The Morning After: Post-Sport Transport

Today is a day like any other. I unlocked my bike from our outdoor storage area, clipped my pannier onto its rear rack and took off for the day, wearing my regular clothing. If I get home after dark, I will give my dynamo bottle a little push and the lights will come on - sustained by my pedaling. I cycle carefully in traffic. I sit upright. Drivers and pedestrians see my old-fashioned loop frame bike and they often wave to me and smile. I have been doing this more or less every day for over two years. As a mode of transportation it is perfect for me; I have truly found something that works. And I enjoy helping others who feel that it could work for them.

But cycling in traffic this morning, I am also remembering what happened last night - and it's like a fuzzy memory of a drunken party in its sheer unreal-ness. I went on another paceline ride, starting off in a faster group this time. Five miles in I dropped my chain accelerating uphill, which was mortifying and had never happened to me before. But disaster was averted ("Chain off!! Slowing!"), the chain was soon back on, and we (the woman who stayed behind to help and I) caught up with the group in no time. The chase was a nice warm-up. Toward the middle of the ride, we ended up splitting in two again, with myself and a couple of others in the front. We received minimal instruction in this slightly more advanced group, and I took frequent turns rotating. I was on a high from the sheer excitement of it, not even feeling my legs - only the speed. As the end of the ride neared, the leader asked who wanted to go on an extra climb instead of straight back, and I was among those who came along. We were allowed to pass each other uphill, and I did - passing the others, then waiting at the bottom of the hill for a good few minutes. Next time, I am told I can join the next group up. There was also discussion of joining the team. Then I cycled home for 10 miles, elated but not particularly tired. Even as I write this, it sounds like I am making it all up. My mind is swirling.

Riding my bike for transportation, I feel at ease and familiar with the city where I used to resent living just a couple of years ago. Everything seems friendlier now, more accessible, more connected to my life. I have a personal map of the city in my mind, where every area includes the sensory experience of riding my bike there. I continue to discover new neighborhoods that surprise me, feeling like an explorer every time I need to venture somewhere new. It's wonderful, and I don't write about it daily only because it has become so incorporated into my everyday routine as to become mundane.

I wonder whether I will ever experience this sense of familiarity and belonging with cycling as a sport. I feel wildly different from the other women doing the paceline rides, who seem so comfortable with the very notion of it all.  They've been running, going to the gym and playing other sports all of their lives, while I've stayed as far away from such activities as possible. And it's not just a matter of being intimidated. The non-athletic have prejudices against the athletic, whether they want to admit it or not. I grew up with perceptions of athletes as shallow, aggressive, cliquish and bullying - nothing us artsy kids wanted to be a part of. It's hard to get away from that mentality, even as an adult, and it's hard to get comfortable with the idea of being something I am not. Hearing things like "put the hammer down, girl!" followed by appreciative cheering, makes me feel conspicuously out of place.

Cycling to the training ride in my shorts, jersey, gloves, styrofoam bonnet and sunglasses yesterday, I got a "Hey, slow down!!" shouted at me by a woman strolling on the wrong side of the bike path, accompanied by a look of pure hatred. I glanced at my computer and confirmed that I was in fact going very slowly. But she saw me as fast, aggressive, and dangerous nonetheless. Would this same woman have waved to me and smiled had I been riding my loop frame bike wearing a dress?

Since I began writing about paceline rides, some readers have told me they feel I am sending "the wrong message" by getting involved in roadcycling and publicising this involvement: My "turning into a roadie" only confirms the stereotype of cycling as an extreme sport. At the same time, the supportive emails I've gotten from the pro-roadcycling camp border on pressure - from suggestions for which local team to join, to being told that I am in a unique position to advance the cause of getting more women into racing. For the most part, I am just confused by it all. I admit that I am now addicted to the paceline rides, and that joining a local cycling team is appealing. At the same time, I am socially uncomfortable both within a group of roadies, and also with being perceived as one. Call it a mild cycling-identity crisis.

