Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Academia in Lycra
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Melbourne Criteriums - "For fuck's sake!"
I did my 1st criterium last weekend on the 20th and my 2nd today. I have to admit it's EXTREMELY addictive! The thrill of jostling for your place, the hypnotic drawing of deep breaths, split-second decisions - it's like a drug!
The criteriums are held by St. Kilda Cycling Club (SKCC) at White St., south Melbourne. It's a pretty good course - the corners vary between wide swings where most people can pedal through and sharp, sub-90 degree bends where everyone's got to hold their line. Best of all, everyone knows what they're doing! My greatest worry was the possibility of wrecking my bike because of someone's misjudgment. That was how my 1st beloved race bike was ruined, and there was no way I would jeopardise this one - especially when it's my 21st birthday present.
Turns out these fears aren't important in Australia. People here know what they're doing - they've been taught how to race properly in the guided E Grade bunch before moving up the proper racing grades - D to A. No one undercuts on corners, everyone holds their line, there isn't any jam-braking by jittery idiots (which was how my 1st bike was destroyed). Everyone knows what they're doing, and race marshals riding alongside the peloton make sure everything works well!
Strategically speaking, my 1st crit was a farce. It wasn't the fitness that was the problem - keeping up wasn't an issue - it was my position in the pack. I placed myself in the pack of the bunch thinking it was the most economical position. After every corner, I had to work so much harder to regain speed because the back of the bunch tends to lag behind the front by a considerable margin. People were constantly trying to move up and everytime I held a god wheel near the front, I'd lose it because I let down my guard or stayed too far left on a corner, allowing others to overtake on the right.
The excess layer I wore and the lack of a warm-up was another newbie mistake. The crits tend to start hard, mellow a little along the way, then pick up again as the final 3 laps approach. Talking to a former Grade A racer, he told me that you have to whack yourself on the warm up. He's right - once you're that warm, the inner layer of clothing isn't necessary and you're ready for the quick accelerations of the initial third of the race.
Today, I took his advice. I warmed up hard, staying just at the border of my lactate threshold while wearing a gillet. The removable gillet acted like a track suit - it kept me warm until I took it off at the start line. This time, I started up front and stayed there. When someone moved up on my right, I followed. I kept my placing, enjoyed a good draft, kept a lot of speed on the corners and was in the 6th or 8th wheel on the final 2 laps.
Then we caught up with the B Grade bunch who were racing simultaneously. The assholes blocked the entire race course. Whenever they caught us, we'd give way. When we caught them, they didn't reciprocate. The marshals were yelling, the D Graders swearing - "Keep left B Grade!" "For fuck's sake!" "We did the same for you!"
I lost sight of my bunch. By the time we were clear of the B Graders (who should perhaps return to E Grade), I realised my race was over. Literally - the marshal had stopped waving the checkered flag. I didn't even realise we had finished the last lap. The D Grade peloton was fractured beyond all recognition. "For fuck's sake!"
Last week, D Grade averaged 36.4 Km/H. Hamley said "That was a fast D Grade today", and we were often going in the low 40's. Today, we averaged 39.4 Km/H ! Hamley said "That's the fastest I've ever seen for a D Grade". In comparison, the average for the C Grade winner is 40.3 Km/H. Hmm, it didn't feel too bad on the body. It seems like the secret lies in keeping your pedaling rhythm, knowing how to take places and keep them - especially through corners - and sprinting out of them again.
And for fuck's sake warm up HARD!
Next week, I'll go for Coburg Cycling Club's criterium. I heard it's easier? The MUcyc guys were placing in every grade, with one winning B Grade.
The criteriums are held by St. Kilda Cycling Club (SKCC) at White St., south Melbourne. It's a pretty good course - the corners vary between wide swings where most people can pedal through and sharp, sub-90 degree bends where everyone's got to hold their line. Best of all, everyone knows what they're doing! My greatest worry was the possibility of wrecking my bike because of someone's misjudgment. That was how my 1st beloved race bike was ruined, and there was no way I would jeopardise this one - especially when it's my 21st birthday present.
Turns out these fears aren't important in Australia. People here know what they're doing - they've been taught how to race properly in the guided E Grade bunch before moving up the proper racing grades - D to A. No one undercuts on corners, everyone holds their line, there isn't any jam-braking by jittery idiots (which was how my 1st bike was destroyed). Everyone knows what they're doing, and race marshals riding alongside the peloton make sure everything works well!
