outbound ever. On the downhill I accelerated up to 49 km/h and tried to regain my concentration but on the return leg I found it hard to focus. Furthermore, the hoped-for tailwind was pretty invisible. I was starting to hurt a bit but morale was boosted when I passed several more riders and was able to accelerate again until I got to the last 2 kms, where the pavement is pretty rough.

At 800 m I felt pain in my right calf and then it cramped very badly. I had to drop down about four gears to keep going and after I crossed the finish line I had trouble pedalling back to the car for the cool-down as my muscles were seizing so badly. My final time was 23:17, which put me 8th out of 12 in my age group but quite a few of the people ahead of me were new to the race and appear to be ringers from other teams. And Hermann the German beat me by 10 seconds, so I have to do something about this. I did manage to beat the other 70+ racer, even though he too is usually faster than me.

Bad news: well, obviously, the cramping. It was still sore when I rode into work on Friday morning. The turnaround traffic was beyond my control so not much I could do about that.

Good news: I think I have become faster over the winter. Without the cramping and the long delay at the turnaround, I probably would have gained a good 30-40 seconds. This is only the first week of May, and the first serious time trial (1:15 faster than the Good Friday ride), and my time is not far off of my June/July results, although we had a wet road and high humidity. Secondly, the bike fit was better but could still be improved by moving the seat up and back a bit more. The bike felt pretty comfortable and I am getting happy with the positioning. Thirdly, the launch was nearly perfect and I reached a steady HR of 168 bpm pretty fast. The highest HR I saw was 177, and the average, including a 2 km cooldown, was 158 bpm. This suggests I was well-rested since the numbers are quite high.

Although I was quite certain I was on the way to a PB before the cramping, to feel this good so early in the season, and only in the second race with this bike, is pretty positive. I think perhaps I will ask my Coach of Cruelty to amend my training program so that I do a long interval at race speed on the return leg of the course, where I always seem to have the worst problems.

Not quite Fabian yet but I think I will get to the 40 km/h level very soon. This is one of my New Year's Resolutions--as to the others, I have met my weight loss goal of 74 kg and increased my strength training results (although those 100 push-ups still look a long way off!). And I have raced every time trial offered by the club this year!

The End of the Beer Coaster?

As someone who has cycled throughout Germany and enjoyed many a fine beer after a ride, it was always a requirement to take a souvenir from the Kneipe, or pub, as a keepsake. In a shocking cultural development, Der Spiegel reported on Friday (a mere one day after German National Beer Day) that the largest manufacturer of beer coasters (also called "beer mats," or, in German, "Bierdeckel") has gone bankrupt:

Tough Times for the Humble Beer Mat

Small, beer-soaked and bedecked with all manner of slogans, the humble beer coaster has long been an essential part of a good pub or bar. But with its leading manufacturer now bankrupt, the cardboard institution may be heading for extinction.

For most of us, beer mats are just an insignificant piece of cardboard tucked under our glass of ale. But some have elevated the disposable coaster, which are a common sight in pubs in Britain and Germany, to a lofty status, considering it an art work, a collector's item, building material -- or even a piece of sporting equipment.

The record for beer-mat throwing stands at 38.26 meters (125.5 feet), while the highest beer-mat tower, created from more than 40,000 mats, stood proud at 9.70 meters. Leo Pisker, an Austrian, has an extensive collection of some 150,000 beer mats from around the world.

But now the economic crisis is threatening the beer mat -- and unnerving its fans. The world's biggest beer mat company, Katz Group, has declared itself bankrupt. Tucked away in Weisenbach in the south-west of Germany, Katz Group, which was founded as a sawmill in 1716, had been in the beer mat business since 1903. Katz International Coasters controlled around two-thirds of the European market and 97 percent of the US market.

Worried beer mat fans are asking themselves what the future holds. Over the decades, a whole scene has built up around the cardboard coasters. Some collectors travel to buy, exchange and admire at swap meets held across Germany. Others flaunt their collections on the Internet.

And despite its small surface area, the beer mat has been daubed with everything from political messages to adverts to saucy slogans. "A girl and a little glass of beer cures all woes," reads one, which features a beer mug-toting girl.

