Jenson USA recently had their big fall clearance sale, and I got a pass to pick up some goodies for the fall riding season. I went page by page through the sale items and ended up with $700 worth of stuff in my cart, which obviously wasn’t going to fly.

After I pared it down, one of the winners was this rain jacket from Canari. It’s not the tightest fitting jacket for cycling, but it does repel water, has detachable sleeves, and folds into an integrated pouch with waistband for those times where the weather looks bad but turns good, or looks good but turns bad. And it’s conservative enough in styling to be work casually or running, too!

The end is drawing nigh.

The end of the riding and racing season is fast approaching now, and there’s no denying it. For awhile, it seemed like summer would hang on forever. But now the trees are turning, the woods have that musty smell, and the shadows seem long, regardless of the time of day.

I have always disliked autumn, as a general rule. It leads directly to winter, which season I have no real use for. As a kid, it also meant the arrival of hay fever and school, the two things I hated more than anything in the world. I’m mostly over the hay fever now, but the onset of fall still means cool, wet days, which means less riding and being outside.

The athlete in me, on the other hand, is ready for the break. I’ve reached the point in the season where all of the intensity is taking its toll a little, in terms of injury and fatigue. My right hip has been acting up again, my back isn’t where it should be, and all the races have put a damper on my weight lifting, so I’ve lost some strength. Winter is the time I use to heal up and bulk up, training to be stronger and faster for the next season, and part of me is ready for that. It’s true that I train all year ’round, but there’s no denying that racing is far harder on body and mind than just training.

So I’ll get what I can get out of the remaining warmer days, knowing they’ll be in short supply soon. But this year, when they’re gone, I might regret it a little less.

My ride for the day, a Giant Defy Advanced 2.

I’m not a fan of big, glitzy cities as a general rule, but they do have their advantages. And in a city where you can rent anything (ahem), I was excited to find a place that rented some very decent bicycles, right next to where I wanted to ride.

Broken Spoke Bikes is situated just on the western edge of Las Vegas, a scant five miles from Red Rock Canyon. Red Rock offers some of the area’s most picturesque riding, coupled with some challenging climbing and speedy descents. When I found out I was going to Vegas, this was the first thing I thought of (not normal, I know), since I had managed to miss out on the opportunity the last time I was there.

Broken Spoke has a full rental fleet of road bikes and 29er mountain bikes, including full carbon frame Defys, race-ready TCRs, and Trance X 29s. They even rent wheelsets for riders just coming to town to race. I was really impressed at how friendly and helpful the staff were, as well as the pristine and well-stocked shop they ran. Suffice it to say this is not what you usually picture when you go to rent a bike at a vacation destination.

Early September in Las Vegas is the tail end of monsoon season, and there had been clouds and scattered showers in the area for most of the previous couple days. Today though, the surrounding mountains appeared to be holding the clouds at bay, and the valley was treated to a broken but brilliant blue sky for most of the afternoon.

The road out of town.
(click for full size)

Since I was sharing a rental car with two other people on the trip, I had them drop me off with my bag of gear at the shop. I changed in the bathroom while the mechanic fitted my pedals, and after a quick seat adjustment I was on my way, pedaling along the generous shoulder toward the western mountains. This was my first ride on a full carbon bike, and I have to say I was expecting a little more difference from my aluminum frame Trek 2.3. The Defy certainly weighed less, and my estimation of its performance was somewhat hindered by the lack of a cycle computer, but it didn’t seem to soak up bumps or accelerate remarkably better. Certainly not so much better that it justified the more than doubled price tag.

Dramatic vistas and a greening desert from all the recent rain.

But no matter, it was still a very nice bicycle, and I gave it bonus points for having a saddle almost identical to the one I have on my own bike. The riding position was comfortable, and the drive train, from Shimano’s Ultegra line, was precise, reliable and smooth. In fact, it was the drive train that made up the only noteworthy improvement over my own bike, which sports 105 series components.

I spun up the false flat out of town and into the foothills, enjoying the perfect weather and stunning views of the eastern ranges of the Spring Mountains. Car traffic was impressively polite, and I saw a few cyclists headed the other way, steaming along the slight decline toward the city. It was nice to be riding in an area so well accommodated for road biking, and with such scenery. A magazine moment, if there ever was one.

After rattling over a couple cattle guards (which were terrifying on a skinny-tire bike), I paid my three dollars at the entry booth and started up the climb into Red Rock. The air was decidedly cooler than in the valley behind me, a fact I attributed to the altitude and absence of asphalt. I was surprised at the effort I was already expending on the pedals, given that the climb had just started and didn’t seem that steep. What I didn’t know at the time was that in just the five miles from the shop to the start of Red Rock, I had already climbed 600 feet at a 2-3% grade. When the road turned up, it was to 5-10% grades, which didn’t seem that steep visually, relative to what I had already been doing. Your eyes work by contrast, but there’s no fooling your legs.

Those clouds have been hanging in the mountains all day. They’ll hold on for another hour or so, right? Right?

I blamed the bike. Pfft, carbon. Totally overrated. I switched to the small ring and chugged along, stopping a couple times to snap pictures (and totally NOT because I was out of breath, you guys). I passed a couple scenic overlook turn-outs, where the tourists eyed me with what I told myself was shocked admiration. It might have just been shock. Maybe they knew what the clouds on the mountain tops meant, but I had persuaded myself that, since they had lazily hung out there all day, there was no reason they’d break loose during the couple hours I was out for a ride.

In all honesty, this was my first real climbing challenge on a road bike. I’ve climbed quite a bit on the mountain bike, but all I’ve seen on the road are the sort of short, punchy climbs we have in southwest Ohio. They can be steep, but they’re never terribly long. In fact, there are precious few in my area that are even categorized. But the opening climb into Red Rock is a Cat 2 climb, rising over 1100 feet in 4.5 miles.

As it turns out, I am not a Cat 2 climber. I found myself having to stop here and there to recover, something I haven’t had to do in a long, long time. I hated it and loved it, as my brain tried to make sense of what my body was saying. At one point, when the grade eased momentarily, I became convinced my back tire was going flat, or I had a brake dragging. I just couldn’t seem to accelerate, despite the visual cues indicating that the road was going down. I’ve experienced this sort of slight visual disorientation before, but it was never this convincing. I continued to blame the bike, and the gearing, and the wind, all the way to the top. Like a newbie.

Wait, the wind? When did it start to get windy? I had become so wrapped up in my efforts, and in the stunning scenery, that I had scarcely noticed the clouds breaking free of their rocky moorings, and gathering darkly around me. The tourists had left the photo parking lots and were passing me on their way out, their faces now reflecting genuine concern for my well-being. As I reached the last section of the climb, a 9% slap in the face to my self-esteem, thunder echoed off the rocks around me. Moments later, the sky unleashed.

Not long after this picture was taken, all heck broke loose.

I found out that the climbs in Las Vegas weren’t the only thing more extreme than I was used to at home. Most of our storms in Ohio are of the gentle, friendly variety, the kind you like to sit on your porch and watch. This was not one of those storms. This was punishment. It was as if the sky had seen the collective transgressions of Sin City and was determined to wash it clean, by force. I had only come here to work and ride bicycles, but I felt compelled to repent anyway.

It would have been only unpleasant if the storm had struck when I started the climb. I likely would have just turned around and headed back to the shop to wait it out. At the least, I would have chugged dutifully up the climb, like I did Jill’s Hill during the Young’s Bike Tour; miserable but at a safe speed for the conditions. But I was at the top of what was now a thousand-foot, winding, treacherous descent, and had no options but to press on.

If I had been praying for help on the way up, I was praying for protection on the way down. Road bike brakes don’t work particularly well in the rain, and in a full-tilt monsoon like the one I found myself in, I may as well have been squeezing a stress ball. The cars passing me now were cautious, and their passengers gave me looks that ranged from pity to literal applause. I appreciated their courtesy, as I was convinced at any moment I would find myself on the pavement, and my carbon-fiber rental rig skittering off into the tumbleweeds. I couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of me, and what I could see wasn’t encouraging. The storm raged all around me, the mountains reverberated with its fury. I negotiated the turns as well as I could, and did everything short of dragging my feet on the ground to slow my acceleration in the straights.

