Chester (Chet) Kyle officially retired in 1984, one year before Mark Cote, Specialized’s aerodynamicist was born. The elder statesman of aerodynamics appears everywhere in the literature. Designer of the US team bikes at the 1984 Olympics, co-founder of the Human Powered Vehicle Association, and consultant to Specialized, Nike and others, Chet asks probing questions and prefers to record his data in a large, well-thumbed journal. Though he’s seen it all, he displays a childlike enthusiasm for his science every time he steps into the tunnel.

Mark Cote the younger, speaks rapidly and thinks even faster. He spits out numbers and does calculations on the fly befitting an MIT pedigree. His respect for Chet is obvious and genuine. Together they’re a formidable team.

Also attending, Chris Reikert, professional triathlete and recent addition to Specialized's SBCU making the trip out to better understand the wind tunnel story he'll soon have to deliver in the classroom and to provide a skin suited victim as needed. Aaron Vogel, Specialized's videographer and Chris D'Alusio, Head of Advanced R&D (owner of the legs below) arrived day two. Last but not least, Mike Giraud, former team mechanic and patient host, runs the A2 tunnel during testing. Over two days he logs at least a hundred trips between control room and test platform, changing bikes and bike attitudes vs the wind.

Tunnel 101

The wind tunnel sits like a giant worm in a cavernous hanger on the outskirts of Moorseville, NC a few miles up the road from Roger Penske’s racing operation. The tail end of the tunnel is driven by four electric fans rated between 40 and 200 hp. Air is pulled rather than pushed through the tunnel by these impellers, and their exhaust is slowed by huge metallic diffusers that resemble the engine shrouds on a Saturn V.

In the wind tunnel as in all scientific experimentation, repeatability is key. The recirculating flow within the building helps maintain a constant air temperature. Temperature fluctuations would change the density of the air and consequently affect the repeatability of run after run.

At the front of the tunnel, the recirculated air is pulled in and accelerated by a smoothly reducing tunnel mouth. The A2 tunnel has a maximum test velocity of 85 mph, but cycling research generally happens in the neighborhood of 30 mph.

The accelerated air then passes through a very fine grid of hexagonal cells, think of them as short tubes that straighten the airflow into the tunnel. This is exactly the same principle as a lighting grid applied to a photographic strobe. It harnesses the light, reduces spread and produces a controlled, directional source. This is what the hex screen does to tunnel air.

Twenty feet into the tunnel the splitter plate is a raised platform 15” off the tunnel floor that isolates the test bike/subject in the airflow from the mechanicals below. Bikes are fixed at both axles by mounts which pass through the splitter to the measuring apparatus beneath the floor. There peizo electric cells/strain gauges turn force vectors into voltages which are passed to the control consoles and inserted into the sophisticated spread sheets which comprise the software behind the tests.

Tires rest on rollers that spin the wheels in sync with the air flow and a central disk within the splitter plate allows the mounted bikes to be angled into the wind (both drive and non-drive side are measured).

It’s Cold in There

I’m sworn to secrecy about what was tested on that platform but details aside it all boils down to answering two questions. How much is the wind holding the rider/bike back (wind access drag) and when under yaw conditions, how much is it pushing the rider/bike over (wind access side). Who said you’d never use that trigonometry again.

It surprised me that all the calculations boil down to differences expressed in grams. Bike A, in this configuration and attitude is 20 grams better than Bike B. Moving through the positive and negative yaw angles of the testing protocol the results drop into the spread sheet and graphs.

Much of the regular testing in the A2 tunnel involves riders tuning their positioning. When you’re actually riding the cooling affect of the moving air is comfortable. Sitting on the bike in a skin suit, approximating a mannequin is a different matter entirely. It’s cold in there, and even shooting my eyes were watering at times.

Get with the Flow

Flow visualization is where it really gets interesting. Out comes the tuft wand, a hollow metal rod through which a bit of string or wool is passed. Six inches or so streams about in the airflow around the bike attaching itself where the laminar flow sticks close to the frame surface, fluttering in turbulence. Chet, Mark and Head of Specialized Advanced R&D Chris D’Alusio all focused on these subtleties. Mark had a stethoscopic contraption that let him listen to the airflow around the frame, and hear the relative static of turbulence.

