Ride # 34: Tree Killahz

Backyard Style, A Different Perspective
Saturday, 11:30 a.m., April 12
66 degrees and warming

Tree killers on the rampage in the Princeton Hills. I came upon massacre sites. Appalling gigantic stumps lining Gregory Corso Rd, Pine Hill Rd. A campaign of destruction.

I ride through the slaughter scape, bear witness, I breathe out OM AH HUM, I shout aloud, in a synthesis of New England and Jamaican Dancehall style speech, TREE KILLAHZ! TREE KILLAHZ! TREE KILLAHZ!

Gregory (Corso) Rd, Princeton
Stumps a-plenty

Pine Hill Rd, a corridor of death
Giant hardwoods centuries old
Gone

One of many

My glove for scale

Massacre Victim

WTF?!

Not irie at all.

But the ride was. First day in short sleeves. High sun, 70 degrees, the inevitability of warmth, occasional breeze. The neon lime green wind vest kept the core warm. A brilliant, sharp-lighted spring afternoon. You could sense the earth's stirring.

Fitness-wise, I am still yet to notch a 50 miler but that doesn't worry me. At this point I'm completely comfortable with an aggressive 30 mile ride of 2+ hours so going into the Rasputitsa well-rested, well-fueled, and well-Zen'd as I'll be, I'm confident I'll acquit myself well.

Yes-I !

Ride Summary: 32.55 miles (52 K), 13.3 mph, the Sterling & Princeton Hills, a peck on the cheek of Mt. Wachusett's not-yet-open Summit Rd, a lot of climbing elsewhere, plenty of sand and broken tarmac, no dirt roads. I'm honing my fitness more than training for the conditions I might face in the Hell of the Northeast Kingdom.

Road Kill: One opossum, one tiny snake, pale belly side up (neither photographed). And a helluva lot of wise old trees.

Setting Out:

Postmodernism

Back:

I Shad and The Little General

One Week Before the Rasputitsa, A Look Back to The Assault on East Road and the Banquet of Rabbits

One week from today, the Rasputitsa gets underway. At last!

I've been training diligently for it and feel well prepared. The weather & road conditions will be the determining factors in how the race goes, not my physical conditioning. I am ready. I could gnaw off a 50 mile shank, chew it up with iron-hinged jaws and wash the whole plate of poutine down with a liter of pothole water.

But in looking ahead to next week's entanglement in the Northeast Kingdom, I also want to look back to last summer and perhaps my finest day of cycling. I'm referring to the 2013 D2R2 and, specifically, to what has now become known as "the assault on East Rd." May I have available the same suitcase of courage next week that I rummaged through successfully on that long, torturous climb in Hawley last August. Here's how it unfolded.

Dawn, just before the start of the 2013 D2R2
95 miles over some 8 hours
Mostly dirt roads

At about the 70 mile point you come to East Rd in Hawley. Everyone knows the climb is coming and most fear it. Approximately 3 miles long, the climb gains 1000 feet of elevation with a grade at times of 5.4%. Coming as it does three quarters of the way through a long, hard day of riding, the climb can be demoralizing and deflating.

The Virginian ("TV") and I stopped in the valley just below the start of the climb; TV, as he does each year, was documenting the ride and, coming across a copse of blooming sunflowers, decided to capture a few iconic images before starting the ascent. As we paused on the roadside, a group of four riders whizzed passed us heading at speed toward East Road and the base of the climb. They seemed serious.

TV got his photographs and then made some adjustments to the small video camera he had attached to his down tube. I took note of the fact that he positioned it to film behind him, not ahead of him. The nerve! The presumption!

Suddenly, an odd sensation came over me and I became aware of a miniature apparition sitting on my shoulder. It was a small figure that resembled Eddy Merckx and he spoke to me in Belgian-accented English. He told me that I'd just been insulted and that I could not let the implicit challenge go unmet. I had to make a move on East Road, he insisted. I understood.

Off we went. I felt strangely refreshed, my legs loose, my arms and shoulders relaxed. We picked up the pace and were soon rushing toward the base of the climb. I began to think of the four riders who had sped past us five or ten minutes ago. In my mind, I transformed them into rabbits and began to envision them as prey, a frenzy of panicky hopping somewhere just up the road.

We hit the climb with a head of steam and began the ascent. First it was gradual and then it was not. Up up up the road, a canopy of trees, loose gravel, dirt and shadow. We both fell into rhythm, a relaxed but determined turning of the pedals. I felt better as we climbed. The Merckxian Miniature whispered in my ear "Remember the video camera, mon ami, he has disrespected you!"

