The Weekend's Club Ride

Our club rides seem to get better and better. Saturday nine of us did the Southern Shores---Woods Road---Bay Drive---Wright Memorial loop. We began as usual at the Marketplace at 9:30 a.m. in a chatty double paceline. The weather teased us with warm air and at once we all knew we had a chance to steal one from the heart of the winter. I hadn't thought much about it ahead of time, but one rider on a fixed gear bike had even anticipated a frisky tempo and so, changed his front sprocket for a larger one to give him a higher gear.

The pace picked up on Dogwood as we melted into a single paceline working at about 22 mph. Riders were taking pulls of around one minute as we approached the 158 Bypass light beside Kitty Hawk Elementary School. As we crossed the Bypass to the north end of Woods Road the tempo slid up to 23-24 mph with riders still taking 45 second to one minute pulls giving others a rest in the slipstream. By Kitty Hawk Village Road we were touching around 26 mph and working well together.

We toned it down as we transitioned from Moor Shores Road at the edge of Kitty Hawk Bay to Windgrass Court making our way up the hill to Bay Drive. Here we had the full effect of a 15 knot cross tailwind. This is where we sometimes break apart with some riders attacking and others chasing, and still others restraining themselves wisely out of deference to where they are personally with their own training season. Bay Drive turns into Canal Drive and crosses First Street where we relax back into a double paceline all the way to the monument.

This day we skipped hammering the monument hard as we usually have done wrapping only a few laps, and went over to the front parking lot of the First Flight High School to practice riding through the round-about and parking lot as a group in preparation for the criteriums coming up for some of us this month.

On Sunday only four of us chose to ride north to Corolla. A galling northwest wind was torched up well over 20 knots. This is the kind of coastal wind which makes you feel you are being steadily pushed into the asphalt as you drive into the teeth of the beast. It was Robert, Flo, Mark, and myself. Among this small group is a fairly divergent spectrum of conditioning. Robert and Flo are at the top end of this fitness spectrum, Mark at the other end for the time being as he was sitting on not having ridden enough lately due to illness. We were stoked he was with us. We all know this is one sure way to bring yourself back up to speed and Mark looked deadset in getting back to form directly.

We maintained a steady 20-21 mph for almost the entire 23 miles. This was an improvement for me over the 18.5 mph on the same route in the identical wind conditions two weeks before. Surely this was due to the teaming with stronger riders as I'm sure Robert and Flo were capping their effort somewhat in order to hold our little group together. As I told them, it was great fun being along. It's extremely gratifying to work that hard and even suffer with a group having the same goal.

I've heard this noted as something typically Anglo-Saxon---where the individuals involved in a group effort are more inclined to find reward in subordinating their personal goals to the goals of their team. I've read about this dynamic in reference to around-the-world sailboat racers where romantic/Latin cultures produce sailors who excel more in solo sailing races versus the more team or group successful Germans, Scandinavians, English, and Americans. Yes, I have an Anglo-Saxon ancestry and Norman further back. I guess I'm a soul in conflict at times. I'm sure my friends know this.

The road to Corolla was flat with a few long curves and unrelenting wind. I call the wind here the "mountains of the Outer Banks" to cyclists. I suppose like riding in the real mountains, a cyclist must experience our winds to really know what I mean. A rider is so exposed here to the fetch (open expanses over bodies of water where coastal winds gather much speed), there often is no place to hide.

The wind can also carry huge amounts of blowing sand and salt virtually across the whole island. So if you want to ride on a day when the wind is blowing onshore (from the ocean), then you are smart to ride on the soundside of the island. The finicky and faint of heart from out of town won't even ride their perfectly polished expensive bikes here because of these conditions. Not that I blame them. Those who live here and want to ride watch the wind direction closely in order to avoid as much as possible these conditions. But in the end, if you are super picky about your equipment, you can't ride here at all.

Cyclists are finicky about their equipment the same way sailors are. In fact some are finicky about your equipment. They can't seem to help it. The only difference is in sailing, a sailor can get pretty decent performance out of his boat even in races, even if he may not be in excellent physical conditioning. Not so on a bike. I've read that performance on a bike is influenced about 80 per cent by the fitness level of the rider, 20 percent by the bike. Yet both sailors and cyclists are quite compulsive over small tweaks they may be able to put on their setups to improve performance ever so slightly. This has always fascinated me. Many riders I know also have extensive experience owning and sailing yachts, windsurfers, or kiteboards. It's not quite the same people doing all of these sports, but sometimes I wonder.

We reached the turn-around at Ocean Hill, took a two minute break to pull out the gels, bananas, and Powerbars and then launched downwind for the return ride. When a cyclist finally turns his back on the torturing wind and spins pedals with a body having no windload on it, the relief raises feelings of boundless strength. It seems you must be careful here not to jump up too hard into this euphoria and build speed up to a comfortable tempo your mind knows you can maintain all the way home. We found 24 mph right away. We crept up to twenty-six. South through Ocean Sands and into Pine Island holding 26, pushing twenty-seven. When it was my turn to pull the other riders at the front I could still feel the wind in my face, a combination of our exceeding the tailwind's speed and turbulence, I suppose caused by houses and the scrub trees---live and pin oaks to the west of Route Twelve.

We touched 28 mph at some point just before re-entering Dare County. I could feel my quadriceps straining and burning some. My energy reserve I knew was dwindling. My last pull was shortened and I had to get off the front or I would have to drop. As I dropped by Robert I let him know it was fine with me if he and Flo wanted to kick in the afterburners and fly. He said he just wanted to finish hard to the top of the upcoming hill (immediately north of the Town of Duck). I tucked into the slipstream of Flo's rear wheel and hung on feeling the relief of being off the front.

Our speed was increasing now. I glanced at my computer and we were steady at 29 miles per hour and creeping up. I was entranced by the sight of the hill our goal in the distance and the growing hollowness in my quads. Could I make it. I focused on the spinning, steady black tire 8 inches from my front wheel. I pumped at a mad rate. I was bound to push myself here. I peeked upward as we crested the hill revealing two more rises beyond. The pace I thought would drop off started picking up. I didn't need to blow myself up this early in the season so I dropped and watched Robert and Flo burn onward over the next two rises. I steadied up at 22 mph keeping my eye on those two now in Duck. I could tell they were slowing so that Mark and I could catch up.

Robert rode back to my home in Kill Devil Hills with me where he turned around and rode back to Southern Shores alone. I finished with 61 miles earned through the mountains of the Outer Banks. This is our cycling world.