Orny's Cycling Journal

… the season for a rambling update, because I haven’t shared anything since early September other than turning sixty, which you can read about here. So what has been going on? Let’s see…

As alluded to in my Livestrong Challenge blogpo, Specialized warranty replaced my rear wheel’s carbon rim after a nasty rock strike in the aforementioned ride. Summarizing my feelings about that:

Feeling ballsy

Friday Truancy ride

Tour of Watopia celebration

Zwift PMC group rides resume!

Zwift fondo series returns

• Boy, am I glad I wasn’t running a tubeless setup, because my day would have irrecoverably ended right there. Thanks to my butyl inner tube, I continued riding without getting a flat. I didn’t even notice the break until I got home!
• My first carbon wheel lasted just six months, or about 4,000 KM. That’s disappointing, unacceptable, and bullshit.
• It took Spesh four weeks to replace the rim, which meant I was off the bike for a whole month during peak riding season. I need to remember that I have recourse to my indoor trainer and my folding clown bike.

In other news, I’ve purchased a couple new goodies. First is a cycling jersey from the Buddhist Bicycle Pilgrimage: a two-day northern California ride that I rode back in 2012. Read about that whole trip here.

Of greater impact (pun intended) is my one noteworthy birthday present: an Ekrin Bantam cordless vibrating mini massage gun, nicknamed my “Fun Gun”. I’ve long had lingering calf pain during training season, and addressed it by doing tapotement, a Swedish massage technique that involves rhythmically rapping on the muscle with one’s knuckles. Now I’ve got a portable device that can do that work for me, and so far I adore it.

If nothing else, this has been an excellent year for cycling purchases, as I’ll detail in my usual year-in-review at the end of the month.

On a less satisfactory note, the name decals I crowed about in this post failed miserably by de-laminating. I suspect the Texas heat got ‘em, but the manufacturer asserted that my carbon frame’s coating was still “off-gassing”. We’ll see, as I have reapplied a second set of decals.

And speaking of the heat, it got cold fast! We were in full-on summer mode until October 29th, when a strong cold front blew in and dropped temps from about 22°C to 13°C in about an hour, ushering in certifiably cold nights and cool days. Not ideal for riding the stationary trainer in an unheated garage! But other than that cold snap, the weather’s been pleasantly seasonable.

But that brings us reluctantly back to Zwift and the indoor trainer. Anticipating a warmish Texas autumn, I wanted to avoid the trainer and ride outside as much as possible. But then temperatures dropped, Zwift released some nice new roads, the Pan-Mass Challenge’s online group rides started up again, and Zwift moved the always-tempting “double XP” Tour of Watopia from March to October. So even though the weather was often fine for riding outdoors, I put the bike up on the trainer and started riding indoors again.

This year I rode 19 Tour of Watopia stages (plus two half-stages) totaling 950 KM. In the process I hit XP Levels 57 and 58, with new route badges giving me a head start on the road toward Level 59, which I will achieve this month. This year Zwift only awarded double XP the first time you completed a Tour of Watopia stage, but no one stopped you from almost completing one multiple times! In addition to the usual, regularly-scheduled group rides, this year you could also complete stages on your own schedule as free rides.

Then today – December 3th – I celebrated five years and 25,000 KM on Zwift by repeating one of my very first Zwift rides: their December fondo.

Thanks to my recent riding, I’m feeling strong and have regained all the fitness I lost during that month-long break due to my broken rim.

For the remainder of the year, I’ll be focused on reaching my 8,000 KM distance goal, trying to decide what I’ll do for the 2024 Pan-Mass Challenge, and putting the final touches on my inescapable annual year-in-review blogpo.

My first Zentury of 2021 is done. First that, then an update on 2021 so far, and prognosis for the summer.

This was a duplicate of my first ever Zentury, in April 2019: doing a Zwift gran fondo event (100k), then extending that with four laps of (essentially) the Volcano Flat route, finishing at 170km. With this being the final ride in the five-episode Winter 2020-2021 fondo series, I figured it was time to go long.

I managed to hang with a couple ad hoc friends for the first 20 miles, but unceremoniously dropped one who didn’t bother switching to a mountain bike for the jungle loop. Then I lost my other friend around Mile 45, when I stopped for a 15-minute stretch and burrito break.

Because this fondo was run in multiple categories and at multiple times over two days, there were only 100 riders in my group, so I was alone on the road much of the time. No one else I knew was on the ride, and the Herd, PMC, Team Kermit, and Western PA Wheelmen Discord audio chats were all empty. That made for a really tedious ride.

Somehow I didn’t realize the obvious: that the first century of the year would be really hard, especially the last 20 miles. I had to stop for another 5-minute rest break, and limped home to the accompaniment of my music collection. It was a really long, hard, solo slog.

I finished 170km with 5,000 feet of climbing in 5h44m, exactly five minutes slower than my 2019 ride, although in 2019 I didn’t take any breaks off the bike. My weighted average power was 180W, which is 16W greater than 2019.

Overall I guess I’m happy with it, although I suffered a lot more than I expected. It’s also my 98th century-plus ride, putting me closer to that magical 100th 100+ ride. And the extra 3,450 XP also gives me a big head start on my way to Zwift Level 48 (more on those below).

Now let me segue to an overview of my 2021 training to date.

Exploring new roads

Ornoth at Mon Wharf

On the indoor side, it’s been a typical Zwifty winter, with a balance of new features, familiar events, and achievement chasing. In addition to the aforementioned five-ride fondo series, annual events included the 8-stage Tour de Zwift and 3-stage Haute Route. New features included the rollout of “robotic” pace partner rides, acquiring the newly-minted Herd club in-game kit, trying my first individual time trial ride, and the rollout of a couple small but strategic connector roads in Zwift’s imaginary Watopia world. The latter prompted a brief chase to try the four new routes that accompanied the new roads, to reassert my “Route Hero” status. But my focus has been working from Level 43 to 47, ever-closer to Level 50, the current maximum.

Outdoor riding has started slowly. On a couple consecutive days in the 60s, I got two rides totaling 70 miles in, but picked up a tiny staple that flatted my front tire overnight. My biggest problem has been that the pandemic has made parts ridiculously scarce, precisely at a time when I need to replace both my rear wheel and chainrings / crankset. For now I can limp along, but soon I’ll need to address the problem, which probably means swapping out both my wheels and entire drivetrain.

In terms of fitness, it’s been a steady, predictable progression from a CTL around 55 at year-end to 95 following yesterday's Zentury. It’s been a little better paced than last year, when my CTL peaked at 98 in January before tailing off!

