Turmoil

The cycling world is in chaos. Rome (the UCI, our lovely empire) is burning. Everything is upside down then thrown in a blender to get thoroughly mixed up. At the same time, the level of work is rising while temperatures and daylight is dropping, quite rapidly. I bundled up against the wind and cold and set off not knowing exactly where I was going; a first, as I have become well-acquainted with the roads of the East Neuk. And yet, that feeling of adventure soon pervaded my psyche: light butterflies in the stomach coupled with an excitement to find hills unclimbed, descents, turns, and just roads unridden. I couldn't wait to see what awaited me; I'd picked roads that looked as squiggly as possible and hoped that they were paved; if not, at least I had 25mm tires on. I was looking to take my bike over whatever lay under my wheels, tackle whatever laid before me. Despite their polarizing nature, I think the only medium that captures this essence of cycling, this adventure anymore is the Rapha Continental. We've all seen the Tour ride up the Tourmalet thousands of times, we've all seen the peloton tackle the Trouée d'Arenberg. These are usually unobtainable for the average cyclist, they lie in far off lands to be ridden only by the best of the best. But the Rapha Continental discovers roads, routes, climbs, that are everywhere, they inspire me (personally) to go look for a new road; because maybe, just maybe, you will crack a grin wider than you could descending the hairpins of Alpe d'Huez.

Mind Games

We all (should, at least) check the weather fastidiously among other things before throwing a leg over. Plot routes, figure out how to keep the cold and wet out as long as possible, last minute tinkering with the bike. Throw the water bottles in their cages and boot up the computer and that's when the mist starts. We've been at this point frequently before: literally steps away from that first revolution before setting off and yet all the plans thrown out the window. I've changed every piece of clothing before in order to make sure I'd stay warm and something resembling dry. I've chopped off 20 miles of roads, turned around, or even just sacked the whole ride. Thankfully today just a mist, lucky I gambled on the wet weather clothing. As I spin towards the sports center, the mist intensifies, becomes heavier, until it's drizzling. Can't let down the other guys now. Get to the sports center and I realize its plenty cold with no sun. Oh well, I'm here now, can't change anything really and after I get the legs pumping and the blood flowing I'll be plenty warm. Now it's raining. Not drizzling, not misting, not damp, not humid. Just rain. And plenty of it. The roads were practically submerged at some points. The legs warmed up just as we hit my favorite little ribbon of road; quiet, rough, wet, and twisty. The perfect road can completely change your mindset: after that, it was all extensions through mud, puddles, hills all the way to a glorious cup of coffee and a warm shower.

Indian Summer Sky

There isn't a cloud in the sky today in Fife--it is something of a rarity, the sun as the needle poking through the haystack of cloud, fog, and rain that pervades the British Isles in the autumn. I've also been told that the weather is really warm. For October I guess it is, but I'm still not ready for anything but truly warm summertime temperatures; however, riding at this time of year is always enjoyable. Taking leftover form from the summer and using it aimlessly: gunning up a climb, hammering over gravé, certainly not at racing speeds, but still strongly enough to have fun with it. The legs don't shine and sparkle as brilliantly as the summer, they don't get as hot, it takes longer to get the engine ticking up to speed; but there is something lingering, a feeling, a good memory. The legs will get colder, weaker as the season trundles along and brings about winter, work, more class, papers--and that is ok. As the Indian summer passes and takes form with it, we can look for new objectives: instead of fine-tuning fitness or targeting races, pursue the mythical souplesse and the timeless class that comes with it.



Saturday:


Sunday:

Schadenfreude

Rule #9

If you are out riding in bad weather, it means you are a badass. Period.

Fair-weather riding is a luxury reserved for Sunday afternoons [not today] and wide boulevards. Those who ride in foul weather – be it cold, wet, or inordinately hot – are members of a special club of riders who, on the morning of a big ride, pull back the curtain to check the weather and, upon seeing rain falling from the skies, allow a wry smile to spread across their face. This is a rider who loves the work.

When you've mentally prepared for a tough, wet, cold, nasty day, there is nothing sweeter than seeing an ominous sky, as described above. Today was one of those days; meeting up before the ride the darker clouds were building on the horizon. The mist and light drizzle came within only a few miles and the heavy rains soon followed. There is a perverse sense of gratification that while you're sitting on the front in driving rain and wind that somehow, behind you, everyone else is more miserable and in more pain. The cycling version of Schadenfreude. Alberto Contador recently said something to that end; essentially: "I know when my legs hurt, everyone else must be hurting more. So I attack then." Let me be clear, I am not trying to be mean or act as a masochist to any rider but I guess feeling tougher is an ego boost to a simple male mind. The rain did stop before the first major hill yet the roads were still soaked through (and would be until the end of the ride) and rising out of the saddle the group quickly shredded to pieces. At the top, some headed straight home while John and I soldiered on, through muddy and twisty roads, ever careful to not lose that minuscule patch of grip that lays between us and ending up in a ravine. Rain brings the limits that much further down, making it that much easier to reach them. But there's nothing better than knifing through narrow turns on narrower roads; trees and shrubs brushing your arms with their branches; letting the physics of cycling work: managing to stay upright despite the absurd angles of lean. This is the most--by far--joyful part of cycling. It's why we seek the descent to a climb and look for ancient back roads instead of characterless motorways. Perhaps a soaked Lombardia highlighted and intensified these feelings. Photos by Sirotti via steephill are here. Another long climb lay in the way of my tiring body and home but the sun was burning off the gray, peeking through the clouds before finally bursting through with the last downhill miles left. I love the work.

