I am very, very tired today. After a hectic week, a week in which I rode only twice, I punished myself by riding 100 miles yesterday. It was a Rio Strada team ride that started in El Dorado Hills. I was the only one dumb enough to ride from home, making everyone else's 70-mile ride an even 100 for me.
We rode up past Georgetown towards Uncle Tom's Cabin, topping out at an elevation of 4500 feet or so. It was some tough climbing. The last few miles were steep.
There is a guy on the team, Mark, a little fireplug of a guy, who competes in triathlons. He does everything from shorter sprints to the big ones like the Iron Man. He has also won his age class in the last FOURTEEN Eppie's Great Races, and holds three record times. Needless to say he is a strong dude, and he set an absolutely sadistic pace on the ride. He is the kind of guy who immediately starts shifting down a cog if the steepness of a climb lessens for even 50 meters. Most normal humans, like me, use that as an opportunity to recover a little before the road tilts up again. Not this dude. There was just no recovery time yesterday.
I actually beat him up the first real climb, which was up Luneman Road. I think because the beginning is really steep my lower weight gave me an advantage. I looked back and everyone was just gone off the back. Maybe those 20% grades give us mountain bikers the advantage. Anyway, after that climb he really punished me. I was a distant second on all the climbs after that, but I beat all the other guys. I held his wheel two-thirds of the way up Marshall Grade before I cracked. That one hurt. He was flying.
On the way back down Green Valley Road, with almost 80 miles under my belt, I rode the front from Cameron Park all the way to El Dorado Hills. Dan was right behind me yelling encouragement. I felt like I was really ripping it, and nobody tried to come around, so I guess I was going fairly fast. Most of the time I looked down to see we were going 28-32 miles per hour. I wish someone would have come around, because I paid for that big effort later.
Anyway, I impressed the guys on my team. I rode strong, and I received a lot of pats on the back in the parking lot. Most of them were wasted after the ride, and I still had to ride home. I must admit, once I left them in El Dorado Hills, I totally limped back to Fair Oaks. That last 15 miles was awful. My legs hurt like hell after cooling down and starting back up. I rolled up to my apartment so glad it was over.
That was probably the hardest combination of ride length and speed I can remember, at least for many years. This was much harder than the Sierra Century last year.
These big rides tend to happen right around my birthday. Is it just coincidence? Probably not, at least in this case.
Turning 34 is one of those tough cycling years. In most cycling disciplines, the "old guys" age classes start at 35, so that's something to look forward to—being the "young guy" again.
But during that year when you are 34, racing can feel like a long season of getting your ass handed to you by unemployed 20-year-olds. So yeah, I might have been feeling old. When I decided to ride from home I knew it would be around 100 miles total, and it would definitely test me. You know, let me know if I still "had it."
Oh, I definitely still have it, kids. Come get some.
Later.
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