HeArt of Idaho Falls century race report

It was early when I rolled out to ride to the start line. 5 am San Diego time. And damn was it cold. I think the official temperature was somewhere between “freezing” and “you should just crawl back into bed.” My knee ached immediately, as it is want to do whenever it gets abnormally cold. Naturally I hadn’t thought to bring any base layers, but even if I had, I wouldn't have worn them. I hate carrying extra gear that I’ll only need for a little bit, comfort be damned.

I started pedaling slowly. I only had 7 miles to go, and nearly an hour to do it. And even though I knew that the sooner I got up to speed, the sooner I’d warm up, my cold body practically begged me to take things easy, and to work up to a proper warm up. That basically meant that by the time I’d be rolling up to the start line, I’d be warmed up, only to have half an hour to kill before the sound of the gun, signalling the start of the event.

I rolled through pancake flat country roads as a dull, misty haze hung over my surroundings. I passed by innumerable fields and caught the attention of several cows, all eyeing me curiously. I can only imagine what they were thinking as they watched this goofy, latex-clad San Diego-based cyclist roll by. All I could think about is how warm it would be, sitting between a pair of them.

The ache in my knee spiked abruptly, and a handful of seconds later, I found out why as the local canal swung into view. How it wasn't just ice cubes, I have no idea, because I sure felt like one. Hell, I was positive my water bottles would freeze before I got a chance to drink from them. Several ducks floated along the waters, quite content with where the currents carried them, and I couldn't help but marvel how similar our lives were, if you ignore the fact that I wasn't covered in feathers, didn't have a bill or hollow bones, and would both sink and freeze in water if I had jumped in. Hey, you need something to occupy your thoughts when you’re cold and up early.

Eventually I arrived at my destination and settled in for a wait, which would end up being longer than expected, no thanks to a blown circuit, which resulted in a collapsed start line. But even than didn't slow us down too long, and at 7:05 mountain time, we were off: the HeArt of Idaho Falls Century had begun.

It was a huge loop, taking us along miles upon miles upon miles of country roads, essentially circumnavigating the city of Idaho Falls. At one point, we went nearly 20 minutes without seeing a car, we were that secluded. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

The starting gun went off, and soon we were rolling along at a steady 20 mph, being lead out by a dune buggy, which was a first for me. Here's a brief video.

As we made our first turn, I saw one guy ahead of me. I looked back and saw one guy behind, all of us separated by about 10 meters. We linked up together within the first two miles, and our trio stayed like that for the next 58 miles. We formed a nice little paceline, or three man group. Each of us pulled for a few minutes, keeping the tempo right around 25 mph, before the lead guy peeled off and let the next guy in line take over. Within fifteen minutes, we’d left everyone else behind.

In less than an hour we blew past the 25 mile aid station and just kept on rolling, coming to the 35 mile aid station less than half an hour later. Why they were positioned so closely together, I have no idea, but the second one had been our pit stop of choice. Here we took a minute to introduce ourselves, make use of the local facilities, and grab a quick bite. Unfortunately, we delayed about a minute too long, as a group of four flew by our stopping point and kept on going. We rallied quickly, though, and our water bottles refilled, took off after them.

We chased hard, keeping up our tough pace, and at 2 hours 27 minutes, had ridden 52 miles. Our next challenge loomed just ahead of us, literally: Bone Road. On paper, it’s not that hard. 6.8 miles at 3.3%. Then there’s a short reprieve followed smaller section, about a mile at 5%.

Unfortunately, I underestimated the first section and pushed too hard, not realizing until it was too late that the goal I’d had my eyes on had been a false flat. During my hard charge, I’d dropped one of our group, Scott. After realizing my mistake, I dropped the pace to recover, but as a result our third member, Eric, kicked, leaving me in the middle to suffer alone. Once at the top, Scott and I linked up briefly before he surged on the final section, once again leaving me alone. What a jerk.