The cardboard beer mat made its debut back in 1880. Friedrich Horn, a German printing and board mill company, created small cardboard mats and printed messages on them. Before long, their simple invention had become a firm fixture under beer glasses across the country. Bar keepers liked them as they protected their tables, didn't need washing and didn't cost them anything -- advertisers footed the bill in a bid to reach new customers.

But times have changed. Beer consumption is on the wane and demand for beer mats is also weaker -- so weak, in fact, that the market leader has gone bankrupt.

However, it is hard to imagine that the writing is on the wall for the paper coasters yet. After all, the humble products have kept bars and tables clean for years -- not to mention the special place they occupy in the hearts of aficionados.

jas -- with wire reports

Of course, this may be only a momentary setback, but Der Spiegel has kindly included a slide-show of 41 different coasters to enjoy here.

A Saturday Randonnée: Exploring the Rideau Lakes Region

A nice Saturday ride...

After finding a Radonneurs Ontario brochure recently, I was intrigued enough to sign up for an early season ride. I have only done one randonnée, as these rides are called, when I did a 200 km ride in Virginia a few years ago which turned into something of an epic since I popped out my shoulder before I even started the ride!

There is a long tradition to the sport of randonneuring, dating back to the beginning of the 20th Century. With bicycles becoming both more reliable and more affordable, cyclists in Europe (notably France) began to undertake longer and longer rides. Labour laws in France were amended to include paid holidays so people who weren’t able to travel much could see the countryside by bicycle. The challenge became to go greater and greater distances. The famous Paris-Brest-Paris ride, which began as a professional race in 1891, has become an event purely for randonneurs who must complete the 1200 km course in 90 hours maximum. In order to qualify to ride P-B-P, which is only held every four years with the next being in 2011, it is necessary for a cyclist to complete 200-300-400-600 km courses before the event. I signed up to do yesterday’s 200 km event with the Ottawa chapter of Randonneurs Ontario.

Randonneurs are not racers and their bikes are set up to be as comfortable as possible to allow completion of the long course. The rules require the bikes have front and rear lights, and you have to have a reflective vest. Peter, the organizer, kindly loaned me a vest, which went into my left jersey pocket and stayed there for the duration. As for lights, I put on a small battery light from the commuting bike onto the Marinoni’s handlebars, and added a little blinky light to one of the rear seatstays, thereby meeting the letter of the rules. This would not be a set-up to illuminate an all-night ride, but since I did not expect to ride in darkness at all it would be find. I also brought along a very small backpack for food and additional gear. I would have preferred to use my handlebar bag but if I would have put it on it would have blocked the light (which I was not planning to use anyway!). For the longer rides, I would probably used my rear rack with one pannier for clothing and supplies. One element of randonneur riding is self-sufficiency.

Our small band of thirteen riders met at Ashton, to the west of Ottawa, and Peter gave us our cue sheets and our route cards. The latter are marked with the time as you get to each of the checkpoints on the course, of which there would be three between the start and finish today. Everyone was very relaxed and at 7:01 we rolled out as a group. The weather was beautiful, and the forecast was for a hot and sunny day. It was also supposed to be a windy day and leaving Ashton we ran into a rather nasty headwind that was to stay with us for half the day.

Very quickly the group divided up. A new rider, Mark, went off the front pretty quickly and we didn’t see him again for the rest of the day. I was riding with Vytas, a fellow OBC time-trialler, Suzanne, whose husband runs an excellent bike/ski shop in Chelsea, and Bob, on a very nice Merlin, who was wearing a Boston-Montreal-Boston jersey (the U.S. equivalent of P-B-P). Rounding out the group was Guy, on a RANS recumbent. We quickly got into a paceline, led by Bob and Vytas, and the flattish farmland soon became hilly as we rapidly reached our first checkpoint at 66 kms at Maberly, having the lady at the Post Office sign our cards.

I rode for a while with Guy and then went at my own pace for a while on the very pleasant winding road to Westport. I could see Bob further back behind me, his yellow jersey very visible in the distance. I enjoy a screaming descent into Westport, and promptly got lost, backtracking and getting onto Highway 42. I caught up with Bob at the Stagecoach Restaurant in Newboro, our second checkpoint and the midway point of the ride, where I ate one of my sandwiches and then enjoyed an excellent cappuccino and a warm blueberry scone. I also turned around my front wheel which I had installed backwards in Ashton–I just did not want to look a the quick release skewer on the wrong side for another 100 kms! Soon after Vytas, Suzanne and Guy rolled in and ordered some lunch.

