Rutland Loop

Finally, a day approaching 70 degrees, a day that doesn't require multiple layers and a half hour to suit up. Though ferociously windy, there was no chill in the wind. I wore 3/4 length bib tights, two short-sleeved cycling jerseys (one a base layer and the other over the bib), and arm warmers. Perfect! No booties, no wind breaker, no layers, no full-fingered gloves. What a treat.

Psychedubstoevsky

Busted out the Steal Your Face skull and lightening jersey and, at one point, climbed a long hill on High St. Irie.

And the overall results were good too - 15.1 mph over 27+ miles, with plenty of climbing and the aforementioned wind. Felt strong today, pain-free, rested. Shoulders didn't bother me at all.

A fine route up past Holden Reservoir then 31 west to Paxton then up rt 56 to Rutland, a right onto Prescott St which turns into Hill Side Rd which is all downhill from this direction and which takes you by Alta Vista Farm and then down down down through oak and maple forest to Causeway St. Super sweet riding, and no cars to be seen for much of it.

Alta Vista Farm, Rutland

Have tallied something over 40 miles this week with the weekend still to come. Though this delicious weather isn't supposed to last. Colder weather on the horizon, could be cold rain Saturday morning, and then next week an arctic air mass moves in.

Not sure what's happening in East Burke, VT. Unfortunately, the Rasputitsa race organizers post course conditions on Facebook only, assuming, perhaps, that everyone is on Facebook. Alas, Team Shad has no Facebook presence so lacks the latest news from the race scene.

On the fly

Back in the Saddle

72 hours after being unable to use my right shoulder for much of anything, everything has changed. In my mind, the toothpasty calcium has broken up and dispersed and is no longer irritating the tendon. Maybe the 150 MGs a day of Diclofenac Sodium has helped that process, maybe not. It's hard to know without another x-ray. But I can lift my right arm now almost pain free. The range of motion is better than it's been in months. Bizarre.

Nevertheless, I started physical therapy today, an effort designed to re-open my shoulders & chest and loosen up some of the tighter muscles like the pecs which, taut as piano wire, are constantly pulling the shoulders inward. This will be an ongoing effort and Team Shad's medical staff has been directed to hire a full time masseuse to attend to Dubstoevsky's condition.

The good news is that I was well enough to get back in the saddle. Despite a ferociously gusty day, and despite the lure of a hot bath, sparkling mineral water imbued with lemon, and a good book, I made a late afternoon decision to ride, to put some miles under the tires, to loosen up the legs. And was glad I did.

I managed a 17+ mile super windy Reservoir Loop (including the South Rd climb). My Strava feed shows 16+ miles because I forget to push start until I'd ridden a little more than a mile.

Ended the ride with the climb to Bancroft Tower.

Bancroft Tower, March 29, 2016

A Setback: Pain, Lethargy, and a Raw Easter Sunday on which Gluttony and Sloth Supplant the Shaddian Will

Stock image of a calcific deposit in a shoulder

The shadow on my x-ray looked very much like this stock image of calcific deposits in a rotator cuff (above). In my case, the shark fin-shaped shadow seemed hazy and vaguely benign yet to a trained professional it symbolized pain, potentially severe, for the unfortunate one in whose shoulder the toothpastey ooze coalesced. In this case, Dubstoevsky's right pectoral fin.

Dubstoevsky as American Shad

What I've learned about this affliction has come from the internet and not from the mime-as-doctor known as Dr. Re (a man whose last name even seems an abbreviation). Perhaps because calcific tendonitis is fairly common in a given population of 30-50 year olds, the affliction must hold no intrigue or interest for Dr. Mime. He's obviously tired of discussing it with patients because at no point did he explain to me that this condition has two possible iterations; reactive (i.e., the body is reacting to something and leaving behind calcium in the rotator cuff; cause unknown); and degenerative (a chronic condition in which the tendons are actually degenerating; thought to be age-related). Nor did he bother explaining that the stage at which the calcium deposits begin to break up (whether spontaneously, which is not uncommon, or from treatment), is the painful part. Seriously painful.

