A Delightful Giro and Living at the Edge of Anaerobic Oblivion

Sunday's Giro was well attended, perhaps because of the spectacular weather or maybe as a consequence of certain people taking Saturday off due to excessive celebration of the Bashful Artist entering his sixth decade of existence. The pace was fast but not excessively so, although the Far-flung might take issue with that fact as his spotty training regimen in the canyons of the Wasatch Mountains left him alone on the Chef Hwy going out and touring Eastover CC coming home.

Giro heading west on Chef - Oct. 25, 2014

Fortunately, I stayed comfortably with the group for the entire ride, which marks a sort of milestone for me:  the completion of a Giro in my 63rd year. So the pressure's off until next October 16th. I'm just not certain how much longer, even employing my rigorous cycling training of late of maybe one Tue/Thur ride a week and about half of the Sunday Giros, I will be able to ride with this group.

Proceed with Caution? Right.

A case in point is this morning's ride. Being constantly at or near the absolute limit of effort on Lakeshore Dr. in complete darkness is harrowing and there is a sort of balancing of that stress against the considerable pleasure of riding with a group and getting a great workout. I was at the edge of anaerobic oblivion the entire time along Lakeshore and began to wonder when the stress and pain might overwhelm any pleasure derived.  But I made it to West End and onto the path in Bucktown. Several riders were shed along the way never to be seen again, and the Bashful Artist was seen to be looking back toward the east and wondering aloud what had become of his protégé, Steve Tom.

My unease was exacerbated by my free hub squealing like a dying hog every time I free-wheeled while going faster than 25 mph. In bicycle years, my Ksyriums are older than even me but the free hub performed flawlessly for more than ten years, until this problem was encountered about six months ago when I (actually Big Rich) serviced it. Now the problem has apparently returned after only a short respite.

The pace didn't seem to slow in Jefferson Parish, and the group was strung out and accelerating coming off of the bridge across the first canal west of Causeway. There was way too much go-go in the yo-yo, and I killed myself as the back half of the line was racing to make up the gaps caused by the severe turns at the bridge. At Clearview I had something of an epiphany, suddenly realizing that I could just quit pedaling, sit up, begin again to intake sufficient oxygen to sustain life, and ride back to town alone at a comfortable pace. So that's what I did, stopping once to record that beautiful light of the approaching sunrise and observe about 80 or so dabbling ducks in the pond at the end of Lake Villa.

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Birthday Beatdown

As I was preparing to leave my house at 5:35 this morning to ride, I couldn't shake a certain apprehensiveness which had been in the back of my mind since I got out of bed. Several factors were contributing to my uneasiness: 1) I had been up since 2:47, so I was operating on about 4 1/2 hours of sleep, 2) I felt an entire year older when I awoke, this new day marking my survival for 62 years, 3) I had been troubled for about three days with a dull ache in the medial aspect of my left knee of uncertain etiology, and 4) I had been watching the magnolia trees in my yard getting pummeled by the wind for two solid days, and I was not entirely convinced that the National Weather Service wasn't just screwing with me when reporting calm winds at KMSY and only the faintest of breezes from the SW at KNEW.

Approaching Williams Blvd. and the Casino

 I arrived at the meeting place first. Actually I got there second, but Brian B (not MD), always being a little on the antsy side, finds it somewhat difficult, I think, to sit on the corner waiting for others and usually does a loop on Nashville from Claiborne to Fountainbleau. I passed him as he was heading back toward Claiborne. Most of the usual suspects showed up. Dragging in last, as expected, was Big Rich. He was tardy enough so that he couldn't use his normal, lame "satellite time" argument and tried to float a scenario where he departed the Pearl in plenty of time but realized while he was passing Audubon Park that he didn't have his helmet on.

When we arrived at West End, only a few riders from Jefferson Parish were rolling east. Notably absent were HL (briefly from JP post-Katrina) and Woody. A birthday present, I thought. But as we neared Elysian Fields, I saw a rider up ahead making a uey in the dark to integrate with the group and it was obviously HL. On a time trial bike. Happy birthday. As we climbed the levee for the last time before the turnaround, I noticed a rider working his way up the left side of the paceline. He was in a dark blue kit with white-rimmed glasses on. Woody. Another B-day present. As a bonus we were treated to a morning of reticent comments emanating from the Bashful Artist on a TT bike.

The speed kept increasing, and in the last section between Canal St. and West End, the group was strung out and fractured into several pieces.

The ride out to the casino at Williams Blvd. was quick but manageable with Matt taking a long,

Selfie taken using voice-activated RBE Remote Control

steady pull at 25 mph for a few miles.  The trip in was also fast, but the real torture was served up by the most brilliant, eye-level sun into which we directly rode for the entire way back to Orleans Parish. It was miserable and trying to see where I was going and who might be coming, I wasn't paying attention sufficiently to avoid ending up in a huge gear trying to climb straight up the levee on the east side of the Causeway. I lost contact going up, killed myself getting back on and was cooked by Bonnabel. So I rode the last mile alone and chased back to the group at a red light in Bucktown.

