Double Flat and the Transition from Summer to Brrrrr

The inevitable transformation from summer to fall is underway and scenes like the one on Tuttle Rd from a September 27 ride from Woo City to Lemonstar may be done for the year.

Tuttle Rd, Princeton hills, September 27, 2015

The afternoon light fades quickly and now, just three days into October, the day is wet, overcast, blustery and raw, 55 degrees. No ride for me today. And only one this week, though it was almost two.

Unfortunately, on what was going to be my last Monday night ride of the season with the Barney Crew, I double flatted just 5 miles into it. Which really sucked because the previous week there'd been only six guys (me included) and we'd had an excellent ride, strong and fast. I was on form and rode well, once again surging up South Rd and beating everyone to the top, then holding my own the rest of the way.

Hitting the Reservoir at speed
September 21, 2015

So flatting out and having to call Shad HQs for a ride home was a dispiriting way to end the season with the crew.

I have had more flats in the last two months than I've had in all my years of cycling. I attribute it to the crappy, low end Continental tires I bought mid-summer. Four flats have resulted from the tiniest shard of glass penetrating the tire's thin rubber skin. In the case of Monday night's double-fuck, the glass shard wasn't found by Peter the bike store owner who, for the sake of speed, changed my tire for me. He ran his finger several times around the inside of the tire before replacing the tube and felt nothing.  But once we set out, within 5 minutes I was flat again. At that point, I insisted the other 4 guys leave me behind and finish the ride. Which they did.

Only the next day, changing the tube again, did I find the minuscule glass piece stuck in the outer flesh of the tire. Only with pressure on it would it poke through to the tube. I vowed never to buy cheap tires again.

Tire changed, Tuesday afternoon the 29th offered one more sweet day of Indian Summer warmth and I took advantage of it to re-visit the ride I abandoned the night before. Oh, and I actually took the crappy tire off the rear wheel (all four flats have been rear tires) and replaced it with the used high end Conti that had been my front tire which was not terribly worn but which I'd replaced (foolishly, it turns out) with the aforementioned lousy low end option.

The ride turned out to be a sweet one, uneventful, no flats, plenty of sun, I felt strong and ripped it up for a twenty mile loop, capping it off with an assault on good old Bancroft Tower.

Bancroft Tower, September 29, 2015

A few final thoughts on the Monday night crew. During the peak of summer riding season the group can get pretty big, 20 to 30 people of varying ability, and the vibe is pretty much every rider for himself. Not a lot of camaraderie. If you don't make it through an intersection, no one waits. If you have a mechanical, you're on your own.

So when I flatted last Monday, I had no expectations that anyone would wait. In fact, we were six of us flying along, me at the end of the train, and when I knew I had a flat, I called out instinctively "Yo! I flatted out!" Everyone sat up, slowed, then turned around and rode back to me.

Surprised and grateful but also not wanting to be a drag, I said to everyone "I'm good, I'll take care of it, no need to wait for me, get on with the ride while it's still light." But they ignored that.

Instead, Peter got off his bike and, as mentioned, set to changing my tire with a bike mechanic's speed. Someone else handed me their pump (much better than my own) and, while I struggled to inflate the tire, another guy came over and helped support the rim while I pumped away.

Maybe it was the fact that we were just six people and it would have been overtly cold to simply abandon me. Maybe, given the spirited rides the previous two weeks in which I'd been a pivotal challenger and a lead out man, they wanted to keep me around for the competition. Or maybe they were all just empathetic cyclists who wouldn't leave one of their own stranded.

So despite having such bad luck on almost certainly the last Monday night ride of the season, I actually felt quite touched by the generosity of spirit showed by each guy. In fact, Peter even left me his spare tube after my second flat in the event I couldn't reach anyone at HQ and had to try to change it again.

Parting Shots

The canal alongside the parking lot of the bike shop

The parking lot behind Barney's where we gather before the ride

Postscript

I stopped by the bike shop the next day on my ride out of town and returned the unused tube that Peter had left with me. I told him I doubted I'd be along the next week given how dark it is now when the ride ends. He said that he might organize a Monday evening "City ride" which, apparently, is a similar group ride but one that traverses city neighborhoods rather than heading out to the dark forested roads around the reservoir. The city streets are more or less lit enough to ride on after dark, particularly as most riders have lights.

