A Sunday in Hell

I distinctly recall talking with Joe Huth about the possibility of sliding down from up high on the velodrome banking. Joe said it had never happened to him (knock wood), but from what he was told, “you don’t have any warning. It just happens.”

That conversation flashed in my head as I felt my tires let go. It was a shock. I was just turning laps above the stayers line and then I was sliding.

I didn’t hit a pedal. I don’t know what happened really. The best explanation seems to be that the gusty winds that day slowed me up just enough in turn 1 that I went below the ‘safe speed’ and then physics took care of the rest.

When I hit the apron at the bottom I knew immediately that something was seriously wrong. Usually after a wreck you get the bike off you and get up. Only I couldn’t. I looked at my right leg and thought “Marcus Lattimore” (S. Carolina running back injured last year. Video too gruesome to include here).

Next came the cascade of thoughts on all the training and then missing all the upcoming races. Same thing you would think when you realize you broke a collarbone.

But it quickly became apparent that this was going to be a whole lot worse. Screw the bike racing, I just wanted an ambulance, and wanted to get my leg fixed.

One of the things the EMTs and doctors ask (repeatedly) is your pain level on a scale of 0-10. I can say with certainty that I have a new definition of what “10″ is. The EMT said I was getting the “Saving Private Ryan dose” of pain killer, and I have to say I would not have known it. He told me, “yeah, it usually doesn’t do much in these cases.”

I count that I was moved 6 times from the infield at the track to when I went down to the OR. Each one of those moves rated a “10″. But the worst was when they tried to put my leg in traction for the night since surgery couldn’t happen until the next day. Pretty sure the entire ER heard it.

The diagnosis was broken femur, and “not a clean break”. I had made a few calls while in the ER, waiting for the X-Ray results, and I had said, “I can tell by the faces on the ER people that this is not good.”

When the doctor said they couldn’t do the surgery until the next morning, I was tempted to ask if they could take me across the street (i.e., the Clinic) but even if that was an option I knew I couldn’t tolerate being moved again.

Perhaps the most surreal part of the day came while laying in the ER waiting for my room to be prepared. For some distraction I flipped on the TV. There was some kind of news report flashing the names of “Amanda Berry” and “Gina DeJesus”. I knew the names, and was thoroughly confused. Were the pain killers making me disoriented? I fell asleep and didn’t learn until the next day what I had been watching.

This was my version of A Sunday in Hell, thankfully not captured on film.

***

I want to profusely thank Gary Burkholder, the other rider who was at the track, and the firemen from the firehouse down the street, who helped me out in those first minutes after the accident. Not sure I would have held it together without them.

***

Hat tip to John Lowry for this:

I have exclusive use of “10″

***

Reading the physician’s report of my ER visit, found this:

“… EMS gave him 4mg of morphine for pain that he stated was the worst in his life when they attempted to move him”

As long as I don’t have to get a tattoo

I can’t begin to count the number of times people have asked me the questions: why do bike racers shave their legs? Why do you wear those funny outfits when riding? Why are you all so skinny?

For the leg shaving, I’ve heard people offer up explanations about massage, road rash, etc. But I’ve always said: it shows that you’re part of the club.

That thought occurred to me while driving down to South Carolina to race, first on the track and then on the road. For a trip like this, I often save up podcasts of This American Life, which tends to make the drive seem to much faster.

While listening to the recent episode titled “Tribes”, I thought, “yeah, this could be about bike racers too”.

And then I pulled up at the Giordana Velodrome, where I was going to race that evening. I unloaded my bike, wheels, other gear, and went down to the infield. I sat and watched the other racers filter in, start changing cogs and chainrings, adjust chains, pin numbers on skinsuits. And it further occurred to me: this is a tribe within a tribe.

In pre-modern times, being able to identify who is “in” your tribe would help to determine who you can trust.

I hadn’t been on a track since November and was a little nervous getting started. I rode by myself for a while before jumping on to the back of a group that came by. Riding close, with no brakes, I was again reminded that you need to have a large amount of trust in the riders around you. So all those little quirky things that races do might actually serve a function.

