It's cold outside. Part #2

My teammate Hughes rolls up along side of me as we enter Dover center, our designated halfway point for our ride of the day, and asks this simple question: "Training with tubular tires... Great idea? or Greatest idea?" Cut to less than two miles later, where he and two others are on the side of the road peeling a newly flatted tubular tire from his front rim.

You can't make this stuff up.

 Hughes took it all in stride however, pumped up his spare, and we were back on the road in no-time. He had to endure me telling the story I just shared with you to both sets of riders scattered along the road, but we heard no complaints. He even took the last town line sprint on our way back home. Partly out of sheer determination, but mostly because everyone was too scared to contest for fear of him rolling his tire and taking down the entire group.

The thermometer said it was ten degrees warmer than yesterday, but with the two extended stops for flats, I was in just as bad a shape when I limped home this afternoon. Jens Voigt I am not.

SHUT UP...toes.

In other news, after much pondering and posturing,  I placed an order for a Powertap today. A BLACK SL+. As it stands now it will be laced to a DT Swiss rim, but I may swing by Landry's tomorrow and tell them to just put it in my Reynolds... I'm still on the fence. The point is, it's on its way, and soon I will be posting meaningless power data numbers to go along with my infinite ramblings.

Big shout-out to Ned Connelly who is officially my first subscriber! Thats right, before my family, girlfriend, teammates... teammates girlfriends... Ned thinks what I am writing has some value. So thanks Ned! More to follow as he and I and others embark on our winter training camp in Florida. It has yet to be titled, so any epic name that you can think of that encompasses friends, cycling, old people, and probably too much alcohol, feel free to pass along suggestions!

100+ miles in my legs this week. That's 100 more than last. Cautious optimism remains my battle cry... until it's time for battle.   Bon Nuit!

Hey. Guess what? It's still cold outside.

    Today I went on a ride with teammates AJ and Pete on what was a simultaneously beautiful, and unrelentingly cold day. Usually, if the temperature dips below 20 degrees, I shut myself in for yet another mind numbing hour or two on the rollers. But, as it was 21 degrees when we departed at noon, I was willing to overlook protocol to avoid spinning inside.

      The sun shone brightly all day, and in between my complaining about my worsening case of frostbite, and picking mud out of my teeth, I couldn't help being a little awe-struck. We were riding down roads we had ridden hundreds of times before as if it were the first time. It was gorgeous. We only pass two sets of other hard-men the whole ride. Everyone, it seems, has the same mentality when it comes to passing someone else on a potentially pneumonia inducing day such as today: "Hey! You are a total monster too! Have a good ride!" I am a bit of a stickler about when people don't wave or say "hi" as we pass on the road. I don't understand it... We are both doing the same thing! It's awesome! Hooray bikes! The point is, you almost never pass anyone out riding this time of year that won't first commiserate, and then acknowledge your general bad-assery. The cold makes it's own selection, and generally, only the heartiest will take up the call.

    Riding in the winter is a funny thing. Obviously, it's miserable. On the right day, you will lose all sensation in your hands and feet, not before, however, they provide you with an intense amount of pain. Your water bottle will freeze solid before you are 30 minutes from home (you may add vodka to a drink to avoid this... but you need to add enough so that you are constantly reminded of the mistakes you made the night before). You will be covered in mud and water, which in the cold, is more than a little unpleasant. Your nose is instantly useless, and your lungs will burn with each breath.

     On the other hand, riding your bike in the cold is what this ridiculous sport is all about. We don't have picturesque mountains in the North East. We don't have endless col's or cobbles. We have snow. A ton of snow.  All the time. Yes, it makes for challenging training schedules and arguably dangerous conditions, but it also makes for character-hardening, soul strengthening experiences with your friends. It's supposed to hurt. You're supposed to suffer. And at the end of your trial, you will be rewarded beyond what many others will experience in their lifetimes. Cycling is grueling and painful, but also devastatingly beautiful, not unlike this time of year...


I'm just now regaining feeling in my toes. I can't wait for tomorrow.

First Ride. Second Ride. Third Ride.

Enough is enough. It is 55 degrees on the last day of 2010. I am going for a ride. With or without my right knee. It is undramatic to everyone around me. Even my girlfriend, who has witnessed my decent into madness off the bicycle, has other things she needs to be doing.