Two days of testing generated a lot of data that will be analyzed in the coming weeks. This kind of testing is an expensive proposition and the program was packed. Hypotheses were confirmed and judging by the grins the surprises were all positive. Of course, as you may have read in the last few days, the UCI has ruled Specialized's Shiv can no longer be used in UCI-sanctioned races (it remains legal for triathletes worldwide). I know Specialized believes they've done everything possible to conform to the standards and the "boxes" prescribed by the specifications. Baffling it has taken the UCI months to come to a conclusion, long after races have been won with the bike. Having said that I know Chris D'Alusio, Mark Cote and the rest of the Specialized engineering team will be hard at work on a solution.

Photographing the Tunnel

It's not as difficult as going down a coal mine, but a working wind tunnel is not an easy place to take pictures. Any of the desirable head on, three-quarter front views are unavailable during actual testing, even with a remote camera. And when it comes to light... well it's a TUNNEL. Like many venues we find ourselves shooting in, it wouldn't take a lot of upfront planning or cost to make a huge improvement for photographers, but somehow it's always an afterthought. Drop in a prefabricated paint booth shell, you know the ones that are daylight balanced so that painters can judge the color they're laying down, and you've got a beautiful environment for shooting the bikes and riders that come to be tested. You heard it here first.

I'm keen to see the science of aerodynamics in action and hopeful I can make some decent images inside what's basically a 14' wide by 9' high gray tube between instrumented runs. I've told them I'm ready to get on the bike, if they need some truly low speed sampling.

Campagnolo Heritage Jerseys

Meanwhile, I've been been tracking some fabulous Campy kit for 2010. These heritage jerseys will probably cost a fair bit. Look for them soon at cbike.com. I'm already standing in line.

C821 - Heritage Half Zip Logo Jersey

C822 - Heritage Half Zip Flocked Logo Jersey (sportwool)

C814 - Heritage Full Zip Logo Jersey

C820 - Heritage Windproof Light Textran Jacket

It's not light yet. There's a breeze stirring the trees above Furnace Creek and a couple of sleepy crows are cawing halfheartedly about the coming day. They'd be wearing black again, a bad choice in one of the hottest places on earth. Much to my delight the Specialized peloton would be back in pink.

There had been talk that a group might make a try for Vegas before first light, but Nikane nixed that idea as unsafe. Everyone would start together at 6:30 am. Whether any of them could make the 120 miles to Dirt Demo before the 2 pm planned arrival was in certainly in doubt.

Highway 190 out of Furnace Creek was perfect blacktop, buttery smooth and dark against the bleached desert. It climbed immediately and within the first few miles a selection had been made. Up front eleven riders measured their pace and pushed to make as many miles as possible before the day's heat set in. Twenty seven miles in they hit Death Valley Junction jogged right and then left on State Line Road towards Pahrump.

The sheltering hills were gone now and a strong cross wind from the left had them riding in echelon formation four and five across. The back of the group darted about pushed by the wind and the need for shelter. Eventually relentless pressure from the front broke the string and Carmen, Bob and Mark came out the back. Luckily Photo 1 was there and we swooped in to give them a chance to catch back on. Carmen came alongside and held the passenger window. Mark and Bob tucked behind in our draft and after a minute or two to let them recover we slowly began to accelerate back to the group. For a while there it looked touch and go, but the wind eased just a bit and suddenly they were back. They stayed together all the way to Pahrump.

Kathryn and I left the peloton and went looking for Americana and we found a place that sold flagpoles and flags, but only on Saturday's between 8 am and noon. Now that's a 'specialized' business don't you think.

The radio sent us back to find the rest of our riders and we shot Rachel, Eron and Patty closing in on Pahrump. We stayed with them to the planned rendezvous at the Albertsons in town. Our lead group was at least an hour ahead but we hung with the main body as they cooled off, racked their bikes and prepared to drive to the outskirts of Boulder City for the ride into Dirt Demo. They'd run out of time to make those last miles even if their legs were certainly up to it. No one was disappointed, they were all celebrating a tough ride through those cross winds and excited that a few riders were still on the road.

After treating them to popsicles and Klondike bars Kathryn and I blasted ahead of the convoy to find our leaders. The highway started to climb and that's were we tracked down Bob and Erick, and a few miles later, tantalizing close to the top of the climb we reached Carmen and Doug. We figured they'd make it over the top but the vans swept them up on the summit. We slowed just long enough to acknowledge them before pressing on to find Chris, Rich and Glenn. We tried calculating their lead and reckoned we find them fifteen miles out but we never did. They'd been diverted off the highway and were finding their own way to Dirt Demo.

