Saturday, January 14, 2017 was the 50th anniversary of the Human Be-In. I rode. 29 degrees, overcast crept in by the afternoon, a wan gray overlay fifty years after that cornerstone cultural event. That was the beginning and the end of what was possible. All these years later, a refugee from the Soviet Union, a hard man of the proletariat, a skull-thumped survivor at large in America, the bicycle is my pedestal and soapbox. I claw my way forward, eating up the hills of Woo County, grinding out dogged winter miles, telling myself that the Rasputitsa is nothing, is a lark's pedal, a puff of bluster in a long train of savagery.
Monday, January 16. I bow to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., prophet and peacemaker, visionary, martyr for justice. OM AH HUM. The day is bright, sharp, clear, above freezing. Perfect. Don all the garb necessary for a comfortable ramble. And a fine ramble it is, 40 miles across the free New England landscape. Is Massachusetts the best state in the union? Some would argue. But I would not.
First ride on the year, first ride on the Crux since the D2R2 (I didn't even test ride it after getting in back with a new derailleur last August). First training ride for the Rasputitsa, 112 days from today.
William St, New Years Day 2017
Hall St, New Years Day 2017
They say that if Balzac finished writing a novel before lunch, he would, immediately after lunch, start his next one.
So it goes for Dubstoevsky. No time for slacking, for taking it easy. Serious training, arduous training, relentless training getting underway. The bike, for a while, becomes a secondary focus. After three years of determined cycling, the body, while sinewy and strong in the muscle gruppetto, has lost significant strength and muscle elsewhere. Everywhere else.
That sad state to be addressed. Core training. A strengthening regimen designed and overseen by DS Mawgs, the Huron fitness guru who has taken a personal interest in Dubstoevsky's resurrection. Barbell step-ups. The Kettlebell Swing. Rowing machines. Weighted sleds. Truck tires.
It's the first day of the new year. Time to start the next novel.
Forecast for race day, East Burke, VT, as of Wednesday night, April 13
It's fitting that following an exceedingly mild el nino winter, this year's Rasputitsa is shaping up to be mild as well with lots of sun and temps in the 60s. At least that's the forecast just three and a half days before race day.
Team Shad welcomes this development. Mud & cold, raw overcast skies, rain & snow, these are not ideal conditions for Team Shad, despite the propensity of our namesake herring to favor cold ocean depths. Indeed, following a Friday that's also forecast to be sunny and clear, the course might possibly be in ideal shape on Saturday.
As for the squad, we're a carefully chosen, tight knit unit of two. Lacking the relentless physicality of youth, we must employ instead guile and karma, stealth and meditation. To state the obvious, we lack numbers. But we have many years of cycling experience between us and our intentions are pure so we are confident in a solid showing.
Typical pre-race headquarters established at the Lyndon Motor Lodge, strategically close to the race start yet also bounteous in luxury for the riders. For example, each rider gets his own bed (one's a queen, the other's a twin. I.e. the beds.). And there's a bathroom. And hot water. Perfection.
Beaver log, in the woods of Shutesbury
You know, they say that the American beaver is one helluva tenacious and indomitable creature, a tireless, determined character that somehow also seems to possess a sense of humor, like, hey, check me out, I just chewed down a maple tree, heh heh heh. There's something both admirable and laughable about them.
Just this past Sunday on our last training ride, the Virginian and I were reminded of this when the forest road we were riding along devolved rather abruptly into a babbling river fed by an overflowing beaver pond, and became impassable. In the forest around the trail lay plenty of evidence of beavers. Once while kayaking with DS Mawgs a decade ago, he and I came upon some fresh, beaver-gnawed twigs and we took a few as souvenirs. We called them "beaver sticks." What the Virginian and I saw scattered about were not beaver sticks but beaver LOGS. And it occurred me then - I must strive to ride with beaver indefatigability (intentional sic). I must gnaw the obstacle patiently and within my means until I prevail.
Practical Notes
Layering. With the possibility of nice mild weather, now I have to pack for every possibility, not just for "cold, wet, and crappy." Now, nuance is involved. Will it be cold at 9:00 in the morning? Will the sun be fully out or will clouds still be in place? Will it cloud up during the day? Or will it just get warmer?