Random Cults

A dose of the purple kool-aid (kidding); some pictures from the Cults Road--my favorite stretch out here--and a couple from the nearby area

Fife Autumn "Sportive"

Chilly, freezing, arctic, bitter, biting, frosty, glacial, crisp, cutting, icy, polar, frigid, just plain cold. This is what greeted Enrique, Mark, and I upon are arrival at the car this morning, seeing as it was covered in ice. After packing and heating it up, we headed towards Falkland to enter what was perhaps the first event in the history of the St Andrews Road Cycling Club. Fog enveloped the Cupar valley, the first couple pictures were taken from the top of Tarvit Hill, about a mile and a half south of Cupar, in one you can see the Lomond Hill in the distance. All along the way the roads were socked in with fog and the temperature gauge in the car never broke 1ºC, not even when we arrived in Falkland. Changing was a miserable process, despite the urgency and speed with which it took place. All signed in and ready to go, we rolled out through the messy thick soup shivering in our saddles. The pace was for once agonizingly slow, as all we wanted to do were some sprints simply in order to build body heat. At times I was almost embarrassed to speak as it felt like my face and lips were going numb, rendering even the simplest phrases almost unintelligible. The opening was a slog, in no way hilly or difficult, but trying to get the legs ticking and warmed up was nearly impossible until, luckily, a few miles in the sun began to burn through the endless gray. Within another few miles, thankfully warmed a little, we descended along a beautiful road that weaved with the motorway before dropping off into a forested and foggy valley or canyon complete with arched bridge (which I do not have any pictures of since I was having too much fun but its the B996). After that the group trundled along through fog, chatting away the miles. After getting yelled at by an old timer for trying to get off the front so I would have time to lower my seatpost (after which we had to spend a few minutes chasing back on since we had to stop while in the group) we tried to just follow along and play nice while trying not to crash--or get hit--by a wayward rider. An awfully paved road followed, with potholes every few meters practically but once past that it was an easy spin home. The whole event was less sportive than group ride, although I am happy I paid the entry fee as a whole new section of roads in Fife opened up and I can't wait to get back to explore them further, so pay attention for a little trip sign up.

All the wind in the world

Oh to be back in Scotland. The wind finally picked up for a ride and it was out in full force. Nothing too unusual, so five of us headed towards the Tay coast to put in some hills. Dodging gaping spectators along the bike path shook us out of our lazy start and demanded concentration to not hit children or cars. The pace was easy and after a quick tune in Guardbridge the pace began its gradual rise until we were pumping through the crosswind to Wormit. Turning into the headwind we had to slow, its force was far too powerful but we slogged on, taking turns at the front and talking. Within a few miles we hit the first hill of the day the brutal Coarse Brae; aptly named for its terribly paved surface. Down a fast, fun, twisty descent (with a moment of worry as the wind took my front wheel around one corner and pushed me wide) took us to the next muur, the Oude Kilmany. Sharp turns force you out of your saddle to keep up cadence and the pitch is unrelenting right to the very top. More potholes also force you to constantly keep an eye on the road and weave around them. Luckily no major lay between us and home and with the wind at our backs we absolutely flew. All in all a very satisfactory and enjoyable ride. Check back later for video.

Into the Sky

12,095 feet. 3,686 meters above sea level. The highest paved pass in the continental 48. Pikes Peak and Mt Evans may go higher, but they simply dead end. Independence Pass is one of the more famous climbs in the States. The climb itself is about 16 miles, but there are a few rolling miles from town beforehand to either sap or warm up the legs. The climb opens nastily, steadily above 5%, but again, at altitude it feels much worse. All you can do is grind away, watch the computer slowly tick off hundreths of miles, then tenths of miles, then miles and calculate in your head how much suffering you have left. The middle stretch flattens just a bit, while the upward bits are just as steep, there are some flat stretches, even a quick drop or two. The scenery is unrivaled. Peaks soar upwards from the valley which the road travels along, dense pine and birch forests populate the road up until treeline. Passing the ghost town of Independence is the first sign that respite is near. Finally the road sweeps to the left and you can see a ridge across the valley that is the serpentine road heading ever up. Problem is, you can see every one of the 800 or so feet left to climb. You can see the pitch of the road. It's a bit demoralizing, but at least you realize that you're almost at the top. After the last hard right hairpin, you realize that there is simply no air left. You breathe in, command your legs to hammer the pedals down as you rise out of the saddle and yet nothing, or very little, happens. I was plenty hydrated and yet I felt like I was constantly on the verge of cramping just from the sheer lack of oxygen at that height. The final grind is just that: a grind. You can barely rise out of the saddle, when you do, you gain maybe a mile an hour or two, only to lose it shortly when your legs give out. Finally making the last left turn, you see the finish, the famous sign, looming just above the road, and you try to attack again, try to rise out of the saddle only to be beaten back down. Practically falling off my bike, I take the requisite pictures, and gleefully take my reward: a 20 mile long, 30 mph descent with little hard braking yet sweeping turns all the way down. It's certainly worth the agony.