Strategically speaking, my 1st crit was a farce. It wasn't the fitness that was the problem - keeping up wasn't an issue - it was my position in the pack. I placed myself in the pack of the bunch thinking it was the most economical position. After every corner, I had to work so much harder to regain speed because the back of the bunch tends to lag behind the front by a considerable margin. People were constantly trying to move up and everytime I held a god wheel near the front, I'd lose it because I let down my guard or stayed too far left on a corner, allowing others to overtake on the right.
The excess layer I wore and the lack of a warm-up was another newbie mistake. The crits tend to start hard, mellow a little along the way, then pick up again as the final 3 laps approach. Talking to a former Grade A racer, he told me that you have to whack yourself on the warm up. He's right - once you're that warm, the inner layer of clothing isn't necessary and you're ready for the quick accelerations of the initial third of the race.
Today, I took his advice. I warmed up hard, staying just at the border of my lactate threshold while wearing a gillet. The removable gillet acted like a track suit - it kept me warm until I took it off at the start line. This time, I started up front and stayed there. When someone moved up on my right, I followed. I kept my placing, enjoyed a good draft, kept a lot of speed on the corners and was in the 6th or 8th wheel on the final 2 laps.
Then we caught up with the B Grade bunch who were racing simultaneously. The assholes blocked the entire race course. Whenever they caught us, we'd give way. When we caught them, they didn't reciprocate. The marshals were yelling, the D Graders swearing - "Keep left B Grade!" "For fuck's sake!" "We did the same for you!"
I lost sight of my bunch. By the time we were clear of the B Graders (who should perhaps return to E Grade), I realised my race was over. Literally - the marshal had stopped waving the checkered flag. I didn't even realise we had finished the last lap. The D Grade peloton was fractured beyond all recognition. "For fuck's sake!"
Last week, D Grade averaged 36.4 Km/H. Hamley said "That was a fast D Grade today", and we were often going in the low 40's. Today, we averaged 39.4 Km/H ! Hamley said "That's the fastest I've ever seen for a D Grade". In comparison, the average for the C Grade winner is 40.3 Km/H. Hmm, it didn't feel too bad on the body. It seems like the secret lies in keeping your pedaling rhythm, knowing how to take places and keep them - especially through corners - and sprinting out of them again.
And for fuck's sake warm up HARD!
Next week, I'll go for Coburg Cycling Club's criterium. I heard it's easier? The MUcyc guys were placing in every grade, with one winning B Grade.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Degani 3 Peaks Challenge 2011
Screw it let's do it!
My Journey Across the 3 Peaks
Victorian Alpine Region
235 Km
5334 vertical metres
Now that I've settled some of my schoolwork (it's never completely done), it's time to think about the 3 Peaks Challenge I've completed last weekend. I have NEVER cycled in any alpine region. The mountain I train on - if a foggy peak at 550m elevation can be called a mountain - had a much gentler gradient than anything I encountered during the Challenge. I can casually spin at 18-19 Km/H up the main climb of Kinglake, which apparently consists of a Category 1 and 2 section.
To be perfectly honest, I find the climb TO the main climb of Kinglake more laborious than the actual ride UP Kinglake. This is reaffirmed each time I tackle it... a grand total of 3 times so far. Most of my training was in Singapore where mountains don't exist, and my 'climbing' training consisted of one 100 Km ride against headwinds and a mild gradient in Desaru, Malaysia. There is no such thing as a headwind in Singapore, not after riding for months on Beach Road in Melbourne. I hear my riding buddies talk about wind - and I just stare puzzled...