By the time I got home I was whipped, hungry, and my knee hurt. My loving wife cooked a birthday breakfast for me, complete with toast cut into a little heart. Apparently, she loves me more than Matt and HL and Woody.












[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.]

Fast and Dark

Owing to the marvelous happenstance of the earth's obliquity, i.e. the tilt of its wobbly axial spin, as we hurtle along on our 365-day journey around the nearest star at about 67,000 mph, we are treated to changing seasons and variations in the length of daylight. At the equator, not so much, but in our neighborhood, very close to 30 ° north, it makes for about an hour less daylight today than what we enjoyed a month ago. So the ride out to the lakefront at 5:45 is now getting darker by the day, and while I have started to learn the locations of most of the sink-holes and giant wheel-swallowing fissures in our route out to the lakefront, it still feels like something of a gamble each morning I make the ride.

Oct. 2, 3014 heading out along Wisner

And our circuit along Lakeshore Drive, which, when I first started making this new Tues/Thurs route, was made in that wonderful first glow of dawn, is now conducted in the complete darkness of night. To make matters worse, with the increased hazards of racing along in the dark has come the return of Woody.

Tuesday was crazy fast coming west from the turn near the industrial canal, with Woody and Brian B (not MD) repeatedly surging off the front at 30+ mph. I actually hung with the group being led by HL and Ray. My wheel was bounced sideways by a crack going around the Paris traffic circle almost sending me to the pavement, and I absolutely hate flying through the pock-marked roadway near the Franklin Ave. intersection in the dark. It was a tough ride, as hard as any Sunday Giro, but  I survived it and believe I am regaining some of the cycle fitness lost during my summer layoff.

 Brian B (not MD) had a flat as we were finishing in Bucktown. Brian makes something of a production of changing a flat, a predilection which incited a steady stream of critical and humorous commentary from those standing around waiting for him to finish.

Changing a flat in Buck Town

OBLIQUITY
by David J. L'Hoste (1996)


The tilt of Earth's wobbly spin,
Like child's gyro dancing
On a string to a slow tango,
Slightly askew,

Twenty-three degrees, give or take
A degree or two,
As Fate has deigned it,
Is its obliquity.

This cant which sends our yellow star
South with the birds
In winter
And pushes it

Higher in the sky
To melt the snow
In spring,
Recalling warblers and thrushes,
Is tended by moon's pull.

Without its pearly satellite
Our orb would overlist
Or ride as straight as a
Crisply spun top.

What a world it would be
Without the tug of the moon
Or Earth's obliquity!

- -

 In other news:

Heading home -  Oct. 2, 2014

 Last Thursday's ride was largely uneventful. The weather was perfect: cool and nearly windless. I should mention two incidents which occurred as we were near the turnaround in Kenner. The first, as we were approaching Williams, involved Retail Ray, HL and me. Ray took a nice steady pull and as he got off and was dropping back along the line, I heard HL encourage the group to attack Ray. The group failed to accept HL's invitation, but HL's comment made a couple of things clear to me: 1) he was on my wheel, and 2) he would jump me when I got off the front. I was right on both counts and it was only by a hair, and mostly through a fierce determination not to have HL succeed in his endeavor that I got on the back of the line as HL attacked. As I was dropping back, Retail Ray made an entirely appropriate descriptive remark regarding HL's riding style which I will refrain from repeating here for decorum's sake. The second incident of note occurred just as we were making the turn, although I am not privy to all of the circumstances surrounding the event because HL, Big Rich and I were in the little walkway just east of Williams discussing HL's incredible denial that he had actually jumped me, moray eels and sting rays. But as best I can tell from what I observed, some quite attractive young lady we overtook near Williams had apparently dropped something on the path, and most of our group were killing themselves trying to get to it first to return the item to its comely owner. The whole affair included at least one bicycle dropped on concrete among the knot of cyclists trying to help.

Sunday's Giro was lightly attended due to the MS ride and a century in Mississippi. About 17 or so riders and a reasonable pace made for a pleasant Sunday morning.

I-510 on Giro, Sunday, Oct. 5, 2014

 
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Wanted: A Good Night's Sleep

I'm too tired to write this. If I begin to make less and less sense and more and more typos and then the text just trails off in an unending stream of whatever letter or punctuation mark my drool bespattered chin collapses upon, please call my wife on her cell and tell her to come revive me. I just haven't been on my bike much for the last four or five months and consequently I'm really not fit enough for the Tues/Thurs ride along the lakefront, especially in a rather brisk ENE wind.

