Hogan's a Hero

Mike Hogan, that is, 50-something Category 5 road racer and one of our senior safety people. He's also the only other person to show up at Zube this morning, despite Paddy emailing me that he would definitely be there. Mike's act of heroism today was to drag me round the 40 mile circuit under difficult wind conditions and not roll his eyes too much when he had to wait at the top of all the climbs.

It was a beautiful morning when we started, cool and not at all humid, but with a stiffish breeze coming out of the north-west. Since the route heads mostly north and west until we get to the gas station and turn around, we spent a lot of time fighting a screaming head or cross wind. We joked that with our luck the wind would have shifted into our face again by the time we headed back. I think we tempted fate -

Mike kept up a pretty good pace but I was able to keep with him, although I spent a lot of time drafting. While riding side-to-side we had a good chat about the industry (and the Deepwater Horizon disaster) road-racing and our Missing-in-Action riding buddies (which included Gregor, who was supposed to show but didn't, and left his phone off to boot).

Back at Zube I took a shot of Mike and his sexy time-trial bike that he brought today (instead of his highly-sexy Pinarello). Here he is, your hero and mine -

Houston-Austin: "A weekend in Hell"

OK, it wasn't as bad as that! The real "Sunday in Hell" is the Paris-Roubaix pro race that's run every Easter over cobbled roads in Northern France. This year's MS-150 was a struggle for me, mainly because I couldn't get enough training, due to sickness and bad weather. Next year will be better!

A lot of logistics to wrangle this time. Susan's sister's partner's twin brother David, who lives in Austin, rode the bus down on Friday and spent the night with us. I drove him to the start (to drop his bag and pick up his bike), then drove back home where I'd arranged to meet up with Christina and Taylor. We saddled up and rode to the BHP start, where we hooked up with the rest of the team, including David - all by 7.00am.

We have our own team start partly for a bit of pre-ride bonding, but mostly to avoid the chaos at the official start (10,000+ riders all trying to get off at the same time!). Sadly, this year the official start had been moved and our route took as right to it - so we had to wait anyway. Oh well, it was a good opportunity for more bonding, and got us ready for the endless lines that would face us over the next two days.

Off we went on a clear, cool morning with a fair tail wind and storms in the forecast. I'd forgotten just how flat it is around the city - we didn't climb anything close to a hill until about forty miles out, practically at the lunch stop. The rain held off and it was pretty comfortable riding all the way. Unfortunately my lack of training was starting to make itself known, via a certain discomfort in the hinterlands, so to speak. This was to continue all day and into Sunday. Experienced riders tell you that miles make smiles, and they don't mean that your legs get stronger.

The tail wind kept going, but by mile 65 or so I was running out of steam. Everything hurt (feet/backside/back/neck/shoulders) and the climbs were really taking a toll. I knew that I had one big climb outside Fayetteville to face - the dreaded Rek Hill - and wasn't sure there was enough in the tank to get me over it. Turns out there was, but only just. Fayetteville was a big boost, as ever - the whole town turns out to cheer on the riders.

With twenty miles to go I was running on empty, living for the sight of a rest stop. Finally we made the last turn, and the Fayette County fairgrounds appeared. In the past this would be the end of the first day, but this year BHP's tent is in the overflow camping area in the Walmart parking lot, ingeniously dubbed "Camp Walmart", and it's three miles further. I'm really struggling now, but I dig deep and find enough to get me in.

I limp into the tent (right foot is killing me!) and receive a warm welcome from the Mules, who of course have been in for hours and are already several beers to the good. I find a Shiner beer in one of the coolers and slump into a chair next to Gregor, feeling about as bad as I ever have while riding. The lack of winter and spring training certainly took a toll. Somewhat refresshed IO struggle to my feet and go looking for my gear. I find my bag on a cot quite close to an exit - just what I wanted, perfect for the midnight loo visit - grab my sponge bag, towel and change of clothing and head off to the shower trucks.

My 2009 pledges ($11,000) put me in the top 300 fund-raiser club (Club 300) and entitled me to a few perks. The one I planned to make the most of was a dedicated shower truck, allowing me to skip the long wait at the other trucks. Sadly this wasn't offered at Camp Walmart, so I had two options - take the shuttle bus to the Fairgrounds and use the Club 300 truck there, or take the bus to La Grange High School and use their athletics facilities. The first bus I saw was heading to the High School, so I followed fate and jumped on. This turned out to be a poor choice, as the wait at the High School was pretty bad too. At least they supplied towels, which meant I didn't have to try and get mine dry before Sunday afternoon in Austin.

