I wanted to go out and ride with a group this weekend for a couple of reasons - 1) to meet some people from the club I want to join and 2) to get a feel for my fitness level against other guys. Riding by yourself all the time gives you a false sense of security about how you’re going. I knew I didn’t have great condition but I thought I was doing okay. Well I got a big dose of both, and not all good.
The ride met up at 9:30AM at the Catalina Coffee Company in Redondo Beach. It’s supposed to feature “low to medium speeds, a no-drop policy and rest/regrouping stops” - translation: no matter how slow you are we’ll stop and wait for you every so often. Unfortunately, we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto. It became readily apparent very quickly that a casual ride by Atlanta definition and bike-crazy California definition are two very different things. Almost everyone is sitting on a $3,000-5,000 bike but so am I (at least when it was new 10 yrs ago) so this wasn’t really cause for alarm. I’m just hoping not to look like a Fred#.
There are the Cat 3-4 racer types I expected; a few women (who weren’t riding with our group); a couple of fit looking guys about my age and a few much older than me. I later find out one of them was 59 years old and I think another guy was even older. Everyone who shows up at these rides is apparently either a racer or a triathlete and probably getting in 150-250 miles every week. That’s a decent month for me sometimes.
Anyway, usually the group does an easy 30-35 mile ride that avoids most of the steep Palos Verdes climbs near my house. Unfortunately today’s ride leader has a race the next day so he wants to get in a short intense ride. So we roll out 15-strong and I’m chatting it up with a triathlete. The pace is comfy and I’m feeling my protein pancakes. Warning: bike lingo about to start here! All of a sudden….BLAM! Here come the hills. Within 5 miles we are jamming up some pretty steep neighorhood roads and I’m out of the saddle, muscling my 39×23** for all it’s worth. I make it up the first in decent shape. My HR gets up around 170 (my max is probably 174). No sooner am I back to sub 155 (just a hair below my lactate threshold***) that we hit the second monster and I am getting shot out the back like a cannon****.
Understand that some of the hills in this area wouldn’t be out of place in the Tour de France. In fact the Amgen Tour of California will come through here in a week. I call on Granny***** to help me out of this mess. I’m on the back of the saddle for maximum leverage, head down and glued to the wheel in front of me. The ride leader Greg is graciously waiting. I am seconds away from barfing up a lung and he’s basically pedaling circles around me just to keep from leaving me behind. Finally I look up and HOLY SHIT! This beast of a road goes up for another 1/4 mile and that’s just the part thats in view. My heart sinks and I click out of a pedal to catch my breath. I exchange a few words with Greg and tell him to soldier on. I don’t want to make these guys wait for me so I peel off and put in 30 miles down the mercifully flat beach path.
The fact is at 235 lbs I’m at an insurmountable disadvantage riding with guys that are 160-170 lbs tops. I need to string together 2-3 months of 150 mile weeks and work on getting my weight down to the low 200’s. My old racing weight was 185′ish so it’s clear I have my work cut out for me.
* - Fred: A person with more bucks than ability. They show up at all the rides wearing full Team Discovery kit including the $7,000 Trek Madone bicycle. They are usually shelled upon the group’s first hard acceleration.
** - the small 39 tooth chainring in front and my 23 tooth sprocket in back. The smallest gear most guys would run. While I was in Atlanta a 42×23 combo was the smallest gear I usually ran.
*** - make a long story short Lactate threshold is the point where you can’t take in air fast enough to stay at this pace. Below this you can basically ride for hours on end without much trouble as long as you stay hydrated and take in some carbs.
**** - I dropped off the back end of the big group of riders. couldn’t maintain the pace they were at.
***** - Granny = granny gear, my 39×26 gear. Self respecting riders only use this in emergencies…well this was definitely an emergency.
February 13th, 2006 at 6:16 pm
why cant a fred ever be wearing a full T-Mobile kit? everyone always hates the winners….later.
February 13th, 2006 at 8:57 pm
I think to qualify as a Fred you’d have to be wearing the kit of a team with an American leader, like Discovery, Gerolsteiner, maybe Phonak. Non-Freds probably aren’t familiar enough with Jan to want his jersey…although seeing all those T-Mobile WLAN hotspots at Starbucks could be reason enough. LOL. Good call!