Not riding 200km

After an unbroken run of entries sticking to the topic of cycling, I'm going to fail for the 2nd time in succession. I'm going to write about not riding. But at least in this case, the not riding part is still at least relevant to cycling. For the event that I will not be riding is this weekend's Cape Town BRM 200. It's the first of four rides that a number of us have been working on for some months - a complete 2014 SR Series for local Western Cape randonneurs and PBP aspirants.

I've known since we first planned the calendar that I would miss one of the first two events - Yoli's 20th High School re-union was pencilled in for the same date as either the 200km or 300km rides. It's an important event for her, and she already gives up a lot for my riding, so I'm not bitter in any way over it. Just slightly sad to not be there on the day with Anthony, Nico, Henri, Peter and the guys who have worked in planning the event these past months. Even more ironically, Yoli's re-union is in Joburg - where Eddie is running an Aurasan BRM 200 on the same day as our inaugural 2014 Cape Audax. I didn't even try and suggest to Yoli the idea of taking a bike along for the trip, although as I sat on the plane up I did wonder if I'd I missed an opportunity. I may have to delete that last sentence before Yoli gets a chance to read it.

At this stage it looks like around 15 riders will be taking part in the ride, which seems a pretty fair turnout. The numbers have been buoyed I'm sure by riders looking to get in some extra long distance training for November's Double Century in Swellendam. It'll be interesting to see how the turnout for the longer brevets compares. Instinct suggests that we'll slowly whittle down to the handful of us who are attempting to qualify for PBP next year.

I did get a chance to meet with Eddie whilst up in Joburg - to at least chat about cycling, and share in that most essential of cycling experiences, a darned good cup of coffee. Ostensibly we met up so I could collect the medals for the BRM 200 finishers, but the caffeine and banter were of course far more important, and took much longer than would have been necessary for just the exchange. It was a great chance to get to know Eddie, our South African Audax co-ordinator, a little better. Mixed in between first and then second cups of the magic bean were stories of LELs, PBPs and Scottish Audaxes ridden because of the handsome Club Ecosse jersey for finishers. Even more impressive though than Eddie's cycling history is how well he belies his age. Based on the energy and enthusiasm he throws into the local audax scene, and our one previous meeting at the 600 in March I'd have given him at somewhere just over 70. I nearly choked on my cappuccino when I learnt he's actually 84 - and already has his entry for next year's Argus. I've often joked about riding Argus's into my 90s, but here's someone I suspect may actually manage to do just that. He laughed at my description of the mad scramble to get my entry for this year: sat in the passenger seat of a rental car heading to our friends Riku and Erika the day before nervously watching the laptop screen hoping that my 27,292 place in the Q would translate into an actual chance to enter. It did, luckily, but only within an hour or too of the ride selling out. None of that for Eddie, as a club 21 rider his Argus was assured weeks ago!

So for a weekend of not riding, I did in fact manage to have a fair amount of cycling activity. Now, as we head back on the plane I'm thinking of the guys riding our 200. It will be a familiar route for most of them, minus the spur out to a control at the Spa in Darling. I rode that section on last year's Yzerfontein outride - it's pleasantly scenic, but in a wind can be challenging and has enough rollers to test tired legs. Hopefully all the guys will have managed their pace well though, and so won't be suffering any of that. They'll be 9.5 hours in by now, which for most of them will mean they're on the last stretch home and looking forward to the final brevet signature at our Cape Audax base camp: Vrede Wines.

Keep pedalling guys!

2015 PBP qualifiers: 200 km

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Rider photo courtesy of Anthony Doman - more can be found online at his Twitter feed.

Home

Before we get into this one an apology is needed, because I'll be leaving the main route here for a short diversion. As will be obvious from the cake pictured left, this last week has seen the arrival of a fairly major life event for me. Like the Arrivee of a good audax, a landmark that at one stage seemed impossibly distant has come and gone. Not one measured in kilometres this time though, but years, a haf century of them.

The actual birthday itself was a quiet one - time for family after a week away with work in the US. But in the style of Yoli's family a birthday is never just a single day - varying from anything to a weekend, a week, or even a month, depending on the ability to stretch things out and keep the party going. In my case, it was a week long affair - starting the Sunday before with a family lunch at Coseca. Rolling onto the actual day itself which unusually for me was spent at work but nicely book-ended with tea and cake in bed, and rounded off with an early dinner at 96 Winery Road. Early because Ben joined us.