At about the 5 minute mark, we catch the first rabbit and dispatch him. At about the same time, I move past The Virginian out of the video field. I am infused with blood lust. I want the rest of the hares. And over the next fifteen minutes of relentless propulsion, we overtake and consume each one. In our wake, we scatter bits of fur and bone, chewed steel cable, torn scraps of gaudy Pearl Izumi racing jerseys, ground up tire tread.

The Merckxian apparition chortles with approval. He spits into the wind, he claps his hands, he bellows encouragement. He shouts "Yes! Yes! You ride with purpose! You deserve your banquet of rabbits!"

Watch the full 19.25 minute Assault on East Road

Ride # 33: Ever Larry

Big Balmy. Thursday afternoon, 3:30 or so
plenty of sun, a breeze, low 60s

The Rasputitsa looms close now. Nine days. Close enough to start watching the extended forecast. Right now, wundergound.com is calling for "Intervals of clouds and sunshine. High 56F. Winds S at 5 to 10 mph" for race day, Saturday, April 19.

Okay, I can take that. Each day between now and then also stands to be above freezing, some days bright with sun. It sounds like the race will befit its name.

Here's a recent interview with the founders of this madness, Heidi Myers and Anthony Moccia.

Today? A Drumlin Ramble. The big sun, the balmy blowing breeze, the blue skies. Dubstoevsky combing the hills for Akhmatova.

Not Tom Boonen or Thor Hushovd
Just a local Drumlin Shad

Plenty of soaring turkey vultures throughout the ride, great shadows swaying on air streams low above the fields. Late in the ride, a great blue heron loping through the blue sky.

Note on the title of this post: 33. That was Larry Bird's number. It's talismanic, sacred, numerologically significant. Today's ride, # 33 of 2014, while not particularly galvanizing, magical, or even metaphorically apt, nonetheless bears the pure number combination of the double 3. There's a local brewery here that makes a "Larry" IPA. While it has nothing to do with Larry Bird, with 33, or with almost anything else pertinent to this post, it is, I must say, a fine drink and one in which I imbue significance without rationality. It comes in black cans with some green thrown in and says "Larry" in black on a yellow background. Whenever Boston (or New England) sports teams are competing in playoffs, I recommend drinking Larrys while watching the game.

Ride Summary: 25.68 miles (40 K), 13.3 mph, almost 2 hours of riding. No road kill. A day of peace and the iration.

Parting Shot

Shadows of the Drumlin

Ride # 32: The Physical Exam

April 8, 2014 around 5:00 in the afternoon, 60+ degrees

I had my semi-annual physical yesterday. Like most health care visits of any kind in America, I was kept waiting in the waiting room (today, 25 minutes past my appointment time). Par for the course. When I was finally ushered into the inner sanctum, a nurse took my blood pressure (123/70) and I was told to strip completely and put on a tie-in-the-back threadbare cotton hospital johnny that was sized more for an NFL offensive lineman than the lost-20-pounds-since-the-last-visit Shad. And of course it was freezing in the examining room so, johnny-be-clad, I huddled in a chair, my socks kept on lest my bare feet come in contact with the icy tile flooring.

At the time of my last physical, in 2012, my cholesterol levels had been alarmingly high and caused her, my PCP ('primary care provider'), to fret aloud and remonstrate with me about seeing a specialist in cholesterol and cardiology. With reservations, I complied though I knew in advance what the specialist, Dr. B, would say.

After looking at my numbers he all but got on his knees and BEGGED me to go on statin medication immediately. Why? Because my total cholesterol count was 310 (68 good 219 malo). That's like when the strongman at the circus hefts the hammer and smacks the launching pad and sends the metal weight rocketing toward the pole top where it hits the bell and goes BING!

I resisted. Rejected the statin regimen. Told Dr. B that I wasn't convinced that cholesterol was even a viable marker of cardio health. He insisted on a carotid artery scan. I consented to that, curious to know what it would reveal. Thick artery plaque? One lane dray track? Another round of emergency bells and whistles?

The results clearly disappointed. Though my carotid artery was no more occluded than could be expected of anyone my age, he STILL insisted on statins based on my cholesterol levels alone. I cancelled my follow-up appointment.

Fast forward two years. Some personal demons have since abated, I've lost 20+ lbs, and I am riding again in earnest. The result?

"In ten years of practice, I have never seen a cholesterol reduction of this magnitude without medication. It's astonishing." My PCP could not stop remarking on it.

