Heart Rate Heaven

I never thought I would get to the point where I wanted someone to tell me it was all right to ride. But I find that, increasingly, I rely on Yago to have the "cold head", as the Spanish say, to haul me back and tell me to lay off. So it was a relief to get the green light to head out this morning. Two Saturdays in a row with revolting weather - thunderstorms on the 3rd and ankle-deep snow last week - were starting to give me really, really bad cabin fever. Jesús, who is living in Tres Cantos (north of Madrid) while they finish his flat in Arganda del Rey (south of Madrid) organized a relatively challenging route through the mid-sierras.

We started out as seven - AG, Paloma, Edu, Buje and a new guy named Mario, who has wild reddish hair and a very light cadence that allows him to flow uphill. Paloma, who hasn't been out since the beginning of December, decided that she wanted to start ahead of us but drove herself so hard that she was spent within five kilometres.

We met Jesús up in TC, blasted up to Colmenar Viejo, and headed up towards the Cerro de San Pedro - five kilometres that were so, so much easier than when we first headed up that way at the end of October. There may even have been an opportunity for a breakaway, had the Civil Guard not cut traffic because of a transhumance issue - fifty head of cattle decided to park themselves in the middle of the highway and not move. (Spaniards will go insane when the car in front of them doesn't move for two seconds after a red light changes; but when livestock decide to plonk themselves down in the middle of a road, they won't say a word.)

The downhill: light and easy. One of the advantages of working so much on the trainer (and I know, this is going to sound silly considering that I've only had the trainer for less than a week) is that I'm getting better at pushing the limits. I headed down from the Cerro at 55 km/h, about 12 faster than the first time, and managed to catch up with the guys before they reached the town limits of Guadalix de la Sierra.

I like it when Jesús organizes outings. He knows the outlying areas of the province well enough that he never takes us on the same ride twice. From Guadalix it was uphill and around through Navalafuente, where the snow on the ground and the frost in the trees was worthy of a Currier and Ives Christmas card. The climb from Navalafuente up to Bustarviejo wasn't particularly difficult, just long; the other blasted ahead (Paloma and Edu cut their trip short in Guadalix to head back to Madrid) to Bustarviejo, up a stiff but scenic hill into the town.

I don't suffer on hills as much anymore. It must be said that I don't exactly blow up them (yet) but I'm able to hold a much higher cadence for a much longer period of time without my athsma kicking in or my legs blowing out. (I love phrasal verbs, I tell you.) I see a hill and I know that it may take some time, but I know I'll get there. I see the guys heading up the hill and I don't worry too much about catching up with them because I know that I'll get to them sooner rather than later. I see the mountains and they don't scare me, because I know that when the snow comes off them I'll be ready for them.

We have the obligatory tortilla and coffee stop, we head to Miraflores de la Sierra (where I almost had a little contratiempo with the driver of a Ford Ka who had the pedal to the metal) and then we head home. I am determined to keep up with them. I do not want to be the red lantern any more. Let someone else take that job for 2009.

We get back to the Locademia. Ninety-eight kilometres in just over four hours (not including the coffee stop) and fifteen minutes. And I feel good. I feel like I have worked hard and I've done a good job, and that when we go back to do that route again, I'll do even better.

"You're getting a lot better," says AG as he drives me home. We talk about the need to work together as a team, how we need to stick together, and I sneak a look at my heart rate monitor: I've spent over an hour and a half at 80% maximum heart rate, and I feel great. (Admittedly, when I get home, I have a carb-heavy lunch and spend an hour's siesta snoring like a lumberjack...)

And tomorrow is the first ride with the gents from Chamartín.

Poco a poco.