Saturday, December 13, 2014

Cycling Santa 2014

The weather forecast was good for this weekend ... but that forecast was far more optimistic than the reality. I didn't have anything else to do, however, so I spent the morning test-riding a possible route for a new populaire that I plan to submit to RUSA. The route was good in that in took me to Marcy Jo's at the mid-point for a cinnamon roll and a couple of cups of coffee (and I needed the heat of that coffee by then). It was not good in that one of the roads is too busy. Back to the drawing board.

I got home just after noon, and decided to ride into Franklin for lunch. Since the "Dickens of a Christmas" celebration is there this weekend and I had put together the Santa Bike early this week, I decided to go in Holiday Garb.


I've done the Cycling Santa thing for a few years now, but for this year I bought some red tights. They don't quite match my red wool jersey, and somehow make me look fat (or maybe it's my fat that makes me look fat), but they do add that certain panache to the outfit.

I've also got new bling ... er, blink ... on the Salsa this year:


Bright red and brilliantly blinking, I took my usual route into town. On the way, there were a lot of cars heading towards Leiper's Fork for the Christmas Parade there, and lots of folks waved at me and a couple honked their horns in a nice way. Don't ask me what differentiates a "nice" honk from an obnoxious honk ... you just know.

In downtown Franklin, the celebration was in full swing. People were walking around dressed like 19th century Londoners, and one fellow was riding a penny farthing. There were food trucks and stages with singers and dancers and vendor tents with all kinds of goods. So many people had come to the festival that all of the street parking was taken up for at least one mile outside of town.

I wandered a bit, answering questions about my outfit and my bike, then grabbed a bagel sandwich and watched some kids from a local high school sing carols. One of the tents was roasting cinnamon-and-sugar coated nuts, and the smell drew me over. But the line was too long, so I moved on.

My ride back was pretty much the same as the ride in, with lots of folks waving and some kids at the skate park yelling "Merry Christmas" as I passed. The sun that was supposed to come out in the afternoon had not yet materialized, and I was fairly chilled when I finally got back home.

I love doing the Cycling Santa thing. It's fun, and it makes for a pleasantly paced ride. My hope is that it also helps to personalize cyclists to the often impatient drivers out there, so that they take a little more care in sharing the road with us.

Monday, November 24, 2014

The 10,000-Mile Gorilla

It's so easy to chase miles.

You start by keeping a ride diary ... just something to help you track progress towards goals -- usually weight or a big event. "I'm going to get under 180 pounds by the end of February." "I need to do two sets of Intervals and one long Tempo ride this week, then taper next week." "If I hope to have fun on that tour at the end of the summer, I'd better continue doing at least one five-hour-plus ride every week until then."

My diary is simple. Every morning, I write down my resting heart rate when I wake up, and what I weigh before I get in the shower. When I come in from a ride, I write down the number of miles (rounded up or down) and the moving time (rounded to the nearest quarter-hour). At the top there's the goal for each week, and at the bottom right there's the weekly and year-to-date totals. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

You look at the weight and say, "Better cut down on the post-ride chips and salsa." You look at Saturday's goal and you decide to skip the Thursday night ride so your legs will have some snap. But the thing that you look at the most is that big number in the bottom right.

YTD Total.

It didn't used to be a big deal in winter. "You'll catch up when it warms up," you say Sunday night after barely logging 100 miles for the week. But it's there ... lurking in the cold dark ... waiting.

The 10,000-Mile Gorilla.

I've ridden 10,000 miles every year since 2008, except 2011 when I only rode 9,700 and I compensated for that year by doing over 11,000 in 2012. It's gotten to be the number by which I fend off the inevitable -- the county line of health, if you will. As long as I continue to sprint over that county line every year, I will be ...

Vital.

Strong.

Young.


We are numbers-driven creatures. You are asked to grade everything from how well your waiter did to the pain in your shoulder on a scale of 1-to-10. The media targets us based on age and income, and the world judges us based on weight and skin color. I'm in a key demographic for retirement properties and reverse mortgages and home security systems. If the center seat on an airplane is open next to me, it is now one of the first to go ... although, back in my fat days, that was not the case.

And I'm not complaining about that, for the most part. The marketing is smart business and the prejudice is ingrained reactions that will hopefully erode with each generation. Thanks to demographics nobody tries to sell me a clothing-optional single's getaway at Sandals Resort, although I am getting tired of the robocalls offering me free monitoring on my security system for a year. And, while I like to think that I wouldn't care about the race of the person next to me on the Southwest flight to Tampa, I probably will try to avoid the center seat bookended by fatties.

Once you acknowledge the absolute power inherent in numbers, however, you see why I have to stop fighting the 10,000-Mile Gorilla. Because the fact is that I am 55 years old, and the Gorilla is ageless. So, sooner or later he is going to win.

Just not this year.


I hit 10,000 miles on a club ride Saturday. It was a windy day, chilly at first but warming up to near 60 in the afternoon. That's what the average high in middle Tennessee is supposed to be this time of year, but we haven't been hitting that lately. So I was glad to have knocked out the Gorilla early this year.

But what a fight it was ...

There were a lot of frigid rides last winter. Then there was the soggy 300K at the end of March where I DNF'd and short-cutted my way home. April saw back-to-back 400Ks, and then in May I came to my senses on a 600K and decided to stop randonneuring. The result of all of this was that I had enough miles in the training diary to almost cruise through the rest of year.

But there's a funny thing about those miles since I stopped randonneuring:

  • They've been more fun. While not every mile has been good, I don't force myself to go out on a ride just because I need to train or I need that brevet to qualify for some grand randonnee or an award. I ride, for the most part, because I want to.
  • They're less adventurous. Regular readers may have noticed a decline in the number of blog posts. Primarily, that's because I haven't been doing many rides that are worthy of a blog post.
So I write about the Italy trip, or a ride from coffee shop to coffee shop. These rides are more fun, and I see beautiful stuff, but they are not Epic. There's been no 300Ks or 400Ks or 600Ks or 1200Ks.

No number rides.

And so I can't quantify these rides, or even put them in my training diary as Goal Events. Instead, the Goal for most Saturdays is "Ride." If the weather is great and somebody's interested, I'll go do a 200K. If the morning is cold or wet, I'll wait and ride something fun in the afternoon.

If I feel like it.

So this may be the last year that I defeat the 10,000-Mile Gorilla. If it is, I'd like to think that it's because I retired while I was still the champ.