Daddy, are we going to a restaurant?
Maybe it's odd for a 5 year to actually enjoying dinners out, but it's delightful for us. The one caveat being some form of play area to burn off some energy before we sit down and eat. After that, we're pretty much sure of a well behaved child and the surprised but relieved look of waiters and maitre d'. Again, there's a few caveats buried in there too - a couple of well chosen toys for the table, don't linger too long, and there must always be ice cream to end, or cake, or both.

So we come to the finale of my week long 50th - an actual piss-up in a brewery. Having worn out that phrase before and during the party, it's the last time I'll say it. Promise. But it's too good to miss out. The brewery in this case being Triggerfish of Somerset West. At one stage they could have been called a new craft brewery. But with so many recent startups, Triggerfish are now firmly established as a member of the old guard producing solid stalwarts of the burgeoning local ale scene. 

Yoli's project management skills came fully to the fore in organising said drink-fest. There were of course the core essentials of the venue, champagne, awesome food, even more awesome cake. But beyond the obvious were all sorts of little touches: the old photos strung up on the birthday banner, many of which I'd totally forgotten about; the disposable cameras and props for everyone to snap embarrassing and surprising pics of the event; and the jar of handwritten messages, something which I only discovered a read day later after the hangover had dulled down to just a raging headache. I'll lay claim to the pumping soundtrack, but that's the start and end of the work I did on the event (and yes, ok, Vicki, when we call it a mix tape there is no actual tape, but playlist really sounds so lame).

Did I mention the awesome cake at all? Talk about centrepiece - the Cup Cake Tarts outdid themselves on this one, capturing every aspect of Yoli's details to the letter: dual flags across the five and zero; the Dumm Weiss label and miniature bottles; me in cycle gear plus bicycle; and a full set of signposts - LEL, PBP, TB MTB, and RAM. That last one is the only slight hiccup, there's an A missing, and that's fine. In fact it's actually rather fitting, because it's not a goal that can really be talked about yet - only dreamed of.

And then we come to the last, and most important aspect of the party. The amazing gathering of friends who could make it along to celebrate with me. And that's really where my usual talent for excessive verbiage dries out. I have no words to sum up what their presence means to me, not just at the party but in our lives. The seven and a half years since we moved to South Africa have been an incredible ride so far, but I could not possibly call this place home without the friends and family who share it with us.

Thanks guys. Not just for the best 50th party ever, or the far too generous gifts, but for being part of the amazing adventure that is our lives. 

Not quite an Athlete

Those who have been reading this blog from it's early days will be aware of my irrational discomfort with certain names and terms. For some time this held me back from joining my cycling club, the Wannabees, simply because I was hung up over their name. There has been a recurrence of my foolishness over names more recently. On several occasions in the past few weeks I have been referred to as an 'athlete' in conversation. Hearing that word in reference to me quite literally makes me cringe - worse even than the sound of nails scraping down a blackboard. It seems such a disservice to those who  actually are athletes to use it to describe someone who spent 25 years sat at a desk in front of a computer screen and then accidentally chose to take up cycling. The term MAMIL (middle aged man in Lycra) seems far more apt in my case, even if it's harsh accuracy makes me just as uncomfortable.

The reason for mentioning this now is my visit to the torture machine pictured above. Around a week back I signed up with a cycling coach, Erica Green. Erica is the wife of Spook, who along with William has seen to all of my bike setup needs since the whole long distance cycling adventure started for me. As a world class cyclist and former Olympic mountain biker, Erica most definitely has earned the right to be called an athlete. Together with Spook, she now runs Daisyway Coaching, who rather handily for me are a based a few hundred meters down my road. I'm not sure Erica knew what to make of the type of cycling I do - it's quite different from mainstream mountain or road cycling. As our conversation deepened into longer term objectives, I sensed there may be an unspoken question in her mind about my sanity. She certainly wouldn't be the first person to think I may be mad, including me sometimes. Regardless of any doubts, Erica outlined a very professional and structured approach to assessing my needs and building  training plans  - exactly what I had been hoping for from the visit.

My motivation for adding a cycling coach to the help I already get from André with my gym work is simple - I want to improve my speed over distance. If I don't faff too much at controls, the speed I have now will be fine to complete PBP. Even with my sluggish plod around LEL enjoying the food and companionship at controls rather too much, I still crossed the 1230km distance at Market Rasen in under the required 90 hours. But PBP will be different, queues will be longer at controls, and purely for personal satisfaction I'd rather go into the event fitter, faster and better prepared than I was for LEL. I'd like to enjoy the ride more with less stress from time pressures. Being able to sustain a faster pace at the front of the bulge is the most effective way to do this. There are also longer term goals which I have in mind, but in good Audax fashion I'm not going to get ahead of myself by planning beyond the task at hand - the next control along the route, the next event, PBP.