The Crux Elite in the dungeon of Shad
These are impossible things to know until race morning, so the prudent Dubstoevsky must account for multiple layering options. It will all be packed in durable LL Bean canvas toes (each monogramed "Bonks" though not as a sort of preemptive jinx against every cyclist's nightmare, i.e. bonking, but actually a reference to the familial form of the professional moniker Bonkers the Clown, the character that Dubstoevsky played, once upon a time, in a circus that traveled the Ukraine, Moldova, & Belarus), and along with several coolers (for storage of the elusive Heady Topper should any be procured, as well as pre & post race ital provisions), all stuffed into the boot & back seat of the team car. With the Crux Elite riding in genuflection on top.
Ask for it
Special thanks out to the team's single sponsor, TJRZOG Salt & Mineral, DFW, Ltd of Bender Moldova, which, in conjunction with Ed Hyder's Mediterranean Marketplace, brings the team water bottles filled with smoked-coarse-sea-salt-infused water.
The second and last training run for Team Shad, 32 miles through forest and ravines and up steep hills in Wendell, Shutesbury, and Montague. 2500+ elevation, not exactly the Rasputitsa simulation we'd aimed for but in the end it was enough. Coming less than 24 hours after yesterday's 42 mile road ride, I hadn't fully recovered so the 32 hard miles today were enough. The Virginian felt the same, having thrashed himself good on Friday.
A chilled sunny day, high 30s early on and mid 40s at the high point of the mid afternoon, those puffy white clouds accentuating the blueness of the sky. Miles of forest roads, conifer stands along either side casting shadowed patterns on moist way paths. Creeks flowing alongside in audible granite'y gush. Wendell State Forest roads loose packed gravel, steep, demanding ascents that nearly broke each of us, but didn't
Through the forest alongside beaver ponds
Eventually we were stymied by the run-off from a beaver pond, far down New Boston Rd (which sounds like a real road but is really an old cart path through the woods). With recent rains and snow melt, the waterways are high and the result, for us, was an impasse we could not get around. So we altered our coursee on the fly, went back up to Mount Mineral Road and eventually up the crazy long climb of Wendell Rd, hard-packed clay that, at times, felt like pedaling on a gym floor.
The summit road to the top of Mount Wachusett is still closed, the thick layers of man-made ski slope snow still lying across the tarmac at several locations. I found that out firsthand by pedaling my ass to the entrance to the state reservation and right up to the first locked gate replete with snow bank deterrent. A walker informed me there were several more wide snow swathes up the way that would require bike-schlepping. Not for Dubstoevsky, not today.
Summit Road, April 9, 2016
It didn't matter. A big day in the saddle with more than 2000 feet of climbing. A cold day, mid 40s, though the chill was tempered for more than half the ride by a bright sun in a blue sky. By the last 15 or so miles, though, the sun was overrun by a gauzy cloud cover. But there was plenty of climbing, plenty of pedal turns, plenty of long empty roads, the pre-foliaged slopes on either side pillared by hoary oaks and etched with stone walls that once, perhaps, boundary'd fields.
Dubstoevsky on the fly
When the ride was in the books, I'd knocked off 42+ miles in the weekly quest for 63, the base number deemed necessary to achieve by DS Mawgs if Dubstoevsky has any hopes of a respectable showing in the Rasputitsa. With another big day looming tomorrow with The Virginian, it seems certain I'll reach the requisite 63 and then some.
Note: I averaged 14.3 mph over the 42 miles today. I'm content with that. Especially considering the day's venture required full winter regalia. With the temperature in the mid 40s, I opted for triple layering, including the chest-protecting paper bag. booties, and tights over the 3/4 length bibs. Tomorrow promises the same costume.
A week from tonight, Jah willing, I'll be hunkered down in the Lyndon Motor Lodge, in Lyndon, VT poring over the Rasputitsa route and getting myself thoroughly jacked for the Big Race.
Pair with friends and family
Actually, in a way, I'm doing that tonight, Friday, April 8, though situated in the comfort of Shad Headquarters, with a basement refrigerator full of Spencer IPAs brewed by Trappist monks two towns over. Except that tonight I'm psyching for the immediate weekend ahead, not race weekend. Tomorrow and Sunday I have to log some major miles.
The tentative good news is that the fickle April weather may cooperate and deliver a mostly rain-free, though not warm, Saturday and Sunday. The training plan is for a long road ride tomorrow (Saturday), possibly attempting an assault on the Mon Vontusett, a round distance ride on the order of 45 miles. Sunday, The Virginian and I will meet in Montague in the morning and hit the dirt roads and forest paths for another 40+ miles.
