Finally, I have found the most boring thing in the world.

Ever since my bike-cleated uphill trek through the Santa Ynez Valley, my Achilles tendon has been acting up.

I really thought that thing had healed, but I guess I'm not all that surprised given what I did to it.

Any attempt to run, even on the treadmill, has been causing pain (which I'm told is bad), so I've been aqua-jogging.

I put a big, weird belt around my waist and go through the motions of running in the pool. Back and forth, running but not really running, but not swimming, either.  I look longingly at the swimmers, and count the minutes until I can take that damned belt off and get back to freestyle. I suspect watching paint dry would be more mentally stimulating.


 Were the ocean a bit warmer, I'd try to aqua jog there, because then I'd at least have a view (even if the belt would garner some stares!).

What I really need is one of those waterproof MP3 players, but that's not in the budget so I'm still trying to figure out how to keep myself sane while in the pool, pretending to run. Any suggestions?

Solvang: An 80 mile ride followed by an uphill hike in bike cleats

I'd agreed to do Solvang with a friend, as this would be her first century ride and she wanted some company, and the course winds through the Santa Ynez valley which is incredibly gorgeous.


Since this is a big ride and every hotel within 30 miles of Solvang was booked solid, I stayed at an overpriced 'inn' in Santa Barbara - of course, just about everything is overpriced in Santa Barbara, including the gas, the parking and the air.

I drove up to Solvang Friday night to get checked in and check out the bike expo:

This is only the back half of the line. It curves around and goes into the hotel.

 The expo was really cool with some great prices on stuff I don't need. I bought a nice low-profile helmet for $30, and a graphic jersey for $25. I wanted more stuff, but I have to keep the budget in mind.

A few other friends were at the ride as well, doing the metric century, so after we got our packets, we headed to dinner at a local restaurant which was having an all you can eat pasta special.

Mmmm.. Pasta. The place was packed with cyclists carbing up.

I headed back to the hotel, and managed to get about 5 hours of sleep, which is about normal for me.

The next morning, as I pulled into Solvang at 6 am, the temperature readout on my dashboard read 32 degrees. As in freezing 32 degrees. With heavy fog. This presented a dilemma on my part. Bundle up to stay warm on the first part of the ride, and then have to figure out where to stow all the additional clothing as this ride doesn't allow one to drop clothing at SAG stops, or wear a manageable amount of clothing and freeze for the first part of the ride?


Since the weather forecast called for a high of about 78, I opted to freeze early and have less weight later.

Fog, lifting, although it was still so cold I couldn't feel my hands.

Although it was ultimately the correct choice, I regretted it for the first 20 miles. I couldn't feel face, feet or hands, but the hands were the worst. They were so cold I was having trouble pulling the brake levers.

After SAG 1 at 20 miles, it warmed up to 'brisk'. It was still  chilly, but at least I could feel my extremities.

The madness of SAG 1. It was packed.

This was, by far, the biggest ride I've done. There were several thousand participants, and while I'm certainly not stating that everyone who rides a road bike is a douchebag, it did seem like everyone who rides a road bike and happens to be a douchebag decided to do Solvang.

Although the ride organizers had asked riders to please share the road by staying to the right, there were packs of riders blocking traffic, team riders blowing past and cutting off slower riders, passing on the right, etc..

Lucky for me, there were also some very, very nice folks riding with us slowpokes. 

Once the clouds burned off, we entered the beautiful rolling hills. My friend was trying to maintain 16 mph average, which is too fast for me, but I stubbornly tried to keep up with her.

Riding on the shoulder of the 101 freeway

About mile 50 I pulled into SAG 2 and realized I'd gone out too fast and burned my legs. I broke the bad news to said friend that I wasn't going to be able to keep up with her, so she shouldn't feel bad about leaving me.

The riders thinning out after SAG 2. This was about mile 55.

The roads through most of the ride were really, really rough. California's not known for our smooth highways, but some of these roads were just insane. I didn't take very many photos because between the roads and the wind gusts I was afraid to take my hands off the handlebars.

The rough ride made the patches of smooth pavement seem just like heaven, though.

At mile 70, we started a gentle climb (well, it would have been gentle had it not been at mile 70) past some wineries. I was getting tired from the climbing and the wind, so I slowed down and chatted with a very nice lady until about mile 80, when I decided to speed up a bit as I didn't want to be out on course too late.

