San Ardo Road Race, San Ardo California
Saturday morning, August 27, 2005, and the temperature is a mere 53 degrees in the Monterey County town of King City. I’ve headed back to where I started bicycle racing 19 years ago. Those many years ago, I competed in the first annual San Ardo Road Race. San Ardo is a little town, located right next to the Salinas River in the Southern end of the Salinas Valley. I left the Antelope Valley the day before and put several hours, and over 100 degree temperatures behind me. By the end of my race the temperature had gotten all the way up to 85 degrees and had many of the racers commenting on how hot it is. Hot? I was kicking myself for not bringing along my arm warmers. Hell, I’m lucky if it’s not 85 degrees at 7:00 in the morning, when I start my training rides here in the high desert.
Pre-race With Jade
King City is a small town with a big name, located about 20 miles North of San Ardo. We left the motel at 7:00 am to be ready for the 8:47 start time. You head down the 101 freeway and get off at the San Ardo off ramp. Cross the bridge over the Salinas River and enter the tiny town of San Ardo. Today though, the tiny town has more bike racers than inhabitants. Racers are everywhere. I’m here with my wife, Esmeralda, and our four year old daughter Jade. I last raced here in the 1980s when they had the first road race in this town. It turned out to be my last road race of that season, and my last for over 18 years. Esmeralda was at that race too but I had just recently met her and she, and her young, 2 year-old, son Alex were my two fans. A road race is not much of a spectator sport, as the peloton whizzes by you in seconds and the riders disappear into the distance, only to return tired and sweaty an hour or so later. To pass the time, Esmeralda played with Alex in the local elementary school playground. Now 19 years later, Esmeralda played with Jade in the local elementary school playground. And the sport still hasn’t become much of a spectator sport, as the peloton still whizzes by in seconds, only to have you return an hour later hot and sweaty…
Masters 45 Completing Lap 1
I’ve stuck to my web blog address and I’m racing Masters 45. But once again, the Masters’ are a tough race. I take stock of the “old guys” with me and can tell that they are a dedicated lot. Northern California turns out some great racers and I’m sure a lot of these guys have not stopped since they started racing in their twenties. I listen to the announcer going over the rules of the road but only with half a brain. The other half is thinking I’m in for a tough, fast race. The course is perfect for me, a 188lb racer (lost another two pounds some how.) It is relatively flat with a few rollers scattered about. Similar to Merced but the rollers here in San Ardo have a little more bite to them; longer and steeper than their Central California cousins. This will also be the first test for my now Campy equipped racing bike. About a month back, I paid Bicycle Johns of Acton much money to trade out my worn Ultegra group with the cool Campy Chorus group. My relatively new C40 Colnago frame was just crying out for Campy gear anyway. My rear cassette is a 12-26, and this is more than adequate for the rollers in San Ardo. I actually never left the big chain ring anyway, as I just stood up and powered over the steepest of the rollers in the big gears.
My Face on the Far Left
I started my warm-up at about 8:00 am. For a road race I prefer to warm-up on the road instead of using a trainer. I find some out of the way back stretch and do build-ups for about 7-10 miles. I start really slow and then increase my cadence until I’m warm enough to use the big ring up front. I do a lot of sprinting out of the saddle and keep an eye on my heart rate monitor. At about 10 minutes to go I head over to the starting area. After the pre-race instructions, we’re off. We start out immediately up a small grade that leads to the bridge over the Salinas River and our speed settles in at around 20 mph. I actually start out at the very back of the pack but as soon as we cross the bridge I move up to the top ten of our 30+ member field. This being my last road race of the season I decide to ride very aggressively and ride the whole race in the top 10. I go a step further than that after a few miles and move up to the top 5. Before I know it, I’m at the top 1 and pulling the peloton. Another Colnago framed bike pulls up besides me and comments on how two Colnagos are in the lead. The first big attack comes, like all attacks, quickly from somewhere in the rear of the pack. A group of riders’ flies past me and the other Colnago and I immediately increase my cadence and speed and jump on the 4th rider accelerating past me. This will be the first of probably 20 attacks I covered during the race. We, the attack group, start a quickly rotating pace line but the attack fails and the peloton regroups. I settle back into the top 5 and quickly find myself back pulling the peloton again. The other Colnago takes his turn at the front with a quick pull and he pulls out. I take my turn and look back to see a guy in a blue jersey right behind me. I pull a reasonable time and pull to the left – blue jersey stays glued to my rear wheel. I move sharply to the right, the same thing happens. I even turn around and say, “take a pull.” Nothing happens. The guy is actually doing the smart thing as he’ll still have his legs at the end of this race – I won’t.
