Tuesday Night in Lennon: One of the Best Yet… Vengin’ in the Rain
The evenings are getting short. It’s almost October and there was a 15% chance of rain… for those not following along with me on Michigan’s weather, that equates to a 100% chance of getting 15% wet. It was so sunny earlier in the day, though – certainly it couldn’t rain. I readied the Venge.
We were scheduled to start fifteen minutes early so we could finish in the daylight which meant a really fast warm-up. We almost started without my riding buddy, Chuck, but I managed to remember that he was actually on his way… I turned on my Garmin and forgot to pause it while we did laps around the parking lot waiting.
Surprisingly, the others waited with me. Chuck pulled into the parking lot a few minutes later and we were rolling a short while later. The warm-up was fast… and true to Michigan form, about two miles into said warm-up, dead into the wind, it started spitting on us. On a normal day, Craig pulls most of, if not the entire, warm-up. Into the wind, though, I had a feeling it was going to be a little much for him and he did fall to the back. He and McMike were holding 20-21 into the wind. I took a bit, then we singled up for the mile north. The few miles heading east back to the parking lot was in the neighborhood of 24-25-mph and it started spitting again. We completed the seven mile loop in less than 21 minutes.
Doing the math in my head, I needed one or two more miles for my 1,000 mile September so I relegated myself to at least the first mile in the rain. After the first mile, the drizzle slowed and I thought there might be hope so I kept pressing. A quarter-mile later it started coming down. I was ” that close to turning around when the sun broke through the clouds. It warmed up noticeably for a second and I decided to stick with it, come what may.
That was the last bit of wet for the evening, and what came next was worth sticking it out.
We had a small group – two tandems and six or seven singles – so there was a quick turn-over up front but the rest at the back was pretty decent… and most everyone did their part except a new guy who had to hide from time to time to keep from getting dropped (which we were perfectly cool with once we evened up the two lines).
What ensued, from the moment the lines equalized, for the entire rest of the ride, was one of the most enjoyable Tuesday Night Rides in memory. It was one of those where all of the cylinders were firing perfectly and the group did its thing. There were a few points where I struggled a little bit, especially toward the front in the headwind, but I knew if I just stayed on through the headwind, the tailwind home was going to be a blast.
I wasn’t wrong.
The hills held a couple of seconds of rough riding – they’re always exceptionally fast with even a mild helping tailwind – but once we were through, it was all fun and games. Mike I. and I were up front for the descent into Vernon and we were on the pedals like we were being chased. The norm is around 28-mph but we were well above 30 (48 km/h) before flicking out and heading to the back. I didn’t even bother with a sprint. Nobody did, we just kept our lines rolling.
Heading north was no different from the west tailwind – all go and no slow. The front of the group hugged the centerline as we rolled on so there was plenty of echelon room. For the final stretch home, it was like a finely tuned machine. With three miles to go, both tandems came to the front and I shouted out something about the tandems leading the group home and made a train’s “Wooo-wooo” call. That got laughs.
Chuck and I were next up and we did a good stretch maintaining that 25-27 before flicking off for the next two.
We didn’t even sprint for the City Limits sign, just rolled across the line as a group at 28-1/2-mph. It was hi-fives and happy times all the way back to the parking lot. We didn’t break any speed records. We weren’t even all that fast, but I can tell you unequivocally, fun was had last night, all around. I’m glad I stuck around for Vengin’ in the rain… (Chuck’s line when he noticed I’d ridden the Venge and it was raining. He actually sang a few bars… badly.)
It never ceases to amaze me how fortunate I am to have the friends I do. Life sure is good.
Without Recovery First, There Is No Cycling. There’s No Family, No Peace. No Happiness.
This is going to start out with a nice story about my weekend ride and come together with a massively important point at the end…
It wouldn’t be a stretch to say this has been one of my best years on two wheels – in fact, better than all of that speed stuff (which is fantastic), my wife and I have learned how to enjoy our tandem and have ridden it almost every Sunday since April. On top of all that, I’m up to 9 centuries and 14 metric centuries for the season.
