In 2015 I joined a cycling group (OvCare) and did the Ride to Conquer Cancer, Vancouver to Seattle (see my post on that trip). It was a good year, and a decent introduction to more serious road cycling, after cycling a fair amount through my life. But at the end of last year, I didn’t have a Garmin or speed and cadence sensors; hadn’t been in a group with an experienced coach; and didn’t know what FTP was. I was cycling blind, just “bike riding” really.

That’s all changed; I worked pretty hard in 2016 and enjoyed every minute of it. Here’s my year in TrainingPeaks:

Highs

The Whistler GranFondo (Strava link) was the culmination of my group training with Paul Moffat‘s Velosophy group. It was slightly easier than I’d expected (or feared?), and I came in at about 4:33. Most of the ride went well; I sagged a bit in the last 10km or so, which I think was a combination of inadequate nutrition—I have to learn how to eat more on these long rides—and my seat (I’m trying different ones over the winter). I was well-prepared overall, and I suspect one of the things that really made a difference was that I didn’t drink any alcohol for ten days preceding the race. As a result of that experience and the TrainerRoad article “Is Alcohol the Reason You’re Not Getting Faster?” I cut down even further on drinking.

The Fraser Valley GranFondo (Strava link) was tough, but notable in that it was the first GranFondo I completed. I’ve written about my struggles on this ride here: see 2016 Fraser Valley GranFondo.

I bought a Wahoo KICKR early in the year and did a couple of FTP tests on it, but it wasn’t until October that I really started to utilize it. I’ve actually enjoyed the indoor rides, and I think it’s really making a difference in my form and endurance. Unfortunately, I had to take four weeks off as I strained my Achilles’ tendon a bit.

Lows

I’ve written about my crash in August and won’t add much here other than that I’ve pretty much fully recovered; I have a bit of a remnant, maybe scarring, and some slight discomfort if I lean too heavily on my right arm where I hit the pavement.

By the end of the TrainerRoad “Sweet Spot Base Mid-Volume I” training program, which I did through October and November, I had developed Achilles’ tendon issue. I went to physio and only did some light rides; over time it improved and actually prompted me to make some adjustments in my pedalling technique on the left side.

The other low point this year was the Triple Crown (Strava link). I was jet-lagged, trying to fight off a cold, and I got two flats. It is a tough enough ride as it is, and I expect it’ll go a lot better this year if I take it on.

Conclusion

What a difference a year makes: I’ve come a long way in just twelve months, I am very much looking forward to 2017. I’m considering which events to participate in; I may do the Fraser Valley again or perhaps the Okanagan one (my sister lives in Penticton). I am thinking that a fully-supported ride like Trek or Haute Route might be a great vacation. And I want to see how well I can do to Whistler: as close to four hours as I can.

I’d better stop writing and get on my trainer.

It was inevitable. I knew that, but I had put it out of my mind and only fully realized it later. On August 6 I was out with Paul Moffat‘s Velosophy crew and we had just had a nice run from Vancouver up to Lions Bay and back. We were headed towards Cypress to do some intervals. Everything was going smoothly along the Upper Levels Highway, just east of the Westmount/Westridge exit. I was right behind the lead rider, maybe 30cm. I had a quick drink from my bottle, reached down to put it back, couldn’t find the cage. I looked down, put it back, looked up, and … overlap.

Down I went.

Paul flew over me—”Fuck!”—and the next thing I remember, I was regretting smashing my new Oakleys and screwing up the team’s ride. A good sign, in retrospect. I was very lucky. My black box … er, Garmin … registered a final speed of 39.6km/h. On a busy freeway. The shoulder was pretty wide, and we generally fell away from traffic. I was pretty scraped up on both arms and on my right leg, and later discovered a big bruise on my hip; my front tire was shredded and flat; my garments were torn, and there was possibly a crack in the frame of my 2014 Opus Allegro 1.0. (I ended up buying a new bike, but that’s a story for another post.)

The crew walked down to the exit, and I cleaned up a bit at the gas station there (several customers very kindly offered me bandages and antiseptic). I was high on adrenaline, feeling great: part of this was clearly relief at having escaped without any broken bones or worse. But also shock, probably.