But man, once you finally come over the top, all of Idaho Falls is laid out before you, and it’s only then that you realize two things. First off, you can’t help but marvel at how spread out the city really is, with the center of the city relatively packed, surrounded by fields and the occasional farmhouse dotting it all sides. Second, you realize that all that climbing you did, you’re about to undo rather quickly.  I can’t tell you how much fun I had, flying downhill at up to 50 mph. It’s riveting. It’s terrifying. And it makes you feel alive. Wanna see what it's like? Well, today is your lucky day!

Once at the bottom, I had an epiphany: I had 30 miles left, and nobody to pace in with. Without a group, I’d be hard pressed to make it back by the 5 hour mark, my unofficial goal. But I’m nothing if not stubborn, and after flying by a group that was content to go slower than I’d like, I settled in for an unpleasant hour and a half.

Now, in case any of you were wondering, holding 20 mph for an hour and a half, with a group, after having done 21 mph for roughly 60 miles, is challenging. Absolutely doable, just challenging. But having to do 20 mph for an hour and a half, solo, was just a bit too much for me, and after an hour, my legs finally gave up on me.

It’s disheartening, cracking after such a monumental effort. I’d poured out just about everything I had in the legs, but with 10 miles to go, it proved to be just a bit insufficient. Fortunately, I linked up with a group of four who were feeling a bit more fresh than I was, so I managed to hop onto their wheels, hanging on at one point just out of a sheer power of will not to be dropped again.

Finally, the last 2 miles approached. I knew my family would be there, and as luck would have it, it was my turn to take a pull. I summoned up everything I had left in my body. Every iota of strength, and every flicker of a watt, and began to lift the pace. First to 20. Then 21. 22. 23. As we came along the final 800 meters, I pulled us up to 25. I was gasping for breath, wondering, hoping it would be over soon.

It was then that I heard it. Someone screamed my name just as a car came flying by, and there were 2 of my cousins hanging out the windows, snapping pictures like every moment counted. Whether that gave me the strength I needed or summoned it from deep within me, I don’t know, but as we came up to the final 400 meters, I kicked as if there was no tomorrow. One last video. Promise.

I don’t entirely recall what happened next, or how much time passed. I have a brief memory of pictures being taken of, and with, me. I remember shaking hands, and having a cold Coke thrust into my weary, waiting hands. Then I was down on the ground, just trying to remain conscious. I wasn't joking when I said I’d pulled out all the stops.

Eventually I had a beer and food, followed by a coffee and another Coke, and let me tell you, after 5 hours and 20 minutes, covering 102 miles, each bite of food or sip of a drink was the most glorious thing I had put into my body in the history of ever.

Looking back over the event over the last few days, I could have done a few things differently, but nothing major. Overall, while I’d been hoping for something along the lines of 5:05, I’m still pretty happy with my finishing time. Especially considering the fact that my longest ride leading up to the event was only 88 miles, and even that was a few weeks prior. 

When it came down to what mattered, I had what was important. My bike was clean, and had been given the love she deserved from the boys at Zumwalt's Bicycle Center, so she ran smooth and fast. I had my shades, courtesy of Spy Optics to keep the sun out of my eyes, and to keep me looking cool (which is more work than it seems!). I had my Team Ninja kit and lucky Unicorn socks on, so people would know I meant business. And I had Skratch Labs there to keep my hydrated in the heat.

Riding a bike is, like life, a learning experience, and while we may not always get the results that we want, we have to learn to accept the results that we earn. At the end of the day, I’m happy with how things turned out. I’ll take what I learned, both about the event and about myself, and I’ll apply it to other races. That’s all I can do in the end. I was raised knowing that if I didn't get the result I wanted, to learn from it and try harder next time. We can’t all win, but so long as you’re happy with how you did and know you gave it your all, then you sure as hell didn't lose. And in my book, that’s pretty damn good.

