March 18, 2008
The Rides of March
By Nobalance
It's a strange time of year for a North Eastern mountain biker. Accepting the few truly dedicated or talented, the vast majority of us at this time of year are coming to the realization that drinking, eating and snuggling does not a cross-training regimen make. Many pounds heavier and far less fitter we are shocked at how little time we have before that first mountain bike race, or that first group ride on Sunday that often touches the other side of two hours, like spring, blossoms with the lengthening days. More shocking we catch sight of ourselves in that dastardly full length mirror sliding into the Pearl knickers - holy crap, where did that weird shaped fat pad come from, and sweet jebus I look like Vasili Alexyev, absence the monstrous size and overwhelming and joyful presence. But don the multiple layers of Lycra we do, and out into sub zero we go, and begin the begin as Snipe so eloquently put it. And finally we come to it, the point of the wee missive, the rides we’ve all had early in the season. Though titled the Rides of March, really these rides occur in the off season, March included - but the title is just so damn literary I couldn’t help myself. I've managed to package the rides under two broad categories. Enjoy.
The, if I don't ride in the woods I'll kill myself, ride:
This is one of my personal favourites and can take on many different qualities and in fact probably should be broken down to fill out the list.
This one can often turn into the weirdest hike known to man. You know what I mean, where some fool with inappropriate footwear is found striding through unexpectedly deep snow with the silliest looking backpack ever - in fact it's shaped like a mountain bike. Given the, hey who knew there was this much snow in the woods, version of this ride it can go one of two ways: a total loss with frozen feet and nary a pedal turned, or blessed nirvana counted in seconds and sometimes minutes when, fresh powder flying, and heart pounding you rip down a perfect piece of single track on the very edge of traction and good sense and it all seems worthwhile.
Later in winter or early spring this one is best seen through the accusing eyes of the trail running mountain biker you come upon, mud spattered and sheepish. Usually you stammer, "I normally wouldn't ride with the trails so wet, but I thought I'd catch the last of the morning frost (it's 4 o'clock in the afternoon)..." All said amidst nervous laughter and averted eyes.
The last of this subset of rides I've termed the, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can..." As you approach the ice field blocking the trail you soldier up like the little engine and, BAM! Isn't it amazing how quickly you can go from gingerly pedaling upright to lying on the frozen ground with a broken hip? I hate ice. Almost as much as I hate the little DIY beavers with their Armageddon inspired ice tires of death who pedals merrily past.
The, if I spend one more minute on the trainer I'll kill myself, ride:
Again, many subsets here, but I'll focus on two: the, I forgot to factor in wind-chill didn't I, ride, and the, who would of thunk that this little hill would make me barf, ride.
I think weve all done this: "Hey, look at that sun shine! Beautiful. I'll go check the ole interwebby and see the temp. Hun, -3 ain't bad, I think I'll pump up the tires on the cross-bike and head out for a spin on the road and get away from that god forsaken trainer." What was missing in this little plan was an understanding of relative wind and apparent wind and the resultant real temperature you might encounter. -3 sounds lovely on a sunny March day, but factor in 20-60 km/hr of forward motion of a cyclist into a 20-60 km/hr wind and the real temperature is much closer to 0 degrees Calvin (from Calvin and Hobbes). You know the temperature where theoretically electrons stop spinning and in real life, noses, bags and feet scream once in agony and then die. And of course the wind shifts mid ride so that you're into 'er on the way home no matter what the level of wind planning occurred early in the ride.
You can spin efficient little circles hooked up to an Ipod and listen to every funk song ever recorded or read War and Peace for dog sake, but trainer fitness ain't nothing when confronted with the first hilly ride of the winter/spring. You're dressed right for the conditions, the bike is working flawlessly, hell you even might be feeling OK about yourself, and then WHAM! A hill that 15 pounds lighter in September you used to roll over standing in the big ring has you weaving and gagging and blowing and smashing at the STI lever looking for a gear that just isn't there while oxygen deprived, your mind wanders to the weirdest places; worry about Brittney's kids or hopelessly trying to calculate gear inches of a new compact crank set and a different cassette and whether or not that would help right now. You wonder if the intervals and all of your machinations about perceived exertion and heart rate zones were products of some hibernetic hallucination.
Well, just a brief sampling I know, of the rides that turn us back into mountain bikers come the summer. All will be well, and tires will bite perfect and dry trails, and hearts will sing and lungs and legs will pump. You never know, you might even look OK in Lycra again.
Posted by O9man at March 18, 2008 10:53 PM