Kill Town, USA

Day 15: July 28, Into: Intervals

17.91 miles; 1:10:55; Max: 26.28; Avg.: 15.15

I think this is what I meant by Fatty Fat Loser.  Okay, I was never that big.  Or close to it.  Baby Mama says I’ve just been skinny the whole time I’ve known her.  Fair enough.  The important thing to note is that guy keeps it at 55km/h on every ride.  Up hill or on the flats.  He’s actually one giant quadricep. 

So, today I started working on intervals.  Since I’m usually strapped for sunlight by the time I go for my rides, I’m confined to this 1.5 mile stretch of road in an industrial park that’s pretty well lit and leads to LP Field, where I can do laps.  Today, I started on my intervals.  And I think I messed them up.

That’s okay, I guess.  I meant to do Power Intervals, or 3 minutes of maximum effort.  Instead, I did Fast pedaling…which is close but not what I meant to do.  I did five 3.5 minute high-cadence drills—between 115 and 130 rpm in a moderate gear: 39x16-15. 

It worked like this: I warmed up for about 10 minutes at around 65-75 rpm, did some laps, accelerated some, got nice and warm.  Then I started my first effort.  Each effort I took about 45 seconds to get up to my high cadence, and then held it for the rest of the effort.  Then, I turned around, pedaled around around 65-75 rpm back to the stadium and did it again. 

But, I added another workout to the ride back.  I did me some Stomps.  Stomps are by far the most fun I’ve had so far during the Month of Pain.  You select a pretty tough gear—I chose 53x14-15, and slow to a stop, then you accelerate hard for 10-15 seconds until you wind out the top of the gear.  You let your legs recover for about 10 minutes before starting another.

The most noticeable thing about riding on this stretch of road is the smell.  Earlier in the Spring, a company started excavating their parking lot and have since left a giant crater in the earth and they now have to continuously pump waste water out of it.  On that section of road, it smells like riding through Louie Anderson’s underwear.  And that got me thinking about other bad smells.

Dead bodies smell bad.  Not because they’re decomposing or because they have feces on them (well, partly those things), but there are gases that are released through the skin and esophagus that are particularly overwhelming.  Today, we had a body come to us from about three hours away.  He had already been dead for several hours before the transport, and he sort of just stewed in his own gases in the back of a warm van for the whole ride.  You put a sheet over him and it mostly blocks the smell, but the smell is always there.  Even when you go home.  It’s bizarre (and sad) how many smells are similar to good smells.  But it’s like listening to a cover band.  It’s either just not the real thing or it’s so much not the real thing it stinks.  I can’t really smell barbecue, vinegar, or really anything in the kitchen without thinking of dead bodies.  You’d think that would make me sick or gag or hate my job.  But you’re wrong.  Maybe I’m a sociopath, but I just turn off that part of my brain that links the two and I’m fine.  Or maybe I don’t turn it off and I just can’t be bothered by bad smells.  I don’t know.  I’m sure I haven’t smelled the worst yet.

Day 14: July 27, TToday, Junior

Effort 1:    3.01mi; 00:08:51; Max: 23.91; Avg.: 20.43

Effort 2:    3.01mi; 00:08:32; Max: 24.71; Avg.: 21.14

True, true, true to my word.

I took this workout straight from Carmichael’s book.  Just so you don’t have to read it, I’ll explain it pretty quickly, but with key details.

So.  Baby has had a stomach ache most of the day.  Not that I would know, because I was out of the house by 10 to drive my sister-in-law to the airport…from 30 miles away.  And, when I returned from the airport, I had just enough time to enjoy a custom hotdog with the love of my life when I got a call for a residential pickup…which means driving the hearse.  I love the hearse.

I could go on and on about people staring, and gas station attendants who gaze longingly at us in our sharp suits imagining the mentholatum smells of the embalming room.  I do genuinely like it.  But then the call took a long time—we were in this house longer than I’ve been in my own house in the past few days.  So, when I finally returned, it was clothes shopping time for my sweet beau.  This led to shampoo shopping for me and my curiously dry scalp.  And then we came home.  And then it was late and the sun was setting, but we had to eat.

The whole time, all I had been thinking was: I just want to sleep. I’m supposed to ride my bike, but all I want to do is lay down and sink, sink, sink into my mattress. 

