BIG Breath and....

It's been quite some time since I punched a few lines onto this blog.  August and September was all about training for a Century ride, leaving me with surprisingly very little say.  We had a rather pleasant 100 mile ride in mid-September and then after that a tight schedule leading up to our annual trip back to Akron.  Now, here we are at the very end of October.

The trip "home," the definition of which is up for debate, is an interesting experience for expats.  For those that can travel back and forth to their native land regularly the disconnect probably isn't as acute.  For those of us who only get back once a year or less, the experience can be, well, rather bizarre.  The more time that passes on assignment the greater the gulf can grow between then and now, here and there.  Sometimes, when faced with the reality that this is just an assignment and home will most definitely be over there again, the feelings are mixed.  Unless someone's expat journey has been completely negative, we feel a kinship with the new place sometimes equal to or even exceeding our native home.  But, for now here we are back in Germany for the time being with at least another year to enjoy it.

Besides all the fun parts about the home leave trip like sharing a drink at our favorite craft beer bars with good friends, enjoying a proper steak, and an early Thanksgiving meal with family, one of the annual events of home leave is making the rounds to all our medical professionals to make sure we're still doing good health wise.  I was looking forward to this year's checkup because I had a question.

My last post on here was about a particularly brutal climb that almost did me in.  After that I started paying close attention to my performance on hills and during other activities like mountain trekking.  It became clear to me that something was up with my breathing.  In the past I assumed my complete meltdowns on hills had to do with overall fitness.  I assumed I was struggling because I was out of shape.  But, as the year passed this excuse didn't seem pertinent.  We were cycling every day and during our century training we were averaging 130km a week.  Our diet has changed to being mostly vegetarian.  My weight and other vitals were in the right places.  I was sleeping normal.  But, every single time I hit a hill on the bike, a set of stairs, or an uphill track while trekking I started struggling, big time.  Off the bike I manage, but always slow way down and need breaks now and then to catch my breath.  On the bike, things get bad on those hills.  For anything above a Cat 4, I often have to dismount to calm my breathing.

Then, one day we were climbing a hill at a particularly slow pace.  We had taken a break not long before for a snack and to replenish our water, but I was in a bad way already.  My husband led for a bit, then I took over, hoping that if I found a steady pace I could relax my breathing.  It wasn't working.  The wide spot in the road was a welcome sight and I pulled over, dismounted, and sat down, certain I was going to black out.  When I finally got back to a comfortable heart rate and breathing, I looked up at the hill, the road winding above me.  As I did so, a woman went past.  On a steel city bike.  In khaki shorts and tennis shoes.  She was breathing through her nose.  That was the last straw.  I was mad.

Something was definitely up.

So, I sent my doctor in Akron a note.  I have an amazing doctor back in Akron, and having her just an email away is a lifesaver.  Thank you, modern technology!  Anyway, after tracking my symptoms and performance it sounded to me that I might have been suffering from exercise induced asthma all this time.  She concurred with my theory and set me up for some tests when I came back to town.

Asthma tests are something else.  You spend two hours in a room with a technician blowing into a tube after inhaling a progression of medications as the tech instructs "BIG breath and..BLOW, BLOW, BLOW!"  All of that tests lung capacity.  People with asthma will have a marked reduced capacity during the test.  People without it will have the same results from beginning to end.  When I sat down with my doctor a few days later, she said, "I'm so glad you contacted me, because you totally have asthma!"  Apparently, I have had it my whole life, explaining why I could never run the mile in PE or keep up in any sports like soccer when I was a kid, hence being assigned more stationary positions like fullback.  I was under the impression that I wasn't "good at running" or that I wasn't "athletic" back then.  But as I've gotten older I've realized that being "unathletic" isn't a real thing.  My doctor confirmed.  She said we choose to be active or not.  Sure, not everyone is built to run a marathon or bench 250lbs, but everyone should be able to find something they can do comfortably that keeps them physically fit.  If you struggle despite being fit, then there is a medical reason for it.  Anyone should be able to exercise.

I don't know what my doctor thought, when I responded to to my diagnosis with, "Oh, thank God!"  I can't begin to describe the relief I felt with finally having a reason for why climbing nearly kills me, why I can't keep up in the mountains, why climbing the stairs to the top floor our house has me leaning against the door frame for a bit.   The thought of climbing no longer fills me with dread.  I know what will happen when I start heading up and I know why.  It's not because I'm a failure.  I have the tools to deal with it and now the odds are in favor of me getting to the top without passing out.  Sometimes an answer is all you need.  And, albuterol.

The mountains are my favorite place on earth.  Now, spending time in their heights shouldn't be such a struggle.

Yeah, folks, I'll be "doping" when I'm out on the roads.   Let me get that out there right now.  Along with my patch kit and PB sammies, I'll be packing an inhaler.  I've accepted that in order to keep this managed properly I have to reign in my riding when I have a respiratory illness to avoid aggravating the disease (hence why I'm typing this up today instead of HTFU on the bike with this head cold).  I shouldn't take up extreme altitude mountaineering either.  Sigh.  Oh well, I don't have the money for that anyway.  But, there is no risk of having to give up the bike.  I'm not expecting to take all the local QOMs, but climbing the stairs, yeah, I can do that now.

