Getting Dropped
I can can feel his cold breath on my back, like a shadow drifting through an alleyway. He’s not yet upon me, but the Man with the Hammer is lurking nearby. I’m not even sure he has the intention to strike; he’s just staying close, cruelly reminding me that my fate is in his hands.
I feel the heaviness in my legs from the first turns of the pedals as the road tilts upwards; its not the usual resistance that I know will spin out once I find my rhythm because finding my rhythm will be impossible when the pace is as it is. I’m not on the rivet yet, but the pressure foretells my future; no graceful arcs of the pedals, I’ll soon be pedaling squares in search of the power I need to hold the wheel in front of me.
The pitch changes, not steeper but the change disrupts whatever grasp I had on the rhythm and the gap opens a bit. Handlebars are chewed and the gap is closed again, for now. I know it, and the shadow knows it: this is a temporary fix, not a long term solution. The end is coming, but I’m determined to hold it off for as long as possible. The next symptom is that I can’t find a gear that works, I’m shifting constantly, back and forth between the same two gears trying to find the magic ratio that lets me hold the tempo more easily.
All the shifting of gears has broken my concentration and I as I look up I discover I’ve let the wheel go without even noticing it. The shadow reminds me that I hadn’t even cracked yet but I let it go just because I let my tired mind occupy itself with a detail like what gear I’m in when what really matters is pushing on the pedals. The price I pay is more handlebar chewing and clawing back onto the wheel. The effort means the end is just drawn that much closer, but still I will do anything to delay the inevitable.
I’m starting to wonder if I’ve dug too deep already, that if after the inevitable happens will I be able to limit my losses? Maybe the smart thing to do – I try to convince myself – is to let go and find a steady tempo to ride to the top. If I do that, I can probably bridge up on the false flat at the top, or on the descent. Failing that, I’ll catch them back on the flats.
But there is no catching back after letting go; it is the reality of our world. These are just the things we tell ourselves in order to face the harsh reality of getting dropped. The only thing that truly exists is the fact that I will be dropped, and that there will be a long, lonely road home.
The wheel in front moves a few centimeters ahead. I see it and push harder on the pedals but still the gap opens. It is only a meter now, but it might as well be a kilometer; the wheel is gone and I am alone.
I’m not sure where the Man with the Hammer lives, but sometimes he sleeps over in my head. I suspect that a fair amount of his appearances are mental in origin. Bastard.
Such an exquisite subject – glorious and terrible at the same time. The “dumb drop” is terrible – not paying attention, following the wrong wheel, dropping the chain, riding at the front for a minute too long…An old dog taught me early on to fight like fuck for the wheel. Its a glorious mantra, even when you’re tightening up, and yo-yoing and riding like a wankspanner. The fight is critical because half the time you get it together and hang on. And when you don’t you have the satisfaction of knowing you gave it everything but you really didn’t have it.
I’m riding with the boys for the next few weeks. The entire time the mantra that goes through my head is ‘hold that wheel, hold that wheel, hold that wheel.’
You have perfectly captured the process the brain goes through as you begin to doubt that you can stay on. I have the luck of having my coach graciously sitting on my wheel for the next few weeks. He knows me so well he can pick the moments I’m beginning to doubt myself and squashes the doubt in a few simple words.
Nice read.
This is my ride, every ride. Each time the wheel stays a little bit closer for a little bit longer. That’s all I can hope for.
@girl
Yes ‘hold that wheel’ — using your own devices. My (similar) device is ‘don’t assume anything, don’t assume this is hard, don’t assume this is easy, make it certain…” Three years ago my device was simply “Wake up! What the fuck is happening! Now there is no room for panic in the device (mantra).
I love a group ride like that. I love it when it happens as you describe it because it means next time I will be stronger. Always ride with those too fast for you, hang on for dear life, then TT your heart out after you get dropped.
All too often the group ride is too slow, so I go and half wheel the club champ and stir up the hornets nest. Pain always follows, but I am always better for it.
About 100k into 120k on Sunday and it was on. The two brash and young guns in our group wanted to race it in and it was up to the rest of us to stay with them. Any delusions I had of strength and fitness and toughness took a beating as I quickly lost the wheel. There were two others behind me and I could have easily joined their cause but my head was having none of it. I pedalled on into the headwind, certain that I would see them around the next bend, over the next hill, held up at the crossroad but Of course I didn’t. I gave it my all. I suffered those 17km and I never closed the gap.
They were fitter than me and they were stronger than me.