A short wait for a bus and I was back in Camp Walmart. I went over to the massage area and got in line. I don't really enjoy massages but it seemed like a good idea and Susan loves them. I chatted briefly with another rider while we watched a masseuse turn someone into a pretzel, then I was up. 20 minutes of agony followed - does this really help? Back with the Mules and time for the usual post-ride banter while we waited for the food to be ready. Fajitas, beans and rice and another Shiner to the good and I was feeling a lot better. At this point in the proceedings we're all starting to run out of steam and wondering how soon we can go to bed. But first, my duties as a host - David is in line for food so I join him for a chat. He had a great day in the saddle, riding with the Mules until the lunch break, when he left them still eating.

And so to bed, where I find I'm surrounded by Janis from work and her two adult children. I ask them if anyone snores and they both point to their Mum, who grins sheepishly. Fortunately I brought my ear-plugs. Into my sleeping bag and a quick call to Susan, yawning the whole time, before settling down.

I never sleep really well on the Saturday night - it's not very comfortable, I ache in every joint and I'm usually a bit wound up about the Sunday ride - but I get a few hours before movement in the camp wakes me up at about 4.30 am. The lights are still out so I try to be discrete as I gather up my riding gear and head over to the changing cube. Today I'm repping Club 300, with my brand-new top fundraiser jersey and socks. The lights come on (5.00am!) and I can start packing up and breaking down my cot, with help from Janis' son, who is in the USAF and spent three months in Iraq sleeping on one.

I dig out my bike maintenance bag and go looking for my steed, which had been left outside in the weather with all the others. It rained a bit overnight, so I dried her off, then cleaned the chain and applied lube. Richard comes by and I offer him the use of my rag and chain oil. He's suitably impressed by my preparedness and grateful for the chance to dress up his ride a bit.

Time for breakfast, and there's already quite a line for pancakes and breakfast tacos. It starts to rain so I pull on my rain jacket. Then it starts to rain really hard, and we cluster under the awning by the cooks. I snag a plateful of pancakes, a big gob of butter and a pint or two of maple syrup - wonderful. There's even half-way decent coffee from the nearby Exxon station. The rain stops, we load the truck and then line up for the start.

I could go to the front of the line (another Club 300 perk) but I hang back, chatting with Richard and Leslie. The hot topic, as ever on the Sunday, is which route to take to Bastrop. The traditional route through Buescher and Bastrop State parks is much more challenging than the express route, which is basically a straight shot up Highway 71. So far I've gone through the Parks every year and found it challenging and exhilarating, but it's much harder too, and after yesterday's slog I'm not really up for it. The heavy rain (now stopped) supplies a built-in excuse - the Park roads are likely to be wet and possibly dangerous.

So it's the lunch express route for me, out there in the traffic on 71 with several thousands of my closest friends. It's fast but tedious. I skip the first rest stop and run into Kevin and Tom at the second. We chat and Kevin points out that the lunch stop is about ten miles away. there's no way I'll be ready for food by then. Back on the road, Kevin and I keep pace for a while but he eventually hangs back a bit to allow Tom to catch him. Pretty soon we reach the junction where the two routes merge. I catch a rider just out of the park and ask him how it was - "Perfect" was the laconic response.

We descend into Bastrop, a very familiar route, crossing over the Colorado before turning into the high school. I'm really not ready for lunch and feeling pretty strong, so I blow past the stop. There's a decent head-wind and it starts to kick in pretty soon. The road is surprisingly quiet, given the size of the field. I'm passed by Gregor and some others in a paceline - if they're so fast, why were they behind me, anyway? Country roads, climbs and descents, and various species of road kill all roll past. I break at the next rest stop and eat a bit more than normal, to make up for missing lunch. I'm in Webberville, with about 30 miles to run. Normally I'd stop only once more, but I'm tiring and aching again, and hit both of the remaining break points.