So, look out, Bavaria, as soon as I kick this darn cold I'll be back.  Here's hoping none of you in khakis and sneakers will pass me on a climb.  But if you do, let's be clear.  My chain slipped.

Fifteen Percent

Saturdays are the big ride days.  We haven't hit the big mileage yet.  This past Saturday was only 35 miles.  No big deal.  We could knock that out in about 2 hours, and be home in plenty of time to run errands.  I've been spending a lot of time thinking about what route to use for the century and decided that Saturday we would test out the terrain in one of the of the possible areas, a hilly, sparsely populated region east of the Main that's known for it's hiking and mountain biking.  There aren't that many villages, so traffic should be light.  The hills would be a challenge, sure, but challenges are good and it's not like there would be anything beyond a category 3.  They call the hills a "mountain range," but that's definitely a bit of an exaggeration to say the least.

We headed out about 8am.  The shot of espresso hadn't kicked in yet, and my eyes were watering like crazy, the way they always do on morning rides.  The route was completely new as soon as we crossed over the river.  There wasn't any moment along the way that we could warm up and ease into it.  People who aren't cyclists don't understand that being on the road requires 100% focus.  You have to watch everything, everything, cracks in the pavement, stones that can send you flying if hit just the wrong way, drainage grates, stuff that's fallen off of cars that can also send you flying, big tire slicing shards of glass, piles of sand that are always randomly spread across turns, tree branches, roadkill, oil slicks, piles of animal waste, mud, children who haven't been taught to look both ways before crossing the street, old people who never learned and have miraculously survived all these years, loose dogs, horses, various types of balls rolling out of playgrounds and driveways, other bikes, skateboards, scooters, wheelchairs....oh, yeah, and the cars.  We have to do a lot of thinking and thinking for everyone else around us.  We have to be three steps ahead.  It's like chess- fast paced, things could get really bad if you make the wrong move kind of chess.   It's not just the physical exertion of cycling that's tough.  Sometimes a quick pedal to the grocery store is more intense than a 4 hour training ride depending on what we encounter along the way.

Saturday's route passed a rather nice castle.
Castles make climbing better.

The first several miles of Saturday's ride was one of those intense, nonstop experiences.  Saturdays are the one day a week people can run errands and they have to start early.  Shops are closed on Sundays and most close before 1pm on Saturdays.  During the week, most close by 6pm.  If you work all week, Saturday morning is your one shot to get what you need.  The first stretch of the route was along a particularly busy main road.  So, we were hauling right off the bat.  Then, we hit a construction zone which closed one side of the road with no traffic signal or worker controlling the flow.  That had us sprinting uphill a good ways to avoid getting creamed by a car coming up over the top from the other direction.  Thankfully, there weren't any cars, but I was close to the red after that.  It took a while to recover.  It wasn't too much later that we were off that highway, but when we left the traffic, we were in the "mountain range."  The climbs weren't that bad, except for the two times I dropped my chain.  There were a couple of cat 4's.  The biggest climb was a steady 2.5 mile, category 3.  It seemed to go on forever, but it wasn't horrific.  None of the climbs were horrific.  Climbing isn't the soul crushing experience it used to be.  It just is what it is.  The longer they are, the more are tackled, the better it gets.  Cycling becomes something else.

Then, in the last 5 miles, I had my soul crushed.  On the profile the last bump was nothing, just a blip.  You can't really tell what a climb is going to be like from a profile, a grade percentage, a distance.  This one started humanely enough.  We shifted down and got into the rhythm.  I shifted down again a few minutes later.  Then again.  Then again.  The grade just kept getting steeper, crazy steep.  I was tired.  This was the fifth climb of the day and I didn't have it anymore.  I started paperboying a little.  My husband was doing the pulling.  I kept wishing he'd go a little faster.  I didn't have the strength to take a pull, but my front tire was millimeters from his rear tire.  I was afraid my weaving was going to take him down.  I couldn't come alongside since the road was too narrow.  For some reason, cars kept coming up behind on this little road to nowhere.  Didn't they have somewhere else to drive?  There's nothing up there but a barn!  I had a stale Haribo frog in my mouth.  I didn't have the energy to chew through it; I was too busy trying to breathe.  The frog was in the way of the breathing.  I tried shifting down again, but I was out of gears.  I pushed the frog into my left cheek and tried to slow down the breathing.  I was in the red, way into the red, and I was out of gears.  One more gear would have been enough.  I was mashing the pedals, my legs were on fire, and we were barely moving anymore.  Then it happened, the same thing that happens on every climb like this.  You think you see the top, only to have the hope ripped away when the top just reveals itself to be a false flat.  This was supposed to be the little climb.  Breathing was becoming an issue.  I wasn't getting the oxygen to keep the legs moving and the heart beating at a bearable rate.  I looked up from my husband's rear hub to his back and called out in a really high pitched, raspy voice, "Need to stop.  I need.  Break."

"Yeah, ok. Yes."  I was relieved to hear what sounded like relief in his voice.  I climbed off and laid my bike down in the grass,  my breathing was what could probably be termed as hyperventilating.  I bent over trying to slow it down.  The frog was gone.  I don't remember eating it.  A car was coming up the hill, flying actually.  I cursed.  I can't just quietly die up here on this hill without some driver flying past staring agape at my physical failings and the drool running in a ladylike manner down my chin.  Seriously, where the heck are these cars going?  I gulped down a ton of water and unzipped my jersey.  It was humid.  I should have worn a lighter-weight jersey.  Or something.