Bob and I headed out together and rode through some small Ontario towns I had not heard of–Philippsville, Toledo–and one I knew because of its cheese factory, Forfar. I think that there is not much of anything else in Forfar.

We were in good spirits as the weather was fine and the nasty headwind had become a helpful tailwind. Bob was starting to suffer from some cramping so I went on ahead to Merrickville and said I would meet him at the next checkpoint, a coffee shop called Brewed Awakenings.

Merrickville was hopping on Saturday afternoon, with all the little stores and restaurants on the main street doing considerable business. It took three tries for me to find the coffee shop but after I was signed in I had an excellent strong coffee and sat outside to wait for Bob. I was joined by a couple from the area who were interested in our ride; they had an Irish Wolfhound puppy who was the centre of attention for anyone who walked by. After a while Bob joined me at the shop and then we were away for the home stretch, with 38 kms left.

Unfortunately 16 kms into the last leg I started to get some bad cramping myself in my right leg and had to ease off the pace somewhat. It stopped hurting and I was able to get the speed up a bit but then my left leg began to cramp at around 195 kms, to my extreme annoyance. But drinking a lot, taking a big shot of gel and spinning more easily helped. At least until we came to our last turn, onto Flewellyn Road. With around 2.8 kms of riding we discovered we had turned into an absolutely brutal headwind, right on the nose. Progress became painfully slow and it was with a sense of relief that I pulled into the parking lot behind Bob. The time was 3:32 pm.

After getting cleaned up a bit and changed, we headed over to Ashton’s Olde English-style pub to have a beer, relax and wait for the others; Mark had already gone. Everyone eventually turned up and I gave Peter back his vest and the control card before getting in the car and driving the 40 minutes back home, eating my two remaining sandwiches en route.

It had been an excellent day: 203 km in 7:19 of actual riding (with a bit over an hour stopped for coffee breaks and lunch), past nice rural scenery including rolling hills and lakes. The Marinoni, which I have not ridden on a long ride since the Mountains of Misery in May 2006, ran like a clock and was extremely comfortable for the whole distance. Maximum speed was 66.2 km/h!

Tour de Appalachians Day 4: It’s Not About the Bike

With the Banner Elk elk

The final day of our training camp began, sadly, with the departure of the Badger, who had to return to Washington on a family matter. But it was another beautiful morning and after a leisurely breakfast the remaining Lost Boys set out on the road one more time. This course was one that would not even come close to challenging our traditional Bad Navigation Practices, since it merely was a ride down to Banner Elk, where we would turn left and ride up Beech Mountain. At the summit we would just turn around and retrace our steps before packing up and heading out of North Carolina on the long trip home.

Beech Mountain has a special place in the lore of American racing because it was here, on a route previously included in the Tour DuPont, that Lance Armstrong, in his first year back on the bike after his bout with cancer but considering quitting, got back his motivation to race. He was joined by his coach Chris Carmichael and racing buddy Bob Roll for his own training camp. Here is the excerpt from his 2000 book, It’s Not About the Bike.

From then on, all we did was eat, sleep, and ride bikes. Spring had just begun moving up into the mountains, creating a constant fog and drizzle that seemed to muffle the piney woods....Toward the end of the camp, we decided to ride Beech Mountain, Chris knew exactly what he was doing when he suggested it, because there was a time when I owned that mountain. It was a strenuous 5,000 foot climb with a snowcapped summit, and it had been the crucial stage in my two Tour DuPont victories...

We rode and rode through a steady rain, for four hours and then five. By the time we got to the foot of Beech, I’d been on the bike for six hours, drenched. But I lifted myself up out of the saddle and propelled the bike up the incline, leaving Bob Roll behind...I continued upward, and the mountain grew steeper. I hammered down on the pedals, working hard, and felt a small bloom of sweat and satisfaction, a heat under my skin almost like a liquor blush. My body reacted instinctively to the climb. Mindlessly, I rose out of my seat and picked up the pace. Suddenly, Chris pulled up behind me in the follow car, rolled down his window and began driving me on. “Go, go, go!” he yelled. I glanced back at him.. “Allez, Lance, allez, allez!” he yelled. I mashed down on the pedals, heard my breath grow shorter, and I accelerated....That ascent triggered something in me... I was meant for a long, hard climb.

