Mellow Velo

Mellow Velo in She Pedals Magazine

Posted on 10. Jul, 2010 by KFullerF4 in Road, Thoughts

Third installment of my column, “The Cat 5 Files”

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Riding with pro cyclist Lauren Hall

We often hear of the great adversity professionals had to overcome to be the successful cyclists that they are, but rarely do we hear about their darkest days on the bike. Beyond the peloton, every serious cyclist has a spectacular, humanizing story of failure.

Early in March, I spent three days at training camp with Team Vera Bradely Foundation near Santa Cruz, Calif. Seeking inspiration for my upcoming race, I asked some of the best in the business to share their tales of defeat. Each remembered their worst day with clarity and spoke of it as an important experience.

Alison Powers, one of the most well-known names in American women’s cycling, left competitive skiing in 2005 and entered her first road race in New Hampshire. Turnout was small, so she was grouped with the fastest women for the 50-mile ride, farther than she had ever ridden.

“It was raining. It was horrible. I didn’t like the surges,” Alison said. “When you ride by yourself, you get very used to going one pace. Then you get in a group and they surge, slow down, surge, slow down. Oh my God, that is killing my legs, stop doing that!”

Alison was stunned, but decided to give herself three weeks. “After three weeks you start to learn things. I didn’t know anything about cycling or tactics or training, so I learned what I needed to do to get better. During the week I would practice whatever didn’t go well in the previous race.”

By the third weekend, Alison picked a strategy, stuck to it and won the race. But every time it rains, she still thinks about that ride in New Hampshire.

One of Alison’s teammates, Lauren Hall, is in her first year as a professional cyclist, so her stories are even fresher. Bitten hard by the cycling bug, she quit her job as a child nutritionist in 2009 and gave herself two years to become a professional cyclist. Last summer, she received a guest spot to ride on a U.S. pro team during the Redlands Bicycle Classic.

“The first day was so windy. I just didn’t know what I was doing and got dropped off the front group in the first lap,” said Lauren. “After the second lap I was shattered. I missed the time cut. I was devastated and embarrassed for Amber [Neben] that she had invited me to be a guest rider.”

Her next race was the Tour of the Gila in New Mexico where she received another guest spot with a pro team. It didn’t go well, either, leading her to seriously question her goal.

“One day it was so bad, all of the team cars had left except for the people who were waiting on me. Thank God they didn’t have a time cut,” said Lauren.

It was a slap in the face, but she was told to give it time because she had never done base training or much climbing. She spent the rest of the summer riding smarter and harder, and in the fall of 2009 was offered a spot on Team Vera Bradley Foundation.

“My new motto is ‘one day at a time,’” said Lauren. “I have to look at [my races] as steps. Today is a whole new day.”

Calm before the storm. I'm in black and white, center.

My own story comes from mid-March, when I lined up for my first criterium. The start of a low-category race is a jittery place to be, a strange mix of riders who are trying to “cat up” and others who aren’t sure they will survive the 30-minute race. It is a place where the lions meet the lambs.

There is a great deal of nervous movement at the line – people are touching their bikes, unnecessarily adjusting their clothing and shaking out limbs and joints. I positioned myself at the back, where a guy looked down at me and said, “Thirteen. That’s an unlucky race number to have.” Those were the last words I heard because the race director had stepped to the side and told us to go.

The leaders blasted off the line and the world around me dissolved into chaos. I forgot everything. I forgot that the first five laps are the hardest, after which the lead pack settles down a bit. I forgot that the group ends up spreading out with many people off the back in the men’s 5/women’s 4 race. I even forgot who I am – a proud cyclist unafraid to bring up the rear.

I couldn’t stay with the pack through the first turn. I didn’t focus on my line, wavered and grazed a blue tire that appeared on my left side. He yelled; I hit the brakes; I was dropped.

Around the back of the circuit, I rode hard and caught a wheel, but soon lost contact. My mind went blank. I saw nothing but road. I could hear the spectators cheering for the pack as it blasted by. Then I heard nothing but my own wheels turning. When I crossed the start line there was no clapping and there were no cowbells for me. My head was hung so low with embarrassment that I could have unzipped my jersey with my teeth.

I came around the first turn again and my brain shut down. My legs shut down. I was struck dumb, transfixed by one, single, stupid thought, “I can’t do this.”

The next thing I remember, I was standing near a fence. Through the wood slats I watched flashes of color as the peloton streaked by. Fifteen minutes after the race start, I was home again.

I didn’t cry; that’s not my nature. Eventually I dug out of my mental hole and hung number 13 on the wall above my desk. Dropping out of the race so early robbed me of a trial by fire, but the devastation was only temporary because that one lap gave me more mental strength than my previous two years on the bike could have provided.