Looking forward toward spring and summer, Zwift is running the Tour of Watopia throughout April. With double XP for every ride, you know I’m going to be hitting that hard, which will artificially reduce my outdoor riding. That’ll probably continue to elevate my CTL before I dial it back a bit and enjoy some time outdoors in May, while still putting time into my quest for Level 50 inside.

The prognosis for a summer of outdoor rides is mixed. On one hand, Covid vaccinations have been rolling out quickly, and I hope to get mine before too long. Once vaccinated, I’ll have less fear about stopping to refuel during long rides at convenience stores. Plus most major rides have scheduled dates, with surprisingly few exceptions.

On the other hand, most of those events have dialed back their scale, in terms of length, duration, number of participants, and/or amount of rider support. Some are taking a “Here’s a route map; you’re on your own” approach, some two-day rides are now one-days, and century-plus rides have downsized to piddling 100ks. So it really remains to be seen how many outdoor events — especially organized century rides — I’ll be able to accrue. Still, I’ll hopefully be able to do a few solo centuries, as well as simulated ones back on the trainer.

The remaining big questions are what I’ll do for my hundredth century, and whether I’ll do another “reimagined” Pan-Mass Challenge this year. I should spend some time thinking about those while I’m stuck on the trainer next month, chasing that elusive Level 50 jersey...

It’s been years since I had a Bad Day on the bike, and I can’t remember the last time I had to DNF a ride. I’ve kept my bikes in good working order, and thus haven’t met many major mechanical malfunctions.

And then there was Saturday. I’ll try to keep it brief, but convey the lowlights and the frustration I felt.

Before the misfortunes...

Drove out to North Park for the 8:30am start of the Western Pennsylvania Wheelmen’s spring rally. Cool, clammy, overcast conditions. Set out in a group of a couple dozen riders.

Misfortune #1: Halfway through the 30-mile ride, I announced a front flat. Although a couple riders asked if I needed anything, I waved the entire group on, saying I’d catch up. No problem.

I figured it had been a slow leak, so my initial plan was to pump the tire up and see if it would hold long enough to get back to the start.

Misfortune #2: Pulling out my reliable frame pump, I discovered that the nut that held the entire pump head valve assembly together was missing, rendering it nearly useless. I had to hold the three loose parts of the pump head together by hand while holding the entire jerry-rigged pump head against the inner tube valve, while also trying to operate the pump with my other hand. I got a little air into the tire and set off to see if it would hopefully hold.

Misfortune #3: It didn’t. By the time I’d gone the length of two suburban yards, it was flat again, so I would have to stop and change the tube.

Misfortune #4: Trying to dismount the recalcitrant tire from the rim, the tire lever I was using slipped out and I slammed my fingers into the spokes, doing pretty good damage to my right thumbnail. It hurt like hell and started bleeding quite obviously. Too bad I didn’t have any bandages on hand…

Between my stinging thumb and the broken pump, I was starting to wonder whether I would have to give up and call Inna to pick me up: not a great option when she was 45 minutes away, still in bed, and had an outing planned…

Then came my one and only blessing: two slower riders who had trailed the group came by and offered help. My first question was whether either of them had a pump I could use. The woman said she did, but…

Misfortune #5: Then she looked down at her bike and realized she’d left it at home. It’s not really very useful there!

Next, the guy offered two carbon dioxide canisters, tho admitting he didn’t know how to use them. I replaced my bad tube with the spare I carried, and between careful pumping and a little CO2, I was able to get back on the road again.

Misfortune #6: Two miles later, my replacement tube was flat. We spent a few fruitless minutes trying to diagnose what might be causing the issue before simply swapping my spare tube out in favor of a spare tube the woman was carrying. While mounting the tire, I imagined I’d pinched the tube and cut it, but after finishing the first canister of CO2 and starting on the second, it seemed to be holding. So off we went.

Misfortunate #7: I got a whopping six miles further down the road, but just when we thought we were home free, I flatted again. We used the last of the CO2 and I hobbled another half-mile before giving up.

With less than four miles back to the start, my generous and very patient saviors took off, returning half an hour later by car to give me a lift. Returning to the shelter where the club was hosting their spring gathering, I shared my story and took in a glazed donut, a couple chocolate chip cookies, and a cola. All I wanted to do was go home, shower, and take a nap.

The cause was pretty befuddling, because I rode 125 miles with some of the same people just three weeks ago with no problems whatsoever, and hadn’t changed anything about my setup since then.

During my second stop, I inspected the inner casing of the tire by hand, but I didn’t feel any foreign objects. At the same time, one of the other riders tried to find where air was escaping the tube, which would have told us exactly where to look in the tire. But her efforts were fruitless because my malfunctioning pump couldn’t provide enough air pressure to find the hole.

After I got home, I used that exact method (and my floor pump) to identify the culprit: a tiny shard of glass embedded in—but barely penetrating—the tire casing.

Despite the litany of misfortunes, it’s not the end of the world. As one of my partner’s social groups says, I didn’t die or get pregnant, so it’s fine. And thank goodness this didn’t happen in the middle of that 200k!

I only needed a little time (and a working pump) to inspect my tubes, tire, and rim to diagnose and then fix the problem. I’ve got a spare frame pump, tho I hope to replace the missing parts or buy a whole new one. The only nontrivial issue is my thumb; it’s healing, albeit slowly, and it doesn’t look like I’ll lose the nail.

It’s been a long time since I’ve found myself stranded and helpless at the side of the road. It’s a good reminder, but let’s not let that happen again, shall we? And hopefully I’ve used up all my bad luck for this decade.

Normally I wouldn’t consider doing a long-distance ride like the Pittsburgh Randonneurs’ McConnell’s Mill 200k brevet this early in the season. April is way too cold for long rides, and there’s no way I could have completed the training required to be prepared for 130 miles.

On the other hand, this winter has been so mild that I’ve ridden more than usual this year. Although none of that riding was anything near century-length rides, I figured I had enough miles under my belt to consider undertaking the hilly 130-mile challenge.

That desire was reinforced when Pittsburgh suddenly found itself in the middle of an unprecedented week of cloudless sun and temperatures in the 70s. With sunny days at a premium here, there was no doubt I’d spend the weekend in the saddle, and the 200k seemed perfectly timed.

On the other hand, there was reason for trepidation. This wasn’t just any hilly ride. Out of all the rides I’ve done since getting a GPS, the Mt. Washington Century, which traverses three mountain passes and claims to be the most challenging century in New England, contains the most climbing: around 5,900 feet by my records. The brevet route climbs 8,800 feet, the equivalent of one and a half Mt. Washingtons! Not a ride for someone who hasn’t trained for it.

