Friday Ramblings: Skyscraper of a Workout

Note: I wrote this Thursday night and forgot to post it...

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Here's the Garmin file for my Thursday Sprints workout with the Hains Point group: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/33200673. I think it looks like a city skyline.

The 45 mph sprint is a farce. That's gotta be distortion of the Garmin. The 37.2 mph sprint, however, is entirely accurate. The Harley boys were out there for the first few laps, so hanging behind Brian Butts, the Tims, and Michael F. was kinda nuts. Add Steve (aka Nessie) from Haymarket, and it got REALLY quick, which was awesome practice. The speed also strung-out the group, which made it somewhat safer.

Basically, this is a journal entry. Here are some things I remember...
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On one of the final super-fast laps with the Harley guys (before they went home), I picked up the lead about halfway on the sprint side, and was holding about 32 MPH when I started catching up with a car. Around the double sewers (700 meters to go?) I was about 10 feet behind the car when I sat up and waved my hand - sprint off, guys.

Then I watched as that crazy, helmetless Saroff guy inched between the old, red Hyundai and a group of Artemis juniors at well over 32 miles per hour.

He catches enough crap for rolling without a brain bucket, but hey, if I'm hitting the brakes at 32 so I don't romance the trunk of a car, there's probably a reason. You want to win a pointless sprint by threading the needle? Well, it's not cool in my book, but I won't stop you.

To make me feel like a real dick, 2-3 other *VERY* experienced guys felt the urge to follow. My natural instincts to not do stupid sh*t were offended. It doesn't matter, most of those honchos beat up on us children (as if Harley wasn't doing a good enough job) for four or five laps, then went home too.

End rant.

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On another lap, I was in a similar position yankin' the group around with about 1k to go. I look back to see that I'm now leading only Mr. Butts and Nessie. These guys can roll.

I'm not sure if I pulled off or he just powered by me, but Nessie laid the smack-down and I'd already contributed my pair of legs worth of suffer.

Mr. Butts had been beating up on us, so I yell "Go Steve, go!"

Then I see him sit up. What the...? Why'd he do that? I talk to him after that sprint...

"You alright Steve?"
- - "Sorry..." - -
"For what? Why'd you stop?"
- - "I thought you said something..." - -
"I said go!"

Yep, Sorry Nessie. I wasn't trying to ruin your mojo! I just wanted you to give Mr. Butts a whoopin. I was rooting for you!

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After some laps, I found myself behind my Cat 5 teammate Nick Steber. He actually looks a lot like the other Nick S. except that he's a 1/2 scale of the big guy. Anyway, he's tiny - even smaller than me.

Some dude takes a decent pull past the airport, then Rob hits the wind with a fury. He's rolling. I'm eager to see what Nick is gonna do. He's looking around, tentative, probably wondering, "What the F am I doing sitting second wheel in a group of 40 guys, going 32 mph?!?!" You're doing exactly what you need to do, Nick, and your teammate is right behind you enjoying the ride.

I let him know I'm there. When Rob pulls off, Nick does exactly what he needed to do - he holds the tempo at a fierce pace. "Keep rollin'!" I yell because I do not wanna get stuck out in the wind too early - at least not since I had teammates in front of me.

He rolls, good and fast, for what feels like an eternity to him I'm sure. I hit the wind way early for a sprint, but Rob and Nick had cracked the glass. When I leave Nick's draft, I apply a sharp pinprick of force where its needed to shatter the cracked glass that is the Hains Point peloton. After a few hundred meters I look down for the shadow of chasing wheels - none.

When I cross the line I see big Cliff from R1V trailing behind. "I tried to lead you out Cliff, what happened?"

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Rob must have enjoyed watching that one after he caused some massive splits, so at this point we start to conspire.

I was pushing the pace at a decent tempo - nothing in the red - on the "easy" side all night. My main intention was ruin any casual conversation. (Just kidding, that would be hypocritical of me! It's simply safer and more fun when it's fast.)

I pull off around the bend and look back for gaps. Rob lets me slip in front of him. Cool.

A group of antsy riders are not satisfied with the lack of pain, so they start moving up on the right. We're on the left, but there are a number of guys scattered behind us that coudl swarm at any minute. The two lines up front are battling half-assed for superiority.

Rob sees me looking back to my right. Now I know he's there. Then he sees me look left to see if we're about to get swarmed. Nothing urgent, but inevitable. The pace is nothing to be impressed by. He says "go."

I obey. I roll past the indecisive lines of riders to our right. This is our statement.

Luckily, Rob's about my size, because I do not create much of a draft when I kick for a long drag. I get forward on the tip of my saddle, hands on the top of my hoods, head and body super low. I looked back once early to see if we had company, and I knew we'd created a gap. Cool.

This hurts like hell, but it's Rob's turn to have some fun. Keep at it, Siggy. I just keep going, accelerating until I can't. When Rob senses this, he kicks - like a freak and holds a LONG sprint. One rider held onto us, a guy from AABC.

His sprint is decisive, very decisive, and the AABC rider stays in his draft for what seems like too long. Then - no joke - Rob sits up about 10 meters before the line, looks back, and shows a hint of smile masked by asphyxiation. (And the AABC guy kicks for the line.)

Apparently, Rob did not know there was a line, so he did not care. He laid down a massive sprint, it was satisfying, and he didn't feel the need to keep sprinting any closer toward the upcoming stop sign. I guess it's a win for both of 'em.

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On the second to last sprint, we're riding around the tip of the Hains peninsula, I'm on Rob's wheel but the group is moving a bit too leisurely. Folks moved up on both sides of us and we've gotta be at least 15 riders back. No positioning to contend, and at Hains it's no positioning to stay upright either.

It is not an easy decision to leave the shelter of your own teammate's draft, but I see Dennis B. (Bike Rack) fly up on the right side - he's thinking the same thing as I am. SuperDave is up the road wheelsucking an eager guy that probably won't be able to hold an early move.

We make it up to the front of the group and relax for a few not-so-easy pedal strokes. It's NCVC Cat 4/5s leading the pace, letting SuperDave and his unfortunate companion linger in the wind. Priceless, I love it boys!

Dennis obviously saw what was up, and noticed an opportunity. He takes two breaths and hammers again, dragging us up to Dave's wheel as quickly as possible. A smooth, quick, clean bridge. Well played.

Dave and the other guy, though, must have been worse for wear. Their pace thins and Dennis keep rolling. Smart move, Dennis. Powerful kick, too.

I start wondering if he even realizes I am on his wheel. Or maybe he knows someone's behind him, and he's dragging the entire group around. Not so. Either way, I still haven't hit the wind and he's made a decent gap on a frantically chasing field.

I'm eager now, so when he hesitates, I kick. He holds my wheel, but had burnt his matches. Like Arashiro, the guy that did the work got gipped. Sorry Dennis, but man you played that smart.

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Obviously nothing extraordinarily exciting here, so stay posted for a Poolesville Race Report.