Till next time, keep the rubber side down, and your skin off the ground.

You either like the headwind, or you're wrong

Before I jump into it, I'm gonna preface it with this: this mostly applies to people that do road races, time trials, or the hero on the Saturday/Sunday group pace line. But I do think that there's a bit of info here that everyone can learn from. I'm also going to group crosswinds in the same category as headwinds, because they share many similar qualities. K. Ready?

If you don't like the headwind, then it's about time you get onboard with it, because that shit ain't going anywhere, besides into your face. It's mother-friggin nature. You aren't gonna beat that.

The other day I was out at Fiesta Island, and it had been particularly windy most of the day. As such, a bunch of my riding buddies were texting back and forth, humming and hawing about what the wind would be like on our workout at the island that night. The general consensus? Utter fear.

A casualty of the winds that day

In my mind, Fiesta Island is perfect. The big lap is a 4 mile circular loop that starts off with a crosswind. This transforms rather quickly into a short headwind, then a looooong crosswind, followed by a banking lefthand turn that gives you a tailwind. Just when you think you're about to recover, you sweep left and BOOM! Back into headwind before it tosses you into a crosswind, and then you're right where you left off. Sound grueling? That's because it is, and that's how it should be.

 It teaches you how to be a hardman (or hardwoman), mentally and physically. Seriously. In other words, it's a free training tool.

I specifically choose a ride which involves a long, soul crushing headwind a couple times a week. I do this just so I get more experience and so I get better at breaking people with it. Think about it for a minute. Assuming you've got any decent wind in your area, just think of the number of directions it can come from. Now think of all those different directions that aren't a tailwind, and try not to swallow in shock, mkay?

I can't tell you how many times my ability to ride into a headwind has paid off, and I've broken lesser riders. More often than not, they look up and see me at the front, practically unaffected as I drill a pace, my pull longer and faster than those that came before me. They see my legs continuing to not mash the pedals, but merely spin, and they tremble. It's at this point that they look down and realize that we've picked up a couple miles an hour. Their heart rate begins to climb, as does their power, and they stare, unabashed as I continue pulling, unwilling to let anyone else come to the front. At this point, they begin to doubt themselves. They doubt their abilities. Their very souls cry out in pain and in disgrace. Now, one of two things happens. Either they break mentally, or I continue pulling and break their legs off. Either way, their time in the group is done.

All because I ride into the wind.

If you don't believe that knowing how to be a hardman in the wind is important, I encourage you to watch my main man Jens Voigt crack the peloton in half at stage 5 of the 2013 Tour of California. How did he do it? He went to the front of the pack during a gnarly crosswind and did what Jens Voigt does best: made lesser men cry by putting down the hammer.

The thing is, anyone can ride fast with a tailwind. It's easy to push 25, 28, or even 30 miles an hour with a strong enough tailwind. But turn around and try riding 20 miles an hour into that same wind, and tell me how you do. It's a whole different beast, and it's what separates the men from the boys. The wheat from the chaff. The awesome post race IPA from fizzy yellow beer. Ya see where I'm going with this? A headwind is resistance training that you don't pay for.

Anyone can go for a ride with a tailwind, focus on their miles per hour, and think that you're one bad mamba jamba. But turn around into that headwind, and all of a sudden it's a different story. You look at your speed, and feel an overwhelming sadness come over you. Don't let it. Remember, everyone is encountering the same wind that you are.

If you have a power meter, instead focus on that. That's where the money lies. Power can tell you exponentially more than speed can, simply because power is actually representative of how much...wait for it....power you're putting out. Isn't that a wonder? Speed, in this situation, is irrelevant. Power is everything. Shift up a couple gears if you have to, but always try to put out a consistent amount of power.