I did this descent (I rode up the exact same stretch of road as well, as the PRO challenge did the next day)

Hills, Hills, and More Hills in the Wet

After seeing the usa PRO challenge depart Aspen this morning (which was great, fantastic access to the teams before hand, and i was feet away from them on a turn as they were doing laps around town), I headed up a generally more rolling stretch of road a few miles from downtown. Since the area tends to be more rolling, the climbs are much steeper than in other parts; at 8-9k ft, you can also make sure to either add a few percent grade relative to sea level or imagine breathing through a straw with your nose plugged. There is little chance to settle into a rhythm, the climbs are too short and steep, you need to power over them as much as possible. I did manage to find a longish secluded stretch of road that did go straight up. After killing my legs, the rain throughout the day made the descent down more than treacherous, I almost managed to run off a few times but kept it upright and on the tarmac. Some more rolling hills home with a few false flats thrown in to suck all the life out of my legs, not to mention increasingly heavy rain made me happier than a clam to be pulling home. Check back for a quick vid of the peloton leaving Aspen.






PRO BIKE RACING

The Bells

Letters and words are coming, I'm gonna go watch some racing right now.

Update: Headed up a classic Aspen area climb, Maroon Bells. It's a long climb, not the steepest at times, but it's a slog. A steep opening slope followed by a fast downhill starts things off. Then the road keeps climbing. And climbing. The scenery makes everything more than worth it. On the way up I was passed by a small group of riders all on team issue SuperSix Evos, in mostly team kit. Seeing as I was nowhere near the race finish, before the race had even started anyways, I found this a bit peculiar. One person I did recognize in the group was Tim Johnson, cyclocrosser extraordinaire. The group ended up being a tour that was sponsored by Cannondale (they got backstage access to the PRO team too). Tim Johnson ended up being a really, really nice and cool guy; super friendly and actually struck up a conversation with me. The view at the end of the climb makes it more than worth the trip up. Catch it in the right light, and the mountains do look purple.





BIKE RACING:



VeloNews Pictures

Playtime!

Decided to go play in the hills. I'm in Colorado for the USA Pro Challenge and I rented a bike (checking your own in the states is an absurd process). Here's the little spin I did around Aspen after getting off the flight. There's plenty more to come.

Early

I actually managed to get myself out of bed this weekend to go for early morning rides. Saturday was by far the more eventful day; despite this I didn't take any pictures. It started out innocuously enough: a passing drizzle, and just some wet roads. The rain, however began to steadily increase a few miles in and just past a third of the way into it, it began to pour. And I mean rain hurting the skin pour. By the time I was wet and cold I was over halfway so I kept ploughing, or swimming really, ahead. A truck very nicely did the classic spray after hurtling through a puddle I was next to; I felt like I had dove under a wave in the ocean, the water was literally over my head. Hurried home to a long hot shower after that. Sunday morning was much more relaxing...the sun was shining, the roads were dry, all was peaceful. It was almost cold without warmers when i first threw a leg over, but after my warm up as my pace and the sun rose, the chill lifted. False flats litter roads on the eastern end of Long Island, and after rising steadily, I enjoyed a twisty descent, followed by a brutal time trial against the wind along a highly exposed isthmus. Turning back towards home I took a few gravé roads, still packed down well from the rains and just relaxed and took in my surroundings and was happy for a relatively easy ride. 




Saturday:


Sunday:

Birthday Ride -- with video!

Sorry for the long delay; I thought I would test out the camera today (results below, I'm quite happy). Pretty much a normal ride, Millstone is a very fun descent, it's quite easy to pick up speed on it. Some other quiet roads were thrown in through the woods; all in all a relaxing ride with Renée.

Gravé

Got a little time off work after doing a couple of weeks of long days. Had a nice recovery ride along the Hudson River yesterday and I attempted to explore going up the East River (there's supposedly a new bike path, according to the map) but I was stymied by the ever present construction. With little elevation gain to speak of, it was an easy and leg clearing spin. Today was much, much different. Temperatures were sweltering, the wind felt like a hair dryer. After threading my way across the GWB I took River Road again, hitting all the hills hard trying to improve my times from the last round. The heat cracked me on the last one waaaaay before the top and I had to grind my way up, nothing too unusual I guess. To my elation I discovered two sectors of strade bianche/ gravé in a state park--a happy ending to a wrong turn--and it caused me to reflect on this point of the season. Thing is, I miss the spring classics. Pretty badly (surprise, surprise). I miss the one day battles against the elements and the roads. It doesn't help that this year's Tour GC is a regular snoozefest. I've already come to the conclusion that this year's TdF is more interesting as a series of one day races. It may seem that Sky are lazy in the low and medium mountain stages but I'm enjoying all the interesting breakaways this year. And at least the French will be happy for once considering all the stage wins they've picked up. I guess it made me a little sentimental for Scotland and northern European riding. I certainly don't miss my bike, and while it looks like a replacement is farther and farther away as the days go by, I find myself still wanting to tackle tough, winding, narrow roads; nasty wind; mud at every corner; lashing rain. Like my favorite PRO Spartacus believes, each and every race is battle, it's a fight and I guess I connect to that. But on the other hand, I now have an awesome ironed-on bib tan. Back to reality, more searing blacktop, and more hills for the way home. At this point I was just trying to get home, I stopped to refill my big bottles twice, and I must admit, the argyle strip on Garmin-Sharp's Cervélo's is probably one of the nicest touches on any PRO bike (at the other end of the spectrum don't get me started on Sagan's "Tourminator." He's 22, he can get away with that now but soon it's gonna look childish and make him look like a sore winner).