I’m just about to slow things down and let someone else come up from the rear or just wait for the next attack to come along when I notice the biggest hill on the course about 1 mile in front. I give the wheel sucker another chance to take his turn – he doesn’t, so I shoot off the front at 28 mph and head for the hill. Anyone reading these postings should know that I can’t climb hills worth beans so I decide to get a jump on the hill. The wheel sucker stays glued to my wheel and the rest of the peloton reacts as if I’ve attacked. I hit the base of the hill at 30 mph with the peloton in hot pursuit. I quickly drop two gears in the rear and stand-up to attack the hill as much lighter racers pour past me on both sides. I crest the hill near the back of the pack and glance at my heart rate monitor – 176 bpm. This is a new high. By using the age method, my max heart rate is around 172 bpm – I’ve bested this on a couple of races and one training ride but 176 is a new one. My lactate threshold has not been measured lately but was 161 bpm. It turns out that I averaged 161 bpm for the complete race and that my heart stayed at 165 bpm for 1 hour and 35 minutes of the 2 hour race! I’m thinking I should redo my lactate threshold test and I’ll probably find that it is now around 165 bpm. LT is trainable and my interval workouts must have done their job. A race like San Ardo is very intense. We averaged 23.5 mph over the 48 miles and had many attacks that jumped speeds well into the 30 mph range and above.
As we move into lap two and cross the Salinas River for the 3rd time (twice during each lap) I realize I’ve ridden the most aggressive race of the year. I’ve covered every attack, sprinted up every hill, initiated several attacks of my own, and pulled the peloton around by myself far too many times. Aggressive riding yes, riding smart – no. As we climb the last hill with only a few miles left before the finish I realize my quads are starting to cramp when I climb out of the saddle – very bad sign when one thinks of them self as a sprinter and relies on powerful quadriceps. The high school comes into view and that means the finish is just 2 miles ahead, right behind the Salinas River crossing. The peloton starts to get jumpy as no attack has succeeded and we’re still very bunched together. We’ve passed many “shelled” riders from categories that left before we did and I presume that some of our group has been shelled too – but at this writing I don’t know how many have been dropped – still waiting for the results to be posted on the web. We fly past the starting line at 25 mph and begin to move across the bridge. The turn-off for the finish line is just ahead and on the left, and also up the slight grade – the peloton jumps. It is a massive field sprint to make the left turn first and fly to the finish. I gear up and jump out of the saddle to stay with the peloton and both quads scream in protest and hardly a watt of power seems to be generated. I realize I’m out and sit back down and coast in with the back 10% of the peloton.
Warming Down
Did I learn anything from the way I rode this race – yes. I was over aggressive and covered every attack. Not a single attack was successful so I could have just sat in the middle of the peloton and been pulled back into the failed attacking group. Should I have pulled the peloton around so much? – No. I should have pulled out sooner and drifted back in the group. Should I have sprinted up every hill? – No. My descending skills, and larger body mass would have brought me back to the peloton without the quad wasting energy that I exerted on every hill. On the other hand, I was aggressive and stayed at the front the entire race so this should help my confidence next year. The fact that I was found wanting at the end of the race underscores the strategy involved in a good road race. A good road race involves endurance (possibly more anaerobic than aerobic), bike handling skill, and brains. I pushed the envelope and failed by using poor race tactics. I did not get dropped from the group, even on the small hill climbs – a moral victory at the least. Perhaps next year, no more group fodder for me.
Pre-race With Jade
King City is a small town with a big name, located about 20 miles North of San Ardo. We left the motel at 7:00 am to be ready for the 8:47 start time. You head down the 101 freeway and get off at the San Ardo off ramp. Cross the bridge over the Salinas River and enter the tiny town of San Ardo. Today though, the tiny town has more bike racers than inhabitants. Racers are everywhere. I’m here with my wife, Esmeralda, and our four year old daughter Jade. I last raced here in the 1980s when they had the first road race in this town. It turned out to be my last road race of that season, and my last for over 18 years. Esmeralda was at that race too but I had just recently met her and she, and her young, 2 year-old, son Alex were my two fans. A road race is not much of a spectator sport, as the peloton whizzes by you in seconds and the riders disappear into the distance, only to return tired and sweaty an hour or so later. To pass the time, Esmeralda played with Alex in the local elementary school playground. Now 19 years later, Esmeralda played with Jade in the local elementary school playground. And the sport still hasn’t become much of a spectator sport, as the peloton still whizzes by in seconds, only to have you return an hour later hot and sweaty…
Masters 45 Completing Lap 1
I’ve stuck to my web blog address and I’m racing Masters 45. But once again, the Masters’ are a tough race. I take stock of the “old guys” with me and can tell that they are a dedicated lot. Northern California turns out some great racers and I’m sure a lot of these guys have not stopped since they started racing in their twenties. I listen to the announcer going over the rules of the road but only with half a brain. The other half is thinking I’m in for a tough, fast race. The course is perfect for me, a 188lb racer (lost another two pounds some how.) It is relatively flat with a few rollers scattered about. Similar to Merced but the rollers here in San Ardo have a little more bite to them; longer and steeper than their Central California cousins. This will also be the first test for my now Campy equipped racing bike. About a month back, I paid Bicycle Johns of Acton much money to trade out my worn Ultegra group with the cool Campy Chorus group. My relatively new C40 Colnago frame was just crying out for Campy gear anyway. My rear cassette is a 12-26, and this is more than adequate for the rollers in San Ardo. I actually never left the big chain ring anyway, as I just stood up and powered over the steepest of the rollers in the big gears.
