Senseless Spinning

A burst of snowy and icy winter weather shut down the roads more completely than usual this December, forcing a retreat to the spinning class a bit earlier than normal. Entering the squalid little room full of pounding music, I remembered the inadequacies of spinning cycles, and how those harm the experience and value of the training that is possible with indoor riding.

I attend a spinning class at a local gym. It's pretty fun overall, and a good workout, but after going a few times, a factor that I'd only realized as a passing annoyance finally crystallized as a pure inadequacy -- you can't set a quantified resistance on a spinning cycle.

It took a few classes in a relatively few days to see the problem. Before, I'd gone about once per week, so usually had the same instructor. Attending more often let me see the variance between instructors, which made clear the problem with normal spinning cycles.

When I work out on a stationary bike in a regular gym, usually you set the resistance within a range of numbers, and you can go up or down by some perceived percentage. Best of all, if you travel and go from gym to gym, you can set each bike to the same resistance level, and have comparable workouts.

In a spinning class, you rarely get the same bike, and even if you do, someone else has used it and set it up for themselves. So, you have to adjust everything (no problem), and then find a resistance level to start.

This initial resistance level can be described by instructors as "like you're on a flat road" or "just a comfortable pace" or "about a 5 or 6 on a 10-point scale". It all depends. And so the trouble begins. Increasing resistance then can be described as "increased 6%" or "increase a quarter turn" or "increase to about an 8 or 9".

If you're fortunate enough to consistently get the instructor who at least strives for quantitation ("about a 5 or 6 on a 10-point scale"), things can seem OK. But when you move from this class to the one in which effort is described based on turns of the resistance knob or percentages of an unknown basis, you're lost. And, worst of all, you are not able to compare the workout or effort to the prior class'.

Cycling is about consistently maintaining or improving abilities for long-term achievement. Spinning classes pose a problem for cyclists trying to stay fit in the winter, because they don't allow for longitudinal comparisons on a known basis. Too bad. With just a few changes -- more consistency between instructors, or numbers on the bikes' dials -- it could all work so much better.

At least the music's usually pretty decent . . .

Incompetence

After a few years of consistent training, riding thousands of miles every 365 days, acquiring and understanding equipment and clothing, and paying attention to what I eat on and off the bike, a transformation has taken place for me. When I first started riding again, I would greet challenges like a century with training and obsessive planning. I would have to go to the bike store or sports store and buy special gels or snacks for the ride, pack the night before, and sleep fitfully in dread of oversleeping.

Those days seem long gone. Lately, long rides have become a habit, and preparation has become almost an afterthought. Training is geared toward overall fitness, and I now know how to peak, and making a mental note of when I will need to peak and taper is second-nature. I effortlessly flow into the rides, pace, and nutritional requirements I need. Packing for a long ride is stress-free now, because I have a whole range of clothing, know what works under what conditions, and can go with the minimal requirements with confidence. Eating on the bike is not a big deal, and I know what works and what doesn't. So, now having a late-season century pop up a few weeks away is a matter of turning a dial or two slightly differently, not a cause for anxiety.

Habits and competence can be overwhelming and comforting. I think one challenge for new cyclists is finding the well-spring of commitment to warp the competence achieved in the sedentary lifestyle (or in whatever sport they are doing), and being incompetent at cycling. It is painful for adults to feel incompetent again, and avoiding that feeling is easy and readily rationalized. The vulnerability of feeling incompetent at something again is awkward and socially humbling. I know people who have not become incompetent at anything in years or decades, and the confidence they exude is palpable.

Recent reports suggest that arrogant cycling shops and mystifying equipment may be demotivating potential cyclists. If these phenomena are making those feelings of incompetence more acute, it makes sense that adults reluctant to expose themselves as lacking knowledge or skills would choose to stay away.

Of course, once the incompetence is overcome, the feelings of competence are very rewarding, and having climbed the learning curve, you can ride on, with new capabilities, knowledge, fitness, and skills. It's very much worth the investment of incompetence.

Disorderly Conduct

Season after season, I have a pattern of rides. Favorite charity rides are repeated, local century club rides are revisited, and commuting patterns re-establish themselves year after year, yielding a familiar sequence of training that is modified only by intensity or new rides layered atop the annual system.

This year started out for me as one that would rely on the system more than ever, as my plans for a major ride mid-summer were ejected in favor of other priorities. This meant that an overlay of more training and a goal of a new ride both evaporated, leaving only the standard foundation for training and mileage.

However, even this relatively stable system was disrupted by illness, botched plans, and inclement weather. An illness forced me to squander an early spring race, weather and illness forced me to skip a spring century, and botched plans forced the cancellation of a traditional metric century ride in the early summer. These early-season setbacks left me undertrained and seeking to compensate through other riding patterns. However, these rides were hard to replace, as all were group rides, with the higher intensity and group dynamics that lead to better training and riding experiences. Going out on my own on rides wouldn't get me into the same kind of shape, by a long shot.