I passed the rest of the trip in a state of near-reverence for those beautiful, peaceful, soulful mountains. The rides were demanding and quiet, and I rode with a pure love of the bike, until Boone began to feel like the Holy Land to me, a place I had come on a pilgrimage. If I ever have serious problems again, I know that I will go back to Boone and find an answer. I got my life back on those rides.

We did not expect any epiphanies of our own on this beautiful Spring day, a decade later, but we were excited about the prospect of riding the same roads. We quickly passed down into Banner Elk and discovered we were on the course of a Sunday road race, with cyclists from regional colleges competing. At the traffic light, the policeman wanted to wave us to the right to stay on the course but we laughed and told him we weren’t competing. Although I did tell him, as I rode by, that although we were not racing we were looking very, very good.

Soon after the 3 mile climb to the top of Beech Mountain began. We passed a Baptist church where the congregation was coming out the door. They waved to us, and Duck called out “Pray for us!” which, since he has ridden Beech Mountain before, should have meant something.

Young Jeff humiliates the guy with the compact crankset
photo by Duck

Although we were neither riding in pouring cold rain nor had been on the road for six hours, the Beech Mountain climb is quite brutal. It was far more difficult that the park road up Mt. Mitchell. I was riding with Young Jeff and our progress was glacial as we rode through the switchbacks, grinding upwards, ever upwards. The valley below us opened up as we kept our pace steady, a difficult task given that there must have been sections of the road with gradients approaching 15%. Eventually we came to the top and in the last little flat stretch we saw Duck with his camera and a there was a big sprint finish, easily won by Young Jeff who had come back to life, fuelled by competition apparently.

Happy to have made it up here
photo by Duck

There is not much to look at on Beech Mountain, altitude 5506 feet (1678 m) which has that same dismal air of most North American ski resorts when it isn’t ski season. The place has a year-round population of only 350, but in winter this swells to 10,000. There are 1,800 residential units, so it is the definition of a resort town. Development had started at Beech Mountain in the mid-1960s, but after building roads, sewers and a lot of houses, the developers went broke in 1974. Property owners took over and eventually the utilities were transferred to public authorities and in 1981 the Town of Beech Mountain was incorporated There was a “Realtor on Duty” sign at one development, in case you wanted to make an impulse purchase. Beech Mountain is the highest town in the United States east of the Mississippi and of course we needed photos with the sign, but we soon turned around and headed back to Banner Elk.

College racers (Lees-McCrae College won the team time trial)

The descent was marvellous, needless to say, and the crawling, eternal climb on the way up was replaced by the kind of high-speed two-wheeled rocket flight that makes you smile for the rest of the day. In the blink of an eye we were past the Baptist Church, and then in downtown Banner Elk. We stopped to take pictures in front of the Banner Elk elk statue, and chatted with some of the college students as they watched the racers go by and cheered them on. Soon, too soon, we made the final climb back up Sugar Mountain. Riding past the golf course I could still see some snow on the ski runs.

Not for flatlanders

The Sugar Mountain to Beech Mountain and Back trip was only 31 km (19.2 miles) , or about what I do on two circuits of my time trial course in Ottawa. But I sure don’t put in nearly 1000 m (970 m, or 3182 feet) of climbing in that distance at home! A worthy challenge, even for an Armstrong.

The greens might be green, but there is still white stuff in the hills

We packed up our stuff, which took lots of time, and helped Duck organize the condo. Soon we were in our cars, headed in different directions. Duck was off to Raleigh, while Tim the Tornado, Young Jeff and I extended our trip together by stopping in Staunton for celebratory burritos and beers at the Baja Bean Company, followed by a brief walk around town. Then they headed to DC, while I was back on Interstate 81, headed northwards. It was a beautiful day, and I drove all the way to Chambersburg with the sunroof open and the Beethoven playing loudly. And thus ended the first Lost Boys Tour de Appalachians Spring Training Camp. There were a few mechanical issues, and some less-than-optimal weather, but it's not really about the bike: with the great company, Duck’s hospitality and a few beers it was all an unqualified success. We all rode well and I for one am motivated to raise my riding to another level higher so that I can take names and kick butt, as they say in North Carolina, next Spring.