And then it was dark.  I made dinner.  I ate dinner.

Mistake.

Because I still planned on going on my ride and doing my fitness test.  According to the book, I’m not supposed to have solids for two hours before this ride.  That’s good advice.  So, I waited and I tweaked my bike a bit.  The saddle position has been giving me issues lately, and my coworker gave me an extra bottle cage.  Finally, at eleven this evening, I suited up and went outside. 

Best thing ever: the temperature.  My phone says it’s 88, but I don’t believe it.  It’s definitely closer to the 70s.  The heat index has been well into the hundreds lately, so getting a break from the heat is worth mentioning. 

How I did the test:

Rode at high cadence and low speed (15mph) for about a mile.  I mapped out my flat course (around the stadium) and did three intermediate sprints—getting up to 26mph, not bad for not trying.  The sprints I did with recovery periods between, about 5 minutes.

Finally came the test.  I slowly coasted up to my starting point with my phone in one hand, thumb hovering over the app, while doing a trackstand to start.  My first attempt I didn’t want to shift at all, or brake, really.  I wound up to speed gradually—it took between 30 and 45 seconds—and I quickly settled into my rhythm.  And here’s more proof that I was too immature to contribute to cycling a few years ago: I finally got the feeling in my legs that I was on the verge of doing too much work.  You know, the slow, steady, throbbing burn that comes when you do an extended effort.  But it wasn’t like the maniacal feeling I got while sprinting, or while trying to lead a peloton.  It was like I could stay on the verge forever.  But my 3 miles ended quickly.

I then spun in a high gear with only one sprint for about ten minutes.  Then it was time for Effort 2.  I felt like I could ride a higher gear with about the same cadence, so I tried it.  My cadence was off by a few rpm, but my speed was higher (just look!), but I didn’t feel like I was over exerting myself.

And now, I’m happy as can e.  I’m happy with my speeds, my times, my course, and the mini Champs Elysees that I call my own. 

Days 12 & 13: July 25+26, And Then He Failed to Rest

00;00:00:00;00;00 (x2)

I unexpectedly took two rest days following my enjoyably long ride.  In fact, the rest was so unexpected, it hardly feels like two days have passed, and I don’t think I’ve had any rest.

I drove bodies approximately 500 miles yesterday, from roughly 8am to 4am.  0 sleep.  0 calories.  When I got in bed, it took a long time for me to relax enough to fall asleep.  And then I woke up to a text from my flight-delayed sister-in-law, who I was supposed to pick up from the airport.  Two hours later I was up for good and spent the rest of the day with my family—we fed ducks, we drank coffee, we reunited, and we ate.  And here I am, well past midnight, wide awake.  48 hours without being on the bike.  Happy. 

Good thing, this rest, because I’ve realized a tragic flaw with the Month of Pain.  It is actually a month of unfocused pain, and for a guy who’s neglected his bike this long, a lack of focus is the last thing that will be help rebuild my interest in cycling.  In fact, I’m sure not having a focus or even goals (short- or long-term) led to my drifting away from the sport.

And good thing I spent the day with my family, because it took me back to my grandmother’s house (where I used to live) and where I keep the approximate half-ton of books that wouldn’t fit in our apartment.  I took home two books: a rather old (but pristine) Bicycling Middle Tennessee book (I don’t know any routes here), and The Ultimate Ride, by Chris Carmichael.  Whether or not you like Lance as much as Lance likes EPO, Carmichael pretty much spills the beans on his whole training approach in this book, and his approach is quite effective (but not as effective as EPO).

While a training schedule once seemed daunting to me, the idea of micro-goals makes a schedule seem less intimidating.  And, instead of just riding aimlessly for a month and hurting myself, turning the rides into purposefully painful workouts makes more sense.  After all, I don’t want to injure myself, I just want the happy, burning pain in my legs that tells me I’m not letting myself become a Fatty Fat Loser.

So, tomorrow I have a micro goal.  I feel like I’ve done a good job reintroducing my legs to the cranks (and my taint to the saddle), and tomorrow I’m going to measure my current level of fitness.  It’s a simple test: two 3-mile time-trials with 10 minutes of active recovery between.  I’m actually pretty excited for this test.  I’m happy to say that I did it years ago when I first bought the book and have no idea what my numbers were, so I have nothing to feel bad about when it proves to be ridiculously slow. 

