Dry roads. Road bike style. The fifth ride of the year, of the month. Eleven months to go. Vivaldi's Four Seasons and we've squeaked through one month of the first.
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| Where Harris St meets River Rd |
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| Dubstoevksy on the bridge |
Sunday, January 31, 2016
January Gone
End of January, a generally ferocious month that acquiesced this year, it rolled over and opted out of winter. Sweet! Sunday, the last day of the month, 53 degrees and sunny!
Dry roads. Road bike style. The fifth ride of the year, of the month. Eleven months to go. Vivaldi's Four Seasons and we've squeaked through one month of the first.
Dry roads. Road bike style. The fifth ride of the year, of the month. Eleven months to go. Vivaldi's Four Seasons and we've squeaked through one month of the first.
Saturday, January 30, 2016
El Nino
If indeed we have El Nino to thank for this winter's benign weather, than I bow low and doff my helmet to the great phenomenon. Last year at this time, Snowmageddon had set in with ferocity, burying the Woo in what became record amounts of snow. This year? Well, today, January 30, the temperature climbed into the 40s, the sun shone, small patches of vestigial snow from last weekend's dusting continued to melt, and the roads were clear and dry.
It being Saturday, and the weather cooperating so nicely, I had little choice but to duck out for a morning ride. A road bike ride, no less. Oddly, my last ride a week ago on the Crux Elite ended with me pulling into Shad HQ and hearing an odd clicky sound from my rear wheel. Dismounting, I peered at the wheel and sure enough there it was, a snapped spoke. Must have happened in the last block. So that bike is now in the shop getting repaired (and getting a new chain and handlebar wrapping). So road bike it was.
A Reservoir run, not a loop but a straight shot out and then up South Rd to get some climbing in, then back down, though descending carefully, very carefully. It was above freezing and the roads basically dry and not even that sandy but some damp-looking spots suggested possible ice so I took no chances, slowing down accordingly and attending to the bike handling like a jeweler cutting diamonds.
There was no danger. The ride was terrific. And despite only sporadic riding over the last two months, I continue to feel strong and comfortable when I'm out there. The goal, of course, is to maintain some modicum of conditioning so that the Rasputitsa won't be a total sufferfest. The weather and the course conditions I have no control over, but I can work on my state of physical preparedness between now and then. Here's hoping El Nino's charm keeps pampering the northeast.
Reservoir Vistas
It being Saturday, and the weather cooperating so nicely, I had little choice but to duck out for a morning ride. A road bike ride, no less. Oddly, my last ride a week ago on the Crux Elite ended with me pulling into Shad HQ and hearing an odd clicky sound from my rear wheel. Dismounting, I peered at the wheel and sure enough there it was, a snapped spoke. Must have happened in the last block. So that bike is now in the shop getting repaired (and getting a new chain and handlebar wrapping). So road bike it was.
A Reservoir run, not a loop but a straight shot out and then up South Rd to get some climbing in, then back down, though descending carefully, very carefully. It was above freezing and the roads basically dry and not even that sandy but some damp-looking spots suggested possible ice so I took no chances, slowing down accordingly and attending to the bike handling like a jeweler cutting diamonds.
There was no danger. The ride was terrific. And despite only sporadic riding over the last two months, I continue to feel strong and comfortable when I'm out there. The goal, of course, is to maintain some modicum of conditioning so that the Rasputitsa won't be a total sufferfest. The weather and the course conditions I have no control over, but I can work on my state of physical preparedness between now and then. Here's hoping El Nino's charm keeps pampering the northeast.
Reservoir Vistas
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| Lower Reservoir |
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| Upper Reservoir approach |
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| Upper Reservoir |
Monday, January 18, 2016
Images from Woo City
Got out for a cross bike meander through the neighborhoods, climbing the big hill up to Green Hill Park, and then to Bancroft Tower, and generally perusing the quiet Sunday streets before the snow and cold arrives this week.
WPI Salvaging 100-year old 'grotesques' from campus building.
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| Heading up West St |
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| Getting off road right in town |
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| Top of the hill and into the woods |
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| But where are the skaters? |
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| Green Hill Park golf course |
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| Green Hill Park and pond |
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| Industrial style |
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| Looking for Dickens |
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| Have a 'Gansett, already |
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| Vladivostock |
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| Grotesques on the WPI athletic building |
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| Detail |
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| WPI Gymnasium, the building is being torn down this year but they are saving the grotesques |
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| Bancroft Tower, January 17, 2016 |
Sunday, January 3, 2016
January 3, 2016
Some days, when opportunity presents itself, you have to seize it, even if "seizing it" means little more than an hour's low key spin. So went today, Sunday, January 3, a big booming sunny day in New England. I didn't have a ton of energy but I went out for a Reverse Reservoir Loop anyway and notched the second ride of 2016.
