The Spring of Discontent - The Summer of...well...some Content

Here's an update I meant to post a month ago:

Early to bed, Early to rise...ugh, but damn I'm so tired I think I'm trying to kill myself...

Maybe it was youthful optimism to set a goal of cycling 1000 miles in the month of July. Wait, or is it youthful stupidity? I think the real answer is that I feel - wait, check, I AM - out of shape. Also ,for the second year in a row, I've had a very disappointing racing season. Bad luck with flats, wrecks, and broken wheels squashed hope for good results and a need to enjoy my senior year of college kicked in. So to recap I didn't race enough and drank too much - thus the shape I'm in. (Of course I write that while sipping a Heineken on the deck enjoying the sunset.) But I deserve it - I'm plum tuckered out!

Why so tired? Well I don't quite know. In the last two days I've only ridden 72 mi, which could easily be the total for one day. Yesterday I did 46 mi and struggled in the final miles. Today it was 26 and I had a hard time getting a rhythm - the driving west wind didn't help much either. I'm hoping the culprit is just a lack of sleep, which I'm hopin the afforementioned Heineken will help me achieve.

Whatever I'm lacking, I better get it soon. Although its already July 10th I'm still getting below 200 miles ridden for the month. That's more that 800 miles still to ride in 3 weeks. I'll need a couple of long days in there which will prepare my legs for my second goal of the month - to ride a century on the last day of RAGBRAI. I plan on starting from home, riding to the overnight town of Dyersville, and then riding back with the RAGBRAI flow to Bellevue. Depending on how I feel I may ride the extra few miles back home. I've done centuries before - the last one 2-3 years ago - so it shouldn't be too bad. Plus from Dyersville on I'll have help from the stream of cross-state riders.