The best article yet. Serious. 9.998/10 (because we all want to strive for more, right?). Nothing else to say.
More often than not, this is my world. But it never stops being a beautiful and rewarding one. Great piece @Frank.
Very nice piece, Frank – and quite timely, as far as yours truly is concerned: just over a week ago on a solo training ride, I was overtaken by a cyclist who was clearly in much better shape than I (and a couple of decades my junior, I reckon, but that should never be used as an excuse for anything…)
Anyway, as he flew by, I tried to jump onto his wheel and actually managed to hold it for 2 seconds – after which, I had the headwind all to myself again. But he had, apparently, passed me at a slightly higher tempo than his usual cruising speed (or else he was playing with me), because he ‘eased up’ a little about a 100 m up the road and settled into a tempo that I could actually follow, if I gave it everything I had. For 4 or 5 kilometers, I held him in my sights while descending deeper into the pain cave than I had done in ages…
When I finally caught up with him (because he slowed down even more at some point, no doubt) we exchanged greetings and talked for a minute (or rather: he talked; I huffed, puffed and spluttered), and then we turned in different directions.
My legs felt like jelly as I rode on at a much more merciful pace and thought things over: yes, I had been dropped like a stone, and yes, I was pleased with the way I had responded. It had been one of the best workouts I’ve had in a long time – and excellent training, I reckon. I hope to meet that guy again someday and get my ass kicked all over again. It can only make me stronger. VLVV.
Sharp one! Having only done serious climbing with small groups, I cannot imagine the sinking feeling of getting dropped when there are hundreds of thousands of screaming fans lining the road. Talk about a stressful workplace environment!
Great photo. Damn, Phil is a pretty darn slim dude, though with amazing Guns. And teef.
Nice – I like the description of the metre which might as well be a mile (to mix my units in the interests of alliteration). So true. It’s only a small gap but you know that even if you temporarily get there it will be back soon.
But when I go through these emotions it isn’t usually on a climb. I don’t worry so much about it on the hills because it’s a question of power to weight, not power to will.
Where I hate this sort of getting dropped is on rollers or flats, especially when there are echelons. The gap happens in front, maybe not even your wheel but the effect is the same. They can move away slowly and maybe even stay in sight for a long time but you know it is impossible to get across and eventually you surrender to it.
Oh man, sooo well done. I have not raced in a sanctioned race for three years now but I will never forget that absolutely soul crushing feeling of finally losing that wheel and getting dropped. Started racing in 1987 and I will never forget that deep feeling and realization of harsh reality on getting dropped for the first time in a race. BOOM, race over, time to go it alone and still finish but all glory left out on the road and only limping in solo to the finish.
Everyone should race the bike at least once in their life and feel this in order to know the highs and lows of life … or at least read your piece here and The Rider by Krabbe’ if they cannot race.
The man with the hammer caught up to me on a solo training ride yesterday. I hate him.
@scott
Ohhhh, but you should savour those encounters. It’s like when you almost get killed and afterward, at least for a month or more, everything seems so different and just more REAL.
He only shows up to make you stronger a la Nietzsche.
@Buck Rogers
+1. Hating and resisting pain will only get you a little way down the road. You have to embrace the pain and even love it a little.
@antihero
The Man with the Hammer rode my wheel for a while this afternoon. The last 45km was windier than I’d expected and it hurt but I managed to hold a rhythm. He peeled of with about ten to go. Possibly he gave me a pass on account of the wind and rain or possibly because I put an unnecessary kink into the route just before that to ride an extra hill.
I surprised myself today a couple of times by, subconsciously, shifting to a smaller cog and pushing harder as I began to lose momentum on hills. Normally, I’d have done the opposite to hold my cadence.
Glorious @frank, glorious.
I have only one season under my belt but I “fondly” recall the horror, fear, and finally acceptance of having fired the guns too often and too soon only to watch that gap open at the VVhidbey Island cogal. I’m fairly certain that I considered weeping openly.
On the flip side, I also recall the satisfaction of dropping a YJA toting wheelsucker during the Whistler GranFondo. After having him cling to my wheel for several kms we got out of the pack, the road pointed slightly up for a bit, I didn’t change gears – just channeled some Jens V and pushed harder without looking back.
I’m fairly certain that guy was considering weeping openly.
