All about the Glory

So, I was dropped this past Thursday night at the local "Throwdown". This was the first time...ever...that in a non-race situation I had been dropped from the lead pack. Let me start out by clarifying that when I first started attending these rides the demeanor was a bit more...low-key. It was just a buncha guys getting together to put some miles in their legs. Since then the intensity and quality of the ride/riders at The Throwdown has increased...SIGNIFICANTLY.

Case in point: Last week we rode in torrential downpours for two hours. I was in the night's two main breakaways and then consequently crashed when we had just gotten inside city limits. Of the seven starters for the evening, only three made it into town unscathed and I was only the fourth rider to complete the entire ride, albeit via an in town pickup because my wheel was toast. Normally, you would think that this type of insanity would begin decreasing our turnout each week, however this past Thursday we increased our group size to nine (although several riders from the week before opted out of this ride). Of the nine that started, eight finished. One guy dropped out within the first ten miles due to the intensity and a severe nosebleed, I heard that two other guys puked, I witnessed one guy vomit up nothing but water, and I myself cramped up so bad on the flat run in to home that I was dropped from the front pack, rolling in sixth for the night. There were no wrecks, but a few close calls and despite what you just read, everyone had a blast!

As always, we started at the corner of Colegate and Glendale next to the firestation. The normal late summer route is up Glendale connecting to Rt. 821, shooting off on CR8 and heading into Lowell. We then ease on home on River Road. This is the late summer route because it has right around 2000' of climbing over 33 miles, with 1200' coming in the first 12 miles. Its got something for everybody with lots of climbing, several rollers, and even some nice long flats. Thanks to our "rain ride" last week, I had been battling a cold which kept me off of the bike for most of the week leading up to Thursday's ride. I commuted into work on Thursday and was not really feeling that great, but I did 18 easy miles at lunch to see if that would help. For awhile I thought it did...

We headed out Glendale and everyone was taking it fairly easy. It was hot and we were all feeling the races from the previous weekend. When we started into the real climbing, the pace quickened a bit and I was comfortably tucked into the bunch. When we hit the steepest part of the climb and our pace had still not increased substantially, I came around the outside and accelerated. It was a hard attack, but not all out as we were only a handful of miles into the night. I easily popped off the front with a 200-300 yard gap and then just rode my tempo through the remainder of the climbs. When I reached the top, I was all alone but slowed up and allowed the small group of three riders who were actually chasing to catch on. We hammered on through a few rollers and soft pedaled at the base of the next climb to try to let the group come back together. However, we never did all come together again, my initial attack and the resulting chase having decimated the back of the field.

We started climbing again and I was beginning to feel the overall fatigue associated with racing and/or being sick. I tucked in and allowed other guys to set the pace for awhile. Pretty soon it was just three of us off the front striking out on our own to the next "checkpoint" (the junction of Rt. 530 and CR8). We were flying through the rolling countryside, clocking over 25mph as we crested hills. Apparently this was when the guy who dropped out got his nose bleed and when one of the other riders stopped to puke up his energy bars and gatorade alongside the road. What had started as a friendly group ride had quickly entered the "Take-no-prisoners" realm. The front group of three made it to the checkpoint in a bunch and we all took the opportunity to rest our legs, stretch, and drink some more water. I was down to a single bottle already and we werent halfway yet.

The rest of the pack came straggling up one to two at a time and we all chatted. One of the last guys to show up stops, unclips, turns his head and vomits in the grass next to us. It didnt look like anything more than water and he acted as if nothing had happened so we headed on down the road, enroute for the worst climb of the night. I entered the climb third in line and was able to maintain a steady, but medium pace to answer the eventual acceleration of the front guy. We dropped the group and crested with a single chaser a few yards back. The three of us came together and then started drilling the rolling hills on our way to Lowell. I was starting to really feel bad during this section, but was able to accelerate enough to hang with the leader and eventually drop our third companion (who later said he stopped and also threw up...) a few miles before Lowell. As we entered the descending section of the course into Lowell, I attacked and came around the leader. I rolled down into town alone, with the other rider coming in a few seconds behind me.

We waited in Lowell for the group to come together again and finally for the first time in 20 miles all eight of us rolled out in a pack, heading to River Road and home. I knew a few of the "mountain bikers" in the group had really been feeling the pain and overheard them "hatching a plan" as we crossed the bridge out of Lowell. As soon as we hit River Road, one mountain biker attacked, knowing that he had a flat 13 miles heading into Marietta. He pulled a slight gap on the front and the group sluggishly responded. Everyone was in some realm of hurt at this point, it just was a matter of the degree of pain. We eventually pulled the attacker back in, but no sooner had we done that when another mountain biker jumped off the front to have a go. We responded quicker this time, with myself and Ben hanging right on his wheel. This is when it starts to get blurry for me as I was beginning to cramp up. Being sick + not enough water/food + close to 60 miles in the hot sun that day all began to add up to equal a bad night. I hung onto the group for several miles as we averaged between 25-27mph. But as we rounded a turn, one of the front guys surged to just over 30mph and held it. I futilely tried to maintain the pace for a few pedal strokes, but I was at the point I knew I had been headed for all night. My hamstrings, calves, and quads were now all cramping at once, sometimes making it almost impossible to turn the pedals over. I pulled to the left out of the paceline and waved the guy behind me through. It was Dale. He had ridden with me several times and never had he witnessed a sign of weakness or fatigue. It was fairly obvious that he couldnt believe what he was seeing as he pulled up next to me and looked at me like I had three heads. I halfway grinned and shook my head and the group sped on without me.

I then began the slow (20mph), cramp-filled journey home by myself. There were a few straggling riders behind me, but I would not see them again until we got back into town. Never has six miles seemed so long or boring. At each rise in the road, I fought with my muscles to put forth effort without going into violent cramps that at times nearly drove me off my bike. I finally rolled into town and headed home for homemade potato soup and a hot shower, thoroughly spent but grinning nonetheless.

You may be thinking, "Grinning?! How could you possibly be grinning after an ordeal like that? Your Thursday rides dont even sound fun!" I am able to grin because I know that I (and everyone else there) gave it their all. Thursday nights are turning out to be harder than 75% of the races I entered this year. We dont race for money or trophies, but simply for the heck of it. Thursday rides are gritty, full of passion, and downright horrendous at times. The only time anyone works together is to bring back a breakaway and past that everyone is pitted against everyone else. There are some tactics involved, but even more so this is the time to really "open up the throttle" and see how hard you can go. If you arent pushing the limit, then why even come out. So yeah, I was dropped. I attacked too early, didnt drink or eat enough, went too hard while on the front. I threw caution to the wind and conserved nothing. This week it didnt pay off, but it has in the past and it will in the future. I dont show up to Thursday night rides to polish up my tactics or to sit in all night. At The Throwdown its all about the glory and if you aren't prepared to go down "guns ablazing", then maybe you really didnt want to ride with us after all...