Well I should probably get to bed soon. Tomorrow constists of a morning ride of at least 50 mi and then I have an afternoon of building fence. Then more riding for the rest of the week: Hill drills Thursday, and long miles on Friday and Saturday. I have excitement and dread at the same time

~~~~~

Now here's a guest commentary that wrote that will be appearing in this week's Bellevue Herald-Leader:

I think I’m too competitive.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to Dyersville?” was the question I was always asked when I explained I would be doing a revised version of the last day of RAGBRAI. My plan was to start at home, just northwest of La Motte, ride to Dyersville, and then ride to Bellevue. My goal was to ride a century, the cycling term for a ride of one hundred miles. I had done two previous centuries and thought I could handle it with my recent training regime that had me bike two hundred mile weeks, initially planned to return my legs back to racing shape. I would blame my desire to race and to do centuries on a passion for cycling, a strong need of a challenge, and a will to do something different. Most people just call me crazy.

Waking at 5 am on a Saturday morning had me thinking exactly that, “Am I crazy?” My whole body seemed to be fighting against my plans of some morning cycling. At 5:10, when I finally attempted to open my eyes, it felt like every eyelash was clinging on for dear life to keep my eyelids shut. Eventually mind won over body and I started my day quickly. Fueled with a quick bowl of cereal and some good strong Irish Breakfast Tea, I headed out the door just before 7 am.

All was quiet as I headed through La Motte, soon to be filled with thousands of cyclists who would be taking a much needed respite in the town park. I continued on through Zwingle, up the Washington Mills hill and on to Bernard. To my surprise a large contingent of early morning riders were already in attendance at the town park. Again I rode on, heading north of town and trying to pick up speed so I wasn’t left in the dust by the time I got to Dyersville. My path led me on back roads of southern Dubuque County, some of my local biking grounds. I rode just south of the New Melleray Abbey, riding west, then north through Farley, and finally west again to Dyersville. The first leg of the trip, all forty-three miles, was finished around 9:30 am. I would need to pick up speed if I wanted to finish my century under five and a half hours.

RAGBRAI and bicycle racing are completely different. Once I reached Dyersville, it was like stepping out of the cornfield and onto a certain nearby ball field. The cross-state ride features bikes that are chosen because they are comfortable, affordable, or people have on hand. They’re not high-tech racing machines built for speed. People are relaxed – taking their time, talking, and riding spaced apart. No fast speeds, pace lines, or packs that are four abreast in one lane of traffic requiring the riders to brush shoulders with each other – without falling mind you. The relaxed atmosphere of the ride took some getting used to.

My refuel of liquids in Cascade was a first taste of the real point of RAGBRAI. I happened to stumble upon a local couple whom I know who had been riding their first big cycling event. We had a quick conversation, the normal biking tour chat that focuses on hills, weather, fatigue, and most importantly how one’s posterior is holding up. Once you stuff yourself into form-fitting spandex shorts no topic is too far. We eventually went our separate ways; they to find the rest of their group and I to head further down the road.

I must admit that even though I had a few chats in Cascade, I still wasn’t grasped by the Iowan ideal of overwhelming friendliness. Once the route reached Bernard I was on my home training roads and my competitive streak again took over. I had to be the first over every hill. I had to be the passer, not the one being passed. At the crossing on Highway 61, where the Highway Patrol was escorting riders across, I felt I had to out sprint another rider who took off in front of me. This momentum carried me quickly to La Motte.

Like Cascade, a refuel in La Motte threw me back into the RAGBRAI spirit. I must admit it was awesome seeing thousands of cyclists in my hometown when it’s typically just lonely me. It was very clearly my hometown when, while waiting for water and Gatorade, I was recognized as “a Schroeder kid” and was then subsequently confused for my brother, which has happened my whole life. Being now officially acknowledged as a local, I felt it my duty to enter myself into strangers’ conversations to tell them how the route was the rest of the way. Every tired face brightened as they learned the worst hills were behind them. However some would suffer worse challenges the hills.

On a two mile stretch of road between La Motte and Cottonville, two riders went down as I was riding. The first was being loaded into an ambulance as I arrived. It’s always disheartening to see a road stained with blood and a fellow rider being rushed to the hospital. That feeling was exemplified by the fact that I ride that stretch of road nearly every day. I pushed the feelings of fear and worry out of my mind by getting back into my normal cycling rhythm, which was now starting to fade at mile eighty-four. However my rhythm would not last long.

Barely two miles down the road, a second rider had gone down. At first I regretfully rode on by but quickly turned around when I heard the question, “Does anyone know where we are?” “If it helps, I’m from here,” I said as I arrived. I was quickly given a cell phone to tell the dispatchers our exact location and eventually became the official phone correspondent. The fallen rider, who I learned was Dorothy of Jacksonville, Florida, initially laid on the road motionless for at least three minutes with every breath a resounding hoarse gurgle. Eventually she regained consciousness, was able to talk, and even eventually sit up. I could selfishly say she started to recover because of my volunteered bottle of Gatorade but it was because of the great group of riders that came to her rescue. In all we had three first responders, a physician, the woman riding behind Dorothy, and myself “the local.” It was also a great performance by the La Motte and RAGBRAI paramedic teams who arrived quickly and did a great job, especially considering they had two incidents within fifteen minutes.

Before I go any further I must apologize to a fellow cyclist-come-rescuer, the woman who handed me the phone. Although we were the last two riders to leave the scene and introduced ourselves to each other, I quickly forgot your name. I was so focused on Dorothy’s care that all I was thinking at the time, and for the rest of the day, was “Dorothy of Jacksonville.” I could have been asked who won last year’s Tour de France and would have responded with “Dorothy of Jacksonville” even though I can recite every Tour de France winner since the mid-eighties.

Following the rescue, my ride took a more relaxed pace. I stopped in Cottonville and chatted with high school friend and his father, neither of whom I had seen since graduation now four years ago. Further down Bellevue-Cascade Road, I used every ounce of conviction to fend off stopping at a root beer float stand. “After you’re finished,” I said to myself. I fought off the dreamy soda ice cream concoction proudly...but then stopped for a frozen smoothie a mile down the road. On the brink of brain freeze, I slurped down the strawberry banana drink quickly and got back on the road.

A very quick five miles later I was in Bellevue. To my surprise however, my wheels crossed the railroad tracks with the bike computer only registering ninety-nine miles. A leisurely ride through town to meet my family easily fulfilled my century goal.

All of my RAGBRAI rides have been commemorated with an official ride t-shirt. It is a bit misleading to purchase a shirt with the week’s route printed on the back even though you only rode one day. I’ll admit that. But this day’s ride was different. I was proud of accomplishing another century, but what I really wanted to remember were the non-cycling events of the day – the chats, the food, being a local, and being a rescuer. I didn’t think of it at the time but my chosen shirt perfectly represents, even says, what I learned what RAGBRAI is about. The ride isn’t about riding five hundred miles across Iowa, or accomplishing any other cycling feat for that matter. The ride is about community – the cyclists, the support crews, and the towns they roll through. If I ever forget, my shirt will be a reminder – “Is this France? No, this is Iowa!”

