Tour de Breakaway

Well, 2012 is officially upon us, and since we all know the end of the world is nigh—fellow eschatologists, the Mayan calendar ends!—we have two options, per T. S. Elliot, for how we want to go out—with a bang or a whimper. I can’t say what the dear reader’s game plan is for certain, but I certainly know how I plan on going out: whimpering, all the way up the heavens. 

Yes I want to be whimpering, just as I was this past Thursday after one of the finest workouts of my life. At our very own training center, on a Thursday afternoon, 3:30 p.m. (how’s that feel, office workers?), I went toe to toe with some of the finest coaches and riders this side of the anti-doping spectrum (that is, the “anti” side). I lined up on the computrainers with Cole, a 21 year old professional mountain biker to my right. That’s right,  his career is to do what most of us cyclists dread—ascend mountains on roads with no traction, then down the other side avoiding switchback cliffs, boulders with sharp edges, and bears. And he loves his job more than you, I almost guarantee. Plus he's 21, so he eats pizza all day every day and still has 12" calves and a 27" waist. As if that weren't enough, to my left, Joe, a world champion bicyclist. Yes, literally the best at what he does, viz., bikes, in the whole freaking world. And because we are a geocentric people, I’ll amend that to universe. What had I gotten myself into? And to his left, Javier—a very strong cat 3 racer, who may not be the world’s fastest, but with the departure or Sir Tyler Bauer, is now our best looking employee--distractingly good looking in fact, so at least he had that going for him.

I wasn’t totally without advantage though. Cole has next to no experience riding the computrainers, and the unusual nature of the drafting functions and the different dynamics of racing with drafting turned on. And then there was the course: 3 climbs, 2 descents, none of them, obviously, particularly technical. The world champ attacked from the gun, catching Cole off guard. Presumably he was distracted by Javier eau, which even during training is wondrously pleasant. The two of them were dropped instantly. I won’t bore you with the minutiae of the racing—Joe dropped everyone one by one, Jav, then Cole, then, on the final descent, me, until he won alone by just under a minute. I came in ahead of Cole, having been towed around by Joe for an extra 20 miles. Today, as I write this, my legs are rendering me whimpering, even with the aid of my compression socks.

Why were we riding? Training, obviously. Racing is excellent training. But it was also to gain experience riding the course that will serve as Stage 3 of the 3rd annual Tour de Breakaway.The Tour de Breakaway is a 120km indoor stage race, held over 3 days from February 5-7. Each stage could prove decisive. The first is a 10km Time Trial, the same one used for a qualifier for callups at the Athens Twilight Criterium. At the TdB, previous years’ winning times have been around 14:20. The shop record is 14:11. The second stage is a gently rolling 60km course, where riders who got odd placings in the TT form the lead group and ride one bay of 8 trainers, while even placings race on the other bay. The challenge is two-fold: win your bay to garner time bonuses, but also go faster than the other bay, whose time you cannot see, in order to maintain your position on GC against your 2 nearest competitors, both of whose pace will be invisible to you. The third stage is a monster, the course that cracked us all that Thursday (but for the bossman/world champ), a 50km 3-climb stage, with 3,500’ of climbing and 12% grades at the final summit.

Is it for competition and pride, bragging rights and fodder for trash talk amongst overcompetitive people? In part. Is it a great weekend of training? Did I not mention the whimpering legs? But is it fun? Absolutely. All of these things—but most importantly, it is for charity. Our shop is hosting the event for free, and our coaches are volunteering their hours to make this event happen. The cost is $60 a rider, and the entirety of the proceeds will be donated to help underserved junior cyclists afford to race their bikes as much as possible this year. The program it’s serving is known as the Junior Membership Initiative, an aspect of the developmental cycling club QCW Cycling. If you have not read about this project and the wonderful club volunteers who support these fine young men and women, please read about their story on their website, www.qcwcycling.org. 