Blue skies and a decent road.

Right after mile 81, I heard the ominous metallic clank of something going very, very wrong with my bike.

Turns out, it was a broken spoke.

Which is good because eventually it's a simple and inexpensive fix, but bad because with another 20 miles of steep climbing, it meant my ride was pretty much over.

There was no emergency number on the route sheet, so I asked one of the passing cyclists to please inform the folks at SAG 4 that there was a rider on the course with a mechanical problem. Since I had no way to detach the spoke from the wheel (the one thing I don't bring...), I had no choice but to wait. But I'm impatient, so I walked. Up a hill. In bike cleats. Fun.

Also, since I have the plastic Look style cleats, they were pretty much wrecked from what turned out to be about a two mile slog.  

Eventually, my savior appeared - a volunteer in a minivan who very, very kindly drove me back into Solvang.

Since there were no timing chips, it's not like it counted, and I did get to go over the very, very steep hill in a car.

Then, I stowed my bike and consoled myself with french fries and sausage at one of the local Danish-themed restaurants.

I caught up with my friends, all of whom finished their rides, and we poked around the expo a bit more until the insane traffic jam died down.

Solvang, while a quaint and lovely town, really can't handle the traffic of 4,000 cyclists all driving away at once.

When I got back to the hotel, I went for a swim in the pool and a soak in the hot tub, which I know isn't really good for my muscles, but boy did it feel good.

The next day, I got up, went for a Recovery Swim in the pool, had a Recovery Hot Tub, followed by a Recovery Omelet and a Recovery Bloody Mary at a local cafe.

I then packed up the car (tip: always bring a sealable bag for stinky clothes), and headed home, stopping at the outlet mall in Camarillo for some Recovery Shopping.

This will be the last out-of-town event until Vineman in July, so I can start doing some shorter rides, thankfully!

A few more shots from Death Valley

Panamint Valley Panorama (click image to enlarge)

Rusty wheels, Borax Works

Panamint Valley, with my toes in the sand of a prehistoric lake bed.

Paceline, speeding past me.

Wagon, Furnace Creek Ranch

Ride Report: Death Valley makes a mockery of my ambitions.

 The week before the race, a friend of mine gave me such a good pep talk, that I almost thought I had a chance of completing the 150. "It'll be great!" I told myself. "I just have to ride like hell for the first half, and then I can coast!"

Needless to say, I didn't finish the 150, but I did manage to go 100 miles (Yay me!), plus I learned a few things which will come in handy for Rachel vs. Death Valley, the Rematch.

After picking up my rental bike (steel may be real, but I needed a lighter bike) and tent, I got on the road about 11 am. Since Death Valley is about a 5 hour drive from Los Angeles and I really needed to get to the campsite and get the tent set up before dark (my idea of roughing it is a hotel with no room service, so I don't have a lot of experience with tents), I drove like hell, figuring I could stop and enjoy the scenery on the way back.

I got to the park, got my campsite, and miraculously, managed to get the tent assembled with minimal pain.

Houston, we have tent. Note rocks as the ground is way, way too hard for tent stakes. 

No one warned me about rental tent smell. Pee-Eeew. If there's a next time, I'm bringing some Febreeze.

After said tenting, I drove over to Furnace Creek Ranch to check in and pick up my ride packet, which consisted of directions and a lip balm.

I then purchased a shower/pool pass to the pool and went swimming before showering. The pool at Furnace Creek Ranch is fed by a warm spring, so there's no chlorine and it's about 82 degrees. Awesome.

After a shower and dinner at one of the overpriced eateries on the ranch property, I headed back up the the tent to get some sleep.

Little did I know that the Texas Spring campground is apparently Death Valley party central. The noise died down after 10 (thanks to our awesome campground host), and I got my revenge at 5 am Saturday morning when my very loud alarm went off.

I drove down to Furnace Creek Ranch, got the last of my stuff together, and lined up for the start.

The fast riders. Note that I am not among them.

   Although I'd hoped to be in wave 2, which left at 6:20, I ended up in wave 4, which left at 6:40. There were cutoff times at each of the aid stations - of course, for the 150 ride, those cutoff times required a much higher speed than did the century course. After hearing tales of gale-force winds from people who had done the ride before, I got a bit nervous, but the wind seemed to be holding off, so all seemed fairly well.