The anatomy rendition

So perhaps waking up Friday morning in surprising discomfort, with the right shoulder throbbing dully but continuously, was a good thing. Perhaps it meant the calcium was starting to go Soviet Union on me and was entering the break apart stage. I sought a silver (not calcific) lining to the pain so seized on the dissolution stage as the likely reason for the intensification of discomfort.

Unfortunately, what it also meant was very limited movement of the right arm and the need to be constantly aware of what you would otherwise not give a second thought to: putting on a shirt, reaching for a pen, shifting into 5th gear. Every basic movement held the possibility of radiating pain, like flashes of evil genius lighting up the temporal lobe of a psychopath.

Pain that causes you to alter how you get along on a daily basis is ever humbling. You quickly realize how complex the body is and how interdependent its many moving parts and systems are in order for it to operate smoothly and efficiently. You cannot neglect one part and expect all the other parts to function perfectly.

Easter Weekend Training Camp

A complete loss. I'd hoped to build on Tuesday's strong 28 miles by back-to-back Easter weekend rides; a big Saturday ramble of 30 or 40 miles, followed up with an Easter Bunny chase on Sunday, another 30 miles or so. It was not to be.

Saturday, the arm was useless. I knew as soon as I woke that riding was out of the equation. I shook down Team Shad's medical staff for half a trampy doll* (25 mgs) and some jolly green meditation and repaired to the claw foot tub in which I soaked, uninterrupted, for almost two hours (having to drain the tub nearly empty twice in order to refill it with hot water piped from the upper reaches of Hades). I read about the cretaceous extinction in Elizabeth Kolbert's superb "The Sixth Extinction: An Unnatural History." Though not mentioned by name, the shad and its order clupeiformes probably emerged during the late cretaceous period and apparently survived the Great Impact, the asteroid that struck the Yucatan Peninsula and effectively brought the cretaceous period to a close (ending, as well, the reign of dinosaurs like the Mawgasaurus).

So the shad has longevity on its side.

Easter morning dawned raw and gray. Though the shoulder seemed better, and though under normal circumstances, the inhospitable 40 degree overcast day would not have been a deterrent, today was different. Dubstoevsky, softened by hot baths & pharmacological ingestants and facing the prospect of a mid-afternoon gastronomical event, gave about five minutes of serious consideration to riding before abandoning the thought completely.

The thing is, the arm is strong enough to perform 12 and 16 ounce curls without difficulty; the weight of the common table fork does not unduly stress the shoulder when lifted repeatedly from plate to mouth; and the possibility of inhibiting the calcific toothpaste dispersal by over-taxing the rotator cuff in the course of cycling, all these things convinced me that a second rest day was in order. To force a ride today, I told myself, would be to go against the inexorable tide of sloth and gluttony. It was a Christian holiday after all and the only good thing about the Church is the holidays that its tradition has bequeathed to our modern culture so that secular humanists like myself can enjoy a day off or a guilt-free opportunity for overeating and over-drinking.

So what of the "shaddian will" and the relentless energy that comes natural to the Alosa Sapidissima? Abandoned for a day. Dissipated in a cloud of orthodox incense wafting from the censer, floated away with the ethereal plainsong of the devoted.

Times like this are like being dragged out to sea by a riptide; one's only hope for survival is to yield to the tide and allow oneself to be swept along with the current until the current itself tires of its relentless pull. Only then should you regroup and reach inside yourself and, like Bullwinkle pulling a roaring rhino head from the top hat, yank up a cache of shaddian will and get your ass back to swimming.

* "trampy doll" is slang for Tramadol, a prescription painkiller

Tuesday

Just Tuesday. But sunny, bright. I summoned the motivation and went out. It was the right thing to do. On the 28+ mile loop, I saw this:

Holden Reservoir

That was enough to fill the day with goodness. I felt strong, too, a bonus. Windy, but there was no bite in today's wind. I dressed correctly. Though when the sun sank low enough and I rode in shadow, that was chilly. But not until near the end, at which point I ramped up my effort and went all out.