I finally pass the Austin city limits sign (woo-hoo!) and now the right hand lane is coned off for us. The last ten miles includes four good climbs but I'm feeling no pain by now. Along one stretch I'm passed by a paceline lead by Jason, with Paddy and Phil in tow amongst others. I tag on to the line until the next climb, when I blow past (Jason is holding the pace down to keep the group together). Taylor calls out "Go Andy!" as I pass.

We can see the UT tower now and the end is definitely in sight. We run down through the University, turn on to MLK and we can see the barriers and crowds. One last left hander and there's the state capitol, framed under the finish sign. I try to smile and look happy but really I'm just glad to be done.

At the team tent I get a warm welcome and a cold beer. I grab my bag and head off to the shower trucks. Five minutes later I'm luxuriating in a strong flow of hot water - feels wonderful. Back at the tent and there's a hot lunch - very good lasagne, with steamed vegetables and salad. Definitely the best finish line lunch we've ever been served. Kevin and Tom roll up and we exchange celebratory fist bumps. David cruises in, too, looking as though he'd just had a pleasant jaunt around his neighbourhood. He'd decided to go easy, but also went through the park, which he enjoyed.

Time to head out. I get one of the last seats on a bus and doze my way back to Houston, where Susan is waiting to pick me up from the Omni. I arrive home to a hero's welcome, some decent Pinot Noir and a fabulous roast pork dinner. I could get used to this -

A Perfect Storm

Off to Zube on Sunday morning for my last ride before the event. I parked up with no sign of any Mules and wondered if I'd be a lone wolf again. I walked up to the rest room and spotted Jason's car on the far side of the lot. Just then Paddy rolled up to join him, and I saddled up and rode over. Gregor drove in, followed by Mike and Kenny, and I realised with a sinking heart that I would be riding with four of the strongest Mules in the stable - a Perfect Storm.

We set out at a cracking pace and I was soon wondering how long I would be able to stay with the group. I glued myself to Jason's rear tire and hung on for dear life. After a few miles I was feeling reasonably comfortable - perhaps I could hang with this crowd after all. I opted out of the sprints, though.

As we got up to the site of Sean's dog encounter, I found myself at number 2 wheel behind Kenny. Sure enough, a dog appeared and started to give chase, but he was just a puppy and clearly only looking for a runaround. Kenny and I took off and left him behind at the property line. Paddy decided that this was the last straw, and he dismounted and yelled at the mutt. Its owner appeared and Paddy gave him the finger! Not a good idea out in the Boonies where there are more guns than people.

Paddy was flagging a bit, so Jason and I hung back with him while the other three legged it for the gas station. I was a little in front of the other two as we approached the turn. I was wool-gathering or bird-watching or something, because Jason came up behind me very quietly, then yelled "Right turn!' in a Dame Edna falsetto in my ear. I nearly dumped the bike in surprise -rotten Kiwi bugger.

At the Exxon we hook up with Adam and Heather and decide to ride back as a group. I was expecting to return on the back road, but we headed for Business 290 instead. A stiffish head-wind greeted us and we settled into a tight peloton. It's really a lot of fun riding in a close group like that, or at least it was until I blew my back tire (again?). We only had a few miles to run, so I waved the others on. Paddy, bless him, opted to stay with me. I changed out the tube and inflated with a CO2 cartridge, but didn't do a good job because it lost pressure pretty fast. I pumped it up and struggled on, but it was pretty soft when we turned on to Roberts, with half a mile to run. I made it back but I'll need to do a better job on my field tire changes on the way to Austin.

90-mile long weekend

Heading into a four-day weekend (Easter and a 9/80 Friday), I wanted to claw back some saddle time, so I lined up two rides - Zube with the Mules on Good Friday, and the long Sealy ride on Easter Sunday.

The pre-ride banter this morning included a detailed discussion of how to handle the dogs that caused some problems on a previous run. Paddy's idea was to dismount and put the boot in. I wondered why we wouldn't just out-sprint them as always? Turns out that during the ride in question, Sean t-boned one of the mutts and went over the handlebars! I found out later that he's displaying classic signs of concussion, and has withdrawn from the big event.

We head out and pretty soon work out that Jason is in top form while Paddy and I are struggling. The ride is pretty uneventful as far as Field Store road, where I spot what looks like a dog running flat-out across an open field, heading directly for us. I'm about to sound the alarm when he breaks across the road without even looking at us and takes off on the other side. I'm pretty sure it was a coyote, and we wonder if he was chasing the Road-Runner. He was certainly going hell-for-leather.