Lou Maltese Memorial

After a month of not racing I got the fire back in my belly and entered into the Lou Maltese Memorial Race, a big open race--riders from outside the club could enter--in honor of one of the founders of my club, CRCA. With more unknown riders, and a few who had little if any racing experience, the peloton was nervous throughout the morning, despite the lack of rain. At certain moments I felt unsafe sitting 7th back off the front. I wasn't in the best of shape but I took a couple digs before missing the winning break (I knew the riders were strong, but I figured the group could pull them back eventually, unfortunately I was wrong). In some senses it was a thankfully uneventful race. I tried to make a jump about a half mile away from the finish line to pick up 5th place, but the pace was too high, I had too little left in the tank, and so I couldn't sustain enough of a gap. I didn't really want to get involved in a bunch sprint with several riders I had never seen before and had reserves about their handling ability so I sat up and came in towards the back to not risk a crash. Team SixCycle are watermarked accordingly, SKN Photography provided others. More photos from the Moto here and here, thanks to NYC Velocity/ "MQ." Like always, pics are of my group only, follow the jumps to see all photos of the day's racing.

The Alps, from John

The Alps, from Fraser

The Alps, from Toby

Palisades

Another scorcher of a day today, but at least sunny. Still didn't want to ride my normal loop, so I drove just across the river for a little scenic riding. To my elated surprise, SRAM was running a demo day at the shop I was going to meet my dad at. After speaking with a rep, I managed to get a pair of Zipp 404 Firecrests on my bike for the day. Call me crazy, but I wanted to try out the wheels on my bike instead of an S-works Tarmac SL4 with New SRAM Red and Zipp wheels and finishing kit. Headed down to the River Road which, as it turns out, is more poorly paved than Scotland. You read that correctly, I found a road worse than Scottish ones. I'm amazed too. Stretches were particularly cringe inducing seeing as I was on US$2500 wheels that weren't mine--but they ironed out a lot of the bumps and holes quite nicely, carbon wheels work much like a carbon frame: flexible in the right ways, stiff in the right ways. Nothing describes how these wheels rolled. They just wanted to go fast. They felt like they were slipping through the air; they held speed so incredibly well I felt like I was constantly on the brakes just to hold a constant speed. The ride was pleasant, if hot again. Rolling hills were a challenge but nothing savage. Fun day in the saddle, and I'm now most likely very loyal to Zipp, the wheels were incredible.

Press F5

9:30 to 6. Out of the house by 9:10. Same subway, same walk through the station. Same desk, same snack times, same type of lunch; read, analyze, write, repeat for next report. Head home, same train (same car sometimes even, so I'm close to the exit at my station). Tuesday morning, ride 3 laps of Central Park. Thursday evening, ride 3 laps of Central Park. Saturday and Sunday, if I was lucky, 3 laps of Central Park. Maybe race on the weekend. The daily grind shouldn't extend to my rides, or anyone's rides should it? Riding was feeling like work: it's almost more stressful than work trying to not hit anyone (you could never know until you ride NYC). After a over a month of doing the same 10k lap--with a couple of exceptions--I was more than ready for a change of scenery. Particularly after discovering so much more of Fife this past academic year. I drove out to the beach community where some of my favorite roads are. Its largely flat, like everywhere else on the Eastern Seaboard of the US, but there are some stiff rollers. The mostly quiet roads twist through woods and along bays or run flat, long, and straight (itd be a perfect road for a TT) along beaches. Weather was more sweltering than I expected, but still not like riding in the city itself where the building radiate extra heat. A couple of nasty bumps led to some handlebar slip--now I know why the PROs run aluminum cockpits at P-R and the RVV--but on the bright side a bike shop that usually nickels and dimes riders fixed it for me for free, even checking the tightness with a torque wrench. Anyways, back to the rollout; unfortunately, winds and false flats kept my legs churning away constantly. I headed towards the hills  but at the top of each hill I was greeted with a fast(ish), fun, flowing descent. Since there is little elevation gain they don't last terribly long and only a few could even be considered in the running for the term "technical." What they are is ego-boosting: just hard enough so you have to pay attention and steer the bike, but nowhere near dangerous or difficult enough to be worried about the risks. I must say, they are also a perfect fit for my race bike, which is not nimble enough for a crit but she loves swooping curves on descents and happily rails through them. My garmin (or my spotty mapping abilities) led me astray only a couple times and up interesting roads both times. All in all a refreshing, head-clearing ride and a necessary change of pace to the grind. I hate to rub things in, but written on a blackberry on the beach, with an ice cold beer next to my chair. Maybe, just maybe, prepared to hit the routine again. Hopefully tomorrow I'll be headed up the Hudson River. Stay tuned. And sorry for the lack of pictures, I forgot the camera, there will be plenty come August.