The obvious question that legions of Team Shad fans around the globe are asking is "Will the boys be ready for the big day?" It's a fair question and I'm happy to report, with certainty, that the short answer is "YES." The long answer is "Fuck YES."
And here's why.
I've said it repeatedly, The Virginian is like a Navy SEAL, he's like John Muir or Meriwether Lewis. He's always prepared, he bears up well under duress, he's indefatigable. He would climb a sequoia in a lightening storm just to be closer to the spectacle. And he's been getting some good rides in lately.
As for myself, Dubstoevsky, man of fragile shoulders and indomitable appetite, I, too, can be counted on to go the distance. On any given day, I can suffer with the best of them and not abandon the quest. I can go honey badger at a moment's noticed. Like a gila monster, I will bite and then chew my venom into the wound of the Rasputitsa. And I too have put in some good hard miles in the last month.
Team Shad is comprised of a duo of iron workers. Together, we sling slag and slop bones, we hack and smelt. We will go to Vermont like Visigoths. Hannibal may have crossed the Alps on elephants but Team Shad will circumnavigate Burke Mountain on aluminum steeds, climbing into the ethereal mist like Lao Tzu meandering The Way. Mindfulness and pillaging. Yin and yang.
Or, to spin it a different way, consider Winston Churchill and his abiding wisdom for the ages. We're all over that philosophy. We will definitely keep going.
Snow and wind last night, 50 mph gusts shaking the early flowering magnolia bushes. Snow in the pre-dawn. Waken to melted roads & coated trees, shrubbery, lawns. Intermittent snow showers. And, increasingly, a lot of blue sky and April morning sun. Dripping eaves.
I raced to gear-up. Though the sun was out, the temperature hovered around the freezing mark. I dressed exactly, the chosen layers perfect. I encountered winds, a driving snow squall, and wet pavement throughout but I was perfectly comfortable the entire hour's ride.
Only an hour, true. But an hour of Rasputitsa simulation. I deliberately sought out the weird unpaved roads in Woo proper. A deliberate neighborhood meander. Coes Reservoir. Canada geese beak to the rage. Gates Lane a muddy ruin.
Coes Reservoir
Gates Lane, April 3, 2016
The whole point was to steal a few miles on the Crux Elite, to get out there in cold weather, fully geared up, and pedal into the maw of whatever. Whatever turned out to be a snow squall on the long climb from Cherry Valley up Goddard Memorial Drive toward the airport. Blowing winds and snow. I loved it. It was unexpected.
Around 9:00 this morning, it began to sprinkle. Before long, the driveway was damp, and the roads too. By 10:00, it was raining. I resigned myself to not riding. Not today and not for the immediate future. Slushy snow predicted for overnight, then an inch during the day tomorrow, then rain, then more snow Monday. Cold and raw. And this is spring?
So I went about my day, which included lunch with ND, and lunch included a couple of Be Hoppys from nearby Wormtown Brewery as well as a plate of grilled calamari on hummus, and a fried chickpea sandwich (of which I ate only half). We sat in the pleasant industrially-high-ceiling'd Volturno Restaurant and looked through the giant windows on the gloom of the rainy day.
I'd warned DS Mawgs this morning that the weather was not looking good and that I couldn't offer any guarantees that I wouldn't abandon training protocol and, in the face of an inclement weekend, eat and drink with abandon. He understood and gave me his blessing, but he also reminded me that all I needed was 20 miles to hit the week's mark of 63. It seemed unlikely. The sky was thick with gray rain clouds, and the roads were soaked.
Home from lunch, I puttered around, built a fire and began to consider what to make for dinner. Oddly, the kitchen suddenly seemed to lighten. I glanced outside and noticed that it was no longer raining. Checking weather.com, they indicated a shift underway, one storm system was moving out and another was slowly moving in. They indicated a window of a few hours without precipitation. I peered out the window again, staring at the puddles and trying to discern droplets. There were none.
Like a surfer who hops a flight to California to surf Mavericks when the Giant Waves are forecast, I hurriedly geared up, surprised by the sudden opportunity. I could ride after all! I could achieve the weekly target, I could stay on task, I could justify intemperate consumption later on by the fact of having ridden. If only the rain would hold off!
Storm Style
And it did. Long enough for me to rip it up to the tune of 21 miles, a shad in mid run finning wildly up the turbulent stream.
