On the Road
by: Bill Oetinger 7/1/2005
Who let the dogs out?
I want to talk about pacelines. But before I do, I want to bow briefly in the direction of Tucson, which is--the last I heard--the home of cycling columnist extrodinnaire Maynard Hershon. Maynard writes all sorts of wonderful things about cycling, and he has, over the years, expended a good deal of ink on the subject of pacelines and group riding. Nothing I’m going to say here hasn’t already been said by him, probably better than I can say it.
But perhaps you missed all of his takes on the topic. If so, allow me to revisit the subject now. I will begin, as Maynard might have, with an anecdote from a recent ride. This was on a tough little loop we have near us up in the Sonoma-Mendocino borderlands known as the Bad Little Brother: 133 miles and almost 15,000’ of often very steep climbing. It’s a tall order for most riders, and it ought to demand a good deal of careful husbanding of one’s resources, at least in the early going. This little incident takes place in the early going...probably around mile 20.
We’re chugging up a long, lazy grade on Hwy 128, north of Cloverdale. This climb is several miles long, but rarely tilts up to more than around 5%. Often it’s even less. It’s the sort of grade where you can settle down with a comfy tempo and make the miles go by without blowing a gasket. What’s more, when you crest the summit, you do a little downhill, and then you’re faced with about 15 miles of flats and rollers before you get to the nasty climbing beyond Boonville, and this stretch of flat and rolly road almost always sports a stiff headwind blowing down out of the northwest.
What it all adds up to is that this is not a place where you want to be alone. You want to be in a paceline: in a group where the work of pounding into the headwind is shared. I’ve done this run both ways--sheltered in the group and all alone--and the difference is huge. So that’s the scenario. On this day, we have maybe a dozen or 15 riders in a bunch on the long, lazy climb. (This is amateur club riding: although many of the riders are fit and strong, it’s not a race and there are no teams, etc.) Everyone seems content to sit in and keep to the tempo being set at the front. It’s sustainable. We can all do it more-or-less indefinitely. And if we can get over the hill together, we can work our way up the flat valley--into the headwind--together, saving buckets of energy for the really hard parts of the ride that lie ahead. Makes sense to me...
But then one rider gets a burr up his ass and takes off. He rockets out of the group for no apparent reason and flies up the road a hundred yards. Some of us who know the guy say, “Let him go!” We know it’s just a brief fling for him. He can’t keep it up. He’s just acting like a mad March hare. But others in the group, not so well acquainted with our rabbit, see the attack as a call to arms (or legs). Their chase genes kick in, and off they go, in twos and threes. Within a minute, it’s en baggare all over the road...total chaos. The group fractures into little splinters and the strongest riders put the hammer down and blister off up the hill (and down into the long flat section), leaving a trail of blown riders behind them. Meanwhile, the rabbit has himself blown up--as we knew he would--and has drifted back to the remnants of the group, utterly oblivious to the fact that he has just destroyed a very cohesive, efficient pace line, and for no good reason other than an idiot burst of macho mania.
Now, I have no problem with stronger riders attacking when they feel the moment is right. Even if it’s not a race, but only a frisky recreational ride, there will still come that point where the alpha wolves will assert themselves. That’s fine. But there are other times--many other times--when the smartest, most efficient way to move it on up the road is to work together in a group. And certainly, faced with 15 miles or more of flat roads and headwinds, this is one of those times.
Everyone has read or heard the statistics about how much energy one saves sitting in the group. Most of us have experienced it first hand as a real, significant difference. It ought to be as fundamental as breathing to understand how a smoothly rotating paceline can improve one’s performance, and yet to see how some riders persist in these lamebrained attacks... The phrase “not clear on the concept” springs to mind.
Part of what makes for a successful paceline is a willingness to accommodate our own energy outlay to that of the group as a whole, which is to say, to that of the least rider in the group. This is an elastic and subjective standard that has to be determined in the moment, by a sort of intuitive consensus. There may be some riders present who are simply too slow or too awkward in the group to be much use, and in some cases, the hardnosed priorities of the majority may see some riders tossed off the back of the train. But generally, the best premise is the one that keeps the most riders within the fold, so that each can make a contribution to moving the group forward, even if it’s just by way of an itty bitty pull.
The trick is to keep everyone happy. Make the pace fast enough that the strongest riders don’t become restive, but slow enough that the weaker riders can sit in and maybe take an occasional little pull. And once you find the right speed for the given group, the way to keep it in that sweet spot is smoothness. No scalded-cat accelerations. No abrupt shifts in tempo (up or down). Look at your speedometer when you’re moving up the file (or, if you don’t run a speedo, feel it in your legs and in the wind). Know what the pace is before it’s your turn to pull, and when you get on the front, don’t change a thing. Take short pulls. Don’t bury yourself on your pull so that when you come off the front you slip right out the back with stuffed legs and withered lungs. The difference in your speed from pulling the pace line to pulling off and drifting to the back should be so microscopic as to be almost invisible...just the slightest easing on the pedals. Don’t slow so much that you have to accelerate hard to catch on as the back of the line goes by.
Most of you will have heard all this advice before, from Maynard or from someone in your club. Or you may have picked it up from watching racing on TV. (There are dozens of ways in which real racing does not mirror recreational riding, but in broadest outline, the principles governing pacelines and group riding remain the same.) It seems to make perfect sense. And yet, if that’s the case, why do so many supposedly intelligent, competent cyclists persist in these stupid accelerations that shatter the group? I watch good riders moderating their pace to keep the group intact, and it’s a thing of beauty...poetry in motion. Then I see some bozo jerking up the pace for no good reason, and I just want to whack him upside the helmet with my pump. Hello? Anybody home in there?
I say all this as an intermediate rider: strong enough to go fairly fast in a group, but not strong enough to hold the same pace solo. As Ringo said: I get by with a little help from my friends. And among those friends, I know the strongest riders are my greatest allies...my working assets. They have the biggest engines and the strongest legs, and they will take the stoutest pulls...if...if...I can just keep them around. But when someone else in the group starts launching mindless attacks, those stronger riders are going to wake up, and then the big dogs will be off their leashes and off up the road, gone for good.
If you’re one of those big dogs, you can pretty much write your own ticket...do whatever you want. Solo off the front or lollygag off the back and bridge up at will. But if you’re an average everyman like me, you may not have the strength to be the master of all you survey. That’s when wiles and cunning kick in. That’s when you ought to be thinking about how to leverage the situation in your favor by creating an environment where everyone stays together and shares the work. That means the smoothest possible paceline. Hold that thought for the next time you’re inclined to fire off like a roman candle.
Bill can be reached at srccride@sonic.net