But wait; there’s more. I couldn’t do the ride on my current bike (R2-Di2) because a week earlier I’d discovered cracks in the wheel rim and was waiting for a brand new rear wheel to arrive at the bike shop.

In the meantime I’d been riding my old bike (the Plastic Bullet), but two days before the brevet, its rear wheel also started acting up, making a horrible screeching noise anytime I coasted at speed, which I eventually traced to the freehub. In theory it was rideable, so long as you constantly pedaled and didn’t ever coast…

So that was the decision I had to make the day before the event. 130 miles, ten hours in the saddle, far more climbing than I’ve ever done, on very limited training, without coasting, on a broken bike? Yeah, sign me up for that!

So Saturday morning I found myself riding 8 miles to the start in Shaler, pedaling all the way. It was a pretty cold 52 degrees at 6am, but the forecast expected it to warm up a lot.

There were a mere eight starters, and I knew several of them from a ride down to Monongahela back in February. After photos and a briefing, we left the organizer’s house at 7am and immediately dove down a very steep 125-foot hill to the banks of the Allegheny. After having to brake and spin the pedals all the way down, I found myself off the back, but I caught up again easily.

The first segment was a flat 16 miles along the river on Freeport Street to Tarentum. The group mostly stayed together. My hands and feet (in my cycling sandals) went numb, but with the sun rising, warmer temps were coming. Thankfully, it was going to be a rare windless day.

From there, the route turned away from the river and up Bull Creek Road, one of many routes that follow stream beds up to the high plateau that surround the three rivers. But we soon left the stream valley and began the first serious climb of the day up Sun Mine Road.

That splintered our happy little group into shards, with myself and two experienced cyclists—Monica & Stef—leaving the rest of the group strewn along the climb in our wake. 23 miles into the ride, we now faced 100 miles of interval training: constantly rolling steep hills with zero flat to provide any respite.

Just after 10:30am we reached the West Sunbury country store that was the 53-mile checkpoint. The three of us refueled, and I jumped into the bathroom to quickly strip off my arm warmers, base layer, and cycling cap since the day had warmed substantially. The last one out of the store, I had to run to catch up to the girls as they left. It was then that I realized that after taking off my base layer, I hadn’t pulled the shoulder straps of my bib shorts up before putting my jersey back on! I stopped and quickly executed the reverse of the women’s “remove my bra straps without taking off my shirt” maneuver and set off to catch back up.

After passing through more hilly farmland, at noon we traversed Cooper’s Lake Campground. This is the site of the Society For Creative Anachronism medieval recreationist group’s huge Pennsic War, which my ex-wife and I attended three times, our first time being our honeymoon trip. Passing through the area brought back lots of memories, but it was hard to correlate 30-year old memories of a crowded campground with the open fields I saw as I rode past.

An hour later the temperatures were climbing toward 80 degrees, and with no shade in sight I was starting to fall behind Stef and Monica. I caught up with them at the 83-mile checkpoint at a 7-Eleven in Ellwood City. Stef left soon after I arrived, and that was the last we saw of her that day. Monica and I rode off after a rest, staying within shouting distance for the remaining 40 miles.

By half past two we hit the century mark while passing through the town of Cranberry. 7.5 hours, which is no record, but it’s pretty good, given the endless climbing we’d endured.

Half an hour later we stopped at another convenience store to refuel and rest. We’d take a couple more short stops for breathers over the remaining route, because I was flagging and Monica was having difficulty with her exercise-induced asthma. Another half hour had us passing through North Park and over the last major climbs of the ride.

Eventually we came out on Wible Run Road, a sustained stream-bed descent that led us finally back down into the valley of the Allegheny near the start.

A mile from the finish my GPS finally conked out. Losing the last mile of data isn’t a big deal, except that it included the vicious 12-percent grade climb back up to the organizer’s house, which reminded me a lot of the brutal finishing climb to the Mt. Washington Century, except shorter. Only later did the organizer reveal that he had chosen not to have us take an easier route to his home!

Monica and I pulled in at 4:56pm, just shy of 10 hours in the saddle. Stef, the only rider who finished ahead of us, had already checked in and gone home. The others drifted in and out over time while I waited for Inna to pick me up and munched on some well-earned pizza and soda.

Normally at this point I’d be all hyped up about getting my randonneur’s 200k finishing medal, but the organizing body and I had a parting of ways back in 2007, so I won’t be giving them the membership fee necessary to get the medal I earned.

So let’s do some context-setting here, because this was a milestone ride in many ways. My longest ride in Pittsburgh, longest ride and first century or double metric this year, first brevet in ten years, earliest in the year that I’ve ever done a century or 200k, exceeded my previous max climbing on any ride by 50 percent, probably only my sixth ride with more than a mile of climbing, and it also put me well over 50,000 feet of climbing (nearly 11 miles of vertical) so far this year.

Between the distance, the heat, the hills, and the broken bike, I’m pretty proud to have completed what will be one of the longest rides of the year, and notched my first century amongst the hills of western Pennsylvania.

Before I close, a quick review of how March went.

March was without question an excellent month: 400 miles of riding, with a stoopid 26,000 feet of climbing.

The month included exploration rides around McKeesport, Days Run up near Tarentum, Lowries Run into Emsworth, the GAP trail up to Boston (PA) and back, Dorseyville and Indianola, Munhall and the South Hills.

There were several particular highlights. One was finding and setting my first Tag-o-Rama locations, as described in an earlier post. I conquered four more of Pittsburgh’s brutal Dirty Dozen hills on the way to my first-ever Strava Climbing Challenge victory, although the worst of the hills— Barry/Holt/Eleanor—required a dab near the top after I pulled my shoe out of the pedal cleat. That same ride took me down the Montour Trail to the town of McMurray in memory of my mentor and hero Bobby Mac, where I stopped and had a memorial ice cream at a roadside stand that offered—appropriately enough—a “Dino Sundae”. My longest (now superseded, of course) was a 72-mile expedition out to Bakertown and over to Ambridge, where I came across a massive cheez ball spill in the middle of the woods in Sewickley.

So things seem to be going really well so far this year, aside from both bikes currently having broken rear wheels, of course.

I destroy wheels, particularly rear wheels.

I’m not sure why, because I’m not heavy and I don’t put out that much torque. But the expected life span of a drive-side spoke on my bike is only marginally greater than 37 minutes.

When I bought my first road bike, I went through two or three (Shimano) Ultegra wheels before I switched to (Mavic) Ksyriums. I certainly got more service out of the Ksyriums, but I still went through three more rear wheels on my old bike.

Fortunately, I had purchased Mavic’s optional two-year, no-questions-asked replacement policy, which has the unfortunate moniker of the “MP3” program.