I was excited for another century Saturday. The goal was to head to Laingsburg – a 77-mile round trip going the long way out and heading straight back home. The morning, excepting the wind, was wonderful. Sunshine, cool but barely arm warmer weather (the boys didn’t bother, the girls wore theirs for a time). Chuck and I were taking decent turns into the wind, three to five miles, and the pace was fair – 18 to 20-mph. We had a six mile south stretch into the wind that was just brutal but Chuck was dug in like a tick and hammered the whole chunk keeping the pace right around 19-mph. That was one of the toughest turns I’ve seen all year.
It was so epic, I didn’t even bother sprinting for my favorite City Limits sign. I straight up gave it to him. He earned it.
After that stretch, just 14 miles and change into the ride, we only had six more miles of straight headwind the whole rest of the ride.
My wife and Diane split off after 28 miles to head home, so that left just the three of us and some of the most glorious miles we’d turned all year long. We made the most of a cross-headwind, but when we hit the turn-around in Laingsburg, we hammered home with a little help. We dropped Mike off at his last mile home (I was at 77 miles) and Chuck and I headed off to lunch.
The wind had a little more west to it so it was a little tougher into it, but I still managed to crush out a couple of miles at 20 before turning north with a tailwind. We pulled into our favorite 100-mile lunch stop at 83 miles. We sat in the grass in the shade of a tree and ate.
Getting started after lunch sucked. I was a little better than a 19-mph average but Chuck was at 18.9 and he wanted 19. Initially he took off heading west and it looked like we’d be able to jump right back into our pace but he slowed after a half-mile and said, “Maybe anything in the 18 range will be okay.” I almost puked on my top tube a quarter-mile later on the way up a slight incline. Chuck took a mile of headwind and I came around for a little chunk. We back-and-forth’ed the next few miles and I could sense I was running out of gas. Still, we were looking at that 19 average as we exited our favorite weeknight subdivision and headed for home. I was up front and took a mile and a half with a cross-tailwind, taking a corner heading into the wind at almost 20-mph. Chuck asked if I wanted him to take it but I shook him off. I told him I was good and got him to the cross-tailwind. He took a mile, then I took one. That left Chuck to a headwind mile that he took between 19 & 20. I had a mile of cross-tailwind that I hammered at 21… and I ran out of gas. I had 96 miles and some change.
Chuck asked if I was going to ride home with him to get the extra miles but I passed. I’d had enough and took my toy home. My last mile into the headwind was between 12 & 16-mph and that was everything I had. I dropped down to the baby ring and spun home, shutting off my Garmin at 97.07 miles. I didn’t even care about that last three miles. A 5k in an 11,000 km season.
Chuck called about five minutes after I plopped down on the couch for a breather. He’d pulled into his driveway with a 19.03-mph average. The exuberance in his voice was cool. He thanked me for hammering as hard as I did because “every last second mattered”. He thanked me again, commenting on Strava a few minutes later.
That he made 19 and was so stoked that I helped made me feel pretty awesome. Definitely worth leaving three miles on the road for my friend.
This is just one day in a massively awesome life that started when I was 22 and decided to stop fighting the fact that I was, without question or hope, an alcoholic. I was a pickle. I wasn’t capable of enjoying something simple as a bike ride with my wife and friends because I was too busy fighting a losing battle to keep my head above water in the midst of a spectacularly fiery and mercifully short drinking career. Without recovery, last Saturday is impossible.
Once you’re a pickle, you never get to go back to being a cucumber. And for that I am grateful, because peace and happiness are good.
Musical Saddles, Maintenance and Getting Ready for Gravel
I spent a lot of time working on the Trek, Saturday, after my almost century. The day before, I’d taken to work on the drivetrain. There’s drag in the system somewhere but I’ll be damned if I can find it. Everything is new except the drivetrain components and they’re in good condition. I thought I’d had a breakthrough but nothing came of it. The funny thing is, there isn’t anything wrong with the way the bike shifts. It’s just not perfect. I hit every gear, without fail, there should simply be a some wiggle room in the barrel adjuster. Instead, it has to be dialed in just right.
I played around with the cassette, taking an old Ultegra cassette body (the bottom three gears) and meshing it with the loose gears from a SRAM… and I like it!
I also worked on locating a weird tick I’d developed at some point. Long story, short, when I reset my saddle after having it clamped in my stand, a screw on the back of my Garmin Varia mount was barely hitting my seat post collar. Freaking drove me nuts till the lightbulb lit.
