photos: © Jeremiah Peiffer, Jim Eu and Corrie Verhoeven

A trip over trance avenue

West Australian 80k Individual Time trial championship, Wandi

[April 12^th, West Australian championship time-trial, 82,4km]

A sharp left, carefully cleaned for any gravel or glass by one of the marshals. One extra breath air, and with quick peddle strokes out of the saddle towards the 55k/h and beyond. Pulling the handlebars makes the tubes scream over the asphalt, which resonates in my disc wheel. Gosh, what a beautiful sound. That only would be already enough to get me out of the saddle turn after turn, to get to higher speeds with Contador-like rhythm. I am fully aware that this is my second ever race that I will finish in a complete trance. I have been told, those are rare: if you experience a couple in your life, consider yourself lucky. Pain is almost non-existent, there is a lot of want-to, little have-to. The adrenaline evaporates all stop signs before I have even seen them.

[March 6^th, Department of Human Science, Edith Cowan University (ECU), Joondalup]

“OK, Dimitri, all set? Feeling alright?” Jeremiah asks, just before the first lab-test. Forty kilometer of hurt on a wind-trainer, in a claustrofobic room.

Measuring VO2max prior to the lab-tests

Goal of the study: effect of temperature of the time interval between signal from ventricle and atrium

From a big window you are allowed a peek in the real lab, where a couple of PhD’s hang around. Some carry out experiments on subjects or on themselves. I really struggle with the idea of being in pain the next 40 kilometers. The only reference I have with such a distance is the Nationals last year in Holland, and I don’t want to dig that deep (10 beats above anaerobic threshold for an hour). I am not capable of doing that. The only answer that I have for Jeremiah is a very deep gasp of air and a deep sigh. Secretly hoping on an utter and complete expulsion of thoughts and negative images. Could I get an empty head in return?

I am one of the subjects for an experiment that is part of a larger scale PhD-study. The research concentrates around the effect of air temperature on the evolution of one heartbeat. The measurement is taken before and after an intense work-out (a 40 kilometer time trial) at 15, 20, 25 and 30 degrees. Also acidation, body temperature, power output and heart beat is monitored. Jeremiah hands me the tool that will measure my body temperature. Since there are wires attached to it, it seems to be a pretty specialized tool. And I assume he is going to strap it onto me.

“No, no, you are going to do that yourself…”, and frowns at me, followed by an uncomfortable smile.

I then realize that a body temperature measurement is only accurate if it is measured from the inside. I look at the 10cm long tube and it takes a little while to come at ease with the thought having that in me, let alone doing a 40k time trial with it.

“You will hardly feel it, if you wear it correctly. If you don’t, it will feel like you have to go to the bathroom during the whole time trial.”

In front of me, a small monitor stares at me, sent back from the 90’s. It shows a couple of horizontal lines, some vague colors and the number 0.00. It almost feels like it will provide me with some answers for the things to come, as if I am staring at R2D2. But nothing happens. The only thing that will change the coming hour is the number 0.00, showing the amount of kilometers done. I may not have any notion of time, heartbeat or power output. Nor have motivation in the form of yelling spectators, or PhD students for that matter, no music, no sugars, no gels and no warm-up (since I rode in the first time, I will need to do that every time. But as you sit still for over 10 minutes before the start, it is not much of a warm-up). I am allowed as much water as I want to.

Behind the monitor is a huge fan, keeping the temperature constant at 30 degrees. The constant breeze makes the air very dry. I close my eyes and without any warning I am beamed back in the Australian Simpson desert. Still, my head makes the turn in mindset, so much needed:” Thirty degrees, this is your challenge. If you can do the 174km-Marmotte route in 38 degrees, you can do this is well.”

I focus on the monitor and at zero, go!, my head gives up on the moaning. I close my eyes and by magic the Warns time trial route appears. No idea why it has to be 7k Warns TT. Is it to find the cadence rhythm? Was that going that well there? How does 90 rotations per minute feel, if you don’t have any feel for time? I watch the screen and see 0.30.

Three hundred meters, 39,7k to go. Still Thir-ty nine point se-ven.

This is the wrong motivation. ‘Still’ is a word that should not be in the sentence.

Divide in parts, start with 5k, we’ll go from there when we get there. Five kilometers; again Warns shows up, tail wind to the village. The speedometer raced to 50k/h, that was fun. This works, happy thoughts, dig for your happy thoughts.

“A good time trial never feels good, always shift to a gear that feels a little too uncomfortable”, I hear Steven mumbling. I shift to a bigger gear, and the legs try to adjust for the unwelcome increase in pain. The immediate result is that my eyes are drawn to the screen again: 4.6k smiles back at me. Again, this is a wrong thought, put it in a box, get rid of it, smaller gear. Ask for a different song, a different time trial, let’s try Oudemirdum: Super motivated, flat tire, borrowed a spare 808, grinded on and won. Willing (veni), able (vidi), felt happy (vici).

I feel my head making the turn and get comfortable.

Cut the crap and get on with it.