Whatever it’s called, the first time I destroyed a Mavic wheel, I got a free replacement. Unfortunately, the second time I trashed a Ksyrium, the warranty had just expired. Still, with good wheels and a great warranty, they earned my business.

So when I bought my new bike last year, I immediately traded in its el cheapo wheels for Mavic Ksyriums. Then a few months later I was taken out by a car in South Boston and was forced to replace the rear wheel with a new one.

The only negative of the MP3 program is that each time I swapped wheels meant six to eight weeks off the bike, while it was mailed to France and a replacement was shipped back. So after my accident the new bike sat idle at the bike shop from August to October, when the new wheel was installed.

Fast forward to this year… In mid-January I was out in Weston, enjoying a (comparatively) warm day and pedaling lightly along a slight descent when there was a sudden WHANG!WHANG!WHANG! from my rear wheel. Upon stopping, it was obvious that one of the spokes had snapped in two right at the spoke nipple.

Now that’s ridiculous. I wasn’t doing anything crazy, and this was the brand new wheel they’d supplied, with less than 500 miles on it! And now here I was: stranded in Weston, fifteen miles from home in the middle of a weekday afternoon.

Fortunately, the nearest Commuter Rail station (Kendal Green) was only a mile away. Despite a rear wheel that was wobbly and out of true, I managed to ride gingerly to the station, only to discover that there’s no inbound platform.

I was only four more miles from Waltham, and I knew about a bike shop there: Frank’s. I was able to hobble in and talk to the mechanic. But because it’s really not much of a shop, there was absolutely nothing he could for me.

At that point, my choices were to wait for a commuter train in Waltham or take my chances trying to ride ten more miles back home to Boston. With no idea when the train would come, and having already ridden five miles, I decided to push my luck.

That luck held for another five miles, when the stress on the already-warped wheel caused a second spoke to snap, throwing the wheel completely out of true. Already committed, I could only keep riding, but the juddering bike caused me to expect the wheel to fail completely at any second.

About a mile from home, I turned off at Boston University and headed straight to the bike shop. I left the beast with them, hoping that Mavic would honor another claim against their warranty.

After the usual long wait, today I got my bike back from the shop. I guess I should consider myself fortunate that this lengthy hiatus happened during the off-season, while we endured some of the worst weather of the year, rather than at a training peak.

Despite the delay, I am delighted with Mavic’s replacement program—it’s saved me several thousand dollars—and I’ve been running Ksyriums for years. But having a wheel with only 500 miles on it fail mid-ride makes me really uncomfortable and concerned, and I’m very unhappy that my new bike has spent 25 percent of the past year languishing in drydock.

And now spring is only a month away, so I’ll be very anxious to see how long this new wheel lasts…

Prelude

Epic rides deserve epic ride reports, so here’s the tale of the 2012 Mt. Washington Century…

The story begins with last July’s Climb to the Clouds ride. For at least the past three years, my Pan-Mass Challenge training culminated with that century ride up Mt. Wachusett a couple weeks before the PMC. But that ride isn’t well run, and last year my buddies and I reached the breaking point (ride report). As we sat around recovering from a brutal ride, all four of us concluded that we never wanted to do that ride again.

So this year I proposed a different ride that occupies the same spot in the New England cycling calendar: the Mt. Washington Century. It took very little convincing that a different ride would be more fun than yet another disappointing Climb to the Clouds.

The bonus is that this isn’t just another ride; it is an epic 108-mile ride over three named passes in the White Mountains. The route accumulates more than a mile of vertical by traversing the well-known Kancamagus Highway, Bear Notch, Crawford Notch, and Pinkham Notch. Billed as “New England’s most challenging century”, it circumnavigates most of the Presidential Range, including Mt. Adams and, of course, Mt. Washington, which is the highest peak in the northeastern US.

Preparation

In anticipation of the most difficult route I’d ever attempted, I spent a couple weeks doing hill repeats on the biggest hills in the area. On July 3rd I did four ascents of Great Blue Hill… and, of course, four high-speed descents, which I would also need to be ready to tackle. And on July 8th I did six trips up Eastern Ave to Arlington’s water tower… again with six screaming descents down the Route 2 on-ramp. While I wasn’t sure I was ready for 108 miles of mountains—especially after my self-destruction on my attempted Harvard century two weeks earlier (ride report)—I figured I was as ready as I was ever going to be.

I also wanted the Plastic Bullet to be ready, and it needed help. After a recent cleaning, my shifting had started skipping around. It had been more than a year since my last tune-up, so on Tuesday I brought it in and had them true the wheels and replace the chain and cassette. Seemed like a wise idea, right? Let the shop make sure everything was in good order for the big ride.

On Wednesday I biked to work, and the shifting was just as bad, if not worse. It was bad enough that after work I rode directly to the shop and asked them to fix it up properly. But as soon as the tech touched it, the shifter cable snapped at the shift lever: a problem that has happened to me two or three times in the past. When it happens, your shifter locks into the hardest gear and there’s nothing you can do about it. In short, had that happened during the Mt. Washington ride, I would have been absolutely screwed. I had really lucked out.

Getting There

The day before the ride, I left work at 4pm and met my buddy Noah drove me from my place out to Jay’s in Waltham. Rather than try to fight Friday rush hour traffic, we followed the first of several insightful suggestions I offered: get Thai from the restaurant around the corner. Everyone loved that idea… even me, who’d already eaten Thai for lunch for two days in a row. Hey, I figured it was good veggies and carbs! So that was my first good call.

Hanging at Jay’s, the sandbagging began. It was clear that each of us had some level of anxiety about the ride. Paul hadn’t ridden in a while. Noah hadn’t ridden much all year. Jay was surprised to learn that the ride’s site had lied about how much climbing was involved, proclaiming 4800 feet of vertical instead of a more realistic 6000'.

We also took a moment to acknowledge that this would be our last major ride together as a group, with Jay moving to Florida next month. We’ve had a great run together, and I think everyone’s sad to see it pass. On the other hand, doing the White Mountains would be a fitting and memorable way to go out!

The 3-hour ride up was pretty uneventful, and we arrived at the hotel Jay had booked at 10:30pm. That’s when the fun began: the woman at reception couldn’t find our reservation. Jay whipped out his laptop, but all he could come up with was some followup spam that Marriott had sent him. Apparently their central booking agent had added him to their spam list, but never bothered to make our reservation! Thankfully, by the time all was said and done, the local manager gave us a two-bedroom for a ridiculously low price; another crisis averted!

Departure & the Kanc

After grabbing some stuff from the hotel breakfast, we hit the road to the start: the Tin Mountain Conservation Center just outside Conway. We were already running later than Noah or I wanted, since it promised to be a very hot day. We signed in, got all our stuff together, and finally rolled out at 7:30am. The first mile featured a screaming descent which we all knew would be a kick in the teeth on the way back.