With no chance to track them we made our way to the exuberant wind-swept chaos of Dirt Demo. Riders everywhere on all manner of bikes and novelty items. We knew the main group was a few miles out and riding again but still we had no word on the three hard men. Right on schedule the peloton arrived looking resplendent in their pink kits. It crested the hill and rode into the event to general applause and a great reception at the Specialized camp. Champagne was uncorked, handshakes and hugs exchanged, as I'm sure a tremendous sense of accomplishment began to set in.

If it hadn't been for those cross winds there's no doubt Chris, Rich and Glenn would have done the impossible and made the 2 pm schedule. They rolled in just shy of 2:30, the group was complete and it was done.

Two weeks on and the echos of the ride still have not died away completely. The American West provided a grand stage for the challenge but the memories that persist are smaller and more intimate. The meals we ate together around the Western Spirit campfires; the radio chatter; Andy working on the bikes late into the evening; Chris and Carmen riding together; and the stars over Lake McSwain. I miss it all.

Thanks.

As the ride turned left towards Death Valley, the sun was just beginning to impose its will on a cloudless sky. For now its light fell softly on the plain and painted the hills in purples and ambers. The ribbon of asphalt stretched out to the East, and the peleton rode as one towards the distant crucible at Furnace Creek.

From a ridge above the road we photographed them climbing towards us, and that picture said as much about the ride as any we took over the six days. They'd made it this far by sticking together, our small band set against the enormous landscape of the West.

They continued on the plateau until the earth fell away like a spiraling buzzard, two thousand feet down to the smoothies and trinkets of the lost outpost at Panamint Springs. I picked up a souvenir sherrif's badge; I think Kathryn bought a couple of fridge magnets while we gassed the car and gave them a head start. It was hot now. We could see the last of the riders crossing the shimmering plain to where the Nadeau Trail climbed steeply back into the hills. "They're not climbing that are they?"

We caught them in ones and twos on that unrelenting ten-mile slog to the top. Higher up a headwind slapped them with a giant hot hand. We hung with Erick who gave us the soundbite of the day. "I just puked in my mouth, and I'm not kidding" Too much water, too fast but he was riding strong. Ahead we could see Carmen's tiny frame struggling against a wall of hot air. Erick closed the gap, and together they soldiered on to the top.

The other side of the mountain shot straight down to sea level and beyond that the valley floor. I think everyone enjoyed the descent in spite of the rising heat (118F on one of the bikes). We passed the ranger station apprehensively but it was closed for lunch. Half a mile to our left a majestic field of sand dunes sailed off to the horizon. We forged ahead and climbed a 200' mound to shoot the riders on an unobstructed mile of deserted highway. The hill was encrusted with shards of broken black rock that intensified the heat. Ten minutes up there and I could have cooked on my tripod.

Ultimately the shot was spoiled by a wandering band of French motorcyclists riding rented Harleys. C'est tout.

As the destination grew closer the last miles through this bleached wilderness seemed to pass in slow motion. You really can "buy it out here" I thought to myself. Kathryn got on her bike and rode the last couple of miles to the Furnace Creek Ranch. When I saw her 45 minutes later her face was flushed and the afternoon heat was taking a toll. We poured water over her head to cool her down while we waited for keys to our rooms. I lay in the singular shadow of a large palm tree and like a sundial moved every ten minutes to keep up with its progress. When we went to bed at 7 or 8 it was still in the 90s. They don't call it Furnace Creek for nothing.The riders now had one last hurdle to cross, and it would be a big one.

Six thirty am and our encampment in front of the Cinnamon Bear Inn was fully engaged in the morning routine of food, gear, ablutions and bikes. Andy Schiffer was meticulously detailing machines with pink ribbon nameplates, tweaking shifting and generally checking the road worthiness of his flock.

Riders circled back and forth to the Penske truck with luggage. Watch any serious race or ride and you learn that real cyclists never walk anywhere. There's almost a religious aversion to unclipping and putting a foot down. So back and forth they rode shouldering gear bags or pulling rollers alongside. Once mounted up, there's no walking till the other end.

I made my own preparations for another try with the camera bike. I planned to ride up front for several miles until we reached the Convict Lake cutoff. Kathryn and I scouted the location the previous night and wanted to get some landscape shots if the morning light was good. I layered up with my Rapha Cross Bibs and Rain Jacket, test fired the camera then rolled onto Main Street for the run down to 395.