Oh, the snowstorm I mentioned previously did happen, but in a very benign way. We got maybe 5 inches overnight on Sunday but Monday warmed up and most of the snow melted. In the hilly forest slopes, some remains, as the photo below on Reservoir Rd attests. But the storm was more or less a non event and won't compromise training at all.

Bailey Rd, March 22, 2016

Rasputitsa Training Camp, Day 1

Team Shad team cars

With a little less than a month before the Rasputitsa, Team Shad met in Orange, Massachusetts, a town clearly misnamed as there is nothing bright or wholesome about the place; it is, in fact, desolate & run down, a small enclave far from anything meaningful. But the parking was convenient, in a mostly empty lot next to the Honest Weight Brewery, and peeing into the ditch separating the lot from the railroad tracks was convenient.

We are a team of two: Dubstoevsky, Team Leader, and The Virginian, stalwart assassin & congenial cycling mensch whose generosity is boundless and whose killer instinct is unpredictable. He is, as I've long said, the man you want on your team.

Downtown Orange, on the way out

We opted to ride out of Orange because we'd explored the roads to the north of there before, last November on road bikes. On that ride we'd ended up doing a fair amount of hard-packed dirt, more than we'd wanted to at the time. However, for Rasputitsa Training Camp, that's exactly what we wanted, miles of packed dirt roads, and maybe some wood roads and trails of various conditions. We wanted to simulate at least some of the conditions that we're sure to encounter at The Rasp. We weren't disappointed.

Oxbow Rd, Orange
Dirt just 1.5 miles into the ride

Several righteous stretches of clay-sand-packed hill roads swept us along Oxbow Rd and Pine Hill Rd and Town Farm Rd, still bright sun, shadows from the naked hardwood, the day hinting at warmth though not quite getting there. The Virginian and I pushed each other. We talked about strategy for the Rasp and how to approach it. I offered him free rein; if he wanted to launch ahead and get his best time, I wouldn't hold him back. We did agree that we wouldn't attack each other.

But that wouldn't be true on a training day so I kept a wary eye open and reeled him back after a couple friendly launches.

Perfect conditions

The Virginian on the attack

Dubstoevsky restoring order

Eventually, we exited the back country dirt packed roads and plunged into the woods. Conditions deteriorated quickly.

We reminded ourselves that decades-ago we had gone night mountain biking together, on several occasions. "In the winter" The Virginian added.

Today, we were on a woods track that appeared as a dotted line labeled Royalston Rd on the photocopied page from the NH Gazetteer I'd brought along. We hoped the track would connect back up with North Main St near the NH border, but in a way it didn't matter because this was real Rasputitsa terrain. We reassured ourselves that it would have to end up somewhere (as if that weren't a universal truism of every trail anyway).

Entering the forest

Mountain biking skills preferred

Crunching through the icy forest run-off

At one point we came to a frozen-over set of tire ruts on a logging road. We exploded through them like stampeding mastodons, shattering the thick ice into a thousand diamond shards and sending a tsunami of muddy water into the beaver marsh on either side. Then we posed like Zeus and Thor to immortalize the moment.

We leave shattered ruts in our wake

Full disclosure: ATVs had mashed through the ice ruts; we gingerly negotiated our way around the edges. The day was far too cold to risk getting wet. I'd even had second thoughts riding up the middle of the old abandoned wood road, draining as it was with an inch or more of water sluicing its way through icy, pebbled crust; one wrong tire turn and I'd be down. Luckily, that never came to pass.

Unluckily, I found myself quite chilled for much of the first half of the ride. Initial climbing early on caused me to break a sweat; then a fair amount of descending on pavement cooled me down quickly. For the second ride in a row, I'd misjudged my layers. Today, I could have used a 4th layer, or perhaps even just a brown paper shopping bag against my chest - I'd consciously eschewed it today, thinking that the Gore base layer, the fleece long-sleeve middle garment, and the thick neoprene Gore anti-wind top layer would be sufficient. It wasn't. When we finally got back to the team cars, the temperature hovered around 40 degrees, but for much of the ride it was below that, and, as expected, the day had grown overcast, obscuring any warmth from the wan sun.