The track racers at Rock Hill were super friendly. I asked about gearing and not only got advice but also offers to use cogs and chainrings if I needed. Then after the race I was offered a place to stay if I came down to race again.

I’m thinking that means I am “in”.

More manageable cycling trips

Having done of number of these spring riding trips, and trips to Europe in particular, I’ve learned a few things along the way on how to make it reasonably affordable and more enjoyable. Most of it I learned the hard way — by making mistakes.

Collect frequent flier miles
Airline tickets are usually the biggest single expense, so it helps if you can eliminate that right from the start. You don’t need to fly a lot to do this. Get a credit card that allows you to accumulate miles and then use it for everything.

Go in the off-season
Tourist season, that is, which is late spring and through the summer. Early spring, or fall is better. Hotels, flights, and other things are cheaper, and it’s less crowded.

Don’t do an organized tour
It’s way cheaper to do a cycling trip on your own. Yes, it can be a bit intimidating to do the first time, but if you’re willing to be patient, to make mistakes, be confused at times, you’ll be rewarded not only by saving money but by experiences you won’t get if someone else does it for you.

Find affordable housing
For young people that could be hostels. Also now there are many ways to book private housing where people rent rooms, apartments, etc. (e.g., AirBnB, HomeAway). In Alicante I found a small apartment with kitchen for 34euro per night). The main point is avoid large, American-style hotel chains.

Get a credit card with no international fees
That goes for ATM cards too. CapitalOne is the primary one that I know if. This can be a very big savings, as some will charge up to a 3% transaction fee. Use the ATM card to get cash; don’t change money here in the US or at airport kiosks as the exchange rate and fees will be terrible. Although it’s a good idea to at least have a little cash on arrival, just in case your card doesn’t work. Also a good idea to inform your credit card and bank companies that you will be making international transactions.

Make your own breakfast and lunch
And/or find a hotel that includes breakfast. Personally I like going into local stores and buying food that I can then make myself. Way cheaper, and often more fun, than eating every meal out.

Rent a bike
I’ve had pretty good luck renting bikes, rather than hassling with bringing my own. Airlines now charge ridiculous prices to fly with your bike, and then you have the added hassle of renting a car big enough to hold the bike case, putting the bike together, packing it up again, etc. I accept that a rental is not going to be as nice, and may not fit perfectly, but to me the reduced hassle is worth it. An alternative is to ship your bike — an option if you’re staying within the US but not to Europe.

Don’t overplan
I’m often guilty of this. Then find that it makes me even more stressed if things don’t go exactly as planned. One of the harder things can be finding and planning bike routes. It does help for this to do a bit of advanced planning to find recommended routes. You can do this with sites like mapmyride, or looking for local bike shops that have route maps, or local clubs, or just doing some Internet searching for recommendations. I remember coming across great routes in the Girona area via pro rider Michael Barry’s web site.

Carry a map, money, id when on the bike
That really should go without saying, but there have been times when I’ve forgotten, or feel (over)confident that I know where I’m going. Then make a wrong turn, or run into a detour. Or forget my water bottles and need to stop for something to drink. On this last trip I stuck a (car) GPS in my back pocket as a last resort in case I got lost (which I ended up using). See below.

Bring a GPS with local maps
If renting a car and driving, this is pretty much essential to reduce stress. On the bike, I would ideally like to have had a handlebar mounted unit rather than fishing maps out of my pocket all the time. Those tend to be too big for racing, but for riding in strange places would be very nice. On my “to purchase” list.

Choose more off-the-beaten-path locations
Especially if you are going to ride, but also I think this applies in general. For me, anyway. Seeing big cities is nice, but for me it gets old after a while. I am happier to find somewhere smaller and more manageable, where I can easily ride, walk, hike, have coffee, and experience some of the local culture. Even in Alicante, it took me about 20 minutes of riding to get out of traffic congestion. Somewhere like Barcelona would have been a mess.

