Tag Archives: cycling

The Quest for the Holy Cyclist Grail

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I rode to work with a headwind today.  I rode home with one too.  That is decidedly uncool – one shouldn’t be forced to ride with a headwind in both directions.  I keep telling myself it will amount to excellent training come the change of season from windy to still windy season.  It’s not the speed of the wind that’s changed – it’s the direction relative to my own – which is suddenly causing me grief.  I’m looking forward to the days of mostly tailwind both directions.

So it was that I was heading home and thinking that I’d not had a good rabbit chase since the weather had taken a rather permanent turn to cold mornings and cool afternoons.  The less determined / smarter cyclists have parked their bikes and returned to their BMWs until the sun returns and warms things up in the spring.  The reduced volume means reduced opportunities.  It also means when the opportunities come, the object of the chase is likely to be that much more determined to drop his (or her) pursuer.  Such is the position I found myself in this evening as I tried to reel in the rider in front of me.

I spotted him as his path from downtown and my own  both turn to head north but are separated by the canal.  At this point he had the advantage as his path carries on straight and I have to cross the canal before tucking in behind him.  He had a pretty good pace going and I wasn’t sure whether I was up to the chase however being me I quickly determined that I was unable to ignore the fact that he was out front and not dropping me any further behind.  I was able to put a half-hearted and half-assed effort into playing the game.  It occurred to me more than once that he might be one of those who enjoys allowing himself to be painstakingly  reeled in and then dropping his pursuer when they finally get close.  We would see.

I managed to maintain my half-assed effort and was rewarded with half-assed results – go figure.  By the time we got to the Trans Canada, he was roughly that distance away – him under the north overpass, me under the south.  He looked back to check my position as he wove through the train gate and headed up my nemesis hill.  As I made my way through the gate it occurred to me that I was feeling pretty good though still skirting around the zone and never quite in it.

I stepped up my effort and found my lungs, which is to say I worked up a good panting – as I continued to chase him.  I’d almost dismissed the idea of catching him given my particular relationship with this hill but I kept at it if for no other reason than to knock some of this hill off.  As we reached the end of the climb he was less than 10 meters in front of me.

This was as close as I would get to him sadly.  I’d all but exhausted myself and had to watch as he slowly drifted further and further away, putting another cyclist between us.  It took me more distance than I care to note before I caught the intermediate rider and I was not over-joyed to see I’d had to expend great (non-zone) effort to catch a bearded guy riding a single-speed.  Maybe I should grow a beard.

A recent commute home had also been in a stiff headwind with some sprinkling rain here and there in less-than-warm temps if I recall.  Rather than being disappointed about it, I put my head down, my man-pants on and got to work.  I pedaled as fast as I could for as long as I could and ignored the rest of the world.  When I got home I felt fantastic and was certain I’d just laid down a solid time for the trip.  I was shocked to find it was in fact typical of my miserable headwind rides.  Genuinely.  It didn’t bother me in the least however, just left me surprised.  If you were to ask me “how was the ride home”, I’d respond “awesome!”.  Question is, how do I make every miserable headwind-plagued ride an awesome ride in the zone?

Undone by a Turkey

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Well I beat Doughnut Day and escaped without falling prey to their tasty plot.  I even went home with Adam’s Cycleops fluid trainer and rode for an hour and half.  However I drove to work Friday and as it was our office Thanksgiving celebration, I promptly gorged myself on deep-fried turkey, stuffing, a bun and a baked potato with bacon bits.  And some yams.  And dessert.  Pretty sure I had enough caloric intake to ride my 80 kilometre loop to Chestermere but I didn’t.  Ride that is.  Nooo…Instead I packed up the family and headed off to gorge myself further  on more turkey dinner  visit my parents.

Friday night came and went without too much untoward culinary scarfing.  My dad had BBQ’d up some fantastic chicken breasts some chicken breasts in the fridge so Trace cooked them up and we had some super-tasty chicken-breast sandwiches for supper.  Saturday was spent grazing primarily on my staple toast-with-peanut-butter and anything else that couldn’t escape my grasp in time like the box of Junior Mints, the Three Muskateers bar, ice cream, frozen yogurt and yet another birthday cupcake.  I now had enough food packed away to ride the 120 kilometre trip home.

