Gnat! (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} gnat23) wrote,@ 2009-05-18 00:29:00 |
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Davis Double 2009
So. I rode my bike a lot. 200 miles in one day; more than I ever thought possible. Davis Double. WTF, how did I get talked into this? Oh yah; thanks Coach!
Showed up Friday night to Davis, CA after three-and-a-half grueling hours in traffic. Checked in, got a map, my rider number, and my jersey (oh, great, now I have to finish). There was a pasta dinner, carbo-load style, and while the food was plain, the conversation was not. My dining companions were two guys who decided randomly to go for the California Triple Crown jersey, awarded to those who complete three double centuries in a year. This was their second. They gave me some tips, and we tried to analyze the route map for strategies. One guy did triathalons, the other was more shy. We wished each other luck and snuck out some extra cookies each.
I tried falling asleep early, really. I took an Advil PM, laid out tomorrow's clothes, took a warm shower, and put the weather channel on low volume. It warned about tomorrow's heat. Not much to do about it, I thought, as I finally drifted off.
Alarm went off at 3:30 am. Uuuungh.
Dress. Eat one salt bagel, a can of Starbuck's energy drink, and a protein shake. Vitamin, Ca/Mg/Zn electolyte pill. On the road by 4:15am. It's dark, very dark. In fact, as I passed the last suburban house, the night sky opened up in front of me, and I was astounded to find that I was headed straight for the Big Dipper. I had a headlamp and a back blinky light, but I realized with a bit of panic that my bike had absolutely no reflectors on it. There were a few of us out on the road, but except for crickets and frogs it was very, very, very quiet.
It didn't take long for bikes to start passing by me. As the "normal" starting time of 5:30a passed, the faster cyclists got their move on and zipped by me without much hestiation. A few times, I'd see a tandem bike pass me, and I had a flashback to something I'd read: When you see a tandem, think draft. In the Davis Double ecology, tandems represent a natural resource for bikers. Tandem riders are cheerful, helpful people who delight in leading a pace line 20 bikes long. Sucking their draft is a timed honored ritual among all but the most hard core cyclists. I'd try to get in the train, hooking in the caboose spot, but they were just too fast. I'd redline and kill myself trying to catch up, but if you can't catch them in time, it's not worth it. I swore as I saw their blinky lights cruise off in the distance, leaving me to fight at a mere 12-13 miles per hour. I'm never gunna make it at this speed, I thought. But, then, blissfully, with the patience of a summer fisher, I finally caught one; a tandem and solo rider behind them. I got them! What a world of difference between 12 mph at a heart rate of 170bpm versus hypermiling at 20mph at 150bpm! We zipped along and I felt like I was softpedaling. *awesome*, I get it!
Peed and grabbed some fig newtons at the first rest stop as the sun started to rise. Stripped the lights off. Made sure to leave the same time as that tandem (even introduced myself so maybe they'd wait for me) and felt pretty good. At the first hill, a little blip called "Cardiac Hill", I was disappointed to find that I was dropping my companions. Sure, ok, I'm a good climber, but what was I going to do if I lost my golden ticket for the rest of the ride? I hung back for a while, but then I found myself impatient. Drat.
Second reststop, about mile 50. I spotted a coworker who was covered in dead bugs from the descent. I waited ages for the port-a-potty. Refilled the water bottles. Felt awesome. And, get this, the next 45 miles were nuthin. I don't even remember much of it; bumped into coworker again, saw a nasty accident at the bottom of a hill, and it was starting to get warm. Ate a lot of Fig Newtons.
Mile 95 rest stop. One century done! I had the idea to perform a "reset" for myself, to get my mental set for the next 100+ miles. I bathed myself off with an Action Wipe, ate a good meal, sat and chatted, checked my email, set up my ipod. This strategy would have worked except for:
The hill. Ok, everyone was warning me about the hill. Mind you, Davis is a relatively *flat* double compared to some out there, but it does have a climb in the middle of it. "How bad is it?" I asked, since the map didn't really spell it out. I heard everything from 5 to 9 miles of climbing with 1500 ft elevation game. Sheesh, well I just did Diabolo last weekend, and it's certainly shorter than Page Mill, so piece of cake, right?
Except I didn't do Diabolo with 100 miles already under my belt. And I've never done Page Mill in 95 degree weather. It was, in a word, miserable. I freaked myself out a bit, not even a half-mile into it, and pulled off the road when my feet just couldn't be convinced to turn over the pedals. My legs were shaking and my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. I walked for a bit to get to a shady spot and thought; I'm NOT going to make it, DAMMIT. Other people followed me into the shade. Then we hyped ourselves up to go back out there. We made it another half mile and pulled over again. More people joined us. People with Triple Crown and Death Ride jerseys were in with us, so I didn't feel AS bad. We commiserated, chatted, psyched ourselves up. The sun just didn't stop beating down, none of us were going over 5 miles an hour, and wow. By the time I arrived at the top, it took me 2.5 hours to go 10 miles, I had gone through two waterbottles and an entire camelbak of water. I felt pretty rough, but somehow, by sheer will, I made it. I gave up on my idea of finishing before dark and instead set my sights on finishing before midnight. Depressing!