It should be noted that I can't sleep. I'm an early-riser insomniac. It's something I've struggled with

Waiting on Nashville and Fontainebleau for the Group

most of my life, but it has gotten worse over the last year or so. I can fall asleep, tout suite, on a concrete slab, but whether on a slab or in my cozy bed, I awaken after three or four hours and can't get back asleep. My insomnia is one of the reasons, among others, that I haven't been on my bike lately. I can usually gut it out in the pool for 75 minutes on minimal sleep because I know I can be sleeping again in 90 minutes. But 75 minutes into the Tues/Thurs ride puts me about 20 miles from home somewhere in west Kenner.

Anyway, I awakened at 2:10 this morning after almost four hours of sleep, but was determined to ride anyway. I was first to arrive at the start (after all I had had more than three hours to get ready) and tried to stay awake by taking selfies in the dark. Soon, Mignon rode up and began to tell me of her Six Gap Century experiences of the past weekend. Huh, I'm thinking, so what. I drank 15 beers and watched five football games. So there. As usual, Big Rich arrived last and immediately began arguing his Garmin's satellite time supported his position that 5:45 and 55 seconds is on time for a ride that leaves at 5:45.

The new route out to the lakefront isn't ideal. I can't wait for the levee to be finished. I detest riding through commuting traffic, in the dark, across uneven, potholed streets to the lake. Along Lakeshore Dr. it wasn't too bad going east into the wind, but after the turnaround we hit 31 mph and then Woody and Brian B (not MD) just rode away from us, like we were so many Vegas. Speaking of Vega, we got a report from Max that his shoulder is sore and immovable and he is waiting to get into an MRI on Wednesday.

When we were approaching Williams Blvd. and the turnaround, I noticed the OWNHB standing at some benches next to his bike looking down and wildly swinging his leg from side to side. I said there he is, waiting for us, which provoked Lenny to regale us with a story involving his son's godfather at 16, the OWNHB at fifty-something, a stun gun, and a couple of hired henchman. I was too exhausted at the time to retain sufficient details to relate them here without fear of inaccuracy, thereby inviting retaliation or a libel action, so see Lenny for further information.

Heading back into the  wind, everyone was on the south edge of the path, and I very shortly began to discuss with my inner self the proposition of softing it in alone rather than killing myself riding the edge without any draft. So I waved the one rider on my wheel around and eased up. Then Ray came up from behind and asked if I was okay. I lied and said I was fine but probably wouldn't make it home with the group. So for the next mile or so, Ray provided me with a draft and slowly pulled me up to the group. Of course, riding behind Ray into the wind on a hot, humid day is like riding in a light summer shower. But being sprinkled with sweat was a small price to pay for the draft. I don't know if Ray was done or if we were at the spot where he gets off the levee, but he waved me around him when I was still 30 meters or so off the back. Fortunately, with considerable effort, I was able to re-connect and made it home with the group.

In other news, Ray made this report of the ride on September 25th:

           My Hero

Thursday, September 25, 2014 at roughly 6:39 AM

Headed westbound somewhere between the head of Canal St. and Landry's

Anonymous: "Car back!"

Ray: "Motorcycle back!"

Mike Williams continues to hammer away in the left lane on his single gear track bike

Ray: "Mike, there's a motorcycle behind you."

Mike looks over and stares straight into Ray's eyes, almost as if to suck out the youthful, untapped cycling potential that may lie beneath

Mike: "There's a motorcycle IN ME!"

Mike shifts into... I mean, Mike accelerates past the group and dramatically cuts over as if to say, "Eat my dust!"

Mike is promptly brought back into the fold a half mile later

From other rides I made recently but didn't blog about:

Sept. 16th - Robin Making One of Many Points

Sept. 18th - Cloudy Morning Between Williams and Power

Sept. 11th - Keith Flats on Lakeshore Dr.

I hope to regain somr consistency on the bike, but I beliwve I wil need to resolv my sleep problems in order to dddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd

[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.]

I'm Back, Hopefully

For the record, and operating under the theory that public humiliation can act as a strong incentive, let me reveal here and now that until yesterday I'd only been on my bike three times since June 15th, two of which were largely noodling around the park with a retailer stressed by the pressure of selling to the mothers of runny-nosed little kids oversized shoes so the little darlings won't require another pair until the next school year, and a self-professed world-renowned chef who is in the saddle with considerably less frequency than even me.

The other of the three rides was my last on the levee on July 1st, about which I remember almost nothing but the terror of competing with cars full of commuters and dump trucks for a tiny sliver of asphalt along the broken edge of River Road from Oak Street all the way to the first levee access upriver of the Huey Long Bridge.

Last levee ride - July 1, 2014

I guess to be fair I should mention that the two noodling-through-the-park rides (only one of which was actually attended by The Weak) included several loops along St. Charles and Carrollton Aves. from Nashville to Claiborne.

