Scenic Route

The Ten Parks Tour remains my favorite ride in the nearly 400 mapped rides in the Rochester Bicycling Club’s mapset. It’s a ride I fell in love with the first time I rode it, and since then, I’ve made it my own, leading the ride twice a year.

And I didn’t want to ride it today.

The forecast was for the lower 50s, windy all day, and with a sunny start switching to rain by noon.

Ten other intrepid riders made the start with me. I’d secretly been hoping no-one would show, but we had a good group. I’ve ridden before with seven of the other ten, and knew the remaining three by reputation within the club. We had a solid group of riders, all with similar capabilities.

So I had to start. But I told everyone, “Since I commute in the rain, I don’t like recreational riding in the rain. If it rains, I’m bailing at the halfway point.”

One guy forgot his helmet, so I dashed home real quick to get my spare. Then meant I was the only one warmed-up at the start.

Of course, the first few miles are one of my commuting routes, my Hills, Parks, Cemetery and Trails route, so I’m well-adapted to it. Jeeves and I lead the way to the river, when we dropped back to check on everyone.

From the University of Rochester’s River Campus, it’s out through Brighton to the Monroe Community College’s main campus. Through the campus, we exit on Brighton-Henrietta Town Line Road, a nicely paved four-lane that’s fairly flat and with out backs to the wind.

I popped Jeeves up into the big ring, grabbed a handful of drops and motored right up to the 35 MPH speed limit. It’s one of my favorite parts of the ride.

Shortly after, we turn into a quartering headwind, and begin the long grind up the ramp called Pinnacle Road. It’s exposed suburbia, with not much to buffer the winds. The climb is moderate, but relentless. Down in the drops, and in my lowest gear, Jeeves and I pulled the group up the hill.

Partway along is when it started raining. Spits of rain was all, but it was dispiriting to have the rain start only 14 miles into a 62-mile ride.

Backs to the wind again we rode through Mendon Ponds Park and Powder Mills Park to the first rest stop in Bushnell’s Basin. We were already down from 11 to 10 riders, and seven dropped out there, heading straight back on NY96.

Andy, Lance and I soldiered on, but decided, over cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, that we’d continue on the official route, but bail at the halfway point.

Meanwhile, the rain had moved up a notch to sprinkles. Andy lead us out of Bushnell’s Basin and I brought up the rear in hi-viz and with my taillight flashing. I had my head down most of the while to keep the majority of raindrops off my glasses. We turned into the wind on Linden Ave, and finally reached the protection of North Landing Road.

Here we picked where to bail, deciding to go a bit further to Blossom Road. Andy’s street runs right off Blossom, Blossom runs right into University for me, and University in turn crosses Culver, so Lance could get back to the start at Cobbs Hill.

While we all planned to ride the full route, everyone bailed by the halfway point. I added that to the sign-in sheet. I’m not sure how many club miles we’ll get towards our official tally. I turned in about 38 miles in just under 2:30 for an average of 15.9 MPH, which wasn’t too bad given the winds.

I’d left a recovery rib-eye steak out to thaw, but returning closer to lunch time rather than dinner, I had a bowl of tomato soup, and ham and swiss sandwich nuked to get it all melty, and some Ovaltine. Then a nap.

The winds are expected to intensify tomorrow. Always on a day when I have to drag the fully-loaded panniers to work into them. It’ll be a good test of my new position on the Portland.

Here are a couple of stories I’ve collected at work recently

Hey library guy!

For the first few months after I switched branches to Arnett a couple of years ago, I paid a lot of attention to the patron names and addresses at check-out so I could learn the regulars names and get a feel for their distribution in the neighborhood. A group of pre-teen boys all had the same address on a street I use for my commute home. I told them I went by their house nearly every day. “Just look for a guy on a bike with flashing lights.”

Of course they didn’t believe me that

1. a white guy would be on their street,
2. that he’d be on a bicycle, and
3. that it would be at night.

Since then, nearly every night when I make the turn to their street, shouts of “Hey library guy!” come from the porch. I yell back and wave. It’s like having my own cheering section on the Tour or something. I miss it when they’re not there. Ordinarily I use a longer route to work, but Monday afternoon I was running late and took that route instead. As I came past their house, there they were on the porch. “Hey library guy, stop, stop, stop!”

This was different.

So I drop anchor and circle back on the sidewalk to their house. Thinking there’s some sort of emergency, I asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Can you take our movies back?”

I waited while they found all the DVDs—one proved to be elusive—and had the boys stuff them in my panniers. Then I rode the rest of the way to work.

Yes, we’re a full-service library!

My boss encouraged me to send the story to the Director. The story appeared in next week’s internal Director’s Update with the comment, “This story from Bruce is a fine example of the kind of customer service standard we should all strive for. Good job Bruce and thanks for sharing!” I’ve since become a minor celebrity among the staff within the RPL.

Tourist trap

Almost had a overnight guest last week. About an hour before closing time I looked outside and saw a fully-loaded touring bike leaned up against the window. I turned around and there was the cyclist, Rachel from California. She’s actually heading back after coming east to Delaware, then north along the coast. We’re on the Northern Tier route, and that’s how she’s heading back west.

Anyway, she wanted to use teh interwebs to check WarmShowers.org. First I had her bring her unlocked bike inside. Then I told her I’m a WarmShowers host, and if she couldn’t find anything on west side of the city, she was welcome to stay at my place on the east side. Then I logged her on to one of our public-access PCs.

By closing she had an offer from near the University, a couple of miles away. And it was first floor as opposed to my third. So I escorted her, before turning for home.

Hand me downs

There’s an older lady at the library who rides an old Huffy for transportation. One day she showed up with a front basket, delighted that she could carry stuff. A few days later the basket was gone. She didn’t like how it affected the steering, and being short, it blocked quite a bit of her view.