One event this summer was a big surprise, as I came across it accidentally -- a local time trial. Riding a favorite route in the evening (one that often made me thing, "This would be a great time trial route"), I came across a group of riders, many with aero bars, grouped at a corner and taking off at one-minute intervals. I turned the corner as I normally would, and was in-between riders for a while, but chasing the one ahead. This intensity of training was something I'd missed all year, and even this one evening's work snapped a lot of pieces back into place. The ride was fast, and the next few rides were on a different, higher level, one that I've sustained.

Now, looking across the season, which is largely spent, it seems this year was completely out of order. The traditional metric century was rescheduled for the fall, and went off without a hitch. One major charity ride in late summer occurred as planned, and while my lack of distance training showed in soreness near the end of the ride, overall it was a great event. And a late-fall century should replace the spring century on the mileage charts.

Oddly, even with the disrupted schedule, I find myself in about the same physical condition in the fall as I would have otherwise, with my logs showing equivalent speeds and perceptions of strength and fitness for this year as compared to others. I feel in peak form again, even if it was attained in a disordered system.

Next year, I plan to not only re-establish my basic system, but layer on top of it a major event as a goal to provide the push for greater fitness. But, despite my worries, even without a major event and with a basic foundation that was cracked and broken, persistent riding and training along with some surprises were able to regain what I thought I'd lost. I guess that sometimes, a season creates itself.

Frames of Mind

After a few years of renewed cycling, the seasonal build to one or more peaks of fitness has shown me that part of the joy comes from rediscovering and rebuilding the frames of mind necessary to ride at high speeds, climb long hills, and plan complicated training protocols, and translating these into other domains, such as family, work, or life in general. For me, cycling not only fortifies the body, it informs the mind with models and habits that help me adapt, cope, and gain an advantage.

One of the most divergent frames of mind a cycling season hones comes from climbing. We live in a culture of instant gratification and elimination of physical exertion -- escalators, moving sidewalks, and automatic doors. Exerting effort to grapple with a physical reality is less and less common. Distance, mass, and leverage are often handled by motorized systems. Climbing a long hill or set of hills on a bicycle sweeps all this away. You are alone, the climb will take many minutes, you have to pay attention throughout it all and work the entire time, and it can hurt. There is often silence, punctuated by your labored breathing and the sound of gears and tires.

The mental benefits of a season of climbing are many. I think it instills a tenacity and toughness that is unusual in the modern world. It teaches patience and delivers the lesson of work and reward. I have found myself shunning the moving sidewalks and elevators, taking the stairs and walking the entire concourse because I'm now a bit uncomfortable with abetted effort. Hard work is its own reward, I've been reminded. Success isn't easy, and getting it without earning it cheapens the achievement. Climbing humbles you, and puts you solidly back in the real world, not the modern world with its contrivances and softness. Climbing toughens you up again, physically and mentally. It makes you unafraid of a challenge that may look daunting at first, teaching you that persistence and effort can prevail.

Endurance rides create a different frame of mind, and one that I can call upon when needed to handle challenges off the bike. Riding a century teaches pacing, planning, and measured exertion. If you go all-out at the start of a century, you will likely pay a price about 2/3 of the way through, when you either bonk or cramp, or both. Starting out at a more moderate pace, realizing the effort is long, and pacing yourself is really the way to go. The fastest centuries I've ridden have been the ones on which I've purposely paced myself.

Long rides with groups also teach you about teamwork, and often with lessons that are more direct than those in the abstract areas of business, education, or home life. Feeling the benefit of a paceline, being heartened by a "good pull" as you shift off, or getting a bit of energy bar from a fellow rider all bring the joy of teamwork down to a level that is visceral and pure.

Riding long events also teaches you about planning, especially for resources. Nutrition and equipment are the keys here. Over long courses, weather can change, you get thirsty and hungry, and if you don't plan well, you can find yourself without a tube, a rain jacket, a gel, or a drink when you need one. Having real-world lessons about this at my age is helpful. These lessons ground you in a reality that I think shines through in other settings because you totally grasp some of the key concepts of resource planning, pacing over the long haul, and working together. I've often found myself over the last few years being the only person in a group who thought ahead to bring exactly the item needed after a few hours. In the modern world of conveniences, people are forgetting how to pack.

Sprinting and speed work also teach lessons about intensity, timing, and limits. If you've ever mis-timed a sprint attack, and run out of gas before the town line, you've felt, rather painfully, the reality of not estimating limits correctly. But, if you sprint without the proper intensity, you get beaten. Sprinting teaches you to bring things together at the right time, the right place, and at the right pitch.

The physical realities of cycling leave a deep imprint in the minds of attentive cyclists. I've seen people change as they've explored cycling. The modern world works to put layers of technology, services, and convenience between you and physical reality. Cycling blows all these away, and gets your mind re-engaged with the fundamental elements of physics, physiology, and time. These teach your mind to be normal again. You regain your sanity in a subtle but important way, and that's an important frame of mind with which to approach the world.

Why Cycle?