It took a few minutes to get back to feeling somewhat normal again.  We clicked back in and finished the climb.  It was a little longer before I could speak properly again, though.  We got back to the house and after a giant egg burrito and a cold glass of chocolate milk, I looked at the profile again.

Oh, so that's what a quarter mile with a 15% uphill grade feels like.

Gear Check: BikeInside

When we moved here, The Company changed a lot in our assignment contract.  One of those things was that we received a company car, a big ol' VW Passat.  The thing is pretty big as Euro cars go, which is nice for traveling (not so much for Euro parking).  The only minor downside to receiving a car that is basically free is that our roof bike rack from our old car isn't compatible with it.  A new roof rack wouldn't be that expensive, but it would only fit a Passat.  So, by the time we move home we'll have two racks we won't be able to use.  Of course, the alternative would be a hitch rack, which would work with any car.  But, since the car isn't ours, we can't install a hitch.

Enter BikeInside.

www.bikeinside.de

We determined that the best solution for our situation was a system that fit inside our car.  If it was universal, even better.  Lo and behold, a company in Germany makes just such a rack.

BikeInside is compatible with pretty much any model vehicle on the road.  You can check their list here.  It works basically like a tension rod, bracing against the right and left interior sides of your vehicle.  It can be installed towards the front of the car with the seats folded down, or in the cargo area depending on what works best for you bikes.  The front wheels of the bike are removed and the forks fitted into the quick release bracket on the rack.  It takes less than 5mins to get the bike inside the car and attached to the BikeInside.  It can fit up to three bikes at a time depending on how much room you have inside your vehicle.  The rack itself barely takes up any room so you can leave it in your car all the time if you prefer.  But, thanks to no tool installation you can remove it after every use.  Now, depending on your vehicle, you may have to break your bike down further, either removing the seat post or rear wheel or both.  Additional accessories are available to ensure a proper fit and stability.

So, even if you don't have the situation we do, you may want to consider BikeInside for these reasons:

1.  Protects your bike from the weather during travel.

Because it is extremely frustrating to get your bike all nice and clean for a trip just to have it gunked up on the highway while on the top or back of your car.

2.  Increased security

Keeping your bike in your car reduces it's chances of getting nabbed while your stopped for dinner or you're the gas station.  It won't be obvious, especially if you have darkened windows, and you can always throw a blanket over it too.

3.  Doesn't affect fuel consumption

With the bikes inside the car you won't get any of the drag that you get from roof racks. Drag increases fuel consumption.

4.  Doesn't add length or height to your vehicle

This is a huge plus for parking.  A lot of hotel parking in Europe is in underground garages, making roof racks impossible to use.  Parking spaces are also smaller, so extending the back end of the car with a hitch rack can cause issues.  Of course, this isn't as big of a problem in the States, but if maneuverability is a concern, BikeInside solves that problem.

5.  Keeps your bike stable inside the car.

A lot of people find it easier to haul their bikes inside their car, usually by just laying them down.  For one bike this isn't a big deal, but if you are hauling more than one it can be a hassle.  Bikes shouldn't be stacked on each other.  Pedals and handlebars can get caught in spokes, derailleur arms get bent.  The BikeInside keeps your bike upright, stable, and safe from entanglement.

The BikeInside in use in our Passat.

A wheel bag is a good idea for car travel as well.

We've tried our BikeInside for a couple of months when we've wanted to take the bikes further afield or travel with them.  It was a huge help when we drove to Denmark a couple weeks ago.  As you an see above, our bikes fit inside the car while still allowing plenty of space for luggage.  For our car it is necessary to remove the seat post, but the rear wheel can stay in place.  We picked up a cheap dual wheel bag for our front wheels and that tucks in nicely alongside one of the bikes near a passenger door.  With our two bikes and wheels inside, we still had plenty of room for a couple suitcases, camera bags, and a couple duffels filled with cycling equipment.  That still left ample space to pick up a couple souvenir items on our trip.  We didn't have any issues with parking, now that the bikes were inside the car.  When we spent an afternoon at Lego Land, we were confident that the bikes would be safe tucked under a cover, going unnoticed.  It poured for the entire drive home at the end of the weekend, so we were very thankful to have the bikes inside and dry.

So, I highly recommend picking up a BikeInside if you are looking for an internal bike rack system.  They work in almost every car and with almost every style of bike.  While you can't pick them up at an American dealer, they ship internationally from the website.  At about $160.00 (w/o shipping), it's a reasonable and valuable option for transporting your bikes.

We're very pleased with ours!

Pedaling About

So, here we are, rolling down into the last half of July.  The Tour is in full swing and here in old Bavaria the temperatures are on the rise.  We're at 90F this afternoon so the shutters are pulled down, the fans are blowing at maximum velocity, and occasionally Cat 1, Cat 2, The Dog, and myself climb up to the top floor (there are 5 in this wacky house) where the floor air conditioner is and enjoy a civilized temperature for a few minutes.