Noodling in the park with The Weak and Far-Flung

So it was with this solid base of about 80 miles in more than two months that I decided to venture into the Black Pearl before dawn yesterday to meet Big Rich for the new Tuesday/Thursday ride out to, and then along, Lake Pontchartrain to the east and then west to Williams Blvd. Here is the 45-mile route from Big Rich's Garmin feed:

New Tuesday/Thursday Route

I must have really missed riding with this group because I was even pleased to see HL. And he was on a TT bike. It was only on the eastbound leg from West End to the turnaround near Camp Leroy Johnson, when HL declared we couldn't catch Ray (who had ridden off ahead of the group) at the comfortable pace we were enjoying and ramped it up to 28 mph, that he rode like the HL we all know and love. It was my first ever ride along the lake west from West End to Kenner. The path is wide and smooth, with fewer chances to run down an elderly pedestrian than riding through River Ridge, except perhaps during the transition over the levee and under the Causeway.

On the Lake in Kenner

[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.]

Sunday Giro - Summer's Here

Although the first day of summer isn't until next Saturday, the weather for Sunday's Giro was typical New Orleans summer conditions: hot and humid with mild to moderate winds out of the south.

I hadn't been on my bike since last Sunday's Giro, so I was a little apprehensive as I was preparing to go out to the lakefront this morning. My consternation, in part, was engendered by the report of Brian B. that Saturday's ride had averaged better than 26 mph from the Casino Bridge going out to the Seabrook Bridge coming home ₍₁₎. Obviously it isn't a fair comparison but this year's Paris-Roubaix was the second fastest in history and averaged just over 27 mph. Of course, it is a 160 mile race and there are the cobblestones. But nevertheless.

There were more than 30 riders at the start, including a large contingent from the 4D racing team and several members of the Peake BMW BEC ₍₂₎.

The pace turned out to be manageable if a little erratic. Very little of note occurred. As I pulled into the shade of the pee tree at Venetian Isles and dismounted, HL rolled by and declared he had been dropped. On the way in, we "noodled," as Big Rich put it, for three or four miles, causing Rich to undertake a troubling assessment regarding whether he might need a supplemental workout Sunday afternoon in the form of a visit to the gym. And the Bashful Artist was uncharacteristically vocal, emphatically imploring most of the group to "get out of the gutter you f**king morons" on the westbound Chef Hwy leg, and then becoming unhinged by what he considered to be an unreasonably mild pace along Dealership Row and screaming "THE PARTY'S OVER!" as he accelerated up along the side of the paceline toward the front. However, I could discern no difference in the pace when he got there. I became a little upset observing a nonplussed and very patient motorist trying to enter the on-ramp from Bullard onto I-10 east as inconsiderate cyclists kept streaming by the right side of the car. Sometimes it gets downright embarrassing.

In other news, regular readers of this space will remember my writing about the incident in which Big Rich and I were subjected to an impatient motorist (I'm being kind here) in a white BMW blasting a  horn for a solid half mile along River Road when the car in front of it, the car behind Big Rich and I, wouldn't pass us because it wasn't safe to do so. Well, although I wasn't present, Rich reports a repeat performance this week by the white BMW which almost caused an accident on Oak St. and prompted him to track down the driver, who, it turns out, is an apparently persistently late real estate attorney (it figures) who works on Maple Street. Rich went to her place of work to speak to her, but she was in a meeting, so he left his card. She eventually called him and tried to deny the incidents and then became smug when confronted with undeniable details. She ended the call by saying she would never take River Road again then hanging up. Here is an email exchange:

From: Kendra Duay [mailto:kendra@crescenttitle.com]
Sent: Thursday, June 12, 2014 11:40 AM
To: Richard B. Ehret
Subject: RE: River Road travel

I told you what you wanted to hear so please stop harassing me! Regards,

From: Richard B. Ehret [mailto:Richard@BEULaw.com]
Sent: Thursday, June 12, 2014 11:37 AM
To: Kendra Duay
Subject: RE: River Road travel

Ms Duay, I appreciate the call. Choose anyway you want to go to work. I just ask as the law requires that you please be more sensitive to cyclists. You know what I am talking about! Regards

---

From: Richard B. Ehret
Sent: Thursday, June 12, 2014 10:51 AM
To: 'kendra@crescenttitle.com'
Subject: River Road travel

Ms Duay, I ride my bike in the morning for exercise. Since the closing of the East Bank Mississippi River Levee because of the topping work, I, along with others, am forced to ride on River Road for several miles. I am told by the Corps that this levee work will be finished by the fall and the path will reopen but I do not believe much of what the Corps says. On several occasions you have rudely blown your horn for extended periods while we are on River Road  either because cars have not passed us or because you do not think we should be travelling there. Last Tuesday you almost caused an accident at about 8:10 AM when you passed us along with a pick-up truck as River Road turns into Oak Street. I followed you to Crescent Title and was about to call police to lodge a complaint when I decided I should talk to you first. I went by that afternoon to Crescent Title and left my card with an assistant. I have also left you several phone messages. Please call me. Regards    

Richard Ehret
= = = =

1.

 

2.  BMW BEC = Bavarian Motor Works Bicycle Enthusiasts Club

[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.]

Is Orange the New Black?

