Memorial Weekend Power File

 

Over the Memorial Day weekend I got three rides in- one went well, one went poorly and another went OK.  

That Saturday I took the RSL out for its second ride with the intention of  getting in 2.5-3 hours at tempo pace.  Every trail system was either under water or completely swamped, so I did an extended dirt road warm up and headed for the usual wet weather refuge- Cotton Brook.  The trails at Cotton Brook are really the old roads that serviced the houses on Ricker Mountain before the Waterbury Reservoir was put in during the 1930's.  The gravel surface sheds water well and is rideable when other places aren't.  There are still some homesites, cellar holes and old farm tractors rusting in the woods.  

After about 40 minutes the skies opened up and my new RSL and I got soaked to the bone.  My spirits were slightly dampened, but as I waited for the torrent to subside the thunder rolled in, and that was the end of my day.  Fortunately I was near the car.

Sunday I spent the day at a Memorial Day parade- one of the smallest I've ever seen, and hung out under a large tent trying to avoid the sun, heat, cold beer and hot dogs.  I didn't have any beer (which was hard), I spent most of the day under the tent but still got a sunburn on my neckline.  Eventually I gave in and ate a hot dog.  I do love my junk meat.  

At around 5:00 PM it was still over 80 degrees when I left for my ride.  I really hadn't had a break from the heat since mid-morning when I stuck my head into the ice bin at the convenience store as I pretended to deliberate about whether chipped or cubed ice would be more appropriate for my afternoon adventures.  

My legs felt stiff and weak, and as I turned the pedals I felt like I had borrowed someone else's body for the day.  Normally I can handle the heat, but in late May I was not ready for it and I suffered over the steep undulating roads of Addison County to the top of Brandon Gap.  I refer to Route 73 as the Orwell Ardennes because the short, steep roads wind their way through wind-swept farmland, much like I expect Belgium to be.  The overall vertical gain is minimal, but a race on these roads would absolutely shred the peloton.  

When I got back to the house I was a mess, and my mother-in-law encouraged me to jump in the pond to cool off.  After minimal deliberation, I jumped in still wearing my bib shorts, though I lowered the shoulder straps.

Then came Monday, and somehow the original plan to ride 85 miles home seemed completely overwhelming even after two Red Bulls.  Two hours later I had planned out a route and started the task of getting ready.  Bottles were filled, chamois were put on and sunscreen was slathered.  

After two sub-par days in the saddle, this proved to be the best ride of the weekend.  I took a more circuitous but less hilly route to start, then worked my way down through Brandon towards West Rutland on some of the most amazing roads I've ever ridden.  Minimal traffic is common for Vermont, but pristine pavement isn't, and I had found both.  The miles ticked by as I spun past farms, homesteads and the occasional trailer park.  

About halfway through the ride- at the furthest point from the house- I started to lose ambition.  The pedals were turning more slowly, and my progress became arduous.  I was ready to stop riding, but had two more hours to go.  I pushed through, and was glad I did.  

You can see the power file for that ride above.  It was a good ride, even though the numbers are very uninspiring. 

 

The Plan

 

This is my 2011 season plan.  It includes the buildup to my endurance races this summer: Pat's Peak, the Dark Horse 40, Hampshire 100 and Land Mine Classic.  

Can't read it?  That's the point.  I don't want anyone knowing my semi-secret training program, I just want you to know that I have a training program.  

Saturday is going to be a mountain bike ride at tempo effort for about 2.5-3 hours.  Sunday is going to be a long steady endurance ride in the 5 hour range.  I'll be riding in some semi-familiar terrain in Southern Vermont on Sunday so that will be a nice change of scenery.  

Unfortunately my new camera won't arrive before the weekend so there won't be any photo essay ride reports just yet, but I will be riding, and I hope you will, too.

Tonight is the first Wednesday Night Worlds at Catamount of 2011.  My form has been good over the last few months, and I'm feeling pretty lean so I'm hoping that will translate into a positive result.  The first race of the season is always brutally hard, so I just need to remind myself that it's going to hurt a lot and I need to pace myself if I'm going to finish.  And the goal is to finish, then worry about results.  

Ned Overend said that if you finish a race your legs will hurt for a few days, but if you pull out your head will hurt weeks.  Simple words, but true nonetheless.  

The next step in the plan is to follow's Ned's advice, and finish tonight's race. 

Measuring Stick

 

There are many ways to measure performance.  Some are direct and quantifiable like your weight on a scale or functional threshold power, while others are more subjective like how you feel on a ride or whether or not you can get on top of the right gear.  We all use some combination of these measures to assess our condition. 

One of my key numbers is my time climbing the Bolton Valley access road.  The 4+ mile climb averages over 10% grade and has extended sections that get as steep as 17%.  In my opinion it is the toughest paved climb in the state of Vermont. 

I have a long and complicated relationship with Bolton.  As a collegiate racer I did several XC events there, and my results were never inspiring.  The courses were littered with climbs and freshly cut, root-infested, tough, slippery singletrack. 

My first attempt to ride up the access road was a tough one, and I ended up taking a very long time to get all the way to the top, grinding and standing on my 39 x 25 low gear.  Two years later I would try it again and would have a much easier time getting to the top, though I did it more for the feeling of accomplishment than for a time as I didn’t take note of how long it took.

All of that changed in 2009 when Spinney called me to go for a ride "to Bolton".  When I talk about a ride to Bolton it's usually just to the Bolton Town Hall on Route 2 and back- an easy 45 minute spin.  "Sure," I told Spinney.  "I'll go."

When we met up for the ride I realized he meant climbing to the top of the access road, not just riding to the town and tackling the roughly 200 feet of vertical gain over 14 miles.  No, we were going all the way to the top, all 4 miles and all 1700 vertical feet. 

I plodded, tacked, and pried the pedals for almost an hour getting to the top, but I got there without stopping.  It was a turning point- I knew I could do it, and I knew if I had lower gearing I could go faster.

Over the course of that summer I made several more attempts on the climb and set a new personal record almost 15 minutes faster than the ascent earlier in the spring.  Over the course of 2010 I continued to make regular efforts and set a new PR in August that was 90 seconds faster than my previous best.

Yesterday I tried again.   I had already climbed it once several weeks ago when the snow was still melting off and with a 12 x 25 cassette.  It went reasonably well as I established my second-best ever time, a remarkably good sign for April.

On Wednesday I'd done a short, hard ride where I rode home into the wind to avoid and oncoming thunder storm.  I was only out for 90 minutes, but the intense wind and desire to stay as dry as possible made it a modest effort.  With some sense of fatigue I swapped out my cassette for the hill smashing 11 x 26 and headed out.

I didn’t feel great, but I didn’t think I was going to explode  either.  It was hot- over 80 degrees at the start, and much warmer than I was accustomed to.  At a deliberate pace I made my way up the climb and stayed seated as much as possible, standing only when necessary. 

The result of my effort was a new second-best time, although I prefer to view it as my new early season record.  Next month I'll try it again, and I won't burn so many matches the day before. 

The Message

 Last fall, I decided that I was going to make the effort to get my elite racing license.  On paper, I race in one category below the elite riders.  Although it seems like a small step, in reality it's a huge difference.

After I made the decision, I  told a handful of friends and family members about it.  Everyone was supportive and enthusiastic, but I think few people really knew how hard it would be.  I'm not even sure that I knew myself. 

One of my friends who did know was John.  In college he put a massive amount of energy into his racing career, first on the mountain bike, and later on the road.  Through his own mix of analysis, determination and work ethic he worked his way up through the ranks and won some big regional events. 

A few years and several new responsibilities later John is still riding, but not actively competing beyond an occasional cyclosportif.  When I visited him earlier this year there were some very obvious ironies, primarily that  John had the fitness while I had the goals.  When we rode together, John was always stronger, especially on the uphills. 

It wasn't that I was terribly out of shape, as I'd spent the winter skiing.  All things considered I felt pretty strong, but in early March I clearly didn't have much mileage under my belt, and certainly not outdoor mileage. 

During my two-week trip we did a ton of riding, roughly 300 miles with over twenty thousand feet of vertical gain.  I've posted many pictures from those rides and I'll remember them for years, but what the pictures don't show is what really happened during that trip. 

Whether knowingly or not, John pulled me along for most of those rides.  I never bailed or gave up, but I certainly didn't set the world on fire.  He'd ride ahead, and I'd push myself to keep up.  The power files reveal that the pace wasn't entirely above what I was capable of, but it was a stretch, and that was the point.  If I wanted to get faster I had to push it and ride at a pace above what I thought I could handle. 

I didn't put it all together until I'd gotten home and had a few days of rest before getting out for a ride on familiar roads.  More than anything else I felt fast, and I felt purposeful. 

The feeling of being "in form" is hard to articulate to non-cyclists, but it's basically  the difference between having everything go right compared to feeling like you can't get out of your own way.  You don't feel invincible, and you don't even necessarily ride that much faster than normal, but inside your head there's the incredible feeling that things have fallen into place and you're being rewarded for all of your hard work. 

This past Thursday I did one of my normal mid-week training loops.  My original intent was to do the loop at a reasonable pace and make it home before dark.  As the miles slipped by I realized that at I was flying along while staying within my predetermined pace and within striking distance of my PR for the loop. 

By my calculations I took over a minute off of the mark I'd made six years ago when I was arguably in the best shape of my life.  I've had other good days on the bike and have set other benchmarks, but when I think back on that ride it always seems like it was a fluke.  One hour and twenty-seven minutes were possible for a mostly flat 28-mile loop, and it meant an average speed over 19 miles an hour, solo, on a standard road bike with no aero equipment.  That's not Herculean, nor barely average for any self-respecting middle category road racer.  For me it's a big deal, and a step in the right direction as I slowly prepare to compete this spring. 

Although I didn’t realize it at the time, John's message was clear--you can do this, but you need to work and you need to push yourself.  All at once it was encouraging and supportive, but delivered with an honesty that I'd shielded myself from when I looked in the mirror.  More than anything else, it was what I needed, and it's not something I will soon forget. 

Mistral, The Wisdom of an Old Adage and a Case for a Power Meter

There are several tenets of old school, Euro-centric cycling culture, one of which is to start your rides into the the wind.  The reasoning for doing that is pretty simple- you work harder going into the wind, then when you turn around you've got it at your back for your trip home. 

The concept is by no means absolute, but it is something I keep in mind when planning routes.  It's not always possible, but there's nothing more soul crushing than fighting a nasty headwind at the end of a long ride.  

Today was one of the windiest rides I've done in recent memory, and the Powertap really earned its keep by
keeping my self esteem intact while pushing into a brutal headwind.  At my normal 220 watt pace, I cruise along at 18-20 on flat-to-rolling terrain when the wind isn't a factor, but today I was grinding along the flats in the small ring struggling to go 14.  Fortunately I knew how hard I was working relative to my miserable forward progress, and I was able to visualize how blazing fast I'd be once I turned around.

You can see on this graph the power output is pretty consistent, but the speed is very low for the first half.  While there are some rolling hills the first 16 miles are basically flat so that's all due to wind resistance.  The section within the green lines is a little more rolling but also more sheltered and ran across the prevailing wind rather than straight into it.  The last section between the yellow lines is the last part where the wind was directly behind me.

The trade winds that blow through Toulon are called the Mistral.  I don't think there's a formal name for the "Duxbury Breeze" that I battled today, so in the spirit of misappropriating other cultures I'm going to call the westerly winds from Williston through the Route 2 corridor the Mistral.

Nobody here will know the difference.

Marseille Cyclosportif Route

There really isn't a formal name for the route that John, Honza and I did yesterday.  It's a variation on a cyclosportif ride/race John did outside of Marseille last summer.  Total distance was just over 70 miles, but with 6 major climbs and about 7000 vertical feet. 

I'm calling this ride the Baconator, because it's is to a climbing route what the Baconator is to hamburgers.  If you're going to be critical of my paltry power output keep in mind I did Col de la Madone the day before as part of a 50 mile loop. 

Col de la Madone

Rising above the principality of Monaco is the climb up the Col de la Madone.  Most Americans will recognize it as the namesake of Trek's flagship road bike for the last ten years.  Madone has never been used in the Tour de France or Paris Nice and is only known because Lance used it as a training ride when he lived in Nice.

We climbed basically from sea level to about 900 vertical meters within a few short miles.  The grade is consistent and remarkably not terribly steep.  It's hard to compare the European climbs I've done to anything in Vermont- they're much less steep but far longer; there weren't any sections that were nearly as steep as Bolton or the summit of App Gap from the Bristol side.

I run a compact 34/50 up front, and normally I use an 11-23 for most riding and switch to a cassette with a 25 or 26 for steep sections.  I only had room in my bag for one cassette for this trip so I went for the do-it-all 11-26 Red Powerdome cassette and was really glad I did.  I spent a lot of time in the 26 today, but I never felt like I wanted anything lower (unlike Bolton).

John stumbled upon a blog from a French guy using the Moon Rider handle.  He's running a 34/28 low gear and I officially apologized today for ever giving him any shit for pushing such a low ratio.

Here's the power file from just the Col de la Madone.  Pictures to follow.

Ride Details

The Mediterranean

Today was a 100 mile, 3 Col day around Toulon, Grimaud and St Tropez.  This picture was taken overlooking Grimaud.  French President Nicola Sarkozy's chateau on the Mediterranean is a small point that sticks out into the water outside the frame of the picture. 

I didn't notice it at the time, but the Grass Moots team jersey is pretty close to Mediterranean blue.  

Here I am with our Swedish friend Matthias.  We're debating whether it's better to pull in nose first versus backing into parking spots.

Here's my power profile.  I was pretty much pinned the whole time, and had to really turn myself inside out to make it all 100 miles.

Whole. Lot. Of Nothing.

We stopped around mile 80 for a baguette and a Coke.  I inhaled both.

Toulon, Ride #3

Today the plan was to do a short ride to preview the first climb in tomorrow's long ride.  Long and short are relative considering this is my fourth ride outside this season.

This is the view from John's balcony.  The RC Toulon Rugby stadium is in the center of the frame.  Note the stuffed tiger and Lay-oh-pard (that's for you, Andy Schleck) in the window on the right.  Not sure what's going on there.

We headed out with Matthias, a Swede who's working on a doctoral program in town.

Matthias on the left in the green kit, John on the right on the Hinacapie development kit.  John's asking Matthias what he prefers for his post-ride Aperitive.  

This was pretty much my day- riding behind two skinny guys trying not to get dropped.

Tourists.

Alright, I took a picture of it, too.

Somehow after feeling like I turned myself inside out for 5 hours I still have little to show for it on the power tap.

What's so interesting about that?  Nothing, other than almost 3,000 kilojoules of work, which for March is unheard of for me.  Normally this time of year I'm skiing, riding the rollers as much as I can stand and trying to avoid Carrie's chocolate chip cookie dough stashed in the fridge.  That's usually all on the same day.

2010 Season Analysis: Power Output Part 2

The downside of ending your season on a low point is the lingering aftertaste of a poor performance. I won't race my mountain bike again until May, and that's six months away, so I have six months to let the memories of a poor last race rattle around in my head.

I've defined mountain bike racing as my primary goal, and my mountain bike results this year were pretty good. When I look at my season like that I feel like Al Franken's Stuart Smalley character from Saturday Night Live with his empty self-important affirmations like "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me!"

In previous posts I've mentioned my Powertap and there's no question that it's been a huge asset for me and has helped me improve over the last two seasons. The downside of having it on the road bike is that I get an incomplete picture of my summer fitness because 40-60% of my rides, most of my hard efforts and all of my races are on the mountain bike.

Looking back, I think my ride on September 11, ironically enough, was one of my best of the season. I stormed up the climb to Trapps and felt like I was flying. My plan was to race that weekend, but a mild concussion and a severely bruised nose earlier in the week derailed my plans. If I had made it out to the race I would have had incredible form, but that's still not a guarantee of performance since any number of external factors can keep an athlete from performing up to their potential on a given day.

Here's a look at my power graph for that day. You can see that I set a new record for 10 minute power which was recorded on the ascent of Trapp Hill Road.

When I compare those numbers to my earlier post you can see that my short term power output was way lower in November than it was in September. Considering that 'cross is all about short term power it's really no surprise that my results started to slide as well. This is only a piece of the puzzle, but it's interesting to note the difference in some fitness indicators before two very different performances. The 10 minute power output from that ride is also from the ascent of Trapp Hill Road and it's pretty far from my best.