I concentrate on my breathing, trying to slow it down. I realize I can alter the sound of exhalation if I change the shape of my lips. For the circumstance I am in, a damn good imitation of a dj dimming the high frequencies out of a song. I invent my own base section, and have found my musical motivation. I feel the kick of the pedals getting firmer and am getting more confident that I will finish this ride to hell in a proper way. I open my eyes and see 18k. There you go, countdown has begun! Yes, by all means, smile for a second. It only takes 4 muscles. Looking fatigued is much harder for the face!

But when the 20k does not appear quick enough, the whole shebang starts anew. Again I am fighting ill thoughts. However, at 30k Warns shows up again, at 34k the World Championship course at St. Johann, Austria. What you think you can do in the last 2k, you actually can do in the last 4, and really, really in the last 6. At 38 I see the ‘2k’-mark of the interclub competition TT in Aduard and change to bigger gears. At 39,7 I start the sprint, but realize that that is really early.

40,0. The door slides open, I am torn off the wind trainer and shoved to a small dark room. During the small stroll I’m looking down, all my senses are centralized in a cylinder from my eyes to the ground. The door is shut and I am locked away in the dark with a head full of striking lighting. Nowhere to go. No cooling down. It’s oppressive, frightening almost. My retina projects Bram de Groot screaming:” Leave me alone!”, when the Dutch television push their microphone under his nose immediately after finishing the Tour de France stage up Alpe d’Huez, him being more dead than alive. Yes, the cyclist needs some space to come to senses and this sudden change from an ultimate sprint to complete darkness is not helping.

When I try to explain my thoughts to Logan in as much detail as possible, I get empty eyes as an answer. Logan is a better cyclist but in a time trial I can beat him. He does not get any of it, but sees that is works. All four time trials I do within 59 minutes, missing the 57’59” barrier by 4 small seconds. It’s a heavy set-up compared to road conditions. It is stripped of all aerodynamics. During the last time trial I produced 365W/h, at 97 rotations. The right leg created 51% of the power, the left 49%, to my surprise. I always though my right leg was much stronger than my left. The heartbeat started in D2, moving to low D3, ending in high D3 and anaerobic within the last kilometer. I know I can do more. I feel trimmed without all the usual feedback. The high cadence gives away I am protecting myself.

After the tests I integrate the long blocks within my training and start thinking to myself: 4x15’ D3, really, it is not that hard, now is it.

With some reluctance I pre-register for the West Australian championchip over 80k, organised by ATTA, the Australian Time Trial Association (http://www.atta.asn.au/). It can best be compared with the Dutch cycling club Snits, but its competitions are purely time trailing and spread further than just West Australia. The 80k in fact is 82,4k. King of time trail and former Commonwealth silver medallist Matt Illingworth is not starting, which increase my chances of actually winning big time. I learned to suppress the pressure, it does not work for me, it is rather counter productive. Moreover: what do I know about dosing in a 80k time trial?

My warming up is one big treat, childish enjoying the Slumdog theme song Jai ho! over and over again. I hide behind my sunglasses and feel myself sliding into a trance. My mother is over from Holland and will be supporting me during the race. She gets the drift when I don’t want anymore disturbance during my warming-up. (“O sorry, but somebody was waving at you!” “That’s fine, they really will understand me not responding”.)

The start is a standing one, and I have troubles getting into my pedal. But even that cannot bother me. I will have a great time here. Every first corner of every lap I have my Cancelara moment: accelerate from the turn, slowly gearing up to 55x11 and powering down the undulating straight hitting 59. At start and finish my mother is cheering. “Youhoo!” is all over the place, rather than concentrating on trying to make a descent picture. She even has noted down my lap times. “It’s rather rough, but I clearly could make out you fastened!” My lap times where close to the 14 minute mark, hers around the 10 minutes… After an initial sense of incomprehension I almost melted: it was almost too touching.

After 3 round I almost got bored (neatly captured by Jim’s photo): it felt fine to maintain this pace, but I really would have like to increase it. However, that would have brought me in anaerobic zone, for which I would have paid the price later. The Camelbag worked great: the straw is easy to access, and does not impair aerodynamics in any way. With a thin sweatshirt underneath the skin suite, the Camelbag does not have direct contact with the skin. The skin stays dry longer and the Camelbag will drench in sweat slower (which eventually will prevent the skin from sweating). I lost focus a little later, not able to make the calculation whether I was in lap 4 or 5. I regained it realising I was doing very well, and passing others at rather high speed. I tried to motivate Cam, Bruce, Jess and Anthony with a big roar, as that usually works for me. You are suddenly woken up; giving a little extra, and realizing you are able to give that little bit extra.

In the last round I realized too late I had more in the tank: I should have tried to reach my anaerobic threshold way earlier.

On the other hand, after the finish I am barely able to realize that I maintained high D3 for almost two hours. “A hundred would have been fine as well”. Two hours powering… in fact it is just 2 lab sessions in sequence.

At 11:30 I am enriched by a gold medal and a real cheque worth $100, which goes straight to Warchild, the charity organisation I am supporting with my Dutch club Gaul!. But more importantly I am enriched by a trip over Trance Avenue.

ATTA, thanks for the impeccable organisation. Results can be found here.

getting a bit bored in lap 3. Focus back in lap 6.

Events organised by ATTA: a place for anybody.