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| La Rue de Shad |
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| Bancroft Tower, January 3, 2016 Holiday Style |
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| Team Shad fans line the road hoping for a glimpse of their heroes |
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| Holden Reservoir, northern tip |
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| The road ahead ... |
Friday, January 1, 2016
New Years Day 2016
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| Day One, Ride One The Gates of the New Year |
Welcome to Shad Rides, the 2016 Edition, home of Team Shad and the words of team leader, head glutton, and lapsed Russian novelist, Dubstoevsky. Allez!
Team Shad has high ambitions for the coming year, namely the Trifecta, the Big Three gravel grinders: the Rasputitsa, the Tour de Heifer, and the D2R2. Starting in mid-April and paced two months apart, the Big Three events are the exclamation points punctuating the nine month season (April to December).
Team Shad successfully completed the Trifecta in 2014 but only managed to participate in the D2R2 in 2015. The goal is all three again in 2016, and that goal shapes the team's schedule and training approach. Basically, the training approach is to maintain a modest riding schedule in January, February and March, as the weather allows. Last year, of course, the Snowy Winter From Hell set in in late January and shut the team down until late April; we had to withdraw from the Rasputitsa 2015 because we were unable to train in the two months prior (and you do not want to enter that race out of shape).
We can't control the weather, of course, and this is New England where anything can happen. Last year in the Woo, it was the snowiest and coldest winter on record. But some years there's been literally no more than a few inches of snow every month or so, mild winters with temps in the mid 60s on New Years Day. All we can do as cycling shad is keep our bikes ready, our spirits up, and our goals in mind. The rest is up to Jah.
Today, Jah abided.
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| Setting out past the Greek Orthodox Church, Russell St, Woo City January 1, 2016 |
A steely, gray day, low 40s, slight breeze, a holiday, roads mostly clear of traffic. The inch and a half of slushy snow from three days ago is mostly gone from the roadways, though there's already plenty of loose sand strewn about. No lax riding! Must pay strict attention at all times.
Which is fine, actually. Paying attention is one of the great aspects of cycling, the need for constant vigilance, the necessity of staying in the moment. Sure, your mind can wander but your senses must stay focused, you must be constantly aware in 360 degrees, you must know what's behind you, what's ahead of you, what the surrounding area is in either side of the road, you must never take the road surface for granted but instead treat it as though every turn of the wheel presents the chance for catastrophe. And yet even with obsessive compulsive attention, a distance cyclist remains at the mercy of circumstance and must trust that a drunken driver, a texting driver, a fooling-around-at-the-wheel teenager will not interject their death karma into the day's journey.
Today, 23+ miles of road, keen attention paid all the way, and the result is a safe return and the first ride of 2016. A road ride to boot. Whizzing along empty pavement, the New England countryside bare, rocky, hilly, thick with stands of hardwood forest, punctuated with gray, icy-looking reservoirs, black crows cawing from the tree tops and lopping along on the wing, dark silhouettes of prophecy against a somber sky.
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| The spillway for the Kettle Brook reservoirs Cherry Valley, MA (a part of Leicester) |
All of life is a chance, really. We can take every precaution, educate ourselves, watch our health, be vigilant when traveling, wear seat belts, avoid war zones, but there's no guarantee that we'll wake up tomorrow morning. We just trust we will. And so I trust that I will ride again. I don my helmet in a gesture of Wise Precaution, but I also bow low in humble recognition of Fate's fickle intentions.
The old Cold War maxim regarding arms control was "Trust, but verify." A cycling maxim might be "Take nothing for granted, be fucking careful, and hope for the best."
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| Holden Reservoir from the northern end January 1, 2016 |
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| New England style |
Dubstoevksy sends a big HUZZA and a Happy New Year bellow to the Mighty Virginian, dependable Shadmate and decades-long cycling companion; to Master Scrod in Frankfurt, and his Ventoux Calls compadre Meister M recovering from Fate's angry bitch slap; to I Ward, recovering from shoulder surgery; and to all cyclists the world over.
And last but not least, an OM AH HUM to the memory of the Mighty General, long time Director Sportif of Team Shad, tireless supporter and raconteur extraordinaire whom we lost in 2015. Allez, great friend!
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| The trusty mount January 1, 2016 |
Thursday, December 31, 2015
2015, Adieu
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| Mecca |
91 rides
The D2R2
No serious injuries
And places like Karl's
Not a bad year
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| Bancroft Tower, ride #91 December 24, 2015 |
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Dubstoevsky's Folly and the Gift of a Late Season Ride
Some say El Nino is responsible for the ridiculously mild weather that's settled into the Northeast. Others suggest climate change, still others the beneficence of the Cycling Gods. The why doesn't really concern me, but taking advantage of the situation does and so I arranged with the Virginian to meet Saturday morning, December 12, at Lake Matawa in Orange, Massachusetts for a lengthy training ride into territory heretofore unexplored.