Spots are selling out fast, so if your’e reading this late, you best hurry. I hope any and all those interested have an opportunity to do this race, but space is limited to the first 16 riders to register. If you don’t plan on racing but would like to support the cause, see the JMI website for information on making a donation. 

Oh, and speaking of donations, I plan on betting on the results of this race as if the riders were horses. (After all, at least three of the competitors have equine nicknames.) Your’e welcome to make a donation to me by taking anyone else besides Joe for the victory in a “friendly” wager.

Thoughts of an RPMer

This is my fourth year of running the 6:30 a.m. RPM classes. I couldn't possibly recollect every single workout I've had the class do, and I'd never expect one of the athletes to do the same. But there is one workout that everyone who comes through the class does three times, and that workout is known colloquially as the 20 minute test. We use this workout as a way to calculate you maximal sustained 1-hour power, better known as Functional Threshold Power, or "FTP." We do this workout once the first week of class, once in the middle, and once at the end to track your fitness progress. 

Over my four years, I've occasionally chosen to workout with the class. I can only do this if there are a limited number of people in the class, if I know ahead of time that there are going to be a limited number of people in the class so I can prepare, & if I am motivated to do an incredibly intense workout at 6:30 a.m. As I was quoted on Facebook recently, ""That's what I've been making those poor people do every morning at 6a.m.? I'm so, so sorry..." While i"m a morning person, it's just hard for me to push myself supremely hard before noon. And so these occasions where I ride with my class are rare, and since only 12% of the classes are 20-minute tests, my opportunities to ride a 20-minute test as the RPMers do--not privately but on display for all to see how I do--are few and far between. But for the third time in four years, I did the 20 minute test, this time alongside the collegiate RPM class, with 5 riders from the University of Pennsylvania cycling team.  In what follows, I try to recapture my thoughts as the test progressed. 


0:00 Arghhhh here we go. Up out of the saddle get that number up high and hold it., 450 watts 4 seconds in and I feel great. Wow, I must be really good at this. Could it be? Yes, I'm a natural, like Robert Redford! Legs going like two great steam locomotives, pumping away, I'm ... unstoppable, I'm....that number sure is falling fast? I can't seem to... JEEZ this is getting hard. I ...I should sit. I can't do 450. OWWW is that a stitch? Crap I'm gonna be sick. I want to stop. I'm literally going to die. No one has ever possibly hurt this much ever. Oh what an idiotic boob I was back--what time are we at?--11 seconds ago. 


OK, the urge to die is fading along with the average wattage. Pace yourself pace yourself pace yourself. That's what I tell everyone. Pace yourself. And i do tend to repeat things when encouraging people. What else do I say when i'm trying to be helpful. Surely I must be inspiring or people wouldn't be coming to class. "This is it," I say. "Here we go." I continue on: "come on!" Brilliant. 19 minutes to go and what have I come up with? The lyrics to the last Black Eyed Peas "song." Man Fergie is weird looking. I wonder what my face looks like right now. I should probably relax my face. That's something else I say to everyone. So I don't wanna look like this permanently.


Speaking of songs, the first one's over. Must be--yep, 4 minutes in now. Does Eminem's Lose Yourself still count as a great pump up song? It was great when I was in high school. These kids were like 8 when I was in high school. Ugh. Man I was strong in high school. Now i"m just achey all over all of the time. I'm especially uncomfortable right now. Why do we do this? The bikesnob nyc was right: "road racing is not done for fun. It's done out of obligation." I am obliged to keep cycling because i can't let these guys see me quit even though they really want to too. We're trapped in a loveless engagement we're obliged to complete, just waiting for it to end without throwing up all over ourselves. Sort of like going to a really sad casino. Or my relationship with my ex from high school. I wonder if she's on facebook.


Right, I've been quiet for a while now. I should say something. Come on Matt Foley, motivate! "Almost......half....way.....guys!" Great, no death stares. No stink eye. I must be helping. God I'm good at that. I should just jump off so I can cheer them on better. Yeah. I'll just wind down the legs, unclip, say I "just wasn't feeling it" or claim cramps. They can't prove I didn't have them. Cramps are a surprisingly enigmatic physiological phenomenon. NO! I told everyone I was doing this. They'll all ask. I can't tell everyone i had cramps. Nick's doing this tomorrow. I'll hate him even more if he does it and I wimp out. Must keep spinning.