Another great piece. A while back I wrote that we seek to suffer to overcome it. It’s more accurate to say we seek to suffer to coexist with it. If we’re not suffering, we’re not trying hard enough. To hate it is to avoid it and miss those opportunities to improve. I feel I suck at hills, so I seek them out and always push. I found a group to ride with in my new environs. Nice group, nice pace, nice roads, and finding the local climbs. A couple of weeks ago there was a surge on a climb, I responded and when passing the front guy, he mentioned this was the hill derby. I let up enough to take it without being the brash new guy, that would be poor form. Seek to suffer, coexist with the suffering, you won’t sweat the small stuff.
@Buck Rogers Got my first (bike) races coming up in late summer/early autumn. My steel and I are going to get looked down upon and dropped by younger, stronger carbon-riding dudes and it’s going to hurt. But it’s going to be fun.
That was exquisite and I think my heart rate went up 10 beats reading it. If the inspiration comes, write another from the lead perspective. On days when I’m in command of the hammer it is great. Hearing the increased staccato of breath from behind, the furious gear changes and hopeless changes between sitting and standing is all part of the twisted joy of cycling. In this moment you lift it just a bit more, not because you necessarily want to go fast (but that is virtue too) but because you know the bloke behind can’t take even a fraction more punishment without cracking.
We should all be in therapy to explain why we love this sport.
@andrew
AWESOME!!! Fuck’in Chapeau to you! There is NOTHING like riding in a real race. No sportif, no group/club ride, no Grandfondo can match the experience. Lining up in a REAL race is fuck’in intimidating as HELL the first time and I still get (got–it’s been three years) butterflies when I race. I do not get those in the group ride/fondo/sportif. It’s the difference between playing war and going to war.
Do your best, hold that wheel as long as you can, but, in the end, no matter what happens, you will have been in the actual arena and THAT is what counts!
@andrew
You can drop some “carbon-riding dudes” with a steel “battleship” — designed for warfare. Enjoy the race!
@Buck Rogers
At times I attempt to ride his wheel — a cycling shadow. A phantom that only appears as shadow when you are concentrated and looking for him. No invite, but good when he shows up. Impossible to overcome him — just chase him.
Btw @frank, stunning photo there. Those are fine guns.
Puegeot was a fucking awesome team over the years, so many greats. (Unlike @frank, Eddy didn’t get dropped from memory)
@Steve-o
Made me realize another point you just made — “coexist with the sufferers” as well.
Did an 80 mile ride at the weekend, luckily it was a sportive so I had 5000 different wheels to suck! Met the man with the hammer at least three times, must train properly in future. You know you’re having a hard day when someona with flat pedals and a pannier pulls away from you! Even some of the boys on hybrids were fast, good thing about them is that you get more draft!
Ps even did some climbing in the drops, but only because every other position caused instant cramp, anyone else ever had to decide if it was less painful to stop or just keep the hammer down to lessen the duration of the torture. Guess which one I chose, dumb bastard that I am, even sprinted for the line to get a round number.
Getting dropped – this is why I train and race with teammates who’s nicknames are the likes of Soul Crusher, Slaughterhouse and War Machine. If I can stay on their wheels a little longer, I know I’m getting stronger, because with each ride they’re getting stronger too.
@scaler911
High but worthy praise.
@Steve G
That is such a great feeling…. When you notice that you are hanging longer each ride… Then after enough training properly you have the wheel everyone wants to stay on.
@Frank
Did you somehow implant a kind of brainwave recording device into my skull? Because I just relived every last painful moment of the climb in this past Saturday’s race.
Even the part about the false flat, and my dumbass thinking I could chase back, on the flats…..
@Frank unleashing his inner Krabbe. Good stuff.
The irony of racing is that to attack, you must ignore the fear of being dropped, even though the physical and emotional pain of said droppage is deserving of respect.
So many racers don’t make the race because they ride to not get dropped rather than attack to win.
@Chris
Oh, but he did. To be fair, when he got dropped, he made it count and lost the Yellow Jersey for the first and only time in his career.
This was based loosely on the Book Signing ride on Saturday in SFO; my base is really lacking but power is good, so I was doing fine for the first half of the ride and then the tempo on the climbs along the coast was too much and I knew from the start I was fucked.
At a point, you get so worn down you’re not even in that much pain – in fact, I’d be in much more pain if I was the one doing the dropping and using that as motivation to spur me on – but at a point the body just stopped delivering the power to the pedals. There was nothing.
@Chris
That’s the best; being on the rivet but then somehow finding more power. There is a very strange physiological thing for me as well where I have to burn the legs once early on to get the power up; after that I’m much more open and can resist better. Before that, I struggle much more.