The cycling, however, is still going on.  Last weekend, we treated the bikes to a fieldtrip in Denmark to cycle around an island in the Baltic.  Let me tell you, Ærø may be a little place, but it packs quite a bit into it.  For cyclists it's one of those places that is just about perfect.  Despite it being Denmark, there are some decent hills.  Because it's Denmark, there's plenty of wind.  Because Ærø is special, there's plenty of coffee stops, good food, fantastic people, clear roads, big views, old churches, and even a craft brewery.  Oh, and there are cobbles.  Plenty of teeth jarring cobbles.  And, when you're done riding for the day, the sunsets can't be beat.

Empty roads and beautiful skies.

One of the quintessential windmills

Typical lane in Ærøskøbing, the oldest port town on the island.

House in Ærøskøbing

The amazing beer of Ærø

Great place to try your legs on some cobbles.

Island residents sell homemade items from their doorsteps and trust you to leave the money in the provided can.

No caption necessary.

But, that's going to be it for the traveling for a while.  For the rest of this fast moving summer we're focused on cycling closer to home.  The Rapha Womens 100 ride is, of course, this Sunday.  Once again, I will be joining other women all over the globe to ride 100km to support women's cycling.  While it'll just be my husband and I on our own since there aren't any organized rides in these parts, there are plenty of organized and supported rides around the world to join up with.  So, if you're up for doing 100km on Sunday, join us!

And, after that?  Well, the two of us are going to tackle something a little longer.  Over the next couple of months we'll be training to attempt our first century ride.  Without anything else going on, might as well give it a shot, right?  I'll let you know how it goes.  But, I have to admit I'm looking forward to the next couple of months just being about the bike.

The Mountains in Our Minds

The trail branched off from the main route just outside the town, and after getting through that gauntlet of a town it's at this point in the route (the one I call Crosswind Way), that I settle in for a short recovery before the said crosswinds kick in after the turn onto the road.  I never gave the trail a second thought.  Except where it intersects the Mainweg, you can't see it.  It disappears into a grove of short, thick trees and the shade of the overpass.  It looks like one of those little branches that appear all along the cycle routes for taking local traffic into the outskirts of neighborhoods.

But, I am bored.  It's not that Crosswind Way doesn't have it's rewarding scenery.  It does.  It passes through a deep valley cut by the Main, covered in vineyards.  There are some red stone ruins dotting hill tops, flat river barges, small towns, and sweet smelling woods.  But, after time, even things like that become old hat.  I am itching for a change of scene and a change of wind.  A glimpse at the map indicated this trail would lead me down another valley into the ominous sounding Odenwald.  Ominous sounding forests are just what I need.  So, at the last second as I head down the hill out that town, I lean right and turn under the overpass.  There is no wind, for a bit, but as I come out of the shelter of hedges and farm buildings on the other side of the highway, it hits me full in the face.  The cross winds of Crosswind Way are now a headwind, the constant headwind of the Main Valley.  I shift into a smaller ring and got into the drops.  I don't see many people, just the occasional retiree on an old upright, with a "morgen."  I come out of the rhythm for a nod and a smile.  I'm just out to explore, no need to retreat too far into my head and ignore the world.  I'm finding a new one, after all.  I pass through a nondescript town, with gravel based businesses lining it's outskirts.   Gravel mining is a thing in these parts.  Shortly after exiting the town streets, I hit my first stretch.  I shift into the next smaller ring, but keep my hands on the hoods.  The faster I ride over the gravel, the smoother the ride and the less chance of wiping out on a loose spot.  My eyes search for a clean line around the holes and squishy patches and my tires find it.  I'm not a huge fan of gravel, just because of what it can bring- punctures but, once I'm on it, I can't help but not enjoy the rush of attacking it at full speed.  I'm out of the town, long out, the road ends at a T; no indication of which way the next town is.  That's the way you go exploring on a bike in Germany.  Pick a town name on a sign and follow the rest of the signs there.  I pause for a moment and pull the map up on my phone.  I could take the road on my right, or see where this gravel takes me to my left.  A huge flat bed truck carrying half a dozen tractors rumbles past throwing dust on me from the road.  I turn left.

The gravel ends in a parking lot for a shooting club.  A quick scan of the lot reveals a break in the trees where there should be another road which will take me on to my chosen town.  I hope this isn't one of those shooting clubs with the target course in the woods.  I follow the path, just a dirt single track now, dip below the parking lot, around a patch of fist sized gravel, over a footbridge and onto another gravel road.  The gravel continues for another several kilometers before petering out and depositing me in another town.  I have no idea which one, but the sign says my destination is still quite a ways off.  With the pavement firmly beneath my tires, I breathe a sigh of relief from the gravel rattling, and kick into a more civilized pace.  A turn here, a turn there, a camp ground, a group of bird watchers, a farmer straight off of a postcard sitting in the bed of his truck with a pipe in his mouth and his dog at his side.  The countryside rolls by.  The hills rise around me, no vineyards, just dark trees- the Odenwald.  As I round a bend a large hill looms up in the distance, red walls crown its brow and a tower perches on the crest.  Another castle.  But, this one is new, so I let my eyes linger on it for a bit, before the hill twists out of sight.  After all this time, I still have a thing for castles.  They are huge monuments to this experience.  Reminders I'm not in Ohio anymore, reminders not to take that for granted.