Seven minutes to go. Number seems to be holding steady finally. Must be--yes! The Miley Cyrus song is up next. It was fun listening to that in the hotel after races. Why are my fondest memories all of events following races rather than the races themselves? I think I remember reading an article about that. Something about shared experience of duress bringing people closer together. Like brothers in arms. Maybe everyone here will bond over this and we can start a 6 piece all-male a cappella group. 


"Charlie, I hate you for this!"


Crap. Yeah, I hate me for this too, Stephan. I hate me for this too.


Hey, seventeen minutes in! I'm seventeen minutes in. That's basically twenty. I can probably get away with stopping and the number would be more or less the same as it would for a true 20-minute effort. Wait, what am I about to say? What is going on? Mouth, this a bad idea. Don't do what I think you're about to do!


"Let's go guys, everybody raise their wattage these last 3 minutes. Absolutely as hard as you can go til you explode. This is where you earn your bike racing stripes! Bury yourself deep for 3 minutes!" Crap. And now I'm listening to my own words. So trite and yet somehow everyone is listening. Even me. I can do this. I'm going to raise my average wattage. I can do anything for just three minutes. Then the badness and the hurt will go away.Let's see 450 again!


Whoaaa, MISTAKE, ok, let's try for 400...ok, maybe 375...you know what, I'm not even gonna look at the number. Just stare at the clock and drive it. 1 minute to go. Did the volume just get louder on the speakers? Say what you want about her stupid hair but holy crap Rihanna can produce one helluva dance mix. 30 seconds. I should stand. Crap my legs don't want me to stand. Short term power is greater when you stand even though it is a less efficient pedaling style. I must stand. Shift up. 53x14. 53x13. 12. 11. That's it. Push through it. Go go go! ow ow ow! 5...4...3...2...........1..........arrrrrRRRRRGHGHHG!!!!






Bbbbbbuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhh ;dfka;fkajoiaerjdvkoae49u4kng049u






"Guys, that was awesome. I'm so glad we did that together." 


**************************************************************************************************************


Immediately upon saying those words, I realized that they were true.


See you at RPM.

Looking ahead

Halloween has come and gone, so wash off that caked on stage makeup, the embro on your legs you needed in order to wear your sexy bumblebee costume in SNOWTOBERFEST, and that stale sick sweet stench of jaeger and regret, because it's time to start not only the Christmas season in stores, but your training season with Breakaway.


Yes, Nov. 1 is the unofficial beginning of 2012 for we competitive roadies. And we're all hoping to make it a special one, what with some of us racing with world championship bars, and also because the world is ending in 2012, making this our last chance. So you best start preparing for your racing season. To do so, you'll want to consider doing a handful of the following:

Equip yourself. It's going to be cold, dark, wet, and slippery riding over the next several months. You're going to need jackets, tights, leg warmers, are warmers, vests, base layers, gloves, hats, shoe covers, chemical toe warmers, embrocation to stay warm, lights to beat the dark, and wider tires, fenders, and bike cleaner to deal with the wet or salted roads. Come in the shop or order online.

Generate an Annual Training Plan, or ATP. This plan helps you target specific races. You can't be in peak form for every race, so figuring out when to go hard and when to taper is essential. This is especially useful if you know you will be compelled off the bike at certain points in the year by work or family-related conflicts. Need help doing this? Call the shop or email me to set up a consultation meeting.

