Alpe D'Sealy

the real Alpe D'Huez

Off to Sealy with Kevin on a beautiful, if chilly and breezy morning. The last time we did this run was also my last ride before the 2012 MS150, and a strong wind from the south made the final seven miles down route 36 very painful. This time it was just as windy but out of the north, which meant that route 36 would be easy but the hilly section (dubbed "Alpe D'Sealy" by Kevin!) would be at best cross-wind.

We decided to reconnoitre the last few miles of route 36, as the last time they were under cosntruction.  All appeared well, with a good surface and wide shoulder so we parked up and got ready.  It was cold enough to wear some extra gear, but as always there's a price to be paid if you overdo it - having to strip off at some point and then lug everything back.  I opted for arm warmers, Kevin put on some light tights and off we rolled.

The Mexican Truck lives on, but its days are numbered - Kevin was in Colorado recently and took the opportunity to rent a nice Cervelo carbon bike for a 35 mile spin.  He was pleasantly surprised and impressed by the bike's rigidity and sure-footedness on the descents, never his favourite road profile.  Won't be long before he comes to the Dark Side with the rest of us fallen road-racer wannabees.

By coincidence there was an organised ride that morning but they had started earlier, and we soon found ourselves riding through the tail-end Charlies.  I felt a bit sorry for them - many looked like they had just taken up riding and they had chosen a cold, windy day, hopefully they wouldn't be deterred by the experience.

Kevin was as strong as ever on the climbs.  I kept with him on a few but mostly dropped back, but he was good enough to wait for me - and he doesn't quite know the route yet anyway.

We got to San Bernardo and took a quick break by the Feed Store.  The organised ride split here, with a short route heading north towards Cat Spring and the longer routes going south to God knows where, I-10 probably.  Our route took us straight over into the Back Country, but we took advantage of the Cops patrolling the intersection for the organised ride to get us across.

This part of the ride is the most scenic - large farms, rolling fields, cows and birds.  Unfortunately it's also the first time that the route runs north and we began to feel the wind when we made turns, especially when they were at the bottom of climbs.

Somewhere along this stretch we got chased by an evil black dog, who was clearly out for blood.  Most dogs start barking when they see you and keep it up during the chase - they're really only looking for a run.  This hell-hound kept his mouth shut and was inches away from my left foot when Kevin spotted him and shouted a warning.  We hit the gas and left the mutt behind - and then just when my heart rate was getting back to normal a couple of yay-hoos in a truck powered past, half on the road and half on the shoulder.

We reached the intersection with the Cat Spring road, where there was another Cop getting riders across.  Once again we were going against the flow and we had a laugh with the Cop about being rebels.  The next few miles were dead into the wind and we tried to form a paceline, but Kevin dropped me on the climbs so it was hard to be efficient.

Into Cat Spring and I was feeling pretty good under the circumstances, but a quick break at a country store before the big climbs made sense.  We stopped here last time, it's like something out of Mayberry, with cheerful (but incomprehensible!) old codgers having coffee and an irascible lady making chili.

Off again into the hills.  The first climb was straight into the wind and I had to get onto my middle chain ring straight away.  As we got further into this section, I usually pulled ahead of Kevin on the descents (he's not a great descender) only to have him blow by on the climbs, spinning at about 110 rpm.  On one particularly evil double climb I had to go to my granny ring and he pulled well clear, still only on his middle ring.

We got to the end of the hilly section and reached the northernmost point of the ride.  I was actually feeling pretty good, considering that I don't usually attempt the Sealy ride until well into the training season.  We made the turn onto route 36 and immediately felt the tail wind.  Coupled with a much smoother road surface, we had a blissful run all the way back, hitting 30 mph at one point.  True to form, Kevin actually rode faster on this flat than he did on any of the descents!

Alone again (naturally?)

This Sunday morning was the third in a row that I opted for a leisurely solo ride over a Mules thrash, and once again I enjoyed myself while staying within the limits of my current state of fitness. This new preference for riding on my own had me humming Gilbert O'Sullivan's gloomy little 1972 record, "Alone again, naturally" on several occasions. This ditty deals with parental bereavement, thoughts of suicide and other cheery topics, all delivered in a slightly nasal, irish-accented voice. Times were hard. With the weather getting better for cycling I expect to rejoin the Mules soon enough, but for now it's just me and Gilbert.

