Hiatus Ends

In November, my thoughts turn to Bruegel. The countryside holds no more secrets, no more foliage'd wonder behind thicket and hedgerow. Shadow and dusk have claimed the exuberance of spring and summer and have left in their wake the skeletal truth of where we roam. This is our landscape without clothes. This is our dun and copper blush, our russet brush and old yellow smear, our 14th century landscape.

Return of the Herd, 1565

I haven't been riding. Three weeks at least have gone by since last I saddled up, and that was a less than inspired 15 mile ride on a Saturday twenty days ago. Other, stronger life forces have taken precedent. Turmoil. Personal upheaval. The possibility of exile, the possibility of abandoning everything and setting off to unknown destinations, the possibility of No Return. The possibility of Greenland, of retreating above the Arctic Circle, of going away to hasten my own expiration.

These considerations were earth-shifting, the tectonic plates beneath my certain future all of a sudden proving to be dangerously susceptible to fracture, to geologic foment. Despair at first, then the rodent instinct to survive. Ultimately, the wretched mountain scaled, harmony restored, I am still here, still anchoring operations of Chez Shad in the heart of Woo City. I'm not going anywhere.

Except for a ride.

As I did today. 27 miles under bright sunny skies. A crisp day, the day after Thanksgiving, the roads quiet, through Woo City neighborhoods to Kelley Sq and the launch point for the Badger Extension, the ride I learned from riding with Bernard Hinault last October. Allez.

Since I've been on a riding hiatus, my resting heart rate has risen from 44 to 51. In just three weeks. At the same time, instead of gaining any weight, I have lost it. Riding at 148 lbs more or less these days. That's peak season weight, not November. Perhaps it's muscle loss and existential disappearing. It's hard to say.

What's not hard to say is that today I feel alive, I feel stout and staunch and, though increasingly diminutive, I feel, standing in my black Timberland boots, solid. I feel secure in my flesh and my spirit.

Autumn Riding

Wachusett Reservoir
Saturday, October 7, 2017

Bright days of autumn, of October though oddly humid days in Woo City and across the Bay State, residual hurricane breath perhaps, the big up-gust of wind and moisture from the tropics after all the destruction of Maria, Irma, and Jose. But in my small moment on the spinning orb, I welcome this beneficent anomaly, take advantage of balmy temperatures in the low 70s, a warm sun and a cool shade, perfect days for riding.

Second Wachusett summit 2017, this time by a new route, rt 70 around Wachusett Reservoir and into Clinton where I picked up old reliable roads through the Princeton Hills & up to the base of Wachusett. That's one serious climb that "up to the base of Wachusett." Then the mountain climb itself, almost two and half miles base to tower, caps it off. Sturdy stuff.

Today, October 10, another weirdly humid day. Feel good on the 29+ mile ride but the energy on the road was harsh, aggressive. A lot of traffic on the main roads forced a lot of in-a-hurry commuters onto the back roads where their impatience was evident. Several close calls with trucks coming too close to me had me growling and muttering invective.

Eventually I did enjoy long stretches of pristine October afternoon back roads bereft of traffic. But in the end, today was a reminder (not exactly a needed one, but still useful) that the roads are the domain of the automobile and that I, as a diminutive cyclist, have to glower and glare and gesticulate without hesitation in order to claim my right of way and my tarmac terrain.

Barney's Monday Night Ride

Gathering for Barney's Monday Night Ride

6:15 Monday evenings when the light is right and the weather cooperates. 

News Flash: Dubstoevsky hones his skills with the Woo City Strava stars of Barney's Monday Night Ride (the MNR). 

Oh yes, I've learned a thing or two with this crew; I've been schooled, and I've handed out a lesson or two as well. Peter the Headmaster taught me about the jump from behind. Frantic and Ponytail Billy have assaulted Dubstoevsky and have been left wanting. 

It's all a feverish rush for non-existent glory, a hungry thumb in the pie for plums.

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part IV: The Finish

Everyone who rides the 160K consoles him or herself with the popular notion that "it's all downhill after East Rd." This isn't exactly true but it helps to believe it. 

Dubstoevsky on the 160K

The fact is that much of the last twenty five miles of the 160K is rolling terrain, some downhill, some uphill, nothing exactly worthy of fear and loathing. This is why the last stretch is perceived as benign, because there's nothing in it that promises to break you. However, after 75 miles, after personal struggles with the audacity of East Rd., you are tired and vulnerable and any incline, even something that on a normal 30 mile ride would seem insignificant, becomes something not insignificant at all, becomes a grinding impediment between you and the next downhill, between you and un-cramping legs, between you and coasting.

