With my confidence level high from the previous day's ride, I decided to get out and do the Peddler group ride Thursday morning. This would be the first group ride of the year. These rides typically consist of an "A" group and a "B" group. Until my accident, or should I say aggravated assault by someone who shall remain nameless, I was riding the "A" ride. This group typically consists of 20-30 riders. These group rides are exhilarating, but can also be dangerous for numerous reasons. For starters, there is a lot of testosterone. Twenty-five men gathered together in spandex and shaved legs - think about it. These rides are fast and take place in an extremely confined space. Claustrophobics need not apply. You are riding 2 feet behind and beside another cyclist at 25mph. A lapse in concentration or an armadillo running across the road (yes, it happened late last year on Park Ave) and you will end up ass over elbows. The ride also begins at 5:45 am, which means this time of year it is pitch black dark. However, there is organization and common rules to these rides that only comes from participating; no manual is handed out on your virgin ride and there is no orange tape put on your jersey signaling you're a rookie like they do in NASCAR. For one, never slam on your brakes. This can and does create a crash that leaves cyclists and bikes looking like giant pretzels on the road. A rider in front of me did this one morning - my heart came out of my chest and I put it in the back pocket of my jersey. The smell of burning rubber on a group ride is a bad sign. Also, signaling items such as debris or parked cars in the road, or yelling "clear" or "car left" when going through a stop light are just unspoken rules. There may be 30 individual riders in these groups, but at times, it's like one gigantic speeding bullet.
The alarm went off for a second morning at 4:50 am. Getting up was easier this time, and I was excited about being back in the group. I was dressed and on the road at 5:10. I rode to the start. It's about 7-8 miles from the house. Now, I did this for two reasons, first being, it's a good warm up for the ride. The second being, I could pull off early if I needed to and go back home. However, I was confident that I would be fine. I arrived at the gas station parking lot on Highland at 5:30 and was the first rider there. I like being the first person there. It gives me a few minutes to think about the ride ahead; not be rushed. At about 5:40, a mass of riders began to appear. One common theme was occurring as each rider was pulling up, everyone had a local team kit on. Now, this is not uncommon as we have a lot of local teams here, but there are typically a lot of regular Joe's in plain cycling clothes as well. Once all the riders were there I took one last look around and realized, "Shit, I picked the wrong morning to return." There would be no "B" ride, this was going to be a massive hang-on-for-dear-life ride.
The group pulled out of the parking lot at 5:50. I positioned myself towards the back. I would typically not do this, but it has been a while since I'd been in the group scenario and my handling might be a little rusty. My plan was to hug the wheel in front of me and just sit in. Immediately the ride was different than I had remembered. The first mile or two winds through a residential neighborhood. Last year, we would ride at a steady pace through this section, maybe have a conversation with a fellow rider. This ride, that wasn't happening. It was fast, immediately. We turned onto Quince. This is the first long flat section, about 4-5 miles long. The riders up front hit the pedals like a set of afterburners. I hugged the wheel in front and pedaled like a had a rabid dog at my feet. We were hauling ass. I didn't have my computer on, but I figured we had to be clocking 24-26 mph. I was tentative - it's been four months since I'd been in this position. I caught myself lightly tapping my brakes, I didn't want to be "that guy", the one who makes an idiot maneuver and causes a big one. I somehow managed to hang on through this section, but I knew what was ahead. When we got to the base of the first climb I was sitting in the same position towards the back of the pack. If I was going to hang on, I would have to move up towards the middle.
The sound of changing gears was my signal. I pulled to the left and got out of the saddle. "Just a few riders," I kept repeating to myself. Halfway up the climb I was mid-pack. I had used up a lot of energy, but I kept pedaling. I reached the top of the climb, and I was gassed. I moved back in the pack again, hoping for a bit of recovery time. There is a good sized downhill right after the climb and the riders up front took full advantage. They hit the pedals hard. I accelerated, but was timid. My nerves had taken over. I sat there looking up at the long freight train in front of me pulling away while I kept lightly tapping my brakes, keeping my speed and mind in a safe zone. I was prepared to be dropped at this point, but I was saved. The stoplight ahead had turned red. I quickly reached down and grabbed a shot of water. "Deep breaths," I kept telling myself.
The light went from red to green in what seemed like the blink of an eye. The symphony of pedals clipping in rang out. The thing about stop lights is that the acceleration after is brutal. There is no easy pedaling back up to speed. I kept pace again, but was in trouble. The route goes left about 1/4 mile past the light, sprint-zone time. Now, I was in no way a candidate for this title, but I knew it would deliver the KO punch to my legs. The group just splintered. There were riders spread out for 100 yards. I pedaled to my red-line for as long as I could and then it happened, my engine blew. I stopped pedaling and sat up on the bike, the international sign of, "I just bonked". I watched the pack of riders pull away, their red safety lights blinking into the distance like a runway at night. The only good part- I was only 1/2 mile from the house.
The solo ride home was both frustrating and pleasant. I was angry at being dropped, but proud to be back in the game. It was cold, and the combination of sweat and cool air sent a chill from my head down to my toes. I've missed these mornings. The result was not what I wanted, but I was motivated. If only to make it one mile further on Tuesday.
No comments:
Post a Comment