So, though the reservoir group ride is over (at least for me) until next year, I would definitely take part in a Monday evening city ride until it becomes too cold. I hope this comes to pass because there is actually a lot of good riding through the neighborhoods, and plenty of climbing to boot.

Team Shad: In Pursuit of Nut

The Virginian and Dubstoevsky

Team Shad convened at the Leverett Coop for a training ride in the hills and the flats of Wendell Erving Warwick Northfield Gill Sunderland Montague Shutesbury, a ride that also included many interactions with the mighty Connecticut River.

A perfect weather Saturday, cool early on and sun warm into afternoon.

The Virginian is in excellent form. He's been training with grit and focus for months. I spend much of the day staring at his back, sometimes closer and sometimes from afar. But that's good. As captain of Team Shad, my role is to assay the squad's conditioning.

That's easy to determine today. The Virginian, aka Nut (which is how I will refer to him forthwith),
tells me that for the last few weeks, he's been averaging 60 miles per per ride. And it shows. He climbs effortlessly. On the rolling flats down the west side of the Connecticut River, after 40 miles, he rolls majestically along at a brisk pace. He's methodical. Tireless.

At times, rolling at speed into the wind rushing up the Connecticut River, I tucked in behind him and gratefully attached my flow to his, examining his conditioning close up. I concluded that his relentless, almost monastic, pace combined with his occasional inclination to accelerate uphill and his utter fearlessness on the decent, indicated that not only was Nut in perfect race form but that he also seemed prime for team leadership.

Images From Saturday, September 19, 2015

Connecticut River

In pursuit of Nut

Still in pursuit of Nut

Crossing Miller's River

I'd never been on this stretch of bike path in Greenfield, but it was fantastic. I thought alternately that I was in a Charles Sheeler painting or riding through a Dutch village.

Canal Style

Greenfield bike path

Holland

Ever in pursuit of Nut

We rode on, down the west bank of the Connecticut, south toward Sunderland and the blue bridge.

Finally I have him in my sights

Mt Tom witnesses the catch

Then there was later, around mile 45 when we hit the flats heading north out of Sunderland center and past the huge 300 year old sycamore tree when, enjoying the tailwind, Nut decided to kick up the pace to 21 mph. He sailed and I labored. But that's good, that's what you want in a teammate. A relentless driver with an irie attitude.

Rides and Photos Sept 7 to Sept 17

The porch at Team Shad HQ

Quick wrap up of the week to date. It's been hot! Unusually warm for this time of year in New England. Cloud-free days, unadulterated sun that grows richer and more buttery as it sinks, temps in the 80s in the evenings, scratching 90 in the afternoon.

Three rides this week and one more today with The Virginian, we're meeting up in Leverett for some exploring, possibly heading north to Warwick and Northfield.

Following Monday night's spirited ride with the Barney Crew, I managed 21 miles Tuesday and 25 on Thursday. 39 or more today, and I'll be over 100 on the week.

Here are some photos from the last couple weeks.

Setting out from Lemonstar to Worcester
Labor Day Monday, Sept 7

Half Dub

Mason Rd from the crest

Woo Style, intersection of Park and Pleasant

Twin Towers of Woo

Duchamp's Thigh

The next four shots depict the gradually sloping incline on the run up to Holden Reservoir, then the view from the top as the road levels out and then runs alongside the body of water for a mile or so.

The approach

The reservoir is to the right and the grade increases

It kicks upward into the curve

You level off and this is what you see

Way down at the far end, a mile or more along from the point above, the road is now blocked because the bridge is being worked on. Six weeks they say.

Improvements

It's gonna' be a while

The view from the bridge looking south

There's a garter snake in the tangle

Getting it Done

Rode with the Barney's Monday night guys tonight. The group has diminished since I last rode with them on the last evening of August two weeks ago. Not only have the numbers diminished but so has the light. Autumn is nigh. Tonight's ride ended in long shadow dusk.