Worcester Airport, April 2, 2016
I opted for the category 4 climb to Worcester Airport, then a wrap & climb around the backside and the descent into Cherry Valley followed by the climb up to the Kettle Brook Reservoirs. Then on to rt 31, down into Holden and the speedy descent of South Rd, along the reservoirs, and back along Chandler St, past Worcester State and into Woo proper. Traffic was light, almost non-existent. The air, washed by the morning's rain, was clean and crisp and perfect. I nailed the layers: Gore long-sleeve base, Steal Your Face jersey, brown paper bag, Gore psycho lime green neon insulated outer wind top, tights and booties. Allez! Feeling like I've got my costume mojo back. Not to mention my strength and mobility. The shoulders feel fine! It's a miracle!
At about the 15 mile point I noticed I was averaging around 13.5 mph. Knowing there was no climbing left at that point, I kicked it hard in an effort to clock an average speed of 14+ mph. Even with intersections and cars back in the city proper, I kept a tidy pace and when I pulled into Shad HQ, I'd gotten to 14 mph.
Notes
I spoke with The Virginian this morning and he rode BIG this past week, a week that saw balmy temperatures and perfect riding conditions. He confided that "I had a good hard week and feel pretty much ready for the Rasputitsa." I don't doubt him. He's an understated savage who will rip you apart without even noticing that he's doing it. He never shows up unprepared.
We agreed that Sunday April 10 would be the next, and last, Rasputitsa Training Camp, the route as yet undetermined. Our intentions are to do a full 40+ miles, predominantly gravel and dirt and forest path. That would suggest either returning to southern NH and the roads up from Orange, MA. Or a lengthy jaunt from The Virginian's Conway redoubt in western MA.
Finally, DS Mawgs, scouring the internet for insight, for any shard of visual or textual information about this year's Rasputitsa that might be useful or illustrative, forwarded me a link to the following video, the Rasputitsa Pre-Ride that was held in February of this year.
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.
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.
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.
The major streets of Woo City are still narrow'd, still encroached upon by uncleared snow mounds, barely acceptable for riding. The neighborhood side streets are still ice-rutted and many are now studded with emerging pot holes. Occasional cars remain buried in sooty curb side snow tombs.
Chestnut St, Sunday, March 8, 2015
But the temperature rose above freezing today, into the 40s, and it was Sunday and I have been idle since January 22nd, since the onset of a long stretch of relentless Siberianesque snow and cold, and I was keen to ride again. So I did. But with much caution and on a limited route. Woo City's famed St. Patrick's Day parade commandeered Park Ave from 11:00 AM on and generated not only an influx of cars and traffic but also several street closures & detours. In consequence, the ride I'd envisioned - zipping in a loop criterium-style through familiar neighborhood streets - was impossible to do. I had to improvise.
Park Ave
The thing is, the Rasputitsa is a little over a month away and I am unprepared. I have done nothing by way of training since January and I am overweight and out of shape. The thought that I could still train hard enough and achieve a modicum of conditioning suitable to undertake that epic ride without anguish and regret is almost absurd. Who knows when I'll be able to ride again after today (Daylight Savings Time notwithstanding)? A lot of melting will have to take place in a short period of time and I will have to seize every opportunity if I am to have any hope of getting in good enough shape to ride the Rasp. I am not hopeful.
Still, it was nice to get out today, to turn the pedals, to get the heart pumping and the soul vibrating from the revolving wheels.
The wheel is turning and you can't slow down
You can't let go and you can't hold on
You can't go back and you can't stand still
If the thunder don't get you then the lightning will
Won't you try just a little bit harder
Couldn't you try just a little bit more?
Won't you try just a little bit harder
Couldn't you try just a little bit more? *
Of course I could try just a little bit harder, just a little bit more, we all could. But this winter has been punishing, relentless, unmerciful. And I have pitied myself and retreated indoors and practiced righteous gluttony and indolence with abandon. I have spent long hours in hot baths, I have drunk dark Belgian double ales and sluiced hoppy local IPAs, I have conjured wondrous meaty feasts from the freezer larder.
The Way
But maybe now the tide is turning. Maybe Dubstoevsky will once again renounce hedonism in favor of honed purpose. Maybe winter will now recede as quickly as it erupted upon us in late January. Who can tell the future?
Waiting for Fate to sort itself out
Summary: Ride 6, almost 10 miles, 639 feet of elevation gain.
In the wake of last Saturday's inaugural running of the Rasputitsa bike race in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, some online articles & videos about the race have appeared.
