Glen Clova and Glen Shee

This was a brilliant trip, spectacular roads, tough hills and incredible descents. It was cut short slightly as the mountain bikers finished before us and it was getting dark. Although I'm not sure if I could have managed much more with how exhausted I was by that point.

Switzerland

Hitting the hills (and the lakes) for a few days. Smooth roads, twisting and turning, respectful drivers, tons of water fountains, and as a result its basically heaven for the roadie.

Nice

Over the Glens

Quite a new one for today. I agreed to go with Jamie to Stirling for a road ride. After much debate, we decided to not bother doing a loop around that city and then have to wait for mountain bikers, so we ended up opting to ride from Stirling all the way back to St Andrews. We were both over-confident enough to start our ride with a painfully steep hill all of 2 kilometers into our ride; with a nice average of over 9% our legs were screaming with 110 kilometers left to ride. Some sweeping and rolling hills allowed us to recover for the 3 blocks of serious climbing that lay in front of us. After skirting the A9 we started to head up into the misty glens, passing Gleneagles (the town, not the resort), and the scenery became more and more stunning. It felt as though we had been transported many miles north west, into the heart of the highlands. I always love riding somewhere new, especially when the roads get exceptionally twisty. After a fast descent through the thick cloud we turned and began another long climb deeper into the mists--these roads were incredibly quiet, often experiencing 1-2 cars for every time we turned onto a new road. After pushing relatively easily to the top of the glen we plummeted down a twisty, dirty, white knuckle descent. This continued until a quick coffee break before the spin home.

Winter Almost in the Rearview Mirror

It's been a long, snowy winter. Sorry for not checking in more often, but here are a few pics of the past months. Mud, snow, cold. Nothing too new. Managed to hit Bear Mountain for the first time, a famous training ground for NY based cyclists (including Big George when he was a kid).

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.