But the day was a success. 37.2 miles, almost the length of the Rasp (which is a shade above 40). Three hours and fifteen minutes in the saddle, certainly more pavement than the Rasputitsa and perhaps not quite as challenging terrain over all, but for the first day of training, we were pleased. We'd acquitted ourselves well and concluded that Team Shad is on course for a strong race next Month.

Meat Raffle

March 19, 2016

I got excited by the idea of the meat raffle but a sign just further along indicated that it's April 2, not today, so I rode on. Who knows what else goes on in the hills of Rutland? I was just passing through.

Rutland blue

Today the sky was BLUE. A blue ride, a blue sky, a blue degree of fly. Sail on. Wanting 30 miles today, colder than it looks. Blue cool, under-dressed; two rides in a row, wardrobe miscalculation. Today's ride proved colder than I dressed for; though it was 44 degrees when I left, it was a chilly 44 with occasional wind activity. Not gusts or bellows, and not steady, but periodic swirls of chilly air blowing right in the face. Winds are always headwinds, no matter in which direction you ride. I sweated, sopped a layer, hit downhills, cooled way down quickly, never quite warmed again. Would have like a thicker middle layer.

Several faces of BLUE:

Woo City Blue

A trio of giant oaks

Atop airport hill

Kettle Brook Reservoir, Number 2

Kettle Brook Reservoir, Number 2

Back at Team Shad HQ after two and a half + hours in the saddle, soak layered & chilled through, head straight to the hot shower. Dried and dressed in clean warm clothes, hungry & thirsty like a Visigoth after a day of rampaging; slake my thirst lust with the Framing Hammer, a Baltic Porter.

Recovery drink

34 miles, 1700+ elevation. On track to notch the 63 mile weekly mark dictated by Crusher. The nor'easter we were all worried about that was supposed to hit tomorrow, has fizzled. Any snow that occurs (a couple inches?) won't start until tomorrow evening. That means The Virginian and I are on for a cross bike adventure, dirt forest roads in southern New Hampshire, cracked pavement out of Orange, Mass.

Unprepared for the Unexpected

All day I gazed out the window onto a mild sunny day, biding my time until I could sign out of work and hit the road.

The time came. I donned arm warmers, then debated. Would I need them? Might as well, could always take them off. Long sleeve windbreaker? Nah. Booties? Nope, no need. Skipped the brown paper bag as well.

I'd read of rain in the forecast but understood it to be a late evening event. Striking out from HQs, just underway I saw the first big dramatic clouds of the day looming on the horizon.

A mix of clouds and sun

It's obvious where this is going.

I reached South Rd, the mile long climb to rt. 31. I'd planned to head to Paxton then north on 56 to Causeway Rd. I got to the top of the climb and the intersection with 31 and just as I turned left, the darkening gray sky boomed. Thunder! Foiled.

I abandoned the route and decided to head in the opposite direction; to the northeast where the sky still seemed reasonably bright. So I raced back down South Rd, took a left at the Reservoir, hammered across the half mile or so to Bailey Rd, then up, all on nice new pavement, to Putnam Rd. I stopped briefly to don the European neck warmer and my insulated cap, then raced off again.

But it was no use. With around seven miles to go, the rain came. Lightly at first, then steadily. An icy rain, with occasional solid droplets. Hail? Much of the run back to Woo is downhill and I hurled along with Buddha-like acceptance of the moment.

With the wetness

In the end, I was pretty soaked and decently chilled. Not shivering chilled, thankfully, but cold enough. Wet feet (booties!).