Remember two things when riding into a headwind. 1) those guys sucking your wheel are hurting more than you are, and 2) this headwind isn't going to let up, so you may as well embrace it for what it is: a challenge. And eventually, isn't that what cycling is all about? Pushing past your boundaries to become a better cyclist? To get harder, better, faster, stronger? And to hopefully one day be that rider at the front who knows that, on a whim, they can break the legs off of the lesser cyclists behind them?

Get out there. Ride into a headwind. Learn to crush souls, and break legs off. Also, because if you time it right, the way back home is a tailwind, so you can relax and enjoy yourself.

Till the next one, keep the rubber side down, and your skin off the ground!

What cyclists say vs what they mean

So, in case anyone missed it, stuff like this has been floating around for a while. There's also the ever popular Shit Cyclists Say and Shit Mountain Bikers Say videos, as well. But, unlike the videos, in which cyclists mean what they're saying, the things cyclists say aren't always what a cyclist means. So, with that first link as inspiration, I wanna see how many of these things we can crank out.

Say: Yeah, I ride this loop all the time.
Mean: I rode this loop once with friends, 8 years ago, and haven't thought about it since.

Say: My brakes are rubbing.
Mean: Wait. You mean my brakes are adjustable?

Say: This is a social, no drop ride.
Mean: Not only will we need an article of clothing for the search and rescue dogs, we'll also need contact info for your next of kin, so we can inform them of what happened.

Say: This ride only has a few hills that aren't too bad.
Mean: We're basically gonna climb Everest. Twice. With no chance for rest.

Say: Yeah, a spot to refill bottles just up ahead.
Mean: It's another 14 miles till the next water stop.

Say: It shouldn't be that windy for our ride.
Mean: It's gonna gust up to 30 mph. And it'll snow. And hail.

Say: We have a rad descent coming up.
Mean: We're only gonna go downhill for a quarter mile before we climb again. And the downhill is full of potholes!

Say: Yeah, I just got a brand new (insert part name here). It's awesome!
Mean: I paid a lot for this, and I can't tell the difference from what I had before.

Say: I could have beaten you at the sprint, but I sat up because this is a taper week for me.
Mean: You were so far ahead of me, I couldn't even see you over the curvature of the earth!

Say: I totally bonked on my ride.
Mean: I went out riding for 4 hours, and all I took was a stale slice of bread, and a half bottle of water that's been in the bottle for the last 6 months.

Say: (to other riders stopped on the side of the road) You guys OK?
Mean: Oh man. I hope you don't need anything, because all I have is a screwdriver, a bottle opener, and stale slice of bread.

Say: Man, I forgot to grab my shoes before I came to meet up with your guys. Guess I need to skip the ride!
Mean: My shoes are actually in my trunk, I just want to go back home and sleep.

Say: All the Euro pros drink this!
Mean: I have no idea what I'm talking about.

Say: Have you guys seen the course for the Tour de France next year?
Mean: It's gonna be somewhere in France, right?

Say: I totally met Jens Voigt once. He's a super cool guy!
Mean: I tweeted a funny joke to him once, and he retweeted me!

Say: I must have forgotten my tire pump at home. Do you have one I can use real fast?
Mean: I have no tubes, one sock, and I forgot my jersey.

Say: I'm totally carb loading!
Mean: Can I just drink the beer straight from the tap?

Say: This new (insert part here) totally shaves off like, 200 grams!
Mean: What's a "gram?"

Say: I totally do my own bike maintenance.
Mean: I know how to pump up tires, change grips, and clean a chain.

Say: I prefer my hardtail. It's way better on the climbs.
Mean: That's what I heard this one time from a gypsy.

Say: It won't be that cold. You just need arm warmers.
Mean: Bring 3 of your heaviest coats, a Sherpa, and a portable heater.

Say: My local bike shop totally takes care of me.
Mean: They give me 5% off.

Say: This is a team issue jersey.
Mean: I bought it at my local bike shop.

I think that that's all I can come up with. So, tell me guys, what are some things that cyclists have said to you, and what do you think that they mean? Hit me up in the comments below!