Strategy
But I digress. I've found that the main challenge of the, well, Challenge, wasn't about climbing. It was about strategy and endurance. For me, the strategising starts with planning my gear. The weather bureau says it's 10-16 degrees. Yea right. With the sun out, it feels like 22 degrees, but at the peak of Mt. Hotham and Falls Creek you'll feel hypothermic dressed in gear for 22 degrees. I know I did on the 2nd leg when I left my winter gloves, booties and gillet at the midway lunch stop at Dinner Plain. Aptly named, I know. Just like neighbouring Mt. Beauty (a volunteer and resident of the said place said that). Coach Bruce... well, ex-coach now I guess... he told me that my initial 'dress code' wasn't right. A neck scarf might be fine for Beach Rd in winter, but I'll overheat on the climbs. I reckon he's right. I thought a jersey-n-gillet would be sufficient, but he said I needed a base layer too. I reckon he's right on that too. And I didn't use to say "I reckon" - I think I picked that up from talking to the locals. So, $100 bucks for 2 Sugoi base layers that were, well, quite 'sugoi' (Japanese for "incredible"). I already had Gatorskins and Ksyrium elites - Mavic and Continental are hot favourites in Melbourne - and the other gear. Coach suggested I get a 12-28 cassette, but I went an extra step and got a compact crankset instead. For reasons later made clear, most of the cyclists I talked to had both.
The 2nd aspect was nutrition. I know from experience that I should consume about 1 energy bar every hour or so. Bicycle Victoria recommended some funky formula per hour based on body weight, but I honestly can't translate that into bars/time. In any case, I found that eating a whole bar at one go makes me feel happily full for about 40 minutes, then utterly hungry. It's more satiating to chew off a third of a bar every 20 minutes - it keeps me sufficiently full for longer. By accident, I bought Winner's energy bars instead of the usual ubiquitous PowerBar. PowerBars tend to get squashed and loose their shape, resulting in one bite taking more than another while creating a sticky mess that's hard to handle. The Winners bar - which I admittedly bought just because it was endorsed by Aussie world champ Cadel Evans - was another story. It wasn't as filling, but it wasn't as gooey either. I could bite off even chunks without feeling like I'm chewing on a spoon of peanut butter. It's flavour was pleasant and natural, not synthetic, and it didn't cling to the wrapper (which came off nicely). Guess what? Bicycle Victoria was providing the same thing en route! How serendipitous!
Of course, this is complemented by a steady swig of sports drink at least every 15 minutes. The powerade mix they provided was horrid... gatorade is still the best, but it still got me through. BV recommended a bottle of water and another with a sports drink, but I prefer having both filled with isotonic fluid. It seems to help me ride better, placebo or otherwise.
The 3rd strategic element was psychological. I wanted to arrive at Falls Creek relaxed and focused on the ride ahead. The schoolwork usually left for the weekend had to be done within the preceding week, the clothes and gear packed and waiting, the bike ready to go. The schoolwork refused to be compressed - I'm still a week behind on neural psychology as I write this, which is making me slightly neurotic - but everything else went well. This is the 1st set of clothes, this is what I'll change into mid-way, this cardboard piece goes on the top tube, this goes on the seat-tube, and... HANG ON! THERE's A CRACK ON THE SEAT-TUBE!?!? Ok, it looks superficial... *gulp*... let's just give it a fair go and see how it turns out. Flying off a mountain seems to be quite a nice way to die...
On the bus ride up to Falls Creek, I was still working on the synapse. No, not the Cannondale Synapse - although I ride the now archaic Six Carbon - I mean synaptic processes. Yes, I brought homework up the mountain. Thank goodness it was done by the time we arrived. I stayed at cosy Diana Lodge, where Blossom the border collie welcomed me with a happy wag of the tail. It cost half the price of the official accommodation packages, gave me a quiet room to rest and a homely dining area for breakfast. And they had my favourite - oats! In fact, everything seemed specially prepared for the healthy cyclist - oats, fruits, grain cereals, juices and... er, pancakes. Ok, almost ideal. Sure, we're all serious cyclists, but I wish I tried the pancakes...
The Day of Reckoning
I got a shock when I pedaled to the start line. There was low cloud - it was freezing. My hands were feeling the chill through my fleece-lined windproof gloves. On the bus ride up Tawonga Gap and Falls Creek I already heard "what-was-I-thinking" bubbling under what Freud would call my pre-conscious membrane. Tyna - who recently finished her 1st Ironman in NZ - and a few other guys (Mamils) from the Joyriders club in Singapore were supposed to come ride this too. And I was the only one at the start line - crikey mate! When the cold made its presence felt, what-was-I-thinking quickly morphed into screw-it-let's-do-it, which was the only reason why my unprepared comrades and I contemplated it in the 1st place. Team Global became a very small world indeed...