After lunch, I focused a lot on coasting. I seized every opportunity to not pedal. I rocketed down the occasionally paved downhill stretch tucked and tight like an arrow of Jah, grateful for every tenth of a mile ticked off without pedaling. I watched Nut continue to crank while speeding down ahead of me and I felt smug in my energy-saving-regimen. 

However, true to form with Team Shad, inevitably something rent the fabric of unity, if only slightly and if only for a half dozen miles or so.

At one point late in the ride, around mile 85, Wing Nut and I came to a trio of riders who we'd leapfrogged periodically since lunch. Wing Nut, being the Assassin, could not help himself. He rode away from me, up to their wheels, moved to their left and went swiftly passed them. I was unable to keep his wheel and follow through.

I saw Nut look back once after he passed the trio as if to ask, "Where's Dubstoevsky?" The obvious answer was "he's stuck behind the three guys you just passed and doesn't have the power to follow you" but that didn't make much impression on him. More than likely his glance back was simply to make sure I was still in sight of the trio so that I wouldn't be alone when he rode off ahead. He was Wing Nut. He had to demonstrate his remorseless power.

Wing Nut, quiet assassin, at the end of the 160K

So this small drama played out for several late ride miles, my legs churning and coming to life again like a re-kindled fire. In the stretch run down to the Big Top and the finishing line, a half dozen or more riders came up from behind, sprinting toward the finish as if this were a race. That triggered a pang of competitiveness in me, especially seeing that Nut got ahead and into the group of hard pedaling closers; I was stuck (again) behind a cadre of meanderers, until I too could launch out from behind them and rush to the finish line, as if that last minute gesture meant anything. It seemed like just something you were supposed to do to show that you still had something left in the tank, but I did it anyway. 

And yeah, amazing as it seemed to me at the time, I actually did have something left in the tank.

D2R2 2017: Part I

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part III

East Rd in Hawley is like a fear benchmark. Anyone doing the 160K, if asked about their biggest concern, would probably cite East Rd as paramount, particularly coming, as it does, after lunch and at mile 66 (or thereabouts). Only the most extreme look forward to it and even they treat it with respect.

I was looking forward to it. While Wing Nut does this climb a couple times a year (because he lives not far away), I, Dubstoevsky, have less opportunity to test myself on this four mile category 4 climb. I was eager to have a go at it again this year and replace the memory of last year's mechanical collapse with a more positive memory, one in which I climb like Alberto Contador straight to the top (passing numerous faltering rabbits along the way).

So how'd it go?

I felt good after lunch, not overly stuffed, almost rested. I was ready for Part II. We rolled along at a nice pace, a lot of it fast downhill as we raced toward the valley. While there were hills and descents prior to East Hill, everyone's thoughts were surely on the much-heralded "last major climb of the day."

Turning onto the East Rd climb

We hit the Valley floor and pulled over for a meditation break alongside the Deerfield River, a moment of gathering ourselves for the climb ahead. Focus seemed important. A mental reckoning. A quick look into the suitcase of courage to check for clean knickers. Then, East Rd.

There is no "I" in Team and I guess that translates as "Don't count on others when you have to count on yourself."

Naturally enough, I found myself alone on the climb. Wing Nut, ever in a zone of his own, simply rode away from me. Nothing demonstrative or aggressive, he just locked into a cranking rhythm and went forward, oblivious to what fell behind. There would be no Go Pro footage of Dubstoevksy dancing on the pedals this year.

But I didn't care. Climbing East Rd is not about how well you do against others (though I confess to feeling smug and pleased with myself about the fabled "Triumph on East Rd" from 2013), but about how well you do against yourself. The whole of the D2R2 is about personal fortitude, not about measuring yourself against external forces.

No matter how much experience you have on this climb, it still surprises. I recognized several spots where I hung out last year after my mechanical, but I didn't remember many sections of the total climb; didn't remember the intensity of the grade at points (12%+); didn't recall how fucking long it takes to get to the top. This latter point is important because what it means is that on several occasions I would round a corner or achieve what appeared to be an apex, only to be presented with more of the same - a steep, winding, gravel roadway UP.

Are you steady? Can you do this?

You question yourself at points. Especially when your Garmin tracking device goes into Auto-Pause mode because you are moving so slowly it thinks you've stopped. This was marginally demoralizing, though the remedy was simply to keep going, keep turning the cogs: "and every time that wheel turns 'round, bound to cover just a little more ground."

Mantras can help. "... bound to cover just a little more ground." Indeed.

And in these moments, you look inside yourself. You check in with yourself and ask yourself - 'Are you steady? Can you do this?'