After what seemed an interminable period of jaw-clenching, brake-lever-bending terror, the road opened up ahead of me and the rain eased ever so slightly. It was enough for me to let go of the brakes at last, and let gravity help with the work of extracting me from the center of nature’s fury. I was cold now, as the temperature had dropped probably 20 degrees and I no longer had the effort of hard pedaling to keep me warm. Just as I was starting to relax, a bolt of lightning cracked directly over my head with a noise so loud it blurred my vision! That got my heart rate back up, and I pushed onto the big ring and started pedaling. The sooner I could be out of this canyon, the better!

I was contemplating my mortality, now. I was going to die, and in a stupid, touristy way, getting struck by lightning on an ill-advised bicycle ride. Back home, they’d read the safety investigation report at a training day, and everybody would shake their heads at what an idiot I’d been. I was going to be a statistic, a Darwin Award candidate, and all because I couldn’t just go drink and gamble in Las Vegas, like normal people do. You’re supposed to bring snazzy outfits and wads of cash to Vegas, not bicycle helmets and jerseys. What the hell is wrong with me?!

At long last, I reached the end of the loop road. I walked my bike across another cattle guard, my confidence having been thoroughly decimated by the storm that still carried on behind me. It was still raining hard, but at least I could see again, and I swung east for the easy coast back into the city. As I descended, I saw a huge coyote run across the road ahead of me, his body language expressing the same “what the hell?!” expression I was still feeling. I rode through a couple of small rivers that had formed across the road, and was surprised at how warm the water was as it splashed over my feet. Against all of my expectations from an hour before, I made it back to the shop, safe and sound, even if I was soaked to the bone. My phone even still worked, although the GPS had shut off two miles into the ride.

Though it was only 25 miles long, my first ride in Las Vegas was one of the most eventful I have ever had. I confirmed my suspicion that I’m not much of a climber, took in some amazing scenery, and had my respect for the power of nature forcefully renewed. It was fun, because I survived without a scratch, but let’s hope that my future rides are far less eventful.

Another Dayton First!

It being the start of football season, I thought it would be appropriate to get a picture of this marker for the blog. It details how the first ever NFL game was played right here in Dayton, financed by local businesses, and played in a park that they built. I’ve stopped to read this before, but never took a picture until today. It’s just another cool little thing I discovered by exploring the city on my bike.

After dorking up my thumb in a mountain bike crash, I had an unplanned day off from training, which is something I hate doing. It makes me antsy to sit around in the first place, and to do it when I hadn’t planned on it makes the itching worse. Last night, I figured out that I could still grip the hoods on my road bike without too much trouble, and used the excuse of a family gathering at my parents’ house to squeeze in a ride.

Of course, I couldn’t just go straight there, because that was only a 15 mile route, and that’s just too short to have any fun at all. So I got up early and mapped out a 44 mile route, mostly on bike path, that would land me at their front door right about when the festivities (for a couple birthdays) would begin.

I anticipated just going easy, especially as my hip and thumb ached and complained through the first 10 miles. But when I turned east out of downtown, I looked down to see my pace increasing, easily. Something about the aches and pains, and being out riding anyway, and the cool, cloudy morning spoke to my athlete’s heart, and I surged ahead without even really trying. I blasted over to Eastwood at 22 mph, hands in the drops and barely breathing hard. It felt good, far better than a ride so close to a hard crash should feel, and I was eating it up.

I took a little break from Eastwood to Beavercreek and then let loose again, bobbing and weaving through the holiday bike path traffic, who all acted surprised at my apparent sense of urgency. East to Xenia and then north to Yellow Springs, I never really felt the need to let up, and my front tire seemed as hungry for miles as my legs were for speed. Even given stops for traffic, street crossings and a sluggish first ten miles, I averaged almost 18mph, which is good for me even when I’m healthy. I wrapped up the ride feeling mentally restored, even if my body still hurt.

I sure am glad I bought my road bike. And I’m glad I took the long way to Mom’s house.

Oh, and go Buckeyes!