The next 20-30 miles continued to be pretty stupid. At one point, I passed a guy sitting on the side of the road, the only shade available coming from his friend who was standing over him. My iPod helped, as conversation was sparce. I just kept drinking as much as I could, but Fig Newtons still turned into paste inside my mouth. I even got dropped by a guy on a fixie. How much farther to go? Ugh!
Other riders alternated between being helpful and, well, not. "You think this is hot? You shoulda seen last year, it was about 10-15 degrees hotter at least!" My phone had picked up a few encouraging SMS messages, which helped a ton. "Put a baggie of ice in your bra!" said coach. What a great idea! Ahh!
About 7pm, the sun finally got low enough to no longer be oppressive. Energy and moods picked up considerably! Also, downhills! I zipped along wide smooth descents, finally feeling human again.
Some guy passed me. I passed him. He passed me again. Fine, I thought, if you want to get ahead of me that badly, I'm just going to sit on your wheel and draft. After about 10 miles, his left elbow wiggled. At first I thought we was trying to get a kink out of his shoulder, but then I remembered something I had read not even three days ago about pacelines; he was signalling me to pass him and take a turn in the lead spot, I got it I got it! I quick looked behind me before I pulled around and was shocked to discover that 7 guys had formed in a line behind me! They looked up at me like racoons caught being naughty. Wow! We made a killer paceline and I didn't even know it! I pulled up and with new confidence that I was pulling a team of racehorses behind me, got onto a slight downhill and took us at 25 miles per hour for quite a ways. The guy behind me eventually overtook me and I took the signal to drift slowly to the back of the train. I was doing it, I was in a paceline! Everytime I looked at my speedometer, we were doing 21-22 mph and I didn't feel like I was working very hard at all; it was just a matter of keeping a close eye on the wheel ahead of me and not letting it get too far or too close. We went quite a ways with this pack, and by the time we reached a rest stop, the sun was setting and we only had 50 miles to go.
How weird is it that 50 miles felt like "home stretch"? Durr.
We fueled up on Cup O' Noodles, and I got what I figure was my 18th wind. Our pace line tuned down a bit (16-18mph) and we shot through all the flat boring sections on the way back to Davis. Conversation was lively, spirits were high, and my legs still felt great. My butt hurt, my shoulders hurt, and I couldn't wait to see the odometer turn over, but I was happy. I'm gunna make it, I can so do this. My butt hurts SO BAD, but holysnot I'm going to do this.
50 miles turned into 25. That quickly turned into 10. Then it just ticked off so fast... 6 miles to go! 5 to go! 2! I've got 199.9! and... and... and... and...... ohmygawd come on... there it is, 200! Ok, the finish was offically at 201.3, but for once I didn't mind the bonus mile. I was spazzy and happy and ecstatic. We pulled in at 11:30pm. So that's 15 hours of actual time on the saddle, and roughly 19 hours of being outside.
I took a picture of my odometer, called Ace who was in Switzerland, picked up my patch, ate some chicken and ice cream, said my goodbyes to everyone who I met who was still in house. Triathalon guy was there, who I kept bumping into at every rest stop; his friend was still out on the road, somewhere. Tandem folks were there, still smiling. The guy I kept leapfrogging all day introduced himself. My last group of paceline guys all got big hugs.
Then I slammed another can of coffee, ate a bunch of tortilla chips by the handfull, and drove 2 hours home. Stupid!
Total damage? My legs are stiff, but feel remarkably great considering what I did to them. I have a bit of saddle sore and actual bruises on my sitbones. Yes, I have BRUISES ON MY ASS. My shoulders got completely knotted up and my triceps feel a bit shakey, presumably from holding myself up all day. The next day, I drank about 3 liters of water and only peed twice, and I've been craving salt all day. I splurged and got an hour and a half massage, fully half of that spent trying to repair my upper back. Coach took me out for burgers and beer and she presented me with a congratulations card and some pink cycling socks. Awesome sauce!
What really cracked me up was how everyone on the ride assumed that this was my first ride...of many. "So, which one are you doing next?" "You going for the Triple Crown?" as if one retardedly long hot ride was enough to hook me on this strange definition of 'fun'. I tried explaining that this was just a training ride to get me ready for Death Ride, but they were quick to point out there were double centuries with WAY more mileage and climbing. These guys are hardcore, in a league of their own. As of right now, I'm not in any hurry to join that party. Maybe someday. Ask me again once my ass-bruises have healed.