It was in the 40's, and my legs were so cold that, for some reason, my leg warmers kept falling down. I had to stop at the first aid station to drop my seat a bit (that's what I get for not doing a test ride on the bike) and pee.

Badwater aid station. With toilets!

 The rental bike (an aluminum Fuji) seemed just fine - it did very well over the rough-ish roads, but the first 40 miles of the course were 'rollers', low hills, and it became apparent very early that this bike wasn't really geared to climb. I was averaging a decent pace on flats and downhills, but was slowing down on the hills. Still, though, no winds, so all was well.

Most of the pacelines were going way too fast for me (that's not the bike's fault, it's my legs), so it was just me and the empty roads and the silence. Since I live in a large city, silence is something I'm not really used to, but it was nice.

Not a good place to break down, but impressive! 

 Then, just as I was feeling confident, the wind picked up. Not gale force, like the horror stories from last year, but a good steady 16mph.

Just enough to slow me down to the point where, when I got to the second aid stop, I was warned that I might not make the time cutoff.

Then, I started the first climb. It became apparent very quickly that rental bike was SO not geared to climb. My heart rate soared and my speed dropped and dropped and dropped until I was going at about walking speed. A very, very old man on a beach cruiser (I think) passed me, as did an ambling coyote, and at one point, a snail.

So, it wasn't much of a surprise at the Jubilee Pass 50 mile marker I was told that I'd missed the time cutoff and would have to turn around.

I said "oh, darn", but inwardly I thought "Yay!". That first climb was tough, and the second climb, I'm told,  was worse.

I turned around, rolled down the hill (but kept braking as I'm still to scared to go much over 25 mph) and turned back, into a headwind.

The wind, while I was climbing, had shifted 180 degrees, and I'd have a headwind in both directions.

Thanks, Death Valley, thanks a lot.

The entire way back was all about fighting the wind and the rolling hills, and the fact that I now urgently needed a restroom. Over each rise, each curve, I kept looking for Badwater and it's welcoming toilet, but each time I'd just see more desert.

Pretty!

Scenic!

It's a bunch of damn rocks. I no longer care. Where's the freakin' toilet?

The wind, of course, never let up. The pacelines were long gone, so it was still just me, fighting the wind and really needing a restroom.

Badwater, thankfully.

This is my "It's mile 75 but I feel so relieved" face

After the second Badwater stop is when I really started to hurt. I wasn't cramping up, I was just sore and tired, but since this particular ride won't SAG riders in unless there's some sort of catastrophic injury, my only option was to keep riding.


At one point, I stopped, got off the bike, bent over and tried to stretch out, but this alarmed anyone passing so much ("are you okay? Do you need help?") that I didn't do it again. Plus, it didn't help. My butt hurt, my back hurt, my feet hurt, my neck hurt. Hell, even my hair hurt. I can't imagine the suffering of the poor bastards who tried to cross this desert in a covered wagon (and eventually on foot after the livestock died for lack of forage).

After what seemed like an eternity, the end finally appeared:

Oh, thank God.

The last blissful mile was all downhill into Furnace Creek. I coasted into the ranch, checked in and informed them that I'd dropped down to the 100 miler, and finally got off that damned bike.

Between the winds, the hills, and the general unprepared state of my legs, my official time for the 100 mile ride was 9 hours 20 minutes. That stinging sensation - it's my pride.

I'm not all that fast and I know it, but NINE hours? Were my neck not so sore, I would have hung my head in shame.

Instead, I limped over to the car, threw the bike in the back, grabbed my swimsuit (and some fresh clothes), and headed for the pool.

After floating and stretching, I showered and limped into the restaurant, where I rewarded my self with a plate of undercooked risotto and a beer.

It was easy to spot the cyclists. We were all limping. I chatted with a few fellow riders, and then headed back to the campground, where I stayed awake long enough to brush my teeth and then fell fast asleep despite the noisy campground.

I wish drivers in LA were as courteous as the drivers were in Death Valley. Seriously, all the drivers were incredibly nice.

What is this booth thing with the phone?

The next morning, I got up, limped around, packed the car and then went back to Furnace Creek Ranch for a recovery swim in the pool, since the last thing I wanted was to get back on the bike.

I swam a few laps, stretched, had breakfast and then headed out. I stopped a few times to check out the scenic views and whatnot.