I cannot take seriously the idea that to take part in paceline rides is to "betray" transportation cycling. I see the two as completely independent activities that can be pursued in parallel. Am I being unrealistic? Today I am cycling for transport while daydreaming of sport, and it seems completely natural.

Categories: Gazelle, paceline, roadcycling, traffic, transportation options

Paceline Ride, Take 2... or How I Psyched Myself Out, Then Had Fun After All

After two weeks of cancellations due to inclement weather and a week skipped due to injury, I finally did my second paceline ride. Because so much time passed since the previous one, the whole thing had gotten completely blown out of proportion in my mind, and I was even more nervous than before. I was now convinced that it wasn't being on a touring bike that made the ride strenuous for me last time - it was just me, being hopelessly out of my league. Was I prepared to face the embarrassment of arriving on my 110% appropriate loaner Seven just to have the same experience as before?

But moreover, as time passed I began to question whether pacelines were really a good idea for "someone like me." Since my write-up about the first ride, I've been warned by readers and acquaintances alike about how unsafe pacelines are, how ruthless the members of this particular cycling team supposedly are, and how there was no need to go to extremes - why not join a nice social group ride instead? I've even received links to videos of paceline crashes, just to make sure it sunk in what sort of danger I was exposing myself to. Though I took it all with a grain of salt, I would be lying if I said it didn't get to me. When I arrived to the meeting point for the ride, I was so nervous that I had to practically shove myself toward the group of women sitting on the grass. I can't believe that I managed to psych myself out to that extent. I did the ride, and it was great.

To clear up a misinterpretation of my previous post on the part of some readers, I never meant to suggest that the atmosphere of the last paceline ride was anything but welcoming. The leaders told me I had the wrong bike not because they were being unfriendly, but because I did have the wrong bike for that type of ride. This was an introduction to a sport and I basically showed up with inappropriate equipment. This handicapped me in comparison to the other participants, and they were simply letting me know that. My description of doing the previous ride on a touring bike was meant to show the humour of the whole situation, and not to criticise the nature of the ride or its organisers - for whose guidance and time I am genuinely grateful.

This time around, the difference in speed was so obvious that it is hardly worth discussing. Yes, a Seven Axiom set up for racing is faster than a Rivendell Sam Hillborne set up for touring, and to frame this as some profound realisation would be absurd. Still, I was tremendously relieved to have real evidence and not just assurances that "the right bike" would make such a difference. The right bike does not have to be a Seven of course. But it needs to be a light, aerodynamically set-up roadbike with closely spaced gearing and modern combination levers. When that's what every single other person in the group has, then that's what you need to have in order to be on equal footing.

Our group was larger this time and by the middle of the ride it was evident that a gap kept forming in the same spot. So we split into two groups and I ended up in the faster one. This was fantastic. I was mostly in the big ring for the rest of the ride, took more turns in the front, and practiced rotating while going full speed downhill. One of the leaders made sure to pull up alongside me and cycle as closely on my left as possible on the descent, having noticed that I am scared of that kind of proximity. With no way of escaping, I thought I'd lose my marbles and crash into a tree out of sheer fear of sensing her elbow 1" away from mine. "Oh my God, you're too close to me!" I pleaded. "No I'm not. Keep going. You need to get used to this." And I guess she had the right idea for how to deal with me: I got used to it.

At this point I am probably horrifying some of you again and making you wonder what on earth attracts me to this type of cycling. Honest answer: I don't know. But something definitely does. I like the speed. I like being in a paceline. I like receiving straightforward feedback about what I am doing wrong. I am relieved to know that my speed and endurance are up to par. My technique needs a lot of work, because I am still somewhat scared of the bike, scared of downhill speeds, and not entirely comfortable with constantly shifting gears. But all of that can be improved if I am willing to practice. The funny thing about human psychology, is that we tend to do what feels good without really knowing why, then construct elaborate rationalisations of our actions after the fact. But right now I'm too tired and confused to rationalise. I don't fully understand why I like the paceline rides. But I know that I want to keep doing them.

