- HOT TOPICS:
- An American start for the Giro? •
- 2010 Routes: Giro | California | TdF •
- LA doc guilty on all counts
A Fred's Eye View: Group-ride junkie; The wedding crasher
- Article Extras
- Photos
I will be the first to admit that I have long suffered from a cycling affliction — make that addiction — brought on by fast, furious local group rides. I just can’t get enough of them.
Occasionally I will sit at my desk daydreaming about the week’s ride. Will I make the front group? Will I flat? Will my legs fall off? Will my lungs exit my body by way of my mouth?
I, my friends, am a group-ride junkie.
Now, the group-rides that have always whetted my appetite aren’t just the ol’ cruiser-bike stroll in the park with mom ‘n pop. Nope, I love the speedy ones with plenty of muscle flexing and attacks. Bring on the trash talk for good measure. I want a ride where no one even flinches when someone suffers a flat. With a nod and a “see ya next week, pal,” you carry on with the business at hand. When I get out there, I want my legs to burn, stomach to wrench and eyes to cross. I want to bathe my top tube in sweat, and have steam come out of my ears. I suspect I am not alone.
Having had the opportunity to participate in rides in several different time zones, I have come to the conclusion that a local hammer-fest speed ride is an important cog in any healthy cycling community. Although it might be impossible to calculate numbers, I would be willing to guess that nationwide there are thousands of cyclists out there who, like me, are full-fledged group-ride addicts.
Why?
Well, I suppose first there are the superficial reasons — aspects of the fast group-ride that most cyclists convince themselves they need to practice in order to become better racers. You know, the whole training thing. Putting in good solid, fast efforts on the legs isn’t always easy. For most, it’s just not fun to hammer out miles when you’re not chasing someone or having someone breathing down your neck. The rides are great lessons in pack riding and I suspect that a good number of today’s professionals learned the basics of the pace line from repeated stints on the local ride.
But then there are the real reasons for showing up.
We’re talking good ol’ fashioned “friendly” competition, folks. Throwing the beat-down on some buddies is just fun. After all, what’s more enjoyable, slugging it out with a bunch of strangers at a race on strange roads, or beating the crap out of your friends at home? Everybody knows the roads, knows when to start the sprint for the city limit sign. The familiar faces on these rides are usually those of buddies, neighbors and casual acquaintances… the people you really want – nay need - to beat up on. Is there really a better way to settle a petty dispute than to let your legs do the talking?
For many of us, there really isn’t much of a better way to scratch the competitive itch than to race thy neighbor. Sure, perhaps this is just another ugly face of America’s infatuation with “One-upping the Joneses.” But if you’re like me, chances are “The Joneses” aren’t exactly going to be wowed by your filthy automobile, overgrown front hedges or lack of power tools. Nope, we have to attempt our social ascent in other ways.
Of course, in the life of every good group-rider, there comes a time when the motivation to attack and punish your buddies is replaced by the strong concern — make that fear — of getting dropped.
No one wants to get dropped.
Now, I will be the first to admit that have a group-ride résumé filled with instances of being spit off the back. As a budding young group-ride junkie, I cut my teeth on the local scene in Santa Cruz, California, and for a good solid year, not a ride went by where I wouldn’t find myself huffing and puffing as the lanterne rouge — the sickly guy at the end of the peloton, struggling to survive, the slowly time-trialing home. (What did you people do before God invented the Ipod?)
On the rare occasions when I was able to actually hang on, my confidence meter rose about 700 points, and the addiction grew stronger.
Now, while a few pros here and there make appearances on the Santa Cruz group-ride scene — brothers Ben and Andy Jacques-Maynes are the usual instigators. Still, most of the regulars are seasoned 40-50 year old group-ride vets who like nothing more than to hammer each other into the dirt every-other-day. We’re talking hardcore here — many of theses old-timers scheduled their lives around the Tuesday sprint through Watsonville, the Wednesday climb up Eureka canyon and the Saturday Harbor ride out to the tiny town of Aromas. And more than a few of these dudes can remember intricate details of group-rides of yore, tales of beating ol’ so-and-so to the city limits sign on the Saturday ride back in ‘85.