So we come back to the torture machine, and my visit to the Stellenbosch University Sports Physiology Lab. As with buying a power meter (which will be the subject of a future post), I've thought about having my VO2Max tested in the past. Both have seemed rather extravagant though - lots more numbers and stats but with no real context. Now, as part of Erica's structured approach to my training they not only make sense, they're essential. To quote Erica (and others)

'we need to make sure your hard days aren't too easy, and your easy days aren't too hard'.

I must confess that along with hunger and thirst from fasting for the past 3 hours, I was also feeling rather nervous at what the testing would entail and reveal. Fortunately the first past of the test, body composition, was over quickly. It was pleasing to see my overall body fat is nicely low - helped I'm sure by drop of a few kilos from my recent switch to a Banting diet. Even more relieving was being able to quench my thirst, although there was a moment of panic in the lab tech's voice at what might be in my bidon. He was clearly relieved at my answer that it was plain water.

The testing itself was much quicker than I expected - it took almost longer to get the saddle mounted on the infernal pain machine. I was impressed they had the exact model and size I use - a Specialized Romin Evo, 143mm. The machine is initially set at a power of 80W for warmup, and you are instructed to spin above 80rpm. Coming from a regular indoor trainer, it's an extremely odd sensation at first. However fast you pedal, the power stays fixed. Initially it takes a couple of very heavy turns to get the big chain-ring turning - it felt like climbing a steep hill in a big gear. But as the cadence picks up, the pedals spin more freely. It's tempting to say it gets easier, but of course it doesn't. That's an illusion - 80W is 80W, it just feels easier pedalling at 90rpm than 1rpm.

After warmup came the second lactate check - a quick finger tip prick, and a drop of blood is sucked into a hand-held measuring machine, The first attempt before warming up had barely drawn enough blood to measure. But now my heart rate was up the blood flowed easily. The HR strap was already in place, and before the test proper a ventilation mask was attached to measure respiratory response. To describe it as uncomfortable would not do it justice - it was claustrophobic. I was about to be asked to push myself to the max, wearing a gas mask.

The initial level of the test started at 120W I think, and then hopped up to 150W. After this a further increment of 30W was added at around 3 minute intervals. During each interval came another stab at my finger to measure lactate levels. My tempo was comfortable at around 95rpm for the next couple of intervals. As the power increased it dropped a shade to between 90 and 92pm but was still steady. As we headed to 240W I could feel myself slowing and it became a struggle, and when it went to 270W the suffering really started.

Come on Robert, come on, let's complete this interval. Come on, 2 minutes more, half way there, 1 minute to go now, 30 seconds. Come on, come on, you're down to 80rpm, push now, fight for this, come on, just 15 seconds, 10, 5, ...... you're done.

The 80rpm threshold I had been warned ahead of the test was a key indicator. Once I couldn't sustain this cadence or my HR went too far over my predicted maximum the test would be finished.

I wanted to punch the lab tech during every screaming moment of that last interval, but it kept me going. I dug deep and buried myself spurred on by his words of encouragement. My heart was pounding at the end, I later found out we'd hit a max of 189bpm in that last 3 minutes, considerably above the prediction based on my age. I did mess up the heart-rate-recovery measurement by ripping off the mask too soon, a mistake I'll know not to make next time.

My nerves had been misplaced, the stats didn't come out too bad - I'm relatively fit for my age. The lactate threshold level was measured at 210W and my peak power 270W. What's interesting is the last FTP test I did myself gave an estimate of 220W. Given what a crude setup I have, I'm rather surprised this was within 5% of the properly measured level. My lactate heart rate level is considerably different to my last home test though - at 171 vs 153. I'm actually rather surprised it's higher not lower, given that all my recent rides and events have been long and low intensity.

The rest of the stats will now be assessed by Erica in devising a training programme for me. I'm fascinated to see how that maps out. One last part of Friday's lab test visit made me smile though. Towards the back of the test report is a categorisation of your VO2Max level on a colour coded 3D bar chart based showing fitness levels grouped by age. My current level is at the upper end of a rating termed as High - a nice royal blue colour on the bar chart. Just above it is a dark blue set of bars termed Athletic. So it seems in this case, my dislike of inaccurate names is justified, It says it there in blue and white on a properly measured report. I'm not an athlete, at least not yet.