A week or so later, she went to R-Community Bikes, a local “re-cycling” charity, and had a rack installed. Showing it off to me she asked, “How do you strap stuff on to yours?”

“I don’t,” I replied. “I use panniers instead.” At which time a light bulb appeared over my head.

When I upgraded grocery panniers nearly two years ago, I never got rid of the old ones. They were perfectly fine, I’d just wanted larger and nicer ones. Here was the opportunity I was looking for. The next week, when she came in, I gave them to her and showed her how to mount them, how to use the rain covers and all that.

Since then, those panniers have seen daily use. They’ve hauled library books, groceries, potting soil, and after a trip to the Police department’s Mounted Patrol stables, manure. She’s always telling me about stuff she’s hauled.

Along that same line, I recently sent the Portland’s old taillight to a guy in Oklahoma, and one of these days I have to take a load of old fenders over to R Community Bikes.

Jeeves and I had just a splendid time yesterday on the Highlander Cycle Tour. And I’m so glad we did that hilly 70-miler last weekend. Otherwise I think I wouldn’t have made it.

We did the 70-mile cut of the Corkscrew Century. With a detour around a stretch of milled pavement, we finished 74.23 miles in 4:47:27 of ride time, for a 15.49 MPH average, with 5,910 feet of climbing.

The motor’s numbers were very, very good. Despite miles of climbing at slower cadences and miles of coasting , I turned in an average of 86 RPM cadence on the day, with a peak of 111 RPM.

Both my average and maximum heart rates were lower than I typically hit on my commute, at 139 BPM average (Zone 3), and 164 BPM max (Zone 4). Only 45 minutes or so of the entire ride were spent in zone 4.

I’m just tickled with those numbers.

Bikerjohn picked me up at 5:45 AM for the drive out to the start at Bristol Mountain Ski Resort. You know you’re in for some climbing when the ride starts at a chair lift.

Unloading our bikes, a van pulled in next us. Two Litespeeds got out accompanied by their riders. One was a Vortex, and the other an Arenberg. Both of early aughts vintage—the ABG era. Their riders described them as “old”.

Then I introduced Jeeves. “Mine’s a ‘96 Classic,” I told them, “Lynskey era, but with mainly 2011 running gear.” I didn’t mention the 2012 crankset. Or the 2006 levers.

“You’re the winner!” they declared.

John and I pinned on our numbers, checked the board for detours, I lifted my leg, and we set off at 7:20.

The first few miles seemed less smooth than I expected. It felt like the brakes were dragging, although the weren’t and I hadn’t done anything but clean the chain and pump up the tires since last Sunday’s ride.

Later I learned we were on a false flat, climbing at 1% or so. Plus I needed a warm-up. Especially this year I’m finding it takes me a few miles to get going. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention before, or maybe something’s changing.

Either way, but the time we’d climbed CR 34 and made the turn on to West Hollow Road, I was finding my groove.

The first fast descent of the day, in fact my fastest descent ever, came on Gulick Road approaching the first rest stop. Jeeves and I clocked 48.9 MPH—and I was riding the brakes. If the climbs don’t get your heart rate up there, the descents will.

Jeeves was rock steady despite the cracked pavement and bumps. Given better pavement, who knows what velocity we could achieve.

John and I missed our connection at the first rest stop. There’s a pretty big spread between our average speeds, and I’m a better climber, so we agreed to ride our own rides, but meet up at the rest stops.

I must have been in the potty when John came by. He didn’t need to stop, so not seeing me, he continued on. Meanwhile I waited, and waited.

Finally I asked some riders, “Did you pass a guy on a Bianchi with red tires and black fenders?”

“Nope.”

Shit.

I hopped on Jeeves and hit the road. I’d lost my warm-up waiting. The map showed I had maybe a half-mile before French Hill Road. I’d be doing serious climbing cold.

And serious it was. French Hill was the steepest climb on the Corkscrew Century route. I saw 12% a couple of times when I dared to look down at the cyclometer. This was where I hit my max heart rate too. It was long too, besides steep. We made it over the top, but I understand many riders walked it.

A couple of miles later, there was puke in the road. French Hill was a lot of hill for the “Highlander for Wimps” class.

Though Atlanta and Cohocton, we came up on Hndlebar. Mike helped me train for the 2008 BikeJournal Reunion in Colorado. We chatted a while before I sped off ahead trying to catch John. I caught him a few miles before the second rest top on NY 21 just south of Loon Lake.

Bladder drained, bottle filled, and refueled with oranges and cookies, I hadn’t fully cooled down before we set off again, southbound.

This is where I really began to enjoy the ride. Somewhere after the turn east—it could have been Neils Creek Road, the pavement was so well-marked I’m using the map only in retrospect—the road really reminded me of Colorado.

Along in through there, the road follows a little stream—something they’d call a river in Colorado—through a valley barely wide enough to contain the two. There was just a little more green than out west. And pines were substituting for firs, poplars and birch standing-in for aspens.

A turn around one particular rocky outcropping was startlingly reminiscent of South St. Vrain Canyon. Walled in on both sides by steep walls of rock, it was a great stretch of road to snuggle a bike through.

Further along, a Colorado-like climb took us to the highest point on the route, before dropping into the third rest stop at Prattsburg.

It was here that I discovered that in wine country, even the Gatorade is purple. Strangely, though, the PB&Js are made with strawberry jam. Whatever. Even with the wrong fruit, a PB&J is great bike fuel.

The Corkscrew was billed as having four “big” climbs. French Hill was the first, West Creek Road before the descent to Prattsburg was the second. On the 70-mile cut, the climb back out of Prattsburg is the third.