Hire a coach. Perhaps you don't need a consultation so much as you just need someone to tell you when to work and how, when to rest, to hold you accountable for doing all these things, and to remind you that in your less weak moments, you really do want to become stronger, lighter and faster, and that bailing on your workout or the late night alcohol-fueled binge on hot pockets (seriously, that seemed like a good idea? Eating a hot pocket? Seriously?) will only lead to future regret and even harder work on down the line. That's what a coach is for. Coaches provide well-informed structure, discipline, and accountability. They will help you maximize your gains and your efficiency in realizing them. They are worth far more than the 4 seconds over 40k you gain by buying that $3,000 wheelset...sexy as those zipp 808s are.

Cross train. Let's face it, some days just are not suitable for riding bikes outside, and a 4 hour trainer ride in your basement can be a soul-sucking experience. But we are fit and active people--or we aspire to be, do we not? So we might as well tailor our cross training activities such to benefit our cycling goals. Consider hiring a Breakaway coach to explain how.

Reserve your spot for RPM. Between now and Dec. 15, prices will be $375 for a 12 week, 2h a week weekday session, or $325 for a weekend 2h session. Last year RPM was more popular than ever, with 24 classes a week being held from January through March. And if you've been following our newsletter (or if you want to, go to BreakawayBikes.com and enter your email into the spot under "SUBSCRIBE"), you'll know that our RPM and coached athletes have had incredible successes throughout the year, and will definitely be back next year.

Collectively, following these suggestions early will get you on the road to a more successful 2012.

Breaking News form the Masters Cycling World Championships

Breakaway Bikes & Fitness' owner and proprietor Joe Wentzell is the champion of the world. During the masters 40-44 scratch race on the 250 metre steeply banked oval in Manchester, UK, Joe single handedly lapped the field of finalists, all who advanced with high placings in preliminary heats held earlier in the day. As he crossed the line, he pointed to his loving wife Cynthia and  his kids Paxton and Skylar.

This normally loquacious staff blogger is at a loss for words. We are deeply humbled and impressed. Congratulations Joe. Now enjoy the final day of racing, then your much-deserved vacation from all things bicycle.

The offseason means *off* the bike

For many cyclists across the country, the season is coming to a close. It’s time to put the bike away, put the spandex in the dark recesses of the closet, and give your legs the break they deserve.

This is harder for some than others. Many of the athletes I train have been looking forward to this time of year since about the fourth of July—and with good reason. Most serious athletes spend hours and hours of training, racing, and traveling to races. They stress over an upcoming event, wondering how it might play out and how they’ll do; they solicit advice from the entire internet community about which equipment to use, spend half their paycheck at the bike store when that equipment fails them, and dwell over chances missed when things don’t go their way. When success does pay a visit, it’s celebrated only very briefly—“why yes, after climbing 7000 feet over three cols on my way to victory, I will take extra reduced fat dressing on my spinach and arugla salad”—before it’s back to the regimented diet and training schedule.

 [A typical climber's rest-day meal]

But others don't. They think that if they take time off while the competition keeps training, they will lose their edge. These are the folks to whom I am directing this entreaty to relax. It’s important, both physically and mentally. Physically, you need time to heal. Exercising involves the breakdown of muscle tissue. The state you put your metabolism in is called catabolic, from the Greek words kata meaning down, and ballein, meaning to throw (related words include 'catastrophe' and 'cataclysmic'). You are throwing down your body over and over. Fortunately, your body is like a Phoenix, rising stronger through an “anabolic” (different kind of "throwing up" than the normal colloquial understanding, though both occur after workouts) process, where new and more muscle cells grow in place of the broken down ones. The proper rotation of exercise and rest enables you to reach peak physical condition. One balances catabolism with anabolism to get stronger. But around this time of year, after training and competing for 8-10 months, anabolism wins out. Your body is tired, broken, in need of healing, rest, recovery. Likely, it’s begging for it. Give it the opportunity to do so. Feed it that bit of extra fuel. Take the elevator instead of the stairs. Embrace Septa (but bring and sanitizer). Yes, you will lose a bit of fitness—but sometimes you have to embrace your Phoenix-like nature. Sometimes, you have to get slower first in order to go faster later.

