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.

George Street Challenge 2017

Starting Line
July 23, 2017
George St from Main St, Worcester, Mass

The official results have not been posted yet as I, Dubstoevsky, sit at Shad Bistro's only table typing up this recap of this morning's George Street Challenge, "the shortest race in America." It's essentially an uphill time trial that lasts (if you're pretty good) about 30 seconds or less, and if you're not all about climbing, then maybe you'll use a minute to get to the top. It's basically a 500 foot uphill sprint with a 17% average gradient. 

The competition was intense.

In a category all his own

Though despite (as mentioned) the International Association of Short Bike Races' officially sanctioned results have not yet been posted, we do know a few things about today's event with certainty.

Cello Dude

We know that a man with a cello strapped to his back took the challenge. We learned that the rider is a musician with a Mexican orchestra and that he never lets the cello out of his sight.

We know that the bright yellow pedicab ridden by an implacable Jamaican dude tenaciously and calmly peddled to the top, albeit with a pause or two en route. His ride was a crowd favorite.

We know the crowd was epic. Not just cyclists cheering on each other, but a whole line up of curious onlookers who lined the street and cheered with enthusiasm. There were cowbells and air horns. Everyone clapped and yelled.

We know that Dubstoevsky acquitted himself well and did not, as he did last year accidentally, stamp too hard on the pedals at the get-go, causing a slight wheelie; instead, this year, he caught the rhythm of the bike holder's release and eased into his launch with control. Underway smoothly, he hit it full force and powered upwards digging hard, downshifting at about the 3/4 mark, right at the slope's uptick, churning and thrashing the cranks to the line.

Are you kidding me?

Dubstoevsky's result? 31.62 seconds, nearly two seconds ahead of last year's result of 33.38. Sweet!

Which is ironic, actually, as I'd felt pretty crappy this morning, tired, drained from a migraine headache yesterday. My legs felt thick and unmotivated, stubborn. I timed my pre-race practice ride up at 47 seconds. I wasn't going all out but I didn't feel very powerful at all. I thought, well, fuck it, you're signed up so give it your best shot. If your legs fail, so be it.

But they didn't. 

So allez! Yes, we can surprise ourselves. 

***

Post Script: The results are in. 

Morale like a Glass of Sour Milk

Harsh. Windy. Snow. March like a wounded animal, a chiseling weasel. Nothing so far to encourage Dubstoevsky. Now is the time of Russian tragedy and farce. A single measly ride in March, and that a timid rambler on the Crux Elite, touring through the neighborhoods like an urban tourist.

Not exactly honing Dubstoevsky's non-conditioning. 

Once, the season looked promising. A half dozen rides in January, nearly the same in February. Not a lot of miles but enough to keep a sense of the edge, the fitness edge, the line that, when you slip over it, you know you're in a place of sloth and lard.

I rolled over that line, mutton leg in hand, some weeks ago. 

Scenes from what amounts to "training for the Rasputitsa." It feels dishonest even writing that sentence.

Harvard St, Woo City, March 19, 2017

Slow Above

Tagged

Bancroft Tower, March 19, 2017

Clear and Cold

Holden Reservoir
January 14, 2016

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. 

This is where we ride

Lately

Team Shad, by dint of the planet's spin and the arbitrary changing of the time, has essentially arrived at the off season. Darkness comes earlier and earlier each day now. Biting air. Hard sunshine. Falling leaves. Wind. 

Rides are catch as catch can.

Still, catch them we must. Team Shad is already on the books for the Rasputitsa (April) and the D2R2 (August) of 2017, so going into complete dormancy for any extended period of time is unacceptable. Besides, neither Dubstoevsky nor Wing Nut could handle that. They get surly and distant when deprived of the bicycle for too many days.

Zooming along the reservoir
November 1, 2016

The November landscape devolves into leaf-whipped barrenness, Bruegelian imaginations, trees, farms with gray, crumbling out buildings. Strange creatures pass gas, card-dealing crabs snap their claws at the ace of spades, whole sheep herds shift fearfully like twitchy coral reef minnow schools, a big fire maw opens wide to suck it all in. Fucknatty!

