With the worst winter in years hitting eastern Canada I decided to bail and head south to California a few weeks earlier than usual. Good thing too from the sounds of things - snow, snow, snow and more snow is all I'm hearing. While in California I get to ride with Eric a bunch as he lives just around the corner from where I stay (those from Ontario might remember Mark Hlady who rode for Ital "back in the day" - the Hlady's have been putting me up each spring since 1999).

And what does riding with Eric entail? A whole lot of dirt, at least by most road rider's standards. Coming down early to California I was figuring on some rain and so decided to bring the 'cross winter/rain bike. All the better for hitting those dirt sections. And best of all, I found some 32C tires the other day for only $5 a piece. All set for the dirt.

To the south we ride Mt Madonna, a steep (they're all steep actually) 3km rain-rutted climb that brings us out on the hills above Santa Cruz for a breathtaking vista of the coast south toward Monterey. This one has a paved descent.

To the north we ride the trails in the San Pedro Valley Park. On these days we start out on the local group ride, the Spectrum ride, and then head north once the ride turns around. Usually there's only four or five of us, but last weekend we had a group ten or twelve rolling north to the trails. Things started off well on the trails - and then the curse kicked in. I'll say curse because any other explanation wouldn't make sense.

Up the hill we rode a steep, paved, single lane trail. Easy enough. To come down though we had to ride the dirt. No problem. At least until we hit the unexpectedly steep section. We hung off the back of our saddles, mountain bike style, avoiding the larger rocks and dipping in and out of the ruts. Still, no problem. That was until the group got its first flat of the day.

The flat repair was impressively fast, and off we went again. For all of 500m. Turns out the sidewall was torn. We booted that and were off again. For all of 500m. The same rider flatted again, this time the other wheel. He told us he'd meet us at the coffee stop. No problem.

The rest of the descent happened without incident and we headed south on HWY 1. One more dirt climb and descent to go before the coffee stop, and a whole load of flats - this is where the heavy part of the curse kicked in. The climb up old HWY 1 (not used since 1932 and now a park) doled out two flats to the group. Both of which we fixed at the top of the climb before starting the dirt descent. On to the descent. We hadn't gone more than 1km before the first flat. Repaired that one, and pssss the same guy pinch flatted again 100m later. Those of us who had ridden a bit ahead couldn't figure out what was going on. And then while waiting another rider realised they had a pinch flat as well. It seemed like we were never going to get out of the park and onto the asphalt.

Despite all the flats the ride was a blast, with some great views and challenging riding. And to top things off we decided to ride up one last dirt climb, Purissima Creek, to get home. Smooth and covered in fallen cedar and pine needles, riding this climb is like being on a plush rug. What a climb it is! 5km straight up the side of the hills, pitching up and up and up. Using a 39×26 still left me grovelling and yanking on the bars. Some of the guys had to walk the steeper sections.

Somehow, from Purissima on, the curse no longer haunted us. In fact, it was almost like we had some good karma for the last home-bound stretch as all the lights tuned green for us as we trucked home.

You can check out a GPS map of our ride here: http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/activity/4608596

What does it mean to race?

To be sure the first thing that racing means is suffering, and not only physical – racing involves as much mental turmoil as it does physical anguish. Throughout races a battle is being waged in the mind: don’t let the wheel go, push a little harder, the heat isn’t that bad, and on and on ad infinitum. A crack in the mental armour is much more fatal than bad legs. 

In tandem with suffering racing means never giving up, what the Italians call grintas. You have to hang tough, push your limits and not be afraid to come apart. Each season it seems that one is able to plumb new depths of suffering. A racer can’t be afraid to put their nose into the wind and see what comes of it. 

To race also means that you are prepared, done the appropriate training, laid the base miles and put in some decent intervals. To come off in the early parts of a race means that you’re not really racing but just there for the ride. 

You are truly racing when your competitors are cracking under the pressure that you’re applying. You are dictating the pace and making everyone else suffer and come apart. There aren’t many days like that in racing, but they are definitely the best.

 

What is not racing?

Soft pedalling, weaselling, and not doing your share are all elements of not racing. They may be good strategy but it’s not racing. Racing involves strategy such as ambushing the stronger riders, covering the right breaks etc etc, none of which involves taking it easy. You don’t stop racing when stronger riders are present, that’s when you turn to tactics to take them out of the winning situation.

An awareness of these differences is sometimes lacking in cycling here in Canada. As a community we need to inspire more aggression in our races, take them to a new level and ensure that new comers to the sport understand that there is a staggering amount of work needed to become a real racer. We have many aspiring riders, but they need some guidance to get where they want to be.

 

 

Cycling has turned into more of a long-term endeavour than I initially expected. When I decided to ride full-time to see what I could do at the age of 19 I thought that by the age of 30 I would have achieved pro-dom and moved on to bigger and better things – namely family and a University degree leading to some sort of top-exec-suit job. Little did I know what I was getting involved in.

Ten-plus years later and I’m still at it, racing full-time, and this despite having retired on more than one occasion (see earlier interview with Jake for full-details). On occasion I feel a bit like the last of the Mohicans; not too many of the people that I started riding with are still racing, let alone riding.

This last week was a treat as I had one of my oldest friends, Juan, with whom I started riding, in town for a visit. As a teenager on summer vacation the days were filled up with riding, the Tour (it always felt like once the Tour was over so was summer) and part-time work. There were three of us that used to get out each day: Juan, John and myself. During Juan’s visit all three of us got out together for the first time in years. What a blast from the past. On the bike with these guys I was reminded why I loved this sport so much. We cruised and had a great time.

A subtle reminder as to why I liked the sport was just what I needed last week. At the time I was questioning the meaning of life, spending the nights tossing and turning and generally walking around with a brain like a mushy vegetable. In short I was completely cracked mentally. Despite obvious symptoms I didn’t immediately diagnose my ailment, making for a tough week of self-loathing and general melancholy.

This week I’ve done nothing but sleep, sleep and sleep some more. Four twelve hour nights of sleep was just what I needed to get things back on track. A few more days of rest and it’s time to start prepping up for the last bit of the season. Now that I’ve ridden again with my amigos and been reminded how much I love the bike I’m good to go. Bring it on.