Because of a bridge project at the far end of the Reservoir, the Monday night course has changed. We now go up South Rd, a mile long climb that I absolutely love (mentioned frequently on other posts). A couple guys sorta' groaned when told we were ascending that tonight, but I secretly rejoiced.

I hadn't ridden in a week but I felt good tonight. We were about 11 guys in all and I could tell right away I was stronger than four of them. We started at a mellow pace and unlike rides passed, I hung back and sheltered myself from the strong breeze, not expending much energy. Once we passed through Tatnuck and hit Mower St and the run up to the Reservoir, however, that strategy changed. I knew I had to be in the inevitable break that always happens at this point, so I leaped past a couple riders and grabbed the wheel of the last guy in the break.

I was rider #4 in a small pod with one guy about 50 yards ahead of us. My group was moving about 19 mph. The road to the reservoir climbs steadily upward at a very gradual grade; then it upticks a bit and there's a short and marginally steep incline before the road levels out for the long run along the waterside. This section always proves challenging to the bigger guys, and I knew that.

When my group hit the base, I powered to the front and hammered into the climb. The 50 yard leader was no longer 50 yards; he was more like 15 yards and slowing. I caught him at the top, pulling the rest of the guys with me, and we hit the level section of (freshly-paved) road and flew on. I pulled aside, having caught the leader and hauled the train of three up the climb, and settled into a comfortable tuck at the rear. We rolled along at 22 mph.

Then came South Rd. I was chilling at the back with a guy named Frank when we all hit the beginning of the climb. I felt strong. Within seconds, everyone started shifting into their climbing gears and the pace dropped quickly. I saw my chance and launched an attack. Once clear, I shifted down one gear and focused on my pedaling. Full commit. Every muscle fiber pulling, heaving, hauling, hammering, roaring around and around in a steady cadence of certainty. I wasn't cracking and I knew it. I knew I could keep a steadily high pace by employing a high cadence, and I did. Only Frank stayed with me, hanging on my wheel as we raced up.

Then Frank was alongside me. He wanted to pass me and was doing so when a rare car emerged from ahead and he had to pull in behind me to allow it to pass. Undaunted, he pulled out again, then pulled a wheel ahead of me.

Normally, at this point, having expended considerable energy already, I would have faltered. Maybe it was the week off, I don't know, but I channeled my whole attention into my pedal stroke summoning an aggressive increase in cadence and right away I was parallel with Frank. Then I edged past him. Then I kicked again. And was gone.

I know the South Rd climb well and I knew what remained ahead - a quasi-steep incline, a leveling, then one final 300 yard 4% grade to the top - so I put my head down and focused on turning the pedals as hard as I could. I cranked and grimaced with singular purpose. I didn't look back.

Then I did and I topped the hill about 5 yards ahead of Frank. The two of us had buried the rest. We got to the T intersection with rt 31, the re-grouping point, and stopped. We complimented each other on the spirited go of it.

And that wasn't all the fireworks I initiated. I actually attacked repeatedly the rest of the way. Only once was I out-dueled, and that was by Peter, the "Barney" of "Barney's Crew." Coming off the Bailey St  climb onto Salisbury St, there are several stretches of super fast downhill. If you play it right and are third or fourth or fifth going down the first real descent, you can generally surge by the front guys when the road levels out and starts the short climb out the other side. The road then levels and goes for another mile or so until the second point at which the ride stops to re-group.

Tonight I shot out from the fourth or fifth position at that strategic incline point and buried the guys who'd lead the flight down. I was running clear until suddenly there was Peter, standing up and cranking it out in his big gear. He flew by me. I doubled down and gave chase and keeping it steady and somehow not blowing a gasket, I caught back up to him. He pulled aside to let me pull ahead and lead.

"A respectful thing to do," I naively thought, as I tucked in and spun with new-found power. Then a whir and a flash and Peter shot passed me and quickly gained a big gap. I tried to pick up my already high pace, and did so to a minor extent, but knew I wouldn't catch him before the re-group stop, a quarter mile or so up the road. He got there about 30 yards ahead of me.

