I've been watching early Perry Mason shows while walking the treadmill and riding the exercise. The other day a miserly old man was complaining to his neice about how she was spending all his money: "Steak again? At $1.34 a pound? I can't afford this." How much things have changed since the '50s; even the pseudo-steak at Ponderosa is in another dimension now.
And of course I've changed, too. Not the least of which is the fact that I had ballooned up to 183 pounds during my last visit to my cardiologist, when I made the Century-at-60 committment. As of now I am down to 176 or so, hoping at least some of that is regained muscle. Which made me wonder how much I'm paying, cycling energy-wise, for every extra pound. I did a bit of research, and came up with this from Cycling Performance Tips, at cptips.com.:
If I lost 10 lbs (about 5%), I would be able to go about 5% faster on the steepest hills, 0.4% faster on the level, and about 2% slower on the downhills. Over a simulated 20-mile closed-circuit ride with a variety of grades, a 10-lb difference produced a 33 second difference. This may or may not seem significant in the context of a time trial. On the other hand, there are two hills on this simulated route where the heavier rider falls back 14 seconds. That is, about 200 feet back and well-dropped. A two-lb difference that you can buy at a bike shop for $500 amounts to only 7 seconds on this circuit, but again, this could mean cresting a hill 50 feet behind your better-sponsored buddies.
And I'd love to leave my "buddies" behind me on a hill once in awhile, even the allegedly non-hardcores (and you know who you are).
So it was with great anticipation that I set out yesterday on my first ride in nearly two weeks -- rain, cold, and family obligations having relegated me to the basement. The day was beautiful, and I meandered downtown Madison, main roads at first. I stopped into Budget Bicycle to pick up a couple Clif bars; I really enjoyed wandering about the scruffy aisles of the place, for once not feeling out of place in my cycling apparrel -- and, when I caught sight of myself in a fly-specked mirror, realizing that I was not quite the "stuffed sausage in spandex" I had been, that I really have lost a part of my gut. Though that may no longer be the standard -- I see by today's paper that this June 19 will be "Naked Cycling Day" in Madison, and I shudder to think of some possible sights there -- I don't think the human body was designed to look good on a bike al fresco, and the possibilities of injury boggle the mind.
Anyway, I rode home on the bike trails, keeping the bike in generally higher gears than before, and spinning more. Feeling like perhaps the weight loss might really make a difference. As I was cranking along, I remembered another bike adventure. Summer of 1978. Afghanistan, when it was still a country and an exotic one at that. Myself and the other five American exchange students with whom I shared an apartment were provided bikes by AFAMEC -- the Afghan-American Exchange Center -- big heavy black single-speed Chinese made machines. Clumsy and cumbersome, but perfect for the mostly flat and barely-maintained streets of Kabul. On that machine I felt nearly invincible; which is odd, really, since it was no more safe than contempoary bikes, which always leave me feeling vulnerable -- no seatbelts, airbags, or protecive shell, merely a lightweight helmet; it didn't help that I recently read about the owner of Brennan's Cheese markets, who had been a marathoner and a veteran bicyclist, who one day hit a patch of gravel and flew into a culvert, ending up a quadraplegic (he was wearing a helmet, for all the good it did him).
And then,having been lost in thought and memory, I arrived at Mt. Nemesis. I had hoped I would be able to fly up it this time, with legs of iron, but had my doubts. Whether self-fulfilling or not, I don't know, but it was hard as ever, perhaps partially because it was at the end, and partially because I still tend to psych myself out. But I did climb it again, albeit still dropping to granny about halfway up. And not so spent that I couldn't spend a few more minutes wandering neighborhood streets before packing it in for the day.
And so the cycling cycle continues.
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