Equally important to the physical break is the mental one hanging up the velo gives you. There are no races to stress over. For the next several months, there are no equipment choices you could make that ultimately cost you 3 grams of rolling resistance and thus your PR on the West River Time Trial. There is no need to figure out how 8 people and 16 bikes are going to get to Vermont for the weekend in 2 Prii (google tells me that, for some reason more than one Prius is not called ‘Priora’; Classics departments across the country weep for the neuter nominative case). Mentally, it’s best to stray as far from your bike as possible, until you start to miss it. And even then, wait. You really gotta wait until you miss that bike and can't stand being apart from it anymore.

 [We're talking Lloyd Dobbler-esque missing of your bike]

Because I can promise you this: your spouse, partner, job, friends—they miss you missing it. They want the you who isn’t on a bike but is intend tending to them with redoubled efforts. So catch up on work. Have a family camping weekend during which you don’t sneak off for a couple of hours to get some threshold climbs in. Go out to dinner and order an appetizer and 2 desserts! (leftovers can be sent to 1923 Chestnut St). Trust me, this break will pay dividends in the end, buying you bonus points to store up until the next time you have to beg your boss to let you take off a week to fly to Spain for a week of altitude training with the rest of the Breakaway Bikes staff.

So please, everyone, enjoy this time off. Because 2012 prep phase cross training starts before you know it.

Chaingate II

Chaingate II: or, The Entirely True Nonfiction Totally Not Fabricated or Embellished in Any Way Tale of How I Lost to Lance Armstrong under Dubious Circumstances

In July of 2010, Andy Schleck was wearing the yellow jersey as the leader of the Tour de France when his only rival remaining in contention saw him drop his chain. The customary action in this circumstance is to wait for one’s rival—especially when one’s rival is leading la Tour—but in an incident known as Chaingate, the Spaniard attacked as Andy dismounted to put his chain back on. Though Schleck made furious chase, Contador, with the aid of two other riders, stole 39 seconds back from Andy with just a time trial stage remaining to impact the general classification. When the time trial finished, Contador had overtaken Schleck as the leader—by 39 seconds.

Last Sunday, I was victimized by a scandal of even greater magnitude and gravity, wherein I lost precious time on account of a dropped chain and due to the ungallant actions of none other than Lance Armstrong.

I am not making any of this up.

I’ll wind back to explain. Juan Pelota, as his Spanish nurses call him, was in town for the annual Livestrong Challenge. I was riding the route with three fellow Philadelphia area racers, Kyle, Warren, and Breakaway’s very own national champion Joe. Our plan was to attack from the gun and stay out front of the more recreational riders who might impede our attempts to power away from the great Mellow Johnny. We got an early gap and began a rotating paceline, making good headway. Back in the peloton, Lance turned to his partner John College:

“College, isn’t that the guy that crash & cracked his pelvis in an individual time trial at the Tour de Toona while on pace to get 23^rd?”

“Yeah. I heard he got 6^th at Lower Providence last year too.”

“zOMG! That’s the move!”

So Lance, College, and a few other area strongmen furiously chased us through the Montgomery County countryside, eventually making contact as I set tempo on a little roller through Green Lane Park. Lance, after sitting on the chase the whole time, surely, rides past me. I could hear him breathing heavily, and it seemed an eternity before he was able to slip from my hip to square his bars with mine. “Good morning,” he said, trying to sound nonplussed but betraying a deep fatigue already setting in after just 10 miles. “OK,” I thought, “It’s on.”

[Kyle's shot of Joe eying Lance as I drag him around on the front]

Undeterred by my initial efforts to distance the 7-time tour winner, and confident in my endurance, having raced several back-to-back (sometimes greater than) ninety minute races on weekends in assorted mid-Atlantic and New England college towns, I set about working with the 3-week grand tour stage race specialist, rotating with him and the others for the next hour and blistering pace. After a short while, each of his loyal domestiques cracked, and it was down to six of us—Lance, me, Warren, Joe, Kyle, and College.