A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Thankfully no rain for today's race and the roads were bone dry. Everything started out innocuously enough; easy roll off the start, so within a couple miles I thought I'd take a dig on a descent managed to stay away for a little while but I was hoping to be joined in my breakaway efforts but it was not to be. My legs certainly needed some rest after the dig and I sat in the pack getting pulled along, taking a pull every now and again. Finally the group's constant surging and slacking (wholly unable to maintain a constant speed), constantly braking, constantly jumping out of the saddle to hold a wheel, drove me insane and while some little guy was holding a ridiculously low pace I shot off the front, again hoping to be joined by a small group but yet again was all alone; this time I managed to stay away even longer, but I knew that with half the race left I wouldn't be able to stay away on my own for the whole time. Despite sitting up and soft pedaling it still took the peloton half a lap to catch up with me. After another couple of miles, two of the strongest riders (one of them has won twice this year, came second today and is an Ironman just bike racing to improve his cycling splits) attacked and I jumped--at first alone, but eventually joined by three others-- to try and cover but they were too strong. Got sweeped up by the peloton and we eventually caught the other two (both were on S-works Venges wearing black kit, if you're curious to find them in the pics). Relatively uneventful after that besides the poor form surging, until the finale when I got caught, yet again, too many wheels back to seriously factor in the finish and I think I ended up 12th. All photos labeled "Team SixCycle" are obviously from "Team SixCycle"while all other photos are from SKN Photography. Check out the FB links for the full galleries, pictures below are only of my group.

Ronde van Nieuw Amsterdam

Racing is never easy. It's always tons of fun but some days are better than others. Today was one of the hardest races I've done. Only 17ºC/65ºF (cold for here) with soaked roads showing Flemish mirrors (rain stopped no more than an hour before the start and started again about 2/3 of the way into the race),  I had to dress as close to my Flemish finest as I could for the race, and it ended with some lovely Flemish tan lines from riding in a group all morning. All in all it was like being right back in Northern Europe. (Quick history lesson, New York City was first settled as "New Amsterdam," thus the title, by the Dutch, the linguistic forefathers of the Flemish.) The cold was compounded by a very consistently high pace caused by constant breakaway attempts and constant reel ins. I was lucky enough to be on the front to work in both for most of the time. I was drained after the first couple laps and had to sit back and get pulled along for a little bit. By the time I started hitting the front again, the carnage began. Close to the end, a rider went down on the first curve of the descent (The "S" curve on the top right of the map). He was fine teammates were helping him out and marshals were slowing us for the sector to get us through safely. On the final lap we pass by the same rider, still down, only now being attended by the ambulance; we're funneled down into barely half a lane, I'm pushed towards the middle of the pack in the funnel. As soon as the first seven pass the ambulance, they attack hard (really jerky move in my opinion, it's not like we were racing for the rainbow jersey) one guy almost hits the ambulance as he goes down since he can't cope with the increased pace on the descent. At the bottom, halfway through the final turn two guys go down hard. The nastiest crash I have ever seen by light years; they're supposed to be ok (according to the club, but they definitely needed to go to the hospital just from what I saw). I hit the brakes and just made it around but I lost my rhythm for chasing the break and another guy who I had been collaborating with on and off for the race--there's a picture of us alone--just sat up and didn't bother chasing, they were too far up. We talked to the finish line, not caring about our placing, just thankful we managed to keep the rubber side down and the hairy side up. The most mentally taxing and stressful race I've been in, I now have a window into why the PROs say the early season races are the hardest on the mind: everyone is trying to be on the front in lousy conditions--at least we have enough road to deal with this. I've only posted photos from my group, there are more posted to the following facebook page. All Photos courtesy of SKN Photography (save for the one of my Flemish tan). https://www.facebook.com/SKNPhoto



Finish Line Video:

Home Sweet Home*

For some ridiculous reason I thought that the day after a 7hr flight home would be a great day to have my first race. Less than optimal preparation immediately preceding the race meant that my only objective was to finish in the bunch. After getting lost on the way to the race as well as procrastinating while eating my breakfast and changing, I was rushed in signing in; I thought I'd only have a mile warm-up, but luckily the race was delayed and I could at least do a one-lap preview of the course, which as it turned out proved to be more useful than usual.  But great success for the day, managed to finish around 10th I think, without having to dig too deeply yet partially because of a stupid tactical move on my part. The course was pretty boring, a lot like NASCAR, just a trapezoid with easy corners. Too short to be a road course, yet a little too long to be a crit the distance fell in a weird middle ground. The racing as still fun as always. No hills but ferocious winds at times help separate the field.