On we go, with Jason pulling all the way. We get to the site of Sean's dog encounter and proceed with caution. The other two are happy to let me take the lead through this section, but there are no dogs in sight. A little while later I hear a yapping in the distance which gets louder. It turns out to be a lap rat of some sort, in the passenger seat of a pick-up with its head out of the window.

We make the turn and head home, with a head/cross-wind all the way. Jason is the hero of the hour again, happily punching us into the wind. Just past Prairie View A&M I get a flat in my rear tire and we pull over for repairs. I use a CO2 bottle to re-inflate (never used one before) and the tire feels over-inflated, but it gets me home.

Easter Sunday rolls around and I'm a lone wolf - Paddy opted for Zube. I was surprised to see wet pavements when I went out for the papers, and it was drizzling all the way out to Sealy. I saddled up and headed out, very grateful for a last-minute look at the map. There's a turn near Sealy that I've missed in the past and it's been a while.

It stayed misty and gloomy all the way round but never actually rained. The roads were very quiet and apparently every dog in the county had opted for a lie-in or was at the Holy Services, because I went unmolested. The road surface on a couple of sections seems to have deteriorated since my last visit and I spent a lot of time swerving around potholes. The wind was quite fresh and out of the South, so I was kiting along pretty happily until Cat Spring and the turn-around. Wildflowers galore provided colourful scenery just about everywhere.

After Cat Spring the routes is very hilly for about 8 miles, and the wind was not helping. I was in my lowest gear on a couple of the climbs but made it through OK. I was glad to make the turn onto route 36, even though I knew that the last seven miles would be uncomfortable due to wind and a crap road surface. Nothing to do but gut it out. Once in Sealy, the road improves dramatically and the relief was remarkable - like taking off tight shoes, as a friend puts it. Back at the car, I realize that the ride has taken quite a toll - I'm exhausted and feel like crap as I run through my post-ride stretches. That will be my last tough ride before the event, I think.

Personal Best* (Canine-Assisted)

I had big plans to catch up on training miles this weekend but life (and airline inefficiency) got in the way, so I had to settle for a fast forty along Terry Hershey at the crack of dawn on Saturday.

James was due to land at 11.15, so I started at 6.30, well before sunrise, and opted to ride down Memorial rather than risk the poorly-illuminated trail. Not much traffic at that hour, which was just as well because I had to swerve around pot-holes pretty frequently. I picked up the trail at the Dam and wound it up, feeling pretty good.

About three miles along I saw a pedestrian and was getting ready to call out to him before passing when he turned and saw me. He raised both arms and I found out why - his small, angry and very determined dog appeared out of nowhere, trailing its leash and barking furiously. Seriously? In the middle of the trail? Dog attacks are common enough out there in Deliverance country, but this was a bit much. Anyway, nothing to do but sprint and hopefully leave the mutt behind. It was definitely game and I had to really air it out, setting a Personal Best sprint time in the process (but as it was canine-assisted there's an asterisk in the record book).

I finally dropped mini-Cujo and settled back into a more suitable pace. I hope the dog-walker had the sense to get the beast back under control - there were plenty of other riders heading his way. The rest of the ride passed without incident. It was a perfect day, the trail was pretty quiet and I kept my pace up, trying to focus on form (spin those pedals, relax the shoulders, sit towards the back of the saddle, keep the feet flat), which was great - but it's flat and boring, and I'd planned a more interesting ride. Maybe next week.

Watch the birdie

Off to Zube for a lone wolf ride (Paddy and Jason are somewhere in the Far East, no idea what the other Mules are doing). One advantage of riding solo is you can start whenever you like, so I didn't set my alarm and consequently rolled out of bed at about 6.30.

On the drive out I tuned in to KPFT, our Pacifica station. I normally listen to KUHF, the NPR affiliate, in the mornings, but it's all religious music before 8.00 on Sunday, and that doesn't really set the tone. KPFT is entertainingly amateurish and this morning they had forgotten that the clocks went forward so they were an hour behind on their announcements.

Once at Zube I gear up and hit the road. I'm planning to ride the new Hempstead loop, which doesn't go past any gas stations, so I'm packing a power bar and an extra water bottle. I filled both bottles at the drinking fountain in Zube, but subsequently discover that the water has an unpleasant tang to it.

