Prime Days

It's prime time now. Terrific riding days. Pristine October New England days filled with blue skies, sharp sun, crisp air, clean vistas exploding in color.

Since nearly being taken out by the hawk on October 4th, I've ridden seven times. Fantastic afternoons after work storming the Reservoir, dancing up the cat 4 climb to the Airport, logging the Big Miles with El Virginian, noble Team Shad mate, on new roads in the Athol hills.

Unlike Herr Scrod in the German gloaming who suggests that "the season is nearing its end," here in the land of Shad we are gathering our tights and silky under things, our gloves and head warmers, our extra layers, we are clamping lights to our handlebars and celebrating the onset of autumn's capricious yet magical weather.

The truth is, I'm more than ready for colder rides. It's funny, when spring and summer comes and I can finally ride in shorts and a short-sleeved jersey, I'm always psyched. But then summer becomes a myriad of humid, sweaty rides and after a point I get tired of being slathered in a slick sunscreen sheen, perspiration running into my eyes. I want the crisper air, the snap and chill, the little shivery hum of setting out just on the edge of cold.

Plus, there is something about donning the layers of the cyclist's costume that appeals, a certain Boy Scout-ish or ninja-like sense of order and preparedness. I find plenty of satisfaction in assembling just the right kit, the perfectly-chosen layers to maintain a balanced, not-too-hot-and-not-too-cold temperature throughout a ride.

On the visual front, October marks the transition from the lush, green expanses of summery fullness to the psychedelic landscapes of orange, red, and yellow that presage the somber dun hues to come. October is the month of imps and sprites and woodland fairies, the last whimsical days of abundance when the great hoary hardwoods assume the garb of jesters for a few final weeks before shedding their whimsy and hunkering down for the long freeze.

Photo Gallery of the Last Seven Rides

Airport Paxton Loop October 5th

Woo City Airport Summit

Dubstoevsky falling into space

Holden Loop October 6th

Fecund but fading

Paxton Kettle Brook Loop October 8th

Getting out of the Woo

Lemonstar State Forest to Mt. Wachusett Summit Loop October 10th

Team Shad car

Lucas Rd, Princeton

Approaching Mt. Wachusett

Busy day on the summit

Team Shad Training Ride with The Virginian October 12th
Montague Shutesbury Wendell Orange Athol Warwick Northfield Sunderland

The Virginian setting the pace through Wendell

North Orange

October's bright blue sky

Sunderland, not Bordeaux

The French King Bridge

The final climb of the day

Shadows of the Dub

Reservoir Loop October 13th

On the fly

Reservoir Loop October 15th

Return to the Woo

Add Hawk

I was almost taken out by a hawk. I have no picture of the incident because it all happened very quickly.

At around the eighteen mile mark of what ended up a 22 mile ride, I was cruising along in a meditative, eyes-ahead state of relaxed tunnel vision on a recently paved road when, out of the corner of my eye I saw movement. My immediate interpretation of the motion was "newspaper blowing in gusty wind."

It was a gusty day after all, a blustery sun & cloud afternoon, a classic Sunday in early October New England.

But it wasn't a newspaper.

The moment unfolded rapidly. From the instant I noticed the movement, to the synapse firing in my brain that immediately tried to decipher the movement, to the point at which I actually realized what was happening and responded, was nearly instantaneous.

The newspaper was actually a hawk on the sidewalk (later I supposed it had made a play for a local squirrel or perhaps a house sparrow, flocks of which cavort in the hedges and the lot edges of neighborhoods all over Woo City). It was trying to take off, and the movement I saw as I was nearly abreast of it was it hopping & flapping to get some lift-off. By the point at which I realized with crystal clarity what was really happening, I had already instinctively reacted and ducked.

The hawk lofted into flight with a mighty lunge and barely missed my hunched shoulder as I raced past. Less than a second of reaction time separated cyclist-knocked-to-pavement-by-raptor and
holy-shit-near-collision-with-hawk. We both got away with our dignity.

Parting Shot

Kendall Reservoir, Holden, MA
October 4, 2015

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