I’m supposed to collect Heart Rate and Cadence and Power, but I don’t have any equipment for that, so I’m sticking to time to keep it simple. 

Day 11: July 24, Heaven and Hill

42.02 miles; 2:38:02; Max: 44.31(Downhill); Avg. Moving Speed: 15.95

Max. Grade: 7.8% (x2); Total Elevation Gain: 2,217; Temp: 94F

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly L’Alpe d’Huez, but I was not prepared for this long a ride with this many hills.  Or the sun.  Or the heat.  On the second climb up the 7.8% hill, I was in pain, but I had a good rhythm and actually sprinted up the last 100 feet or so.  That was probably my undoing.  The second half of the ride was nice at times and excruciating at times.  I worked on my higher cadence—which I’m proud to say I kept up the whole ride.  

And, unlike the Joe of yesteryear, I rode with two other guys—dead body co-worker and his good friend.  Riding with other cyclists is something I avoided for a long time because I’m anti-social.  It’s probably why I let my fitness decline over the last several years.  It really makes a difference to have riding partners.  It’s easier to keep a faster pace, and it’s always fun to have someone to talk to.  I don’t think I could have done this whole ride alone. 

I really felt my legs on the ride back into town.  We passed a couple of bars on the ride, and it got me thinking.  I was pretty sure Korea invented the Instant Cool Soda Can, but Tempra Technology is claiming to be preparing a mass-market system called the I-C-Can.  Anyway, when someone finally starts making beer in I-C-cans, I’m going to start bringing them on rides.  After a while, water just starts to piss me off.  And warm energy drinks are oh so disgusting.  Instead of the celebratory post-ride 2-beer system we have, I encourage an IC-IPA while limping the last mile and half home. 

That also got me thinking about my diet.  And how great beer is compared to soda.  And then I realized I had made a horrible mistake and greatly misled the public.  The 4:1 ratio I mentioned a long time ago is actually backwards.  You want 4 grams carbohydrate for every 1 gram of protein.  It makes more sense because I bought a Bolthouse Farms protein drink and was surprised that the numbers looked backwards.  So, I did my research.  I was wrong.  It’s fun to admit when you’re wrong.  It’s also a much easier diet to follow. 

Speaking of diet.  I’ve been drinking a horrible protein “shake” I made from whey protein and frozen fruit.  I drink it post-ride.  Then I gag.  When it’s gone I’ll never make it again.  Just to give you an idea of what kind of shit this is, there are gray, bloated strawberries floating in this “shake” that taste not of whey-water-fruit, but of ass-water-fart. 

After 11 days of riding, I have saddle sores.  At least, the beginning of saddle sores.  I’m no scientist, but saddle sores start as sore muscle directly under your sit bones, and if you don’t take it easy on them, they can turn to blisters.  Usually, they harden and leatherify, so you wind up with a taint of leather.  I guess chamois cream would be a good solution, but plain old Vaseline works fine, too.  A medicated ointment like Aquaphor is even better.  Dave Zabriskie’s dznuts would be my recommended chamois cream.  I’ve never used it, but I like Zabriskie. 

http://www.dz-nuts.com/catalog/

Day 10, July 23; High Flier

13.66 miles; 00:59:04; Max:27.96; Avg. Moving Speed: 16.79

If you haven’t noticed, my average speeds are on the rise.  So, I decided to raise my cadence as well.  When I rode regularly, I pushed a high gear at low tempo and found it really hard to switch to a higher spin.  Since I’m pretty much starting from scratch, I decided (after my ride with X-tina) to work on cardio and cadence (one in the same, really).  So, with a headwind, I frantically pedaled in the small chainring and a big gear in back, and on the way back I pushed the large ring and big gear.  It felt like my legs were going to fly off, but I was breathing hard and tried not to let my legs rest. 

I also practiced my one-legged pedaling the other day, and it was really disheartening to see how unbalanced my pedalstroke has become.  But, that top speed came from my second sprint of the day in a fairly easy gear.  I won’t lie, I can go faster.  I could have gone faster.  I was exhausted, but I could have gone faster.  So, because I didn’t push myself, I sprinted up the really steep hill to the alley near my house. 

But, it got me thinking.