The overall profile on the day was downhill, about 4000 feet down from Mammoth Lake's 7900' to Lone Pine's 3700', so it was only natural we started with a downhill rush from town to the highway. I think we hit 40 mph without turning a pedal. The group made the ramp to 395 South and found a fresh tailwind waiting for them. I couldn't see the faces behind me but I'm sure they were all grinning. We flew down the highway so fast I couldn't believe how quickly the Convict Lake exit appeared. I reviewed my shots and watched the peloton rapidly become a dot on the horizon as I waited for Kathryn to arrive.

Back in the car we caught up with Ben who'd just flatted, a quick change and he was back on he road with Glenn who'd waited for him. They tucked in behind a support van and were soon doing 31mph on one of the rare uphill stretches! As soon as the road tipped down again they peeled off and made their way back to the main group. Ben even managed a sprint off the front for me. He sure looks good on the bike (what would you expect from testrider.com though).

As the miles continued to fly by the vans did a brisk business in clothing exchanges. When the group stopped en masse to top up bottles and snacks, Kathryn and I looked a little further up the road and found a rustic general store at Browns Town. While the riders munched on Clif bars roadside we enjoyed blue ribbon peach and apple pie a la mode from proprietors Kathy and Taylor. Thanks ladies. We did purchase a whole pecan pie as a special after-dinner treat for the riders though.

Still looking for local texture, Kathryn spotted a bearded rider coming into town in the opposite direction. We looped around to chat with "Red" who was riding a classic steel road bike with downtube shifters. I handed him a pair of Specialized socks, took a few pictures and thanked him before resuming our route South.

The line of mountains to our right never quit and neither did the pace. The first riders covered the 103 miles to Lone Pine in a remarkable 3 hours and 48 minutes. Western Spirit was set up and waiting in the parking lot of the Dow Hotel when they arrived. With Mt. Whitney looking on from above they dove straight into the outdoor pool wearing their bibs (they did rinse off under the outdoor shower first). As the entire group rolled in every one of them commented they'd never ridden so far so fast.

I took a few more photographs of the celebrations pool side then pulled on my kit (a very comfy pair of Specialized SL bibs and Panache Eleven jersey) for another ride with Kathryn. We rode out of town and made the left into Death Valley for a warm, but thoroughly enjoyable 25-mile spin. We returned via the rough and deserted Dolomite Loop road with just enough time to shower before dinner. Day four was in the books.

I dreamt fitfully about Yosemite a century ago, a quieter place before the tour buses and visitors in the millions descended on nature's great cathedral. Our night was full of sound: clanging bear-proof garbage cans; vehicles on the perimeter road; the mysterious rustling of little feet (racoons) and the muffled chatter of insomniacs. If there were bears about they were surely irritated by all the commotion. Even the stars, preferring silence, stayed away.

It was a relief when Western Spirit's preparations signaled dawn was near. It had cooled noticeably from the previous evening and I was glad to be moving around. Our breakfast of scrambled eggs, potatoes and English muffins soon disappeared, coffee cups were drained and we broke camp with purpose. Mark from River City Bicycles won the daily double sporting Rapha's orange Stowaway and Panache houndstooth socks. Nice choices. Kathryn put Glenn from Santa Rosa's Norcal Bike Sport in a red Specialized kit. He was one of our featured riders for the day.

Reasoning we had several miles of smooth pavement to start the day's stage, Kathryn and I decided to christen our camera bike. We'd outfitted Kathryn's cross bike with front and rear racks, then bolted arca-style clamps to the them. I fitted the 5D MK II to the rear rack, reefed the clamp closed then for insurance wrapped a couple of strips of inner tube around the camera body and lens barrel. The lens was set to focus manually at 12 feet in aperture mode. I rigged a cable release and taped the trigger to the top tube.

When the peloton assembled I told them to get close and to rotate off the front behind me, then I led them out onto the road and began shooting. It would have been nice to have a cable release long enough to reach my bars but I managed. Since I couldn't see what I was shooting I fired the camera when I felt the following riders were close. Then I asked them to slide past me on either side. We crossed a short stretch of bumpy stuff and I heard something metallic hit the ground. I learned later I'd lost a $200 filter. Note to self: tape filters and hoods to lenses in future.

Somehow I managed to get two frames with Half Dome behind the riders. Lucky shots.

We rode on at an easy pace, the road angling slightly downwards towards the turnoff and the climb to Tioga pass. Apart from the awkwardness of riding with one hand and firing the shutter on the top tube with the other, the 30lb bike still handled well. We started the climb and I hung on to the front for a couple of miles before peeling off out of gas. I immediately checked the camera to make sure I hadn't been pressing the shutter release for the last ten miles to no result. Thankfully I hadn't and it looked like we'd captured several good images from this first attempt. The riders were already spreading out as they streamed past us and they all looked strong.