Finger Lakes climbs differ from Colorado climbs by length and gradient. Rollers punctuated by steep climbs are characteristic of the Finger Lakes. Colorado’s mountain climbs are all engineered grades at 6% average. And they go on for miles and miles.

It was sort of a hybrid between a Finger Lakes and Colorado climb to get out of Prattsburg heading north on NY 53 for Naples. And again, it was on a cold start.

And “cold” refers to the engine, not the day. It was perfect, perfect weather for a challenging ride. We had started at about 60°F and the forecast high was for only 72°F. The sky was as cloudless as can be expected for Upstate and the winds were from the northeast at 5–10 MPH. It wasn’t until that climb before the descent to Prattsburg that I stripped off my armwarmers.

It took me a good while on the climb to get warmed up. My cadence dropped to the 50s at one point. Then, suddenly, my legs woke up, and I could spin the 80s again, even after upshifting. Shortly after, the road tipped over into the long descent to Naples.

It was cut short by a detour around a section of milled pavement. The detour was wonderful. We were routed on to a descent that, for the Quads Hilla route riders, was a climb at about their halfway point. It was confusing at first, but we all got it sorted out and enjoyed waving to the riders going in the “wrong” direction.

At the bottom of Strong Hill Road there’s a stop sign. I did my best Yosemite Sam “Whoa, camel!” impression coming to that stop. It earned a few laughs. I tooled through Naples with a small group I’d caught on the descent.

In Naples, BTW, even the fire hydrants are purple.

Out the other side, I was both warmed-up and recovered and ready for the final big climb of the day.

I’d ridden down the CR 12 hill in 2008 with Hndlebar. Ever since then, I dreaded the climb back up it, and I knew I’d have to do it yesterday.

I said so the the guys I was with, and they told me, “Dude, go for it.” And we did.

The road pitched up, I let traffic go by and swung Jeeves out to pass the group. The cyclometer said 6% and got stuck there. Just like Colorado, I thought. And the Dugway too, for that matter. I can climb like that in my sleep.

Locked in to my groove, still a gear to go down on the cassette, it was steady as she goes. Gradient steady at 6%, heart rate steady at 155 BPM, cadence steady at 80 RPM and speed steady between 8½ and 9 MPH.

Jeeves and I just motored up the hill. It was awesome. I was able to boogie on up, while I enjoyed both the scenery and the smells of the grapes, growing so close to the road I was tempted to reach out and snag a few.

It’s been a long time since I felt quite so good about a climb while still doing it.

It tops out high above Canandaigua Lake, then tips down a little heading for the final rest stop. I popped up into the big ring, lowered myself into the drops and cranked. I wanted to arrive at the rest stop in the big ring.

Along there, Griesa Hill Road comes in from the right. It gains the same altitude, but in a considerably shorter distance—it’s a Finger Lakes style climb. Two guys in Xerox International Cycling Team kit had just done that climb, and pulled out in front of me, as I sailed by in the drops and the big ring.

At the rest stop, they seemed demoralized. They looked over Jeeves, still in its big ring, then read my jersey. I could see them mentally going, Well that explains it.

Yup. I’d spent the day in my lucky Club Hypoxia jersey, the jersey I earned climbing in Colorado.

While I waited for John to catch up—he later said he was climbing at 3–4 MPH—I got to chat with riders from all three of the day’s routes.

One guy had a Ritchey Breakaway. Its claim to fame is that it’s a full-sized road bike that can be disassembled to fit in a non-oversized bag for flying. When I told him I was thinking about buying one for my next frame, he offered to let me ride his around the parking lot. I declined saying, “Thanks, but it wouldn’t be right, riding your bike in front of Jeeves.”

Another rider came in wearing a Rideau Lakes Cycle Tour jersey. The RLCT runs right through Westport Ontario, the town nearest to where I spend my July vacations at my family’s cottage. The guy lives in Kingston and came for the weekend.

As he got back on his bike, a guy behind me asked, “Did I hear you say Westport?”

Turns out, the the guy running the rest stop vacation on the same lake as my parent’s cottage. Only he rents. And has been gong there since 1967 compared to our 1962. We spent a good, long time sharing memories of Wolfe Lake summers.

Shortly after, John arrived and we headed out for the last six miles to the finish.

It was along though here that I figured out why I thought the brakes were dragging in the morning. It’s a false flat. A very gentle uphill in the morning, was a very gentle downhill in the afternoon, and Jeeves and I raced along in the big ring, all the back to the finish.

I had time to pee, and to put Jeeves in the truck, and start changing before John arrived back.

Shortly after, the two Litespeeds arrived back. We’d all done the same ride, yet Jeeves and I left after them, and arrived back before them, even after waiting for John at the rest stops.

“Don’t ever complain about your motor,” I told Jeeves. “Feel sorry for those two poor ABG Litespeeds.”

Choosing the 70-mile cut of the Corkscrew was exactly the right choice for me. A the last rest stop I though it over and decided that I could have done the full century. But I was concerned that would have left me unable to lead the club ride on Sunday.

Meanwhile, I was quite well joyed—not overjoyed, but well joyed—on the way to pick up our goodie bags and meal.

Stopping at the Rent-a-Restroom trailer, I was awestruck by the marvel of 21st Century defecation and urination technology. It had separate men’s and women’s ends. The men’s section had two thrones, three urinals and two sinks—with real soap and water. And one of those electric paper towel dispensers with the infrared sensor.

Standing at the urinal, I read the sign, “Hands free automatic flushing. Good God! It’s a Bluetooth urinal!” The guy next to me just about peed on the wall laughing.

Bristol Mountain is undergoing renovation. The Event Center is a temporary building, up a short flight of stairs form the parking lot. “Damn. Yet another climb,” I remarked, to the amusement of those climbing it with me.

