Skinny Phil's Secret Drink Mix . . . Warning may cause vomiting

Let me start by saying that Allen Lim has nothing to worry about.  I'm not sure how long it took him to dial in his drink mix, but my first attempt was something of a failure.  I should back up though. Over the winter I bought Allen Lim's "Secret Drink Mix."  I liked the concept, bought into his science and liked the mild flavor of the drink itself.  I also bought his cookbook, which I highly recommend.  Over the years I've used a number of sports drinks, gels, bars, cubes, blocks, you name it.  Some contained too much sugar which seemed to create energy spikes followed by drops, while others just didn't seem to work.  In addition, regardless of what I took, I seemed to always cramp after a few hours at race pace.  I tried drinking more, drinking less, adding sodium tablets, and at my lowest point read a study indicating that pickle juice would prevent cramps.  Well, despite carrying and consuming a warm flask of pickle juice around a few races, the cramps continued to win.

Fast forward to last week and I run out of Allen Lim's Skratch Labs drink mix.  I order a couple of pounds, but I know that it won't be here in time for this weekend's race.  With a forecast of 85+ degrees, I'm concerned.  I decide to just head to the shop and buy some Heed.  It hadn't really worked in the past, but it was a known commodity.  Then I got to doing some further research on the internet.  That's usually a bad idea and that may have been where things took a turn in the wrong direction. 

Long story longer, I decide I can "recreate" Allen Lim's drink mix to a large extent.  4 teaspoons of sugar, a little less than 1/4 teaspoon of salt and a little pure lemon juice for flavor.  I took it on a test drive Friday night, and again for my openers on Saturday.  I was still less than confident that it would work, but Sunday's race wasn't exactly an A race for me, so I figured I'd roll the dice.  In a moment of clarity Saturday night I text Tim O. to get his 2 cents.  He very diplomatically tells me I'm crazy to make a change like that coming into a 55 mile race that's full of hills and unseasonably warm temperatures.  I don't listen and decide to go with my home brew.  I also decide to bring 3 full bottles with me and force myself to drink more than I normally do.  Allen Lim makes some excellent points about HOW you consume your calories and in what form, and subsequently I decide that I won't bring any gel packs and that I'll rely on the calories from the additional drink to get me through the race.  I throw a Cliff Bar in my pocket for insurance.

After lap 1 of 2, the pace is high and so are the temps.  On the start/finish climb I get gapped.  When the road points back down hill, I get into a good group and we begin the chase back to the pack.  It's then that I realize that something has gone very wrong.  Maybe too much salt?  Maybe the salt and lemon juice are conspiring against me?  Flash back to a bad margarita perhaps?  Who knows.  All I know is that I promptly jumped out of groups rotation and throw up in my mouth.  Then I projectile vomit about 6 ounces of Skinny Phil's Secret Drink Mix all over the road at 20 miles per hour.  At that moment I reflect on reading how Jens Voigt has just done something similar in the Tour of California.  The difference between Jens and myself is that he's a hard man of cycling, and I am . . . something less than that.  I contemplate turning around and riding back to the start, but decide to press on.  Apparently unloading the 6 ounces was enough to get back in the game, and a couple of miles later I'm feeling ok.  I went on to finish relatively strong with no cramps.  I have no idea what place I was in, and after getting dropped and taking a few minutes to roll along and puke, I don't really want to know where I finished, but I do know that I rode hard and didn't cramp at all even though I hammered up the last mile. 

What did I learn?  I should listen to Tim.  I shouldn't let myself run out of drink mix.  I should experiment more with ditching gels per Allen Lim's recommendations.  I also learned that puking and rallying isn't just for college kids.  Gotta love bike racing.  Where else could you have this much fun in the name of science?  Then again, I'm not sure what I was doing had anything to do with science.

Maybe next time I can avoid the cramps AND bypass the puking in the process.  A man's gotta have goals I guess.

Lost/Stolen - Reward Offered

I seem to have lost 30 watts.  The last time I saw them was in 2009.  They were awesome.  We had some good times.  I thought I found them a few times, but it wasn't the same 30 watts.  I think it was more like 15.  I've been looking all over for them.  Mostly I look in Cazenovia.  Sometimes I look around Highland Forest, and sometimes I look in my basement around my trainer.  I've become so desperate that I've even gone running in hopes of finding them.  I figure these types of things tend to get lost within a couple of miles of the house, so I thought I'd stand a better chance of seeing them on foot.  Then again maybe you're more likely to have an accident within a couple miles of the house.  I get those things confused.

