Epic Club Ride
I used to ride with the Ann Arbor Velo Club. All summer we’d go on Thurs. Nite training rides to the curvey hills 30 miles out of town. I wasn’t racing much anymore, but still liked the *bigness* of these rides. I particularly recall going out in the max heat of the year, say, end of August. We’d all carry 3 waterbottles of potion each. 20 riders in main top group. (There’d be other minor groups.) We’d do a rotating paceline thru some very nice riding for 20 miles or so to be super nice riding area. About 24 mph. A couple of us would grouse that that was too fast to warm up, but we were ignored. (I should note that our club racers hardly ever did well in racing. I’m sure it was due to the self-emolation of those Thursdays!) Once in the curvey hills the Hammer would drop. We’d do 5 7-mile-long mini races with gradual buildups and attacks, bridging, the works. We’d rest/regroup in between. This was in 90-degree heat, 90% humidity. (I know it’s hard to picture that as being bad right now.) We’d go 34 mph on the flats in these races. It was flatout spittin sticky-lip bug-eyed twisted-head cheek-on-handlebars insanity for like two hours way out in Nowheresville. Then we’d head back rotating and get into 2 more 5-mile buildup jams after maybe 45 minutes of recovery. We’d roll into town in the night. We’d all peel off our separate ways in clusters. My pals and I saltcrusted would roll by nitesound cafe dwellers out on the sidewalks. Our sensations both heightened and deadened. I’d make sure to get a beer somewhere.
The thing that gets me is how long and how repeatedly I could get bug-eyed like that and not die. How all of us could. All our juices parchin and droolin out into thin air. The Hammer falling again and again. Total effort. I felt like I was breaking my frame, breaking the cranks. Total destruction. Pure anaerobic combined with pure endurance combined with full-out sprinting…’gutter to gutter’ in the gutterless twisty hills…and the machine still lives! With each minirace (ha! what a term!) I’d be totally baked. 5 minutes later we were pure energy convertin machines again. We’d just chug the waterbottle potion down and spit out 34 mph.
I’ve done all sorts of workouts and events in my life for various sports. Hill repeats, blizzard fests, whatever. But those Thursday Rides still stand out. How the human body can take it is amazing to me. If I ever hear of or sense that a workout in any sport is bigger, I’ll let everyone know about it. Oh heck that’s silly: I suppose lots of pro workouts are that big. Maybe that’s what I really mean: I finally felt a kinship with the Maximum that top maniacs everywhere touch and go for. I got *close* to a Belgian Spring Classic feel. That’s enough for me. Taste the grit. (There’s only one thing that comes close and that’s another story: spring crit racing in torrential 40-deg slushrain where all the Detroit sluggers come out and act like it’s all in a day’s work for a decent cyclist.)
So does anyone sense that there had to be a Last Thursday? Isn’t it inevitable? After I’d moved away and stopped training altogether for a year in the peak of Hot Summer I visited Ann Arbor and went on The Ride. Had a fine time all the way out to the Curvey Hills. 30 miles out. The Hammer fell. And again. Gradually I sensed that my 13-tooth was too tall…I was boggin down…but ee-gads! the 14-tooth was too spinny! Trapped with no gear to go! Doom! I smirked. Ah yes, I’ve seen this before. My pal Tim gave me a push to keep me in the group. I dropped off. He paced me back. He was worried. The pace was picking up. I just laughed. “I’m history. See ya!” I managed to deliriously twiddle my way to a party store 10 miles later. I ravaged up some cookies with my only dollar. (Praise Jah!) Gradually my bearings returned. While I munched a glassy-eyed cyclist wobbled into the parking lot. Another casualty. (How many casualties had there been from that ride over the years?) He didn’t see me and asked some people if they had 50¢ to spare to save his life. I said Hi and gave him my last quarter. After we both were sober I made a call to be picked up…10 miles closer to town. We couldn’t just give up like that. So this guy and I got ‘riding’ again. 1st gear! He moaned when I got above my max of 8 mph! It grew dark. We finally got to the Dairy Queen in the next town and got a Heavenly Gift of Sugar and were rescued. It was my first and last Rescue From A Death Ride. …And my last Thursday Ride.
JP