The Chronicle (Vermont's Northeast Kingdom Past and Present)
Recovery Poutine (from www.Iamtedking.com) - Ted King, a professional cyclist fresh off a little spring ride called Paris-Roubaix joined the legions of riders at the Rasputitsa.
The official results are still in flux. The organizers are trying to find the times for some of the last unidentified riders. Right now, here's how Team Shad fared of the 271 known finishers:
Dubstoevsky 168 (1 hour 7 minutes 20 seconds behind the winner)
The Virginian 169
I-ward 247
In my narrative of the race, I referenced, in what I hoped would be understood as comic hubris, "animosity and dissension" on Team Shad. Of course, there wasn't any. That was a narrative trick, a handy comedic detail. My whole account of the day is, as I hope readers realize, imbued with jest and deliberate hyperbole.
Allez! Back to the race itself.
There were really all kinds of bikes and approaches to the race including fixed speed bikes, tandems, high end cyclocross bikes, road bikes. There were serious gear heads decked out in all sorts of sweet cycling clothes as well as some nuttier folks wearing shorts and one guy (at least) in sneakers and sweatpants (see below). There were solo mercenaries, gregarious strangers, smiling faces, grimly set jaws, the fit, the unfit, and the unshakable. Everyone lined up together on a side street in a massive bunch and we all huddled in the cold, impatient eager for the race to get underway.
The relaxed approach (Note the dude on the right in sneakers)
Finally, announcements, thank-yous, and acknowledgements of all kinds done with, we got underway. As we waited in the rear for everyone to get underway, it became apparent that the neutral 1 mile start would still be a competitive stretch. As I rounded the corner onto Main St. and started heading out of town, already the front pack was hammering away into the distance. And though I needle The Virginian for his aggressive tactics, in hindsight it was the right thing to do and we should have all three of us made a surge to get as far up ahead as possible.
Neutral Mile The Virginian making his first move of the day
Even as the race spread itself out in the first couple miles along the lake, I somehow got it in my mind that we weren't as far in the rear as we were. I imagined a hustling pack of 30 guys way out ahead and then a more reasonable contingent of slower riders not that far ahead and possibly within reach. Wrong! As this excellent video (shot I think on Back Coventry Road) shows, the front of the race was still a lot of guys, a hundred or more, and they were charging along! No way were we going to catch any of these guys unless they cracked and lagged behind, though I'm glad I didn't realize that at the time. Thinking I could bridge gaps gave me incentive to ride as hard as I could.
The video is about eleven minutes long and is shot from the top of a long dirt climb. Seeing the leaders come hammering up the slope is impressive! About 3 mins and 45 seconds after the main charge, The Virginian and I, Dubstoevsky, pedal into view moving at a considerably slower clip. What is interesting is that by this point we had given up hope of I-ward ever making contact with us but as you can see in the footage, I-ward powers up the hill on his own a little more than three minutes after us, right around the 6:30 mark. But we didn't know that at the time. So we kept on.
Miscellaneous Images and Comments
Fairly typical landscape
The onset of the section known as Cyberia And this was the good section
Just before the long stretch of pavement into a strong headwind The Virginian marks the Green Lantern (wearing an Ireland jersey) and gradually grinds away from me
We know now how this race works so next year we'll approach it differently. First lesson? Get to the starting line with more than 10 minutes to spare! Whether you belong among the elite cyclists or not, get right in there at the front of the pack and have your go. Let the elite worry about riding away from you rather than you worrying about trying to catch up to them.
Don't bother trying to stick together unless you know you're evenly matched and agree to work together. And even then you need to be wary of your mates. The Rasputitsa can, apparently, confound a rider's moral compass so without even realizing it a previously mellow companion can morph into a fiend who'll leave friends in the breech, shamelessly draft others, and generally claw and scrape and snarl like a feral Maine Coon cat. It's best to understand this in advance so that when The Change comes over your heretofore loyal domestique and he or she launches an attack on you, you're ready to counter the move.
Joking aside, all three of us, The Virginian, I-ward, and Dubstoevsky loved the experience and are all eager for next year's edition. We'll be ready ... and that means these guys better start worrying now!
The Winners! This is as close as I got to them all day (L-R) Ted King, 2nd, Ansel Dickey, 1st, Tim Johnson, 3rd
Indeed, next year bodes well. The town of Newport has already erected a statue honoring the participation of Team Shad. A gracious touch.
Town monument to Team Shad
Parting Shot
Captain Dubstoevsky slipping past the steely Virginian at the finish line