It's election day in America. Forgive the hallucinations.

Catch as catch can indeed. Like today's spirited dash of 17 miles that took in Bancroft Tower, Chester Rd hill climb, South Rd climb, the Reservoir dash, and a hard-driving return through Woo 'hood. 

Bancroft Tower on election day
November 8, 2016

Holden Reservoir nearing sunset
November 8, 2016

The George Street Challenge: Team Shad Ascendant

Celebrate Major Taylor, the Worcester Whirlwind

Team Shad represented BIG at the George Street Bike Challenge for Major Taylor. Though neither Dubstoevsky nor Wing Nut bagged a top ten overall, Dubstoevsky came in #7 in his age bracket. For a superstitious rider whose lucky number is 33, the day was a giant success as he climbed the 18%, 500 ft hill in 33.38 seconds and ended up 33rd overall. Some powerful juju in those numbers.

Wing Nut, more of a Long Grind kind of rider than a Short Uphill Sprinter, still acquitted himself well with a time of 37 secs for 47th overall (out of 98 riders).

See the results here.

Regardless of our performance, what a great event! A bright sunny Sunday morning on the mostly quiet streets of the Woo. Bright jerseys, smiles all around, a festive air.

Wing Nut at the Apex

But Team Shad's day didn't end at the top of George St. Indeed, with Wing Nut in the Woo, we seized the opportunity to put some big miles under our tires and so set off for the summit of Mt. Wachusett, a ride that took us along myriad empty back roads, under underpasses, past reservoirs and trickling rivers, up and down relentless hills, all under a booming sun in a bright blue sky.

As we rode, we evaluated the season to date. Rasputitsa? Check. Tour de Heifer? Washed out. George Street Challenge? Check. One more huge event looms, the creme de la creme - the D2R2. Less than a month away. We feel ready. Wing Nut continues training savagely in the hills of western Mass, knocking off 50 milers day in and day out. Dubstoevsky, while not getting in near the mileage or elevation as Senor Nut, nevertheless continues to average 3+ rides a week, including a few competitive group rides with the likes of Georgie Pie and Diego dela Sangre Toro. It's mid-season and we're both in mid-season form, just where we want to be.

***

DESIGN SUBMISSIONS WANTED: Team Shad is seeking design suggestions for new team uniforms. The winning design will earn the artist(s) a private dinner with the Shad Men, with unlimited supplies of Be Hoppy, ox heart hash, and shad roe. Not to mention scintillating conversation rich with hyperbole, self-deprecation, and ribald humor.

The Day in Pictures: July 24, 2016

The venerable Armsby Abbey

The determined competition

George Street

Wing Nut poised for action

Shad at work

Don't Hate, Appreciate

The numerology of spin

July Riding

July is the best month of the year, at least for cycling. The Tour de France kicks off the month on the 2nd or 3rd and there's a holiday in the first week (Independence Day). Plus, July means summer - long days, warm weather, brilliant light in the late afternoons and evenings, cold beer, grilled meats.

Life assumes a certain rhythm in July that sets the month apart from the rest. It feels like vacation, even when you're not actually on vacation.

Sunday, July 10th for example - a long, leisurely morning with coffee and fruit and granola and yogurt and the immense spectacle of Stage 9 of the Tour de France, an epic day in the Pyrenees that, owing to the dramatic deluge of hail and rain at the mountain top finish, instantly became one of the great classic stages in Tour history. A pure rest day for Dubstoevsky.

If you've been in Woo City these last few weeks then you were lucky to experience some of the very best New England summer weather - billowy hot days with a pulsing blue sky, low humidity, and fresh, clean air. Unbeatable.