*Awesome Song

Evolution

Some rides just evolve. I wanted to take Quique to Devon Pass, and we both adore Eden Ridge Road so we rolled out of St Andrews heading East. We warmed up thoroughly, spinning all the way through Ceres; we spun for most of the ride in reality, just relaxing and chatting--a lot about the apparent ticking time bomb that is RadioSchleck-Nissan-Trek-Jingleheimer-Schmidt (Red Kite Prayer shout out for that gem). We hit the bottom of the northern approach to Devon Pass--what I now think is the hardest climb in the area after the Lomond Hills--and we made our way up, not too slowly, but the steep pitches necessitate super low gearing. The climb is beautiful, lots of fun, and it tapers out towards the top: the hardest climbing is really on the lower slopes before the road swings to the right. A fun, fast descent ensued, and we were soon on the Eden Ridge Road, one of the most scenic stretches of tarmac, if also one of the roughest at times. Both of us had good legs, so we decided to take a slight detour and extend our ride, something that we did again, heading towards Peat Inn before veering off again and rolling towards Largoward. We wanted to keep going, the legs and minds felt fresh, it wasn't too cold, and it was still sunny. While I'm always a little wary about extending past a plan (as that's usually when bad stuff happens) the day was just too nice to give up on. Taking more descents to Kingsbarns we just kept talking away the miles, I barely believed what my Garmin was showing me. Turning back towards St Andrews, I realized my legs had never felt this fresh for so long. I felt the miles (its hard not to from my bike), but it didn't affect me as badly. Cooling off along St Andrews, both Enrique and I were surprised at our apparent fitness, always a nice feeling before you enter race season. Some rides just evolve from just a spin with a friend, further, more time, into a great confidence boosting ride that lets you know you may be ready.

Almost Made It!

Beautiful day today, picturesque blue skies, incredible visibility, not too too cold. Went out with a Uni employee, Clifford, and had a lovely ride--almost. Chatting, spinning away the opening miles up to Strathkinness, down to Kemback before climbing back out to Ceres opened up my tired legs nicely. We turned onto the Eden Ridge Road (now listed in the "Easy Climbs" map in "The Climbs" tab; the one that heads to Star and eventually Falkland) and made our way through its rollers, admiring the views and the weather. I was sad to reach its end, but was wonderfully surprised by Devon Pass; climbing higher and higher, by the top we could see Edinburgh and most of the surrounding valleys. A fun descent ensued (I'm sure it would be a savage climb--will have to check it out soon) and more relaxing rolling miles ticked by, going down into Cupar, skirting the edge, before climbing back towards Pitscottie when my rear goes flat. Not a big deal anymore with all the practice I've had; as I'm about to jump back in the saddle, the tire literally explodes. Manage to patch it up and cover some of the spoke holes in the rim, re-inflate, turns out I have to true the rim--by the time I'm done, I hear a hissing noise. Find the hole, patch, pumping up with Clifford's frame pump, as I'm centering the brake after I pop the wheel in hear more hissing and decide its cab time, only seven or so miles away from being a fantastically good ride, my bike almost made it all the way. At least I didn't flat on a descent, something that always worries me and makes me squeeze the brakes early and at least I didn't flat like this further away from St Andrews.

Early on while riding the Eden Ridge Road

Eden Ridge Road

Eden Ridge Road

Eden Ridge Road

Eden Ridge Road

Devon Pass

Lomond Hills from Devon Pass

Towards Edinburgh from Devon Pass

Looking towards the top of Devon Pass

Gravel

After two straight days of rain, the stuff was absolutely everywhere. The roads were covered in debris which led to near constant weaving around the stones and pebbles, cringing at every pop of the gravel under my tires. Luckily no flats throughout today's ride, and despite the bike handling practice, it turned out to be a very nice day. Blue skies for the most part, halfway warm, with a bit of wind to cool things down: took a normal route up to Ceres d'Huez, but went down to Leven instead of Largo, finding some nice quiet farm roads along the way before the fast descent down to the coast. A few miles of slamming into a headwind before climbing back up and over the hump and going down a fun, technical descent that began in New Gilston.

February in May

Days like today make everyone want to shake their fists at the weather gods of Scotland, to put it mildly. 6-7ºC/42-44ºF, the second full day of rain (driving at times), and 15-20 mph winds. We literally had these exact conditions in February. Even January. And December. In fact, for the most part that was the average weather for the whole winter. But after a long riding-free exam diet, I'm looking to boost mileage as much as possible before my racing season starts in the summer, which destined me to get in the saddle as miserable as it was. With this type of weather its difficult, nigh on impossible to get the legs warmed up, despite starting out with the wind at my back. I turned to head up to Martyr Road (opposite the Strath High Road on the other side of the Low Road) and made my way to the Mossmuur where I was greeted by a large truck doing some form of cleaning, and taking up the entire road. I was forced to unclilp as we squeezed past each other, taking away every last ounce of crucial momentum for the nasty wall in front of me. The first section of the climb had me pushing straight into the wind as I was trying to get back up to speed, luckily as the climb really picks up it also turns, giving me a solid tailwind. There's no other way for me to get up the final section of the Mossmuur except to grind, and grind away I did. Turning back towards St Andrews meant more headwinds; throwing in the rain and cold made it feel like thousands of needles were pricking my face as the rain had picked up and was lashing away at my body. Thankfully I ducked into a forested area for a little respite before finally rolling home.