~~~~~

And now for a quick update:

The 1000 miles just isn't going to happen. A quick look at the calendar shows that it's already July 31st and a quick look at my cycling log shows I've only ridden 747.4 miles in July. I'm not about to go for a 252.6 miler today, probably something 50 mi or shorter. Starting last week my upper calf muscle has been tight and sore. Not sure what's causing it. Usually it works itself out on the bike - except for a few times during the century when it was a strong stinging pain. I should probably take a few days off, but I've been able to do more than one because I go crazy if I don't ride. We'll see. I keep pondering the idea of doing the Iowa State RR this weekend more or less for something to do. However I'm not sure if I'm in race shape yet and don't know if I want to waste time, money, and effort to race if I'm not.

Well this has been my longest post ever. Thanks for reading through it all!

Salty early season rants

Snow. The white death. Pestilence. Seriously, what the hell? Mid-week of last week I was basking the the glory of finally riding outdoors. The sun was reaching its winter snow reflective glory and was melting down the snow. Come Friday it rained - and a half-inch think layer of ice on the remaining six inches of snow. Then a dusting of snow. Repeat for Saturday morning. "What next?" we seemingly asked Jack Frost, Old Man Winter. "More snow bitches!!" they replied. Non-stop snow from Saturday afternoon til Monday morning. Feet of snow - with and ice layer surprise. Cars stranded in the parking lots, buildings collapsing, events cancelled, schools closing, squirrels saying "WTF?" - but of course we still have classes on Monday. Damn professors all living in town. I blame the Norwegians. Be prepared for someone to ski past with a gun strapped to their back.

Time to put the trainer tires back on the bike and hit the rollers again. Let's see if I remember the whole routine back after a week absence...
1) Stare aimlessly ahead at a white cinder block wall. CHECK!
2) Perilously waver side-to-side, balance upright amidst many sharp-corners - desk, bed post, chair, heater - that will pierce your skull if you should fall down. CHECK!
3) Bike til your naughty bits are numb from the vibration of the rollers and the lack of being able to stand up - limiting your chances of eventually having children CHECK!
4) Ride quietly at 32 mph while not waking up your sleeping neighbors CHECK!
5) Stare out the steamed up window at the menacing frozen abyss CHECK!

The rollers at least give me some sense of cycling enjoyment. Not enough though apparently as I was horribly slow in my outdoor cycling adventures last week. Either the resistance unit needs to learn how to be turned up or I'm sacrificing a towel to be put under the rollers for friction. Poor towel, doesn't know what's coming.

I really just want to get out and ride - and race. I'm pining. As Queen sung - "I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike. I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like." I need that suicidal, homicidal, leg burning, lung busting sport I love. Rollers aren't where the bike is supposed to be. It's out on the road doing lactate threshold intervals, maxing out the heart rate, hill repeats, or even just a good ol' ride to enjoy the countryside. The rollers just leave me unfulfilled. After cycling on the rollers, I towel off, and look at my training schedule, my racing schedule in child-like anticipation. March 18th - races begin, with a race (or two) every weekend up to May 6th. Driving around Iowa, racing my ass off, training my ass off, and somewhere fitting in homework, class, and work. Races...bliss.