Scenes from the Road

The legendary Coney Island hot dog stand in Woo City
July 3, 2016

St. Spyridon Greek Orthodox church
July 4, 2016

Classic New England summer day
Holden Reservoir
July 4th, 2016

Maple Spring Pond, Holden
July 4, 2016

The eternally amazing Muschopauge Rd
July 4, 2016

Hawk in flight

Another impossibly beautiful scene on Muschopauge Rd
July 4, 2016

Seriously off the beaten path
River Rd, Holden
July 5, 2016

Bancroft Tower, Woo City
July 9, 2016

Weekend with the Leonator III, Woo Tour

Sunday morning after the ascent of the Vonchusett and after the Longsjo Classic evening on the streets of the Woo, the Leonator and I, Dubstoevsky, went on a relaxed exploratory derive around Woo proper.

The Leonator at Bancroft Tower
June 26, 2016

Starting with Bancroft Tower.

Followed by WPI and the now-gone grotesqueries on the old field house being torn down; the huge brick warehouses along Prescott St reclaimed for medical officing, schooling bureaucracies, classrooms, veterans services; north Main Street and the urban renewal underway where the wretched mall once stood; Union Station with its magnificent marbled interior; through the Canal District and Harding St, Gold St, Beacon St and parallel of Main; to University Park and Clark University; and back to the Elm Park neighborhood and the redoubt of shad.

Scenes from the Woo Ramble

From Beacon St

Along Beacon St

Tribute to the Orlando Murdered, Clark University 

Halal Market Style

Weekend with the Leonator I

A big Team Shad welcome to the Leonator, a Brooklyn-based cyclist possessed of a wolverine relentlessness and unflagging spirit.  Longtime friend of both Wing Nut and Dubstoevsky, the Leonator doesn't make it to the Bay State that often so having him along for a team ride this weekend was a special treat. And what a weekend - more booming sun and clear blue skies, no humidity, slight breeze, perfect weather for the long haul.

The Leonator in the final sprint for the summit of Mt. Wachusett

Setting out from Team Shad HQ in downtown Woo, the 55 mile round trip to the mountaintop promised everything - empty country roads, farmland, sinuous descents, vistas, several cat 4 climbs, a cat 3 climb, wretched connector stretches on busy main road, neighborhoods, kamikaze downhills, twists & turns, long slogging pedal-cranking ascents, flat straightaways under canopied green foliage along reservoirs.

The fact is, you can plot out a mega ride in central Massholia. Though getting to the the huge swathes of forest and farmland requires traversing various town 'centers,' these are often just intersections of roads at town commons, and they are quickly and easily navigated. Mostly, you can be 'out there' on small, sparsely-traveled roads for very long periods of time.

The fact is that this was Wing Nut's first training ride from Team Shad HQ. Centered as he is in western Mass with a surfeit of long empty roads and fabulous climbing, he was, until Saturday the 25th, uninitiated into the glories of Woo-centric cycling, especially the Vonchusett Summit loop. Now it's a done deal, and having the Leonator along rounded out the triumvirate shadosterone.

As team leader I was responsible for the route. Small worry there. On a dry sunny Saturday with temps in the mid 80s, conditions were utterly perfect; it was so nice, we could have done laps around Holden Reservoir and it would have been excellent. But we didn't do laps - we hammered into the hills, we paced ourselves on the long rollers, we pulled each other along like a team time trial.

Wing Nut on Mason Rd

We also chilled and soaked up the general awesomeness of Being.

A hawk jumps out of the canopy'ing oak trees and flaps silently into other-side-of-the-road wisdom. A great blue heron, surprised by our passing, leaps into unnecessary flight from the silent pond face over which it stared. Occasionally, massive trees rear into consciousness, giant old veterans that have been growing for centuries and that have escaped the farmer's ax. Whispers of generations passed. The cycle of growth and regression. It's all there, visible across the landscape. Etched with stone walls. Dissected by road and field.

Dinner for Hungry Shad

Pompano and Red Snapper

Got Lucky

I got lucky today and didn't get rained on, though I rode under threatening skies the whole time. A relatively short but reasonably hilly ride up past the airport and down the other side on Goddard Memorial Dr to Apricot St.

23 miles and a thousand feet of climbing. And this lovely scene on the way out of Woo City.