Learn a little of the local language
At least some of the basics: greetings, please & thank you, do you speak English?, how much? where is the bathroom?, another beer please! etc. A little travel dictionary is very helpful. In some places, it doesn’t seem to matter. In Barcelona a waiter made fun of my daughter saying “your Spanish is funny.” But they are dealing with a mass of tourists every day. In other places, people seem appreciative when you try to speak their language rather than assume that everyone speaks English.

Most of all, keep and open mind and at least a bit of a sense of adventure.

Ride lots

When I returned from Spain, people at work asked how much I rode. When I said “about 33 hours over 8 days” (not counting the first day’s 45 minute spin), the common response was “I can’t imagine riding that much.” A few other cyclists even said that.

It does sound like a lot, but having done a number of these kinds of weeks now, my experience is that it’s quite amazing how quickly your body adapts. This is true for multi-day races like Superweek also. After the first couple of days you think there’s no way you can continue doing it, but then at a certain point it switches and you feel like you have to do it. Your body doesn’t feel right if you don’t go out and ride (or race).

I understand why the Grand Tour racers go out and ride for 3 hours on the race’s “rest days”. They feel worse if they don’t ride.

Coming back home, I had a full day of travel where I couldn’t ride. The next day though I was back outside again, riding for 2 hours. Then every day since then. Not at the same volume or intensity, but I wouldn’t feel right not riding (both mentally and physically).

I’m sure it helps that I have been riding for quite a few years now, and have built a pretty good base of fitness. I don’t think I’d tell a beginning rider to go ride 30 hours in a week. But I think even beginning riders can do a period of increased volume.

There are a couple of secrets to it: you have to back off the intensity to what you can ride every day. I’ve learned what happens when you ride too much at too high an intensity: you dig hole that’s hard to climb out from.

The other secret is that when you don’t have to work and can just ride, rest, eat … well, you can ride a lot more. So I just need to figure out how to solve that problem of needing to work.

All the roads go up

Climbing used to be my favorite thing on the bike — racing, training, or Just Riding Around. But that was before I officially became “old”, and before those extra 5 or so pounds. It’s not that I dislike climbs now. It’s more that I just don’t look forward to them like I used to.

That was going to present a bit of a problem riding around Alicante. Once you get away from the city and the coast — which you have to do to escape congestion — all the roads go up. If I was going to actually enjoy riding every day I was going to need to adjust my outlook.

It’s not too hard to change your attitude when you’re going up a climb and you look down and see paint on the road from a race — encouragements for favorite riders. Imagining what the race might have been like, it just makes you want to keep going up.

And then you get rewarded by the views from the top.

The climbs in this part of Spain are very different than what we have at home, which are usually short climbs of 3-8 minutes. Instead, I was doing climbs lasting 20 minutes to almost an hour. And then the long descents after the climb.

I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much extended time riding in the small ring. It seemed the road either was going up or going down. Which also made for some of the slowest average speeds I think I’ve ever had. I just had to accept that it was going to take me 4 hours to go 100km.

The hardest part was doing it day after day. In 8 days of riding I did about 45k feet of climbing — roughly 5500 feet each day. I have to work to get 5k feet in a day at home. But surprisingly, you just get acclimated to it.

I think I now know why the “Spanish climbers” do so well in the mountain stages of the grand tours.

Enter the roundabout and take the second exit

Shortly after my daughter decided to do a semester abroad in Spain, she told me she wanted to do a program in Alicante.

I pulled up Google Maps. It was in southern Spain, right on the Mediterranean. It looked gorgeous.

I said, “you understand this is school and not a European vacation, right?” But I understood. Given a choice of location, who wouldn’t choose one that’s sunny most of the time and where every day you can see the blue waters of the Mediterranean? And secretly, I was happy that my spring riding trip — I mean “parent visit” — would be in a nice weather location.

And fortunate that it was right on the coast, because the water served as a point of orientation for me while riding. I love riding in new places — new and unfamiliar roads and sights. I pay more attention to what’s going on around me. The downside is that it can be stressful not knowing where you’re going.