Dichotomies

Today was the very best and the very worst of Scotland. Beautiful weather greeted me this morning: sunny, if still a bit too cold for my liking. Excited for dry weather I got out as fast as I could, but my buzz was quickly killed off by my ever dysfunctional bike. Even more mechanical issues culminated in a loud blowout while descending towards Pitscottie. I change the tire and get back on my way yet within a mile I run over a thistle branch or some other thorny shrub branch, which quickly leads to a double flat. Despite Andrew and James riding by separately, they only had a tire each. Pitscottie is not a town brimming with services; since the farm store was closed I had no access to cash (the bill I did have was far away in my jeans pocket at home, forgotten in the morning rush) yet someone picking up a large order from there generously gave me what I thought would be ample bus fare back to town. Waiting for 45 minutes with really nothing to do, I adjusted my position...then kept waiting...and waited some more. Finally the bus, and in turn, the worst of Scotland showed up. First off, the driver hassled me about bringing my bike on the bus (legal and allowed, item #6 here) when there were 3 other people on the coach and therefore ample room for my bicycle and I. Secondly, and this I understand a little more, but only just, the fare cost £3.35 whereas I had a grand total of £3. At this point I would like to note two things: a) the other two times I had brought a bicycle on the bus, the drivers didn't bat an eye and b) Stagecoach in Fife might want to rethink their pricing scheme: Leuchars is the same distance from St Andrews as Pitscottie yet it is over a Pound Sterling less expensive to travel from Leuchars. So I was not allowed on the bus, despite explaining that I had few other options if any to get back. For 35p a bus driver would not let me on a bus that was already running; stranding me for even longer. I had to pry my girlfriend away from her studies in order to run to town to pull money out of a cash point so I could call a taxi to take me home. 2.5 hours for 7 miles.

Rest day before a rest week

My training schedule surprised me today with a "Rest or 45 minutes easy spinning." Seeing as I'm off traveling for a week I did want to get into the saddle, and I'm never one to take an easy spin day for granted. I actually managed to plan this one right, so that I had a tailwind while going uphill and the headwinds while I was going downhill. That's something that very very rarely happens, and I was quite proud of my seemingly excellent mapping abilities. Nothing too new to report, The Grange is still quiet; Station Road to Kingsbarns still has a few nice turns, although the wind kept me at too safe a speed for my personal liking; and I flew towards St Andrews with the wind behind my back. After heading up St Leonard's Hill, I stopped for a quick dopo bici double espresso before a quick cobbles run right before getting home.

Looking at Kingsbarns. (The steeple in the distance)

Tayport Hill

Stupidly braved the high winds today in an effort to squeeze in a relaxing ride, which turned out to be not so easy. With the wind at my back I was able to take the bike path out of town at a nice easy spin, however, the moment I hit Guardbridge and turned towards Leuchars I was pushing through a miserable headwind. Howling over my ears it felt consistently like I was climbing up an enormous hill. Going past Tentsmuir and riding towards Tayport provided small relief from the bushes and trees lining the road. Another turn before Tayport had me heading generally at Newport-on-Tay, but I found myself on a very enjoyable stretch of road--devoid of cars, quiet, nicely wooded and pretty, with a decent little climb in the middle of it. Descended to the Tay coast after this, down the Castle Brae, which descending was scary so I can't imagine how difficult it is to go up. I'll be trying it sometime soon. Passing Wormit and turning back towards the wind made it feel like I was trying to cycle through Jell-O. The miles ticked by slowly, I was just riding for the next one. Taking the hill up to Strathkinness was the easier option, as I had a tail/crosswind on the way up, then descending back into town I at least had gravity's assistance to help with the wind. A car very nicely sideswiped my rear wheel on market street, so we'll see how bent it is tomorrow.

In the Tay Woods, on the Hill

A few miles north of St Michaels

Lomond Hills

A non-profit cyclist and St Andrews alum was on her way from Land's End to John O'Groats, so we thought we would pitch in what we could, and help take her on her next small leg, from St Andrews to Falkland. While not particularly warm, it was at least sunny and let our bodies heat up along the low road while not pushing too hard. Pretty standard until Craigrothie, when we quickly got off the A916 and kept on with the Fife Cycle Route along a beautiful road. Rolling hills without crazy steep ramps, quiet one lane roads, calming woods, and beautiful vistas all made for as near a perfect road in Scotland as you can get. Some technical bits made it all the more enjoyable. A steep drop off capped the great road and we headed towards Falkland. After mistakenly taking a lap through the town of Falkland, we ended up at the fantastic Pillars of Hercules; by far and away the best organic supermarket I've yet experienced in all of the UK, and its in St Andrews backyard. Local fruits and vegetables, organic oils and grains, great looking cheeses (and much, much more; surprisingly broadly and well stocked for how small it was)--for a moment I stopped missing the great markets in New York. After a quick coffee (which Fraser raved about), we decided to carry on up the Lomond Hills: the hardest climbs in Fife. Rated Cat. 3 (instead of Cat. 4 like all the others) the climb's continuing steepness and decent length meant that after our legs had blocked up due to a slightly long coffee break, we were suffering. A thrown chain on the lower slopes didn't help as I had to regain my rhythm while on some harder ramps. The climb was just long enough though, and after I stopped pedaling squares, that's all I had to do, just keep it in a low gear and keep the legs moving at a high enough cadence to not need to rise out of the saddle. Cresting the top granted us with beautiful views of Lomond Resevoir, Glenrothes, and even the coast since it was sunny enough. The descent was entertaining enough, if a bit straight and narrow. Turning back towards St Andrews my legs were feeling the miles and the vertical meters--every incline, every turn in the wind, every jump to get back in line burned my muscles. The fact we were headed straight in to the wind helped nothing. But the miles ticked by, the roads became more familiar and we began to cool down as we approached St Andrews again, chatting about how fantastic a ride it had been, how incredible the new places we'd seen were, and trying to make plans to go back again soon.