Categories: paceline, roadcycling, Seven, technique

Surviving a Paceline Training Ride

[image via alharbiseye]

Well, I did it. I showed up at the weekly women's paceline training ride that is organised by a local cycling team. The very same one I've been talking about forever. It was the first ride of the season and I figured that I should just go, before I lose my nerve and spend every week telling myself "maybe next time" while the entire summer goes by. So I went, and apparently survived - though just barely. Let me tell you about it from the beginning...

It was overcast and threatening to rain all afternoon, but I checked the team's website before leaving the house, and the ride was on. The meeting point was in Lexington, MA - which is 10 miles from where I live. I rode my bike there, taking care to go at a leisurely pace so that I wouldn't already be tired upon arrival. I was so nervous, that I needed all of those 10 miles just to calm down.

I spotted the meeting location immediately. There was a crowd of several dozen women in roadie attire and as many bikes lying on the grass and propped up against trees. My heart sank as I saw them. I guess I had expected more of a mix: Some women on modern carbon fiber and others on old 10-speeds; some in clipless shoes and others not; some in lycra and others in gym shorts. But no: Every single person there had a super-light modern roadbike with "brifters." Every single person there was wearing clipless shoes. Not a soul had a kickstand, fenders or racks on their bike but me. Not a soul had a bag attached to their bike. No one else had, um, a twined stainless steel water bottle. And all wore lycra - the club-affiliated cyclists readily distinguishable by their team kit. Thankfully, at least I wore my wool cycling knickers and jersey and not something more casual. Reluctantly, I approached.

Greeted by a woman in team kit who looked like she was in charge, I was pointed to a bench where everybody was signing waivers. I made the mistake of starting to read the waiver, but the things described there were so horrible that I stopped and just signed it. When I returned to the spot I'd left my bike, two other women-in-charge were gathered in front of it. Was this my bike? Yes... The one I was planning to ride? Yes... They examined my Rivendell touring bike as if it were a 100-year-old antique or a creature from outer space. There was some debate as to whether it would be allowed: My bicycle was extremely heavy, the tires were too wide, and I did't have the right shifters. I would have trouble doing the ride. Was this even a roadbike? Only roadbikes were allowed. Finally, the senior-most woman was called to resolve the issue. In the end my bicycle was deemed allowable, but I was warned that I might have trouble doing the ride; in the long run I would need a different bike. I tried not to get too intimidated by this. The group I planned to join was described as "paceline learning skills for beginners, 12-15mph." I could ride at that speed with my eyes closed (just a figure of speech, don't worry), so all I had to do was focus on the skills. So I stayed.

The crowd was split into groups and the beginner's group consisted of eight of us: six newcomers and two leaders. The leaders gave us a brief explanation of what it meant to ride in a paceline: The group cycles in a single-file procession, staying close to each other's wheels in a straight line. When the person in front gets tired, they move over to the left and drift to the back of the line, then merge with the paceline in the rear. This gets repeated every few minutes. One thing that makes perfect sense but I hadn't realised in advance, is that you cannot coast in a paceline. Whether going fast or slow, cyclists must keep pedaling at all times, because that is how members of the paceline are able to maintain uniform speed - they synchronise their leg movements. So, coasting is forbidden. Hard braking is also forbidden, as it can cause the person behind to crash into you. To slow down, you need to keep pedaling while "feathering" the brakes. Finally, there is a system of signals that members of a paceline must use - from the person in front indicating that they will move to the left now, to warning about potholes, to asking to merge into the middle of the paceline if you are drifting back on the left and there is a car coming. We were quickly shown all of these, and without further ceremony we set off on our 20 mile ride through rolling hills.

Apparently I am an extremely poor judge of my own strengths and weaknesses when it comes to cycling. I had thought that my biggest problem would be technique. I expected to experience debilitating fear when cycling 6" behind someone's wheel, to be dangerously clumsy at executing paceline maneuvers, and to be slow on the uptake whenever instructions were given. On the other hand, I expected myself to have no problem at all with the pace and terrain of the ride: I mean, 12-15mph? Please!

