Continued from Part 1

True to its reputation, the streets of Norfolk are no place to ride fast.

We start and stop along Lafayette Avenue, avoiding potholes and broken glass, never getting much past 14 mph. Riding in a group has some advantages over riding solo. You can take a whole lane and the drivers don’t honk and scream so much. I don’t notice much about what we’re passing. I’m focused on the rider in front of me, who happens to be the other guy on the ride, Mike McMahon. He seems too fit to be in the C group, and his bike is a high-end model. He must, like Liz, be slumming, deliberately slowing down in order to assist with this training effort. Team Tri-Power, the cycle racing team that’s associated with Conte’s Bikes, is a large team already, but they are making a conscious effort to reach out and find other riders who might be interested in the sport. It’s a good thing too. If not for these C and B pace rides they are leading, there’d be no way for the inexperienced rider to learn the skills and transition to the team.

The uneven Norfolk streets are at least a chance to get used to the configuration of riding in a line. Once we cross Tidewater Drive and get on to Robin Hood Road, Liz gives us a quick primer on lead-changing. She’s been in front up to this point, but now she drops back. I’m to make sure the group keeps the pace for the next couple of minutes. I’m uncertain about my performance. My cyclocomputer, the digital speedometer attached to my handlebars, has gone blank–the battery died a year ago and I’ve never replaced it. Without a rider pulling me, I have to concentrate on my legs and try to count the revolutions. I’m suddenly conscious of my speed and my body, my breathing, my legs and the road in a way that I have never been before. I’m not going very fast this time, but for a few minutes I’m the head of an organism larger than myself.

Miller Store Road winds around the outside of the Norfolk airport like a racetrack. It’s a favorite destination for cycling teams because it’s smooth and free of cross-streets, one of the few places in the city you can get up a head of steam for any distance. As we approach, Liz waves me ahead, along with the other guy and one other woman who appears to be very strong. “When you get on Miller Road, I want you to open up,” she dictates. “Keep it up as long as you can, and don’t forget to change leads. We’ll see you at the end of the road.”

Mike McMahon is big; he makes a good windshield.

I snuggle up behind him, keeping close to his back wheel, and try to keep up. After a hundred feet I’m into my highest gear and pedaling hard. The road is flat, like almost all of Norfolk, so keeping a pace is just a matter of pushing hard and steady. I’ve heard the cyclists in the paceline work 30 percent less hard than the leaders as they are pulled along in their wake. I’m feeling good, confident. I’m not as weak as I worried I’d be. I’m keeping up.

Then Mike drops his left arm to signal the lead change and I watch him slip behind me and I’m in front. I don’t want to drop the pace, so I have to push 30 percent harder, and now I feel the strain. I’m not riding any faster than I was, but I’m pushing so much harder that I know I can’t keep it up for long. My breath becomes ragged and my legs start to burn. My heart rings like a hammer on an anvil. I have no idea how fast I’m going without the spedometer, but it’s as fast as I can go. I pick a spot ahead where the road curves as my milestone. I’ll go that far. My legs are screaming, then I feel weakness. Am I going to bonk? I drop to the side just as I pass my milestone, and the woman behind me flows into the lead while I drop to the rear. In the cushion of the wind wake I find I can recover. I keep up.

That’s a paceline. It’s a collective organism where each cell pushes itself to the front temporarily and endures there as long as it can before dropping back to be carried along by the rest of the body. This pattern continues, and it works. In a paceline of three, I have barely enough time to recover before I’m the spearhead again, crashing my bike into the air to break a path for the other two, but I’m able to ride farther at a faster speed than I ever had before. This stretch of Miller Store Road extends only about two miles, and it takes about eight minutes, enough time for us to rotate three times. As we approach the end, I drop behind Mike for the last time. I’ve bonked, temporarily, but I get to rest for a few minutes while the others catch up.

Around this time we run across Susan and the rest of the B-pace group, headed the other direction. Liz graduates me to the B group on the spot. I leave her and join Susan’s pack of riders to take Miller Store Road in the other direction. It’s not as fast this time, but the paceline is steady. I work my way to the front and take a turn in the lead, and I feel good and strong.