Fresh, local, organic fruit and veg. Such a novelty in Scotland!

Descent of the Lomond Hills

Lomond Hill is the highpoint on the left

Between Kennoway and New Gilston

Intervals

Intervals are hell. A necessary evil, to boost mental and physical strength in order to arrive in peak fitness on race day. All racers do them, all riders seeking to improve their fitness should. If you're doing them right, you should have to dig nearly as deep as you would in a race, albeit for a shorter time. Add in whistling winds and driving showers and you have a wet, cold, painful hour and a half in front of you. Let alone muscles burning from the effort, the rain, whipped up by the wind, stung my face. I often wonder what the people in the cars going by think when they see roadies in foul weather. Wrapped in a toasty car they must look at us as if we're insane. Sometimes you need to be a little crazy to get in the saddle on these days; but it almost always helps--even if it just fortifies your mental attitude. I know I can drive hard in the rain, I've suffered through enough rainy interval sessions to know that when it rains on race day, I'll be more prepared than the guy who only went training on the sunny warm days and sat indoors in all other circumstances. A couple close calls kept me on my toes, overshooting one corner and almost ending up in a field (only luck prevented me from dropping down the ditch into the field); and in another instance, I almost got hit by a second logging truck in as many rides. Slightly disconcerting is that neither truck even bothered to slow down and they didn't move over, thus forcing me off the road. Thankfully I was able to keep the bike under control and I safely got back on the road and kept going. After the cold, the wet, the wind, the pain, coming back to a HUGE bowl of chili was awesome.

Listen to yourself

There are days where you have to kick your own ass to get out the door and once you do you have a great day. Then there are days when everything still fights against you. Knowing the difference between the two is highly important. I went out to meet Mark D. after fixing yet another flat (that's four changes in three days of riding) and he wanted to do something much longer and harder. We went our separate ways but within a mile I wasn't feeling right. The legs, the mind, and the bike were rebelling, fighting against my desire to ride--there was no synchronicity between any of them, and all three felt awful. Add in 25mph or so winds, wet roads, frequently passing showers and already low temperatures and I began to feel that I just wasn't destined to ride today. So I quickly headed home to a warm cup of coffee and rest for tomorrow's intervals. Listening to your body is one of the most important things a cyclist does, and I'm happy I did today. I've fought and gone ahead other days and end up regretting it. Not to mention the added danger of not fully paying attention, not being at full physical capacity, etc. Throwing in the towel is not necessarily a sign of weakness, it can be a sign of wisdom and knowing your body.

Muurs in the Ardennes, Plus a newly discovered one

Two longish rides over the past few days, both with 2,000ft/ approx. 610m of climbing per day. My legs are thoroughly tired from the distance and hills. On Saturday we spun nicely towards Balmullo, and then along the quiet B946. The roads were wet and there was plenty of spray but nothing intolerable. Near the coast to just past Bottomcraig, when we hit the first climb of the day, the leg breaking Coarse Brae. Much steeper than it looks at first, you always have to gear as low as possible to just keep the legs turning over. Circling around through passing showers, we came up the slightly easier Coarse Brae South before heading down to Kilmany. Through and up the utterly brutal Oude Kilmany with its killer ramp taking all the breath out of your lungs just before the switchback. A few more rollers were all that stood between us and St Andrews; we made quick work of them before spinning home.

With most of the team down and out due to sickness, crashes, or other things, I took the opportunity to take a ride for myself. I squeezed in a few roads and climbs I enjoyed, tried to take it easy in the surprisingly beautiful weather that had graced Scotland. The sun shone as I rolled across the roads. Up Ceres d'Huez, down to Largo, before attempting the Muur van Nieuwburgh for the first time. A nasty, long, steep climb over rough roads covered with strewn gravel--straight out of Belgium, it only needs a smattering of Pavé to make it more authentic. I ground my way up, pedaling squares, rhombuses, rectangles, trapezoids, any other four pointed shape that indicates a complete lack of smoothness. I had to contemplate returning directly home to rest my throbbing legs, but after a little rest, I decided to do the last climb I had planned, the sloping Arncroach climb. Not particularly difficult, but it puts up a fight. Headed home along one of my top three roads, stringing together a nice few corners.

Saturday

Saturday, just past Coarse Brae North

Sunday

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Sunday: