I'm trying to get back on a better sleep schedule before the race this weekend. My preferred method is a glass (or three) of wine around 10:30 or 11, aiming for a gentle passout before 12. Tomorrow I'll be showing mom and dad one of my favorite training rides. They've made the trip to Spain to rack up the tourist points, enjoy the sun, and catch a glimpse of all this racing business.
Last week I jumped in the rent-a-car with mom and her travel buddy Charlotte Richardson to visit the Alhambra in Granada. This extravagant palace was built about 800 years ago by Islamic people as their reign in Spain was fading. The place is awesome: the walls have really cool Escher-like tilings, the ceilings are mind-blowing, and Arabic calligraphy is carved into many of sandstone walls. The gardens were great too, with peaceful water features.
I imagined Samsonite saying, "Yeah, I could live at this house. I bet I could throw a rad party here. I'd put the keg right next to that archway, and the wet t-shirt contest would be right next to that fountain, bathing suit contest in the pool, and that pray room with the mahogany ceiling? Well, that'd be the dance floor."
I have had a couple single day races the past two weekends. I was able to contribute in small ways to the team effort, but more than anything they just let me get back in the swing of race pace. In other words, you have to try and get that Jedi awareness back in the fingertips. I slid out on one corner with only 3km to go, so I've been dealing with a tiny bit of pesky road rash. Some people are born with the ability to swerve around dusty, oily city streets at 28mph, but for me I have to get used to it in bits and pieces.
The same goes with descending. On my own, I like to take my time; I don't go slow, per se, but in last weekend's race, I was quickly reminded that racing means racing. There was one long and rough descent where my hands were getting tired of clutching the levers and my arms tired of guiding the bike around corners. Those are the moments where you really have to pay attention. All useful thoughts have long since melted in the 90 degree heat. Just get to the finish line under the protection of the grupetto, as the break has already left and the fate of the race already been decided.
I confess I perform two acts of selfishness when I am in the grupetto. One: on the hills I like to try and suggest a pace just a tiny bit faster than the rest desire; it feels fine to me, and I don't like how lazy everyone's being. Karma will come to get me though when it is my turn to be the one suffering like a dog in the grupetto.
Second, I steal waterbottles. At several points throughout the 4.5 hr race, people stand alongside the road to hand us waterbottles. I hold out my hand and usually grab one from someone who looks confused about the 40 guys coming at him at 25 mph. Other times I grab one from a kind soul who is giving them out to anybody and everybody. But in either case, I muster up a grimace that easily communicates my desire for a bottle.
Sometimes that grimace comes all too easily.
Last week I jumped in the rent-a-car with mom and her travel buddy Charlotte Richardson to visit the Alhambra in Granada. This extravagant palace was built about 800 years ago by Islamic people as their reign in Spain was fading. The place is awesome: the walls have really cool Escher-like tilings, the ceilings are mind-blowing, and Arabic calligraphy is carved into many of sandstone walls. The gardens were great too, with peaceful water features.
I imagined Samsonite saying, "Yeah, I could live at this house. I bet I could throw a rad party here. I'd put the keg right next to that archway, and the wet t-shirt contest would be right next to that fountain, bathing suit contest in the pool, and that pray room with the mahogany ceiling? Well, that'd be the dance floor."
I have had a couple single day races the past two weekends. I was able to contribute in small ways to the team effort, but more than anything they just let me get back in the swing of race pace. In other words, you have to try and get that Jedi awareness back in the fingertips. I slid out on one corner with only 3km to go, so I've been dealing with a tiny bit of pesky road rash. Some people are born with the ability to swerve around dusty, oily city streets at 28mph, but for me I have to get used to it in bits and pieces.
The same goes with descending. On my own, I like to take my time; I don't go slow, per se, but in last weekend's race, I was quickly reminded that racing means racing. There was one long and rough descent where my hands were getting tired of clutching the levers and my arms tired of guiding the bike around corners. Those are the moments where you really have to pay attention. All useful thoughts have long since melted in the 90 degree heat. Just get to the finish line under the protection of the grupetto, as the break has already left and the fate of the race already been decided.
I confess I perform two acts of selfishness when I am in the grupetto. One: on the hills I like to try and suggest a pace just a tiny bit faster than the rest desire; it feels fine to me, and I don't like how lazy everyone's being. Karma will come to get me though when it is my turn to be the one suffering like a dog in the grupetto.
Second, I steal waterbottles. At several points throughout the 4.5 hr race, people stand alongside the road to hand us waterbottles. I hold out my hand and usually grab one from someone who looks confused about the 40 guys coming at him at 25 mph. Other times I grab one from a kind soul who is giving them out to anybody and everybody. But in either case, I muster up a grimace that easily communicates my desire for a bottle.
Sometimes that grimace comes all too easily.
posted by Unknown at 9:04 PM
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