But I had been right there, in contact, and the two of us had left everyone else behind.

Dubstoevksy and the Church of Shad

Setting Out

Later in the season when you're in pretty good form, and if you've got no nagging little injuries, the first few miles of any ride are fantastic. When you set out you feel strong, your bike is a fine-tuned machine, you're confident and eager, you're not yet fatigued or slippery with sunbeam sweat.

So it's been for me lately. Like yesterday's 30 mile ride. Sunny, hot weather, the sun still a considerable force even though it's now lower in the sky earlier in the afternoon. I set out around 3:30 PM and felt terrific. And I took a chance of riding out of town via Holden and Brattle St.s, both of which had been grated over and unpaved as of two weeks ago.

There's good news! Holden St, Brattle St and Shrewsbury St have now all been paved. They are rough and dangerous no longer!

Shrewsbury St, paved at last!

Eventually I made my way to Causeway St in Holden, a true gem of a road, nearly bereft of cars.

The beginning of Causeway St in Holden

For a long while I rode alone on this street, several miles probably. Me, the sun, the green, the hum of late summer emanating from the New England roadside botanical abundance. At one point I saw some turkeys.

Turkeys

And then there was the farm.

Climbing toward the farm

Past the farm buildings and cresting the hill

Looking back, over the shoulder

The return part of the ride brought me past the Worcester Airport from the opposite side that I'm used to, which is the Big Climb up from Mill St. Today, it was Cat 4 downhill. It too has recently been paved, it's now like a slightly oily but luxuriant static river of sweet licorice un-flowing down the hillside.

Back on the Paved Roads

The D2R2 is always a welcomed event at the end of the summer, a chance to get off the pavement and into rougher terrain. And yet the abrupt transition from pavement to gravel, including the shift to a slightly heavier bike (in my case, the Crux Elite cyclocross rig vs the now-well-used-but-still-dependable Allez Comp racing bike), is always a little challenging.

But it's only for one day because while the D2R2 sort of marks the end of summer, it also serves as the harbinger of autumn - and autumn road riding with its cooler temperatures (generally) and incipient psychedelic foliage is ever a joy. Since the D2R2 10 days ago, I've returned to the tarmac and enjoyed several rides, including a spirited Monday night ramble with the Barney's Bikes guys last night (August 31).

Indeed, yesterday was hot and that may have limited the number of riders on the evening group ride; earlier this summer there'd been upwards of two dozen and more but last night we were probably around 15 in number. Not having ridden in a few days, I was fresh and eager to get the blood pumping and the heart firing. That I did.

Regardless of how I'm feeling, I try to stay toward the front of these rides, try to keep up with the better, stronger, younger riders (of which more than half the group usually fits that description). On good days, I'm right there with them; on off nights, I labor mightily but get dropped.

Last night, I jumped away with three other guys on the uphill run to the reservoir, even managing to hold the wheel of the first place guy as we hammered up the slight but considerable incline to the beginning of the long freshly-paved shoreline wrap-around. My advantage, if I have one, is climbing. Smaller than most of the other guys, I can generally keep a steady pace on the climbs, even if it's not super fast, while other guys labor and lose momentum. But in the flats, particularly on long, moderately rolling runs, I cannot generate the necessary power to hang with the powerhouses.

As was the case last night. After my (self)-impressive wheel-shadowing up to the reservoir, our foursome revved up and, despite my best effort, fairly quickly became a threesome. I brought up the rear about thirty yards behind.

Pulling away from Dubstoevsky

I enjoy the Monday night group rides, though I haven't really bonded with anyone other than Peter, the organizer and the owner of Barney's. Thankfully, the competitive spirit seems to be all in good fun, no one taking themselves too seriously, so you can challenge each other and not have the testosterone flare into an angry thing. Just a chance to test yourself against others.

Plus, I push myself harder when riding with others. Not that my solo rides are easy or that I cop a lazy attitude toward them - it's just that there's something about trying to hold the wheel of someone storming uphill at 16 or 17 mphs that pushes the body to give the extra oomph and thrust. It's a healthy thing.