Within a mile, we turned left onto the Kancamagus Highway, arguably the most famous road in New Hampshire. It was a bright, beautiful morning. The road was smooth and steady. The mountains towered above us, the evergreens covering the hillsides offered fragrant shade, and the granite boulder-strewn bed of the Swift River ran along the road, keeping us company as we climbed toward its source.

My buddies stopped to stretch for a while, but I was eager to keep moving, so I went on ahead alone. The Kanc climbs gradually but steadily, but I kept a comfortable pace, knowing that I’d need lots of strength in reserve for the peaks that lay ahead. Still, I kept my buddies at bay until shortly after making the left turn onto Bear Notch Road. The Kanc had ascended about 800 feet in 12 miles.

Bear Notch

On the course’s elevation profile, Bear Notch looked like the easiest of the three ascents, with more gradual, easy climbing. And that’s pretty much how it turned out. It never seemed to get steep for any sustained period of time, and I climbed alongside my buddies, who had finally caught me. It was cool that three of us were together when we passed the event photographer, who captured us.

The climbing we’d done on the Kanc (800 feet over 12 miles) had put us more than halfway to the top, so the actual climbing on Bear Notch Road really only amounted to another 600 feet over 4 miles.

Then, without really expecting it, we were over the top and coasting at 35 mph down a winding, wooded road. Thankfully, the road surface was beautiful, and we zoomed down almost without touching our brakes, admiring the mountain and valley vistas that opened up on our left.

After a long descent (over 1000 feet in 5 miles)—but still too soon—we were dumped into a little village called Bartlett, where the first rest stop sat in a public common. We all had big grins on our faces as we recounted our experiences to one another. So far it had been a wonderful day, and the temps were still in the low 70s.

Crawford Notch

We rolled out and turned left onto Route 302, a somewhat busier road. Paul and Noah caught and passed me, but Jay hung with me as we fought an unexpected northwest headwind—the only time that happened all day.

Again, the ascent was long and gradual but very manageable (550 feet over 12 miles). As we got close to Mt. Jackson, we stopped for a photo opp at the Willey House pond, close to the source of one of my favorite rivers (the Saco).

We caught a slower paceline just as the road started kicking up at the summit. Jay and I debated passing them, but that soon sorted itself out, as some of them distanced us while others went backwards. The last two miles or so was a real struggle, gaining another 550 feet, but that made it all the sweeter when Jay and I crested Crawford Notch together, yelling weightlifter Ronnie Coleman quotes at each other (“Yeah buddy!”, “Whoooo!”, “Lightweight baby!”, and the ever-popular and slightly-modified “Everybody wanna be a cyclist; nobody wanna climb these big-ass hills… I’ll do it tho!”). It felt like a victory worthy of celebration, and thus it was nice to share that moment with Jay.

The problem with Crawford was that there wasn’t any real descent afterward. The road leveled out and angled down just a hair, but not enough to really make a big difference. The road was also barren, having emerged from the woods, and the temperatures were into the mid-80s.

Fortunately, the second water stop materialized in a convenience store parking lot. Surprisingly, the organizers had run out of sports drink, and we had to go buy our own from the convenience store. That was the organizers’ one obvious shortfall: we shouldn’t have to pay for Gatorade out of our pocket on a ride we’d paid to do!

Going Round the Mountain

Jay and I left Crawford and continued north on 302. I pulled him for a few miles as we turned east by cutting across Route 115 to Route 2. Here there was a mix of rolling climbs and a few long descents, but nothing like that off Bear Notch. Jay pulled away but Paul caught up and rode with me for a while before he too moved on.

Then, shortly before we reached Gorham, I rounded a corner to find myself facing an immense wall known as Randolph Hill. In the distance, the road looked like it took off like a jetliner, soaring into the sky (in reality it climbed 200 feet in less than a mile). By this point, temps had climbed to 90 degrees, and there was little if any shade along the route. I poured the last of my Gatorade over my head and plodded up the brutally steep climb.

Fortunately, the third water stop was at the top of the hill, where I collapsed in the heat. Thankfully, the organizers had cold drinks on ice in coolers, and I shoveled ice into my water bottle for the next segment. I also had a couple sips of Coke, which certainly went down nicely.

It was at this point that my stomach started doing flip-flops. At the rest stops, I felt bloated and queasy, full of too much liquid, which I’d been pouring down my throat; but on the bike, I felt pretty good for the most part. This would continue for the rest of the day.

Mount Washington and Pinkham Notch

Jay and Paul left the rest stop shortly after Noah showed up. Noah was pretty cooked, but I rested for a few more minutes and we left the stop together. The good news is that the road continued to descend (650 feet in 4 miles) after the rest stop, and Noah and I rode together through Gorham, where we finally turned south onto Route 16 for the climb up to the base of Mt. Washington.

Route 16 was a really long, steady climb, but a bit steeper than the easy slopes we’d taken to approach the other notches. It was grueling, but I found it manageable, so long as I kept pouring water on myself. On the other hand, Noah was still struggling and fell behind quickly, although he stayed within sight of me much of the way up.

Eventually I pulled into the gravel parking lot at the base of the infamous Mt. Washington Auto Road. Again, no shade was to be found, but with the temp peaking at 95 degrees, I loaded up on ice and headed out with Jay and Paul, who quickly gapped me as the climbing continued for another 4 miles to the top of Pinkham Notch. Overall, that climb had ascended 1200 feet over 11 miles.

Then came the final payoff: a 15-mile, 1500-foot descent down from Pinkham Notch, into the woods and down to Jackson. My legs were so beat that I didn’t push the descent, but just rolled with it. Just as I was thinking I could go wade in a mountain stream, Noah caught up with me and left me behind, so I plodded on.

I eventually reached the town of Glen, where 16 rejoins 302 and again becomes a major thoroughfare. As I looked left, I saw a moderately-sized hill that just wasn’t going to happen. So I pulled into a Dairy Queen parking lot and rested for a few minutes before finishing the final two miles to the last rest stop. That was the only unscheduled stop I made during the ride; I hadn’t gotten off on any of the hills, but I needed to gather my strength before attacking that one just before the rest stop.

The Final Countdown

The last rest stop was a grassy lawn—essentially someone’s yard. I laid on my back and just gasped due to the heat. It was only 13 miles to the finish, so I would certainly finish it, but I needed another good rest first. I downed half a can of Coke, filled up with ice, and poured ice water over my head before following my buddies, who had left five minutes earlier in hopes of finishing within eight hours.