In any event, I stopped working with a coach a couple of years ago.  Maybe the watts were part of the training program and when I stopped paying he transferred them to a paying client.  Maybe if I read the fine print in his contract I'll find them.

I've been traveling a lot for work.  I wonder if they fell out of the car at a rest stop in Massachusetts.  I also stay at a lot of hotels.  They tend to have restaurants like Applebees connected to their parking lots.  Sometimes I order a couple off the tall beers while I'm there to offset the fact that I'm in a Crapplebees.  Maybe I left them on the bar as a tip one night.

I did a lot of mountain biking last season.  I took a pretty good tumble during the Highland Hex.  Maybe they fell out of my jersey pocket.  I'm pretty sure I lost them before the Hex though.

I also wonder if Haight stole them.  He did move about 10 minutes ride from my house.  He's also riding pretty fast this year.  I know my dog Ray would eat him if he broke into the house, but maybe he took them from my garage.  Sometimes I leave them on my handlebars after a long ride.

I gotta get those watts back . . . 

I also lost a glove.  It was a Sugoi.  Something tells me I'll find or replace that first.  I'm not religious, but isn't there a saint that brings back lost stuff?  Meh, I guess I'll just keep riding in hopes that I find those watts.  If you see Haight sporting my watts in the wide open though, call the cops!

Sometimes It's the Ride to the Race (aka A Dog in a Hat revisited)

Disclaimer:  If you're looking for a race report I apologize.  While the race was a great event, this post is actually about getting to the Ramble Around Prattsburgh. 

Sunday morning saw me hop into the car to head down to Prattsburgh for the "Ramble".  Once I turned southwest coming out of Geneva,the GPS seemed to have me zig-zagging south and west down every other backroad down around Seneca & Keuka Lakes.  As I drove and observed a few interesting yet quirky situations from behind the steering wheel, I was reminded of a book title and it's meaning which the dedicated readers of this blog (all 3 of ya) may recall .. Remember "A Dog in a Hat" by former pro cyclist Joe Parkin?  (Well if not you should still get a copy and read it.)  In this book Parkin notes a "dog with a hat on" is a Belgian expression sorta explaining when a normal situation changes or something looks out of place. 

My first "dog in a hat" moment came as I passed a nondescript vineyard and suddenly noted a patch of white out of the corner of my eye in th evineyard.  As I glanced over, I noted many white patches grazing in between the various rows of vines ... there was a herd of goats fenced inside the vineyard -- this wasn't crazy but something I'd never seen before.

My second "dog in a hat" moment came as I slowly rounded a corner and saw two large white (domestic) geese along the ditch just a few yards off the road.  As my car got closer, one of the geese went into defensive attack mode and started towards my car in a quick waddle with it's neck extended.  I realized this was probably a defensive move as the geese may have had a nest near the ditch as this was similar behaviour to the (semi) wild geese I frequently encounter along the canal path in the spring when their little ones are running around.

My third "dog in a hat" moment came as I was descending a long gradual grade and I wondered what the dark object was a good ways down the road in the opposite lane.  (Please keep in mind I race Masters so my eye sight may be somewhat questionable.)  As I got a bit closer, I realized it was four cyclists heading up the hill in a nice 2x2 formation.  At first I wondered if it was some guys warming up for the Ramble but a glance at the GPS said Prattsburgh was still 20 minutes away so that wasn't likely it.  Then as I got closer I realized that they were wearing the tell tale hats ... it was four Amish teenagers on road bikes plugging up the hill.  A horse & buggy were not too far behind which was then followed by two Amish gals on bikes.  My best guess was they were coming or going to Sunday services. 

There you have it -- my three little dog in a hat moments all within a thirty mile stretch somewhere down in the rolling hills of the western finger lakes.

Let's Make it RAIN!!! or a Battenkill Recap

So this past weekend was Battenkill. Saturday was my third time racing it. My first time racing it I came in 14th place in one of the Cat 4 fields and I was pretty psyched. Last year didn't go so well.