So that led up to Sunday Funday on the tandem with my super cool wife. I was, without question, crispy from Saturday. Only my buddy, Mike showed up to ride, which was perfect. I was looking forward to an easy day in the saddle.
We talked as we rode into the wind. After seven miles we had a whopping 16.5-mph average, and I was perfectly happy with that. Until I saw Greg and Dave turn to ride with us. Greg plays nice, but Greg and Dave, now that’s a different story. It’s like they feed off each other or something.
They led us up the road into a headwind and we rode them like rented mules. They were generous with their turns in the headwind, they just led us out without question or hesitation. Our average ticked up. We stopped at our favorite gas station before rolling out along The Deer Loop. Our average ticked up some more.
We chose, on the fly, to roll north up Durand Road. On the tandem, this three mile long stretch of road is about my fourth favorite stretch of road I’ve ever ridden. The first three require a road trip ranging from 4 to 12 hours… and we even got a push from Greg up a couple of hills! We trundled into town over the rollers, just as fast as we could push the tandem.
And just after the City Limits sign, we got caught by a train. Worse, there was a second train stopped on a second set of tracks. And I mean dead stopped. We turned around and headed back into the wind. Greg took a dirt road home (Salsa Warroad) and Dave went with us, though he slowly pulled away from us. We let him go and took the pace way down. We had an 18.8-mph average before we turned around.
The remainder of our ride was easy and I was unquestionably crispy.
After some lunch and a nap, I woke up and readied my Diverge for gravel season. I put the original saddle from that bike on the tandem, so i put the Romin I had on the tandem on the Diverge. I turned a few miles and called it good, putting the bike up till next week. Our nice warm streak of weather is over. It’s not going to be terrible over the next couple of weeks, but it’ll be chilly, well below normal.
I blew by my weekly goal of 220 miles (280 and some change) and have only 10 left to get a thousand for the month. I won’t get there today with rain in the forecast, but I need a day off anyway. We’re looking at decent weather for Tuesday, then Wednesday and Thursday are washouts. This is a good thing. There’s no question I need some down time. It’s been a long season.
I Simply Ran Out of Gas… Three Miles Short of a Century.
It was a windy day, SSW and SW all day long, so we picked an east/west route so we wouldn’t be fighting it as much. Five of us rolled out to a perfect early fall morning start. My wife, Diane, Mike, Chuck and I headed off west in search of good times, laughs and miles. I’m already 600 miles (now 700) over my yearly goal of 6,000 outdoor miles, I’ve beaten every short distance speed record I’d acquired since 2011:
CYCLING, SPORT PERSONAL RECORDS
One Hour 24.38 mi
20 10 km 13:46
20 10 mi 23:59
20 20 km 29:45
It wouldn’t be a stretch to say this has been one of my best years on two wheels – in fact, better than all of that speed stuff (which is fantastic), my wife and I have learned how to love our tandem and have ridden it almost every Sunday since April. On top of all that, I’m up to 9 centuries and 14 metric centuries for the season.
I was excited for another century yesterday. The goal was to head to Laingsburg – a 77-mile round trip going the long way out and heading straight back home. The morning, excepting the wind, was wonderful. Sunshine, cool but barely arm warmer weather (the boys didn’t bother, the girls wore theirs for a time). Chuck and I were taking decent turns into the wind, three to five miles, and the pace was fair – 18 to 20-mph. We had a six mile south stretch into the wind that was just brutal but Chuck was dug in like a tick and hammered the whole chunk keeping the pace right around 19-mph. That was one of the toughest turns I’ve seen all year.
It was so epic, I didn’t even bother sprinting for my favorite City Limits sign. I straight up gave it to him. He’d earned it.
After that stretch, just 14 miles and change into the ride, we only had six more miles of straight headwind the whole rest of the ride.
My wife and Diane split off after 28 miles to head home, so that left just the three of us and some of the most glorious miles we’d turned all year long. We made the most of a cross-headwind, but when we hit the turn-around in Laingsburg, we hammered home with a little help. We dropped Mike off at his last mile home (I was at 77 miles) and Chuck and I headed off to lunch.
The wind had a little more west to it so it was a little tougher into it, but I still managed to crush out a couple of miles at 20 before turning north with a tailwind. We pulled into our favorite 100-mile lunch stop at 83 miles. We sat in the grass in the shade of a tree and ate.