I proposed a route that would take us north, climbing steadily out of Orange and that would eventually lead us to Richmond, in southern New Hampshire, at which point we would start to arc our way back southward. We'd been on a few of the proposed roads before (Wheeler Rd, Tully Rd) but much of the route, particularly everything in New Hampshire, would be new. I'd photocopied a portion of the map quadrant from the New Hampshire Gazetteer that showed the area we'd be passing through, plus I had google maps on my IPhone. What could go wrong? It all seemed straightforward.
An incredible day. I actually overdressed and had to strip down a layer before setting out, so warm was the sun and balmy the air. A very unlikely day in mid December, 52 degrees, no wind, few clouds. Cycling perfection!
Wheeler Rd, off rt. 2A, heads north and is a mostly steady climb, all of it nicely paved, bereft of cars, surrounded by forest. Because all the leaves are off the trees, you can see the landscape, its contours, its stonewalls and old foundations, its rolling, rumpled ridges. This is one of the glories of 'winter' riding - unimpeded views into the woods that line the roads.
Everything went perfectly for an hour or so. Wheeler Rd lead to Tully Rd which lead to Bliss Hill Rd which truly was bliss, a gorgeous empty road through the forest, super steep and challenging. And then it turned into dirt. But not a loose, gravelly dirt, no, the conditions were perfect - well-packed, slightly damp, smooth. We ended up on many dirt roads as you'll see and, thanks and praises to the Cycling Gods, surface conditions on all of them were excellent. In fact, many were so smooth and packed that we likened it to riding on a gymnasium floor or a velodrome lap - polished & with just a hint of spongy softness.
We reached NH feeling great and rushed northward on the main road, rt. 32 until it intersected in Richmond with rt. 119. We decided to go further north to Sandy Pond Rd which skirts the southern edge of the Franconia Mountain Range where we'd then start to loop back south. It all seemed quite clear on the map.
Alas, here is where things began to go awry. Sandy Pond Rd proved easy to find, though not before hurtling down some absolutely monster descents on rt. 32 that had me thinking to myself "Holy shit, this is steep, I'm glad we won't have to climb back up this way!"
Not too far along Sandy Pond Rd, we were on dirt again. Forests along both sides. A couple weird intersections that we thought we interpreted correctly. Down down down slightly rougher dirt roads, thick forest on either side, no visible signs of habitation or farmland or much of anything.
Finally we stopped. We considered the map. It was hard to decipher where exactly we were, but then we realized that we'd taken a wrong turn at some point. Instead of having reached the furthest point of our intended route and being on the road back, we were, in fact, going the wrong way, and had been for some time. With several miles of descending on dirt road behind us, we realized we were heading north when we should have been heading south. Groan!
Nearly the entire ride to this point had involved climbing and the realization came over us that we were now lost in the Franconia Mountain Range and suddenly time took on a bit of urgency. Still only 1:00 or so, we knew that dusk comes by 4:00 and neither of us had prepared for riding in the gloaming (the Virginian's small blinking red tail light was hopelessly dim, in need of batteries; I hadn't brought any lights at all).
Finally, we figured out a way out, but one that would mean continuing north a little further, then essentially coming out on rt. 32 eight miles north of where we'd first turned off. It meant having to climb the very hills I'd remarked upon to myself earlier. But there was nothing to be done about it but press on.
Once, decades ago, the Virginian and I had gotten lost mountain biking. He'd assured me he knew the trails and the wood roads. That ride too was late in the season but on a colder, more wintry day. In fact, at one point deliberating over the map, it started to snow. We'd pressed on then too, only to come out to a location miles and miles from where we'd parked. That ride turned into a desperate slog back through the gloaming and the cold, both of us chilled and whipped. I chided the Virginian about that ride for years.
But here we were on a new debacle, the ride I'd envisioned now completely FUBAR. This is how this ride has now become Dubstoevsky's Folly, or just Dub's Folly, for short. We'll be joking about it for years to come, no doubt.
Nevertheless, we righted our ship and reclaimed the day. Once we figured out where we were and realized that we would not be stuck out after dark, we dug in our proverbial heals and, with renewed energy, pedaled enthusiastically on. After all, the whole day was something of a gift. A sunny, fifty degree day in December? On a Saturday? With no snow whatsoever to date? Incredible.
When all was said and done, and when we finally got back to the cars, we'd covered 54 miles, much of it climbing, and been in the saddle for almost four hours. An epic day.