Inside, I bought an event jersey, and got my goodie big. Mainly, it was a propaganda bag. The only goodies in it were a pair of event socks and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. The kid behind the counter checked and rechecked with me, thoroughly confused that I didn’t want the wine.

A salad, pulled pork, pasta and sauce completed the day. And I knew it was too rich, but I couldn’t leave without having some grape pie, so I begged a piece form John’s. It was too rich, but tasty all the same.

I’ve actively avoided the Highlander in the past. Next year I’ll sign up again, and again for the whatever the wimpy version is, and take the cut. It was just right for me.

I went out for hill repeats on my hills training route this afternoon. The westerly winds were a little strong and gusty, so I decided to do it in reverse order, starting from Mt Hope Cemetery and working my way east to Rich’s Dugway.

Ever since getting locked in the cemetery last year, I avoid it going home from work. So it was a real treat to visit my favorite hills from the opposite direction this afternoon—climbing past Frederick Douglass instead of screaming past him on the descent.

I did three repeats there before deciding I’d better save a little. I did only two repeats up to Cobbs Hill Reservoir, and across Cobbs Hill Drive.

Then, with a 1% descent and a tailwind it was off to the Dugway. It was a marvelous little traverse.

Rich’s Dugway is famous among local cyclists, yet I seldom see another one there. It’s even famous among non-cyclists who know cyclists. Last month I stopped for water and Gatorade at the Sunoco on Lake Road in Webster.

The proprietor asked about my ride, where I started, where I was going to finish. When I told him I live on University Ave, he instantly knew. “Taking the Dugway back?”

“I live for the Dugway,” I replied.

It was today at the Dugway that I figured out why it’s my favorite climb the neighborhood. Rich’s Dugway is that rarest of climbs. It seems to take longer to descend than it does to climb.

Down, down, down to the bottom with the freehub singing, seems to take forever. Turn around and it’s only moments to the top. Very strange.

It’s because it’s just the right grade that it’s not a struggle. It’s a challenge, but it’s a nice challenge, not something out to rip your legs off. It’s the longest climb within a reasonable distance from home, which lets me find a groove and settle in. This leaves lots of leftover brain cells needing something to do.

The grade changes a little here and there. The road meanders up the hill, always enticing the mind with what’s around the next bend. The pavement is broken at best, which lets me think about and experiment with different lines.

Scenery. I enjoy the scenery climbing up the Dugway. The houses are built right up to the pavement. There are shrubs, and flowers and trees and things to look at as I spin by. One house even has a ship’s barometer next to the front door. It’s close enough I can read it. Another has a teepee in the side yard.

Rounding the last bend, the final bit is arrow straight under a canopy of trees so full, it takes days for the sunlight to dry the road after a rain. Just when the climb becomes the hardest, the Dugway rewards with delicious coolness.

It’s no wonder that every time I get to the top, I want to turn around and do it again.

I pulled myself away today, thinking I’ve got to climb the Dugway much more often. I stopped and finished my water as a hippie-looking guy on a single-speed cruiser went by. “Nice hill, huh?”

“The best,” I replied.

We stared in open-mouthed astonishment at the man gesticulating wildly towards us and emitting vocalizations that alternated between honking and sort of sneezing sounds.

Finally he gave up. “Nobody here speaks French?”

Oh. It was supposed to be French that he was yelling at us. Who knew?

We were about ten very hot, very tired cyclists trying to all fit into the sliver of shade outside the Citgo station in beautiful downtown Holcomb, NY. Temps in the 80s, dewpoint in the 70s, not a breath of wind, and the sun in full assault mode.

And the yelling man.

“My son,” he continued, “went to France for a summer and when he came back, he was dressed like you are, and he rode a bicycle.”

Mon dieu! He thinks everyone who rides a bike speaks French!

The rest stop this afternoon in Holcomb was all sorts of little vignettes like that.

There was the shirtless tattooed guy in cargo shorts on a very loud and very Japanese motorcycle. And the guy who wandered across the street and asked him to do a wheelie. He did. But only after he turned the bike off so he could hear the challenge.

Exiting the gas station with a 12-pack under his arm, wheelie guy challenged us. “I’ll give you a beer if you do a wheelie.” There were no takers.

The women in our group, tired of testosterone and gasoline fumes, went to the bakery across the street, and returned with cookies the size of manhole covers. Took them two hands to carry the things.

The attendant inside the gas station was nice enough to give me my nickels back for the bottles I emptied, but her eyes were on the ones my fellow cyclists put in the trash cans.

After a little too large a slice of Americana, we mounted up and rolled out of town.

I hadn’t planned on being on this ride today. But friends who had wanted a bicycle tour of Rochester called last night to cancel. I immediately checked the club’s ride calender and spied a nice hilly 51-miler the started out at Mendon Ponds Park.

Thinking it would be a good warm-up for next weekend’s Corkscrew at the Highlander, I rode out this morning. I arrived home 6½ hours later with 69 miles and 4 hours and 22 minutes of ride time on the clock, (15.8 MPH average) and over 4,700 feet of climbing.

It was an uneven day for me, performance-wise, and a good thing that all I wanted to accomplish was to finish.

It started on the way out when I overcooked it on Clover Street in a two-man paceline with a kid on a Giant with aerobars. When the climbing started, I let him go.

I got my legs back under me approaching the park, but lost my momentum waiting for the ride to start. I took me several miles to warm up again, and by then I was off the back.

Pedaling furiously over rolling hills, I caught back up, but the tone for the day had been set. Ride a little to hard, fall back, ride a little too hard, fall back. On it went all day long. I just couldn’t find my pace.

Part of it was that it was my first real ride with the compact crank I put on Jeeves last weekend. There’s just no way I was going to do the Highlander with a standard double. The compact is just different enough that it took me all week and most of today to come to terms with it.

