Like with all things that we love, there are elements that we decidedly unlove in amongst all the goodness. Road Cycling is reasonably generous in this regard, here are some of my favourite pet hates from the Road world:
- Riding with cunts who can’t pace line (a close cousin to people who ride in the group on aero bars)
- Mismatched Bar/Stem/Seat post set ups
- Riding in the rain/getting caught in the rain 5km’s from home
- People changing gear with SRAM Red
- Cunts who Half wheel and then blow out the ass when the pace really goes on (although, its strangely satisfying to see)
- Waiting for people who are late for a ride or dropped and when they arrive/catch up, they smash past you and up the road
- Mismatched branded jersey/shorts – Especially if its team kit from different years. Close cousins to this disaster are wearing world champs jersey or any winners jersey if you haven’t earned it or aren’t in the race where you did earn it AND, poorly fitted helmet, including daggy helmet straps
If I was a real Nazi I could go on and on and on like an enraged mother inlaw, but I’m not here to bitch and moan about all the bad parts. No, there is one thing worse than all of the about about Road cycling that screws me:
Or, more to the point, not gaining it… Or managing it… Or the impact it has on performance. Yes, this is where accusations of drama queenness will start to queue up to punch me in the face, but I had another experience today where I was reminded of the importance of self control.
Two months ago I had a 30 minute test to see how fast I could ride and how much Power I could put out over that period, yes, this was my entry into being one of THOSE people, who are no doubt rubbing their hands together and mumbling “Yes cunt” right about now. The result was okish, but a lot of room for improvement. Today was a repeat of that test, 2 months and a lot of riding later. Alarmingly though, when I got on the scales pre-test, I was around 4kg’s heavier… WTF? How can this be?! I had an inkling it wasn’t going to be good… But 4kg’s?
Big deal I hear you think… Well, my bike weighs 6.2kg’s, so if I said to anyone riding a bike “Mind if I make that fucker 60% heavier before you go for a ride?” chances are they would slap me harder than Asa Akira (DN note – Probably not worth googling if at work, unless you hate your job). That’s right, break out the Sugar-Free Haterade, you can imagine what’s coming next. First though, here is what the enemy looks like:
Yip, put in lime icing and raspberries and I am pretty much fucked. I have to walk past this bakery every time I leave the Dirty HQ and the staff are basically waiting for me. They don’t even take my order any more, they just start to plate up this motherfucker on sight and then giggle as I inhale it with perhaps 1.5 bites… With a tasty sweet home made lemonade beverage to wash this down…
Point being, weight is the enemy of cyclists. Yes, worse than Mercs driven by cunts that don’t know what an indicator is or triathletes, porking it on = more pain. I got to experience this today in the RETEST. Yip, ride for 30 mins as hard as you can and see where the dust settles. The problem with doing this test as a team is everyone feels the pressure and is going to be comparing at the end. Its the ultimate cock measuring exercise and no one wants to come up Scottish when the lap buttons are hit, the regroup is done and that question comes up:
“So… How did you go?”
This is probably why the ride out is silent… Some small talk yes, but the silence was eerie, especially the closer we got to starting. Its an odd sensation how you’re able to ride harder than normal in a group ride, like Crazies… But strip away the group dynamic and ask people to do the same solo and its a different story.
I shall spare you the description of me floundering around like a first time Cat 3 rider and the tormented inner monologue that went along with it, which got more dramatic as I worked out halfway through that it wasn’t going that well… I was desperately looking for one of these:
Yes, if I could just hunt the little bastard down I could focus on pacing to catch and pass as opposed to my own flailing. Last time I took a minute out of him and its the perfect motivator in such a test. Alas, this time the Goat jumped the fence and fucked off into the distance… Whilst I looked at the numbers on my Garmin in a combination of horror, disgust and despair as I tried to get through the rest of the test. Alas, I essentially just impersonated a Wookie trying to swim through cement, badly.
In the end, not the best on the test… Slightly worse than last time. Queue irrational response and bad tempered ride home. Anyone would have thought that I had just missed out on being selected for the Giro squad FFS. I conveniently ignored that riding has been patchy at best in amongst the man flu of late, more than happy to indulge in the annoyance of not smashing the test in the face.
So, celery and espresso will now be on the menu in between now and the next race as we frantically over-correct and probably end up fatigued through malnourishment. Yes, no middle ground here! Its the Dirty all or nothing approach at its best! Cancel those dinner invites, take back your gifts of Salt & Vinegar chips and change my address to the Diet Dojo…
And yes – I am so bored that I managed to do a whole post based on a training ride and eating cakes… The downsides of not traveling clearly evident!