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July 3, 2005

LEADER OF THE BACK
Abby Haight - The Oregonian

Pedaling like Lance Armstrong is harder than it looks, even for a rookie racer just trying to stay with the pack

There's a point in a bike race when a cyclist is fully extended -- muscles screaming, heart thundering, the copper taste of blood in the back of the throat. Ideally, this occurs when the finish line is ahead and the crowd is roaring.I reached that point on the fourth of six laps around the 2-mile Portland International Raceway. The only sound was my ragged breath and the hum of tires.

I've competed as a rower and even jumped into some multisport and Nordic ski races. But this was my first bike race and, with two laps to go and the pack rapidly speeding away, I was dying.

Lesson one for the new bike racer: You can shave your legs and wear pro-look spandex, but you are not Lance Armstrong.
For years, I'd dropped in at the weekly series at PIR -- and Alpenrose Velodrome and the Wednesday night Mount Tabor series and the fall cyclocross races -- to write about bike racing. Organizers of these events encourage first-timers of all ages with novice races and low-key clinics to try out the velodrome or cyclocross, with its blend of riding and running.
It looked so fun.

But intimidating.

Because bike racing isn't just who gets to the finish line first. After all, in road racing the finish line could be a few hours away. There is etiquette and strategy, teamwork and the basic skills that keep you from hurtling into a 10-rider pileup.
To just jump into racing can be daunting -- especially at age 30 or 40 or 50.

But the Lakeside Bicycles Monday night bike race series is designed for the first-timer, with novice races for women and for men's masters over 30.

The races vary in length, depending on weather and daylight, but are a manageable 10 to 15 miles for novice women. The track is smooth and wide. Mentors and experienced racers ride along with the newbies to explain strategy and pack dynamics.

There are even fans to cheer, as good weather brings out friends and families for picnics.

Friendly. Safe. Flat.

This wasn't a dare, although it certainly had a lack of clear thinking.

Without much thought and even less training, I found myself at the starting line on a sunny Monday night, listening to final warnings about overlapping wheels (don't) and keeping your eyes a couple of riders ahead (do). More than a dozen of us were in the novice women's race -- some who looked half my age and body fat percentage, some lean-muscled and with gray in their ponytails.

I looked -- swallowing envy -- at the bikes around me. Gleaming. Aerodynamic. My bike has gear shifters on the down tube, political stickers that were edgy 10 years ago and heavy, puncture-proof commuter tires. I already was making excuses in my head.

The whistle sounded and we were off.

That first time, I did everything wrong.

I jumped out with the front riders. I cranked to keep up with every break, even though the pack always reeled us in. I was competitive and arrogant enough to think that I could keep up just because I was fit-ish and, after all, I'd written about bike racing as a daily newspaper journalist.

Pack riding -- sticking close to a leader's wheel to get the aerodynamic benefits -- is nerve-racking at first. But riders were mindful and courteous, and mentors harped on riders who overlapped wheels, a number one cause of crashes.
But it is a fast, hard workout -- like a full-tilt spin class but where you have to think. Speeds that first time reached more than 25 mph when the tailwind was blowing. Lose contact with the pack and your racing bike feels like a fat-tire beach cruiser.

When I dropped behind the pack, a mentor rider helped me get back, getting me to tuck into their slipstream. The third time, I waved the rider off.

I finished. Dead last, but thrilled, excited to try again.

I was back the next week, armed with good advice.

Warm up thoroughly, including sprints to blow out your lungs, one friend advised.

Don't press, another race veteran said. Stay in the pack, locked on a wheel. Pedal hard when needed, but rest whenever possible. Relax your shoulders, a mentor said.
Racing felt easier. I told my competitive voice to shut up, hung in the middle and made myself relax. There even were stretches when I could breathe easily and let my quads rest.
I got dropped on the last lap.

But I rode away already planning to actually train during the week. Another race veteran advised a workout of sprinting between power poles, to get used to the quick, hard bursts.

My competitive voice was back at full volume. If I keep racing and improve each week, I'll finish in the pack instead of behind it.