After thirty or so kilometers, I've arrived at my destination, but I don't know it yet.  I'm expecting to roll out into a town center, paved in cobbles, with a church in the middle, and a bench next to the church.  That's the usual choice for a break to take a snack and refill the bottles if I need to.  I don't need to yet and the way to the quaint center is hidden around construction barriers and passing local traffic.  I decide to take the easy way through the congestion and head straight at the intersection.  I'll sort the way to the church bench after I get out of this cluster.  But, I don't.

It's not long before the road takes a severe uphill grade.  I'm basically committed at this point without making a u-turn.  I'm definitely leaving the town, almost as soon as I arrived in it, and I'm going up. A wooden, hand painted sign on the right of the road points up the hill I've unintentionally arrived on.  It says "Berg."  I glance up to the top of this hill; just the hint of red stone peaks through the trees.  The berg I saw from the valley below.

Sometimes the mind does weird things.  Things that are huge, things that terrify us, that intimidate, just stop being a big deal.  The butterfly feeling never hits.  We say, "I'm not afraid of you today."  We don't know why, we just aren't.

I don't make a u-turn.  I stop thinking about locating the town center.  I want to see this castle instead, and do so I have to climb this hill.  So, climb this hill I will.  I focus.  My head in its weird non-panicky state says, "Find the rhythm.  Speed isn't rhythm.  Just go up the hill.  Just go up.  If your speedometer is reading single digits, who cares?  You're going up this hill.  When you get up there, and you will, your life will never be the same."  And I find the rhythm, or it finds me.  I'm in the sun, full on my back.  I breathe through my mouth.  A bead of sweat runs down my left temple and falls on my shoulder.  Switchback.  I'm in the shade.  I took the turn tight on the inside as a red hatchback passes.  I hear the telltale grind of dropped chain.  I roll into a wide spot on the side of the road and sort it out.  I must have bumped the shifter when I stood up in the turn.  I click back in and keep going up.  Sorry, I'm not going to let the dropped chain dissuade me.  I'm going up this hill.  Switchback.  Sun.  The grade steepens.  I downshift and put my hands on the tops.  I hear the sound of laughing children coming fast behind me, and then they're on me.  In two firetrucks.  They barrel past, a small head pokes out a window and looks back, waving.  Sorry, kid, I'd wave back, but I'm kinda in the middle of something.  Switchback.  Shade and a break in the grade.  But, the road is positively pocked with holes.  This will probably hurt on the way down.  I leave it in the low gear and spin my legs out a bit, swig a bit from the bottle before the next increase hits a few meters ahead.  Ok, I should probably fill my bottle at some point.  There are no more switchbacks, just a steady increase in the grade.  Sun.  Shade.  Sun. Shade.  The sound of water somewhere.

Sun.  The trees are below me, just the castle sits above.  I run out of road and find the fire trucks at the same time.  Their passengers are running around the playground at the base of the fortress.  I pass between these random emergency vehicles and smoosh my front tire into a parking lot filled with loose pea gravel.  I'm going so slow at this point, it doesn't matter.  It's like landing on a feather bed.  My bike and I swim out and make our way to the near vertical cobbled road leading up through the castle gate.  The cobbles are set in such a way, basically stepped, so vehicles and shoes have something to grip, but there's no way I'd be getting a bike up that.  A sign nearby say's don't even try.  So, I unclip and walk, pushing the bike along the path next to me.  Another sign advertises a museum and the toiletten, aka. places to refill my bottles.  We climb through the first gate into a courtyard with a cannon.  We stop and turn around.

All that emotion I expected to hit me at the start of the climb, finally arrives.  But, it's not the butterflies of fear, the choke of trepidation.  It's a lump in the throat.  It rises, and my eyes well up.  A big green landscape wraps itself around me and below me.  A big old castle stands behind me.  I got here on my bike, the whole way.  I climbed a hill, pretty darn big one, a category 4 actually, on my own because I wanted to.  Because I said I would.  Because I couldn't let this hill or any other scare me back down the road.  I climbed.  I climbed.  It went pretty good and here I am.

The mountains in my head had been defeated with that climb.  My life isn't the same.  After filling my bottles and having a quick snack, I headed home the way I came.  The descent down that hill was the most fun I can ever remember having on two wheels.  Descents are a reason to climb.  But, the climb itself is the real reason.  With every pedal stroke, we get higher, stronger in the body and in the head.  If this hill can be climbed so can others.  The road is wide is open now.  There is nothing to fear.

Don't believe me?  The next day I climbed two more hills just like it.

An Afternoon Stop at Rapha Cycle Club London

We were in London last weekend visiting some friends.  All that talk about London being cycling mad is true, by the way.  We had a free afternoon after flying in so we decided to head over to the London Rapha Club to see what they were all about.

At first, we weren't sure.  It seemed like a hipster cycling themed coffee shop with some Team Sky paraphernalia on display.  The windows were covered in Marco Pantani themed art (I'm currently reading about Pantani's life and I honestly don't understand the glorification) and there seemed to be way more staff than necessary.  The menu looked quite good though, there were Giro themed specials and the main menu had a nice variety of cycling friendly foods.  We were starved after traveling all morning so decided this was as good as any place for a late lunch.  We both opted for the toasted cheese sandwiches and sat back to enjoy them (really tasty) and watch that day's stage of the Giro.  As the stage progressed, the place started to change.  People began to file in and grab a seat and later on, some standing room.  There were a lot of hipsters, a lot.  But, a good portion of the crowd were legitimate cycling fans.  Then, in the last 10km of the stage, it got real.  Everything in the cafe ground to a halt.  The staff came around from the counter.  Everyone put their eyes on the race.  We all sat there together, hipsters, roadies, fans, old and young and watched the race in almost total silence, waiting with baited breath to see the end result.  It was pretty darn cool.