Just ride, eh? (Prenez votre velo uniquement, eh?)

gotta luv Canada

We're just back from a trip to Seattle and Vancouver (hence the dubiously bilingual title).  In Vancouver I went for a stroll along the waterfront at False Creek and saw this sign.  A day later I rented a bike and rode past it, so I used both sides as directed.

The title refers to a book that Susan bought me recently called "Just Ride", in which the author is quite unkind to weekend road-racers like me (and the Mules?).  Amongst many bike myths he attempts to debunk concerns helmet use. His idea is that wearing a helmet doesn't make you much safer but makes you think you're doing something dangerous.  I've heard this argument a few times recently, and helmet opponents usually invoke Amsterdam as an example, where tens of thousands of people ride their bikes daily and almost no-one wears a helmet.  So in the Just Ride spirit I planned to ride bare-headed in Vancouver, until the bike shop guy told me it was against the law.

The water front along False Creek and English Bay is just beautiful, and I had beautiful weather for my ride, too - sunny, clear and just a little cool.  I followed a well-laid out bike trail all the way to Stanley Park, then rode some trails in the park until I hit a hill too steep for my liking (this wasn't meant to be a Mules slog, just a gentle cruise!) and turned around.

I got a bit crossed up in the one-way circuit around Stanley Park, so I decided to ride back on the street.  From what we had seen, Vancouver was very bike-friendly, and I thought it would be fun to try some urban riding.

This area of Vancouver seems to change character with every block!  I went from low-end commercial to beautiful, leafy residential to high-end commercial very quickly and was soon back at the bike shop.  Great restaurants too...

I'm telling you, the @#$%ing bridge is out

oh, right, the bridge is out

Off to Zube with Kevin for a gentle run around the standard 45 mile loop.  Sean and Adam were there when we arrived but they didn't feel like the full distance.  Ian was in from China (!), taking a course in Houston and the opportunity to catch up  with his NWCC friends.

We set off at a warmish pace but I was able to persuade Kevin to cool it a bit.  I've done a couple of Terry Hershey runs lately but I'm not in shape at all, and was hoping for a very gentlemanly ride.  I was expecting the various NWCC speed groups to pass and they did, a surprisingly large number of riders.

All was going well up to the 15 mile mark, when a rider going in the other direction shouted that the bridge was out.  I  thanked her but was a bit confused as I couldn't remember any bridges on the route.  We made the turn onto Laneview and saw three more riders who had clearly turned around.  They also said that the bridge was out.  Thanks, but what frickin' bridge??  Kevin suggested we ride for another 5 minutes and then decide if we need to turn.

We made it as far as the intersection and saw a large orange sign stating that the bridge was out.  Suddenly I remembered that there was indeed a bridge over a creek ahead!  Somewhat sheepishly we turned around and headed back.  We talked about routes but ultimately all we could do was retrace our steps and then head for the gas station.

As we got closer I was beginning to tire and was glad to slot in behind Kevin, who was looking very strong.  We arrived at the Exxon with Kevin's computer showing 33 miles (normally 25!).  We had a good break before setting off again, right behind another group of three.  We kept pace with them for a while, although Kevin was as strong as ever on the climbs and pretty much blew the group to pieces.

We made the turn onto Business 290 and I was really in trouble.  I got behind Kevin and let him do  all the work, but I was pretty much spent and very glad to get back to Hockley.  I asked for a short breather and we took 5 in the shade of a disused gas station.  Finally back at Zube and I was feeling pretty rough.  Nothing that a beer, a cheese omelette (thanks Susan!) and a nap couldn't fix, though.

just like riding a bike

For the second Sunday in a row I braved the heat, humidity and crowds in Terry Hershey and George Bush parks for a ride.  I'm still nowhere near rejoining the Mules but it may not be too long now.

I had two choices this morning - get up at quarter to Sparrowfart, drive to Prairie View, cough up a large chunk of cash and kill myself trying to ride with Paddy, or get up when I woke up and enjoy a leisurely cruise  in the parks.  This was an intelligence test that I didn't fail.  The Mules rode the Tour de Pink today and I wore my pink Mules shirt in the park to show my support for the cause.