So for the first few days in a new place I find myself stopping often and looking at maps. Or asking for directions.

In the US, where roads are most often laid out in a grid, it’s generally not that difficult to navigate. But in Europe it seems that roads most often go from one town to the next. And around Alicante, they weren’t always well-marked.

And then there were the roundabouts.

If I wanted to ride CV-800 from Alicante to Xixona, I needed to know that first it went to Mutxamel. I could see this when I looked at the map pre-ride, but then while riding there was no way I was going to remember all the little towns.

So I ended up drawing up my own little cheat-sheet, connecting one town to the next on the route that I had planned. Several times the first few days I still found myself a bit disoriented. But somehow I was able to tell which way the coast was. Often I could get a glimpse of it, as pretty much all of the roads went uphill from the coast.

What I wanted at times though was to have my (car) GPS giving me turn-by-turn instructions. One day that’s what I did. I had stuck the GPS in my back pocket, just in case. It had started to rain, I was a bit lost, and wasn’t in a mood to be just exploring. So I turned on the GPS, turned up the volume, and listened to it calling out the turns from my back pocket.

I didn’t mind getting wet at that point. It was warm, and I reminded myself that I was RIDING IN SPAIN!

The GPS speaking English from my pocket did draw a few strange looks from pedestrians.

Day 1: 45 minute spin after picking up the bike
Day 2: 4+ hrs, Alicante – Xixona – Busot – Alicante. ~4k feet of climbing.

You don’t really need an excuse to ride in Spain

I wasn’t much of a traveler until 1997, when my wife gave me a Christmas gift of 2 weeks riding and racing in Italy at the Velo Veneto camp. Before that trip, travel seemed like more hassle than pleasure. I even remember thinking at first that I didn’t really want to go, but it was a gift, so I should go.

I now count that trip as one of the handful of life-changing experiences I’ve had.

I distinctly remember the feeling of getting on a bike that first day, and thinking, “holy shit, I am riding in Italy.” Since then I’ve had the good fortune to travel and ride in a number of different countries in Europe, including an 8-month stretch of living and working in Germany. And always loving it.

So when my daughter said she wanted to do a semester abroad, in Spain, my response was, “that will be a great experience”. My internal response was, “I will have a great excuse to go over and ride!”

Which I just did. 9 days of riding, visiting, eating, drinking on the Costa Brava in Spain. I’ve now been spoiled by the scenery, climbing, food, coffee. I can’t think of a better “spring training camp”.

Over the next week I’m going to indulge in a few more posts to share some things from the trip, if only to divert my attention from the cold, rain, and snow I’ve come back to.

166 Meters Closer

Today marks two weeks and a day since my first ride on the Cleveland Velodrome.

I’ve ridden 8 or 9 days in that time, so I figure that’s getting close to 2000 laps. I should be completely convinced by now that you can ride the steep part of the banking without sliding down. But every time I ride, I have to convince myself all over again that it’s possible. The first lap I just have this feeling that the wheels are going to slide out or my pedal is going to hit the high side of the track.

But each time I ride, it takes fewer and fewer laps to get over that feeling. See someone fall? That introduces some doubt again.

I’m thinking that learning to ride the track is going to be as much a mental exercise as a physical one.

Take riding up at the top of the track. Watching the “roll up” from last weekend’s race, I figure I need to be able to ride in a paceline up high, and be able to pull off up higher.

Logically, I know that it shouldn’t be any harder to ride in a straight line up there. But riding up close to the edge of the track makes me feel like I’m on a roller coaster and I’m trying to keep myself from looking down. So I try to make myself look out at the track, and get a little closer to the edge each time.

It doesn’t help that Gary tells me he clipped a pedal on the plastic bumper at the top of the track. More doubt.

But I figure each of those laps is 166 meters closer to confidence.

From 0 to 60 (km/h) in a week, part 2

The day after my first dizzying ride on the Cleveland Velodrome, I went to work feeling like I had a hangover. If this was how I would feel after riding on the track, then there was no way I could keep doing it. It would be a case of “did it once, it was cool, but it wasn’t really for me.”