Sunday was of course Thanksgiving, held at my aunt’s place for the first time in a few years.  She is a notoriously, unbelievably excellent cook.  The dishes are prepared perfectly and are all, without exception, mouth-watering.  The usuals  – turkey cooked to perfection, fluffy mashed potatoes, melt-in-your-mouth buns, perfect stuffing and gravy from heaven – and the family staples – a strawberry-and-goat-cheese salad, turnips prepared with butter and brown sugar, yam prepared with goat cheese and I-don’t-know-what-else-but-wow-it’s-good, beets, artichoke hearts, pineapple salad, homemade cranberry sauce and…more.  There was so much fantastic food I can’t even remember it all.  I ate some of everything and went back for seconds.  I suffered a massive bout of self-induced turkelepsy.

After all the leftovers were packed away and the dishes done – which is no small feat for 13 people, though I had no part in the clean-up shamefully – we had dessert.  Two kinds of pie – pumpkin and peach, topped with real whipped cream.  As one who is lactose-intolerant and generally avoids cow-based dairy of all types, I slid the whipped cream off and spread it on the kid’s pie.  No.  No I didn’t.  I took that quarter-pie piece of peach pie topped with homemade whipped cream and what did I do?  I put it in my piehole.  All of it.  However when I was offered an equally over-sized piece of pumpkin pie piled high with more homemade whipped cream, I turned it down.  No…that’s a lie.  It chased the peach pie down the piehole and tried calling for reinforcements.  I do believe of the 5 definitions St. Thomas Aquinas used defining gluttony, I hit 4 right out of the park, the lone hold-out being the inappropriate time (when is it an inappropriate time to eat food one might ask).

I capped this weekend orgy of food off this morning with not one but two of my aunt’s absolutely stellar cinnamon buns.  No other cinnamon bun comes even remotely close to delivering the sheer pleasure that these carry.  They’re so good I’m not sure I feel guilty.  However…  I hopped back on the trainer after arriving home this afternoon and couldn’t avoid noticing the extra padding I’d developed.  While trying to recover from the interval sprints I’d been riding, I was laid out across the bike, my forearms resting across the bars, head hanging gasping for air while I pedaled feebly and tried not to puke continued a more relaxed pace and speed.  This position nicely amplified the smack smack smack smack of my sweaty thighs meeting my sweaty belly with each pedal stroke.  Or maybe that was my heart trying to pump the weekend’s adventure through my system.  Either way, I’m pretty sure I have enough energy stores to do the Chestermere loop and the Red Deer loop now.  In succession.

Ah well.  It looks like a week of cold but otherwise excellent commuting weather ahead of me so perhaps the trainer and I will spend some evenings together to address some of this excess.  Or not.

An Indulgence in Self-Pity

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During this week of miserably cold mornings and progressively warmer afternoons, I had a chance to ride in a multitude of differing weather conditions from genuinely freezing to unseasonably hot.  Such is the weather in Calgary that this can occur within the same day.  As such, I’ve had opportunity to compare and contrast my different riding gear outfits.  I say outfits like I have a plethora of selection and choice when only recently I pointed out that I’ve acquired the bare minimum to go cycling every day.

I now have 2 sport shirts ostensibly made with some super technology that allow me to sweat comfortably, never be damp and never smell.  I have no problem sweating in these shirts though I’ve never had a problem sweating in any other shirt so I’m not sure what the benefit was supposed to be.  The instant I stop moving, two things happen: the evaporative action of the breeze is gone so instead of being mildly sweaty, I look like I’ve just walked out of the shower; this is quickly followed by a general cooling from no longer trying to propel my fat self through the air, which is greatly aided by the yards of now-wet fabric, wicking away all the heat in my body.  Which is a long way of saying they lied – my shirt is damp.  My co-workers have assured me they lied about not smelling as well.  Still, I have 2 shirts which is more than I had 6 months ago.