The problem is that no matter which ring I’m in, I’m cross-chained at my usual pace. So if I’m in the 50 ring, I push too hard so I can get to the smaller cogs and relieve strain on the drivetrain. After wearing myself out, I downshift to the 34 ring and try to stay in the larger cogs, and fall off the back.

If I hadn’t lost my conditioning through the heat of July and the rains of August, I’d say the hell with it and ride the standard next weekend. The new cranks don’t make up for loss of conditioning, so I’m paying the price, both in having to buy equipment, and in finding a peaceful coexistence with it.

By the end of ride today, I was getting there. Or maybe it was because I was too tired to bother with the 50.

This was doubly embarrassing because one of the guys in the group I was with was on a 2004 Litespeed Ultimate, with the same standard double and flatlander cassette I run on Jeeves in the city.

There was whole lot of Ti on the ride today. Half the members of our group were on it. There were Litespeeds of both eras—Lynsky and ABG—a newer Lynsky, an Indy Fab and a Moots. We actually outnumbered the carbon bikes. A lone steel bike was in our group, and its rider peppered us all with question about our Ti bikes.

The other thing I screwed up today was water and fuel. I really need to rig a third bottle cage on Jeeves. And while I carried enough food for the ride, I was either pushing too hard or gasping while trying to recover to eat any of it. I ate my banana waiting for the ride to start, but didn’t get to the first of three trail mix bars until two-thirds of the way through the club portion of the ride.

Not that either of those will be a problem next week, with SAG stops every 20 miles or so. But still, I should know better.

Back home, I had no problems with post-ride recovery. Two large glasses of Ovaltine, a handful of vitamins and a nap set me up for a nice rib-eye steak dinner.

In any event, I’m no longer intimidated by next week’s ride. Well, except for the early start. Bikerjohn picks me up at 5:45 so we can get to Bristol Mountain for a 7:30 or 8:00 start. I don’t do mornings.

Having taken it easy since returning from my vacation in Canada, today I started my official training for the Highlander Cycle Tour. The Highlander is billed as the toughest century in the east, with courses ranging up to the 115-mile “Death Before Dismount” with 11,000 feet of climbing. [ MapMyRide ]

I’ve actively avoided the Highlander in other years, mainly on the basis of its reputation. Plus, I used to work on Saturdays. Bikerjohn roped me into it this year.

We’ll be doing the wimpy version—the 70-mile cut of the Corkscrew Century. Sounds just about right for me since five-hours is my limit for just about any activity before I have a strong and irresistible need to be doing something—anything—else.

John has mapped the Corkscrew with the 70-mile cut, and the full Corkscrew Century is here.

None the the rides look nearly as challenging on MapMyRide, BTW. I’m not sure why they seem so conservative there. For instance, the legendary Bopple Hill Road climb starting at 23.98 miles into the DB4D is a measured 23% grade. MapMyRide shows is as a gentle 4.7%. Hell, even I can do that in the big ring. But I’ve looked down Bopple Hill Road from the top. Made me dizzy.

While my flatlands commuting keeps me in shape for club rides and served me well on vacation, I don’t think it’s quite enough for the Highlander. Today I started training for it. I’ll ride my “hills, parks, cemetery and trails” route to work more often, and on the weekends I’ll be doing hill repeats.

Despite being flatlands, there are a few select hills around, and I laid out a course that links several of them. Today I wanted to get a feel for the course, to see if it would work on the bike like I thought it would in my mind.

I decided I’d try two repeats of each hill today, just to see how it feels and how it measures out. The plan is to add one more repeat each week until the event next month.

I also did this with Jeeves’ standard double and my flatlander 12-23 cassette. For the event itself I’ve ordered a compact double and I’ll mount the 12-27 cassette.

Jeeves and I set out from home for Ellison Park. Off North Landing Road, just south of Blossom Road, Rich’s Dugway drops down into the park. It’s a less-traveled alternative to Blossom Road and perfect for hill training. We did two repeats of the climb out of there.

Then we rode south on North Landing to Penfield Road, cut thorough some side streets to Clover Street, and hung a right on Highland Ave. Crossing Winton, the next right is Cobbs Hill Drive. We went over and back twice.

Next, the climb from Highland Ave to the Cobbs Hill Reservoir itself. Twice.

Then we traversed Pinnacle Hill from Monroe Ave to Mt Hope Ave using my “hills, parks, cemetery and trails” commute route, which itself is derived from the Ten Parks Tour. It climbs and descends and climbs and descends along the north face of Pinnacle Hill, through residential neighborhoods and Highland Park.

At the cemetery’s North Entrance, there is only one choice of direction, and that’s up—although there are three choices for gaining altitude. I don’t usually do the asphalt-paved one all the way around to the left, so that’s the one I started on. It’s a bear because it starts at only 4%, then slowly ramps up to 13%. Down the other side, turn around and come back. Then repeat.

Finally I did two repeats of my favored cobbled and washed-out dirt and gravel climbs. It’s three hills one after another, separated by asphalt descents, all fairly short, but steep. I returned to the North Entrance, and repeated them, but then continued to the Elmwood Ave exit.

Home from there through the University’s freshly-paved River Campus, then on to the flats of the Riverway and downtown, all at an easy spin to pump out the legs.

I arrived home 95 minutes after starting with 25 miles on the odometer and 2186 feet on the altimeter. Better still, I felt like I could do more.

If doing two repeats of those hills is about 2000 feet, then next week we should do 3000 feet in three repeats, and work our way up to 5000 feet in five repeats the week before the event. The Corkscrew is 6000 feet of climbing, so it’ll fall right into the progression nicely.

I think I’m satisfied with this. None of the hills compare to anything we’ll encounter on the ride, but it’s the best I can do with the hills we have within a few miles of home.