Just setting out

Summit Style

Alta Vista Farm, April 30, 2016

Saturday. Weekends allow for prolonged exploration. It's hard to consider a really good & serious ride of 45 miles or more in the middle of the week, not for Dubstoevsky, at least. Wing Nut (formerly known as "The Virginian") is the exception. But consider the reality: to do 45 miles in three hours requires an average speed of 15 mph. I realize that that's not complicated math but the implications are simple - three hours required! Factor in daylight and work and you're hard-pressed to leverage that kind of window during the Monday thru Friday stretch. At least, I am. That's why Saturdays, for many cyclists et moi, are the Big Ride day.

The summit in the distance

This particular Saturday (yesterday) dawned bright and clear in Woo City. Though chilly early on, with the sun's ascent the temperature rose into the 50s and by 10:30 AM the promise of a mild spring day bloomed with certainty. Over the course of the ride, I passed many cyclists. Everyone was out taking advantage. One guy, at the water fountain at the base of Mt. Wachusett, answered my query about conditions on the road to the summit (clear). I thanked him and asked where he was riding from.

"Arlington" he replied.

"Holy shit!" I responded without thinking. The thought alarmed me, having to ride all the way back to Arlington. His ride would be more than 100 miles overall. "Hey, good luck, ride safe!" I shouted. He seemed as if he needed the well-wishing. Arlington to the summit of Mt Wachusett and back is a long fucking haul and he was only halfway.

To the mountain

Strava has a May Gran Fondo Challenge: on a single ride, cover 115km or more (that's 71.4 miles). I considered having a go at it but it was April 30 and the challenge hadn't kicked in yet. Still, I toyed with achieving the distance by covering 58.9 miles overall. But this ride was more about climbing than it was about distance and when all was said and done, I'd ridden upwards in excess of 3600 feet, a more than acceptable result.

"Be light on the bike" I kept reminding myself. I learned that from I Ward more than twenty years ago when we mountain biked together. Something about gripping the handlebars lightly, about inhaling and floating like a feather. Or today, like a titanium arrow. I tuck myself into the shape & essence of a blow dart gusted forth by the Divine Unknown and hurtle down the mountain. I imagine my inhalation a lightening of the body, a suffusing of weightlessness. I lay upon the bike like a shadow.

Summit Road

Still climbing toward the top

And then there's Form. Always thinking about form. Good form, bad form. Always trying to be conscious of bad form. Bad form is not paying attention, is missing something obvious, is losing your line, is somehow messing up a fluid situation, it's putting yourself & others in unnecessary danger. Bad form. It's obvious when it occurs. Cycling requires constant attention.

I notched but one incident of bad form on the 58 miler. Early in the ride, I saw a Verizon trucked parked along the roadside at the bottom of a hill and I whizzed by, but as I did I noticed a Vertizon technician standing behind the truck. I should have noticed him earlier. He could have stepped out without seeing me and I was too close and would have slammed into him. This was a small incident, one Bad Form point on the ride. Over 58 miles that's an acceptable outcome.

At one point about half way up the Mt Wachusett summit road a cyclist came upon me from behind and blew by me like a gust of wind. Diablo! I instinctively increased my pace but realized quickly I'd never catch the dude. He was an animal who, if I were prey, would have eaten me. He made rabbit stew of me. And was gone.

Mt. Wachusett Summit, looking toward Woo City

But just as I was a rabbit in the eyes of a predator, before the ride was over that role was reversed. A coney* appeared in the distance around mile 40 and I set to chasing him and subsequently toyed with him as a cat toys with a doomed rodent. He proved to be an amiable dude as I came alongside of him and he confessed that this was only his third ride of the season. Allez! I wished him well, and he wished the same to me, and off I rode.

Coney chasing (the small dot alongside the road sign)

* Note: "coney" is a little used (obsolete, some would argue) term for rabbit.

At the end of the Big Ride, back safely at Shad Quarters, nearly sixty miles under the wheels, the mandate came down to Eat BIG. This was obvious, and readily accommodated. The post ride Feed started and ended with steak. Beer was involved. As were potatoes and butter.

Before

After