I proposed a route that would take us north, climbing steadily out of Orange and that would eventually lead us to Richmond, in southern New Hampshire, at which point we would start to arc our way back southward. We'd been on a few of the proposed roads before (Wheeler Rd, Tully Rd) but much of the route, particularly everything in New Hampshire, would be new. I'd photocopied a portion of the map quadrant from the New Hampshire Gazetteer that showed the area we'd be passing through, plus I had google maps on my IPhone. What could go wrong? It all seemed straightforward.
An incredible day. I actually overdressed and had to strip down a layer before setting out, so warm was the sun and balmy the air. A very unlikely day in mid December, 52 degrees, no wind, few clouds. Cycling perfection!
Wheeler Rd, off rt. 2A, heads north and is a mostly steady climb, all of it nicely paved, bereft of cars, surrounded by forest. Because all the leaves are off the trees, you can see the landscape, its contours, its stonewalls and old foundations, its rolling, rumpled ridges. This is one of the glories of 'winter' riding - unimpeded views into the woods that line the roads.
 |
| The Virginian leading the way up Wheeler Rd |
Everything went perfectly for an hour or so. Wheeler Rd lead to Tully Rd which lead to Bliss Hill Rd which truly was bliss, a gorgeous empty road through the forest, super steep and challenging. And then it turned into dirt. But not a loose, gravelly dirt, no, the conditions were perfect - well-packed, slightly damp, smooth. We ended up on many dirt roads as you'll see and, thanks and praises to the Cycling Gods, surface conditions on all of them were excellent. In fact, many were so smooth and packed that we likened it to riding on a gymnasium floor or a velodrome lap - polished & with just a hint of spongy softness.
 |
| Bliss Hill Rd, the paved portion |
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| Bliss Hill Rd, well-packed dirt |
We reached NH feeling great and rushed northward on the main road, rt. 32 until it intersected in Richmond with rt. 119. We decided to go further north to Sandy Pond Rd which skirts the southern edge of the Franconia Mountain Range where we'd then start to loop back south. It all seemed quite clear on the map.
Alas, here is where things began to go awry. Sandy Pond Rd proved easy to find, though not before hurtling down some absolutely monster descents on rt. 32 that had me thinking to myself "Holy shit, this is steep, I'm glad we won't have to climb back up this way!"
Not too far along Sandy Pond Rd, we were on dirt again. Forests along both sides. A couple weird intersections that we thought we interpreted correctly. Down down down slightly rougher dirt roads, thick forest on either side, no visible signs of habitation or farmland or much of anything.
 |
| Sandy Pond Rd |
 |
| Deeper into the woods than we'd anticipated |
Finally we stopped. We considered the map. It was hard to decipher where exactly we were, but then we realized that we'd taken a wrong turn at some point. Instead of having reached the furthest point of our intended route and being on the road back, we were, in fact, going the wrong way, and had been for some time. With several miles of descending on dirt road behind us, we realized we were heading north when we should have been heading south. Groan!
Nearly the entire ride to this point had involved climbing and the realization came over us that we were now lost in the Franconia Mountain Range and suddenly time took on a bit of urgency. Still only 1:00 or so, we knew that dusk comes by 4:00 and neither of us had prepared for riding in the gloaming (the Virginian's small blinking red tail light was hopelessly dim, in need of batteries; I hadn't brought any lights at all).
Finally, we figured out a way out, but one that would mean continuing north a little further, then essentially coming out on rt. 32 eight miles north of where we'd first turned off. It meant having to climb the very hills I'd remarked upon to myself earlier. But there was nothing to be done about it but press on.
Once, decades ago, the Virginian and I had gotten lost mountain biking. He'd assured me he knew the trails and the wood roads. That ride too was late in the season but on a colder, more wintry day. In fact, at one point deliberating over the map, it started to snow. We'd pressed on then too, only to come out to a location miles and miles from where we'd parked. That ride turned into a desperate slog back through the gloaming and the cold, both of us chilled and whipped. I chided the Virginian about that ride for years.
But here we were on a new debacle, the ride I'd envisioned now completely FUBAR. This is how this ride has now become Dubstoevsky's Folly, or just Dub's Folly, for short. We'll be joking about it for years to come, no doubt.
Nevertheless, we righted our ship and reclaimed the day. Once we figured out where we were and realized that we would not be stuck out after dark, we dug in our proverbial heals and, with renewed energy, pedaled enthusiastically on. After all, the whole day was something of a gift. A sunny, fifty degree day in December? On a Saturday? With no snow whatsoever to date? Incredible.
 |
| Crossing the Miller's River |
When all was said and done, and when we finally got back to the cars, we'd covered 54 miles, much of it climbing, and been in the saddle for almost four hours. An epic day.
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