Next time, I’ll get a few more warm-up miles in before hitting the Dugway. I felt a lot better climbing Cobbs Hill than the Dugway, mainly because by then I was warmed-up. I like riding the Dugway, but it wasn’t enjoyable this morning. All I can come up with is that I wasn’t warned-up. So we’ll try hat next weekend.

Today’s mailbag brings…

Hi Bruce:

A while back you reported that you had bought some Velocity A23 wheels and liked ‘em quite a bit. I’m looking to get a set of their Helios wheels and was wondering how the A23’s were holding up.

Rob

Hi Rob!

Actually, I own three sets of wheels with Velocity hoops, and of those three, two are also Velocity in-house builds.

Yellow Bike’s wheels were my introduction to both handbuilt wheels and Velocity products. Their build is similar to the Helios you’re looking at—Aerohead rim in front, 28-hole, DT Revolutions (15/17) radial-laced, and in the back Aerohead O/C, 32-hole with DT Revolutions (15/17) laced 2X on the non-drive side, and DT Competitions (14/15) laced 3X on the drive side.

I’ve been nothing but delighted with these wheels since I bought them in May 2007. The Aerohead-Aerohead O/C hoops have been trouble-free as has been the build.

The Portland rides on a set of wheels with Velocity VXC hoops, 32 DT Competitions (14/15) laced 3X all the way around, with a Shimano dynohub on the front and a 130mm Velocity road disk hub in the back.

Due to build issues with the original build and builder, Velocity completely rebuilt both wheels in-house and paid for shipping both ways. They didn’t have to do that since they only manufactured the hoops and one hub. I already liked Velocity products, and that act of over-the-top customer service made me a customer for life.

Rebuilt by Velocity, these wheels define bulletproof. I commute on them in all four seasons, and all my heavy hauling is done on this bike too. It laughs at potholes, (even with 50 pounds of groceries on the back) jumps curbs with aplomb, and feel like they will roll over anything in their path.

But you asked about the A23s.

I only got the A23s 715 miles ago. They’re Velocity’s in-house PRO build—20 radial-laced Sapim CX-Rays in front, 24 CX-Rays in back, laced radial on the non-drive side, and 2X on the drive side. Velocity hubs all the way around.

These are wheels to kill for. And they’re damned sexy too.

They have the same stout feel as all my other Velocity wheels, but at 1400 grams for the pair, they’re the lightest wheels I own. I got a hint with the Portland’s wheels, and confirmed it with the A23s—the hype about wider rims is true. They give a better ride and better handling both at the same time.

As for durability, that remains to be seen, however I have every confidence that these will roll flawlessly for thousands of miles, perhaps tens of thousands. My torture tests thus far have included regular climbs and descents on the cobbles in the cemetery, the usual commuting abuse (including bunny-hopping potholes and curb jumping), and they rode the gravel and dirt roads on my recent vacation. Nothing yet has disturbed them.

So, the Helios wheels you’re looking at are an in-house Velocity build using Aerohead-Aerohead O/C hoops like Yellow Bike’s wheels, and spokes and lacing similar to the A23s on Jeeves. IME, Velocity’s in-house builds are superb, the hoops are excellent, their hubs very good to excellent, and with the Sapim CX-Ray spokes (the strongest available to we mortals) you should have no problems for many thousands of happy miles.

IMHO, go for it. (BTW, I got my A23s at BikeMania.biz, for $200 less than Velocity’s price. They have the Helios for $479.)

P.S.: Try the Veloplugs too.

It’s said that in R-Town we have four seasons:

• Almost Winter,
• Winter,
• Still Winter, and
• July

With just days before the start of Almost Winter, I’ve finally come to accept that I’m a true northerner. I cycle without complaint through the three seasons of winter, but July kills me.

I seem to forget this each year when I make my goal sheet. Somehow, dreams of the peak of summer make me put down the largest monthly mileage goal for July, then I miss it by… erm… miles.

As of this writing, I’m nearly 200 miles short of my July goal. It’s a shortage that will wipe out—and then some—the excess I’ve built up month-by-month by exceeding my goals in each of the first six months of the year.

I’ve traditionally taken my annual vacation at my family’s cottage in Ontario Canada in July. My parents think I must have powers over the weather because without fail, whatever week in July I choose, it turns out to be the hottest week of the year.

This year was no exception. We came home four days early because it was too effing hot. Too effing hot in Canada, for christsakes.

Add in the bumper crop of deer flies and I couldn’t even enjoy reading in the shade or in a lawnchair in the lake. (We’ve been know to put the picnic table in the lake at dinnertime, when we can’t stand the heat in the kitchen.)

I’ll try to remember all this come December, when I make up my goal sheet for 2012. Reduce the miles in July, treat it as a whole recovery month, and pick a week in June for the vacation.

OTOH

That said, there have been some notable rides this month. Back on Saturday the 10th, I did a nice 50-miler with the club. Led the fast group for quite a bit of it too. I’d drifted back in the pack, then on the final climb, actually upshifted twice and passed the whole lot of them and had to stop and wait at the next turn.

One day on my weekly errands I rode up alongside a 70-year-old guy on his way back from his cardiologist. He lives in Greece, and suburb in the northwest, and his doc is in Pittsford, a suburb in the southeast.

Apparently it’s cardiology month, because yesterday, battling the headwinds on the long loop to work, I rode up alongside a woman on a Madone who, it turns out, is a nurse in the Cardiology unit at the hospital. She too was on her way to work. We had a nice chat along the Canalway.

