Womens School for Roadies

Women's School for Roadies

BY PENNY PISANESCHI

Reasons varied, but each of us wanted one thing: to get more out of cycling. My roommate, Julie Sanchez, had recently upgraded her racing category and thought a week-long road camp--the first for women by renowned Olympic cyclists (now coaches) Connie Carpenter and Davis Phinney--would push her to a higher level. Two other women, friends from Colorado, came for an "active vacation." Another wanted to overcome her need for a granny gear. As for me, a beginning racer, I sought better cornering and bike-handling skills and to climb a "real mountain."

I would get my chance, surrounded as we were by the peaks above Sun Valley, Idaho. The camp was held during early summer in conjunction with a top stage race for women, the International Women's Challenge. A highlight for all 24 of us would be seeing how we compared with the pros in a time trial. But first we had friends to make and skills to learn during an intense-but-fun week of training and seminars.

Day 1: Aspirations

As we're divided into five groups of five or six women, Connie and Davis ask us to break the ice by telling about ourselves during a meeting the first evening. My group's coach, Ray Browning, is a professional triathlete with road racing experience. Skip Hamilton's group also consists of stronger riders who aspire toward road racing, time trials, ultramarathon cycling, and triathlons. He himself is a national-class cyclist, runner and cross-country skier. I'll spend most of my riding time with these two groups, but it's interesting to learn about the other women, too.

Day 2: Be Cool

My group's first ride is an easy 35 miles of spinning on the bike path to Bellevue. "Consider yourselves a team," instructs Coach Ray. "We want to become a well-oiled machine. Also, I'd like for us to think of a team name."

We roll out, and before long Davis rides up alongside. "So you're the lucky group that gets to watch Ray's butt for the next couple of days," he jokes. About this time, Skip's group flies past us. I see my roomie, Julie, in there and worry that my group might not be fast enough for me. I feel an urge to try to catch them. They're hammering. This camp is my first good opportunity to gauge myself against other women, and I want to prove myself.

But we keep riding at "conversation pace," discussing group riding etiquette and pacelines. Ray reminds us to keep our shoulders loose to relax the whole upper body, saving our energy until it's really needed.

In the paceline, we concentrate on maintaining the same speed when taking the front, rather than accelerating and opening gaps. Gradually, we ride closer to one another and become more efficient. We also get faster even though we're not working harder. It feels comfortable. We are becoming a "well-oiled machine." We are also gaining on Skip's team.

"How about 'Ray's Baybes' for our team name?" someone suggests. Cool, we think. Ray beams with pride.

Later that day, we move to a room in our hotel with resistance trainers and full-length mirrors. Each rider is instructed to mount her bike and spin easily. Once we're comfortable, our coach will make any necessary adjustments. "Cakewalk," I say to myself. I can hear Connie now: "Penny, you have the most ideal position of any rider I've ever seen." I board my racing machine and wait for the compliments to pour in. Ray points out that not only do I need a longer stem, but my saddle should go up and back. I'm told I have a quirky way of riding with my butt up in the air. "Oh, nice," I think.

Ray raises my saddle (spin, spin). I make Ray put it down (spin, spin). Ray moves my saddle back (spin, spin). I make Ray move it forward (spin, spin). Ray looks me square in the eye. "You're high maintenance, aren't you?" Ray gives up.

This enlightening day continues as we pedal to a church parking lot. Traffic cones form an obstacle course to ride through. I eagerly await our instructions. Hopeless at cornering, I've been avoiding the most common type of road race, the criterium, because I can't corner well enough to keep up. I want desperately to change that. While Davis describes the techniques, Skip rides to illustrate. His movements are so fluid that it's hard to break down what he's doing.

It isn't coming to me. Davis starts to explain all over again. Then Connie. I continue to try, but to no avail. Then I hear the other girls laughing. Apparently, my butt is sticking up again. Now I'm self-conscious as well as frustrated.

Finally, I ride directly behind Skip and try to mimic his moves around each cone. Skip yells, "Now!" at the instant I should start a turn. I follow him for about 10 minutes. Then it clicks. I feel it! A seamless flow around one cone and then the next, left turn, right turn. I practice until I'm the only one still in the lot. Criteriums, here I come.

Day 3: A Climb to Remember

We are scheduled to ride from Sun Valley to Stanley, where we'll eat lunch at Redfish Lake and watch the pro women finish a stage of the International Challenge.

Mountain weather changes these plans, however. It rains heavily all morning and it's snowing on the passes. Ray's Baybes and Skip's team decide to tough it out and ride a 60-miler anyway. Instead of going straight to Stanley and stopping, though, we'll climb Galena Summit and then ride back to camp, round-trip.

Galena Summit is the climb that will determine our camp's "Queen of the Hill." We leave Sun Valley in a cold, steady rain, with Ray's Baybes a few minutes ahead of Skip's group. We ascend steadily for 25 miles until we reach Galena Lodge 5 miles from the top. After a pit stop, we resume the climb. I want to be a "Queen" contender, but maybe even more I don't want any of Skip's riders to catch me.

I could lie and say this is a thrill, but I'm hurtin' bad. That little anaerobic-threshold demon inside my head is screaming, "You suck! Skip's group is gonna pass you. And you thought you could be a climber." I'm dropped by two fellow Baybes. I'm miserable. So I came to camp to "climb a real mountain." Ha!