In addition to last night's ride, I've done three other solo jaunts since the D2R2, two of which included the Cat 4 Worcester Airport climb (another stretch of sweet new tarmac, black and smooth and flawless).

Nearing the top of the Airport Climb

It's been a pretty dry summer, perfect days for cycling but not so perfect for the water supply. Here are a couple shots of one of the Kettle Brook Reservoirs, taken August 27th.

Kettle Brook, looking north

Same reservoir, looking south

The Holden Reservoir isn't quite as low. I snapped the following pictures last night as I trailed after the leading three.

Holden Reservoir, Monday night August 31

Holden Reservoir, looking south

D2R2 2015: Part II

Team Shad in the saddle

As the sun climbs higher and the temperature rises, as the hills grow steeper and longer, as the miles fall away under our tires, I let go of details and specifics. The Virginian handles the navigational duties as he's not only an eleven time D2R2 veteran but these roads are, to a degree, known to him, they're in his wheelhouse, they're local to him.

160K riders

Around mile 50, I feel the first twinges of cramping in my quads and so begin to really focus on my pedaling. After years of riding, I've become adept at recognizing the subtleties of positioning and technique; I can discern, and therefore direct, where the power of the thrust comes from.

When climbing, am I out of the saddle and relying on the thunder of the quads to generate the power? What if I sit down, shift forward on the seat, and sort of scrouch over the handlebars; can I shift the power focus to the calves and hips? Yes. I can also employ the "clawing" technique whereby I concentrate on the front downward thrust and upward pull back, imagining my toes as claws digging into turf, pulling, then thrusting hard off the claw hold. This alleviates the quad-heavy thrusting that comes natural when out of the saddle on an ascent, but it's also tiring and, on very steep ascents, nearly impossible to maintain. You have to get out of the saddle and hammer at certain points.

Thank goodness for Friday's rain. Where many of the climbs would have been loose sandy gravel, today they are more or less packed down. You're able to get out of the saddle and not spin out. Otherwise, you would have had to stay seated in order to keep weight on the rear wheel and maintain traction, but the hills being as steep as they are, I'm sure I could not have stayed seated so would have inevitably had to hike up certain inclines. As it turned out, I never had to get off the bike and walk.

One of the long, gradual grinds

So the last 12 miles before lunch I spend babying my quads, constantly adjusting my position in the saddle, coasting as much as possible, and generally trying to keep my legs from seizing up. It works! Around mile 62, the small lunch stop appears, there are twenty or so cyclists already there, bikes strewn about and tired, brightly-clad riders lounging on the grass. The Virginian and I drop our bikes in the bushes and attend to fueling up.

As promised, there's garlic aioli to spread on the made-to-order ham or turkey or hummus wraps. There's also pasta salad and an array of snacks like M&Ms, Fig Newtons, pickles, potato chips, and, blessedly, cans of Coke. Now, I normally drink a Coke maybe once a year and I've been avoiding potato chips for like two years but today I inhale both a Coke and a bag of chips. And a ham wrap. And a pickle and a package of Newtons.

And I make a key hydration substitute. At the first rest stop I'd mixed a bottle of sport drink but had used too much powder; the result was way too sweet, so much so that it sorta' made me nauseous. So at lunch, I dumped the rest of that concoction and switched to a mix of pickle juice and water. Salty, with twinges of vinegar, it tasted better than the sports drink solution and helped to actually alleviate some of the stomach discomfort that's a byproduct of consuming so much sugary energy supplements.

The Virginian in his glory

Lunch finished, two thirds of the ride in the books, The Virginian and I gear up and push on. Immediately after lunch, you zoom down a long, fast descent to the floor of a valley in Charlemont. "Sweet!" you think to yourself, "Nothing like a zinging bullet train to bury a few quick miles!"

But once a descent like that hits the valley floor, in the D2R2 you can be sure that a massive climb is the next order of business. In this case, we're talking East Road.