Trying to shake our confidence, Lance made a crack about my hairy legs (most racers, including myself, shave their legs). I have not shaved mine on account of not racing since my crash two months ago, and pointed this fact out to Lance, along with my inability to really train much for this contest of champions. Immediately after his comment, I attacked on a short, super steep climb. I attacked the 7-time Tour champ, philanthropist, and cancer survivor. And I attacked him hard.

Immediately I had a sizable gap, as Lance was unable to respond to my searing acceleration. The motorcyclist cops blocking traffic for us and Lance’s persona support vehicle (including a really cute blonde inside) were not sure what to do. They had never seen Lance struggle so mightily. Col d’Aubisque, Ventoux, the Galibier, Col du Tourmalet, l’Alpe—Ulrich, Mayo, Pantani, Basso, Contador? Child’s play. Entr’actes. Pretenders. Afterthoughts. Also-rans. This was the big showdown of both our 28-year combined racing careers (89.3% of which are his years). Me and the patron, the Philly Livestrong Challenge—with its 8,000 feet of climbing—this was no place for inferior climbers. My attack managed to shell not only Lance but my friends & allies as well. On the subsequent descent, unfortunately, Lance caught my mates off guard slipping back then tucking in behind his Nissan support car and motorpaced back to my wheel,

 [Raise your hand if you want to slow down and take a power bidon from your personal support vehicle]

“Please” he spat out between breathless gasps “I’ve got a support car full of food & water. It has to stay with me. Just work with me. I’ll do my best to pull and you can have all the amenities. And I’ll reward you handsomely. Do you like Michelob Ultra?”

Z’ounds! He must have done his homework. He knew I had but 2 bottles a fondness for Honey Stinger Waffles (and his blonde supporter). But he should know that I would never, ever drink Michelob Ultra. Seriously.

And so Lance & I worked together for the next couple of hours. I must admit to get through the next 60 miles or so I was thankful for the company. Sure I had to wait for him at the top of practically every hill and I’ve had better town line sprint contests against our women’s junior team, but at least it would make for some cool photos. Plus I knew one of the major climbs crested in a town called “Landis Store,” and naturally I wanted to hear what his reaction would be when we passed through. (FWIW, I don’t recall exactly what it was but I remember it was kind of funny.)

As the miles ticked by, Lance and I chatted a bit, about nothing particularly memorable. I asked him about his kids, how he finds time to train given his busy schedule, and whether he took performance enhancing drugs during his reign as king of the Grand Boucle. Answers: His several kids are doing well; their first day of school was the next day, so he was flying to Austin that night to get back to them, then on to Aspen, his summer residence, for the US Pro Cycling Challenge. His training is inconsistent, though he’d prepped hard for the past several months, like when he was doing repeats on the Madone to gauge his fitness pre-Tour. (This ride obviously meant something to him.) And he said that he did not take performance enhancing drugs.

(OK, seriously, if you believed that, just stop reading. Not his answer. That I would ask him that. I’m cheeky but I am not, in point of fact, a moron. But if you believed me, well...this entire blog post is lost on you. May I suggest alternative reading material, like Highlights?)

Now, the Landis Store climb was not far from where the 70-mile route rejoined with the 100-mile route. It also was the ceiling of the Challenge, the highest point, the peak of the longest, toughest climb. We crested side by side and then went the wrong way. Surprise! The Landis people led us astray.

A dozen or so miles later, Joe, Warren, & Kyle came into view. They had opted to take the 70 mile route, refuel, then, as loyal teammates do, they waited up the road for me with food and bottles. That was good, because realizing the difficulty I was putting Lance in, the Nissan had stopped offering me Honey Stinger Waffles. They did offer me a Snickers, however. And I swear I saw Lance stifle a deceiver’s smile. HE KNEW ALL ALONG THAT I AM ALLERGIC TO PEANUTS! He was trying to assassinate me. Well it didn’t work, Lance. You hear me? It didn’t work! These colors don't run.