Battenkill is just one of those races. You need to sign up so early that you never know what kind of form or motivation you'll have by the time the race rolls around. Due to a variety of factors, I wasn't particularly confident coming into this years race. Factors including, but not limited to increased work travel, a house on the market, a puppy, a trip to hike into and out of the Grand Canyon, a head cold, and missing all three of the early spring races in Albany. I don't say this to complain, most of us are faced with the same hurdles, and I don't even have kids to contend with. That said, I didn't exactly go into the race with my head in the game.

The night before the race I asked my favorite bike mechanic if I should blow off the race and go to Paradise Found. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I don't frequent strip joints. Not because they particularly offend me, but I just think it would be awkward to run into someone I went to high school with. I picture my half of the conversation sounding like the following as Snoop Dogg's "Drop it Like it's Hot" plays loudly in the background: "Oh hey Kate, how have you been!? What's that, you say you have five kids!? Sweet tattoo's by the way! What, what's that!? Oh, you used to have a meth problem but now it's under control!? Glad to hear it! Well, you're looking good for 40, but I have a bike race tomorrow so I should probably be on my way!"

So despite the fact that I still have all of the one dollar bills, a one dollar coin, and one Canadian Loonie from last years TNTS races, I decided that I'd just stay in and prepare for the race. My favorite mechanic did suggest that it would be fun to "make it rain" as the kids say, and also pointed out that the Loon goes a long way considering the current exchange rate.

So fast forward to the race. Great weather and a highly organized race as always. For the first half of the race I lingered toward the back of the pack wallowing in my low self esteem. I went into the race with the aforementioned low expectations, but the legs felt good and I wasn't really struggling on the hills. I knew that the last hill would probably get me, but if I could hang on until then, I'd consider it a morale victory. I decided that I should probably move up in the field. As we cranked up one of the dirt sections I was feeling good and decided I could grab a few spots. Just then some dude lost it, tried to recover and shot from right to left across the road perpendicular to the field. Thankfully he only took out one of the racers. Unfortunately that racer was me. I swore . . . a lot . . . jumped up and started running for a cyclocross style remount. I was still in the mix and figured I'd be fine. As I jumped back on the bike, I went to pedal and noticed I'd thrown my chain. Off the bike, two attempts to get the chain on in a panic, and now the lead pack was gone. The wheel van waited around to see if I could get back on, but as soon as my adrenaline was gone, so was the wheel van. After that I got into a pretty good group and we had a solid rotation going. We were making good time and I still felt ok. Then on one of the rocky sections I got a flat. No worries, I brought a tube and pump for just such an occasion! A car stopped to ask if I was all set, and I told them my race was pretty much shot, so I'll just change my tube the old fashioned way.

So, after securing the area and making sure there were no snakes lurking in the ditch I was working in, I made a quick change and was on my way. Now I was in no man's land. Everyone in may race that had any legs was long gone, so I was pretty much a solo act. Sweet. As I rode along one of the dirt sections I noticed something shiny. I love shiny stuff, so I took a closer look. As close as one can look at 20mph. Oooh a Garmin. After riding about 50 yards I decided that I should pick it up, so I made a u-turn. This was definitely confusing to the two riders within sight as they wondered aloud what I was doing. I picked up the Garmin, tossed it in my pocket and resumed racing . . . er uh riding at a brisk pace. I had a devil on one shoulder suggesting that I keep the Garmin and a mini version of my mother on my other shoulder suggesting that I turn it in when I finish the race. As this debate raged on, I hit a sketchy downhill and got another flat. As luck would have it the wheel van for my race was parked on the side of the road. They asked if I want a wheel and I asked if they had a tube. They didn't, so I took the last rear wheel in the van. I've watched enough "So My Name is Earl" to have a rudimentary grasp of Karma, so I gave the Garmin to the wheel van driver and let him know that it was from the field that started 10 minutes before mine.

At this point, I had a strangers rear wheel and 18 miles to go. I now rode as gently is as humanly possible. I started wondering if I'd need to pay a stranger $20 to drive me back to Cambridge. As the finish line approached, I couldn't even imagine what place I was in. My ego started urging me to bail out just before the finish line. "Maybe a DNF is better than whatever number will ultimately be next to my name." It then occurred to me that I'm a Cat 4 and no one really cares. Not even a little bit. I still don't know what place I came in, but considering that I was taken out and had two flats, I guess I was lucky to finish in one piece with my bike intact.