Getting started after lunch sucked. I was a little better than a 19-mph average but Chuck was at 18.9 and he wanted 19. Initially he took off heading west and it looked like we’d be able to jump right back into our pace but he slowed after a half-mile and said, “Maybe anything in the 18 range will be okay.” I almost puked on my top tube a quarter-mile later on the way up a slight incline. Chuck took a mile of headwind and I came around for a little chunk. We back-and-forth’ed the next few miles and I could sense I was running out of gas. Still, we were looking at that 19 average as we exited our favorite weeknight subdivision and headed for home. I was up front and took a mile and a half with a cross-tailwind, taking a corner heading into the wind at almost 20-mph. Chuck asked if I wanted him to take it but I shook him off. I told him I was good and got him to the cross-tailwind. He took a mile, then I took one. That left Chuck to a headwind mile that he took between 19 & 20. I had a mile of cross-tailwind that I hammered at 21… and I ran out of gas. I had 96 miles and some change.
Chuck asked if I was going to ride home with him to get the extra miles but I passed. I’d had enough and took my toy home. My last mile into the headwind was between 12 & 16-mph and that was everything I had. I dropped down to the baby ring and spun home, shutting off my Garmin at 97.07 miles. I didn’t even care about that last three miles. A 5k in an 11,000 km season.
Chuck called about five minutes later. He pulled into his driveway with a 19.03-mph average. The exuberance in his voice was cool. He thanked me for hammering as hard as I did because every last mile mattered. He thanked me again, commenting on Strava a few minutes later.
That he made 19 and was so stoked that I helped made me feel pretty fantatic. Definitely worth leaving three miles on the road for my friend.
Final Lake Shannon Thursday for the Season: It’s Not Always About AFAP…
We had a sparse crowd for Thursday’s Lake Shannon Loop. It’s been, until this week (at least for me), a fast ride all season long. That part of the group didn’t show up last night even though the weather was simply amazing. Sunny, 80° (26 C), and a mild breeze from the west. Without question, it was one of the nicest days of the season. The group didn’t match the weather.
We rolled out at precisely 6 pm, Chuck called on Charlie to try for his fastest ride ever – he’d managed an 18-mph average for the course the week before, we were going to go for 19.
The pace was cordial, enjoyable, and fun right from the first hill. It took us a minute, but once the pace was established and we formed up into our pace-line, we settled into it. I’d been a little bummed when it was decided we were going to slow it down, but quickly grew to appreciate the smoothness of the ride. Normally, I have to think about strategy, where I want to be in relation to certain climbs – whether up front or in the back of the group, but shooting for a 19-mph average, none of that mattered.
What ensued ended up being one of my more enjoyable rides of the year. We didn’t have to hammer the climbs (though we certainly didn’t watch the grass grow, either) and each of the five of us did our part to try to get Charlie to the finish line with his 19 average.
Rolling for the home stretch I realized we were about done for 6 pm starts this year. the sun was fading fast and we had a few too many miles left. I had a lot of gas left in the tank going up the last climb so I PR’ed it and hammered for home at 30-mph.
We rolled into the parking lot with a 19.16-mph average. Charlie had done it.
We talked for a minute afterward about how enjoyable it was and, for Charlie, how nice it was that the smooth nature of the paceline meant he didn’t have a tough time holding wheels as he normally would (the fact that we slowed it down by 3-mph also played a big part). I was struck by how much fun I had at the slower pace. That ride was a serious late in the season treat.
And it was reinforced; a ride doesn’t always have to be As Fast As Possible.
The PERFECT TNIL: Riding Off Into the Sunset
Tuesday Night In Lennon was some kind of special last night.
To start, the warm-up was entirely out of hand. With a perfect 75 F (23 C) and a light breeze out of the southwest, I knew it was going to be fast, but I wasn’t quite ready for this. One of the guys, Craig, has two speeds: complete stop and “all go, no slow”. We turned in a 20-mph warm-up – 7 miles in 21 minutes, flat. Who does a warm-up at 20-mph? Oddly, that unnecessarily fast warm-up felt quite good…
We let the A Group, which was substantially larger than the B Group, go and get a minute on us before we rolled out of the parking lot. We were slowed by a car coming up the road that was just enough to keep the group together out of the gate which meant a measured acceleration to cruising speed. I was second bike back and ended up with the first tailwind pull, a mile-and-a-quarter up the road. The pace had been expertly wound up to 22-mph and we took it from there. A quick stop at an intersection for traffic to clear and we rolled out – and found someone had dropped their water bottle on the other side of the road. Jason stopped to pick it up and we waited for him, crushing our average (it dropped from 22 down to 20), but that’s kind of how we roll.
