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- Friday, March 29, 2024

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 BASF
...We don't make the flog, we just make it harder... BASF = "Bad-Ass-Suffer-Fest. The night rides up here in the High Desert have been almost pleasant. The usual winter night ride is dressing like the Michelin Man, while you're weighed down with big hydropak, batteries and lights. Add the extra effort of heavy bib tights with the usual headwind on the hills and it's gonna be a beyatch climbing anything steep. But not last night. Legwarmers and a couple of light layers. Add a couple of fast riding buds and you've got a recipe for 'flog-flambe'.

5 PM and we rolled out on the backside of Ave P. The new loop is much tougher, now that we're forced to use the backside exclusively due to house construction on the front side. Instead of a moderate warm-up climb, except for one downhill, you're pretty much climbing tough for the first two miles. We've also doubled the hardest part of the ride, the "Whitehouse" portion. What we did only once, we now do twice (and ain't that nice?). A series of rolling climbs with a couple of tough, steep little mutha's in the middle. The first one is maybe middle and third with the saved mo', but the second is a bottom of the cassette grinder that has you nearly taxed to the max. Add the final long climb and you've got cardio-puke happiness.

I'm learning how to overcome one of my major weaknesses. In the past, when somebody gets a good distance ahead of me, it's been so easy to throw in the towel. When you're suffering hard and you've lost ground, the little crybaby wants to come out and say 'let em go', they've gotten too far ahead'. We're just getting into the ride, when my buddy Sarge and I challenged each other at the narrow entrance of the first steep technical climb and I lost. I veered and my back wheel slid in a rut. Full stop as my other partner jammed by. Amazing how much ground you can lose in ten-twenty seconds as they made it to the top and started jamming. I got there and they already had a block on me! We've got another 14 miles to go.

Gotta be patient, gotta keep em' in sight. I slowly reeled em in, till I was close enough to smell the sharp tang of deodorant, sweat and White Lightning. At the bottom of the long 'grinder' climb, I passed them both, taking the lead on the rough rocky stretch. I could hear them breathing hard behind me, but I kept them there. We crested the top and kept hauling. In our group, there's only three legitimate reasons to stop and we call those, the "Three P's". Piss, Puke or Pass Out. And there's only forgiveness for the last.

The first 'WhiteHouse' Climb and I'm getting challenged. Running nearly in the red zone, high yellow for sure. The two of them are right on my rear tire, forcing me to throw down and slam the cranks a little harder. Ragged breathing, gotta smooth it out. Head rushing, nearly ready to puke, but gotta keep it going, bumping up gears at the crest of each hill and grabbing all the mo' I could on the short downhills. Smooth pedalling, pay attention to the upstroke too, shift the seat position, relax the upper body. A thousand things go through your mind when you're suffering like this, but you love it just as much as you hate it.

Back down and for the first time in months, my downhill skills don't suck (my fractured elbow is nearly healed...). I'm working the corners, but Mark is still a little faster and at the bottom of Coyote, he's quickly turned it around and now has some distance on me. Sarge and I get to the end, turn the bikes around and start hauling to try to catch up. Going up the rough creek bed, I can't even see Mark's lights ahead. Rough, rocky sections chop up the climbing rhythm and I try to learn from the bouncing bike on the uphill. I drop Sarge and now I'm on my own. HID's illuminate the dark brush and trees and at the top, I see Mark. He's got about two blocks on me. The test is here.

I've just finished a hard climb, hauling for all I'm worth and now I've got to make time on him. It's going to be a slow process and I'm running almost wide-open, right at the edge of my cardio-zone. The nagging crappy little thoughts keep creeping in. "You ain't gonna do it". "He's too far ahead". But the good ones are there too. "Patience". It's going to be a slow process, but I gain on him. Coming up on him. A little more. He's right there as we climb a short ridge and descend. Hard right at the four-way and I put the pass on him decisively. Get out in front and he falls in behind. I am nearly whipped, but I keep the pedal down. I savor the suffering. Rolling the hills and rolling them hard. Sarge isn't even in sight anymore. We've left him far behind.

We finish up a half hour later. Full-on flog for nearly an hour and a half, covering over 15 miles or a typical sport race. The lesson learned about catching up was hard earned. I sucked at this for years, despite my race experience. It was all internalized and now I realized that I can work the guy up front. Part of it is physical. Maybe you ain't got flog. Part of it is mental. Can you kick the little crybaby out? Something about running wide-open like that, that just feels absolutely bitchin'. It's like taking a Corvette and doing a 125 mph for an hour and a half, except you're the 'vette. After the ride, you can almost hear the motor ticking and smell that smell of a hot car, but maybe I'd better use more 'RightGuard.
Posted by STP a 47 year old Racer riding a K2 Razorpiggie from P'Dale on 02/08/06


Responses: (1) (2) Post Reply  

  •  Re: BASF
    Funky, Funky, Funkdafied.
    Nice write up STP, can't wait for a desert flog.
    Reeling in other riders is quite a challenge with a big psychological boost, when you can actually accomplish it.
    paz afuera
    Posted by Papisimo riding a Bike on 02/08/06
    Reply (to this)(main)

  •  Re: BASF

    `Yep, that's it, more Right Guard.

    You freekin mutant!

    .
    Posted by Pain Freak riding a Surly Turner from The 909 on 02/08/06

    Reply (to this)(main)

    
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