Friday, October 31, 2008

Cycling Time Trial



OK. So I'm not Lance Armstrong, and the picture of him time-trialing is a bit pretentious. But I do ride my own time trial course in Hand Cove with some regularity. I ride 31.5 miles, which is about the same distance as some of the longer time trials at the Tour de France, but the average speed of the pros exceeds 30 mph while my record pace around here is 18.5 mph. Having confesed that, I am moved to added that my time-trial course is pretty hilly, and I'd be very surprised if the pros could do it faster than 25 mph. Anyway, I rode the course yesterday at a good clip. While I wasn't close to a record, my speed of 17.1 mph was probably somewhere in my top twenty.

I'm lucky to have a really nice road to ride with two lanes of wide blacktop. Indeed for a good part of the ride there is a paved shoulder that is as wide as many big-city bike lanes. To make things even better, there is rarely any simultaneous two-way traffic on the road, so I can "take the lane" in full confidence that in most circumstances passing cars will be able to give me a wide berth. Better still, I ride these roads so often that all of the locals are used to seeing me and know exactly what to do when approaching and passing a cyclist.

So the Hand Cove area has delightful rural roads for cycling with plenty of scenic beauty. Now I do confess that I can think of somewhat better rides: Push Mountain Road across the lake traverses the Ozark National Forest, with lovely mountainous vistas and equally deserted roads; the whole area around Trout Lake in northern Wisconsin is flat, scenic, sparsely populated, and blessed with beautiful lake views; Oak Mountain State Park near Birmingham has a great climb to the top of the mountain, a lovely view, and some splendid mountain bike trails; the Virginia Creeper trail near Abington, VA, has 30 miles of old railroad tracks that climb with multiple river crossings to the top of Whitetop Mountain; Lakeshore Drive bike trail in Chicago can't be beaten for city biking, though the Potomac River trails in DC run a close second. Yes, this country is blessed with great cycling areas, but I'm certainly not going to complain about Hand Cove. When I ride with friends in Mountain Home or venture onto the streets of Jonesboro, I discover anew how lucky I am.

My 17.1 mph time trial yesterday was, as I said, good, but not a personal record. That record (18.5 mph) was important enough to me that I'm going to fill out this entry by reprinting my comments about it on 6/26/08:

A day off the bike yesterday did me a world of good. This morning I felt fit and well-rested when I started my ride. More to the point, it was cloudy and relatively cool. With truly hot weather ready to begin any day now, I figured this was one of my last opportunities for a time trial until fall. In addition, I wanted to see whether my substitute shifter would interfere with a speedy ride.

Usually what happens on a time trial is that I start off at a good clip and check my time and average speed at various points along the way. At the Fire Station I was already up to about 17 mph, and by the store my time was about 16 minutes with an average speed that had only dropped to about 16 mph. I don't have perfect recall of past rides, but I knew those were respectable times.

The first real check-point comes at highway 412. Past experience tells me that anything under a half-hour for those first 8.3 miles is a very good ride (16.6 mph). Imagine my surprise as I rolled along those 4 miles toward the intersection and found that my average speed was nearly 18 mph and increasing. I think I hit 18.1 or 18.2 at the turn-about. I recognized that that was one of my fastest times ever!

Of course, it's one thing to keep up a good pace for the first 25% of a time trial, and it's significantly more difficult to keep up that pace for the remainder of the ride. However, the section from 412 to Woods Point is mostly downhill. It's a fun, fast section and I enjoyed trying to keep my average speed creeping higher. I felt confident that if I could get my average up to 18.5 at Woods Point, I'd have a good chance at a top-5 ride. So I kept the pedals churning all the way down the hill and up the slight rise before the final descent to the landing. One more push and then I had to hit the brakes hard before launching myself into the lake.

OK, I now cheat a little on my time trials by taking a water break by the lake. As I enjoyed the view, I tried to remember whether or not, at 18.8 mph, I was on a record pace. I wasn't sure, but I knew it didn't really matter. There have been other good rides where I burned up the first half of the course, only to flag sadly toward the end. Furthermore, the third section of the time trial is the slowest, heading steadily uphill with the only saving grace being that the hardest hill comes first.

I watched my average speed drop as I ground up Woods Point Hill. Still, I was encouraged that it had only dropped to 18.0 at Dan's house. If I could keep it above 18 until reaching the grocery store, I'd have a shot at a great ride. To my surprise I had even gained a bit of time in that slightly uphill section.

So I knew I had eight miles of gentle rollers from the store to the highway and back to the store during which I might just be able to get my average up a few tenths before the last dismal drudgery of the lead-up to Cemetery Hill. I passed the store for the final time with my average in the 18.4 to 18.5 range.

In the past I have always found that my average for the entire ride will usually be the same as it is when I pass the store for the last time. But that was true for rides where I was averaging 15 or 16 or even 17 mph. Obviously, the higher the speed, the less reliable such an indicator would be. I could still bonk and I was beginning to feel some strain in my knee.

I decided to start spinning higher rpm's to take some weight off my knee while still keeping my speed up. I handled the first two climbs as usual -- which means that Fire Station Hill was a bitch, especially since I always greet it with the sinking recognition that Cemetery Hill will be even harder.

On a normal ride I take those two hills in my easiest gear and find that gear none-too-easy. This time I shifted down into the next harder gear and crested the cemetery without quite passing out. My average was 18.5, dropping to 18.4 just over the top of the hill. So now I had to push big gears in the final two miles, catching up with and passing a car towing a boat just as I clipped the finish line at John Lewis Road. Total time for 31.5 miles -- 1 hour, 41 minutes, and 46 seconds. Average speed -- just over 18.5.

While driving back home, I couldn't quite remember whether my previous record was 18.2 or 18.8. Fortunately, I found our old calendars. My previous best effort was 1:44.06 (18.2 mph). . . . So I am frankly amazed. It has been more than a year since I have managed a really fast
ride (in the mid-17's). I had reconciled myself to the inevitable fact of aging.

Ha! Not yet! Take that Calendar Record Book!

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Kayaking to the Bluffs


Sometimes the best adventures are also the most routine. My normal kayaking cruise heads across the lake to the Bluffs, follows the bluff line, and then returns back to our bay. During a recent early morning paddle, the fog was just rising from the lake. The sun low in the east, back-lighting it nicely. A slight breeze from the northwest was pushing under the fog and lifting it into dozens of tiny whirlwinds, miniature tornadoes, a lesson in the physics of tornado formation.

Crossing back from the Bluffs, I saw two strange objects in the distance. Ducks? Migrating pelicans (which sometimes do stop during the fall)? No, through my binoculars I could see two deer about half-way across the lake, swimming from the island toward the Bluffs. I paddled over to investigate, and when they saw me, they turned back toward the island. I followed slowly, not wanting to cause them to drown in a panic. When they got close to shore, I sped up until I was just behind the flank of one. They lumbered up onto the shore and vanished in what remains of the mostly flooded island. I paddled slowly to the far end of the island and saw two more deer (perhaps the same two) swimming swiftly toward shore. Upon seeing me they retreated back to the relative safety of the wooded island. Then I went a bit farther and saw a big buck, which was well across the bay and continued on its way, indifferent to my presence.