How To Drop An Attackus-Nonstickus With AAD

In some cycling circles this bone head move is know as a Break-a-lame.  Some go so far as to call these riders Wad Blowers, or the more PC “natural sprinter.” Nothing ruins a group ride faster than a dolt who shoots off the front of a strong paceline causing everyone to surge and chase, only to have said dolt sit up when others reach the dolt’s wheel.  This particular syndrome is known to the cycling community as AAD, Attack And Die.  Symptoms include half-wheeling, increased time spent riding alone, chest thumping, frequent looking over one’s shoulder, moving left after their “attack” is done and they are in the “die” mode, riding with their knees out while attacking with hands on the hoods, the inability to hold a respectable fast speed for more than 14.3 seconds without needing a 5 minute recovery and a Clif Bar, and an over-zealous appreciation of high speed coasting. 

Those with AAD also didn’t get enough attention from their mommies.  If they weren’t going off the front and sitting up on your group ride they’d be shouting “get in the hole” at televised golf tournaments.  I consultultated (a George Bush term) with The Global Center For Naming Everything With Latin Lingo and they have approved a whole new animal kingdom sounding term for this dufus, Attackus-Nonstickus.  Women aren’t immune from AAD.  On occasion I have witnessed the female of the Attackus-Nonstickus species go all AAD on a group.  It’s very rare and just as unimpressive.  The Attackus-Nonstickus doesn’t realize that there’s no glory in an attack unless you can stick it to the end of the ride, the sprint sign or the coffee shop.  To attack and not stick it is like a football player fumbling the ball on the goal line…a shameful wasted effort.

If you encounter an Attackus-Nonstickus, first of all never give a hard chase.  The Attackus-Nonstickus, much like a 7^th grader pulling the fire alarm at school, thrives on attention.  By standing up and ramping up the speed to quickly close the gap you just fuel the fire, the cycling equivalent of dialing 9-1-1.  You also risk dropping riders you enjoy riding with.  By maintaining a steady tempo and gradually reeling in the Attackus-Nonstickus you don’t give them undue attention.  The best catch of an Attackus-Nonstickus is not to simply reach their wheel, but to just keep rolling by them like they aren’t even there.  It’s easy because they usually end up on the left after their non-sticking attack.  Even better, during the chase, arrange the order of the paceline so the weakest rider of the group is the one who ends up making the catch and the pass.  That leaves an Attackus-Nonstickus thinking “what the?” in their head as ninety-pound Nancy rolls on by.  If this technique fails to quash the spirits of the Attackus-Nonstickus, your next option is to systematically drop them from the ride.  While it does sound mean spirited, it opens up a whole new world of fun to those “in” on the drop. 

To accomplish this, let the Attackus-Nonstickus off the front at least 3 times.  Each of those three times reel them in as stated above.  However, on the 4^th attack, preferably at the farthest point form where you started or in a bad part of town reel them in steadily.  Before you make the catch, let your co-riders know you’re going to drill it.  Say something sly like “get ready to go.”  When you make the catch sit on the wheel of the Attackus-Nonstickus just long enough for them to feel as if they have tired you out.  Count to three bananas.  Let out a big sigh to solidify your bluff.  Now!  Swing out wide-right to the shoulder and drill it!  Go hard enough to get a gap but not so hard as to lose the riders behind you.  Now dial it up to donkey wheezing speed.  Even if the Attackus-Nonstickus managed to see the move, they won’t be able to grab the last spot in the paceline before they know what hit ‘em.  Now YOU got to stick it.  Hold it hard for one minute followed by a steady pace higher than the original pace of the ride.  Don’t look back for the next five minutes.  Since the Attackus-Nonstickus will be tired from their four hard efforts, has no idea that attacks can go up the right side of the road, and can’t hold a fast speed for more than 14.3 seconds, you will never see them again…at least until next week’s group ride.  