Jan Ullrich retired from cycling having never won a Tour de France.  He came second several times, and even third.  Unfortunately, he was at his strongest when Lance Armstrong was at his.  While Ullrich had his distinct German focus, he didn’t quite have Armstong’s cancer-death-inspired comeback (or his EPO, apparently).  So, while I was sprinting and knowing I could go faster, I thought, “I wonder if Ullrich tells himself he could have gone just a little harder to win at least one tour.”

But, the thing is, I don’t think he could have.  Andy Schleck just fell behind in the Tour, and he’s stated that 2nd place is nothing to be ashamed of.  And I have to agree.  But, you have to wonder if Schleck doesn’t think the same thing, at least immediately after the time trial.  Immediately after losing hope for the yellow jersey. 

The human body has such interesting limits.  People used to think no one could ever break the 4 minute mile.  That barrier was broken in 1954 by Roger Bannister, and since then it’s been shortened nearly 17 seconds.  And people think the current time can’t be beat.  You don’t know exactly where the absolute limit of human ability is, but you know it’s there.

Stranger still is how, in spite of time and technology, old records still stand.  They represent the existence of a human who, through whatever circumstance, found themselves in the right sport at the right time.  While Armstrong was the formidable cyclist at le Tour for seven years, he only excelled at the Tour de France, and never won a Giro or Vuelta.  The last rider to win all three in a year was Stephen Roche in 1987, and before that Eddie Merckx in 1974. 

Another interesting record is most miles ridden in a year.  It still stands from 1939 by Tommy Godwin, who rode 75,000 miles.  Or, 6,250 miles a month.  Or 205 a day. 

So, humbled by these numbers in comparison to my 13 mile day, I have to admit that I can push myself harder, at whatever cadence, and bring myself back to higher, more respectable numbers.  And these are the things that go through my head when I’m on the bike.

Factual Information:

After feeling like a cramped frog on my bike (with really sore hind parts), I discovered my seat was at an awkward angle and my seatpost was about 1.5 inches shorter than my hairy legs required.  Corrected and no more taint issues.

Against my word, I stopped drinking Deton8.  I feel like it did more harm than good.  I switched back to plain old water and feel better hydrated.  So, there’s that.

I also found an economical alternative to Perrier.  La Croix unflavored.  Club soda would work, too, but there are way more ingredients than just “Carbonated Water.”

Day 9: July 22, Takin’ it Easy

15.02 miles; 1:02:24; Max.:22.93, Avg. Moving Speed: 15.55

Today, my legs and lungs equally tired, I did a relatively easy ride.  I found another parking lot, made up a crit course, and did several circuits.  One thing you lose after so long is your cornering and handling ability.  And your confidence. 

Making up a course is easy enough, you want tight turns, long straights, and sweeping bends where you have to pick the right line far in advance so you don’t oversteer and wind up having to make up lost time.  The best turns are around light posts, they are well lit at night and make great switchbacks where you really have to accelerate out of the turn.  And they’re easy to remember.

Acceleration is also important, because unless you’re in front, you’re at the mercy of all the riders in front of you.  So, getting your legs used to constantly accelerating from naught will get you closer to proper crit performances.  Or you could just perfect your cornering and then dominate up front the whole time. 

But, I’ve never won a crit, so what do I know?

I titled this entry Takin’ It Easy because while I worked on my handling and acceleration, I never really felt like I was pushing myself too hard for most of my ride.  I made myself go harder for the rest of the ride, and even then I felt pretty strong.  But I found it really hard to make my lungs hurt the way they did when I rode with X-tina.

Speaking of X-tina, I’ve since learned her name but am denying it because I still don’t want people to know how bad I sucked riding with her.

(Source: youtube.com)

Day 8: July 21, Oh, I see.

18 miles;01:05:xx; Max:??, Avg.:17.xx

All the great things I had to say about My Tracks, and then it couldn’t pick up a decent GPS signal for my entire ride.  Oh, well.

It’d be embarrassing, anyway.

It will be embarrassing, anyway.

I was going to meet up with my coworker and ride with a local gaggle of twats, but I was five minutes late according to a bystander.  However, another cyclist was late and we took off in search of the group.  Not finding them and winding up in the projects, we decided to make up our own route and set off across the river. 

