Two Wheel Blogs

Route: St. Charles Flats
Time: 1:23
Miles: 28
Pace: 20.3 mph

Riding Tunes: I did another lap through Marley and Afro-Celtic Sound System, as I had neglected to reload my iPod.

The last time I did the St. Charles ride with Steve O'Neal, we finished with an average speed just under 20 mph. "Next time, we'll be over 20," Steve said to me as we packed up in the parking lot. "Yeah, right," I said. I had no doubt Steve could and would. Me? I had my doubts.

My doubts were reinforced when I got to the parking lot and saw the flags: they were blowing sharply, snapping in the wind. "Not a good day for breaking 20," I said to Steve as we got ready to roll out. "How bad is this going to suck?" I asked him. "Well," he assured me, "it can only really suck in one direction." The wind was in front of us as we rolled out, so the pace of the lead pack was not as fast as in previous weeks. "Hey, maybe I can hang with them longer today," I thought. And I did -- for a little bit longer. I was trying to stay on Steve's wheel, and having pretty good success at it. But after we crossed the train tracks, the pace picked up, as it always does. A gap opened up between me and the lead pack and, as soon as it did, I now felt the full force of the wind in my chest. I pumped hard trying to jump the gap and get back on Steve's wheel, but I didn't have it in me. So I watched as the lead pack turned right and left me in the dust. "It's going to be a long ride," I thought to myself, "by myself."

As I approached the left turn onto Highway 94, I was delighted to see that Steve and Phil Owen were waiting there for me. They'd had a good run with the lead pack, and they probably could have hung with them a good while longer, but they chose to drop back. Whether they did so specifically to pick me up, I don't know and I don't care. The important thing is, they were there, and I would not have to finish the route by myself. We formed up a 3-man pace line and set off. The wind was in our favor at this point, so we set a good pace. Pretty soon, we picked up another rider, and then another. We took turns at the front, so we were able to keep the pace up in the neighborhood of 20 mph. On one of my turns leading, I was eating the wind and having a hard time maintaining 18 mph. Steve and Phil had both turned in some epic pulls, keeping the line moving at 20 for long stretches. I didn't want to let the line down, so I dug deep for all I could get. I did my best. That was all I could do.

Eventually, our pace line started to overtake some other riders. A few miles from the finish, we came upon a group that was riding together. They weren't in pace line formation when we passed them, but no long after we did, they were. Soon, they had pulled up along side us, so we had two lines going side by side. We rode that way until we made the final turn toward home. As we turned the corner, the pace picked up. And it stayed up. The two lines rode side by side as we pedaled on. "Wow," I thought, between heaving breaths, "it's almost like we're racing." Then from behind me, Steve shot to the front, sailing past the lead riders in a breakaway. They were immediately up in the pedals to chase him down. "Hey," I realized, "we ARE racing." And I was up in the pedals and after them.

For the second time in the ride, I pumped hard, trying to jump the gap between me and the pack ahead of me. I pumped with everything I had. I got to within maybe 20 feet of the rear rider on the pack, but I couldn't make it. Even if I had regained contact with the pack, I never would have been able to hang on. They had more heart, lungs, and legs than I had tonight. Still, I'd made the effort. That's what counts.

Back in the parking lot, I saw Steve riding his cool-down laps. "Good ride," I said. "yeah, He said, "I averaged just over 21." I checked my Cat's Eye and couldn't believe what I saw: 20.3. I knew we'd ridden hard. More important, I felt that we'd ridden hard. But as windy as it was at the outset, I never imagined we'd break 20. When I told Steve my average, he said, "That's the beauty of the pace line." Beauty, indeed. If I'd been left to finish the ride by myself, I'd have been lucky to manage a 17 mph average. But when I could share the lead with other riders -- especially ones like Steve and Phil, who are better, stronger than me -- I could ride much faster and for longer.

I've not ridden since Monday night. Tomorrow morning, I plan to do the Belk Park loop to see how well I've recovered. I may do the 6:00 group ride that heads out Fruit, too. Or I may not. Because Friday morning, at 6:00 a.m., I plan to roll out with Boz and others to meet the 51-mile route they call the epic Covered Bridge route. Boz promises me climbs like I've never seen before. The ride will break me. I'm sure of it. I can't wait.