The Paceline
Watching professional cycling races on television a few years ago, before plunging back into cycling, I was astounded at the power and speeds generated by pacelines. The ease with which riders cranked up to and sustained such velocities was seemingly unattainable. I'd never experienced the feeling, having ridden mostly solo in college and afterwards, or enjoying single-track during a few years of mountain biking before getting married.
After about two years of riding at this point in my life, I had been in a few pacelines, but nothing very well organized. Either the line would fragment soon after forming, or the pace would be too unpredictable for the coordinated power to emerge.
Then, in the early part of a local century ride a few years ago, I found myself in the midst of a strong paceline, one with an unspoken and broadly shared sense of how to do it. The weather was sunny and temperate, and people pulled for about 5 minutes each before rotating off to the back. Everyone took turns, and murmured "nice pull" as riders drifted back to nestle in for a draft. Soon, I glanced down at my cyclometer, and noticed we were effortlessly gliding along at 26-27 mph. The century was over with before I knew it, and I arrived back home well ahead of schedule, to the consternation of my neighborhood cycling buddies. They couldn't believe I'd ridden the whole event, showered, eaten, and driven home well before the afternoon had hit its stride.
Well, I was hooked on that experience, and of course began seeking it out. It was occasionally frustrating. Again and again, pacelines would start to form, only to be thwarted by a lack of coordination among the riders, a route interrupted too frequently by intersecting car traffic, or hills that would shatter the group. But, the pacelines did start to happen more and more often.
The next paceline I caught was the next spring, at an early-season century, and it emerged as we left the start line. For about 25 miles, the line snaked through the route at high speeds. The time flew by, the chatter was fun, and everyone was doing their job. Then, we caught and absorbed another group that looked coordinated and speedy, but turned out to consist of two strong riders who shared pulls and a set of wheelsuckers. The group was wedged apart when the wheelsuckers came to dominate the back half and we hit the hills. Luckily, I was toward the front and pressed on, but our ranks were depleted, and the rest of the ride to the first water stop was a bit more ragged than it should have been.
Since then, pacelines have become commonplace. In fact, I rarely ride an event without one for the majority of the ride. After feeling not only the clear aerodynamic benefits that allow you to conserve your strength and energy, but also the thrill when the group collectively cranks it up, I rarely allow myself to be caught without one.
A recent double-century was an event in which I was caught out, however, and I clearly saw the other side of the coin. Riding into headwinds for hours on end solo was exhausting. And, the clearest lesson is that that lonely no-man's land outside a paceline is self-reinforcing -- you get too tired to catch a passing line of fresher riders, so remain stuck in a netherworld of solo riding, never able to recover enough to link up with a swifter paceline.
With this bitter experience in my mind, I was reassured when recently, out on a solo ride, I was able to hook up with a few riders finishing their ride on a common local route. I knew one of the riders, so we fell into talking, and then instinctively formed a paceline and worked it efficiently. It was what friendliness is all about -- working in coordination to cut the headwinds for your pals, taking turns, doing your part. And for cyclists, the paceline captures the essence of the sport, and why it touches on some of the larger lessons of living a good life.
After about two years of riding at this point in my life, I had been in a few pacelines, but nothing very well organized. Either the line would fragment soon after forming, or the pace would be too unpredictable for the coordinated power to emerge.
Then, in the early part of a local century ride a few years ago, I found myself in the midst of a strong paceline, one with an unspoken and broadly shared sense of how to do it. The weather was sunny and temperate, and people pulled for about 5 minutes each before rotating off to the back. Everyone took turns, and murmured "nice pull" as riders drifted back to nestle in for a draft. Soon, I glanced down at my cyclometer, and noticed we were effortlessly gliding along at 26-27 mph. The century was over with before I knew it, and I arrived back home well ahead of schedule, to the consternation of my neighborhood cycling buddies. They couldn't believe I'd ridden the whole event, showered, eaten, and driven home well before the afternoon had hit its stride.
Well, I was hooked on that experience, and of course began seeking it out. It was occasionally frustrating. Again and again, pacelines would start to form, only to be thwarted by a lack of coordination among the riders, a route interrupted too frequently by intersecting car traffic, or hills that would shatter the group. But, the pacelines did start to happen more and more often.
The next paceline I caught was the next spring, at an early-season century, and it emerged as we left the start line. For about 25 miles, the line snaked through the route at high speeds. The time flew by, the chatter was fun, and everyone was doing their job. Then, we caught and absorbed another group that looked coordinated and speedy, but turned out to consist of two strong riders who shared pulls and a set of wheelsuckers. The group was wedged apart when the wheelsuckers came to dominate the back half and we hit the hills. Luckily, I was toward the front and pressed on, but our ranks were depleted, and the rest of the ride to the first water stop was a bit more ragged than it should have been.
Since then, pacelines have become commonplace. In fact, I rarely ride an event without one for the majority of the ride. After feeling not only the clear aerodynamic benefits that allow you to conserve your strength and energy, but also the thrill when the group collectively cranks it up, I rarely allow myself to be caught without one.
A recent double-century was an event in which I was caught out, however, and I clearly saw the other side of the coin. Riding into headwinds for hours on end solo was exhausting. And, the clearest lesson is that that lonely no-man's land outside a paceline is self-reinforcing -- you get too tired to catch a passing line of fresher riders, so remain stuck in a netherworld of solo riding, never able to recover enough to link up with a swifter paceline.
With this bitter experience in my mind, I was reassured when recently, out on a solo ride, I was able to hook up with a few riders finishing their ride on a common local route. I knew one of the riders, so we fell into talking, and then instinctively formed a paceline and worked it efficiently. It was what friendliness is all about -- working in coordination to cut the headwinds for your pals, taking turns, doing your part. And for cyclists, the paceline captures the essence of the sport, and why it touches on some of the larger lessons of living a good life.
posted by Recycled Cyclist | 6:47 AM
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