For Christmas last year, my mother-in-law gave me a fantastic MEC long-sleeve zippered T, designed to be a base layer.  Unfortunately the slim fit design rendered it virtually impossible for any use in public where I might retain some sense of dignity.  It’s like she knew what was coming though as today it fits perfectly, even a little loose.  I’ve worn it as a base layer and also as a mid layer over the not-very-smart fabric t-shirt and my purple MEC shell.  It is fantastic.

I’ve spent the entire summer riding in my Levi cargo shorts, at first in normal underwear (and once commando which I strongly, strongly advise against) before graduating to cycling-specific, chamois-equipped underwear.  Also from MEC.  These lend themselves to riding in almost any sort of below-the-waist garment though I’ve not yet tried them with a kilt.  Perhaps next year.

Best Wife rewarded my moaning about frozen knees with a pair of stretchy pants, properly called cycling tights but I just can’t bring myself to say to anyone ”no, it’s not cold when I wear my tights” so stretchy pants they are.  They are fuzzy-lined (technical term), wind-proof from the front, breathable in the back and slippery.   These are also from MEC.  As is my bike (though I bought it at a pawn shop).  I’m starting to feel like a MEC shill.

In the course of the past week, I’ve used all of the above in addition to my Running Room (hey – they’re not MEC!) 2-layer winter running socks and generic pseudo-leather winter gloves.  Friday was the culmination of all of this – a cool morning departure with all 3 top layers, the chamois-shorts and stretchy pants and leather gloves and the omnipresent headwind.  In all fairness, I’m not certain there’s been a headwind every ride or even every morning however the density of the cold air makes it feel that way (rough calculation of the difference for power at the same speed between the hot and cold days is 6-7%, equivalent to a 2% grade).  Friday’s forecast called for +26°C and I couldn’t help checking the 3 flags at the end of the hall at every opportunity.  The limp and lifeless flags promised a windless afternoon.  I was looking forward to a smoking ride home.

I’d brought my cargos to replace the tights as Thursday’s adventure showed even 18°C to be too hot for them – 26°C would surely fry me.  Despite an overwhelming desire to bail out early on such a nice Friday afternoon I was still at the office after 5 when I heard the outside buzzer ring.  I ignored it at first but after several minutes finally relented thinking perhaps one of the guys had locked himself out.  Such was not the case and I immediately regretted opening the door.  The courier was apologetic about being late but was finally here to pick up a large shipment – long after our shipping department and staff had called it a day.  We messed around to sort things out and finally got the truck loaded and on it’s way.  I grabbed my gear to get changed for the ride home when what to my wandering eye did appear?    Angry, angry, billowing flags.  I’d been rewarded with a headwind for my troubles.

I slipped into my not-very-smart fabric shirt and chamois shorts and pulled the cargos over top, pushing the rest of the riding gear, lunch kit and dirty laundry into a now very-stuffed pack.  I was no longer excited about the ride home and after wheeling around the corner and getting the headwind full-on, I momentarily debated the call of shame, such was the level of my disappointment.  My energy level was coincident with my disappointment.

I slogged on thinking about how miserable it all was, how I’d been cheated out of a brilliant ride home and how I was sick to death of fighting the wind every ride.  Reality eventually prevailed and I thought about how lucky I was to be able to ride to work every day, to be able to ride at all, to have a great wife who supports my weekend disappearances with the bike, and kids who have expressed an desire to join me.  Really, I have nothing to complain about.

Once I’d sorted myself out, I had time to take in the ride and the very first thing I noticed?  My cargo shorts.  While they have indeed been a decent entry point for cycling, I believe I will, as I suggested Thursday, join the ranks of the lycra-shorted cyclists come summer.    The riding experience of the chamois shorts & stretchy pants combo is splediferous, in such subtle-yet-significant ways.  The back-to-back comparison Friday – as I’d not ridden with both stretchy pants and cargos the same day – showed there just might be something to all that cycling lycra besides sheep-like behaviour afterall.

I spent the remainder of the ride finding solace in the suffering but my knees are starting to disagree with me.  They’ve been aching more than normal lately and I’m not sure if it’s age, recent temperatures, bike setup or a combination of the above.  I do know it concerns me.