I’ve been commuting on Blue as much as possible. I’ve swapped its 12-23 cassette for its 11-21 and am turning in some record times on the commute. I was 0.02 MPH short of breaking 18 MPH average on the way home tonight. (Interestingly, this was 0.25 MPH faster than last night with its 20 MPH tailwind.) Blue and I actually did break 18 MPH (18.12) on the same route coming home on Wednesday the 13th.

Jeeves continues to impress me. It’s definitely my most comfortable distance ride. It’s nice in the city, and it climbs well too. As it was last year, it was an unexpected treat on the dirt road to our cottage. It’s an old Jeep road—more of a two-lane cowpath—and Jeeves just eats it up.

The Portland is no slouch either in both the comfort in town and the dirt roads departments. I just wish I could get lighter wheels on it. The lightweight wheels on the other three bikes really have me spoiled. For reference, the pair of wheels together on Jeeves weigh less than the just the rear wheel (and rotor) on the Portland.

Some day we’ll be able to get reasonably light yet strong wheels for road disc brake bikes. That day can’t arrive soon enough for me.

“Bruce, you’re an animal!” Dave called out to me as I turned to leave on the solo ride home.

Huh, I thought. Two weeks ago a machine, and this week an animal. I must be doing something right.

Almost everything had gone right on yesterday’s birthday ride. It was a day early, but close enough for me. I needed 54 miles for my birthday ride, and the 9am club ride out of Mendon Ponds Park offered 30 of them. The ride to the ride, and the ride back home would fill out the bill.

I’ve never been a morning person, and despite getting up a half-hour before the alarm, I left ten minutes later than what made me comfortable. Fortunately, I’d prepared Jeeves the night before, right down to the filled bottles—one with Gatorade (Frost Glacier Freeze) and the other with water (City Water Bureau).

We eased down University and East Aves with a modest tailwind. I was in the big ring before I was really warmed-up. I’ve been taking a longer route to the park through Pittsford and out Mendon Center Rd, but running behind, I took Clover St instead.

Earlybird riders were returning northbound on Clover, their morning rides complete. I caught and passed a couple of rabbits between French and Jefferson. Thinking it was some kind of fluke, apparently, they pulled in front of me at the stoplight at Jefferson. On the green, I was around them and halfway through the intersection before they were even clipped-in. I lost sight of them in the mirror at the bend halfway up the hill.

On the rest of the ride to the park I was passed by many bikes, but all of them strapped to cars. Gonna be a big ride today, I thought. And the weather was perfect for it too. Sunny, 65, with a forecast of 80, and light cool breezes off the lake.

I arrived on time at the ride start with an average of 17.4 MPH for the mainly uphill route. The motor was in good form and Jeeves was rockin’ beneath me.

I shot the breeze with a half-dozen folks, mainly people who have joined me on rides I’ve led. “You’ll be with the fast group, I’m sure”, June told me.

“Maybe, maybe not,” I replied. “I haven’t decided yet.” Truth was I didn’t want to ride alone and I hoped to find a group going at my pace, but I’d ride with back of the pack if I had to.

As it turned out, I didn’t.

In the first quarter-mile, a five-man group formed who were to be my ride partners for the morning. There was Pete from the ride two weeks ago, Dave who I’ve ridden with in other years, another Bruce who was riding a 25th Anniversary Edition Spectrum, and a guy on a Giant wearing the pink T-Mobile kit from a few years ago.

I quickly pulled aside our leader, the other Bruce, and started asking about his bike. Spectrum is on my shortlist for builders when it comes time to replace the Portland. A few miles later on, Giant guy starts talking smack from behind. “You guys gonna talk all day?”

“You wanna get up here and lead a while, or will you suck wheel all day?” I asked in return. Simultaneously, Bruce and I shifted to our big rings and stepped up the pace. Soon Giant guy was our lanterne rouge behind Pete and Dave.

And, Bruce and I kept talking bikes.

This is seriously weird, I thought. Here I am carrying on a conversation, sailing along in the big ring.

Weird or not, I was diggin’ it.

And that was the way we sailed through Mendon, Ionia, West Bloomfield and Honeoye Falls. We traded off conversation partners—I talked with both Pete and Dave for a few miles. And Giant guy continued to suck wheel. It was on the way to Rush that I developed a stitch in my side. I drifted back to draft a while.

A mile or two further on, Pete dropped his water bottle. I waited up the road for him as he went back to retrieve it. Bruce waited for us both, and in no time we caught up to Dave and Giant guy.

I called for a pee break in Rush, and my bottles needed filling. I managed to pick the only gas station/convenience store in the county without public restrooms.

“The library’s open back in town,” the cashier helpfully suggested. I wasn’t going to suggest we turn around and go to the library. We weren’t far from a hedgerow where I’ve stopped before, so off we went.

Since they’d waited for me at the C-store, my ride partners didn’t feel like waiting again at the hedgerow, so it was up to Jeeves and I to catch up on our own.

We hammered up 15A and turned on to Ward Hill Road. I’d put Ward Hill Road out of my mind, hoping it was different than I remembered it. It wasn’t.

Four years ago I’d done a shorter version of the same ride on one of the Wednesday night club rides out of Mendon Ponds. I was still getting comfortable with Yellow Bike, I’d quit smoking only a few months before, and despite Yellow Bike’s 30-tooth granny ring on the triple and 28-tooth hills cassette, I had to walk Ward Hill. It remains the only hill I’ve ever walked.

Jeeves and I didn’t exactly pop over it, but with its 27-tooth hills cassette and 39-tooth small ring, we still cleared it without too much trouble. We found Pete at the top waiting for us, returning the water bottle favor. Nice guy, that Pete.

We caught the group at the next intersection where they’d stopped.

The rest of the ride was uneventful except for me nearly making a wrong turn when we got back to Clover St. I knew yesterday’s ride turned right, but at the same intersection, the Ten Parks Tour ride turns left, I automatically prepared for a left as everyone else turned right.