Instead, the exact opposite happened: I found the paceline training itself to be natural and had no problems with technique. I behaved predictably and signaled appropriately. I didn't coast and I feathered the brakes, modulating my speed smoothly (having ridden fixed gear made this pretty intuitive actually). I reacted quickly and calmly when instructions were given to me. I never once swerved or did anything crazy out of fear or incompetence. In short: all my worries about being poorly coordinated and getting flustered around other cyclists were completely unfounded.

On the other hand, keeping up with the pace proved to be challenging and I wish I could say it was the bike's fault. I don't know how to explain it. Maybe it was the no-coasting thing that did me in, combined with the fact that 15mph was the typical speed on flats, with 12mph being the uphill speed and 25mph the downhill speed (while still trying not to break the paceline). Anyhow, I felt extremely unfit on the uphill portions of the ride, huffing and puffing as I struggled not to lose the wheel of the person in front of me. On these occasions, the leader cycled alongside attempting to reassure me: "You see now?... You're at a real disadvantage with that bike... But you're doing well... Breathe... That's right... Good... Next time, different bike..."

Truthfully, I don't know whether it was the poor bike's fault or mine. All the other girls on the ride were athletes of some sort - runners or "spinners" (i.e. at the gym, on stationary bikes), looking to transition to roadcycling as a new sport to try. My background is very different. I am not an athlete and have never been an athlete. And I have done zero exercise all winter other than riding upright bikes for transportation. So maybe it's really a case of "next time, stronger leg muscles." I would be curious to try the same ride on a modern roadbike and see whether it's any less difficult, but I am skeptical.

There were other problems with my bike on this ride: Namely, the shifters, brake levers and possibly even handlebars. With my friction bar-end shifters, I was at a distinct disadvantage to the other girls, who could shift instantaneously thanks to their indexed "brifters." It was a little ridiculous actually. Moreover, moving my hand to the edge of the right handlebar in order to shift was problematic, because it is a similar gesture to the signal used for indicating pulling over to the left (you have to wiggle your right elbow). In that sense, using bar-ends in a paceline where no one knows what they are has the potential to cause an accident if the person behind me interprets my changing gears as inviting them to move forward.  Do I want to be responsible for that?... As for using the drops: I cannot modulate my brakes well from that position because of how my handlebars are shaped and set up, and so I only brake from the hoods. When going downhill, the leader wanted us all to get in the drops for maximum "aerotuck." She kept telling me to do this, but I refused because it wasn't a safe position for me to feather the brakes from.  So I stayed on the hoods, but bent my elbows so much that my chin was practically on my handlebars, achieving the aerodynamic positioning they wanted. They were okay with it under the circumstances... but it was yet more evidence of my needing a different bike - with shallow drops and with brake levers I could modulate from all positions.

If all of this sounds like a miserable, degrading struggle, then I've done a good job of describing it. It went on for an hour and a half as we cycled past farms, forests and highways practicing paceline maneuvers. But there were a few minor advantages to my bike as well. At some point it began to rain, and the group leaders grew alarmed - contemplating shortcuts back in case the rain continued. At first I could not understand what the problem was, but eventually realised that their bikes were prone to "wiping out" on wet terrain. Thankfully, that is one problem I don't have on my own bike. There was also a fear of sand. Sand on the road was signaled down the paceline as if it were a pothole to avoid. Not something I normally worry about. While these advantages were fairly minor compared to the disadvantages I experienced, they provided at least some relief.

We arrived back at the meeting point just as it was growing dark, and the girls began taking their bikes to their cars. When they learned that I had cycled from Somerville and now planned to cycle back, several of them offered to give me a lift. But I opted for a quiet ride home on the (now pitch-black) Minuteman Trail, to review the evening'e events in my head and relax. I cycled slowly as the lights on my bike illuminated my path. It was a beautiful night, and when the rain started up again the smell of the surrounding meadows grew pleasantly strong. I never, ever had to do the paceline ride again if didn't want to, but could just quietly cycle in the dark like this on my own forever. And yet?...

Categories: paceline, roadcycling, technique