Her name was something I can’t remember, but it’s all for the best because now I can deny knowing her.  Not that she was bad, but I’m embarrassed to be that guy who tagged along on her ride and couldn’t keep a decent pace in front of her.  Now when someone says, “Hey, are you the wheelsucker who rode with X-tina last week?”  I can be all, “X-tina?  No, I don’t think so.  I found a hobo with a custom shopping cart and we took turns Froggering across the bridge.”

The first tip-off should have been the rather svelte and carbony Felt time trial bike she was riding.  The second should have been the fact that she didn’t have a small chainring.  It wasn’t there.  So, I pretended not to have one, too.  I’m stupid.

Now, keeping in mind that there is a shitload of lactic acid in my legs that sort of foams like a poorly poured beer whenever I press on the pedals, even on fresh legs I would have found it difficult to keep up with her.  She had a really good, high cadence, and she was tiny.  And a triathlete.  Triathletes tend to excel in one area and be mediocre in the other two.  So says X-tina.  Her strength is the bike, obviously.  Anyway, no matter how many times I told her I was only a week into my bike reintegration program, but she still kept telling me to go ahead if she was too slow.  She was taking it easy because she had a race coming up.  I was glad she took it easy, because I almost died.

I’m happy to say I stayed with her the whole time, and I even accelerated in front of her a few times and even caught up with her after I missed a turn.  Now…

After the ride, right now, my legs don’t hurt.  Not in the least.  Not even sore.  My lungs, on the other hand, are proof that I’ve been unaware of how poorly I’ve developed my cardio over the years.  It felt like I was gulping air the whole time, but never caught my breath.  That was most humbling.  

So, today the pain is in my lungs.  And tomorrow the pain will be in my lungs.  And the day after, and the day after.  Obviously, it needs work.

I remember one of my first collegiate races we had a short-track event on a Sunday.  They put the men’s and women’s races together and I got caught by an even smaller A-rider on a bike that weighed less than a poo and I tried to stick to her rear wheel the entire time.  Riding behind her was most infuriating.  She had purple anodized hubs and I just kept staring at them and not wanting to be stuck behind her anymore.  But I never had the lungs, or legs, to pass her.  The anger comes not from a perceived superiority of one sex to another, but from the frustration of being 3 times the size of another person and unable to outperform them. 

This experience brought something else to my attention: the way I think of cycling and training is not the way those who are successful at it think of it.  X-tina and I found it difficult to compare training notes, because I would mention top speeds and say things like, “You just have to sprint until it hurts.  Then you have to do it again.”  To which she would say things like, “How many intervals do you do?”  And I said, “Um, forever and ever.”

Anyway, the Month of Pain is only 25% over.  I feel like I’m only 25% of where I could be.  That’s a nice feeling.

Factotum:

X-tina has an autograph from Tyler Farrar, a really strong American Pro.  She’s not an obsessive fan.  They went to high school together.  Her father told her to get an autograph because he’d be big one day.

When I was in high school, my English teacher told my entire class to get my autograph because she thought I was going to be a famous writer one day.  No one got my autograph, possibly ruining my chance to be a better writer.

Day 7: July 20, Day O th’ Sun

26.05 miles; 01:54:31; Max: 31.32; Avg. Moving Speed: 14.80

Temp: 97F

I have two yellow labs, and if you sit on the floor they will inevitably crowd near you and breathe on your face and you will breathe in their breath and then you will feel like you are suffocating in some kind of 2010 Space Odyssey nutrition air-sublimation experiment.  And that air smells like kibble and dog twat. 

That’s what it felt like to breathe outside today.  That was my day of pain.

The sun was out.  A lot.  That means my cycling tan is coming back.  If you’re unfamiliar with that, I’ve included a diagram at the top of the page.  Now that you’re familiar, you might be wondering why anyone would be happy about that.  Well, it doesn’t make you faster to have that sweet tan, but it does mean you’re spending plenty of time on the bike.  And that means you’re on your way to fast. 

I know, I know, you’re still scoffing at that time.  And the speed.  Well, if it makes you feel any better about yourself, I thought for sure the time would be higher and the speed even lower.  I didn’t feel swift today.  My legs were pretty worn out and it took a long time to work out the lactic acid and get up a good rhythm.  Even then, my speed profile from the trusty Google My Tracks proves that I struggled the whole time keeping a steady pace.  It also shows an elevation gain of 1,462 feet.  Granted, that’s about a 1% grade over the whole length of my ride, which isn’t much, but it’s divided into these really steep, sharp, short climbs that make me blahblahblah.  Day of Pain: Heat and Hills.