The new revelations of blood doping at the 2007 Tour de France might lead someone to question the root motivations around cycling. If professionals at the sport's highest level are bolstering performance in ways not related to training or natural ability, doesn't the inspiration derived by non-professionals wane, and the domino effect lead to a diminution of cycling motivation and meaning?

Hardly. In fact, it leads me to think about the bright line separating sport and entertainment. Sport, as an ideal, is about attaining fitness, enjoying health, and competing fairly. In this regard, despite its lack of corporate or "big time" success, soccer is a huge success in the United States already. Millions of children play it as a sport. Will it ever turn into huge corporate-infested entertainment, designed to separate people from their wallets? That is the goal of the LA Galaxy and MLS currently. If their ploy succeeds, will the sport of soccer in America be better or worse? I can conceptualize it actually deteriorating, as more pressure is placed on young athletes, as competition becomes infected with team partisanship trickling down from the professional ranks, and as money brings the corruption it inevitably delivers.

For cycling, the sport -- from cyclosportif events, amateur races, charity rides, and personal fitness training -- is in great shape in America currently. There are more people riding, and there is momentum for this to continue. The cycling community is robust and fun to be a part of. These trends seems independent of the travails of the professional ranks, and in fact the sport may improve as the entertainment convulses. Imagine local team and ride jerseys instead of Rabobank and T-Mobile jerseys on riders; local sponsorship and event management; and strong regional rides for amateurs. It is already happening.

Great stage races like the Tour and the Giro can be inspiring and awesome. They entertain and, when the competition burst beyond the limited boundaries imposed by the conceits of entertainment, they can still inspire. Levi Leipheimer in this year's Tour de France was a perfect example of a sportsman propelling himself beyond the boundaries of the event. But these grand entertainments, with their roadside clowns, corporate sponsors, and television coverage, are not equivalent to the sport of cycling amateurs enjoy. Doing our best, improving year after year, beating out a friend in a sprint, suffering stoically on climbs, and losing the townline sprint gracefully -- these will remain the heart of the sport of cycling. The challenge for professionals is to return to the wellspring of the sport and remember . . .

Tour de Fiance

When the 2007 Tour de France began, cynicism and shame enveloped cycling. Doping scandals, admissions of dark secrets a decade old, and old battles between journalists, authorities, teams, and riders cast a cold shadow across the enthusiasm of cycling fans. Could the great race of the year boil away the fog and reveal a grand exercise of athleticism and competition again?

The first moment of television coverage revealed the answer -- a glorious day in London, nearly a million spectators lining the time trial course, and an amazing sequence of rides capped by the world time-trial champion eviscerating the field (and nearly overtaking the race motorcycles on one curve). The Tour de France was back, with defiance.

Each of the first four days -- the prologue and the first three stages -- has been magnificent, from Robbie McEwen's phoenix-like performance rising from the road and flying through the peloton to mysteriously grab a sprint victory to Fabian Cancellara's amazing tactical sense and strength to catch a breakaway and then hold off a surging sprint, it has been amazing.

The crowds lining the roads, the scenery, and the sportsmanship have all been exemplary. The Tour de France lives on as the world's premiere sporting event.

Bike Cities

Cities are mostly designed for cars and trucks these days, but some are trying to reincorporate the bike into their transportation equations, and some never abandoned the bike.

I was recently in Vancouver, BC, Canada, for a quick business meeting. I've ridden in Vancouver before, and loved it. Bike rental shops are plentiful, the bikes are excellent, and riding through the city is easy and rewarding. Seeing the bike signage, bike lanes, and bike racks again made it clear that Vancouver is still committed to remaking itself as a major biking city. It has to, because it is growing very rapidly, and even its mass transit system is bursting at the seams. Bikes provide space-efficient, zero-emissions, affordable transportation.

Vancouver also participates in the World Naked Bike Ride, an annual event held in a number of cities around the world on the same day in June to draw attention to a host of environmental and anti-war issues. On my recent trip, the ride was scheduled for the Saturday I was in town, but weather unfortunately forced them to delay it a week.

A few weeks later, I found myself in Amsterdam, arriving after an overnight flight and taking the train from the Schipol Airport to the center of town, and being greeted by a riverfront railing draped in bicycles, bikes speeding by in cobbled bike lanes, and people of all ages and types of dress pedaling around town, having full right-of-way.

Amsterdam is a city that became a bike city and never gave it up. It makes too much sense for them, and their city's design remains compact and approachable. Of course, Amsterdam has a canal system, another odd transportation option compared to most cities, but one that is mainly used by tour companies, tradesmen, and a few devoted boaters.

The cyclists in Amsterdam are nonplussed by biking, carrying umbrellas in the rain, chatting on cell phones as they ride, and riding with groceries. Cycling is completely practical and integrated into daily life.

As US cities like Boulder, Portland, Salt Lake, and others move to become cycling-friendly, other mayors and town planners should pay attention. It is a way to make a city more livable, more pleasant, more efficient, and more rewarding for its residents.