Then a funny thing happens. I stop to peel off a layer of clothing and give myself a chance to stop wheezing. I forgive myself for being dropped. I take big breaths of crisp mountain air. The frozen rain lets up. The sun illuminates the pine-carpeted Sawtooth Mountains. I feel the warmth on my cheeks. I am climbing a real mountain.

I reach the top just before Susan, the first from Skip's group. As she rounds the last hairpin, sunshine seems to radiate from her eyes. Six months earlier, this woman had open-heart surgery and a pacemaker put in. She came to this camp, and this mountain, intent merely on "doing my best." Instead, she leads her team with an incredibly fast climb.

After the freezing descent, we form two pacelines for the ride back. It pours for the last 20 miles. We can hardly see the wheels in front of us. We push hard to keep warm and to get back fast. "Great pull!" we yell to one another. In no time we're sprinting like maniacs for the Sun Valley town line. It's over! No one says it, but we know we're tough. This is chick bonding at its best.

Day 4: Sprint School

An easy warm-up ride takes us to East Fork/Triumph. It offers great views of jagged, snowcapped mountains as well as a perfect loop for sprint lessons, with long, flat, straight stretches.

We gather to hear Davis reveal the techniques that won him two Tour de France stages and more road victories than anyone in U.S. racing history. His sprint tips: Develop upper-body strength to enhance power; keep shoulders and hips square with the bike; keep hands on the drops except on steep uphill sprints (grip the brake levers then); center body weight over the pedals (too far forward and the rear wheel can slip); position your butt so it almost touches the tip of the saddle; keep your head up.

He demonstrates ("It doesn't get any better than this," I reflect) and then it's our turn. I'm a little nervous, expecting a repeat of the cornering clinic. I'm prepared to get loads of additional advice to iron out my imperfections.

"Ready?" Ray asks. "Ready!" Umphh. Push. Push. Push. My hands are on the drops. My head is up. Power. Power. My body feels centered and my bike feels connected. For once, my butt is exactly where it's supposed to be, right at the nose of the saddle. One last pusssh. . . . Ray looks happy. "Your form was great, Penny. You have a good sprint." Really?

We cap this session with one more try, all of us together. I have a burning desire to do this right. Davis is watching. Then something unusual happens. I feel confident. I let Karyn and Aileen cut the wind while they watch each other. I relax. Coming into the final stretch, I feel for the moment. In position, I pounce around Aileen's left. No one reacts until it's too late. Hey, maybe I do have a sprint. Scary thought.

Day 5: Time Trialing with the Pros

Today we get the chance to compete against the pro women. Well, sort of. We will race the same 3.2-mile time trial course being used for the Challenge, to see how we measure up. Being a time trial, we each start alone at a set interval. There's no tactics now. It's just a matter of how fast each of us can complete the distance.

Ray is describing the course features. I look over and see Rebecca Twigg, Jeanne Golay and my idol, Laura Charameda, warming up. I can't believe I'm doing this.

Three . . . two . . . one . . . go! I'm out of the saddle and pushing hard to get up to speed. I've practiced ahead of time with different gears, and so far I'm flying. But here comes my anaerobic threshold and--oops!--there it goes. I see two women up the road and try to regain control by concentrating on reeling them in. When the course begins its 220 feet of climbing, I work even harder to make ground. They aren't getting any closer.

I feel pain. I start panting. The course gets steeper. Negative thoughts whirl through my head. I sense I'm being passed and look left. An experience like this can be demoralizing, but it's Susan who comes into view. Can you believe that this is a woman with a pacemaker? Her speed is inspiring. Her form is excellent. Her bike is humming. "Go, Susan!" I yell. I'm happy to be caught by only one person. I'm proud it's Susan.

Later, Ray takes each of us aside to review our camp experience. He tells me I have good speed on the flats, pretty good climbing ability, and the potential to be a good sprinter. He cautions that I tend to go for it all at once and blow up. I need more self-control. I tell him that I'll work on it, and I mean it.

Closing Ceremony

The festivities that conclude camp are bittersweet. Davis thanks us for our determination, our self-control in putting our competitive natures aside, and our support of each other. He commends our toughness and good attitude on that cold, wet day up to Galena Summit. He makes us feel part of something special.

Connie says, "This camp has been a dream come true for me." We all second that.

The staffers present many imaginative awards. There's "The Dinosaur Club" award for the oldest campers. Julie is dubbed "Most Stylin' Cyclist" for her fashion sense and good form. Aileen is crowned "Queen of the Hill" for her performance during the Galena Summit epic. Her award is a ceramic mug made by Connie herself.

Then Connie starts to describe the next award winner. She takes out a wind-up toy bicycle ridden by a girl in pigtails. "This cyclist has so much energy and enthusiasm, few can keep up with her," Connie explains, roasting this poor camper as the toy rider spins her little legs around and around. The room roars. I feel left out of a joke, then Julie glances at me. I break into a sweat.

"I'd like to present this award to the camp's youngest cyclist, all of 26. Penny, come up here." I begin to laugh so hard tears are forming. My prize is a pacifier. "It's not just for you," Connie says, "it's for the person on the plane home sitting next to you."

It was some camp, and you can bet that person heard all about it.

Penny Pisaneschi races on the roads and trails in Northern California, where she works in sales for a software company.