My Face on the Far Left
I started my warm-up at about 8:00 am. For a road race I prefer to warm-up on the road instead of using a trainer. I find some out of the way back stretch and do build-ups for about 7-10 miles. I start really slow and then increase my cadence until I’m warm enough to use the big ring up front. I do a lot of sprinting out of the saddle and keep an eye on my heart rate monitor. At about 10 minutes to go I head over to the starting area. After the pre-race instructions, we’re off. We start out immediately up a small grade that leads to the bridge over the Salinas River and our speed settles in at around 20 mph. I actually start out at the very back of the pack but as soon as we cross the bridge I move up to the top ten of our 30+ member field. This being my last road race of the season I decide to ride very aggressively and ride the whole race in the top 10. I go a step further than that after a few miles and move up to the top 5. Before I know it, I’m at the top 1 and pulling the peloton. Another Colnago framed bike pulls up besides me and comments on how two Colnagos are in the lead. The first big attack comes, like all attacks, quickly from somewhere in the rear of the pack. A group of riders’ flies past me and the other Colnago and I immediately increase my cadence and speed and jump on the 4th rider accelerating past me. This will be the first of probably 20 attacks I covered during the race. We, the attack group, start a quickly rotating pace line but the attack fails and the peloton regroups. I settle back into the top 5 and quickly find myself back pulling the peloton again. The other Colnago takes his turn at the front with a quick pull and he pulls out. I take my turn and look back to see a guy in a blue jersey right behind me. I pull a reasonable time and pull to the left – blue jersey stays glued to my rear wheel. I move sharply to the right, the same thing happens. I even turn around and say, “take a pull.” Nothing happens. The guy is actually doing the smart thing as he’ll still have his legs at the end of this race – I won’t.
I’m just about to slow things down and let someone else come up from the rear or just wait for the next attack to come along when I notice the biggest hill on the course about 1 mile in front. I give the wheel sucker another chance to take his turn – he doesn’t, so I shoot off the front at 28 mph and head for the hill. Anyone reading these postings should know that I can’t climb hills worth beans so I decide to get a jump on the hill. The wheel sucker stays glued to my wheel and the rest of the peloton reacts as if I’ve attacked. I hit the base of the hill at 30 mph with the peloton in hot pursuit. I quickly drop two gears in the rear and stand-up to attack the hill as much lighter racers pour past me on both sides. I crest the hill near the back of the pack and glance at my heart rate monitor – 176 bpm. This is a new high. By using the age method, my max heart rate is around 172 bpm – I’ve bested this on a couple of races and one training ride but 176 is a new one. My lactate threshold has not been measured lately but was 161 bpm. It turns out that I averaged 161 bpm for the complete race and that my heart stayed at 165 bpm for 1 hour and 35 minutes of the 2 hour race! I’m thinking I should redo my lactate threshold test and I’ll probably find that it is now around 165 bpm. LT is trainable and my interval workouts must have done their job. A race like San Ardo is very intense. We averaged 23.5 mph over the 48 miles and had many attacks that jumped speeds well into the 30 mph range and above.
As we move into lap two and cross the Salinas River for the 3rd time (twice during each lap) I realize I’ve ridden the most aggressive race of the year. I’ve covered every attack, sprinted up every hill, initiated several attacks of my own, and pulled the peloton around by myself far too many times. Aggressive riding yes, riding smart – no. As we climb the last hill with only a few miles left before the finish I realize my quads are starting to cramp when I climb out of the saddle – very bad sign when one thinks of them self as a sprinter and relies on powerful quadriceps. The high school comes into view and that means the finish is just 2 miles ahead, right behind the Salinas River crossing. The peloton starts to get jumpy as no attack has succeeded and we’re still very bunched together. We’ve passed many “shelled” riders from categories that left before we did and I presume that some of our group has been shelled too – but at this writing I don’t know how many have been dropped – still waiting for the results to be posted on the web. We fly past the starting line at 25 mph and begin to move across the bridge. The turn-off for the finish line is just ahead and on the left, and also up the slight grade – the peloton jumps. It is a massive field sprint to make the left turn first and fly to the finish. I gear up and jump out of the saddle to stay with the peloton and both quads scream in protest and hardly a watt of power seems to be generated. I realize I’m out and sit back down and coast in with the back 10% of the peloton.
Warming Down
Did I learn anything from the way I rode this race – yes. I was over aggressive and covered every attack. Not a single attack was successful so I could have just sat in the middle of the peloton and been pulled back into the failed attacking group. Should I have pulled the peloton around so much? – No. I should have pulled out sooner and drifted back in the group. Should I have sprinted up every hill? – No. My descending skills, and larger body mass would have brought me back to the peloton without the quad wasting energy that I exerted on every hill. On the other hand, I was aggressive and stayed at the front the entire race so this should help my confidence next year. The fact that I was found wanting at the end of the race underscores the strategy involved in a good road race. A good road race involves endurance (possibly more anaerobic than aerobic), bike handling skill, and brains. I pushed the envelope and failed by using poor race tactics. I did not get dropped from the group, even on the small hill climbs – a moral victory at the least. Perhaps next year, no more group fodder for me.
posted by Bob Grove at 2:21 PM
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