Somehow, I ended up at the front again, so I took another mile. I felt quite good, but I had it in the back of my mind that I could have just screwed myself taking that much time at the front.
The next 23 miles were some of the smoothest, most enjoyable miles I’d ever ridden on a Tuesday Night. Into the headwind down the notorious Shipman Road, crosswind, hills, cross-tailwind – it didn’t matter. Everyone lined up right and we all did our share to get the group up the road. We made it through the hills with the group intact, all but one, who was only fifteen seconds behind. We waited and collected him for the big push home.
The tandem and Joe took us up the hill to the descent into Vernon. Clarke and I were second bike and as we crested that climb, he and I took control of the pace and dropped the hammer. We took the pace from 20-mph at the crest of the hill and slowly built it to 32 (52 km/h). I held on up there as long as I could before my power started dropping and flicked off. I latched on at the back and watched as a small group went up the road for the City Limits sprint.
Until this year, I’d tried to position myself to be in the sprint every week. This year, however, I decided I’d concentrate more on the lead-out and give everyone else a crack at the sprints. I’ve found I like the lead-out almost as much as the sprint.
From that point we had about 7-1/2 miles to go and it was right back to smooth and steady – a perfect rotation at the front (other than one minor misstep by a new kid who just started riding with us last week). The southerly breeze had dropped to a point we were barely stacking against it in the draft. We kept our pace between 23 & 26-mph (37 & 42 km/h), pushing down the road like a finely-tuned machine.
I was third bike, behind the tandem, with a mile to go. The guy up front flicked off and Mike and Diane took over. They started cranking it up with just seven tenths to the finish and I was right on their wheel, down in the drops to stay in their draft. 26-mph, 27… 28 started creeping to 29.
I was in perfect position to launch off the front if they just held out, but with less than a drag race to go they petered out and started bleeding speed. Jason came by just in the nick of time and I went from the tandem’s wheel to Jason’s as he cleared my front wheel. 29-mph… 30… I thought about simply hanging on and giving him the sign, but just for a split-second. In the drops, butt planted on my saddle, I hit the gas and worked around Jason. 32-mph… 33… I was pushing with everything I had to hold him off – the City Limits sign just ahead. Pulling on the bars to leverage against my driving legs I crossed the line first, half a bike ahead of Jason.
I stopped my Garmin and uploaded the ride before starting another for the mile-long cooldown. It was all smiles and fist-bumps as we heading to the church parking lot to pack up and roll home. We came around the final corner to this:
That’s about a wrap on our season. We don’t have much time left and we’ll be knocking the time back by 15 minutes next week so we have enough daylight to finish. Only five or six more Tuesdays until the night ride that’ll signify the end of the year.
We just found out the other day, one of the guys we ride with regularly on Sunday Funday has COVID – the first in our close-knit gaggle. He’s not a fortunate asymptomatic, but he’s nowhere near a hospital, either. More on that in a later post. So far his tandem partner is safe, too – it appears as though she didn’t catch it, even riding with him on the tandem. Fingers crossed.
The Perils of Cycling: No, Kid, They’re Not Underwear. They’re Shorts.
I arrived home from the office to a perfect evening. A gentle breeze and temp in the low 70’s (22 C). I readied the Venge for duty.
I called Chuck at 4:20 to make sure he’d left work. I didn’t realize the irony until I wrote that… Bad news, he hadn’t left yet. I dressed and rolled early. I was out the door and rolling before 4:40 and I had some time – almost two hours before supper. My goal was to roll into the driveway close to 6:30 – it was roast beef night, and I’d choose roast beef, roasted veggies, mashed potatoes and gravy over cake – of any variety. It’s my absolute favorite dinner – even above pizza.
I rolled almost as soon as the tires hit the driveway, heading north, thankful to be back in short-sleeves and bibs over the leg warmers, arm warmers, jacket, tights and toe covers required over the weekend. We’ve got a bit of a warming trend over the next week until we drop down into the unseasonable cold again so I’ll take it while I can get it.