But I did get in 16+ miles today. That's good because "Crusher" Mawgs has taken a keen interest in Team Shad and the run-up to the Rasputitsa. He demanded I ride a minimum of 63 miles a week between now and race day. That's doable, if the weather cooperates. I'm reading ominous reports of a potential nor'easter this coming Sunday afternoon (late day, I hope). The first day of spring. Possibly 13 inches of snow. Classic New England. Fucknatty!

But as for reaching the Boar 63 threshold this week, not a problem given the 16 today. Assuming the storm smashes in late Sunday afternoon, the Virginian and I will ride in the morning and early afternoon so should get between 35-45. Saturday is supposed to be cool, clear & sunny so I could easily go for 30.

Numerological Note: 6+3=9 /3 = 3; likewise, 6-3=3; 9 = 3|3|3

Ah, but if only the whole ride today could have been under a sky like this:

Before the storm, St. Patty's Day 2016
Woo City

Feral Swine

Sometimes even the Team Leader makes decisions that run counter to training protocol. Skewing from the straight and narrow can be ever so tantalizing and difficult to resist, even for hardened veterans like Dubstoevsky. So it came to pass today on a semi-sunny, essentially mild afternoon ripe for riding, that things went awry.

First, there was the doctor appointment, the follow-up to the cortisone shot two weeks ago. I thought I was getting another jab to the right shoulder, another blast to break up & flush the calcium accretion from the rotator cuff. Alas, no. I had misunderstood. Today's appointment was to evaluate the left shoulder, the not-as-painful one. There would be no second cortisone shot for the recalcitrant righty; if necessary, that would have to wait another four weeks (apparently it's powerful juju that must be spaced widely apart in time).

The good news that emerged quickly, however, based on the x-rays, was that no evidence of calcium in the left shoulder could be seen. The niggling pain in that extremity was simple bursitis or inflammation or some nebulous condition heretofore unnamed.

I endeavored to extract further clarification from the orthopedist, a man named "Dr. Re" (pronounced "ray"). This was not easy. Dr. Re is a man that makes Marcel Marceau seem chatty. One might think that each uttered word would cost the guy a week of his life so stingy is he with speech. Clarence Thomas asks more questions from the bench than this guy speaks in a consultation.

Eventually it emerged that the calcium in the right shoulder is not, as I'd envisioned it, like hard coral attached to a rock; rather, it's like "toothpaste" (doc's word - 1 week) within the tendon itself. So why did the cortisone shot work wonders for a week and make my shoulder feel almost normal, but then abate? Inflammation. The cortisone made things subside momentarily but did not disperse the calcium accumulation which, still present, led to a re-inflamed tendon.

So what can physical therapy offer? A strengthening of the muscles around the rotator cuff and a re-posturing of what is, apparently, a sort of concave dubstrosity of hunching forward. Basically, I have to reverse some 17 years of computer posture & umpteen years of cycling posture. How? 8 weeks of physical therapy, twice a week. By my weak math skills, that's 16 sessions.

Ah, but the subtext to it all is: "Dubstoevsky, you have to become shadananda yogi, chant the prajnaparamita sutra daily for 33 weeks, wear a hair shirt made of Tibetan yak hide while riding, and repeatedly twist your arms around your back until you form an Oktoberfest pretzel."

Armed with this knowledge and with a prescription for a powerful anti-inflammatory that can deflate dromedary humps, I drove off into a perfect cycling day at 2:30 in the afternoon. Did I drive straight home and gear up, as any responsible Team Leader would? Uh ... no.

Instead, I detoured to my favorite independent farm stand / Food Mecca. It's true that I did need to procure dill and rosemary for a dinner party two days hence, but, once there, I did not constrain myself to the herb section. Suddenly, I was in front of the meat cooler gazing longingly at a smallish, football-sized roast labeled "Feral Swine." It was a hunk of wild boar from the estimable purveyor of ridiculously expensive (and ridiculously delicious) meats and assorted delicacies, D'artagnan.

One thing lead to another and soon I was driving home, the swine in the back seat, my intention to ride growing weaker the nearer I got to HQ. Then I was in the kitchen telling myself that another perfect cycling day was right around the corner and that a 10 day alcohol fast was impressive but adequate and that it was getting late anyway, only two hours of daylight left and besides ...

