Saturday Ride June 16th

I rode with the Team McAllen elite group this morning and all I can say is “Elite my ass.”

I know, those are fighting words but hear me out before you start swinging. First off what makes a team or rider elite? There are a lot of factors but basically it means an ability to function with style, strength and wisdom at a high level of performance. There was very little of that this Saturday. The elite show courage and sacrifice, there was even less off that today.

What, you might ask, prompted this post? Today what could have been a nice team ride deteriorated into a suicidal free-for-all in a matter of minutes. The pace picked up on the military highway and instead of doubling up the paceline most of the riders tried grabbing a wheel just in front of them. There were enough riders the line stretched from the weeds to the yellow line. The guy coming off the front was going to have to ride in the on coming traffic and there was no room for following traffic to come around. If you can’t see the danger in this situation please stay home or ride by yourself.

The offer was made to start a second paceline. Repeatedly the offer was made. The second paceline was going just as fast as the first but instead of forming up, most of the “elite” riders were using the second paceline to bridge up to the first paceline. That might make sense at the end of a race but on a Saturday training ride it is just plain stupid.

Some of the riders today were very strong, some actually capable of being elite. Too many were cowardly, afraid to go up, double up and take a pull. Do they really think that getting to the front, pulling off after five seconds, really counts as a pull? Yeah, if you are riding with the big boys it hurts. Your heart rate is going to be sky high but it isn’t the end of the world. Nobody dies from injured pride but a paceline stretched out across a busy highway has killed more than a few.

My message to the riders today, become elite. Learn to work together, to ride safe and show some class. Riding hard and stupid does not earn respect. Doing your work at the front, showing a steady wheel to the guys behind you and being willing to contribute to the team...

THAT earns respect, and once you have respect, you can become elite. Until then, try not to ride stupid. If you don’t know any better then ask someone who’s been around for awhile, it’s a lot easier than you think.

Road Trip Louisiana

The Big Guy’s little sister called him up and said she was going to be riding in the St. Francisville, LA “Tour d’ Cure”. He of course volunteered to go ride with her and called me up with the offer of a free trip to Louisiana. How could I say no? I know his little sis and she’s real sweet, the food has got to be good and the trip’s free. My wife says sure, go away and leave me with the chickens. I ignored the facetious remark and started getting ready.

There was one catch, I had to raise a minimum of $150 for the American Diabetes Association. I have not gone out raising money for 30 something years. Back in the old days when young men left home for San Francisco, I was a terrible panhandler, ie: a lousy bum. I did better in this incarnation and raised a fair sum. The wife suggested I try raising money for myself, what a concept!

The Big Guy loaded up his truck with me, his son, son’s girlfriend, a couple of bikes and off we went on an eleven hour drive to Lafayette, LA. We had crawdad Pizza the first night in town, checked out the local high end shop (Precision Bikes) and lined up a Saturday ride with the local club, Cajun Cyclists. (http://cajuncyclists.bicycleracing.com/index.html)

The Saturday ride was a mixed group. There were vets, newbies and some very strong women. I quickly learned that all of the Texas roads I have cursed are so much better than the roads in Lousyana (local spelling) I should keep my mouth shut and count my blessings. The ride went out nice and didn’t pick up until the ride head home point. Three fourths of the way home I discovered a new thing about Lousyana roads. Two of the guys I was chasing took a curve a little wider than I was comfortable with so I went really wide, at 25 mph. I crossed the centerline and headed straight for the ditch. I came to a complete stop and then had to chase the leaders from a dead stop. The combination of embarrassment and anger had me on their wheels in no time and the Big Guy was shaking his head “ Somebody pissed off the little guy again” It turns out the curve was off camber, it slopes to the outside in both lanes and will send you towards the ditch no matter which side you are on. All that being said, this is a great group of riders and I would highly recommend riding with them if you should ever get the chance.

Sometime during the Saturday ride the Big Guy incurred a back spasm. He was walking around at half mast and groaning a lot. Little Sis gave him electroshock, pills, massages and creams. He still hurt Sunday but decided it didn’t hurt any more on the bike than off it so we headed for St. Francisville at 5am, a two hour drive.

Disaster struck when we got to the High School in St. Francisville. The door to the bathrooms was still locked. After several phone calls the boss lady of the ride jimmied the door with a screwdriver and voila! no more disaster.

There was a group at the start line wearing white jerseys with question marks on the front. The back had the letters WTF. Yeah, that’s exactly what it stood for and we all decided, wisely to give them a wide berth. Everyone lined up for the 95 mile and the early 51 mile rides. There was the usual early pandemonium and when the dust cleared I was in a group of four or five going a lot faster than the moderate ride I had planned. Somewhere in the chaos The Big Guy found a damsel in distress and dropped back to give aid.

Jeff, the Memphis Kid, decided he would pull all day and kept us humping till the first rest stop. The road from rest stop one to rest stop two was a winding roller coaster through a tunnel of ancient trees. I went to the front and was having way too much fun going nearly as fast as I was able. When we slowed to do a route check, the Memphis Kid said “If you are not going to pull hard then stay in the back.” I had a remarkably dumb look on my face until he said “You had us really flying through there!”

The Kid says he’s a Cat 4 but he rides like a Cat 2. He took over and pulled us at 22 mph to the 65 mile rest stop, Clinton, LA. We actually stopped and refueled instead of blowing by like we had been doing. Darrel, our fourth, having a great time, he said he had never gone faster or farther in his life. Apparently I had taken us up to almost 40 mph on the roller coaster. He said the only thing slowing him down was the big grin on his face. At 75 miles he had whole body cramps and they slowed him down a tad. We got him to the last rest stop at 85 miles and left him in the shade with instruction to drink lots of gatorade and do not under any circumstance lie down.

There were three of us left, the Kid and a Tri-guy. The pace picked up and I pretty much threw in my towel with 6 or 7 miles to go. I finished out at a stately 20 mph pace and rolled in no worse for the way. Little Sis was there already. She did a fabulous job of knocking out the 51 miler. The Big Guy was somewhere back on the course so I went back looking for him. That was another 15 miles on the day with no sign of him.
Pretty soon one on the Team Valero Members gets a call on the cell phone. PJ, the gal TBG was escorting, was calling wanting to know where the !@#$%#@ was the high school. She had 96 miles on here cyclometer and was certain she was lost. TBG’s toes were cramping and between our telephone help and TBG’s spotting of the traffic cones, it was determined they were about 100 yards from the finish.

It was all in all a good trip. Little Sis got a personal best. The Big Guy’s back spasm responded well to Anjeo Tequila and I got to ride someplace out of town. What more could you ask for?