Sunday's Giro was rather small, about 20 riders, but that was not unexpected with the Tour de Louisiana crit occurring simultaneously on the North Shore. The sparse attendance didn't lessen the intensity one iota, with almost all of the cyclists who usually keep the pace high opting to ride on the South Shore. I'm always puzzled by those who apparently feel compelled to ride every ride like it's a race, the last race, the most important race, and seemingly train for racing, but choose not to participant in the Tour de LA.

Warm up on Lakeshore Dr.

When the group got to the casino bridge, the OWNHB was waiting at the top, which is not unusual. What was unusual was his rolling into the bunch helmetless. Someone asked, "Mike, where's your helmet?" He had evidently left it at the top of the bridge and turned immediately to retrieve it. No one slowed, and we didn't see him again until after the turnaround at Venetian Isles.

The only other thing notable about the outgoing leg of the ride was the tailwind, which kept the pace in the 26 - 29 mph range for much of the ride out. Big Rich was on a fancy new machine: an orange Seven Axiom with a custom decal. The decal says Bosko, the meaning of which is a mystery to me and others. In an effort to unearth exactly what is behind the moniker, I did a little Googling after the ride, and discovered it represents a cartoon character₍₁₎ from the early days of animation, and is not very PC in this century, to say the least. On the final straight-away to Venetian Isles, I was on Rich's wheel and when the pace crept up above 30, Rich shifted to his biggest gear, but his chain remained between gears and started chattering. So, just about 200 meters before we would have normally sat up, a gap opened. Apparently Bosko needs a little fine tuning.

Heading East on Lakeshore Dr.

On the way home, the pace along Chef was reduced somewhat by the SW wind. That was not the case on the service road, and four or five of us got tailed off the bunch making the transition onto the car dealership section and had to chase back to the group on Bullard.

Actually, I may be being a little unfair to Rich, because Bosko could also be intended to denote the coffee shop in Keego Harbor, MI, the I.P.A. made by Pressure Drop Brewery in London, or the pizza joint in Calistoga, CA.

= = =
1.

[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.]

Not a Perfect Ride

After the idyllic ride on Tuesday, I was hopeful this morning could be a repeat. The weather was similarly mild and virtually windless, and I was sure the racers would be tapering for the Tour de LA this weekend. The first sign that perfect rides don't come every day was the huge, pink dump truck which nearly ran me over on River Road. There is a stark and very scary difference between these two situations, both of which were encountered on the way to the start: 1) a compact Toyota waiting until the oncoming lane is clear and then straddling the centerline to pass me with eight feet between us; and 2) an incredibly loud, earth-shaking, pink behemoth trying to squeeze between me and a solid line of oncoming traffic. I survived, but my hopes of a repeat were dashed before the ride even started.

Looking downriver from the stables. The next move will end it for city dwellers.

Actually the ride out to Ormond was very much like Tuesday: a smooth 24/25 mph paceline with almost everyone in the rotation. The ride in was something altogether different.

At the Turnaround

By the time we got out to Destrehan, we had grown to more than 20 riders. Woody, who sat in all the way out (thank you Tour de LA), turned shortly after the Luling Bridge and headed back to town immediately. Several other people turned before the benches, and by the time those who rode to the end were rolling again, we were split into several groups with Woody a quarter of a mile up the road intent on getting to work on time. So most of us had to chase immediately almost all the way to the Big Dip. When everything came together again, the pace remained somewhat quicker than the outgoing journey and the southerly crosswind was freshening. But once I was able to recover a bit things were okay until we hit the open area near Williams Blvd., where nothing impedes the southerly crosswinds coming off of the river. For reasons I will never be able to comprehend, some people still apparently haven't grasped the fact that Vega and Ray get out at Williams and when they start softing it as we approach that location, it isn't an invitation to sit in their draft. Gaps started opening, and a group of us (Rich, Tom, Keith N., Scott S., Leann and I) lost contact.

Another thing I probably will never get is why some insist on punishing themselves after getting dropped, riding as if there is some hope of catching the group fading into the distance. Well we punished ourselves all the way to the playground, and I felt thoroughly thrashed when I got home. I jumped in the pool to cool the core and then had to crash on the sofa for an hour before I could get anything productive done.

 [Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.]

No Joie de Vivre?

Beyond the threat of rain, which never materialized, Tuesday's levee ride was uneventful. And that was a very good thing. Big Rich described it thusly:

> On 6/3/2014 10:05 AM, Richard B. Ehret wrote:
>
>       Perfect ride
>

Why was it a perfect ride? I'm not certain. I can report that there was no big white van in the parking lot at the start. I can also report that the familiar acronym which south of the Canadian border is usually associated with the organization the Québécois refer to as the Ligue nationale de hockey would aptly describe this particular ride. But I can't be sure that either of these facts are what made it perfect.