So I salted & peppered the roast, and shook generous amounts of smoked Spanish paprika onto it as if it were an infant I was soothing with a talcum powder shower. 90 minutes later I was sluicing a Mayflower IPA and carving off slabs of the swine basted generously in its own salty, earthy juices. The 15 miles of high intensity mileage I'd envisioned hammering out just hours before? Poof!

And yet. I now honor the boar. The boar shall power my haunches, the boar shall infuse my grunts and growls with its noble karma. I absorb the boar's power and give thanks for its restless rooting snout, its remorseless tusks. My task now is to bring the boar to the Rasputitsa and demonstrate to the swine gods that I am worthy of its flesh.

Causeway Street Loop

A sort of mirror image of yesterday's ride, with a few key differences. First and foremost, I rode solo today so I rode at my own pace which, it turned out, was 1.1 mph faster than yesterday's outing with the western Mass lads. That meant that, for approximately the same amount of time, I managed two extra miles (31.9). The weather was slightly warmer, not as much of that hint of chill in the wind; and the wind was slightly less. Clear blue sky and bright sun.

I incorporated Causeway St in Rutland in today's effort, it comprised the far arc of the loop. A terrific, mostly traffic-free road, sylvan and visually delicious, the cardinal's bright, clear call ringing from the hardwood forest.

Causeway St, March 13, 2016, Rutland, MA

Hill top

Good to get in back to back rides. And now that the clocks have been set ahead an hour, the Barney's Monday night ride resumes this week (though rain is forecast tomorrow). Still, this weekend marks the beginning of a stretch of serious shad training. Or so is my intention.

One note of concern health-wise. I went to the orthopedist a couple weeks back about persistant pain and discomfort in my shoulders, my right being the most painful. I was quickly diagnosed with calcific tendonitis in the right one ("See that?"the sawbones said, pointing at a shark-tooth-shaped shadow on the x-ray, "that shouldn't be there"). Calcific tendonitis is a fancy name for the fact that calcium accretions have built up inside my rotator cuff and, when I move the shoulder in certain ways, the calcium shards grind and jab the tendon. Ouch!

Treatment is a couple cortisone shots (one of which I've had and that helped for a week or so; the next one is this week), followed by physical therapy. I have an 80% likelihood of resolving it without surgery. Though my left shoulder wasn't x-rayed the first visit (I was told that the orthopedist only likes to examine one limb per visit, which seems absurd to me), given that the pain is similar, just not as pronounced, it's a reasonable conclusion to draw that I have the condition in the left shoulder too.

And the bummer is that it's pretty obvious the cyclist's position of leaning slightly forward and, in a concave sort of way, gripping the handlebars is a significant contributor to the onset of this condition. Computing w/ mouse doesn't help either, nor does extensive driving employing the 10 o'cock - 2 o'clock steering wheel hand position. That's a triple combo of bad posture and I've been practicing all three for years. One of the few instances of a bad 3 combination. Alas, the calcium has come home to roost.

Hopefully I'm treating it in time and it hasn't gotten too far gone, or isn't getting worse too quickly. The pain was noticeable both yesterday and today and I made efforts to sit up more often and stretch my arms back and open up my chest as much as possible.

Further reports from the Team Shad medical staff in the days and weeks ahead.

I Ward, Franz Joseph Haydn, and a Return to the Saddle

After a solid week of the dreadful Congested Wretched, I emerged from the phlegm swamp and, weekend nigh, decided to test my weakened, lost weight form with a ride. Feeling oddly forgiving despite imagining myself the snarling Team Leader, I reached out to the missing I Ward and, to my surprise, got a hold of him. To my further surprise, he announced that far from being missing-in-action, he's been training on his own, as many as 13 rides since the beginning of the year. Zoot alors!