The answer for me was Yes. Alone up East Rd in quiet; not a car passed during the 30 some minutes I toiled upward, there were no riders visible behind, and Wing Nut had disappeared up ahead not long after we started up. Just me and Dubstoevsky pedaling through the sun-dappled, bird-chirpy forest on a tightly-packed dirt road. 

Unfortunately, I started to cramp. The inside thighs (both legs) and the right arm triceps. The triceps cramping had been going on for a while and I'd been conscious of trying to grasp the handlebars differently and relieve some of the strain. That had worked in the rolling terrain but here in the meat of the climb letting go of the handlebars was not an option and it was proving to be a problem. 

I mitigated the inner thigh cramping by alternately standing up and sitting down (which also helped the triceps). Doing so redistributed the demand on the various muscle groups, including the arms, wrists, and shoulders. Up and out of the saddle for as long as I could turn the pedals and keep upright on extended arms; and back into the saddle when the arms and shoulders couldn't take it anymore and the thighs seemed like they could reclaim some power, if only briefly. 

It went on like this for a long time.

Several times I thought I was rounding the last curving stretch of steepness only to reach the apex, turn the corner, and be confronted with more of the steep same. 

Finally, light ahead, a cascading of sunlight that indicated an opening in the canopy (most of East Rd is forested hillside and well-shaded). I sensed the top. And it was true. I'd made it! I'd avenged the great fail of last year and topped East Rd without having to get off the bike.

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part IV

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part II

You can be as confident as you like but you still have to ride the course. And even though in my mind the 160K is a familiar and friendly route, the truth is that it still comprises more than 9,000 ft of climbing, has nine category 4 climbs, two category 3 climbs, one category 2 climb (Beast-Forget Field aka East Rd), and covers 95 miles. This is no minor undertaking.

But confidence helps. You have to believe that you are up for the task, regardless of the length of the ride. Driving at speed across the state at 6:00 AM as daylight gradually overcame the darkness, I felt confident and ready for the day.

The D2R2 is a well-organized event and parking & registering is a breeze. Within minutes of arrival, I've located Wing Nut, checked-in, got my number and timing chip, and am gearing up. It's going to be hot, no need to don the sleeve warmers or the windbreaker vest I brought in case of a chilly morning - just slather on the sunscreen and get going.

View from So. County Rd

The 160K starts with almost 12 miles of pavement - ride up to Greenfield then meander northward on a bike path and the more pavement until So. County Rd, a short ribbon of dirt road that marks the first dirt of the day. Everyone is happy to get off the main roads and into the back country .... and back country is where we remain for much of the rest of the ride.

The day is exquisite. Again. Every D2R2 I've ridden has been pretty nice, though last year it was really hot. It's hot this year too but there's a cooling breeze and it's plenty comfortable in shade. And given the small roads and forest paths on today's ride, there'll be ample shade throughout the day.

We ride along separately, Wing Nut generally keeping ahead of me by 50 to 100 yards. I take to calling him "Mr. 100 Yards" in my head; for whatever reason, he seems incapable of riding together. In fact, late in the ride this becomes a little bit of a sore point for me as Nut insists on passing groups of riders we encounter, regardless of whether I'm capable of passing them too; I end up trailing far in arrears, out of sight of my teammate for long stretches of time.

But this is all par for the course. Wing Nut is a solitary assassin and perhaps he needs the solo show of power as a means of shoring up his own sense of invulnerability.

At least an editor caught it

The 160K is known for having much of the hardest climbing happen before lunch. This is a good thing psychologically. As it works out, I had misread the cue sheet and was expecting lunch to be at the 62 mile marker, deep into the day. So I am taken by surprise when, at mile 49 or so, we roll up to the Amos Brown house right on the border of Mass and Vt, and it's the lunch stop!

I remember lunch last year, also, as it happened, at this same stop. Then there were riders strewn all over the grass, prone bodies, stunned countenances, shattered psyches. They had all just endured the first half of the Mystery Ride and some were, as I was, wondering how they would get through the rest of the day.

Totally depleted and desperate to recover, I ate way too much, including way too much sugar - I had a Coke, cookies, maybe M&Ms, a sandwich, chips. After lunch, I'd felt like crap and eventually it was hard for me to keep eating or drinking anything; I was nauseous most of the post-lunch ride.

This year is a different story. I eschew all sugary drinks and food; I didn't use any sports drink powder at the rest stop earlier, never ate the M&Ms I grabbed, didn't drink soda at lunch. The result was that my stomach felt mostly fine all day. A couple times I chugged enough water to make me feel bloated and uncomfortable but those feelings quickly passed.