@Duane
Absolutely will do, just as soon as I drop someone on a climb. I actually do drop people on flats and faux plats but climbing I have to carefully find someone as fat or fatter than me in order to get the operation together.
Or maybe the sport is our therapy?
@girl
If you coach can do that rather than make you want to turn around and punch him, then he is a coach you should hold on to.
@andrew
Vraiment, première course? Dropped? Not happening if you follow the rules and go with Eddie. Just pin your number properly, keep your yap shut and remain smooth and deliberate. Wish you all the best.
@ChrisO
Don’t get me fucking started on getting dropped in a crosswind. The knowledge that the riders in front in the group are getting an easy tow when you’re suffering like a dog only to watch the gap widen is such a painful thing.
During Heck of the North last year, I had been dropped from the lead group due to a series of crashes in the first technical offroad section. Unfortunate, but not too big a deal; I set about bridging up and wound up catching a bunch of other dropped riders and we built a nice little group that was humming along nicely.
I really felt ownership of the group as my bridging up along the breadcrumb of riders was what was putting the group together. Then my tub came loose from my toe strapped to my saddle on a rumble strip and I had to stop to unwind it. Again I faced the long road of bridging up and it was just so fucking demoralizing.
And then when I caught them again, I flatted. FEEEEECK.
@frank
@Frank – you could have done as I did and head back to the barn early. To overcome my obvious inadequacy and shame, I bit off 114K and 2,000 meters the next day. I was toast after that. But the inspiration from this article and the quote from @fignons barber above “they ride to not get dropped rather than attack to win” brings me back for more. Lean forward, smash the pedals and HTFU – it is indeed a mind game. Good stuff!
Only a cyclist can understand this pain! But this goes a long way to explaining it to non Veluminati and young Pedalwans! Great article!
@frank
I thought that might have been the inspiration. You were certainly climbing strongly on Mt Tam; knowing my form I wasn’t going to try to keep up with the lead pace.
Learning how to gut it out and ride with what you have left is part of the path we are all treading.
@Nate
Yes – that
@frank
The words of wisdom/encouragement I can handle. It’s when he pulls up beside me to have a quick chat while I am gasping for breath that make me want to punch him. Or more easily just push him off his bike. Then he just seemlessly rolls back again. That’s infuriating.
@frank
I remember one regular Saturday morning ride with a vicious crosswind. We caught some remnants of the fast group at traffic lights, and they pushed the pace along the beachfront. Diving into sand-dusted roundabouts trying to hold the wheel, knowing ig a gap opened I’d never get it back.
I was on the wheel of a big guy and was going ok. I knew I wasn’t the only one struggling when I saw a girl we ride with dropped – she is *strong* (rode the Cape Epic) and I’ve never seen her lose a wheel before. She was dropped when the guy in front of her was gapped, and once that gap was there no one was closing it.
@frank
My comment was in relation t the Simpson photo only. I had it in mind that he had been dropped but in some strange, rare moment of befuddled clarity actually dug the Merckx book out and checked the photo.
@frank
I certainly take a while to warm up but this was about 80 – 90 km into the ride. It felt good. Weird but good.
After writing the previous post I sat down to catch up on the last few days of the Giro. When I next got up from the sofa I was hit by the most evil cramp from just above the inside of my knee right up to my groin on both legs. I suspect the Man with the Hammer is a lurker here on Velominati took a strong dislike to my hubris and snuck into the house to deliver a humbling retrospective kicking.
It took me ten minutes to get to the point of being able to walk and to make matter worse it’s just happened again – this time just to one leg but strong enough to make me nauseous.
Fuck, I’m deeply afraid to go to bed now. I kind of get how the Pantani era riders felt, I’m off to the garage with a box set of Breaking Bad to keep me awake on the rollers…
@Ccos, @unversio, @Buck Rogers Thanks for the words, gents — a lot of rides between now and then and some of ChrisO’s interval sessions in there somewhere and I’ll give it a decent crack.
I’m no fan-boy, but here is a master class in dropping cyclists, Sir Brad is perhaps one of the best technical riders around, from the hips up his movement is barely perceptible, his guns however just blast away, if he is riding for Froome at TDF , then all Froome has to do is stay upright and he will defend his title for sure.
http://www.steephill.tv/tour-of-california/
@piwakawaka I liked it that he barely looked around during the climb. Must have sent quite a strong message “I’m not that interested in who’s with me in this group, we’re going up here at my pace”