I dropped 70+ points, to 238. Just like that the examining room was filled with the sounds of chirping birds and babbling brooks. Butterflies fluttered in the corners.

"Whatever you're doing, keep doing it," she advised.

At last! Medical counsel I could embrace.

Within the hour I set off on ride # 32.

A balmy, overcast, blustery, but warm day. Hard to dress for. I yipped wildly & repeatedly and delayed my departure by twenty minutes. I changed my upper body wear three times. Pathetic! But in the end, I got it right and had an excellent ride in the soft, vaguely humid, definitely fecund, spring air.

Lucas Rd., Sterling

Celestial Shad

"I kissed goodbye the howling beast on the borderline that separated you from me."
The dividing line between the Princeton and Sterling Hills.

Shad control center

Up ahead

Ride Summary: 19.82 miles (30 K), 13.4 mph, about 88 minutes in the saddle. A warm, breezy, overcast day of spring. Almost all the snow is gone. At the outset, I didn't feel that strong but after a few miles I felt much better. Tried to power hard on the hills, tried to ignore the protestations from my quads. Oh, and a few rides ago, I slightly upped my saddle height and I think that has made a positive difference vis a vis the nagging groin/hip soreness that has been chronic all year, my "repetitive motion" aggravation. That area no longer bears the brunt of the exertion required throughout the ride and particularly on long, difficult climbs. An adjustment of about a quarter inch seems to have made a huge difference. Time will tell.

Road Kill: A porcupine. The evidence of trauma was disconcerting, a horrendous scrapping-away of spikes, fur, and flesh along the back, possibly a broken spine. Its corpse straddled the pavement and the shoulder as if it had been hit and then crawled toward the forest in anguish, only to collapse at the road's edge. To honor its spirit and prevent desecration of its corpse by more automobiles, I used a large stick to move its body off the edge of the road and into the trees.

Porcupine on the edge of the road

Parting Shot

Hey drivers, watch out for the fuckin' animals, eh?

Ride # 31: From Orange With Love

Finally! A different ride from a different launching point. Sunday, April 06, 2014, the sun ascendant in a deep blue sky, Team Lime About meets at Lake Mattawa in Orange for a Raputitsa simulation ride.

From Orange with love! Love and honor the spinning wheels. Peter Matthiessen has died. OM AH HUM.

Team Lime About
I-ward (left) has just gotten a new bike (pictured)

Captain Shad with the Ventoux Jersey from Scrod
and lightening impromptu from I-ward

The bare hardwoods the sandy roads the blue sky
Mostly it was like this
It was chilly at first but warmed throughout the ride

We wing it. Orange. New Salem. Shutesbury. Pelham. Old mountain biking routes from decades earlier revisited. Montague Rd a sick incline that goes on and on. Jennison Rd. Another Montague Rd. Many dirt roads. If only the Rasputitsa were to be like this! Some softness and melt but much firm moist roadway. We try to imagine what it will be like but we can't. We agree that our approach & our strategy will depend on the conditions. I hope for colder temps, overcast skies, surfaces unmelted. Newport Vermont and the surrounding land currently has a snow cover greater than any around here. A full warm day of melting with roadside snow banks will transform the race into a mud bath. I hope for frozen sand pack.

But ours is not to expect favors from Mother Nature, we're to make our way forward regardless. Life is un gran abrazo, a great embrace. So we embrace!

Monsieur Rouge in the foreground
The Virginian up ahead

Leaving the Leverett Coop
en route to Wendell
three quarters through the ride

Spring Melt, the Great Flow, and Us

Eventually it's Shad Time

Ride Summary: Lots of climbing! 40.80 miles (64 K) over all. Almost a Rasputitsa! Over three hours in the saddle. Plenty of dirt roads. Rutted, pot-holed, squishy. Chilly to start, it warmed throughout the ride. Once again I was dressed just right (even without the brown paper bag which I forgot to bring). We pushed it at times but also stopped occasionally. Getting a sense of what we can and cannot reasonably expect to accomplish. First and secondary; not get hurt, and finish. After that, it's gravy.

Ride # 30: Going to the Movies

Thursday, April 3, 3:30, high 50s

The snow is almost gone from the front yard except for the yardberg, a trace of which can be seen in the picture above at left. That particular patch of ground gets almost no sun and so every spring is the last spot to emerge from the snow and ice. On a day like today, though, with a breeze and temperatures in the 50s, it will shrink a little.