At any rate, once again we were up to 6, and I went to the back to recover a bit, as I had been pulling for probably 95% of the last 3 hours, and figured I ought to eat up at the back as we descended. Surely Lance didn’t need me to pull him down a hill. That’s what Joe was for! (Incidentally, Lance referred to Joe as “that old guy” hammering the downhills. Newsflash, Lancelot, Joe is 1 year your senior.) 

At the base of a climb, not 10 minutes after rejoining Joe and company, disaster struck. I was on Kyle’s wheel, shifting into the big ring, now fully recovered and ready to show Lance how we teammates could throw down an assault on an uphill when we worked together. As my chain moved outwards to the big ring, Lance swerved around a pothole, leading me directly over it. The jolt caused my chain to shoot over my big ring and get wrapped round my crank. Try as I might, I couldn’t shift it back. Kyle started to drop back to give me assistance, knowing we’d easily catch Lance if we needed to, but I waived him on. The chain was completely wrapped around my crank, a tangled mess. The Nissan sped past me, determined, as the blonde in the passenger seat gazed back longingly (sorry, I'm taken). Lance looked back and sprinted as mightily as he could. “This is it,” Joe swore he heard Lance mutter to himself.

My powertap file shows that I was coasting/producing no power for 90 seconds. That was enough room for Lance, since I had given Kyle the go-ahead to keep working with him. I raced frantically to catch back on, and at one point had them in site, about 45 seconds up the road. But soon I cracked hard, and without the motobricade, soon was forced to stop at a light, now lacking my Lance-moto-blockade.

Disappointed that this chaingate cost me an opportunity to drop Lance once and for all, I soldiered on alone, eventually catching Joe in the last couple miles, and we lazily rode into the parking lot to meet Warren & Kyle, who managed to stay with Lance the remainder of the ride. Kyle even got his photo with him crossing the finish line, which will surely be seen by hundreds if not thousands of people.

 [Sitting up to gift him his brief moment of glory]

So in the end, I’m not too disappointed by the outcome chaingate 2, though I expected a little more chivalry from the man I’d pulled around Pennsylvania for hours on end. Alas, there’s always next year, and he knows it. He’s already training for it! 

[ Real Tweet]

Right, so obviously most of that was written in good fun, and I hope for our sake Lance can take a joke. The ride was a blast, and my goodness is that “old man” still fast as heck. For those who speak power, here’s one number that stands out: 250w (at 130 lbs for a power:weight of ~4.2 w/kg) for about 3.2 hours, covering 70 miles (21.7mph). That’s the time from when Lance joined up with us to when I dropped my chain. That includes 5,600 feet of clmbing, at 21.5 mph. The national championships I raced in May had only slightly higher numbers—but remember the numbers listed here are part of a 7 hour ride! And in reality, Lance was doing much more pulling than I was, though the part about me attacking on a hill and dropping him momentarily immediately after he teased me about my hairy legs (shaving them today, btw, as my first race since my injury begins Friday) is true, though he certainly didn’t need a motorcar to catch back on. Speaking of the motorcar, they were very helpful and complimentary, and my friend Kyle wishes the blonde lady inside to know that he is in fact single. (I’m not, so please stop calling me.) The event was incredibly well run and part of an amazing cause, and I encourage everyone to try it out for themselves if they haven’t already done so. As it turns out, Lance does ride them, and if you’re lucky, as I was, you too could ride with the most famous cyclist perhaps of all time.

 [Real Tweet]