That also means improvement.

I have an amendment to the twat post.  

Does the cyclist make eye contact with another cyclist who waves and nods and does not respond in any way?  If yes, twat.

Also, today I picked the wrong line going downhill and veered the wrong way into a fork where I had to brake really hard before installing myself in a wrought iron gate.  That made me think of having really big balls.  If I had really big balls, I would have leaned deeper into the fork and not had to brake at all.  

And that made me think of a man I saw with enormous balls.

As a rule, I don’t like cops.  Just seeing them in uniform makes me cringe.  So, the other day when I saw a state trooper parked on the side of the interstate with his radar gun, I sort of sneered and zoomed past well under the speed limit.  And then I saw the man had enormous balls.  In my mirror, I saw the trooper step out into the interstate and simply point at an oncoming BMW, which immediately pulled off the interstate.

I don’t think I need to explain why it takes balls to step out into an interstate in full sun and forcibly suggest someone pull off so you can issue them a $150 ticket, but I just did. 

I bet that guy would win bike races if his enormous balls didn’t get caught in the chain.

Day 6: July 19, Uh, twat did you say?

00 miles, 00:00:00, Max:0, Avg.:0

Go ahead, do a Google image search for the word “Rest.”  I’ll wait.

There you go.

On my rest day, I bought beer making supplies.  You can’t buy Dogfish Head where I live anymore, so I’m making the 90 minute IPA at home.  It’s my girlfriend’s favorite beer.

This will be my third beer.  So far, I’ve made Pilsner and Barleywine.  It’s an economical way to enable yourself.

I also gave a lot of thought to what makes up a strong rider.  And by strong I mean one with dignity and the ability not to bore people at parties.  There are many traits I look for in a cycling friend, perhaps too many as I have no cycling friends.

Far from just judging a man by his bike (or woman by hers), I judge cyclists on criteria I am making up just now.  Primarily, I judge by looks and riding style.  It’s a good way to tell if a cyclist is respectable or just a twat.

Here is a crash course on being a judgmental cyclist:

You see a lone cyclist ahead.

Question to ask yourself: What level of attire is s/he wearing?  Anything less than lycra kit and funny shoes and their poor behavior is forgivable.  If, however, they appear to be pretty serious about it, you have a whole new line of questions to ask yourself:

Does the bike have reflectors on it?  Anywhere?  If yes, twat.

How close to the shoulder is s/he riding?  If it’s not within a foot: twat. 

Is his/her head bobbing?  Like, a lot?  Like, it looks like he or she might be in pain or playing piano while blind?  If yes, twat.

Does the bike look disproportionately expensive compared to the rider’s level of obesity?  If yes, twat.

Does the cyclist have earbuds in both ears?  If yes, twat. 

As the lone cyclist approaches a stop light, you have even more questions to ask:

Does he assertively place himself in the appropriate lane (i.e., visible hand gestures indicating he wants to be in the left turn lane and not in the gutter, or indicating that he does not wish to veer right but instead wishes to carry on straight).  If no, twat.

Does he pull off to the right side of the lane so that he’s not in front of 20 cars?  If no, twat.  

Does he sort of piddle around on the pedals waiting for a break in traffic and then go through the stop light?  If yes, twat.

You might be thinking that if the cyclist cuts through a parking lot, he or she may indeed be a twat.  But you are wrong.  Unless there is a sign saying “No Thru Traffic” that cyclist is not only being clever, but safe as well.  It’s much less complicated (and dangerous) to avoid the intersection altogether.  If you don’t believe me, ask a cyclist if a left-turner has ever ignorantly turned directly in front of him/her. 

Okay, next scenario, you see two cyclists ahead.  You have a very limited set of questions to determine if the two are actually a pair of twats:

Do they ride side-by-side or single file as you approach and pass.  If side-by-side, twats.

Moving on.  You see a group of three or more cyclists ahead. 

Do they appear to notice you and make a tighter group allowing you easier passage?  If no, gaggle of twats. 

Are there stragglers who weave back and forth from shoulder to lane-divider?  If yes, twat.