Off we go, wearing my tights and arm warmers but no jacket. It's 52 degrees when I start and a beautiful morning. The ride is pretty uneventful - the roads are quiet, my legs feel ok, my chest is a little tight but not too bad - and since I'm not fighting to keep up with Paddy and Co. I can watch the scenery and look for birds.

It turns out there is a lot to look at. I see a red-winged blackbird within the first few miles, and a bit later I see a flock of large, yellow-breasted birds that I think are kingbirds. A small hawk swoops along a plowed field then perches on the fence as I go by. Later on a scissor-tailed flycatcher goes right over my head, a gorgeous sight.

The scenery is also prettier than I realised. Spring is in full flood now and everything is very green and lush. There's one stretch of road in particular that I had never paid attention to before, mainly because it was always shrouded in fog. Today it's very pretty, reminding me of Wiltshire (my childhood home) a little.

I stop to answer un besoin naturel and eat some of my power bar. A very small puppy appears out of a ruined barn. She's carrying her right front paw and looks very pathetic. I throw her some of the power bar and she loves it. Time to move on and of course the mutt follows me to the road. I tell her to go home and take off without looking back. Hopefully she belongs to the farmer and he's going to take her to the Vet tomorrow.

I'm soon at the junction with the road that runs into Hempstead. The new route takes a left here, missing out the Exxon. A short leg and then I turn off to the right on a small country road with a fair bit of topography. I'm feeling pretty good on the climbs, which aren't too strenuous to be honest. The route turns to go past Prairie View A&M and then we're back in the country. Somewhere along here a largish, reddish hawk is keeping pace with me on the right. He cuts over to the left and we ride along together a bit more. I don't get a good enough view of him to be able to identify him later but he made a good riding companion. Oddly enough, he doesn't scare off any of the numerous small birds flying around and roosting on the power lines.

I turn south, go under the freeway and soon pick up the boring route back to Zube. A tail wind helps and I make it back feeling pretty good. Maybe I'll make it to Austin after all.

Memory Lane

When I was fourteen, my father (an army officer) was posted from Fulwood Barracks outside Preston to Bulford Camp in Wiltshire, so off we went. Bulford Camp was one of the largest army bases in the country and my parents had been posted there before, but this was the first time for me and my numerous siblings. I remember that I wasn't very happy at all at Balshaw's Grammar School in Leyland, so I was probably very glad to move.

Unfortunately, the only option for a grammar school boy was Bishop Wordsworth's School in Salisbury, 20 miles away. This meant a 40 minute bus ride every morning and afternoon, with a decent walk at each end, but I made friends very quickly at school (it helped to be taken under the wing of Phil Davies, another Bulford camp brat - Phil, where are you now, mate?). I must have got used to the bus trips, too, I hardly remember them at all now. I also started to show some academic prowess. I wonder now if I did so well at Bishop's because it was a single-sex school, unlike Balshaw's which was mixed. I also made friends on the Camp and wish I was still in touch with them.

When I was sixteen (1976) my Dad retired from the army and bought a house on the outskirts of Salisbury. This meant that I could walk or ride my bike to school very easily, but was a long way from my Bulford Camp friends. I had already taken to relatively long bike rides through the gorgeous countryside around Salisbury and thought I could manage a ride back to Bulford.

There were two routes - the main road, via The High Post Hotel, or the back road through the Woodford Valley, wonderful scenery but a bit longer. I think I tried both (I remember coming back on the main road with my dynamo-powered front light blazing on the descent from the High Post), but the Woodford run sticks in my memory. I would love to ride it again with Paddy's helmet camera, but here are some Google'd images to whet your appetite.


This is the Wheatsheaf pub in Lower Woodford (the biggest villages in the valley are Lower, Middle and Upper Woodford). Pretty good food and beer to be had here. There used to be a holiday cottage across the road that Susan and I rented a few times.






This is the River Avon (no, not that one - there are many Avons in the UK) at Middle Woodford. The river is right by the road here.
















This picture-postcard shot is Lake House, in the village of Lake. You can't see this view from the road, sadly. My main memory of this stretch of the ride is a sharp left turn at the bottom of a hill - brakes on all the way down. Lake House is now owned by Sting.