There was no wind on the outbound leg and only a hint of it in our faces coming home. The pace was steady and almost everyone stayed in the rotation for the entire ride. Rich's profile shows the smooth and surgeless nature of the morning:

Big Rich's Garmin Profile

But without HL's constant surges and without the OWNHB₁ making unexplainable, zany moves and comments are we losing out on the spice of life which makes us truly feel alive? Are we sacrificing the joie de vivre, that certain exultation of spirit, which is engendered by variety and unpredictability for the bland, unremarkable sameness of a smooth paceline? Do we need HL and the OWNHB?

Naaaaaaah.

= = = 

1. OWNHB = One with no handlebars.

[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.] 

Metal Fatigue at Venetian Isles

Rather than waiting, shoeless, in the cool shade of the gazebo at Spanish Fort, as is his habit, Big Rich went a few minutes early to the swim-hole, where his wife, Leslie, was meeting a few friends for a swim, ride and run.

At the Swim-hole, Lake Pontchartrain

The weather was mild, with calm winds and temperatures in the low seventies at the start. According to KNEW observations, it never got above 79° during the ride, but it felt hot enough to me to mark Sunday as the last single-water-bottle ride of the season.

Being Memorial Day weekend and with races elsewhere, the smallish group of about 18 riders was not unexpected. The ride was largely unremarkable. There was the now predictable chasing of Rob K. on Hayne, as he tries to cram the energy expenditure of an entire Giro into the ride out to Chef Hwy, where he turns for home. There was a visiting couple from West Virginia, who used to live in New Orleans. I didn't get their names, but can attest to the fact that the fairer component of the duo is plenty strong. And then there was the failure of one of Vega's spokes, about which I made no comment whatever, but which provoked among others numerous opinions about Vega's wheel choice in light of the manufacturer's rider-weight restrictions₁ for Zipp 404s.

Broken Spoke at Venetian Isles

Silhouettes on Lakeshore Drive

= = =
1.

[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.] 

Pleasant Spring Thursday on the Levee

I haven't posted in a couple of weeks, largely attributable to two circumstances: 1) I've been too busy to write anything here, and 2) I've only been on the bike once (until this morning) since my last post, so there was very little to write about related to cycling. Actually, I'm only going to get busier over the next two months or so, which may make it increasingly difficult to ride or blog.

I really don't have much time now to devote to this. It was a pleasant ride this morning, with HL having no one to play with on the way out, and with Woody (who joined us on the way in) apparently tapering for a race weekend.

Please refrain from engaging in inappropriate locker-room humor regarding this image of Retail Ray. He has only recently returned from a rather extended hiatus, and I don't want to upset him. I learned he can be sensitive when I inquired a short while ago about the cause of his absence, and he told me I was being nosy. So no off-color remarks, please. I also happen to know he suffers from hyperhidrosis and is wise to take a big gulp whenever he can. Anyway, it's good to see him back on the levee.

The group this morning started large, got smaller, then grew again as some turned early and we were joined by various little factions on the way out to Ormond. As we rounded the big bend at the country club, I saw a rider up ahead of the group in the red and black kit of Spokesman or N.O. Fish House. I thought it was Lenny, but as we approached, the rider in red stood up on his pedals to accelerate and began rocking side to side so violently that I thought he would fling himself off of his bike. I knew immediately it wasn't Lenny, but Charlie D. The Big Dude and his entourage are starting earlier and joining our group on the way out now, and the River Parishes were represented this morning by Movie Star Dave, Steve, and Rolan.

It looks like we're about to lose another section of levee as the construction activity has begun west of Ochsner, and the path at the Shrewsbury Ct. access is about to go bye-bye.

Approaching the Turnaround

Finally, if you haven't seen this yet, watch it, watch it full-screen: http://youtu.be/aeCRnFq_9Lo

[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.] 
 

Long Odds and Crazy Train

There is a rule of inferential statistics which is known as the Rare Event Rule. Basically the Rare Event Rule states that if under a particular assumption, the probability of a certain observed event is minuscule, then the assumption is most likely incorrect. In other words, when an extremely improbable event occurs, statisticians conclude that either a rare event actually happened, or the original assumption was not true. Statisticians use this rule to test the validity of hypotheses.

right to left: The Weak and Far-flung

For example, I would assume that I, a relatively normal cyclist living in New Orleans, would never ever go on a ride in Florida with The Weak, who is normally seen on the levee sucking on Bob P.'s wheel, and The Far-flung, who is, after all, far-flung. Nevertheless, I found myself on just such a ride last Saturday in Florida. Accordingly, any statistician would necessary conclude my hypothesis (the probability of my riding with the Weak and Far-flung in FL was zero) was dead wrong, or that our ride on Hwy. 30A near Seaside, Florida, was indeed a very rare event. I'm not a stats guy, and I don't think I've stated the hypothesis correctly, because it seems to me that both my assumption was wrong and a rare event occurred.