Has the group selected an appropriate road on which to ride (a paved one-lane logging road with blind switchbacks and emergency truck ramps is not a good idea)?  If no, flock of twats.

Do they seem irritated that you, a motorist, wishes to pass and use up their valuable playground?  If yes, school of twats.

All that said, there are a few good ways to determine if you, the friendly motorist, are also a twat.

Upon seeing a cyclist, is your first instinct, “Hey, I’m gonna scare the shit out of that guy”?  If yes, twat.

Did you throw something at the cyclist?  Twat.

Did you give an appropriate honk (two short taps) from an appropriate distance (50-100 feet)?  No?  You just laid on the horn as you passed?  Twat.

Did you yell “Get out the road?” when you were clearly demonstrating your inability to negotiate your way left of the shoulder?  Twat. 

Did you drive a White Chevy pickup with dual exhaust and swerve towards the cyclist?  Twat.

Did you overestimate the width of the cyclist and hold up traffic for five miles while waiting for “adequate passing room” on a country road in spite of long-distance views where an oncoming car would be visible for approximately three miles?  Twat.

Did you harass the cyclist with children in the car and encourage them to laugh, thereby guaranteeing your twattiness gets passed along like a precious heirloom?  Twat. 

Are you a road construction worker?  Twat.

Day 5: July 18, Wet Flat Crit

12.03 miles; 00:49:55; Max: 25.17; Average Moving Speed:14.46

Technically, I have a coworker to thank for my recent cycling repassionating and this blog.  He’s just getting into racing and serious training, and it made me realize how much I missed it—not so much the competition, but the sore muscles and the pushing-too-hard-head-throbbing.  So, I might have said I might do a crit with him sometime soon.  And I thought tonight might be a good night to practice my crit skills.  Luckily, there are some nice open parking lots close by.  Unfortunately, it rained today.

Still, I practiced my short-track handling and my out-of-corner acceleration.  And then I got a puncture so I had to time-trial back home (hence the 25mph top speed) before my tire went completely flat. 

Admittedly, I was nervous about taking corners too aggressively, but I picked a good line so I didn’t have to lean too much.  And then I saw drainage concrete.  If you don’t know what that is, well, it’s that kind of concrete that looks unfinished or like it’s been broken apart by ice or something.  But it’s meant to let rainwater filter through to a gravel bed beneath and then divert away.  That means it dries quicker than asphalt and sealed concrete, and it’s really grippy. 

As I picked a line and warmed up, I remembered that I hate crits.  Even if you warm up an hour before, you feel like you’re not really prepared.  And you wish for just half a lap—maybe just for one turn—that everyone would chill out.  But that’s not the point of the crit.  I guess you can see why I never did very well in races.  Well, that and my horrible speed and time.

Before I got the puncture, I averaged 16mph around my impromptu circuit.  I was happy with that.  I just started to push myself a little harder when I noticed the puncture. 

Subtracting the nearly 3 miles to and from my house, I ticked away about 9 miles in a parking lot.  After a while, I was sort of on autopilot and it gave me time to think about Fast.

Perhaps the most important key to getting Fast is your cycling kit—or apparel to those who think kit is a lame way of saying apparel.  A lot of people think they should buy kits worn by their favorite pro-team, but you shouldn’t.  You don’t have a contract with Liquigas-Cannondale.  You don’t have to advertise for them.  And there’s no reason your kit should match your bike.  In fact, there’s no rule that says any part of your gear has to match any other part.  So long as you aren’t riding naked…

I prefer a minimalist approach to cycling.  I don’t wear gloves or those funny hats.  I don’t wear cycling specific socks or have color-coordinated sunglasses.  I wear bib shorts, a jersey, and a helmet.  And my shoes.  And sometimes I wear Smith Sliders.  I used to go without the helmet (die happy, I say), but there’s now a helmet rule in my house, so I oblige (it’s nice to have someone who wants you to protect your head).  My stuff doesn’t have a bunch of logos on it because I don’t get any compensation to have logos on my person.  That’s just me.  You do what you like.  But I’m going to ask you how much money you get for having RadioShack emblazoned across your chest and it’s your job to keep your dignity when you say, “Oh, I actually paid eighty bucks for this.” 

That sounds rude.  What I mean to say is that emulating Fast doesn’t translate to Fast.  It’s more important to focus on riding than kit, then Fast will come to you.