Thursday Night World Championships are my bike club’s longest running ride series, going back ten years to the very founding of the club itself. These days, the riding is not as competitive as it once was, but it is beginning to ramp up again at the pointy end of the “A” pack. We’re beginning to see some tactical riding and new riders thinking about when to take a pull and when to sit in. I’ll play along.
Last night, we left the church parking lot where we meet about 5 minutes behind the “B” pack. There were only four of us a fellow triathlete, a mountain biker preparing for his first attempt at the Shenandoah 100, our club president who rides a lot of centuries and puts in 3-4000 miles a year, and your humble narrator.
The road climbs gently from the parking lot for about 2 miles. It tops out and begins a mile long descent that ends with a couple of rollers and a steep 45+mph plunge down into the bottoms of the Blackwater River. We had caught the “B” pack at the top of the hill and the stronger riders had clamped on to our little train for the romp down to the river. I had moved up to second wheel on the gradual descent behind the triathlete. Normally, I lead out down the descent, and try to make the rest of the pack work like mad to hold my wheel (being somewhat gravitationally enhanced I can really descend fast…climbing is another matter, but I digress).
So I am sitting second wheel with six or seven riders behind me, we have a car back as well who has not been willing to come around, wisely so, in the blind curves that lead up to the rollers. We’re moving along in the 23-24 mph range as we come to the last roller. As we drop down it we’re up to nearly 30 mph. I know I can carry a lot of momentum up the other side, and I intend (and intend is the operative word) to coast down, grab a really high gear, crest the roller at 32mph or so, and lead a really fast descent down to the river.
I grab the 53x12, move to the left a little and stand. I get a left pedal stroke, a right pedal stroke, and my acceleration begins in earnest. On the second left pedal stroke my foot pops out of the pedal at the top of the stroke. I don’t know if the cleat broke, if I twisted my foot a little, or exactly what happened. I found myself weaving a little as my foot dropped to the asphalt. Cue the sound of heavy plastic grating on the tarmac. I did have presence of mind enough to keep my grubby little hands off the brakes as this whole episode was going down. This was, I think, a good thing.
So, at 30 mph, I find myself wobbling down the road dragging my left foot on the pavement. Somehow, and I will never really know the mechanism behind this, I managed to get my right foot disengaged as well and onto the ground. Cue even louder sound of grating red plastic and the chemical smell of it melting.
How this plays out is that, for the first and hopefully last time, I got the opportunity to ski on asphalt atop a pair of Look cleats. I was straddling the top tube, hands on the hoods, feet on the ground, sliding down the road. Look cleats are fairly slick on asphalt, as anyone who has made the mistake of trying to run I them will attest. For once, this slickness proved to be a very good thing.
It is worth noting that eventually, and by eventually I mean in less than a second****) the plastic of the cleat will wear down and expose the heads of the bolts that hold the cleat to the sole of the shoe. When this happens, sparks fly.
So here I am at a fairly high rate of speed, skiing down the road on my cleats, astride my bike, sparks, tiny shards of red plastic, and a little carbon fiber from my shoe soles flying out from under my feet, in the middle of a pace line, on a public road through dairy farm country, with cows and farmers, motorists, and innocent children as witnesses. And I’m thinking that I might actually be able to pull this little stunt off….maybe, just maybe.
I must say that I am really glad I was actually going uphill when this whole thing happened. Gravity was a willing partner of friction and flame as I literally ground to a halt in the middle of the road. I had held the bike upright, I had held my line. I did not take any other riders out. I did not get hit by a car. I have no road rash, my bike is unscathed. The only damage is two melted Look cleats and a severely shortened ride. I will have to cut new slots in the top of the cleat mounting bolts, because the original ones have been ground away. I had the Jumbo Texas margarita with dinner.
This is why I never will win the lottery. I use up my luck on this kind of stuff
I tried skiing once on my looks, unsuccessfully, hit a big orange traffic cone in my first race and lost my balance, which led to the skiing, and ultimately a crash and two lost water bottles. Even worse, that was the second consecutive cone I hit, after the first, I looked down to examine my tires and didn’t quite hold my line and veered over the top of the next. Three foot rubber traffic cones and 1/2" tires don’t exactly mix well.
Let’s see pix of those cleats!
So, I don’t understand why you didn’t brake once you were out of the paceline–which I am sure occured quickly after your first foot came unclipped.
So, I don’t understand why you didn’t brake once you were out of the paceline–which I am sure occured quickly after your first foot came unclipped.
Because if I had braked immediately, I would have crashed. The rotation of the wheels (gyroscopic effect) kept me going in a straight line. I did brake once things began to slow down a bit and I had my balance on my feet…left that part out. There was a whole lot of stuff happening at once.