We pulled Photo 1 back onto the road and left the riders behind us in peace for a while. When we figured we had fifteen minutes on them we pulled over so I could change out of the new pair of Rapha Cross bibs I was wearing. Love the red flashes and the lighter Lycra.

Chris, Rich and Glenn soon arrived climbing like the road was flat. It was getting busy and to make matters worse the dreaded rental RVs started to appear trailing a line of impatient cars behind them like pilot fish. We shot video from a rocky ledge above the two lane, and cheered our band on. We didn't know our celebrations would be short lived.

Two miles later, where the climb flattened out we came upon all our service vehicles. Park rangers had asked them to stop and pull our riders off the road. There were no rangers with them yet so we decided to remove the potential media complication from any negotiations. We sped on up the road a couple of miles, stayed off the radio and waited.

Thirty minutes... forty five minutes passed and then the vans appeared. With the exception of one or two riders who'd slipped past the checkpoint, all our riders were aboard and their bikes racked and stacked. We got back on the radio with Nikane, our amazing Ride Director, and she confirmed we'd been denied permission to ride any further in Yosemite. We were stunned. For reasons that still don't make a great deal of sense we had to drive to the Eastern Gate, exit the park and then we could resume the ride. There was some debate on the radio about ignoring the order, after all we passed one or two unattached riders traveling the same road without issue. Ultimately we decided not to jeopardize future rides and followed our instructions; we picked up our strays. Carmen was the last rider we pulled off the road.

The ride reassembled just beyond the Eastern Gate, above a landscape that might be Mordor. From across the valley we got a long shot of them descending like bullets. Several of them hit 60mph on the exhilarating descent... complete with enough crosswind gusts to scare the living daylights out of lighter riders.

When the last of the riders were off the bobsled run we followed and rejoined the caravan at Lee Vining. They had 25 miles of rolling Highway 395 and a strong headwind to contend with before their day would end in Mammoth Lakes. It hadn't played out the way anyone expected in Yosemite, but there were hundreds of miles yet to travel on the way to Vegas. All would be forgotten after a dinner of Turkey Lasagna and the massage therapists got to work. Lone Pine was tomorrow's objective.

It was still pitch dark when the sound of pots and pans woke me up on Day two. Mark and the Western Spirit Crew were getting breakfast started. Their headlamps arced back and forth over the roof of my tent as I pulled on my trousers and shoes, grabbed a towel and headed to the shower building using my iPhone as a flashlight. By the time I returned there was just enough light to see the camp was slowly stirring. One by one the riders emerged from their cocoons, bundled up in extra layers of fleece, hats and compression gear.

Thanks to two-time Solo World Mountain Bike Champion Rebecca Rusch, enjoying her longest stint on a road bike... well ever, anyone who hadn't experienced compression gear got a pair of SKINS to try. It's fair to say they trusted Rebecca's experience and donned the Lycra and Meryl Microfibre recovery aids as soon as they got off the bike each day.

It was good to see Specialized's Erick Marcheschi feeling better. The day before he'd sat in the middle of the parking lot for a good thirty minutes trying to drink and eat his way back from the edge. He joked to us later that if he'd had signal on his cell he'd have called his wife to come pick him up right there and then. It was his worst moment and from that point on Erick got stronger each day.

Mechanic Andy Schiffer was already hard at work tuning bikes while the gang tucked into a breakfast of cereal, french toast and crispy bacon. Many of the riders on Dura Ace wheels were unaware that Shimano had recalled and replaced version ones that had been assembled without any locking compound on the spoke nipples. Without the compound, nipples would unthread and compromise the wheels. Andy would spend many hours dealing with this problem throughout the journey.

Breakfast was soon dispatched, plates scraped off, tents packed up and a parade lap to the restrooms completed before riders kitted up in the warming sunshine. Mike Sinyard got some hard man points for forgoing a tent and settling for a sleeping bag and ground pad; a calculated veteran move to save the energy of putting up and breaking down a shelter I'd say. Around 7:30 am bikes and riders were ready and without fanfare they left the campground and headed East for Yosemite.

The miles between Lake McSwain and Mariposa were perhaps the most beautiful of the whole trip. The peloton peddled easily through the golden rolling hills. The road twisted and turned, pitched and spun like an asphalt version of Hot Wheels track. Chris D'Aluisio and his wife Carmen headed the double paceline much of the time. Everyone was in good spirits as they shed arm warmers, gilets and light jackets. The road tipped up a little and so did the pace. We positioned ourselves in front of the group so I could shoot video out the back of the van. With the Zacuto resting on my knee I managed a couple of shallow depth of field clips on smooth pavement. When the road got rough, I gave up and got back in so we could fly ahead to get gas and water in Mariposa.