 We were in Seaside for a wedding, and did about a 30-mile loop, east to Rosemary Beach and then westward to Dune Allen and back. Of course, The Weak got out as we passed Seaside coming west from Rosemary Beach. Actually he is to be entirely excused in this instance, as father of the bride on the big day and burdened as he so succinctly expressed: "I have errands." Hwy 30A is a nice place to ride on weekends, although I was on it photographing on Friday and there seemed to be a lot of commercial traffic during the work week. During our ride, I was mindful of the fact that Big Rich lost a chunk of thigh meat to a car on this very stretch of road in the past. Seaside is a beautiful location, and I was able to get out each morning to photograph.

Pausing at the benches, where everything started to go wrong.

Tuesday's levee ride was well attended. HL was present and acting like, well, HL. But without support his brief surges were tolerable. So the ride was quite pleasant. Wait, let me qualify that. It was quite pleasant until we got to the turn around and were joined by the OWNHB (whb)₁. For some reason unknown to all but the OWNHB, every time he would get near the front of the paceline, he would sit up and let two or three guys go off the front, causing people to have to go around him and chase and splitting the line up. He kept doing it. Eventually, in a tone showing more irritation than I'd like to admit, I asked him why the f*ck he was doing it. He said he was going to teach the group a lesson about bad sportsmanship. Well, that made a lot of sense. So the next time he did it I told him to quit riding like a dick or ride somewhere else, and he responded (and I swear this is verbatim), "Seven broken bones and 71 years old, what's your excuse?" Whether it was his intention or not, this shut me up because it made about as much sense as the bad sportsmanship comment, and I was rendered truly speechless.

He was down the levee by his van as Big Rich, the Far-flung and I rode by going Uptown, and he waved to me with his hand held as high as possible. He was saying something, which, if I had been able to hear it, I'm certain would have made zero sense. HL had a theory that his behavior and bad sportsmanship comment was the expression of lingering anger at his being, as HL put it, "worked over by me and Rinard on Sunday." Who could possibly know?

Mental wounds not healing
Life's a bitter shame
I'm goin' off the rails on a crazy train
I'm goin' off the rails on a crazy train

I've listened to preachers,
I've listened to fools
I've watched all the dropouts
Who make their own rules
One person conditioned to rule and control
The media sells it and you live the role

Mental wounds still screaming
Driving me insane
I'm goin' off the rails on a crazy train
I'm goin' off the rails on a crazy train

-- from Crazy Train by Ozzy Osbourne, Randy Rhoads, and Bob Daisley

= =
 1. OWNHB (whb) = The One With No Handle Bars (with handle bars).


[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.] 

Tuesday Levee Ride With The Far-flung

The possibility of violent weather was forecast for much of the southeast, including Louisiana, on Tuesday. When I went to bed Monday night I didn't think there was much chance of riding in the morning, but a check of the weather online upon wakening showed all the heavy rain to the north and east. KMSY was reporting some light rain overnight, but only fog and mist at 5 a.m., with a slight wind out of the NW. It looked like the levee would be damp, maybe even wet, and while such conditions might in ordinary circumstances drive me back to the comfort of my bed, a couple of emails hit my inbox at about that moment which were difficult to comprehend, containing somewhat cryptic references to the work of an overrated folksinger from more than 45 years ago, but seemed to indicate that at least Big Rich and a far-flung cyclist, visiting from Salt Lake City, would be riding.

At the Turnaround Without the Far-flung

 So after meeting Rich and the Far-flung in the Pearl, we treated the visiting cyclist to the unique and often harrowing experience of riding out to Jefferson Playground along the crumbling edge of River Road in that pre-dawn half-light which makes obstacles in the road difficult to perceive both for cyclists and for motorists hurrying off to work or home from a long night of partying. We survived the trek to the start, where we met Max, Woody, Big Scott, and Brian B (not MD). We started rolling in a barely perceptible mist and Brian announced he had just installed two new tires and wasn't going to risk a flat if the levee got wet. He turned early. Woody, presumably protecting his shoulder, sat off the back with Scott, and they turned early as well.

Near the Little Dip, the Far-flung began politicking for an early turn. Nobody was interested. Just west of the Big Dip I called back to Rich to tell the Far-flung to hang until the turnaround because I wanted  photographic evidence, for Vega and posterity, of his actually being at the benches, a location he hasn't seen for years, much longer than he has been far-flung. But the Far-flung had already turned and was soft-pedaling back toward town, waiting for us to catch him.

Steve of the River Parishes Gang joined us for the western section of the ride, and the Big Dude jumped into the rotation as we passed him in St. Rose and rode with us into River Ridge. The ride home was less enjoyable than the outward leg, with the wind freshening and swirling. KMSY observations, left, show some of the wild variations in the wind we encountered on the ride.

All in all it was a good ride, if slightly damp, but as we rode in along River Road after dismounting the levee, we heard little from the Far-flung beyond a lot of deep sighing and uncharacteristic silence. Despite assertions by some to the contrary₁, I'm not sure standing up on skis and allowing gravity to do your work, even for 60 days during the season, is proper preparation for a Tuesday/Thursday levee ride. It was probably just as well Woody was hurt and HL and Retail Ray remain MIA.

