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

Saturday:


Sunday:

Cupar Ardennes

It's hilly. It's forested. Some farm land. Cupar is the biggest town at its edge. The Cupar Ardennes are born. (Map with an outline of the area below). I've just begun to really explore this area and yet each new road I take, I end up enjoying. Just like its namesake, there are some savagely leg-breaking climbs. At the top of each one, however, you are inevitably rewarded with a wonderful view. Kilmany was an interesting small town, babbling brook running through, old stone houses, and a very hard, but very fun muur just outside of it; yet this muur has a stinger, 2 switchbacks make things particularly painful if you're not geared just right. Rolling hills offer fantastic climbing practice. There are some very fun, steep, and fast descents: great for handling practice. All in all a nice day with Jamie and Laura, despite a little fall from Jamie. That didn't prevent him from spinning quite easily up the Strathberg. I hope to revisit this area again this weekend.






View Cupar Ardennes in a larger map

Group Rides and "Recovery" Rides

Had a wonderful turnout on Saturday afternoon under the always shifting skies of Scotland; a big group of us (at least 10, if not more) rolled out with nothing more than good conversation and hopes the rain would stay away. Everyone chatted amicably along the bike path, no crashes, no drama, little head wind all was well for cycling in Scotland. No one was close to getting hit by a car or bus; turns were easy and all the riders fell in line easy. Had some fun little sprints on the way to Tentsmuir, people shooting off left and right with others chasing them down, lots of banter towards a rider who previously had managed to crash while threading through a very wide gate. When we arrived we were all deeply tempted by the barbecues producing delicious smells; perhaps Yogi Bear lives in Tentsmuir and not Jellystone? We turn around and head out, a few miles down the road I begin to wonder where all the responsiveness in my bike has gone. Turns out it went out with all the air in my front tire. After having my ego thoroughly diminished when the new PhD easily rolled the tire bead onto the rim with his bare hands (I still can't figure out how he did it--alas I guess I'm still stuck with levers). Four guys who stuck around to pace me back to the rest of the ride fell into a line and we began to hammer (note: ego booster: having 4 people wait for you on the side of the road, I felt like a regular GC contender). After arriving in town, most riders went their separate ways, but a few of us hung on to add some miles on a simple Kemback loop. A mile past St Andrews, my bike felt awfully spongy. I look down and the only thing preventing a loooooooooooooong stream of creative expletives at this point was the company of others. A borrowed tube and a hand pump later we were on our way; personally I was quite skittish at the surprisingly low amount of air in my rear tire. Hand pumps just don't work. Luckily there were no mishaps and I collapsed when I got home after about 3 hours out in the saddle.
On Sunday (yesterday, at the time of writing) I wanted to do an easy ride. I selected an easy parcours. I told everyone I was doing and easy ride. Rest the legs. Unblock them. Take it easy for the week of pain coming up. It was not to be. Every single time I moved off the front, the pace shot up. Again and again and again. There was no need for this, it was Sunday. God's day of rest. My day of rest. All cyclists' day of rest. And on the 7th Day thou shalt go spinning, as the Aprés Velo 10th Commandment dictates. This is obvious to all of those with even the most basic understanding of group ride etiquette; something that has yet to be widely learned among the cyclists of Britain. If you want to go hard, join a group that goes hard or just go on your own, don't hammer away on someone looking for recovery after a long week with lots of miles in the legs. It's inconsiderate. Perhaps even rude. Especially when the recover-er then has to spend most of the time on the front keeping the pace down, which means he should have just gone on his own anyways. That's my rant. I guess on the positive side of things, I got to take one of my 3 favorite roads in Fife.

Saturday:


Sunday: Largo, Elie, Crail:

A Roubaix Celebration and Another Ride with 6 Whole Roadies

On the Sunday of Paris-Roubaix, I headed out with Jamie for a quick spin. We started towards the Balmullo quarry, a very quiet stretch of road, if a bit rough and dirty (strewn with rocks). It generally meanders uphill and there are some lovely views once you get deeper into the Cupar Hills. We descended down Craigs Hill and while it was a pity there was a Tractor in the middle of the road about 2/3 of the way down, it was probably a good thing as it forced us to scrub some speed and safely approach the turn. Down into Kemback and up Ceres d'Huez will never get old for me, although fighting into a headwind up the false flats to Ceres I could usually do without. Long fast descents beckoned and we hurried back into town--but seeing as it was Paris-Roubaix Sunday, we felt obligated (although you never need to convince me to take cobbles) for a quick Pavé du Market run. Yesterday we managed to get 5 whole roadies out, plus a sports center trainer for a group ride with 6 people, remarkable for the road cycling club. We essentially did the reverse of the Sunday route, up Mart Road Climb, which since it was sunny ended up being beautiful at the top, over to Ceres d'Huez which turned out to be as fun going down as it is going up. Getting rained on in Ceres, dropping further down hill (I was determined to get as much descending as possible) into Kemback, before turning up to Dairsie and then heading straight back to St Andrews.

Top of Craigs Hill

Top of Craigs Hill

Top of Craigs Hill

Sunday's Ride:


Wednesday's Ride:

Back in Scotland

After my bike decided to break its derailleur hanger while I was re-assembling her after the flight--pushing me towards hate in our love/hate relationship--I stole my girlfriend's to squeeze in what turned out not to be a quick ride (not that that's ever a bad thing!). Including myself, we had five whole roadies out today, a truly incredible feat for the St Andrews Road Cycling Club. Some good chat and a nice warm-up out past Morrisons and towards Mt Melville let my tired body get used to her bike (not as long and low as I like, but it did more than fine--in fact it's certainly better than my bike I decided). We slammed into the headwind for miles unfortunately, but with four others to form an effective and fairly respectable pace line made the work a whole lot easier. We turned towards Cupar after passing through Ceres, descended the A916 with rain nipping at our heels the whole time. By the time we turned towards Pitscottie we seemed to be stuck in the middle, but it did begin to let up--only when we decided to lengthen the ride. We spun down the Kemback valley (my favorite) to take the B939 climb, a savage helling-esque climb--albeit without cobbles--when the rain caught back up with us and started to increase I was rueing the fact that I had failed to find the Castelli Gabba rain jersey (look it up, it was literally invented for use in Belgium [by Gabriel Rasch, whose nickname is "Gabba"], which very often has a similar climate to Scotland). With several others to talk to, I found myself not minding the rain as much as I normally would. We decided to do a cobbles blast in celebration of the weather, before a quick climb up St Leonard's Hill and a coffee and ice cream at Janetta's with some more good chat before heading home to make dinner.

Tarvit

A916

A916

Boys in Strathkinnes

Strathkinness, looking at Guardbridge

End of the ride

Photo: Jamie

Photo: Jamie

Photo: Jamie

Belgium Day 6

The last day, unfortunately. With some more touristy things on the agenda for the afternoon, decided to just take a quick spin around Brussels. Like city riding anywhere, there was lots of traffic, lots of cars, lots pedestrians, lots of stop and go, clipping in and clipping out. But the copious miles of bike lanes, respectful (for the most part) drivers along with frequent, beautiful parks and interesting city scenery made it more than tolerable, but rather enjoyable, if not optimal. The 500th Anniversary park was spectacular, the palaces and the gate were awe-ingly huge, the other parks were quiet and rather scenic for being in the middle of a congested city. While I still felt a little blocked up from the previous day and a little bit still from Saturday, it was a good last ride for Belgium, this time around. I hope I can return as soon as possible, but I think I may stay further out in Flanders next time.