Of course, on the drive out of Death Valley, there were no winds. Not even a breeze, and the temperature was 78 degrees. Just Death Valley saying "Next time, take the car". 

Borax Works

Info sign

Ruin

Wait.. what?

So, for the Rachel vs. Death Valley rematch:

#1. Compact crank and geared for climbing. I made the mistake of assuming that light weight would equal speed. So not true.

#2. Suck it up and pay for the hotel room. Camping sucks ass.

#3. Bring a bike with aerobars. That wind is a bitch.

#4. Get in an earlier start wave.

On the bright side, I didn't cramp up, I didn't have dehydration issues, and I still managed 100 miles.

Sweet.

I have to give credit to AdvendureCORPS, who put on a very nice race. The volunteers were wonderful, the aid stations were wonderful,  the route was wonderful, and despite my not making my cutoff, I'll definitely be back.

I'm off!

I'm checking my stuff, loading the car, then it's off to pick up the bike before I head out to Death Valley.

Predicted highs are in the low 70s, predicted lows in the 40s.

I'll be back with pictures!

Rest(less) day

Although I know rest days are vital to any workout plan, they still make me nuts.

I feel like I should be up and doing something - anything - other than sitting around.

I look longingly at the bikes hanging on the wall and think what a lovely day it is for a ride, but I can't because I have to rest.

Dammit. I hate it.

That's weird, isn't it?

Someone saying that they hate the idea of not working out?

It's weird. I know, but I also know that I really need the rest, especially with Death Valley coming up in less than a week.

I've decided that I'll be satisfied with anything over 50 miles, and extremely happy if I can make the 100 miles.

But then again, I might lose my mind and decide that they're going to drag me off the course when my cold, stiff carcass misses the cutoff point.

I'm not bringing Gary - I'm renting a really nice aluminum/carbon road bike from an awesome local bike shop called Zone 3 Multisport.

When I went in to reserve the bike, the guy who works there picked up Gary, looked at me and said "Oh, you're going to fly on our bike".

So, the schedule is: rest today (dammit), run/swim tomorrow, long ride Tuesday, swim Wednesday, yoga or stretch Thursday, Friday I'm off to Death Valley, and Saturday's the ride.

Two weeks from now is the Solvang Century ride (should be cake after Death Valley), and then I'm back to regular training for Vineman 70.3 and commuting on the Cannondale, which as of late's been doing a whole lot of nothing.

It builds character

One of the things the training plans for just about anything mention is called a 'mental toughness day'.

Since you can't control conditions in races, you may have to power your way through rain, wind, dust, heat, plagues of locusts, etc..

With that in mind, I headed out to PCH for a long ride. Leaving my house it was a bit windy, but by the time I got to the coast the winds were very, very strong, and, of course, blowing south so as I rode north I got the full brunt of it (plus the occasional gust from the side, which was a surprise).

Although I desperately wanted to turn around, go home and curl up with a warm blanket, I kept riding. I knew I wasn't going to make my targeted distance of 100 miles, but I figured if I could just go a little further I'd be fine.

I stopped briefly at a farm stand where they had freshly dug green garlic (so tasty). I didn't have a backpack or bag since I was on the road bike, so I shoved the garlic up the back of my jersey, which made me smell great (I'm sure of it).

I don't know what a Zuman is, but apparently it's vital.

I continued up the coast, eventually turning around at Leo Carrillo beach, which is 30 miles from my house.

Enough! I turn around!

So I did 60 miles instead, but it felt like 100 in that wind. Even going back, when I should have had a really good tailwind, I still got gusts from the side.

Mental toughness, right?

The really interesting thing is that today, my legs aren't hurting at all, and they probably should be. I guess that's a good thing.

Bridge over the California Incline. The troubled waters are to the west.

My nether regions are hurting like hell, though. Forgot to bring the chamois cream with me. I won't make that mistake again.

Chinatown Firecracker Ride in pictures!

This was my first time at the Chinatown Firecracker ride - there were two routes offered - an easy flat 20 miler, and a hilly 30 miler.

I chose the hilly route, thinking it would be fun.

It was, but the main challenge wasn't the climbs, but navigating Los Angeles' legendary shitty roads. 

Starting line

And the impending rain, of course. Despite hopes that it would hold off, it started sprinkling just as the race started. Luckily, it never really rained, just misted enough to make the roads slick and fog up everyone's glasses.

Tandem!