We fueled up, resupplied and regrouped with the peloton at a Mariposa gas station. When Bob, one of our riders pulled up to find six or seven of his riding mates chatting on their cell phones, he humorously took them to task and told them they'd have to restart the stage to make it official after their cellular indiscretions.

From Mariposa they followed Highway 140 all the way into Yosemite Valley. The road climbed for a while before spiraling down to the Merced River where the shoulder disappeared. That was a little sketchy with Friday traffic building, but everyone made it through safely without incident.

Once in the park, the excitement was palpable. Though I'm sure the riders were tired there's something about the air in Yosemite that cures all ills. They picked up the pace and sped into the hospitality camp with a curious ranger in pursuit. As a couple of cyclists explained the ride to the officer the rest of us unpacked our gear and set up camp. With plenty of daylight left in the day Kathryn and I were anxious to do a little riding of our own. Andy came up with an SL2 for me to ride and Kathryn got set up on her cross bike (which we'd modified with front and rear racks to use as a camera platform).

The peloton was safely back in their compression socks and unwinding with snacks and recovery drinks in a camp chair circle when Kathryn and I rolled out for a loop around the Valley. We rode up to Mirror Lake (which unfortunately was bone dry), over to Yosemite Village and then around the perimeter at a good clip. This was Kathryn's first trip to the park so we stopped in at the Ahwahnee Hotel for a peek at the foyer and dining room. It's an impressive room.

Back in camp, I made use of the available power outlets in my "cabin" to charge batteries and then went off to grab a shower. Dinner was soon ready and we all enjoyed a tasty meal of chicken/vegetable curry and rice. Ingeniously the Western Spirit team made a delicious carrot cake in one of their big pots. Like everything else they made, this disappeared quickly.

As light faded in the Valley, the camp rapidly filled with guests and we took the annoying but necessary precaution of removing all foodstuffs, and anything that had a smell of any kind from the photo van. Yosemite bears would be about, and they've become expert at peeling back the doors of cars to get at anything remotely edible inside. If Andy, who was rooming with me, and I wondered how a flimsy canvas door was going to keep a motivated bear from eating us, we were too tired to worry about it long.

The Specialized van was fully loaded and ready to roll at 5:30 am. The photo gear had been checked and rechecked: three bodies; seven lenses; 2 tripods; 1 monopod; 2 magic arms; 60 GB of CF cards; laptop and 2 external backup drives; and enough neutral density filters to completely block out the sun. The Zacuto Marksman rig was ready to capture video even if I wasn't sure the cameraman was. Out of the darkness Specialized's Kathryn Grassl and boyfriend Mike appeared with her bags. Conveniently they live about thirty seconds away on the other side of a small park. After quick goodbyes Mike headed off for a little more sleep and with Kathryn at the wheel we hit the road.

There was the beginning of a faint glow on the Eastern horizon as we pulled into the Specialized parking lot just after six. There was plenty of activity around the vehicles that would become our traveling convoy. Western Spirit outfitters and guides were making their final preparations to feed and care for 35 riders and support staff. A yellow Penske cube truck was filled with rider luggage, and an S-Works van/trailer commanded by Specialized's master mechanic Andy Schiffer had everything necessary to keep all the bikes running true for the next 700 miles.

Inside the cafeteria riders were finishing breakfast and comparing notes (and fears) about the days ahead. The handful who'd completed the ride in years one and two knew what they were in for and understood the next six days would once again test their limits physically and mentally. I shot some video from the hip with the Zacuto, focusing with a SmallHD monitor. I recognized Doug Emerson from University Bicycles in Boulder, Mark Ontiveros from River City Bicycles in Portland and Phil Keoghan of Amazing Race fame. Most paid no attention to me or the camera... which was good. All of them were wearing pink jerseys symbolizing the ride's charitable partnership with the Susan G. Komen foundation and the fight against breast cancer.

Six thirty marked departure time. Ben, Sean, Chris, Bobby and several other Specialized employees were riding with us as far as the top of Mount Hamilton. A local TV station filmed segments with president Mike Sinyard and Global Marketing Chief Ben Capron. I shot a few group pictures, the peloton got final instructions, clipped in and with the women leading the way started its epic journey to interbike and Las Vegas.