Tawonga Gap
I didn't see much on the descent towards Tawonga Gap because I was concentrating on holding a proper line on the damp road, fighting the shivers, and trying to overtake jittery guys who slowed too much on every bend. All I remember were flying lycra bums. At the bottom, I took off the full-finger gloves and put on a half-finger pair. Off came the gillet. Then up came Tawonga Gap. If it was a single straight journey uphill, it wouldn't be a problem. But the sharp turns and switchback - those I didn't have much experience aside from one trip up Arthur's Seat in Sorrento. I could've just stood up and breezed past it but I reckon it was too early for that. My motto at this point was "discretion is the better part of valor". Tawonga Gap was soon done, and I thought "hey that's not too bad is it?".
Mt. Hotham
The trip to the foot of Mt. Hotham is a blur to me. I only remember coming across that disgustingly this and unfulfilling yellow Powerade powder. Shielded by someone through drafting against a mild headwind - someone who didn't want to take turns even though I offered - I arrived at the foot of Hotham. My memory has another blank until clouds started popping up. I kept pace with two other young chaps at 12-14 Km/H. It got cold, and visibility was at times down to just 4 metres. Our lights were on and flashing, the lights in our head struggling to stay focused. Each of us stood up every now and then to stretch our legs although everyone else we past seemed content to sit. I've heard about altitude training but, in all honesty, there wasn't any perceptible difference in every inhalation. I was aware of being wet and waterlogged because of the damp fog and earlier rain rather than sweat. Towards the summit, I met a guy who climbed up on a steel bike. I asked incredulously "You're doing it on steel?", and he replied "Is there any other way? Next time I'll do it on a singlespeed." He's not as fast of course, but he wasn't that slow either. I counted 10 steel bikes in total. Somewhere near the top, I met a granny who finished it last year. She told me that it snowed, and 600 out of the 1200 participants or thereabouts didn't finish. She did, and she's back for more - wow! Tough Aussie stuff!
To Falls Creek
With Hotham done, it was now time for the descents again. With the full gloves and gillet back on, I headed down. Alone. For some reason, I hardly saw anyone else. Not that I'm complaining - at 80.1 Km/H (the maximum I've ever reached by, as we know at this speed, ducking down & NOT pedaling) at 4m visibility, it was probably a good thing. I quickly reached Dinner Plain - the midway lunch stop and clothes swap point - and I must say I really enjoyed the lunch. Pasta salad, a ham & cheese sandwich and a banana muffin sure hit the spot. The announcer kept saying we're half way through and shouldn't stay too long, and one of the guys in the clothing tent went "aww... shut the fuck up". We laughed! Feeling the sun on my back, I took a gamble and left my booties, full gloves and gillet behind. Then I lost my sunglasses. A Uvex Crow Pro - black gloss half-frame with black lenses. If you see it, please let me know by commenting on this post below. I seem to lose a pair on every BV ride, 1st during the Around the Bay 2010 and now this. Thankfully, the glare wasn't too bad as I headed towards Omeo Plain, and getting rid of the excess gear and water-logged kit made me feel a lot fresher and ride a lot faster.
"Argh... how long does this f******* hill last?" That was from one of the guys I formed a paceline with. There were 3 of us, the other two wearing last year's 3 Peaks Finishers' jersey. We took turns, until Mr. F******* Hill decided to pick up the pace and go at 38 Km/H. I decided it was a little too much for the terrain and waited to form another paceline with 2 other guys we passed awhile back. One great thing about the riders on a ride of this level is that they usually know what they're doing - and a volunteer I talked to later said that that was why there were relatively few accidents despite the course. Around swooping bends, they knew how to corner smoothly without nervous braking and kept as much momentum as possible. Each knew how start wide, approach the apex as they turned and finish wide again. There were 3 or 4 times when I thought I was going to crash (in my experience, Gatorskins don't provide the surest of grips and I didn't lean out as much as I should) but thankfully emerged unscathed.
Falls Creek was an utter shock. We turned left and it immediately hit 20-30%. At this time, I realised that climbing with a compact crankset and 12-25 cassette at 4 km/H wasn't enough to prevent rollback and standing climbing was something I neglected in my training. I decided to walk. Yes, I know! Horror upon horrors! It looks like some satirical Tour De France commercial! But, at the risk of using a Freudian "reactive formation" ego defense, I recalled that discretion is the better part of valour, and Johan Bruyneel wrote in We Might As Well Win that he made Lance sit on climbs. Apparently I wasn't the only one walking... Mr. F******* Hill said that he didn't remember such a sharp and sudden gradient last year. In any case, I walked at 4 Km/H and cycled up the more reasonable sections. I eventually caught up with guys I rode alongside on Omeo Plain. Imagine that! Oh, and I recalled how one guy up Hotham told his mate "Remind me how again how half of this ride is downhill?" Now I know why the other guys on the bus back used compact cranksets AND 12-28 cassettes.