I was bushed as we rolled back into the parking lot. It had been a good, fast ride—faster than I’d planned, but I’d made it. My first club ride with the fast group.

That’s when Dave called me an animal on the way out of the lot again for the ride home. I took it easy on the way home, but since it’s primarily descending, even taking it easy is relatively fast.

I wasn’t sure on my miles and I didn’t want to circle the block back home, so at the canal, I took the canal path to the University, cut through campus, and took the Riverway to downtown. I hit my 54 just before the Ford Street Bridge and recorded 57.43 when I got home. Three to grow on, I guess.

This morning I was paying for it. Even my toes hurt when I got up. The ride to parents’ for Father’s Day was scrubbed even before breakfast. That worked out okay because my mother wanted to come here and do some shopping, and she dragged my dad along.

Now at bedtime, only my quads and glutes still hurt. But I’d do it all over again in the same way if the opportunity arose. It was one great ride.

Gee, I thought to myself. These hills are getting flatter and shorter every year.

Then a bend in the road revealed the second half of the climb—the half that required me to stand.

Even with that early mistake, the Friday night Firetower Ride at the Great Finger Lakes Bicycle Tour seemed flat and easy. Over the years I’ve knocked a third—over a half-hour—off my first whack at that ride on Yellow Bike, climbing mainly in its 30-28. Jeeves’ 39-27 spun freely up every hill after that second half of the first one.

Embarrassing photo #712: Arriving at a three-day ride weekend, with mismatched gloves.

At least I had one left and one right.

Slightly less embarrassing photo, getting passed on the second half of the climb out of camp.


Not embarrassing photo at all, second to the top of the climb, and still smiling.


All photos courtesy Bikerjohn

After waiting at the top for ride partner CarpenterDoug, the descent was every bit as fun as that first time five years ago.

And arriving back at camp, Doug and I were third and fourth behind a pair of Canadians who had, quite soundly, handed us our asses on the climbs.

The GFLBT—and particularly the Firetower Ride—are a touchstone for me, measuring my progress both year after year, and to date in the season. I’m pleased with the results.

If knocking a half-hour off the Firetower’s climbs in five years isn’t enough, on Saturday, again partnering with CarpenterDoug, I knocked a half-hour off last years time on the 52-mile Ovid Figure Eight ride.

This, despite miscalculating my in-ride feed zones and having to recover for a few miles just past the halfway mark. Of course, this coincided with the climb up from Cayuga Lake.

Then the Gatorade and trail mix bar kicked in and I was fine for the rest of the ride. Jeeves and I were passed by only three other riders too, two during the post feed recovery.

It gets better still. My average heart rate was only 128 BPM, maxing at only 158 BPM at the end, on the climb up from Seneca Lake to Ovid. My commutes generally average in the low to mid-140s and peak in the upper 160s.

In other words, it was a walk in the park.

Those climbs from the two lakes remind me a lot of climbing in Colorado, BTW. They aren’t necessarily steep, but they are relentless. It’s not a question of muscling your way up, but rather, one of finding your groove and spinning it to the top. And when you get to the top, you realize it’s a long way down.

Best yet, the “Chicken Winnebago” was set up again on Main Street in Ovid, just three minutes from the finish. I inhaled a half-bird with all the sides—salt potatoes, mac salad, and green beans—and two Dr. Peppers, while sitting contentedly under a tree.

Bikerjohn got to the finish, after his own stop at the Chicken Winnebago, only minutes before an afternoon deluge worthy of the 40 days. The bikes got wet in the back of the truck, but we three riders were dry all the way back to camp.

A thunderstorm this morning during breakfast put the kibash on today’s ride. Although a mudslide last week did in the traditional Sunday route. A hillside along Keuka Lake’s West Lake Road (NY 54A) slid to the lake, taking the road and a culvert with it.

The last-minute alternate route—an extension of the Friday night ride—looked interesting, but even after the rain stopped, the clouds and mist hung around. It looked like an all day thing. Both Bikerjohn and I were ambivalent towards riding. If one or the the other of us really wanted to ride, we would have, but both being on the negative side of ambivalent, we came home instead.

More than riding

The other thing I like about the GFLBT is renewing friendships with folks I see only there. There’s CarpenterDoug, Mike, Carl, Larry and Shelly, Mona, the Canadians (I’ll beat them next year!), even the women from the caterers. And of course riding there and back with Bikerjohn.

I enjoy the meals and post feast reparteé just as much as the riding. Every year I look forward the the same meal as last year, and they change it, serving something a little better. As for after dinner conversation, Larry and I could get ourselves in serious trouble if we’re ever together someplace where other people can hear us.

I missed seeing Dave who was supposed to attend, Tom who crashed Wednesday and spent the night in the hospital for observation, and weatherman Joe from AccuWeather.

This year’s turnout was considerably fewer than last year’s record, and many regulars I know only by face weren’t there this year either.

I’m apparently gaining a reputation of sorts there myself. While stopped at the Chicken Winnebago, a 70+ guy from New Jersey, Ed, asked, “Aren’t you the guy who brought the 50+ group to this ride last year?”

I like meeting new folks too. I had a long and fascinating conversation with Dave and Kathy from New Paltz about their cycling trips in Vietnam, South America and Central America. It’s keeping my appetite whetted for those kinds of rides.

All in all, the Great Finger Lakes Bicycle Tour is always the high point of my early season. I like the rides, I like the people, I like the food. There’s nothing really special about the event. There’s no overarching epicness to the rides. Hell, most of the riders are 50+. That’s epic enough, in my book.

More than anything else, the GFLBT is just plain nice. Nice rides, nice food, nice company. And that’s why I go back every year.

Well, that and the plan to beat the Canadians on the Friday night ride next year…