Today's objective was the camp ground at Lake McSwain in the Sierra Nevada foothills. To get there the riders had to cover 140 miles and climb about 9,000 feet. They began with an easy ride along the Coyote Creek Trail that Juli and I frequently ride on the weekends, while we sped ahead to set up on Quimby Road. The route over Quimby would save the group about 15 miles, but the 5.1 mile/2100 foot climb features some wicked 15-20% ramps near the top, and that definitely would test the group's legs.

When the group appeared they were all pedaling strong, the first riders chatting and with a little assist from the slope one even managed a short wheelie. The bigger riders were working harder and several acknowledged this was a tough way to start the day. Even the support vehicles were laboring to negotiate the tight hairpins below the summit. Everyone regrouped at the top, refilling bottles and grabbing bars and GUs for the short descent and climb to Mt. Hamilton.

After the ferocity of Quimby the peloton literally cruised up to the summit of Mt. Hamilton on the 6-7% grade. The peleton looked great in the pink/white jerseys and black shorts. They wore this uniform "team" kit on days 1 and 6. Unfortunately in between they wore whatever they liked with the result some of the graphic power of the ride was lost in a muddle of competing colors, but that's the graphic designer in me talking. Next year team kits start to finish.

Though we didn't hear about it till that night, the steep descent of Mount Hamilton claimed one casualty and the rider was taken to hospital for a checkup before being released. He returned to ride the next day. After catching the riders descending on the same stretch of road I staked out for the 2008 Tour of California KOM we spent the next hour or two leapfrogging them on Anderson Valley Road and Del Puerto Canyon Road.

It was my first time on the latter and like Mines Road Del Puerto Canyon was remote, scenic and almost devoid of vehicular traffic. I filmed the group from the back of the van with the Zacuto and got a great shot when Specialized's hardman and irresistible force Chris D'Aluisio shot off the front and sprinted after us. We hit 40 with him comfortably tucked into our slipstream before he shut it down, sat up and waited for the peloton to catch up.

Eventually the canyon spat us out into rolling hill country filled with Almond orchards and small farms past Turlock. It was hot and the riders were going through bottles rapidly in an effort to stay hydrated. At one point I jumped out with bottled water and Rich managed to grab it out my hand going past at 25mph. Back in the van we caught up with riders who hadn't seen support in several miles, we filled bottles and handed them back out the window to keep them going.

Around 4pm we finally arrived at Lake McSwain. Western Spirit had the campsite ready and a dinner of salad, spagetti, and fruit salad in the works. The riders were very tired, some of them sore. Doug, Jean and Troy our massage therapist/drivers set up and got to work loosening up legs, backs and shoulders. The rest of us puzzled over the assembly of the one man tents, inflated the ground pads and rolled out sleeping bags overlooking the lake.

Everyone hit the campsite showers and cleaned up before dinner. Hot water and plenty of it washed away the sweat and grime of a long first day. After dinner there wasn't much talk. Everyone got themselves into their tents and soon the camp was fast asleep under an amazing canopy of stars. I had a camera set up on a tripod just outside my tent door so I could shoot some long exposures. The results were great and though I tried this on successive nights the skies never cooperated in this way again.

Wednesday morning and it feels strange to be waking up in the opulent excess of my room at the Venetian. I'd gladly trade these digs for another day on the road with the Specialized/Western Spirit convoy that rode/traveled with grit, humor and style from Morgan Hill to Las Vegas over these last six days. It was a journey I won't forget for many reasons, but the camaraderie of our little band was tops.

The work is far from over... I'm well off the back of the group in that regard, still editing the tail wind assisted bullet train that was day four; a dash from Mammoth Lakes to Lone Pine which sits on the verge of Death Valley. The sheer volume of imagery is overwhelming and of course, there's video this time... whose bright idea was that.

I had no illusions that videography was easy, though my friend Dave Christenson makes it appear so. I just had no idea how tough it would be to juggle both disciplines or to deal with the frustration of shots spoiled by traffic. It is uncanny how you can set up on a deserted ribbon of road in the middle of nowhere waiting for your riders to appear. Five, ten minutes without a single vehicle and then as the peloton approaches, cars, campers and motorcycles malevolently appear to ruin things. More than once during the trip I exploded in a stream of profanity as we lost a bit of magic because of them.