Paul stayed with me until my girlfriend came to pick me up. I cleaned up at home, but had a fairly normal night, and I went out for dinner, while making sure to wear long sleeves to avoid shocking people too much! It wasn’t until the next day that the aching set in. Advil and rest did the trick. But I still feel fortunate, and three weeks later the scabs are almost gone.

So, what did I learn?

Focus. Every second is critical when you’re rolling along so quickly. This is my first serious year of cycling, and I’d obviously started to take some things for granted. By summer, we were cycling more quickly, and closer together, than we had been in early spring. The decreased margin for error had sneaked up. In future I’ll leave some room if I really need to drink or eat, or just wait until hills or more social parts of a ride.

Be at 100%. Preceding the ride I’d had a week of making up training sessions at the gym from a vacation. I was nursing a slightly sore knee. This kind of deficit may not even be entirely obvious, but it’s important to be aware of your condition and how it may affect your ride, and your team’s.

Recover. Take care of yourself following a crash, but make sure you get out on your bike again, re-acclimatize, and rebuild confidence; apply the lessons you’ve learned; and talk to your coach, if you have one, about the incident and how you can improve. You may crash again—arguably, you almost certainly will—but you can work to reduce the likelihood. You’ll re-learn to trust yourself, and your fellow riders; and you may have to do some work to regain their trust as well.

 

Thanks to Paul Moffat for reviewing a draft of this post.

I cycled my first Gran Fondo, the Prospera Fraser Valley, on July 24. I rode the Ride to Conquer Cancer last year, but the first day of that ride was cut short by weather, and the second, while 133km, was slow as I was with a friend, and I hadn’t yet become serious about cycling: I was riding blind, without sensors.

This year I’ve been training with Paul Moffat‘s Velosophy group. In the Fraser Valley I was aiming for as close to five hours as I could get. The first 90km or so went well: I maintained an average speed of 33km/h, felt pretty strong, and joined a couple of good pelotons. My bike performed well: I’d had two flats on the Triple Crown the week before. But after about 100km, while I don’t think I bonked exactly, I found the going pretty tough.

What happened? I thought I’d compile a list of mistakes I made and things that went wrong, both for my own benefit and for others embarking on their first long ride.

I didn’t eat enough. I was well-stocked with enough carbs for five or six hours, but after my first couple of bars (Pro Bars, which are great) I found it difficult to get them down. A greater variety of food, including some bananas, for example, would have helped. I think I had enough water with me: a bottle with Vega electrolyte hydrator; and two with Gu‘s Roctane Energy drink mix.

I didn’t stop enough. I cycled non-stop for 137km, at which point I re-filled my bottles. As a result, I missed out on some fresh food (such as bananas), dropped out of a couple of good pelotons when they pulled over at the earlier rest stops, and perhaps simply missed out on having a couple of needed breathers.

I rode alone. In a group, you can save up to 30% of effort. As a long ride progresses, it’s probably natural for cyclists to space out to some extent. But in my next GranFondo I’ll be watching for and sticking with an appropriate peloton.

I let the hills get to me. The big hill after turning away from the Trans-Canada, around McKee Peak in the Straiton area, was a bit rough; between about 132 and 150km there was a series of smaller climbs. Not long after the ride, I came across the article “The Science and Physiology Behind Becoming a Better Climber” on the TrainingPeaks blog, which has some helpful information—including this bit on mental strength:

One of the things that makes great climbers successful is their ability to tackle the mental obstacles that come with climbing. Many riders are defeated before the climb begins due to negative self-talk and a poor attitude. Develop the mental strength and psychological tools needed to tackle any ascent. Work on steady and calm breathing, remembering that often times once your breathing deteriorates so does your performance. Also, try to remain positive going into the climb. Don’t let your nerves get to you!