Within I mile I had to pull back on the reigns a little bit. I was going out way too fast. Tonight’s weather is going to be perfect for a fast TNIL and I was absolutely saving the good legs for that. I don’t ride many solo miles anymore so it ended up being a bit of a treat just cruising around the loop alone.
On the way home I was cruising down a small hill in a residential subdivision about 25-ish-mph and I saw a little boy out of the corner of my eye as I rode by and I heard him say, “Hi” after I was already by him. I almost kept going but I heard this still, small voice in the back of my head that said, “Go back and say hello to the kid, he could use it”. I fought against it for a second, but for those who are lucky enough to be touched like that, I just don’t like fighting it and I didn’t want to end up being a douche in that kid’s eyes, anyway. I whipped around and headed back to say hello.
He was still in the driveway and almost ran his bike into mine as he rolled out of the driveway. I said hello and nodded at his mom in the window. He asked about my computer and how it reads speed and then dropped the question, “Are you wearing underwear”. I think he was maybe five or six. “No, I explained, they’re special shorts with padding in them so I can ride for hours”. His sister strode over. He looked at her, pointed at me and said, “He’s wearing underwear”.
Dammit.
I said my good bye’s and took off for home with a smile stretched across my face. Gotta love kids, man.
I put in a few bonus miles and rolled into the driveway with an easy 18-mph average. I showered up and dinner was ready shortly after I was dressed. I fell asleep early last night and slept like a baby. Good times.
It’s Time to Stop the Madness: Politics Is Not the Root Of Your Anger, OR Worth Your Happiness
Folks, I just heard about a story about some left-wing zealot who, because his father put a Trump sign up in his yard, decided he should stop visiting and go one step further in not allowing his father and mother to see their grandchildren.
Friends, enough. This is politics. Chuck Shumer and Nancy Pelosi don’t believe in the arguments they use to grapple for power any more than Cocaine Mitch or Ted Cruz do.
Republicans passed on Merrick Garland because they hoped they could get a better candidate through if Trump won (I didn’t like the gamble at the time, personally, because I thought Hillary was going to win). Democrats didn’t mind this either, as everyone was sure Hillary Clinton would win. Oh, sure, they put up a fight against the Biden Rule. Now, ironically, those who fought using the Biden Rule are now espousing its virtue, and conversely, those once pointing out it’s origin are now, humorously enough, saying that they can see the error in what they did, so let’s get Trump’s new candidate through, using Democratic rules changed by Harry Reid.
The point is, politicians simply try to put forward the argument that suits their situation. They have no morals other than to get their agenda through (Lisa Murkowski, Susan Collins, Joe Manchin and maybe one other Democrat excepted in the Senate). Republicans control the Senate and the Presidency. The Biden Rule gets shelved. If Democrats controlled the Senate, I guarantee you they’d invoke the rule. But they don’t. And the reason they’re incensed is because Harry Reid changed the Senate rules to try to stack the court so that only a majority vote is needed to advance and confirm an appointment. Now, you can hate the game, but hating people because of politicians is plain old wrong.
We must remember that the oldest profession in history is the prostitute. The second is politician, and the second isn’t much better than the first – they both operate similarly.
Love one another, no matter what.
My wife and I are living proof a Republican can love a Democrat and vice-versa. We simply don’t talk about politics. Ever.
F*** the politicians. Let them deal with the bed they’ve made. We’ll have to deal with the one we have, and that’s enough.
Just a thought. I reserve the right to be right. Or wrong.
The Noob’s Guide to Cycling in the Cold: Part One – The Overview to What You’ll Need
We’d gone from sunny, short sleeve and bibs weather to sunny and digging out the winter cycling clothes in a few short days – less than a week. A 40° drop in temperature is quite a shock on a bicycle inside a week. The muscles simply don’t work the same, cold.
Getting the clothing right for such cycling adventures has always been difficult for me. There’s a razor-thin difference between too cold and too warm, which leads to sweating – and back to being too cold, eventually.
The first couple of weeks of cold weather cycling are always the worst for me because I tend to go too far because I HATE riding whilst cold. I don’t hate riding in the cold, just being cold doing it.