A Farewell to Mules

Yesterday morning saw me out at Zube with a big gang of Mules, although sadly no Kevin or Jorge.  It was unusually cool for June (low 70's) but already very humid.  Paddy proposed a new route that added 8 milles of country-lane riding and off we set.

All the Speedsters were there, including Shawn, just back from riding a 240km classic in Holland, and Ian who is soon to be transferred to China.  The pace was predictably hot, and Yvonne (who had looked very strong on my last Mules run) was falling behind.  About 10 miles in she and her husband Steve decided to turn back, leaving me at the mercy of some very strong riders.

I was lagging a bit too but Ian kindly bridged me over to the Peloton a few times.  After the goat farm turn, Britt and Oz decided to put the hammer down and we were flying along in a tight paceline, rotating the lead every 30 seconds at about 23-24 mph.  I held on for a while but eventually got spat out the back.

We regrouped at the gas station and headed into Hempstead (this was the new section of the route), familiar roads for me although I normally ride them in the other direction.  We turned at Peckerwood Gardens and then turned onto Brumlow road and terra incognita (for me anyway).  It certainly was a pretty route through the country and much nicer than the usual slog up Business 290, but the pace was still high and I was struggling pretty badly.

We made a turn north and got back on Business 290 just before Waller.  The guys formed a paceline once more and left me for dead pretty quickly.  I wasn't too sad to watch them go, I was happy enough at a slower pace and you always hate to be a drag on faster riders.

I got to Waller and saw that Paddy and Charlie were hanging back for me, so I slotted in behind and let them do the hard work all the way home.  Charlie and I had a good chat near the end, he's working on the same project as me so we have a lot in common.

Back at Zube and the tent has been set up.  Paddy tosses me a cold towel and it feels wonderful on my neck and over my head.  Sadly the beer selection was rather limited (what a whiner!).

And so the time has come for the Mules and I to part company, at least until the weather is a bit less aggressive.  I'll try a few rides with the Truth Squad, but I may just Lone Wolf it for a while.  Wtach this space...

The Little Mexican Truck that did!

(Followers of this blog may recall a somewhat facetious post about my friend Kevin and his classic steed, titled "The Little Mexican Truck that Could".  Here, as promised, is the sequel)

The Little Mexican Truck that Did!

The Little Mexican Truck felt nervous and excited all at the same time.  He and his rider Kevin had just finished their umpteenth Houston-Austin ride together, but this year, instead of riding home in the back of a real truck, they were actually going to do it - ride all the way to Marfa!

Sure enough, the next morning, at the crack of dawn, Kevin loaded up the truck like a burro in a spaghetti western and they set off.  The first day's ride was through rolling green countryside but after that it was mile after mile of dusty brown flat lands.  The Truck felt pretty good but was a bit worried about letting Kevin down, especially on the long days when they went for 40 or 50 miles without seeing any signs of civilization, other than Border Patrol helicopters and Greyhound buses.  Kevin was feeling good too, and enjoying the chance encounters with other oddballs when he stopped for lunch or overnight.

The Truck did its best to keep rolling but it couldn't help getting the odd flat tire.  Kevin was well equipped to deal with minor roadside problems, but his patience was tested to the limit when three of his stock of new inner tubes turned out to have leaky valve stems.  He'd got them from the hippies at REI and it seemed that someone had enjoyed a little too much wacky baccy at some point in the process.

In the end, they were both glad to see the Marfa city limits sign.  The Truck was relieved and happy but a little concerned - how was it to get home?  Surely Kevin wouldn't leave it?  Not to worry, after a good night's sleep, Kevin unloaded the Truck and took it to a bike shop in Alpine, where they broke it down and packaged it for the train ride home.

A few weeks later, Kevin and the Truck showed up for a ride with Andy, Paddy and some others.  Did they treat the Truck with new-found respect after its epic adventure?  Hell no, they still ripped the piss out of it (Paddy was particularly unkind - the Truck does not have any barnacles on it), while giving Kevin all kinds of praise, when all he had done was sit on it.  There ain't no justice.