Eh! Get Your Knees In

Photo courtesy of Jeffery Jakucyk Photography

“Eh.  Joe.  Git yer knees in,” OB would say.  “What the F is he saying,” I would think as the Wednesday night racer ride was rolling down Benning Road at north of 27mph.  “Huh?”  “You’re knees are stickin’ out.  Get ‘em in.  Like this,” he gestured as his knees grazed his top tube. I’d do it for a few pedal strokes but would lose form as soon as the next attack went up the road.

OB, arguably the most accomplished masters aged pro in Cincinnati, would drive people nuts on group rides.  At the time, OB raced for Torelli.  Atop his latest Landshark bike, he’d point out my knees.  He’d point out if someone else’s bar drops weren’t level with the ground.  He’d scold riders for attacking in dumb places.  He would annoyingly start his tips off with a nasal sounding, “eh.”  He got under some peoples skin.  Those guys would brush him off.  Those guys didn’t know better.

The thing about OB was that he genuinely wanted to help people race better.  He didn’t waste his breath on most people.  When OB gave you a pointer, it meant he saw some promise in you.  He was saying eh, welcome to the front, eh now it’s time to look like you should be here, and eh here’s a tip to get even faster.

He went so far as to email me a picture of European U-23 pro’s in a perfect echelon with their knees a hairs width from their top tubes.  A note read something like, “in Europe they learn at an early age.” 

On the trainer, on group rides, at cyclocross practice, in the trails, for the last 2-3 years his voice permeated my brain, “eh, git yer knees in.”  After about a year, I had my knees in, but they would drift wide like an old man riding on the bike path when I got too waxed and lost focus on form. 

Today, OB, the above photo is for you.  It’s me (pictured in middle) at Saturday’s race.  As you can see I am totally on the rivet.  My mouth is open taking in air like a hood scoop on a Camaro.  I can barely see straight.  My hands are in the drops.  My back is relatively flat.  My knees are in.  I made all the pack splits.  Thanks OB.

Police Say Local Bike Rider Was Drunk…Really?

My chamois is in a bundle.  I’m offended.  As a local bike rider, I’m offended…well as much as I can be without laughing at the ridiculousness of my feelings.  This story threw the chain in my spokes last night.  I’m talking about the AP copyright story that popped out of Cincinnati Monday titled “Police Say Local Bike Rider Was Drunk” (click here to read it.)  To steal a line from Seth and Amy on Saturday night live…really?  I’m sorry, but I think it takes more than a bike to be a called a bike rider.  I’m not sure what that is, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it.

To say the least, in my opinion, the man who is the subject of the story could be called a lot of things, the least being a “bike rider.”  I’m thinking the headline should’ve been something like, “Police Say Local Man Was Drunk While Riding Bike.”  After all, he is a local man first, who just happened to be operating a bicycle.  I’m not arguing semantics.  There’s a principal involved somewhere.  I’m not angry.  I’m more bemused at myself.  I’m in a slight tiff.  This guy shouldn’t be in the same boat as the people I would call bike riders.  I’m not exactly sure what the minimum credentials are, but I’m 100% sure that this guy isn’t a bike rider.  I think it takes more than being on the pedals of a moving bicycle in Cincinnati to be called a bike rider. 

Forget about the law and the alleged alcohol for a minute and concentrate on the real issue.  What really does it take to be called a bike rider?   According to this story it seems like all you need is a bike and at least the ability to sort of balance it and pedal it for a minimal amount of time.  But you wouldn’t call a five year old riding herky-jerky around their cul-de-sac a bike rider.  I think they’d be called a child riding a bike.  So, maybe there’s a level of expertise and/or intention involved.   You can swing from a monkey bar, but you’re no gymnast.  You can dog paddle 15 feet from your inner tube to the dock, but you wouldn’t be identified as a swimmer.   You can shoot a gun, but you’re not marksman.

Then I brought up the story to some people in the office and told them how I was offended as a bike rider about this story.  After they rolled their eyes and my half joking explanation of why I was offended, one brought up an interesting point.  Respect.  A coworker said, “I don’t think this man respects the bicycle.”  She’s right.  So, I think that’s the difference.  A person riding a bike doesn’t necessarily respect the bicycle. 

A bike rider respects the bicycle.