Again, once I was back on the bike things settled into place, and I made okay time. I wasn’t strong, but made steady progress. With all the climbing behind me, it was just a question of closing it out, and surviving that final mile.

The final segment—West Side Road—was a long but nice ride, although it felt like I was still climbing a false flat. Finally I came back out onto Route 16, and half a mile later passed the point where we’d turned onto the Kancamagus. I marshaled my strength and made the turn onto Bald Hill Road that led up a punishing ascent up to the finish at Tin Mountain (officially it gains 300 feet in 1 mile). It was as steep and difficult as anything we’d done, but I finally drifted into their driveway and hung gasping over the bars for a minute before signing in and meeting up with the guys.

Final tally: 108 miles in 8:15, with 5800 feet of climbing and an average speed of 16 mph. For the mappy junkies, here’s a link to the GPS log.

The After-Party

I tried to eat a bit as we sat outside the Tin Mountain cabin, but really only managed to down a couple chocolate milks. It was still too hot to let our core body temperatures drop, and we all were feeling the effects. But this is where my second grand pre-planning idea paid off in a huge way.

I knew it was going to be hot. I knew we were going to be near lakes and streams. I knew we were going to be four stinky, grimy, sweaty guys stuck in a car for three hours. So one of my pre-ride emails suggested that everyone bring swim trunks, and they had. We briefly discussed where to go, then went back to the truck and exchanged our sweaty kit for trunks and drove to the nearest possible water: the Swift River we’d ridden by on the Kancamagus at the start of the ride.

We quickly found a swimming hole others were using, pulled off the road, and picked our way down to the torrent. As I said earlier, the whole area was just a pile of granite boulders: the smallest being the side of a dog; the largest being as big as a tractor trailer. The water was absolutely blissful: cold yes, but not blisteringly frigid. We dunked in the deeper parts, then sat in the middle of the rapids and let the cold water flow over us. Jay clambered around and found a way to swim underneath a huge monolith in the middle of the river. Everyone agreed it was the perfect way to relax and cool off.

At this point, I saved the day again. Jay jumped into the water and lost his sunglasses in the torrent, but I was able to spot them, so that was gratifying. Less gratifying was learning that Noah had stolen a towel from the hotel, when we had earnestly promised them we wouldn’t incur any incidentals. That was the one sour note of the trip.

The road home included a stop at a donut shop that featured (for me) more chocolate milk and a blissful rest in a big overstuffed armchair. Then we hit the Wolfetrap, a restaurant in Wolfeboro, Paul’s home town, so that was kinda cool, and my huge burger and cornbread were precisely what the chirurgeon prescribed. That was also where I saved the day yet again, pointing out to Paul that—despite his claiming otherwise—he really was about to leave his credit card behind with the check.

We got that straightened out and hoofed it back to Boston, where I was anxious to begin my next task: recovery! It was still Saturday night, and I had all day Sunday to shower, relax, fuel up, and rehydrate.

Das Ende

I really enjoyed the Mt. Washington Century. I think it lived up to its billing as a very challenging ride, but it was also just an awesome day all around. The scenery—the rivers, the mountains, the woods—was just breathtaking. The climbs were long and steady which made them very manageable but they still packed some challenging sections, and the descents were long and smooth. Sure, with a newer bike I could have pushed the top speed on the descents, but it was just as nice to let gravity do all the work.

The Plastic Bullet once again did its job admirably for an old bike with more than 20,000 miles on it. After the cable was swapped out, I literally didn’t once think about the shifting problems I’d had earlier that week.

This was my third complete century of the year, which puts me about on pace with my previous two years, and it certainly puts me in good shape for the PMC, which is only two weeks away (as of this posting). I’d love to do this ride again, but I’m not sure whether that will happen, with Jay moving away and the group likely to fragment.

Which brings me back to the idea that this was the last major organized ride for Jay, Paul, Noah, and I. From the ride to the post-ride swim in the Swift River, this was a perfect day and a fitting way to honor our friendship and our mutual encouragement. It was epic.

And I’m so glad I was able to convince them to go for Mt. Washington instead of the Climb to the Clouds. After last year’s CttC, we were too exhausted, overheated, and demoralized to even stay for a post-ride swim in nearby Walden Pond. The contrast between that and this year’s relaxing dip in a wild mountain stream just underscores what a truly awesome time we had on the Mt. Washington Century, making memories that we’ll take with us for years and years to come.

Chapeau, boys!

Time for an update on all the news since the PMC.

First was Jay’s annual Labor Day BBQ and ride up Mount Wachusett (GPS log). The ride was pretty fun; after the hill climb, we rode out to Comet Pond and back, but we didn’t stop because Jay was (as usual) stressed to get home before his party guests started arriving. The downside was that I started feeling horribly sick toward the end of the day, which was made all the worse because I was dependent on Jay for a ride home.

The following weekend was the Flattest Century, down in southeastern Mass. While okay, it’s never been my favorite ride, and this year it was made worse because I was sick again: this time *before* the ride. Despite a completely emptied stomach, I managed to finish the ride (GPS log), but it was a titanic struggle. Like CttC, I’m not sure whether I’ll be back for this one next year or not.

Then came Hub on Wheels, the city of Boston’s big organized ride. The weather was almost perfect for this 50-mile ride (GPS log). I only wish some of my friends would come out for this one, since it covers a lot of the parts of Boston that I love riding in, and most of my buddies never ride in town.

And a week after that was my final big ride of the year: a 115-mile jaunt with Paul and Noah that began in Wellesley, then ran southwest into Rhode Island, then crossed over into Connecticut before returning home again (GPS log). The upside was that I realized two longstanding desires: to do my first tri-state ride, and to visit the place known as Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg. The downside was that we had sporadic rain, and my GPS ran out of juice toward the end and stopped recording data. But overall it was a good way to get in the mileage I needed to close the year.

Details of that can wait, as I’ll do a whole separate post summarizing my 2010-2011 season.

One odd thing was how the last two rides ended. After Hub on Wheels, I came home, passed out on the bed for about an hour, then got up and went into the living room. I was doing something at my desk when I heard the characteristic sudden hiss of an inner tube bursting. When I investigated, I found a puncture near the valve stem. Thankfully, it hadn’t let go during the ride, but waited until just afterward, while the bike was just sitting idly in my apartment.

Then, after our tri-state ride I loaded my bike onto Noah’s car and we set out toward Boston. We hadn’t left the parking lot when we heard that same noise. Another tube burst, and again it was at the valve stem (although my rear tire, rather than the front). And again, it was just after I’d finished an important ride, when the bike wasn’t being used or even touched. Ironically, only five minutes earlier Paul had observed that we’d gotten through a 115-mile ride without anyone flatting…

So that’s how the last bit of summer trickled away. Stay tuned for my end of season summary coming up next!