I emailed my wife, on deployment in the Air Force Reserves. She’s had to deal with air sickness in situations a lot worse than riding around a velodrome. It gets better, she said. Or maybe it’s more like, you get used to it, not sure which.

That didn’t exactly make me feel better, but I needed to find out if I could do it. So I went back for some “hair of the dog”. The next day.

“Don’t look down at the track”, Brett told me. “Look out ahead. If you’re coming into the turn you should be looking at the exit. Don’t stare at the wheel in front of you.”

Simple instructions, and it made all the difference. I rode by myself for a while, then jumped on to the back of a paceline as it came by. After 90 minutes worth of riding, I had only a few moments of mild discomfort.

I went back on Tuesday. And again on Thursday (4 times in 5 days). There’s something addictive about being on the early part of the learning curve.

The state championship race was scheduled for Saturday. I never thought I would be ready to do something like that so soon. But they were all individual events — no mass start races. And we practiced them Thursday evening, so I knew I could at least get around the track. Why not?

One week after riding the track for the first time, I was pinning on a number. By the end of the day I had a couple medals and a jersey.

Then I started looking online for a track bike. And wrote a check to make a donation and join the Founders Club.

Kudos to the people who did all the hard work to make this happen. This has to be one of the coolest things in Cleveland.

You can donate via the website: http://clevelandvelodrome.org/

From 0 to 60 (km/h) in a week

[Note: this started out as a single post that quickly got out of hand]

Back when I decided to learn to snowboard (10+ years ago), someone commented, “oh, you mean you want to strap your feet to a plank and throw yourself down a mountain?”

I was reminded of that comment the first time I drove up to the Cleveland Velodrome for “Track 101″, just one week ago. I looked at the steepness of the banking and thought, “there’s no way I can ride on that.”

I’d seen pictures of people riding it, but at that moment no way could I picture myself doing it.

I was reminded also of how my kids had no self-consciousness when learning to snowboard. They had no problem not knowing what to do. Nor did they have any fear of falling. As an adult though, you have to get over that feeling of needing to be competent even though you have no clue. And get over the fear of falling down.

And so with some trepidation I threw my leg over the fixed-gear bike and slowly rode around the infield. I’d been warned by several people that it takes a while to suppress the reflex to stop pedaling and freewheel. I was told I would be in for a nasty surprise if I tried to stop pedaling while going fast. So I also had that fear in the back of my head.

It as an odd sensation at first. The little movements you do without thinking — like adjusting the pedal position before pushing off — you can’t do in the same way. But after riding around for a while I started to get the feel of it.

Then it was time to start, for real. We first rode around the plywood apron. Then up on the track in the straightaway then back on the apron. Then higher up on the track and back down. We did this several times.

Brett Davis, who was teaching the intro class, told us we needed to go 18mph to ride the banking in the curves. So if we followed him and kept his speed, we would be fine. I wanted to believe that.

We did 3 laps on the track and no one fell. OK, I was convinced. We did this a few more times, then time was up, and the class was over.

In the meantime, another experienced rider (Jim Behrens) had shown up. Brett said, OK let’s do some paceline. Uh oh. I had just ridden the track for the first time, and now he wants me to ride in a paceline.

Part of me wanted to say. “thanks, but I need to get going.” But the other part was jazzed at riding the track and wanted to take the next step.

Next thing I know we’re going around at 23-24mph, with the lead rider pulling off to the high side every 2 laps. The first time coming through the line, with the rider up above me on the track, was a bit scary. I pictured him sliding down the track and into me.

One of the things I learned that first day: you need to have some amount of trust that the others around you are competent and are going to ride in a straight line.

So around we went. And around some more. Until at one point I realized I was starting to get motion sick. I took a break, then rode some more. And got more motion sick.

I felt like I had just gotten off the Raptor at Cedar Point. At that point I’d had enough and needed to stop.

This was now a dilemma. I’d had a taste of riding fast around the track. But could I do it without getting dizzy every time?

Next up: Can you ride while taking dramamine?