Duck and the "Allez, Papa!" sign made by his son

Day 3 of the Tour de Appalachians: Mount Mitchell Calls

On the Blue Ridge Parkway

As a keen amateur cyclist in North America, you will not find all that many rides similar to the legendary parcours of Europe: anyone who wants to ride stretches of the Tour DuPont, a well-regarded pro stage race run in the Mid-Altantic Region of the United States from 1991 to 1996, will have to do their own organization and route-finding. Nothing with the flavour of the amateur versions of the Tour of Flanders or Paris-Roubaix or l’Etape du Tour exists on this side of the Atlantic. The lack of pro routes does not mean there are not some legendary rides. Living in Washington, DC, as I did, meant access to some terrific amateur rides that, over the years, have become well-known as well. I am referring to rides such as the Blue Ridge Extreme, Cheat Mountain Challenge, Mountain Mama and, the hardest of them all, the Mountains of Misery–all of which I have actually ridden. In other parts of the United States you will find the California Death Ride or RAGBRAI or, best of all, the 50 mile Iron Horse Classic in Colorado, which pits cyclists against the Durango-to-Silverton narrow gauge steam train!

Just out of reach from me in Washington are two such rides, both in the Carolinas: Blood, Sweat and Gears, which actually begins in Valle Crucis and circles around Boone, climbing some 13,000 feet. The other ride is the Assault on Mt. Mitchell, which started with some Spartanburg, South Carolina bike club members who decided to ride from the home town to the top of Mt. Mitchell, some 100 miles/160 kms away, and the highest point on the eastern seaboard of the U.S. From those small beginnings in 1975, the Assault has become a must-do for hard-core cyclists but numbers are very limited (750 riders only) and it always sells out: the best way to get a place is to have ridden the course the previous year. The altitude gain is 3425 m (11,237 feet), which is a good ride indeed. The ride is held in May, and it actually is a sort-of-race since transponder chips are used and times taken. You can plot the course for yourself by going here.

With the chance of participating in the Assault pretty well nil for me, I was delighted to discover that Sugar Mountain is not all that far away from Mt. Mitchell. Before coming down for the camp, I persuaded my fellow Lost Boys that we simply had to somehow ride up to the top of Mt. Mitchell since we were so close by. The original plan had been to ride on the morning of Sunday, April 5th and then pack up and leave after lunch. We had planned to do an organized ride put on by the YM/YWCA in a town not far away on Saturday but the weather forecast looked so good for Saturday we opted to ditch the Y ride and go for Mt. Mitchell instead. This turned out to be a very wise idea.

After our usual hearty breakfast, we had some discussion about where to ride from as we would have to drive closer to Mt. Mitchell. We discovered that a section of the Blue Ridge Parkway was actually closed due to a bridge collapse, meaning a 100 mile detour, but it turned out that the road closure was on the other side of the Mt. Mitchell park entrance, on the Asheville side, so we were home-free. Now all we had to do was ride that mountain!

We took two cars and our usual tons of gear and headed off in bright sunshine, taking some smaller highways until we eventually met up with the Blue Ridge Parkway again, following it until we reached Little Switzerland. There was a hotel there, and some small shops still closed for the season. We parked in the big empty lot and got our stuff together for the ride, amid the usual merriment.



Almost ready to leave
photo by Duck

After the obligatory group photo, we headed out into the bright but cold sunshine. There was virtually no traffic on the Parkway and I enjoyed, once again, riding on one of my favourite roads in the world. Fine smooth pavement, little traffic, matchless views that constantly changed, coupled with the feeling that Spring was coming and riding with a really terrific bunch in the clear morning light–what more do you need to justify a training camp like this?



One of three tunnels (except this was a double one) photo by Duck

As we discovered on our first ride on Skyline Drive in Virginia, the Blue Ridge is not flat on top. This means that the road is constantly rising and falling and that a fair amount of the climb to the top of Mt. Mitchell is actually climbing done on the Parkway. We all set a good pace and rolled through the quiet countryside in a great mood–no sign of fog today! There are sections of the Parkway that have barriers that are closed earlier in the year due to the prevalence of fog but there was none of the misty stuff to impede our progress today.