When it was over, some grabbed their bikes and headed out.  Some stuck around for one more cup.  Others browsed through the racks.  I don't know if the customers were into the race because of the cycling mania that has hit London or what, but listening to a lot of the staff, I could tell these people really care about cycling and the products they carry.  They took the time to talk to customers about everything from their bibs to their socks and what would work best for the individual.  They were friendly and helpful.  They were, despite what the price tags, the artsy Ridley Scott films, the Chris King espresso tampers, the "Gentlemens Races," and the African hair sheep leather suggest, down to earth and easy to talk to even though neither of us has tattoo sleeves nor does my husband sport an ironic beard.

As for the clothes?  We picked up a variety of products.  The verdict is still out on their performance, I'll let you know after they've been saddle tested for a while.  But, I can tell you they are the most comfortable, well fitting cycling clothes I've tried on.  It was as if someone came to my house, took my measurements, and made me a custom kit.  The jersey was snug where it needed to be, but not too snug.  The bibs were supportive, but comfy.  I was impressed right off the bat without even getting on the bike.  Now that we're back from our trip, I'm looking forward to putting this stuff through the paces.

I have to admit, I was pretty hesitant about Rapha.  They do have a bit of a snooty reputation; their marketing is rather pretentious.  Wearing their stuff could be kinda like high school, buying what the cool kids wear hoping to fit in.  But, I'd been in the market for a new kit for a while, tired of picking up another set of $30 shorts and a jersey that isn't comfortable and can't handle heavy miles.  I was tired of compromising to save some money, tired of things riding up, flapping in the breeze, and performing pretty miserably.  I narrowed it down to a couple of brands, with Rapha being one.  From there it came down to being able to get it.  Not everyone ships to Germany.  Even if they do, there's the question of whether or not it will actually get to us.  Fun fact, the German customs department has a thing with stuff shipped from the US.  Anything worth more than about $20 is held at an office somewhere for the recipient to pick up.  Once they get there to pick up their stuff, they have to provide a receipt of purchase and pay fees that sometimes exceed the original price of the item.  Then, of course, there is the likely chance the stuff is just held indefinitely or pocketed by a customs worker.  So, that took any brand from the States off the table (unless I was willing to wait to pick it up on the annual visit home).  That left me with European brands, all of which are only available online here.  You can buy anything online, but I always balk at buying clothes unless I know how they fit.  So, the visit to Rapha to handle the products, try them on, and get a feel for the company made a huge difference.  I decided to go with them for the time being.  I can promise you one thing, if I do become a fan of Rapha it will be based on its performance, not because it has fancy labels in the clothing, they outfit Tour de France winners, or because of their brooding ads.  We'll see how it goes.

As for the Cycle Club London, it was pretty nifty to be in a place where people love cycling just as much as I do.  It would be pretty great if more places like that existed.

Making the Call

Cycling is a tough activity, don't let anyone tell you different.  It's tough for the professionals who compete on bikes and it's tough for people who ride them to work.  The only difference is the speed and the equipment.  The stakes are the same.

In a split second, everything can change.  We're out there on the road with nothing but what we have on our backs to protect us from the multi-ton metal boxes flying past or the spot of pavement that refuses to let a bike stay upright for no explicable reason.  Even when the situation is primed for cycling, things can still go wrong, terribly wrong.  There's the road, there's our bikes, there are the cars, there are other people, there animals, there's the weather, and there are other cyclists.  There are too many variables, even on a closed course, that will never permit cycling to be as safe and predictable as football.

All of us who tuned in to watch the US Pro Championships were heartbroken when Lucas Euser and Taylor Phinney went down hard while trying to avoid a race motorcycle during a tricky descent in the road race.  Euser was able to walk away from the accident.  Phinney, who won a stage of the Tour of California thanks to his descending skills and the US Pro Time Trial last Saturday, didn't get up.  He suffered a severe compound fracture to his left fibula and tibia.  That is a horrible injury, more than likely a season ending injury.  Thankfully, he's young so it is likely that he will come back from this, but it'll be a long road.  All it took was a second for disaster to strike.  It can strike someone who knows better than most how to handle a bike.  It can definitely strike the rest of us.  No matter how many hours we spend in the saddle and no matter how much practice we get, there's always the chance that something could happen.

But, we don't think about it too much.  We can't.  If we played out all the possible tragedies that could happen while riding, we wouldn't ride.  We'd go to a gym and ride a stationary instead.  We'd get in our cars and drive to work instead of loading our stuff in panniers and pedaling to the office. We wouldn't be cyclists.  But, we have to be smart about riding.  We need to push our limits, but we also need to know when to make the call.  Sometimes, it's wiser to sit a ride out than push on.  We need to know our bodies, what level we can take them to before we end up doing damage.  We need to know when the road situation isn't safe to ride.  There is a limit.  We have to make the call when it comes to our safety. The line is different for everyone, and no one else can make the decision for us.  It's a part of cycling.  Sometimes those lines change, like the more we descend the more comfortable we get with it.  Others stay firmly in place.  But, we know when we're pushing the envelope and when we can handle it.  No  Rapha ad, no editorial, no Twitter comment should determine how we approach our personal safety.  Lately, pro riders have been taking some flak for protesting the conditions in races.  It's easy to say, "You're a professional, suck it up."  But, we're not on the roads with them.  We really don't have the right to make the call.  No one has the right to make the call for the rest of us either.  We ride the roads, we know our bodies, we know our bikes.  We make the call.