Gap in training. I took a two-week vacation in June-July, during which I did essentially no cycling. The Triple Crown was my first ride back, and at 127km with more than a 2,300m elevation gain after three weeks off my bike it had been a challenge. I did a short ride to warm up for Fraser Valley, but as you can see from my TrainingPeaks data from the start of my season through to the day before the Fondo, my fatigue (Acute Training Load) and form (Training Stress Balance) were perhaps too high (or low, as the case may be); and my fitness (Chronic Training Load) had slipped:

A couple of physical issues. My left knee, hurting a bit after the Triple Crown, started bothering me again; and my right quad cramped up a bit. I’ll be seeing a physiotherapist.

I finished in about 5:55—well off my initial target, but perhaps almost respectable for a first-timer. Looking forward to Whistler in September, I’ll be sure to address the points above.

Last weekend, I cycled from Vancouver to Seattle—well, actually Surrey to Redmond, with a bit of a gap in the middle—in support of the BC Cancer Foundation.

It was my first year doing the Ride to Conquer Cancer, and I was well-prepared: I’ve been cycling for years but I trained hard for this event, participating in a number of 70-90km team rides. A couple of weeks before the event I got an amazing new bike, which seemed to make cycling effortless. But the real story was the weather. Apparently the Ride was moved from June as it had been raining that month consistently for several years. But as the last weekend in August approached, it became clear that we would see the first real rain in months. So I was ready for a slog through the wet.

And at the start, at the Cloverdale Rodeo & Exhibition Fairgrounds, it certainly was raining. With over 2000 cyclists participating, the first few kilometres were slow, and I started to get a bit cold. But once we arrived at the border, the rain stopped, and it was almost completely dry for the remainder of the two-day trip.

The first day, there was an optional “Challenge” route, and partly on the prompting of friends, I chose to give it a shot. Just south of the Peace Arch, I swung East.

I heard that only something like 60-100 people tackled the Challenge route this year. The whole ride was very well supported, but there was one stretch on this route, about 60km, between pit stops. At times I cycled with others; other times I cycled alone. I took off my rain jacket and enjoyed the day. As this was a ride for cancer research, I thought about my mother, who died of cancer in 2007.

Somewhere south of Sumas, heading up some long, brutal hills and into the trees, there was a fair amount of debris on the road. I pressed on alone and somewhere past Everson, cycling into the gusting wind started to be an ordeal. I met up with about ten other riders and we headed south along Noon Road. Battered by the wind and at risk of being blown into the ditch or into a car, we stopped. It was so gusty that at times it was hard to stand and hold onto our bikes. We huddled in the ditch for about an hour, and a county sheriff stopped by to check in on us. Support crew started picking up some of us to take us on to where the Challenge and “Classic” routes met up for lunch. But we’d set out to ride to Seattle, and we didn’t want to miss more of the ride than we had to, so a few of us decided to press on to Bellingham. From there, we were shuttled down to the Mount Vernon camp. I was disappointed not to have cycled the whole way, but I got in 113km.

It rained overnight, and after a bit of a restless sleep—my tent neighbours were partying pretty hard—the sky cleared and we set off again. I awoke to see on my iPhone the news of Oliver Sacks‘ death from liver cancer, and resolved to cycle in his memory.

Everyone cycled the same route on the second day. It was a bit longer than planned, due to detours because of the storm the previous day. We passed some flattened corn fields south of Mount Vernon. It was a more social day, which was enjoyable. There was one segment along a beautiful paved path through the woods. Sadly, during the ride I received an email informing me that a relative was in the final stages of terminal cancer. So the second day was a reminder of why we were all riding.

I did almost 137km on the second day. We reached Redmond in the late afternoon and my daughter picked me up; I’m glad I didn’t have to pile into a shuttle and head back to Surrey.

The only downside was some scratches on my beloved new bike from the Bellingham to Mount Vernon transport. Overall it was a great experience, including the adventure-by-weather. I’m really grateful to everyone who helped get me to the minimum $2500 fundraising goal. I now have a bit of a bug for long-distance cycling, and I may even consider doing this one again. It’s a good cause, and there is a lot of enjoyable camaraderie.

But probably my favourite part of the journey was the Saturday morning, riding alone through Washington State farmland in the unexpected dry, before the wind picked up. Far away under my own power in the quiet, alive.