Right now my life consists of work, cycling, fundraising, and occasional sleep, so my periodic updates this time of year tend to cover a lot of ground… like this one, which covers the past month.

July was a memorable month, but not for good reasons. Although I usually spend most of the Fourth of July holiday on the bike, with one of those days comprising a century ride, this year a terrible cold hit me Friday afternoon and kept me housebound the entire holiday weekend. Pure suckage!

The next weekend I had to go up to Maine, and convinced myself that I could get some training in by riding the 70 miles from Portland to Augusta. That ride wound up being really difficult, thanks to my lingering illness, a 25-35 mph headwind that hadn’t been forecast, and a mile-long section of muddy dirt road up and over a big hill in Sabbatus. But at least I managed to get some time in the saddle…

Which I needed, because the weekend after that was the CRW’s Climb to the Clouds, a very hilly century that goes up Mt. Wachusett, and is a traditional warmup for the Pan-Mass Challenge.

So CttC was just brutal. Combine my reduced training this year with oppressively humid 96-degree blazing sun and the CRW’s extremely limited idea of what constitutes a supported ride, and you can begin to imagine how difficult it was. Thankfully, I can say that my age wasn’t a factor, as my three buddies (all 17+ years younger) also concluded that they never wanted to do that ride again.

The ironic thing is that I spent half the day hammering, thinking I was chasing them, when actually I was ahead of them. Although I let them go ahead after the first 10 miles, they stopped at a water stop I skipped. I was surprised to see them ride past me in Princeton, where I stopped but they did not. So I got back on the bike and chased, unknowingly passing them *again* when they stopped at a convenience store. So I beat them over the mountain, and they only caught up with me after I’d spent 20 minutes at the next water stop, 53 miles in.

And as I predicted last year, the summit road was closed to us for the third year in a row, which was disappointing.

Toward the end of the ride, I was nauseous and unsafely overheated, and kept pouring water over my head to cool off. I stopped at the little Chinese grocery in West Concord and picked up their last two bottles of water, only to discover on gulping it down that it was seltzer! I sipped what my stomach could tolerate and poured the rest over my head and limped to the finish, where I pretty much just collapsed. But not before getting shit from the ride organizers for asking if I could have some ice. I was too destroyed to muster any argument when the guys decided to go home early rather than take the traditional postride dip in Walden Pond.

Definitely one of my worst days on the bike. There damned well better be some training benefit, after all that suffering!

And to make matters worse, my brand new $700 bike computer / GPS failed to record the quarter of the ride that included Mt. Wachusett and the following descent (GPS data). I had already left its heart rate monitor at home, because it had been malfunctioning. At least Garmin is replacing the HRM strap; hopefully the new one will last longer than the first one.

And then yesterday Boston tied the second hottest temperature ever recorded in the city’s 140 years of keeping records. Thinking I couldn’t get into much trouble in just one hour, I biked home from work in 103°F / 40°C heat. Against a convection oven-like 25 mph headwind, over three sections of stripped/grooved pavement along one of Boston’s biggest and fastest 6-lane arterials, and then stupidly up and over Dorchester Heights, just for fun.

That kind of heat will raise your heart rate 10 bpm no matter what you’re doing, and by the time I was done my heart was pounding and I was feeling very lightheaded. Kinda scary! Hopefully this stretch of intense heat will break and the weather will be more forgiving for the upcoming PMC ride!

And that brings me around to the tiny list of positive things that happened this month. First, Garmin did replace my problem HRM strap, and the new one seems to be functioning well; tho I probably will use it sparingly until PMC weekend.

Second, a question I’d sent in to the RoadBikeRider online magazine was published this week. The question was about how to fit a cooldown, stretching, shower, and recovery meal all into the half hour after stopping that is the optimal window for those activities. You can see the full question and RBR’s response here.

And, finally, the news that really matters: PMC fundraising. Once I finally started getting fundraising letters out, the money came in quite readily. I’ve surpassed the minimum and made the Heavy Hitter level for the sixth year in a row, and have settled at $7,200 for the moment, which is quite satisfactory, although there’ll be additional donations coming in over the next month or two.

Naturally, if you haven’t made your donation yet, please do so here.

And PMC weekend is only two weeks away. I’d normally be excited, but after the difficulties of the Maine ride and CttC and this brutal heat, I’m a little gun-shy about looking forward to riding. It hasn’t been a great year for any of my cycling buddies; just ask Lynda, who canceled her plans to do the epic 745-mile PBP ride; or Paul, who bought a pricey new bike only to have Jay destroy it by driving his truck over it on the way to the 150-mile Harpoon B2B ride that was supposed to be the highlight of his season.

The bad juju is in full force this year.

So we’ll see. There’s two more weekends before the PMC, and I don’t have anything special planned for them. Hopefully there’ll be a couple Quad rides and some hill repeats in there, and then a relaxing, rewarding PMC ride once the calendar turns to August.

Hopefully…

Follow this link for my full 2010 Pan-Mass Challenge ride report, including writeup, photos, and GPS logs.

Geez, two weeks into the 2010 cycling season and there’s already so much to tell…

After a long spell of rain that brought flooding to the area, Tuesday March 16th was a beautifully sunny day, with even better weather predicted for the rest of the week, so I figured it was time to take the bike out of its stationary trainer for some pre-season maintenance.

The first thing I did was replace the chain: a fairly simple repair that I’d never done before. Previously, I’d waited until the chain had worn so much that both the chain and the rear cassette had to be changed at the same time, but this time I wanted to change the chain before it got to that point, hopefully saving myself the additional cost of a new cassette. It was an easy, if messy, swap. I’m looking forward to running my drive train dry again this year, after last year’s successful experiment.

Next I replaced my handlebar tape, which was another first. It sounds easy, but actually there’s some skill involved, and I wanted to be extra careful, since my old bar tape (put on by the bike shop) had unraveled on me. And what a messy surprise of gel, masking tape, and scotch tape I found underneath the surface of the old black bar tape! I replaced it with bright blue cork tape and finished it off with blue electrical tape, hoping it would look good with my blue tires, which it does. So far, I think I did a pretty good job with it, although I’m wondering how long it’ll stay so tight and neat.

Speaking of those blue tires, I also removed the heavy-duty rear tire that I use for the trainer, and replaced it with my regular lightweight blue road tire. But that was a familiar and routine swap. After that, the bike was ready for the open road!

I did all this in anticipation of my first outdoor ride of the season on Thursday, when the temperatures would be in the upper 60s. On Wednesday, after letting the bike sit overnight, I decided that I didn’t want to go on a long ride without first making sure my chain would hold together, so I took the Plastic Bullet out for a very short 8-mile test ride.