Here’s what I can’t do without when cycling when the temps dip below 55° (12 C).
50 – 60 F (10 to 14 C): Knee warmers, arm warmers, cycling cap, maybe some light wool socks, either light full finger or normal cycling gloves depending on whether or not the temp will be rising.
40 – 50 F (4 to 10 C): Leg warmers, a thin pair of tights over leg warmers and bibs (especially for the lower end of that scale), arm warmers, full finger cold weather gloves, ear muffs (because they can be removed when the temp rises above 50 and easily wrapped around an upper arm for storage), wool socks, toe covers, cycling cap. Finally, I found a pro quality cycling jacket and vest at a swap meet two February’s ago that I can’t live without in the cold. They were insanely expensive new, but I paid $40 or $50 for both. Having experienced “the good stuff”, I can’t live without it in the cold anymore. For the upper end, I’ll wear the vest. Lower end is the jacket. I love Degrees wrap around ear muffs. They allow you to hear while keeping your ears warm. I also love neck gaiters for anything below 45° – a cold neck can wreck a ride.
30 to 40 F (-1 to 4 C): Now we’re getting into gravel bike temps. I start layering for the 30’s. One or two layers beneath the pro jacket, maybe a base layer, jersey, arm warmers, jacket… something like that. I graduate to a full cap under my helmet and some winter gloves. Again, with the neck gaiter (a necessity). The tights are upgraded to a fleece-lined set made for the cold. I also jump from toe covers to full foot covers. At the low end of that spectrum and below, I’ve got a Specialized fleece-lined high-tech jacket I’ve worn for years. It blocks the cold well but doesn’t allow much vapor to escape.
20° and below (-6 C): That’s why I have an indoor trainer (CycleOps Magneto). My desire to ride outside goes out the window. I could, but don’t, use Zwift. I’m happier with a movie, riding next to my wife in the living room.
The one simple rule I always live by is this: You can take it off but you can’t put it on if you don’t have it.
What I’ve Learned Over the Last 70,000 Miles on a Bicycle
Friends, I passed the 70,000 mark on a bicycle Tuesday. It wasn’t exactly a fanfare moment, I just realized it this morning, but it tugs at my pride string a little bit – 70,139.
Two weeks ago I noticed the shifting wasn’t quite right on our tandem. The front’s always been a pain in the rump but I’d gotten it dialed in. The rear shifting was troublesome, though, so I took to doing some investigating. The rear cable guide had busted on the front cable side so the cable was binding in the plastic guide… that was why the front derailleur was so hard to dial in. I picked up a new one at the shop and installed it last weekend. While detaching the cables to install them through the new cable guide I found the ends had been frayed on the original install – cause for concern. I also found a kink in the rear derailleur cable, and that’s why dialing in the rear shifter was so finicky. I picked up new cables at the shop Friday and installed them yesterday afternoon after cutting the grass and before dinner. The process, from start to tidying up the bar tape and cockpit, to dialing in the derailleur and trimming off the excess cable, took an hour. The bike shifts better and looks better than when I brought it home from the shop, new.
We brought a new guy into our group yesterday. He’s got an S-Works Roubaix from 2014 or 2015 (SRAM Red… it’s quite nice) but has never ridden in a group before. We coached him into shape over 75 miles yesterday, taking turns explaining how group mechanics work and such. I took my toy home after 62, though – I’d run out of gas, entirely (I ended up with 68 – Chucker brought the new guy home). The temp took a nosedive over the last few days – it was freezing when we started and I’d forgotten how much all that cold weather gear takes out of you. We’ve gone from shorts and short sleeves to full winter regalia in a week. We had a small group yesterday, so the ride was a lot of fun. Most everyone else (smartly) waited until the abundant sunshine warmed everything up a bit before heading out. Really, it wasn’t that bad for us, though. I quite enjoyed the cool start, though I was questioning my sanity over the first mile or two.
The last nine years on a bicycle have been life altering – for my marriage, my fitness, my recovery, my relationship with my kids, and my career. For my sanity.
Just shy of 7,400 miles a year, average, cycling has given me a lot to celebrate. Great friends, fantastic memories, good laughs… good times. And toys!!! Oh my, the toys!
In the end, friends, life in recovery is all about the good times and noodle salad… and cycling continues to give me my fill of both.
Fit Recovery 