Laws of the Jungle
I was trying to figure out what ole Fanslow was up to. He was on the front nearly every minute. We rode in his wake for a good part of the race. He was dragging everyone around so much that I was getting worried for the poor guy. I mentioned it to him in one of those rare moments when I went past his wheel. "Yeah," he said. That was it. It wasn't like we could have a good heart-to-heart out there.
Dave has kind of a deadpan delivery most of the time. It has a nasal quality, somewhat like Bugs Bunny’s “Yeah” before “What’s up doc?” He’s not anywhere near as glib or cocky as Bugs, and he has a much more low key corner of the mouth, corner of the eye slyness, with a smile that hints at his abilities to leave you far back in the pack if necessary. Nothing malicious, just the laws of the jungle in effect.
The Power Shake
He comes out to train with the club each year, usually around May, and struggles like hell for a month. Then, as the heat of July picks up, so does Dave's strength. His sprints are almost always good. His quads are built for tractor pulls. But in July his endurance and overall power join in for a lively power shake that's hard to hold on to.
Keep in mind that this is a guy who in real life is a research marine biologist who often sits in a small boat for weeks at at time in the middle of Lake Michigan counting cladocera or whatever marine biologists do. There are times when he can't ride and about the only exercise is circling the small deck or, as a result of misbehavior, walking the plank. For those of us whose legs are hurting from rides with Dave, I recommend we contact his boss and see if we can get him assigned to these Great Lakes adventures as often as possible.
Blank Stares
I did an 80 mile club ride with him last year at the end of July. It was one of the hottest days of the year, full of steamy air and relentless sun. I'd been on vacation for three weeks hiking in France, not once on a bike. It was not using good judgment to ride with Dave immediately after my return. Many others on the ride didn’t know Dave like I did, though a few of the smarter ones did turn back at the twenty mile mark. The rest should have done the same. I wanted a long ride, and I had a foolish sense of what I was in for, so I stayed.
Dave has a straightforward philosophy: if you’re on a Velo Club ride, you’re there to ride hard. I often agree, unless my legs are sore or someone puts me into the red zone too much. It’s a very self-serving belief on my part that as long as I’m the one putting others into trouble I have every right, but if others do the same to me I grumble. (Rodger's had me grumbling since March and there's no let up in sight.) Dave is equal opportunity. If you can make him hurt, that's fine with him. It will just make him stronger. Eventually, he’ll get to the point where you’re the one hoping he’d ease off just a little.
So, for most of the 80 mile ride it was hold on to Dave's wheel or ride back alone. It was one long steady pull at a speed quite a few notches above comfortable. We made it, but there wasn’t much talking along the way and there were a lot of vacant stares as we went our separate ways in Ann Arbor.
A week or so later he powered along at the hundred mile Black Bear race in Grayling, again yanking away out front and keeping the pace high. He finished top ten.
The Full Breakfast Combo
This year was different for Dave and that meant different for the rest of us. From the first ride in May he had both power and endurance and the sprint was explosive. It was very reassuring to me after sucking air behind Rodger and Peter’s wheels all spring to know that now I had Dave. He's an active cross-country ski racer in the winter, so there was a foundation of sorts, but that's no different than any other year. Whatever it was, Dave had the full breakfast combo all set early season.
La Puissance de la Fan
So, we’re going round and round the Kensington hills in this race called the Trophee de Grimpeurs put on by the inimitable Joe Lekovish and his sadistic friends. This race, as Joe pointed out, wasn’t really a climber’s race. It was a race for all-arounders, and in our race it was a race for sprinters and powerhouse riders.
Nobody was willing to go off the front, except one or two riders, who were pulled back after relentless efforts to get away. Dave was in more than one of those attempts. Often, when you hang out there for a while, you deplete the resources and become pack fodder. In defensive packs, like this one, the good riders are often worn down by the steady thrum thrum of the group to reel everyone in. Not enough people are willing to work to get away, so it comes down to just a few stalwart riders or vain solo efforts doomed to failure unless they have the legs and lungs of Jens Voigt.
At the end was the pack sprint. Ours started early, thanks to Larry Bohnsack, who flew to the front on the final uphill, 600 meters from the finish. The trouble was, nearly everyone was still in reasonable shape because the race was so slow to that point. The pack exploded forward using Larry as the rabbit.
It was one of the hardest finishes of my life, both because it began so far out and because it was all uphill. And it got steeper at the 200 meter mark. My legs were lactic loaded at about 400 meters and from then on it was total abandon, like trying to climb a rope by your teeth after the arms have gone out.
When I passed the line, I looked ahead and there was Dave. I rolled up to him as we cruised down the other side and asked how he did. “Second,” he said, with that sly smile sneaking across his face.
Second. A week later he pulled the pack around the Master's race at the Priority Health Ann Arbor Cycling Classic. I think he got sixth place. It was his last race of the year. He's going to focus on the ski season now. Good, my legs need a break. Maybe we can get Rodger to do the ski thing, too.