I rode out to Brookline and over Summit Ave., then turned home by picking up the Charles River bike path at Cambridge Street. As I rode along, I approached a group of two or three people coming from the opposite direction, either walking or jogging or skating. Just as I got even with them, from behind them another person on a bike veered around them to pass, swerving across the center line and directly into my path. Since she blocked my entire lane and there was a light pole on my right, there was no way to avoid her as this woman slammed her bike straight into me head-on, and I went flying over the bars in a classic Superman pose and crashed hard onto the ground beyond.

On initial inspection, I was bruised all over and in a lot of pain, and bleeding liberally from a deep gouge my left hand. I had to re-center my brakes and straighten my handlebars, but the bike otherwise looked okay.

She was an Asian-American student on a rusty commuter beater that was probably older than both of us put together. While I’d been in no position to see what happened to her in the crash, she appeared uninjured afterward. Several other people stopped and helped me recover, which took about five minutes. After I got her contact info, she went to leave and discovered her chain had fallen off, and that her rear wheel wouldn’t turn because the fender was rubbing. I fixed those for her before heading homeward myself.

That’s when I discovered that her impact had also broken my left shift lever. The bike is rideable, and I can still shift and brake using that lever, although with a broken pivot I have to really fiddle and force it to make it happen, and it’s likely to come apart in my hands one of these times.

Physically, I’d landed very hard on my left knee and upper back, and both were heavily bruised and had some road rash. I have pain that feels like cracked ribs in both the front and back of my chest. The injuries to my left hand featured a deep, inch and a half long laceration in my index finger. I didn’t think it was quite bad enough to get stitches, so at home I took a scrub brush and painfully cleaned the gravel out of it before bandaging it myself.

Looking back on it, it was a stupid idea to go anywhere near the bike path. This time of year, the joggers are all out training for the impending Boston Marathon, which makes the paths more crowded and a lot more dangerous. On top of that, it was the first warm day of spring, so everyone was out enjoying the sun, oblivious to the fact that there are other users on the path than themselves. Having spent the winter forgetting everything they might have known about safety, it is, in a word, Amateur Day. And with so many self-absorbed idiots on the bike path, it is the most dangerous place a cyclist could be. Although my unwise decision to take the bike path certainly doesn’t excuse this woman’s stupid and dangerous actions at all.

The next day was Thursday: the day I’d planned to take a big ride. It was just as beautiful as predicted, and I still wanted to take my first real ride of the season. Aside from a lot of pain in that left knee, my legs were mostly uninjured, so I decided to take it real slow and easy, and see how far I could go.

I didn’t know if I would make it two blocks, but once my legs loosened up, I found I could manage. The only problem was that my knee would tighten right up again if I stopped for very long, so I had to limit my rest stops to a couple minutes each. The spring winds were very strong, and once I was out of town my route was repeatedly blocked by floods of the Sudbury and Concord rivers. I even stopped and chatted with one of the DPW crews who were erecting barriers across Sherman’s Bridge Road, where the wooden bridge was at least eight feet underwater!

By the end of the day I’d actually racked up 71 miles, which is about twice what I’d normally do on the first ride of the year. Naturally, my average speed was way down, but that also kept me at an aerobic pace, rather than pushing and working myself too hard. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel too bad, at least while I was in the saddle. See the ride map.

On the way home, I stopped at the LBS and had the bike checked out. The lever definitely needs to be replaced, and the part alone is going to cost me $290. I decided I’d hold off on that for the time being, until I’d at least talked to the girl who hit me to see if she was going to do the responsible thing and compensate me for the mechanical damage she caused. Since I was in the shop already, I made an appointment to have my simple annual tune-up performed on Monday.

When the weekend came, Saturday was a gorgeous day, and I would have liked to have rode with my buddies at Quad, but by then I was just too achey to endure another long ride, so I reluctantly gave it a pass.

However, it was also the vernal equinox, which is a big deal for me. So I decided to ride a few miles down to Castle Island and back, simply to observe the return of the sun to the northern hemisphere. But just as I wheeled the bike out of my apartment, my old inner tube gave way at the valve stem, giving me a flat tire; then I popped (literally) the replacement tube while levering it onto the rim. Finally I got a patched tube onto the rim and completed my little equinox ride.

Monday’s tune-up was quick and painless, with the only surprise being a needed tightening of my front hub. I’d hand-trued my rear wheel after the accident, but apparently I did a good enough job that the mechanics didn’t feel it needed any further attention.

Wednesday, a week after our collision, I finally emailed the girl who hit me. I was especially calm and nonconfrontational about it, but told her about the $290 cost of a replacement lever and suggested that “as the responsible party I hope you will offer to foot a decent portion of that expense” and that “I am relying on your sense of fairness”.

It took her only half an hour to reply with her refusal. Despite admitting that she had crossed the center line, she maintained “that doesn’t make me completely guilty”, and the preposterous assertion that “I would consider myself to have been a fairly safe person in this situation”. Besides, she said, as a student, she doesn’t have any money at all. Yup. It’s all about her, and how could anyone expect her to take responsibility for the damages and injuries that her dangerously oblivious riding caused? Thanks, Nikki, you’re all heart, and I’m screwed out of $300 I can’t afford.

The next day, Thursday the 25th, I did my second long ride of the year, doing a few more random roads around Concord (ride map). I also stopped at Quad Cycles to see if Rustem could repair my bike for less money, which he could not. By the end of that 61-mile expedition, my legs were cramping from too many hills, but it still felt good to be back out on the bike again.

Today is Monday the 29th, and this morning I trudged into my bike shop and reluctantly ordered a new brake lever. While it’s the same style (Shimano Ultegra), the newer model is going to look and feel quite a bit different from the older, undamaged lever on the right, but that’s the breaks, right?

Now that it’s been twelve days since the accident, my hand has begun healing, although it’s unclear yet whether it will bear a permanent scar or not. My knee is mostly good, but I still have weakness and twinges of pain whenever I climb stairs. My ribs remain a constant pain, especially at night. I’m more convinced than ever that I might have broken one or more ribs, rather than cracked them, but it’s mostly an academic point. As with all rib injuries, they’ll heal at their own slow pace as long as I don’t re-injure them.

But my injuries and the cost of fixing the damage to my bike are ultimately temporary issues. Beyond those problems, what will stay with me long after this incident is a lingering mistrust of bike paths and other path users, and a reinforced belief in the selfishness and self-centered callousness of the younger generation. And I think that’s a horrible thing to take away from something as ennobling as a simple springtime bike ride.