It's dirty. And thats how I like it. 

To me, however, the earth is shaking. Fireworks are exploding with every pedal stroke. I am not even off of my street yet, and I can't wipe this disgusting smile off my face, or the tear from my eye. The air is crisp, but not uncomfortable. The sun sits low in the winter sky, casting shadows of the buildings and trees and wheels on my bike. I am listening to my brother's mix of house music (which, to this day, I am a little embarrassed to even admit), and my skin erupts into goosebumps as I stand and climb for the first time in months. People shouldn't be allowed to feel this good.

The euphoria subsides, though maybe not completely. I am aware of my knee. I am not in pain per se, but I cant stop focusing on every twinge, ache, and tickle. It is especially noticeable because my left leg feels fine. I try and analyze why, and mimic my right to the left. I twist my foot in all kinds of directions. I watch how my knee tracks. It is everywhere but where it should be.

On the return stretch, I turn my music up slightly and slow down. I focus instead on how incredible it is outside and on how much I love this.

I finished my one-hour-out-and-back ride. I have ridden 16 of the slowest miles I have ever done.

I am now cautiously optimistic about getting back on my bike. If all things go well, I will be doing base miles in no time. Fingers crossed folks.

Injury and the New Year.

It's approaching 2 months since I've been on my bicycle. A twinge in my knee has frightened me enough to abandon my two wheeled refuge in hopes that it doesn't develop into a true injury. The first month is one that almost any sane cyclist welcomes with a fair amount of glee. A season that begins in January and ends in October is sure to wear on even the most dedicated strongman. By the time the Mayor's Cup was rolling around, I was completely and utterly burned out.

This was evidenced by a ride I did one week to the day after my last race. It was the longest stretch I had been off the bike in 9 months. As I made the turn onto Beacon street, a turn I had made hundreds of times this year, and began to climb towards Cleveland Circle, I was absolutely floored. I felt incredible. I hadn't felt this much snap in my legs in months. I had no idea that I was in such a bad way! I rode out and met my teammates Mike Shinall and Brian Crosby, who were both gearing up to race The Jamestown Classic (my first and last race last season, and one that I wish I was gearing up for too).

It was that ride that I hurt my knee. At mile 20. The back of my right knee started to ache. I finished the ride. I didn't pay too much attention to it, as knee aches have come and gone all season for me. Two more days off the bike, and then a very stupid Century ride with the team and two new recruits. Same issue, except this time, I finished 65 miles after my knee began to ache.

Stupid.

More time off the bike, Halloween, the Rally for sanity, and then THE CROSS RACE. The same twinge. The same pain when I bend. This would be the last time I touched a bike. November 6th.

So here we are in the new year. Still no improvement in my stupid joint.

It's worse than that though. My legs hurt. They are sore every day. As if I have been doing intervals. When I flex. When I go upstairs. When I go down stairs. When I am sitting down. Both my thighs, calves, shins. My muscles are dying. I can feel it. It is a constant reminder of a persistent loss of fitness.  It keeps me up at night.

I weigh 165lbs. 15 lbs heavier from the end of the season. Thats big for any Cat 2.

This is a backstory to a very large, very frustrating realization. I have become obsessed with bike racing. Books and other literature tell you that this is an inevitability, and a necessity to attain any form of success. Looking back on my season last year, I can say with absolute certainty that this is true. I logged 5876 miles on my bike since mid January of last year without any hesitation. That is more, I would wager, than I drove this year.

Yes, seriously.

While I am, for the most part, unapologetic for my absolute devotion and compulsion, I have realized that I have forsaken friendships. I have missed out on opportunities. I have maybe put too much stock in this one (albeit large) aspect of my life. All of my eggs are in this cycling basket, and with it suddenly unavailable to me, I have become somewhat of a recluse. Hours and hours of my day that are otherwise occupied by a focused period of time on the bicycle, have been replaced with feverous worry and anxiety. I don't know what to do with myself. I can't seem to translate the time and energy spent on being fast into anything remotely productive.

The New Year is a saving grace for many. It is a punctuation mark which can serve as a catalyst. I haven't decided what road to take just yet. My joints still ache. My mind still wanders. My heart still races when I think of going toe to toe with anyone. I know what I want to do. It's going to be a matter of if my body will allow it...