Turns out to be movie day today. No, not in my head - out on the road. The thing is, in the past few years, Hollywood has come to central Massachusetts, drawn in no small part by tax incentives offered to companies interested in filming in the state as well as, I assume, the abundance of historic buildings, landscapes, grit, spit, and laconic Yankee mettle. The state has been around a long time, after all.

One of the oddest developments has occurred on what used to be Fort Devens and is now, since the base was officially closed in 1996, the town of Devens (though there are still training grounds for military reservists). The Fort was considered an economic anchor of the surrounding scruffy little towns of Shirley and Ayer so when the Department of Defense announced that it was closing the base, the reaction among many of the citizens was despair and panic. The towns would die! They'd fold up and blow away!

And yet contrary to the collapse of the local economy and a withering away of the population, Fort Devens, with state aid, reinvented itself. Given the great swaths of available acreage, various corporate development projects soon emerged and within a year of the fort's "mothballing" Devens was generating employment and attracting business interests from near and far.

One of the latest projects to come to fruition is NE Studios, a massive Hollywood-worthy film & TV studio with a total of 72,000 square feet of sound stage. Brand new and ready for business, I rode by it today and snapped a shot from the hip looking toward its gated entrance.

NE Studios, Devens

Shad, ignoring the shouts of studio moguls urging him to
"come in for a try out, you're a natural!"
rides on

But I wasn't done with the movies yet, though I didn't know it at the time.

An hour or so later, I had turned the corner on this ride and was in return mode heading back to Lemonstar. My route took me past the old Shirley Airport, one of those small town landing strips from which, once upon a time, small aircraft would come and go. The airport is no longer in existence and the landing strip is now part of a trash removal outfit. However, the old "airport diner," a classic silver-sided type, remains and still serves up greasy eggs and white toast on the weekends.

As I approached I could see quite a few people, a throng actually, and lots of parked cars including a few cop cars. Some of the standers-by seemed to be in military garb. My first thought was that a SWAT raid was going on, or that some emergency had occurred and I'd be unable to pass. Wrong. Turned out to be a film set for the movie Tumbledown which is being filmed throughout the area.

I made a couple passes and snapped a few shots from the hip.

The movie Tumbledown Being Filmed

I hoped to hear someone yell "Action!" but
that never happened

There were so many people standing around and so little actual movement that I thought to myself as I rode on 'No wonder movies cost so much, all these people standing around doing nothing!'

Ride Summary: 29 miles (46 K), about two hours in total. No road kill. Felt strong but am growing tired of the fatter cyclocross tires and all this pavement riding. Am eager for the road bike and for the ability to cover greater distances faster. I figure I'll ride the Crux Elite at least until after the Rasputitsa and then hopefully, around the end of the month, make the switch.

Ride # 29: Gutter Style

April 1, 2014, 3:30, almost 60 degrees

It was hard to know what to wear today, how many layers, how heavy the top cover. The sun was bright, the day clear, the thermometer read 59.6 F (15C) as I yipped over my garb. I found it difficult to trust the warmth, like it was a false promise, maybe even an April Fools joke. So I donned what I vaguely thought would be too much but what turned out to be just fine and I was right, there was a chill in the air still, especially in the hills.

Destination? Mont Vonchusett to see the edge of the snow cap and find out much there was yet to melt. Getting there meant climbing. Of course the hill roads are heavily sanded throughout the winter and all the sand is still on the surface, except to the sides of some where the snow melt run-off has washed the tarmac clean. At one point today, on Gregory Corso Rd, I deliberately rode in the run-off stream so I could get out of the saddle and not worry about my back tire spinning out.

Today's ride took me past a farm that I enjoy seeing. Of particular interest is the gutter that runs alongside the road and a stone wall. I point this out because at this time of year it is, like most New England roadsides, wretched with winter sand and dun debris. However, I will return to this farm and this gutter in late June and in July and the "gutter" will have been transformed into a flower garden of great charm and color.

Early Spring Gutter

After a little more than an hour, I arrived at the Mont Vonchusett state park and headed up the summit road. I didn't get far. There's still plenty of snow cover, enough to last another month or so. No summit ventures until I'm riding in shorts, I think. Riding in shorts. What a concept!

Dubstoevsky has just spotted a snow leopard

Ride Summary: 31.49 miles (49 K), over two hours (13.6 mph). Plenty of cawing crows, flocks of robins, a surfeit of some kind of sparrows. Still used a paper bag inside my jersey as a windshield. Was glad to have it today, despite the sun and quasi-warmth.

Parting Shot

Springtime in New England