That's It?
After another amnesic length of time, I started to realise the terrain changed. The tall trees were gone and replaced by the occasional shrubs and boulders. It was similar to my camping experience in New Zealand's Tongariro national park: one of the unpronounceable and impossibly difficult to spell peaks next to Mt. Ruapehu (fyi, that's Mt. Doom in Lord of the Rings) had a similar plateau at the top. Such terrain, combined with the rolling terrain around a large lake, led to the inference that I was at the top of Falls Creek. Now, big chainring. I went a lot faster and harder, but still with plenty to spare. I didn't know for sure it was the top, but I knew the cold was making me hungry and I've ran out of food having gobbled one bar at the base of the climb and consumed the other by the time I reached the top. In fact, having ditched my gloves and such, I was probably bordering on hypothermia - hands red and swollen, barely sensible, stiff to move in whatever little way they could, clothes wet and cold. Again, discretionary valour.
A photo point - look smart! Then I rounded a bend and - hey presto! Lights, cheering, buildings - it was the Finish Line! Out of nowhere, just as the sun was setting behind a peak! Hunker down for the descent in, dodge the jittery ones - and there! Name announced, Finisher's jersey collected. It seemed appropriate that a screw-it-lets-do-it rationale for registering should meet with a oh-that's-it-? finish. But I was glad it's over. I later heard that the police made some folks retire from the race at Angler's Rest - the stop before Falls Creek - half an hour after I left because they didn't want riders on the trail at night. Road bikes you know, not downhill mountain bikes. And so I ended my ride strong, with enough energy to ride home (walking up the sharp slope) to Diana Lodge. I heard some guy bonked and crashed into the barricade at the finish line. A warm bath and dry clothes was all I craved. And a buffet dinner! Alta restaurant, penne pasta in 3 sauces, roast beef and pork, fruits and - wait for it - FRENCH ONION SOUP! My favourite! Rob, the guy I was supposed to eat with, called the restaurant and they told me he felt very bad and went home early. No idea if he actually ate - the waitress certainly didn't see him, but he was all perky the next morning.
Obsidian Skies
Walking back to my room, I took the time to reflect upon how far I've come. The announcer at the Finish line was certainly right when she said "Congratulations guys. You've done what very few in their lifetime would ever do". I only started cycling 15 months ago. I've completed the biggest ride in Oceania, on my own, with little relevant training in the way of alpine climbs. I took a deep breath and savoured the fresh, chilly mountain air. Unsullied by city lights, I saw the moon's half-face illuminate the obsidian sky. It's the first time I actually saw the Orion constellation in full strength. She called me that, my special someone, because I she thought I was strong. What a good night's sleep I had.
In the morning, we packed our bikes into the bus and sat on the sag wagon trailer talking about the ride and figuring out how the bikes were loaded on. Some bloke had just woken up while we were all waiting and ready to go. Most of the guys rode slightly more than 235 Km as measured by wheel revolutions, but I got 234.10. "That's because you took a shortcut mate". Uh huh... ride straight mate. Anyway, a volunteer came up and we talked. I thanked him, an old chap named Jeff, for all the work he and his colleagues have done. The logistical demands of setting up stations across a 235 Km alpine route must have been gruelling - the task inducing fatigue as the sun drew across the sky - and then the packing up. They weren't paid, these volunteers, but every one of them was warm, friendly, and all smiles. Thanks Jeff, I really appreciate you guys being out there for us. As we all sat there, I took the time to take a good look around. The trees were white, appearing ossified to my untrained eye, but en masse on the hillsides they looked like a fossilised coral reef from Noah's days - leafless branches like coral ferns in barnacle white. It appeals to a very basic instinct. Is it aesthetic? Is it Darwinian? The evolutionary theory of art would approve. I took a picture of the scene, remembered the grandeur of the ride and the warmth of Falls Creek village before I boarded the bus.
One last look, one everlasting memory.
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