I've been having a weird week on the bike so far. How weird? Well...
Today, there was limited time to get the workout done mid-afternoon. So it was off to the Cap Crescent because the workout called for some sick uphill big ring low cadence intervals to do, and that can be done on the Crescent, going uphill, if it isn't too crowded. On the way across town, I passed a cement truck, and as I passed the thing blew a load of cement spray into my face. WTF? Is this like a porno for cement trucks or something? I was waiting to see if I was the victim of a Punk'd prank or something similar, but no MTV celebrities appeared to laugh at me. A hot chick on the corner of 17th and Eye did, but I don't think she was in showbiz. I had no comeback here. Nothing. Not to the truck, not to the girl who apparently saw what went down.
After knocking out career best 3 minute power figures 5 or 6 times rocking it uphill on the Crescent, I headed down to the Point to do 20 minutes of threshold. I was a bit froggy and was going around the point at about 40 watts over threshold for about 10 minutes or so (yes, this hurt). At the outset, I passed a Fred who was moving at an okay clip, then with a clear road tried to settle in to a steady wattage. I try desparately to keep the effort hard and steady and smooth, and was rewarded with good looking power numbers, really good. It occured to me then that even though my legs were aching already, maybe I could realize a career best 20 minute power, something in the 380 realm. So I kept it at about 25MPH heading into the cross/headwind, and about 27-28 heading slightly out of the cross/head wind. I blew huge snot rockets at one point. At another spot, I coughed out a softball of crap and just blew it sideways, ignoring the under-the-arm trick. After getting up to the end of the point, I turn the corner to do more and I notice that the Fred I passed earlier was wheelsucking me for dear life, hanging out in my blindspot apparently for the whole lap, minus the stretch from Memorial Bridge. "Dude, for somebody your size," he say, "you ride really well." I wasn't sure whether to punch him out, ask if he had any extra food on him (so I could beat him with it then stuff it up his ass), or to just tell him, "for a skinny guy on a bike, you sure are a weak rider." I decided to say something about how hills still sucked, then tried to turn left to get back to the office, cutting the interval off at 13. So I say, "I'm turning left." Fred keeps talking. "I'm turning left," I say. I pull out ahead of him at the intersection by the tennis courts and go, "I'm turning left." He speeds up and starts turning into me, so I squirt ahead a little and get out of there as fast as I could go before he could crash me out.
Is it just me, or is everybody plain going nuts? I'm just sayin'. . . .