One Happier than the Other?

1. From Fitday, The Health Benefits of Downhill Skiing

Cardiovascular Benefits

As well as the strength and flexibility aspects of downhill skiing, the very fact that the sport involves being outdoors makes it an activity that will benefit the health and fitness of everyone participating. The heart rate will be elevated through the actual physical exertion of walking and carrying the ski equipment, as well as the downhill skiing itself of course. But there is also a healthy psychological benefit that couples with it. Endorphins and adrenaline are released onto the bloodstream, elevating the mood and providing an overall sense of wellbeing and contentment. Downhill skiing is a great all-round way to keep both the body and the mind healthy and fit for anyone willing to give it a try.

[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.]

What Will It Take?

Fact or fiction? Is it true or just a myth? I don't know enough about dog racing to know whether this popularly held belief is factual or not: If the greyhounds ever catch the rabbit-like lure they chase, they will realize their efforts are meaningless and thereafter lose all enthusiasm for the race itself. Are the sleek canines smart enough to get it once they understand there is no real prize waiting if the expenditure of all their energy ends with a catch? Or will they stupidly continue to exhaust themselves in pointless pursuit?

Rounding the Paris Ave. Circle

On Sunday's Giro, this question came to mind each time the 30 or so cyclists on road bikes would doggedly (no pun intended) set off in chase of Rob on a TT bike most people couldn't ride without falling over the handlebars.

My goals in riding the Giro are to burn calories, to maintain a modicum of fitness, and to simply survive to ride's end. Of course, these modest purposes are quite different than what drives other participants who are preparing for racing season, or maybe just think the rabbit is real. Anyway, Rob's attacks encouraged others and it made for a hectic, exhausting ride in a gusty south wind. As we neared Hwy. 11, a few riders got far enough off the front that I thought the group would let well enough alone, but there must have been something in the air, maybe the smell of freshly road-killed rabbit, because people weren't in the mood for just sitting in and enjoying the ride. Several times Big Scott tried to bridge up. Then I'd see him going backwards, and figured he was done. A little while later, here he'd come, up the side of the paceline and off the front in pursuit. HL called him feisty. And then I saw visiting cyclist Seattle Mike bound off in an attempt to bridge across a two-hundred-meter gap. He eventually returned to the chase group, but his effort excited the chasers such that on the final straight away near Venetian Isles, the group split into several pieces.

Coming home on Hwy. 90 the pace was a bit calmer until things started ramping up for the Chevron sprint. Crossing the intersection at Little Vietnam it was made clear to me that nothing, absolutely nothing, not even several young Atlanta girls being rendered fatherless by a senseless accident, will ever make the Giro abide traffic laws, or exhibit simple common sense. How can a group of thinking, sensate beings, with knowledge of what so recently happened on that very highway, make the unthinking, unfeeling (unconscious?) decision to place their lives in the hands of an unknown, unseen driver in a silver van, who had the unquestionable right of way and who, with even the most fleeting moment of inattention, would definitely have killed someone?

Fixing Flat on Lake Forest Blvd.

When all investigations and trials are ended, the firefighter from Georgia may be found to have been totally free from fault in his untimely demise. But there is one thing that is as certain as tomorrow's sunrise: If a cyclist had been killed yesterday at Alcee Fortier Blvd. and Chef Menteur Hwy., it would have been the dead cyclist's fault. And it would have been the fault of each surviving cyclist who decided to blithely proceed at speed through a red light and across the path of a rapidly approaching van. It would have been my fault.

Waiting on Flats

 

 [Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.]

Uneventful Thursday Levee Ride

Nothing notable happened on the Thursday levee ride. Considering all of the crashes and near misses which have plagued the local cycling community of late, an uneventful ride is a good thing. There was a return appearance by Seattle Mike, who rode with us in December and January, and who was unfortunately caught up in the crash Wednesday night at the lake. He was sporting bandages over stitches on his left hand this morning. Well that's about it. Retail Ray and HL remain on sabbatical.

Fog and Grain Dust at Bunge, LA

Just West of the Florida Street Pump Tower

Seattle Mike Signals Approaching Traffic

 After the ride, while Rich and I were heading back Uptown on River Road, a car followed behind us for about the last half mile before Oak Street refusing to pass. Behind that car was some real ass in a white BMW who sat on his horn for the entire half mile. I stopped at the split between Oak Street and Leake Avenue, hoping for an opportunity to give the guy a piece of my mind, but he raced past me, horn still blasting.

[Note: This blog isn't intended to disparage or offend anyone. If anything contained herein is believed to be inaccurate or offensive, please leave a comment. Any such comment may change nothing, but will be stark evidence of your right to free expression of thought and opinion, much as this blog evidences mine. Thanks for visiting.]