Two final brief, funny things before I go, both of which occurred when it was just me and Lance. All day long people were going nutso when we passed by them, everyone shouting “Go Lance! Yay Lance!” when we went by, which, I hear all the time, but this time there was genuine admiration and sincerity, rather than the derision and occasional tossed beer can that I’ve grown accustomed to. At one point, some recreational riders not part of the event stopped at an intersection at the top of a hill to let our moto-cops and us pass by. We were going uphill, me on front in fact, when she asked whether we were part of a race. “Nah, that’s just Lance,” I said, sounding as not out of breath as I could pretend to be while leading him up a hill. The rec riders went absolutely bonkers. That was neat. And a short while later, another rec rider, this time on his own, was coming the opposite direction of us, and we were again going slightly uphill, this time Lance on front. We met just before we crested and just after he crested his little climb, so neither of us had much speed. He started to give the “country wave,” as we call it in the Midwest, where I’m from. I greeted him vocally but quietly, and he started to give a perfunctory hello back, when, just as we pass him, we hear him slam to a stop, yelling “Holy S***!” A second later, we hear a what sounded like a tumble. I think the guy fell down in awe. “I get that a lot around here, Lance. I’m kind of a big deal. Sorry to steal your thunder.” “Yeah, I bet,” he said. He didn’t believe me. Well, we’ll see how things play out in 2012.

 [Kyle & Lance a the Finish]

Thanks for indulging!

Charlie

What to Do If You Are in an Accident - By Charlie

Sarah recently touched on how to avoid car vs. bike altercations. Unfortunately, as well all know, accidents happen—often times expensive ones. It is easy to lose one’s head in such circumstances of powerful anger or frustration. Along with a number of close calls, I have personally been hit by cars twice, both times while riding in a bike lane. My initial reaction to being struck was anger, of course. But then it was followed by relief, as I realized I was mostly ok. But in dealing with the motorist—who, thankfully stopped, which they are legally required to do in the event of any collision—I made a few mistakes that ultimately caused me a great deal of grief. In order to help the reader avoid such similar problems, I want to share a few must-dos here.

First and foremost, call the police. Seriously, just call the police. Even if you are in a hurry to get somewhere: they will understand if you were *hit by a car*. Even if you think you’re fine—injuries only manifest themselves once the adrenaline wears off, and the extent of your physical damage is very hard to diagnose moments after impact. Even if your bike seems fine—chances are it’s not. Even if the driver offers to give you insurance information, phone number, business card, address, mother’s maiden name, or cash on the spot—trust me: No matter how gracious and apologetic the driver is, and even if right then and there they are admitting fault, remember this: everybody lies to protect his or her own interests. No one willingly gives up money and sees their insurance rates go up if he or she can help it. Furthermore, if you want to deal with an insurance company, you are dealing with a mechanism built up specifically to deny you what you deserve: the default is to deny claims, and bet on the fact that you won’t be persistent. At best they will try to push you into an early settlement. Read the Rainmaker: it’s really not that unbelievable.

By calling the police, there will be an official record of what happened. Then refer both your and the driver’s insurance companies to the police report. The police will take statements from both parties, so if any admission of guilt is made, there’s no going back on it without an uphill battle. Collect as many witness statements as you can.

When making your own statement, stick to the facts and do not editorialize. Saying, “I think I am/my bike is ok” is tantamount to forfeiting any future claim. After any accident, you and your bike both need the attention of someone professionally capable of making that claim. In all likelihood, once the adrenaline or shock wears off, you’re going to be rather sore. Bike accident pain is like a sunburn: it only manifests itself well after the damage is done. Same with the bike: it may seem fine on the surface, but in fact there may be damage—something irreparably cracked or loosened that will cause a serious accident, and one that you will therefore be liable for. I strongly encourage everyone who is involved in an accident, therefore, to get checked out by a doctor and the bike to be looked at by a mechanic before any assessment is made.

Another thing everyone should do is take pictures. Everyone has a cameraphone these days. And you should never be riding without your phone. Capture your injuries. Capture the license plate of the car. Capture the state of your bike and the mise en scene of the accident. Redundancy is good. Redundancy is good.

Follow up within 24 hours. The less time sorting the situation out takes, the more likely you are to receive compensation. Don’t give up when seeking recompense. It is a battle of attrition sometimes, but it is a winnable battle with enough determination. Don’t despair. Don’t give up hope. Don’t take it lying down.

Accidents are painful. But the aftermath can be made much less so by taking the proper steps to ensure that you don’t get screwed over. Best of luck out there.