The big question is what do I do next year? Avenge my poor showing . . . . OR MAKE IT RAIN!!!! If I was a little more adept with the whole internet deal, I could create a voting poll and my three loyal readers could decide. Feel free to use the comments section I guess.

It's True ...

It really is true, you can ride a flat tubular.  To test this theory, I decided to do a loop of Oneida Lake with a clincher on the front and a tubular on the back. 

To explain this setup, you have to look at this past week where I flatted my rear clincher twice.  Upon close examination of the clincher rear, I decided it was time for the tire to go and being mid-March, I did not have a backup that wasn't of the cx variety.  So I pulled out an old deep dish HED w/a tubular that saw primary duty on the TT/Tri bike to cover me for the scheduled long ride planned for Sunday. 

At the point absolutely farthest from my house (near the NW corner of Oneida Lake past Brewerton), I noted the rear tubular seemed a bit soft.  I hopped off, popped a cartridge in the inflator and watched the tire firm up with the satisfaction of knowing the tire was good to go.  Suddenly a big hiss emerged from a minute cut and the tire went soft.  (This is what they call the "oh shit" moment.)

I figured I'd nurse it for a few miles to see how it worked out before sending out a formal SOS... well it was a slow ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk with each rotation of the uninflated tire.  The head wind, while not harsh, was enough to try to further rattle me as it was from the east.  (How freakin often is the wind coming from the east?)  I pressed on with new goals at each small village to make it to the next small village.  Once to Sylvan Beach, I was ka-chunkingly inspired  with thoughts of a tailwind once I got to route 31.  Finally Lakeport and the left turn home.  Water & food gone and 60 minutes behind schedule but I was gonna make it.  I ka-cunked into the driveway about an hour later than planned having proved yes, you can ride a flat tubular.

Uh Oh

So it's no big secret to the 3 or so readers of this here blog that the esteemed authors periodically enjoy a good adult beverage (or two).  Great brews -- we're on it (with perhaps a slight Belgian bias).  Good wine -- we're on that too (with perhaps a slight Spanish bias). 

So out of the blue, Drumroll gets all silly and fascinated with bourbon in the middle of this crazy winter.  He starts looking up bourbon websites, bourbon recipes, bourbon history, bourbon blogs, and stumbles on the Kentucky Bourbon Trail website ... and not only a Bourbon Trail website, a section/page dedicated to "Bike the Bourbon Trail".

Yes sir -- riding your bike between bourbon distilleries.  So now you see the "Uh-Oh" factor.  The major challenges now include how to incorporate a couple days of bourbon biking into the training program as well as how to get Ms. Drumroll on board (she does like horses and they have those in Kentucky).  Maybe I can convince her it's my patriotic duty as bourbon (as frequently mentioned at the distillers web sites) is the only true spirit Americans can claim as their own.  Cheers.

To Train in Spain

As I peruse the cycling websites on a nearly daily basis (just like you do...admit it), I get a little jog down memory lane when I see the articles and pics of pro teams training in Spain.  I never paid much attention to these articles/pics until I ended up in the Costa Blanca region of Spain a few years back.   This year has been a lot of memory lane trips as the camps for the pro have recently included numerous Costa Blanca locations:

• RadioShack-Nissan in Calpe
• Vacansoleil in Benidorm
• Astana in Calpe
• BMC in Denia
• Garmin-Barracuda in Calpe

I ended up in Albir (located between Benidorm and Altea ) at a low key resort just a short walk off the ocean.  The area was advertised as a cyclists training mecca...warm weather, great roads and varied terrain.  I rode everyday for 2 weeks straight .. sometimes with a group of others (mostly from the U.K.) or sometimes just solo.  The riding was quite amazing as you'd imagine with varied cyclist all over the place.  The acceptance of cyclists on the road surprised me as a paceline of 12 riders could occupy a lane of a major street city street (similar to an Erie Blvd) without being run off the road or cursed out.  A bonus while I was there was a second tier pro race started in Benidorm where we got to see a handful of top pros including Oscar Friere, some Postal/Discovery guys. 

So now seeing pics of the pros in Calpe, Benidorm, Denia, etc. makes me long to get back there and ride.  Almost every ride I/we did while I was there went through Calpe or Benidorm or Denia as they were only a few miles in either direction and were the main routes to get up into the mountains.

I know this winter has been rather nice to us thus far but short sleeves and shorts are sure beginning to sound nice about now.   Spain anyone?