Now, East Road is a special climb for me, ever since the fabled "Assault on East Road" from the 2013 D2R2 (chronicled here). That was the time that The Virginian and I reeled in four guys who'd whizzed by us a half mile before the base of the climb; we'd been stopped at the side of the road taking a picture of some sunflowers when the foursome had zoomed past. Though they had a five minute start on us, we reeled them back one by one and cranked passed them, demoralizing them on the merciless slopes of East Rd. Much of this, my self-declared "finest day of my cycling life," was captured on The Virginian's video camera which he'd mounted on his rear fork (footage available at above link).

There would be no such heroics on East Road today. Depending on how you measure it, the total climb runs to three miles and, though gradually steady for much of it, in places the grade tips up sharply, at one point about two thirds to the summit, it veers up to 13.1%. And, despite the rain and the "perfect conditions," there are a couple places where the surface is not compact, and loose sand and stone force you back into the saddle to avoid spinning out.

The Strava segment of East Rd is called Backside of Berkshire East. It takes me 29 minutes to climb to the top. At one point, I think at the 13% grade, I am going so slow I don't know how I stay upright. It takes all my will and concentration to stay on the bike, to keep turning the cranks, to not get off and walk. I don't want to get off, I don't want to admit defeat, to further sully the memory of my once-upon-a-time accomplishment on this sacred climb. It's bad enough that I labor mightily just to stay on the bike; think of the ignominy of having to get off and push the Crux Elite.

I avoid that dread fate and manage to grind to the summit without ditching, though at one point I begin cramping, not in the legs but in my right shoulder and right tricep. Then it becomes a struggle to balance one handed while letting go with the cramping arm and holding it at different positions, including swinging it around trying to get the blood flowing. Upper body cramping becomes a concern the rest of the ride. I end up repeatedly taking my hands off the handlebars, sitting upright, waving my arms, alleviating the stress of gripping the bars too tightly.

At the top of East Rd, we pause and gather ourselves. Even The Virginian concedes that "Maybe we were a bit cocky about East Rd." We'd been taking excitedly about the climb for weeks. We'd imagined that we'd use the climb again as a launch pad, that we'd drop anyone who dared try riding with us, that we'd repeat our bravura performance of two years ago.

Then The Virginian drops a bomb.

"I even rode this climb earlier this year, in May, and it didn't seem as hard. And I was on my road bike."

Say what? A fucking road bike?! "Are you insane??" I asked with a mixture of admiration and incredulity.

He shrugged. "Yeah, I don't know, it was almost easier on a road bike, it's hard to explain."

Yes, it IS hard to explain. In fact, I can't imagine it. Nor will I ever know what it's like as I would never attempt East Rd on a road bike. But The Virginian is a special sort, as we've seen before.

The Virginian, much earlier in the ride, still fresh

East Rd conquered (albeit in humble fashion), we turn our attention to the stretch run, about twenty five more miles or so. Lots of rolling terrain, a modicum of pavement, mostly dirt roads, a lot of it descending. Though not all. One or two tricky stretches challenge my stamina and my crampy upper body but the terrain is fun, the rutty wood roads completely overhung with a canopy of green (as many miles have been today), and the climbs of short enough duration not to be killers.

By this point in the ride, the riders have splintered and drifted far apart. Earlier, you'd come upon a handful of riders not infrequently, or some would ride up and pass us. But now, we encounter almost no one else. We roll along largely by ourselves, enjoying the solitude, doing quiet solo battle with our own bodies, managing the discomfort while exulting in the realization that today's gargantuan challenge draws to an end.

And then we're there, Deerfield, the big green fields, the huge tent, the bee hive hum of activity, riders coming in, cars pulling out, the whole spectacle alive in the booming late afternoon sun that now shines unadulterated from a cloudless sky. AH!

And just as the morning was organized with a martial yet earthy-crunchy exactitude, so too is the afternoon after-ride party. The beer line is long though it moves quickly, the food line is short and accessible, the huge covered tent lined with tables and seats produces a dull roar of banter from five hundred or so contented enthusiasts, all scarfing dinner and sluicing Berkshire Brewing Company ales.

So Team Shad joins the celebration.

Team Shad at the table of champions

Back to D2R2 2015: Part I