The GPS Data
The photo evidence
So. I rode my bike a lot. 200 miles in one day; more than I ever thought possible. Davis Double. WTF, how did I get talked into this? Oh yah; thanks Coach!
Showed up Friday night to Davis, CA after three-and-a-half grueling hours in traffic. Checked in, got a map, my rider number, and my jersey (oh, great, now I have to finish). There was a pasta dinner, carbo-load style, and while the food was plain, the conversation was not. My dining companions were two guys who decided randomly to go for the California Triple Crown jersey, awarded to those who complete three double centuries in a year. This was their second. They gave me some tips, and we tried to analyze the route map for strategies. One guy did triathalons, the other was more shy. We wished each other luck and snuck out some extra cookies each.
I tried falling asleep early, really. I took an Advil PM, laid out tomorrow's clothes, took a warm shower, and put the weather channel on low volume. It warned about tomorrow's heat. Not much to do about it, I thought, as I finally drifted off.
Alarm went off at 3:30 am. Uuuungh.
Dress. Eat one salt bagel, a can of Starbuck's energy drink, and a protein shake. Vitamin, Ca/Mg/Zn electolyte pill. On the road by 4:15am. It's dark, very dark. In fact, as I passed the last suburban house, the night sky opened up in front of me, and I was astounded to find that I was headed straight for the Big Dipper. I had a headlamp and a back blinky light, but I realized with a bit of panic that my bike had absolutely no reflectors on it. There were a few of us out on the road, but except for crickets and frogs it was very, very, very quiet.
It didn't take long for bikes to start passing by me. As the "normal" starting time of 5:30a passed, the faster cyclists got their move on and zipped by me without much hestiation. A few times, I'd see a tandem bike pass me, and I had a flashback to something I'd read: When you see a tandem, think draft. In the Davis Double ecology, tandems represent a natural resource for bikers. Tandem riders are cheerful, helpful people who delight in leading a pace line 20 bikes long. Sucking their draft is a timed honored ritual among all but the most hard core cyclists. I'd try to get in the train, hooking in the caboose spot, but they were just too fast. I'd redline and kill myself trying to catch up, but if you can't catch them in time, it's not worth it. I swore as I saw their blinky lights cruise off in the distance, leaving me to fight at a mere 12-13 miles per hour. I'm never gunna make it at this speed, I thought. But, then, blissfully, with the patience of a summer fisher, I finally caught one; a tandem and solo rider behind them. I got them! What a world of difference between 12 mph at a heart rate of 170bpm versus hypermiling at 20mph at 150bpm! We zipped along and I felt like I was softpedaling. *awesome*, I get it!
Peed and grabbed some fig newtons at the first rest stop as the sun started to rise. Stripped the lights off. Made sure to leave the same time as that tandem (even introduced myself so maybe they'd wait for me) and felt pretty good. At the first hill, a little blip called "Cardiac Hill", I was disappointed to find that I was dropping my companions. Sure, ok, I'm a good climber, but what was I going to do if I lost my golden ticket for the rest of the ride? I hung back for a while, but then I found myself impatient. Drat.
Second reststop, about mile 50. I spotted a coworker who was covered in dead bugs from the descent. I waited ages for the port-a-potty. Refilled the water bottles. Felt awesome. And, get this, the next 45 miles were nuthin. I don't even remember much of it; bumped into coworker again, saw a nasty accident at the bottom of a hill, and it was starting to get warm. Ate a lot of Fig Newtons.
Mile 95 rest stop. One century done! I had the idea to perform a "reset" for myself, to get my mental set for the next 100+ miles. I bathed myself off with an Action Wipe, ate a good meal, sat and chatted, checked my email, set up my ipod. This strategy would have worked except for:
The hill. Ok, everyone was warning me about the hill. Mind you, Davis is a relatively *flat* double compared to some out there, but it does have a climb in the middle of it. "How bad is it?" I asked, since the map didn't really spell it out. I heard everything from 5 to 9 miles of climbing with 1500 ft elevation game. Sheesh, well I just did Diabolo last weekend, and it's certainly shorter than Page Mill, so piece of cake, right?
Except I didn't do Diabolo with 100 miles already under my belt. And I've never done Page Mill in 95 degree weather. It was, in a word, miserable. I freaked myself out a bit, not even a half-mile into it, and pulled off the road when my feet just couldn't be convinced to turn over the pedals. My legs were shaking and my heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. I walked for a bit to get to a shady spot and thought; I'm NOT going to make it, DAMMIT. Other people followed me into the shade. Then we hyped ourselves up to go back out there. We made it another half mile and pulled over again. More people joined us. People with Triple Crown and Death Ride jerseys were in with us, so I didn't feel AS bad. We commiserated, chatted, psyched ourselves up. The sun just didn't stop beating down, none of us were going over 5 miles an hour, and wow. By the time I arrived at the top, it took me 2.5 hours to go 10 miles, I had gone through two waterbottles and an entire camelbak of water. I felt pretty rough, but somehow, by sheer will, I made it. I gave up on my idea of finishing before dark and instead set my sights on finishing before midnight. Depressing!