Still, it was the golden oldies on the ‘Cruz rides that repeatedly pushed the pace and took it to us youngin’s. It was the fear of getting dropped by this crowd that fueled my own motivations to improve. After all, what would my buddies think if I told them that some old grandpa named George popped my 20-year-old legs like a balloon?
Well, flash forward a couple of years. With work, travel and other commitments gobbling much of my bike time, I hadn’t ridden a group hammer session in six months. Strangely, my group-ride addiction was hiding in dormancy. I would hear of numerous group sessions leaving from various areas in Boulder, but my motivation to join them had somehow disappeared. I occasionally found myself jonesin’ for a bit of fast-paced mayhem, but I lacked the oomph to actually make it out the door.
Well, I finally caved to peer pressure and emerged from semi-retirement a few weeks ago to give the local afternoon hammer-party a try. The ride, which meets at a Boulder-area strip club, er, exotic-dance facility, named “The Bus Stop,” is regarded as the fastest thing going in Boulder. A quick glance at the riders told me why. Present were some pro mountain bikers from the Trek-Volkswagen factory team, ITU triathlon hammer Matt Reed and Ironman stud ChrisLegh, star of a recent string of Gatorade ads.
Oh, and then there was thatHamilton guy who had just returned from a six-hour solo ride ready to punish the local sleds.
Not wanting to appear soft, I did my share of work early in the ride. Perhaps a tad too much. Half-way through, I began to feel that my legs lacked the old horsepower. Minutes later, all of my horses had left, the only one remaining an old, lame Pinto ready for the glue factory. With tongue flapping in the breeze like a sickly, dry flag, I started to fade.After taking a pull, I cycled to the back of the pace line for a little caboose time. The small gap between my front wheel and the rear wheel of the guy in front of me grew steadily. Before I knew it, I was a lone tumbleweed in the wind.
Boy did I get dropped. Like a sack of doorknobs. Like a fat man or little boy. Like third period geometry class. Like…well, you get the point.*
Still, I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a good time. The ride quickly refueled my junkie urges. I have since made it back out on the ride and hung on to finish more than once.
The addiction is back.
(*Drop me a line some time ifyou have favorite group-ride tales to share... or if you can offer a fewmore euphemisms for getting shelled.)
The wedding crasher
A big congratulations to our very own Matt Pacocha (pronounced Pah-so-cah) who found himself at the alter exchanging vows this past Saturday, August 13. The lucky lady? His longtime girlfriend Cathy Wherry, sis of USPro champ Chris.
“Paco” is a former cross-country mountain bike pro, a former star on the University of Colorado cycling team and the reigning national single-speed cyclo-cross champ. He even has a little Euro road racing experience, having raced for several months in Belgium with the Bernard Moerman’s Cycling Center.
More important than his race experience is Paco’s familiarity with the bicycle, itself. His technical writing on cycling tech here at VeloNews has been top notch.
I felt so compelled to voice my appreciation of Paco’s work this past Saturday that I decided to crash his wedding reception and tell him in person.
Donned in my finest wedding crasher garb, I managed to sneak into the Boulder Theater and remain unnoticed for roughly five seconds before hearing my first “crasher” comment. The room was a virtual who’s-who of Colorado cyclists. Present were NRC-leading Scott Moninger, American mountain-bike Olympians Jeremy Horgan-Kobelski and Travis Brown, not to mention Walker Ferguson, Heather Irmiger, John Tarkington and, of course, brother Chris.
I got out the camera and started snappin’ photos, and I posted the cleanest ones.
But with the band, open bar and photo-ops in full swing, I may have forgotten to pass my praise along to Matt.
Great job, Matt! Great job, Cathy!
And great wedding.