Would he be interested in getting together for a ride? Indeed he would. But, he reminded me, given the six months of virtual inactivity he'd just undergone in the wake of shoulder surgery, he was far, far from being in riding shape. I said no problem and reminded him that there was always a spot on Team Shad for the properly motivated rider willing to put in a shad's effort.

Dubstoevsky and the Cannibal*
no time for games

We decided to meet at the Leverett Coop at high noon and I'll be darned if he didn't arrive a few minutes early, ready to go. Alas, another surprise. He'd invited Franz Joseph Haydn (FJH). I was dismayed, but said nothing.

I've known FJH for years, he's a lean reed of a man, as thin as a string quartet, but we ride together rarely and only when I make the trek to the western Mass hills to ride with I Ward and sometimes The Virginian. Why dismayed? Because FJH manages to put a negative or cynical spin on virtually everything he talks about. It's bizarre but almost every topic of conversation he proffers involves complaining about something or criticizing some group or remonstrating over some benign injustice. I don't think he has any idea that he does it. Practiced over decades, prickly bantering becomes second nature.  I Ward described him as a "cranky Yankee."

We'd barely gotten underway when he started dissing the "NCC guys" (Northampton Cycling Club) who were out in spirited, colorful bunches and speeding along earnestly ("I'm just out for the fun of it, man" he declared. As if club riding is all work and no play). He continued, deriding riders who "take themselves so seriously," who chart their rides or record their data or wear sleek, high end cycling gear. "I haven't used a computer in years" he boasted, as if that were particularly virtuous. Later, he pointed out (as he does every ride) that his Serotta road bike was over 15 years old (subtext: having a new bike with the latest cycling technology was somehow worthy of derision). And on and on.

I said nothing, as I'm wont to do when I Ward (no stranger to the negative rant himself) and FJH pedal along venting spleen. But the blessing of having FJH along became apparent soon after setting out.

Both had warned me up front that they were way out of shape and not interested in hammering today, that they were all about the slow, ponderous grind. The route we chose presented steady climbing (albeit not that steep) for the first four or five miles. We set out, the two of them side by side, FJH verbally indulging his animus toward "serious riders," toward the "skippies" at the garage he takes his van to for servicing ("knuckleheads"), toward people who walk around looking at their cell phones ("stooges").

They settled into a pace slightly more aggressive than glacial. Feeling remarkably good myself and just a bit chilly, I decided to set my own pace and ride out ahead. And that's when I was grateful for FJH being the third man in - I had no compunction about heading up the road and leaving FJH & I Ward to keep each other company.

And so there I was, alone on the road, climbing toward Wendell, the sun bright, the sky blue jay blue, me feeling surprisingly fresh and loose.

The climb toward Wendell

And now that's enough of my own belabored kvetching! In fact, I'd be remiss not to point out the fact that FJH rode with legendary "Crusher" Mawgs and the indomitable Big Red decades ago, long before I had anything to do with cycling. He's an experienced wheelman who's been around the proverbial block; I'm a cycling Marco Rubio compared to his battle-tested Hillary Clinton. I Ward, too, for that matter, has quite a few more years under his tires than do I. They've been riding together since way back in the early 1980s when, as longhairs at Zoo Mass, they skipped classes and cranked out the miles. Back then I was tossing Frisbees on the quad between the dorms and wondering where I could get some Thai stick.

But today is today and I repeatedly launched off the front and climbed out of sight; no amount of cycling guile or experience can compensate for conditioning. Interestingly, it's rare that I'm off the front. When I'm out with the The Virginian, I am forever (it seems) gazing at his back side trying to keep him within reach. With Barney's Crew, I'm consistently at the rear of the grupetto that gets out ahead of the the main bunch. So on a day like today, powering away with relative ease proves vaingloriously satisfying.

Ridge top farm style

I'd wait for them at the top of the climb and would hear them approaching before I saw them. I Ward's voice projects. He took to shouting "Generalissimo!" as they came back alongside, and "Mein Trumpf!" He jokingly chastised me for being a taskmaster and dubbed me "Warner von Trumpf." At first I bristled, then lightened up and after a while, I'd shout over my shoulder "Mach schnell, dumbkopfs!" and berate them for their sloth. "Laggards!" I shouted, "Tourists!"