The ride had a really nice mix of people, and since it wasn't a race but an organized ride, there wasn't such a sense of urgency to go flat-out, but I did end up joining one of the pacelines, which was fun, but since the road was wet I got covered in the goop being thrown up by the tire in front of me.  I looked like "Pig Pen" from the Peanuts cartoons.

Griffith Park

About halfway through Griffith Park, the blue sky started to peek through the clouds.

Steep climb

So steep that everyone had to stop and rest 

The only aid station of the ride was at the halfway point, located at Travel Town.

Aid station

Appropriately, we were given fortune cookies in addition to the standard fare of pretzels and bananas.

Fortune cookie for the Chinatown ride! Get it?

...in bed.

Good thing they had a repair station at Travel Town, as a large number of people were having mechanical problems related to the wetness and shittiness of the roads.

By the time I left the aid station, the sun had come out and it was a gorgeous. We rode through Burbank. looped back to the LA River bike path, and made our way back to Chinatown, where there was a huge line for the promised carbo load lunch:

Load me up! I'm hungry!

Noodles, and more fortune cookies.

There was a beer tent, which seemed promising, but they weren't serving good beer. I wasn't expecting top-end microbrew or anything but:

I'm sorry, I thought someone said there was to be beer.

I didn't drink any of the so-called beer, instead opting for a Vietnamese iced coffee from the Pho place across the street.

Red Lanterns

Red Lanterns and puffy clouds

Gong on a shop

I wandered around for a bit, chatted with some fellow riders and some friends who were there picking up packets for the run on Sunday.

When I got home, the first thing I had to to was wash the gunk off Gary, then I took a shower myself.

It was a really fun ride, and I'll definitely do it again next year, but I'll seriously consider bringing a mountain bike because of the pavement.

Wow, didn't see that one coming.

Between road biking and commuting, I put in a respectable number of miles on the bicycle.

Consequently, my legs are pretty damn strong.

Strong enough that usually weights don't make me sore the next day, so when I was at the gym Sunday pre-Superbowl party, I decided to do the workout that they call 'the board' which is posted on, natch, a board on the workout floor.

This one looked good, but not super hard for someone with legs of steel:

In case the photo isn't showing, that's "Push, Pull Squat"

3 x 20 push ups
3 x 20 cable chest presses

3 x 20 seated row

3 x 20 lat pulls

3 x 20 body weight squats
3 x 20 body weight alternate lunges

I added in some ab work, but holy crap.

That easy-looking workout kicked my ass. It's Monday night and I'm still sore.

I knew the shoulders would be sore because of the push ups, but they're way less sore than my quads.

Masters swim tonight was an adventure - of course we were doing sprints. I ran out of gas about 45  minutes in and only have myself to blame.

However, in the future, if I need a really good quick workout (this one took under 45 minutes), I know what I'll be doing.

A tale of eBay woe

I'm forever on a quest for better bike shorts.

Better pad, better waistband, legs that don't ride up or cut off circulation, etc..

But mainly a better pad. I usually wear Mavic shorts, and they're certainly comfortable, but after about 50 miles, I'm in pain and no amount of fresh chamois cream will do anything about it.

So while browsing everyone's favorite online auction site, I found a pair of shorts that looked to have a promisingly thick pad.

So what if they were an off brand and priced at only $30?

All that stuff my grandma always told me about getting what you pay for? 

Straight out the window. I bought the shorts.

They arrived the other day and this morning was my first test ride on them.

I had originally planned to do 80 miles up PCH today, but about 10 miles in, the shorts (or the spirit of my grandmother. I can't tell which) took their vengeance.

The pad, so soft and comfy at first, immediately compressed to the point where it was beyond useless and actually causing chafing, but that wasn't the main problem. The main problem was the seam up the back of the shorts with a very poorly placed tag that was rubbing the skin off the small of my back. It's amazing how the little things get you.

I figured that eventually the lady bits would numb out, but that seam/tag combo - I couldn't ignore it. The more it rubbed, the more it annoyed me, to the point that I started getting really snappish and mean to passers-by and riding buddies.

That, for me, was the signal to pack it in.  It wasn't going to get any better.

So I headed home after riding a grand total of 25 miles. I've got a patch on the small of my back that's rubbed raw, and my lady bits are hamburger.  Hamburger, I tell you.

So, lesson officially learned.

No more discount off-brand bike shorts for me