However, one affliction plagued me much of the ride: Fire Nipple. Sometimes known as Nipple Burn, this occurs when you sweat copiously and your jersey becomes soaked, as do the straps of your cycling bib shorts. The result is alternately chilled & heated, overly-salted nipples rubbing up against the salted, wet synthetic fabric of jersey and bib straps. Unpleasant. But better than cramping. 

Somewhere in the woods before lunch

Speaking of which, earlier in the week I re-read past Shad Rides postings about earlier D2R2s and one thing that is consistently noted are incidents of cramping. For me, it had always been WHEN I would start cramping, not IF. So I am astonished when I arrive at the lunch stop, nearly 50 miles in, having not experienced any cramping at all. The year I did the 180K (2014), I remember cramping up early on, maybe at the 40 mile mark on some horrendous gravel climb, and thinking "am I going to be able to finish?"

That was also the year I learned that you can actually ride through cramps; that you can acknowledge them, honor their pain, then incorporate them into your rhythm. Having to do so just sucks, that's all. So I was quite aware that after 50 miles of riding, after the first half of the ride was done, I hadn't cramped at all.

Of course, that wouldn't remain the case during the second half. 

Lunch is a mixed blessing, really. You're ecstatic to arrive there, are overjoyed at the prospect of a ham sandwich and a bag of chips, and eagerly plop down in the grass and relax tired muscles. It can get positively drowsy sitting there in the grassy shade, and Oreo cookies can seem like the obvious next step in the re-fueling process. But eventually, reality sets in and you realize that despite how comfortable you are, you have to get up, repack all your shit, remount your bike, and get on with it.

We don't linger at lunch. I limit myself to a sandwich and a bag of chips. Refill the water bottles. Stretch my legs a bit in the grass. Then it's back to it. 45 miles to go, only one major climb, the fabled East Rd in Hawley, site of previous triumph and previous despair.

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad, Part III

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad: Part I

Now the 13th edition of the D2R2 is in the books and Team Shad has redeemed itself following last year's disastrous results. 

Triumph of Shad after completing the 160K

The thing is, no one wins or loses the D2R2 - you either finish or you don't. Last year, we did not finish. This year, after 7 hours 43 minutes and 23 seconds in the saddle (Dubstoevsky's saddle, that is, based on Strava calculations), Team Shad rolled back through the starting gate at the D2R2 Big Top off Mill Village Rd. 

So what happened? How did Team Shad manage to claw back respectability after last year's failure and after an off-season marked by existential angst, motivational concerns, and the possible dissolution of the team?

The answer is actually pretty simple - we climbed on our bikes at the appointed hour and went for it.

Let's be clear on one point. Wing Nut is a D2R2 veteran, one of a handful of people who have started all thirteen editions of this event (including this year). That he didn't finish last year (his first DNF) has nothing to do with his ability and everything to do with his loyalty. Last year, Dubstoevsky's mechanical mandated that Wing Nut sacrifice glory for the rescue of a teammate (even if that rescue effort went comically awry). He would have finished had he not be duty-bound to Dubstoevsky.

It seemed monumentally unlikely that Wing Nut, never mind Team Shad, would experience a second consecutive year of failure. Last year had to be an anomaly, an unanticipated and unforeseen catastrophe of a singular kind. A flat tire, long un-rideable sections of the Mystery course, and a final ride-ending mechanical on East Rd formed the basis of last year's slog. 

Dubstoevsky, even at his most cynical and pessimistic point, couldn't muster any dread for this year's edition. All bad karma had been left behind in the wastes of Ho Cook Forest and on the dusty, loose-gravel crawl up East Rd a year ago - surely, the team's well of negativity had run dry.

And that's how I approached this year. Positively. I accepted that this year would be different, that the odds were in our favor, that we would return to the event triumphantly, that we would finish. Besides, we would be on familiar ground, the 160K, a ride we did in 2015 and that seems just the right tortuous distance. I'm glad I did the 180K on the 10th anniversary run, but those extra 20K down the stretch are hugely demanding and I don't feel compelled to do that ride again.

Team Shad setting out on the 160K

The 160K seems like Team Shad's ideal. Anything less seems like D2R2 Lite; after all, on any given day, knocking off 60 miles on dirt roads is clearly do-able, albeit challenging. Anything more, like the 180K or last year's relentlessly brutal Mystery Ride, seems like overkill. Hey, I can suffer as well as the next cyclist but after a point it becomes imperative to ask yourself, why should I bother? 

So even though we got a late start (7:35 vs the recommended 7:00), we set out in good spirits and with confidence. We were ready to put last year behind us.

D2R2 2017: The Redemption of Shad: Part II