I Ward and Franz Joseph Haydn in Wendell center

Back at the Coop's gravel parking lot at ride's end, all was well with the world and with the three of us. I'd had a strong return after having not ridden since February 28 and having been sick for the entire previous week. I Ward and FJH both expressed satisfaction on the day and we all agreed we'd do it again one of these weekends. As for I Ward's roster spot on Team Shad, it's too early to say. The road back to peak form is surely a long and arduous one, though not insurmountable. I Ward is like a pugnacious badger, ebullient with grit and attitude; you cannot count him out.

Ride Notes

The Strava entry for this ride lacks map and pretty much all data. That's because I had to enter it manually. The thing is, I forgot to "end" the ride on the Garmin tracker when we got back to the Coop. Instead, mounted on the top of the car zooming home, the tracker motioned back on and kept tracking the ride. Back at HQ, it had logged 89+ miles; the avg speed was off the charts. So I discarded the whole thing.

29.35 miles, 12.4 mph, 2 hours 22 minutes (from the legacy handle bar computer I never took off)

We spent most of the ride in Wendell. From the Coop, rode up North Everett Rd to West St, left on Montague Rd to Mormon Hollow Rd - CLIMB - then Farley Rd and Wendell Depot Rd into Wendell then back down West St up Lockes Village Rd to Wendell Center again and looped down West St once more and back to the Coop.

There's a downhill on Montague Rd that is very long, maybe a mile, and very fast. FJH launched off the front, I trailed by maybe 30 yards and I Ward sailed along maybe 10 yards behind me. Tucking into aerodynamic mode, I immediately began to make up ground. I could see FJH cranking away but I gained on him nonetheless. The entire way down toward Mormon Hollow I never pedaled once and by the time the sharp switch back right turn arrived, I had essentially hitched up with FJH without having exerted any energy at all.

I Ward had apparently seen what was happening. As he came alongside, he said to me "Generalissimo, you are blessed with the power of superior mass!"

I like that thought very much.

* photo assemblage by Crusher

Notes from Team Shad

A text this morning from legendary Huron cyclist Dave "Crusher" Mawgs (now retired) reminded me that the Rasputitsa is 38 days away. Indeed.

http://www.rasputitsagravel.com/

That fact seems almost surreal to me as I lay in bed convalescing after being pole-axed by some super germ or rogue virus that sought my body as host and took up residence. Four days felled, four days of wretchedness, four days of lung sludge and slimy effusions, orc-like noises bursting from the chest in the wee hours, four long days of depletion.

If the Rasputitsa were this weekend, I'd be hard-pressed to do circles in a muddy parking lot on a tricycle. What a sight to behold - Dubstoevsky of mighty Team Shad doing doughnuts on a titanium trike while the rest of the field laughs and rides away. Ugly waking nightmares.

And yet, there is an upside to having spent the last 96 hours essentially prone and fasting. I've dropped 10 lbs in 10 days. This morning, despite having stuffed myself yesterday with blueberry-pomegranate juice, Russian caravan tea, a banana, and an apple, I tipped the scales at 147.8 elbows. That's racing weight.

The goal now is to regain strength and stamina. Assuming I'm recovered by the weekend (and I do seem to be past the worst of it), I plan to ride Saturday, possibly Sunday, then once or twice next week. Official Team Shad training camp starts Sunday, March 20 when Dubstoevsky and the Virginian will undertake their first ride together in 2016.

 A note on the team roster. I Ward has been left off the squad for the Rasp, possibly for the season. While shoulder surgery last fall ended his season, and though his recovery went well, he has not managed to train with any real intensity since and his commitment to returning to form is under review. Not to mention that he has been incommunicado.

Nonetheless, the duo of Dub & Nut form a strong tandem and, with a modicum of focused, disciplined spinning over the next 30 days, should be in good form when race day dawns.