Over the last month, my husband was out of town on business, a lot.  So, I dialed it back on the bike.  I popped it into the trainer and missed quite a bit of nice weather.  Being completely and utterly alone here adds a variable into the equation I don't really want to mess around with if something were to go wrong.  I played the conservative hand to mitigate some risks.  While I'm sorry I missed some potential good days out there on the bike, I'm not sorry I made the call.  It would be better to miss a sunny bike ride than end up in a nasty situation while the only person that would notice I was missing was six hours away.  I know that close calls are common on a clear, beautiful day when my husband is riding with me.  Heck, I barely missed creaming a woman who stepped out in the street, backwards, from behind a 5 foot tall hedge last weekend.  It was miracle we didn't connect!  If we had, it would have been nasty.  If I was alone it would have been worse.  If I was completely solo in Germany at the time that situation would haven been an even uglier business.  So, that's why I draw the line there.  I keep rides stationary or in short circuits if I'm solo in Deutschland.  Some may not agree with that decision, but sorry, it's not your call.

Cycling is tough.  We have a lot to take into account when we ride.  There's quite a bit we can control.  We can care for our bodies so they don't fail us out there.  We can keep our bikes in top shape to avoid debilitating mechanicals.  We can ride defensively and carefully.  But, there's a lot out there that's totally out of our hands.  We know that.  It's up to us to deal with it the best we can.  Only we know how.

The Secret

I'm going to let you in on something.  You know all those pictures in the magazines, the blog posts, and Instagram of people cycling in Europe on these wide open roads in these grand vistas? You know those inspiring write-ups about solitude on the European roads?  Those quiet little villages with nothing but sheep and the perfect little cafe?  Ok, those places exist.  They do, I promise.  BUT, that's not Europe anymore than DisneyWorld or the Grand Canyon is representative of America.  The reality is Europe has cities and cars and lots of people too.  It's not a postcard, it's a living place.

A good portion of my cycling is through villages very similar to the one shown here.  It can be a pretty intense experience.  The streets through these towns are narrow to begin with, and then they are made narrower by parked cars.  Pretty much every corner is a blind one.  Buildings are right on top of the road  and there's just a wee strip of sidewalk.  There are intersections that are a free for all, meaning there is no indication of who has right of way.  There's this road furniture designed to slow down traffic.  Really, it just serves to make things more difficult.  And, guys, cobbles are really, really common.  Every single town center is paved in cobbles, some new and smooth, others at least 100 years old and just as gnarly as the one's you see in the Classics.  Hate to burst bubbles here, but there is nothing pleasant about riding over cobbles.  Then, there are people.  People live in the villages, towns, and cities of Europe, believe it or not.  Even the smallest village has people walking around during the day.  Some of these people step out into the street without looking, walk out from between cars, blindly open car doors, let their dogs and children run willy nilly into the streets.  The cars, of course, can be an issue too.   There are four rush hours- morning, before lunch, after lunch, and the evening.  In some regions there is only one road connecting all the communities so traffic can get pretty backed up even in the little one horse towns.  Speed limits are higher.  ATVs are street legal.  Tractors are street legal.  Vehicles I can't even identify are street legal.  It can get pretty wild on these roads.  All these everyday things can combine to create situations that would make your average American cycling advocate soil themselves.

Of course, yes, cycle paths and on road infrastructure are more common.  But, cycle paths aren't designed for sporting cyclists.  They can be used for training, but they can get just as congested with commuters and folks out for a leisure ride as the roads are with cars after lunch.  On-road lanes are common in large cities, but in smaller cities and towns they are as rare as they are in America.  Some of them are routed in inexplicable ways which confound those who have never followed them before.  Oh, and people park their cars in the lanes over here too.  The systems of Belgium, The Netherlands, and Denmark are not the norm.

So, if people want to ride the epic roads seen in the calendars, blogs, and magazines they have to throw the bike on the car and drive to them just like you do when you want to ride epic roads in America.  For the most part, European cyclists have the same challenges American cyclists do.  It's not the Promised Land (ok, Belgium is the Promised Land).  Before you start freaking out and labeling me as negative, don't panic.  Bare with me here.  Riding a bike in the majority of Europe is better than it is in a good portion of the States, but not for the reasons you may think.

The secret to happy cycling is not in lanes, lights, sharrows, paths, or boxes.  The secret to happy cycling is attitude.  Jerks and morons are everywhere, and that's not going to change anytime soon.  But, there is a prevailing attitude from cyclists, drivers, and pedestrians that bicycles belong on European roads.  For the most part, drivers aren't surprised or miffed when a bicycle appears in their path.  Well, if they are they keep it to themselves.  Pedestrians are still oblivious, but they don't go ballistic when you gently bring them back to reality with the ding of a bell.  Other cyclists still do stupid things, but those guys are in the minority and generally live in cities.  Close calls still happen, but they aren't rooted in hatred and ignorance.  They happen because the situation was just sketchy.  They happen because city planners come up with some wacky designs.  They happen because people get distracted and don't pay attention.