One relaxed kind of rider

It began to get warmer as we kept riding southwards and we pulled over at a scenic overlook to take off armwarmers and have a drink. There we met a bike tourist, riding a Bianchi Volpe triple, and heading northwards. He was a young man who seemed pretty footloose; he had started in Asheville and was just riding northwards. He would eventually stay with some friends in Washington, DC, and then head up the C&O Canal towpath before turning westwards at Cumberland, Maryland and riding the Great Allegheny Passage Trail to Pittsburgh. He wasn’t wearing any cycling-specific clothing, but he didn’t seem to be riding to any kind of timetable either. We wished each other a good ride and the Lost Boys headed back south.

Blue Ridge Scenery, and manly cyclists

We continued to admire the wonderful scenery and the beautiful weather and, before we knew it, the 21 miles or so (34 km) from Little Switzerland to the Mt. Mitchell State Park entrance had passed. The Badger and I let the others go on ahead as we stopped to take some photos. Once we started to ride again, the Badger said a discouraging word and pulled over–he had had his first flat tire of the trip.



While we were doing the mechanical, another rider in a yellow jersey passed by on his way to the summit. The Badger was quite excited because the stranger was riding a Cannondale of similar vintage to his. Tire fixed, we caught up with him pretty quickly and chatted for a while. He had come from Charlotte, North Carolina, and was riding with some friends but they had left this part of the ride for him alone. The Badger and I were feeling pretty good and climbing at a relaxed pace we soon left our friend behind, and passed the ranger headquarters at the park. The initial climb from the Parkway had been moderately steep but now it levelled off a little and we were able to make good time to the top, where the others pretended to have been waiting for hours.




The view from Mt. Mitchell

Mt. Mitchell, at 6,684 feet (2.037 m) is the highest peak in the Appalachians, and the highest mountain in Eastern North America. Until Texas became a state in 1847, Mt. Mitchell was the highest point in the United States. In addition to the State Park, there is Pisgah National Forest protecting the scenic beauty of the area. Unfortunately, the high elevation exposes the plant life to acid rain and the effects of this are quite noticeable.

The Badger attempting to steal the sign...

The mountain was named after a professor from the University of North Carolina who measured it in 1835. Prof. Elisha Mitchell returned 22 years later to verify his figures and tragically fell to his death at nearby Mitchell Falls. Apparently his tomb is at the top of Mt. Mitchell but I did not see any directions to it.



The Lost Boys triumphant
photo by Duck

There is a large parking lot at the top of Mt. Mitchell, but there were only a few cars and some motorcycles, not surprising for this time of the year. We looked around–there is a small natural history museum–and of course had to have pictures taken next to the altitude marker. Then it was a rapid downhill, stopping at the ranger station to refill our water bottles (there is absolutely nowhere to do this all the way from Little Switzerland) and then we zipped back down to the Parkway, thankful for all the heavier clothing that we had brought with us.

Duck and Sprocketboy

The ride back on the Parkway was less easy since we were definitely getting tired. The Badger said at one point: “Well, at least this is the last hill,” which turned out to be quite untrue. On one flying downhill we rocketed past Mr. Volpe, who was chilling out on the grass. But our spirits were good even if our legs were sore and we rolled back into Little Switzerland with a real sense of accomplishment. We had conquered Mt. Mitchell! And it felt like it: 2,259 m (7,411 feet) of climbing over 85.2 kms (53 miles), with a riding time of 4:10. I had a max speed of 68.2 km/h (42.4 mph), which was probably due to tired legs more than the potential of the road!

Today's daunting profile

After the drive back to Sugar Mountain, we quickly got cleaned up and celebrated our last full day of training camp with an Italian dinner at Bella’s, an Italian restaurant just down the mountain (we drove). There was beer a-plenty and I found that I was pretty dehydrated after the ride so I made pretty short work of my first two beers. None of us chose the lasagne as three nights in a row was a bit much but everybody ordered the same thing: a Mediterranean pasta made with black olives and artichokes. Very tasty, and with lots of bread we were well-fortified.

Our well-earned dinner at Bella's

Back at the condo, we watched some historical race DVDs but nobody could really stay awake. Ah, the excitement of training camp!