The next 20-30 miles continued to be pretty stupid. At one point, I passed a guy sitting on the side of the road, the only shade available coming from his friend who was standing over him. My iPod helped, as conversation was sparce. I just kept drinking as much as I could, but Fig Newtons still turned into paste inside my mouth. I even got dropped by a guy on a fixie. How much farther to go? Ugh!
Other riders alternated between being helpful and, well, not. "You think this is hot? You shoulda seen last year, it was about 10-15 degrees hotter at least!" My phone had picked up a few encouraging SMS messages, which helped a ton. "Put a baggie of ice in your bra!" said coach. What a great idea! Ahh!
About 7pm, the sun finally got low enough to no longer be oppressive. Energy and moods picked up considerably! Also, downhills! I zipped along wide smooth descents, finally feeling human again.
Some guy passed me. I passed him. He passed me again. Fine, I thought, if you want to get ahead of me that badly, I'm just going to sit on your wheel and draft. After about 10 miles, his left elbow wiggled. At first I thought we was trying to get a kink out of his shoulder, but then I remembered something I had read not even three days ago about pacelines; he was signalling me to pass him and take a turn in the lead spot, I got it I got it! I quick looked behind me before I pulled around and was shocked to discover that 7 guys had formed in a line behind me! They looked up at me like racoons caught being naughty. Wow! We made a killer paceline and I didn't even know it! I pulled up and with new confidence that I was pulling a team of racehorses behind me, got onto a slight downhill and took us at 25 miles per hour for quite a ways. The guy behind me eventually overtook me and I took the signal to drift slowly to the back of the train. I was doing it, I was in a paceline! Everytime I looked at my speedometer, we were doing 21-22 mph and I didn't feel like I was working very hard at all; it was just a matter of keeping a close eye on the wheel ahead of me and not letting it get too far or too close. We went quite a ways with this pack, and by the time we reached a rest stop, the sun was setting and we only had 50 miles to go.
How weird is it that 50 miles felt like "home stretch"? Durr.
We fueled up on Cup O' Noodles, and I got what I figure was my 18th wind. Our pace line tuned down a bit (16-18mph) and we shot through all the flat boring sections on the way back to Davis. Conversation was lively, spirits were high, and my legs still felt great. My butt hurt, my shoulders hurt, and I couldn't wait to see the odometer turn over, but I was happy. I'm gunna make it, I can so do this. My butt hurts SO BAD, but holysnot I'm going to do this.
50 miles turned into 25. That quickly turned into 10. Then it just ticked off so fast... 6 miles to go! 5 to go! 2! I've got 199.9! and... and... and... and...... ohmygawd come on... there it is, 200! Ok, the finish was offically at 201.3, but for once I didn't mind the bonus mile. I was spazzy and happy and ecstatic. We pulled in at 11:30pm. So that's 15 hours of actual time on the saddle, and roughly 19 hours of being outside.
I took a picture of my odometer, called Ace who was in Switzerland, picked up my patch, ate some chicken and ice cream, said my goodbyes to everyone who I met who was still in house. Triathalon guy was there, who I kept bumping into at every rest stop; his friend was still out on the road, somewhere. Tandem folks were there, still smiling. The guy I kept leapfrogging all day introduced himself. My last group of paceline guys all got big hugs.
Then I slammed another can of coffee, ate a bunch of tortilla chips by the handfull, and drove 2 hours home. Stupid!
Total damage? My legs are stiff, but feel remarkably great considering what I did to them. I have a bit of saddle sore and actual bruises on my sitbones. Yes, I have BRUISES ON MY ASS. My shoulders got completely knotted up and my triceps feel a bit shakey, presumably from holding myself up all day. The next day, I drank about 3 liters of water and only peed twice, and I've been craving salt all day. I splurged and got an hour and a half massage, fully half of that spent trying to repair my upper back. Coach took me out for burgers and beer and she presented me with a congratulations card and some pink cycling socks. Awesome sauce!
What really cracked me up was how everyone on the ride assumed that this was my first ride...of many. "So, which one are you doing next?" "You going for the Triple Crown?" as if one retardedly long hot ride was enough to hook me on this strange definition of 'fun'. I tried explaining that this was just a training ride to get me ready for Death Ride, but they were quick to point out there were double centuries with WAY more mileage and climbing. These guys are hardcore, in a league of their own. As of right now, I'm not in any hurry to join that party. Maybe someday. Ask me again once my ass-bruises have healed.
The GPS Data
The photo evidence