So, you know what, America?  You have the potential to become the greatest place in the world to ride a bike.  No, you don't have roads with the heritage, you don't have the storied legacy and rich cycling culture.  But, you have wide roads and open ones.  You don't have to go through busy city centers unless you want to.  You have intersections that make sense and standardized traffic laws.  The odds of getting plowed over by a thresher are slim to none.  You have endless cycling possibilities.  All you need to do is to change your attitudes.  Drivers, stop thinking the roads are your's to own.  Stop believing you're the dominate form of life.  Cyclists, stop believing that drivers supersede you on the totem pole.  Ride like you belong there, deliberately and legally.  Pedestrians, while I realize you're few and far between, just try to remember that there are other people in the world and they really don't want to run into you.  Law makers and enforcers, start enforcing traffic laws and seriously prosecuting violators.  If drivers aren't held accountable when they endanger the lives of others, their attitudes won't change.  While you're at it, go after cyclists when they are on sidewalks or riding the wrong way.  If our attitudes change to being more mindful of others and accepting of all transportation methods as equals, we can revolutionize American cycling.

It really could be that easy.  If people can ride their bikes in Europe in far more intimidating and challenging situations and not hate every kilometer or get creamed as soon they clip in, then American cyclists definitely can too.  There really is no excuse.

Prepping for Paris-Roubaix

All is quiet now...

This Sunday all of us who are suckers for a great bike race will be sitting down in front of the TV (or hunkering along a roadside in northern France if we're lucky) to witness one of the greatest single day races on the calendar.  For cycling connoisseurs this is the greatest month in cycling.  Sorry, July.  Last Sunday we had De Ronde van Vlaanderen, Paris-Roubaix this Sunday, and then the week of the Ardennes Classics beginning on the 20th.  It's the height of the Spring Classics season, and there isn't a better time of year to be a cycling fan.  I love the Spring Classics, particularly the ones in April, more than anything else on the schedule.  I love how unpredictable they are.  I love the landscape.  And, I love the intensity.  It's really hard to pick a favorite race.  Even after spectating almost all of them last year, I still couldn't pick one.  You can't beat the atmosphere at the Tour of Flanders.  Paris-Roubaix is hauntingly gorgeous.  The legacy and unique nature of the Ardennes can't be denied.  But, for many Roubaix is their number one.  It's a pretty big deal.

This week the teams are out on reconnaissance rides, prepping their bikes and minds for the Hell of the North.  Meanwhile, we fans have our own prepping to do.  We certainly shouldn't arrive on Sunday ill prepared anymore than the riders should.  How does a fan prepare, you ask?

First off, it doesn't hurt to review the events of last year's race.  You can watch the entire broadcast of the 2013 Paris-Roubaix here.   Of course, it wouldn't hurt to catch up on the 2012 edition either and relive Tom Boonen's famous solo ride.  Next, there are the documentaries.  The most well-known is Jørgen Leth's A Sunday in Hell which documents the 1976 edition featuring The Merckx, Roger De Vlaeminck, Francesco Moser, and Freddy Maertens.  This is one of the greats in cycling documentaries, but a little difficult to get your hands on.  Snippets are available online, but if you want to watch the whole thing you'll have to buy a copy.  Those aren't too easy to find either.  The next great documentary is the 2009 Road to Roubaix.  Lastly, you can catch the CBS broadcast of the 1988 edition which not only covers the race, but provides some great behind the scenes footage of Team 7-Eleven.  And, if you don't mind an amateur's attempt, here's my quick video of the Arenberg from last year.  


Trouée d'Arenberg from CG Inlux on Vimeo.

As for reading material, I have two recommendations.  First of all, the write up on The Inner Ring website is a fantastic, quick read on the history of the race.  They also feature some beautiful photos.  For a more lengthy story of L'enfer du Nord, check out the recently published book The Monuments by Peter Cossins.  I haven't gotten to the Roubaix section yet, but the Liege-Bastogne-Liege chapter was very well done.  

With all that under your belt you should be pretty well prepared for Sunday.  As for Sunday itself, all you have to do is find the least dodgy feed (unless you live somewhere that will broadcast in English), sit back, and watch the drama unfold.  Of course, all of this would be more enjoyable if preceded or followed by a bike ride (depending on your timezone).  But, you're guaranteed a successful Roubaix if it includes a great menu.  I've spent most of the week focusing on my Roubaix Day dinner and I'm pretty pleased with the final lineup.  For those who are interested, here's what I've come up with:

Starter

Deviled Eggs de l'enfer

Main

Poulet avec Pavè

"Punctured" Flat Noodles with Herbs

Classic Spring Classic Salad

Dessert*

Cinnamon-Sugar Dusted Shortbread Cobbles

or

Nutella Mud Pie

*Dessert Menu dependent on Sunday's weather.  I'm hoping for rain.

Drink pairings have yet to be determined.  I'm taking recommendations, as long as it's something I can find in a German grocery store.  

Anyway, Sunday will definitely not disappoint in regards to the racing.  Will Cancellara pull off a fourth win?  Will Boonen set the new record for the most wins?  Or, will another contender take the glory?  We'll find out on Sunday.  See you there!