Specialized's Kathryn Grassl and I probably logged a thousand miles chasing the bikes and the light. I can't say enough how grateful I am to her for her unflagging good humor, superb navigation and infinite patience. "Do you want to go back and try that again?" Yes please, I'd answer and back we'd go for another pass. Normally Kathryn has the weighty responsibility of Specialized's catalogs on her shoulders, the last of which she'd put to bed on the day before our departure, on this trip she kept me organized and even managed a few good shots of her own. Thank you Kathryn.

As the group rode into the Specialized compound at interbike's Dirt Demo yesterday it felt slightly anti climatic. The significance of the pink jersey'd double paceline was lost on many of the attendees hopping about on silly (yes, I said it) mountain unicycles or threading their way on 29ers through all the foot traffic. The real heroics had occurred earlier on the wind swept flats of Nevada between Death Valley and Pahrump. They'd fought through and conquered an unrelenting crosswind, at times echeloning five wide to shelter lighter riders and share the work. Then the three hard men, Chris, Rich and Glen, the bit between their teeth, had raced on ahead chasing the 2pm arrival schedule. They almost made it.

We showered and cleaned up for a celebratory dinner... not quite ready to let it all end. Sitting across the table from a visibly elated Mike Sinyard (he's done all three "rides to Vegas") I couldn't help think we should have ended the evening in the manner of Ocean's Eleven. All of the riders silently silhouetted with their bikes in front of those Las Vegas fountains, Debussy's Clair de Lune playing softly in the background. One by one they'd turn and ride off in all directions into the night. Perhaps next year we'll film it that way ;-)

Over the next week or so I'll tell the complete story as the team in "Photo 1" experienced it. I hope these first photos whet your appetite for the episodes and galleries to follow. It was a magnificent journey.

Even standing still the SL3 has an aggressive lean to it. The muscular head tube, massive down tube, and arching top tube strung taught like a bow hint at a potential for speed we all dream of. Looking every bit like an air force skunk work's stealth fighter, the Superlight version of the Tarmac SL3 is a blackbird designed to fly. It dispenses with cosmetic carbon, paint... even clear coat to make it better, stronger and faster. This could be the Six Million Dollar Man's bike.

I won't pretend I'm qualified to discuss superbike performance in terms of vertical compliance and lateral stiffness, but the bike is responsively stiff. I described the sensation previously as "ruthlessly efficient". There's no apparent flex under power, no kick or bounce as you sling the bike left and right when out the saddle. My sprint tops out around 32mph which wouldn't keep up with a PRO cruising on his TT bike but at 176 lbs, I'm heavier than those greyhounds. When it comes to stressing bikes like the Tarmac what I give up in watts I make up for in sheer body mass ;-)

In any event, the Tarmac was unfazed by anything I did during our three weeks together, deliberately or accidentally, including falling off. By all accounts it was a spectacular ejection.

For a thoroughbred race bike the SL3 is remarkably comfortable. Handling is quick and precise but never skittish. Two years of design, prototyping and testing produced new shapes for the seat stays and chain stays. The former to improve ride quality and forgiveness over less than smooth pavement, the latter to improve power transfer. Clearly this works. Those of you riding Tarmac SL2s should notice a difference; the SL3 is 10% lighter and 18% torsionally stiffer than your Tarmac.

Weighing less than the UCI limit the Superlight featured Zipp 202s shod with S-Works tubulars; SRAM Red running S-Works 53/39 chainrings and an 11-25 Red Cassette; a rear derailleur tricked out with ceramic bearings; TRP 960 calipers front and rear; S-Works carbon bars; S-Works alloy stem; Toupe Team saddle and a very secure pair of Specialized carbon cages.

Road bikes, and particularly carbon road bikes are in the habit of making the odd disconcerting noise. The SL3 was absolutely silent except for the smooth whir of the drive train and the positive click of the Red shifting. I have no doubt Specialized mechanics deserve credit for a bulletproof build, but the FACT IS S-Works 11r frame quality has a lot to do with it. You can find the full technical specs here.

During it's three week stay with Velodramatic the latest Tarmac got several comments from riders stopped at traffic lights and one surprised pickup driver.

Ten What?

I'm riding the SL3 home from work, waiting for the long light at Lawrence Ave to change, when I notice the driver of the pickup beside me pointing at the bike. He's fifteen feet away and its tough to hear over the roar of traffic.

He rolls down the passenger window and shouts "Nice bike". I nod and grin.

I sense the light has changed, give him a friendly wave and roll away, smiling to myself.

In actual fact the msrp on the Specialized Superlight I was riding is $9200... leaving him a full $800 for his first bibs, shoes, jersey and helmet. Now that's how to spend a perfect "ten".

Having gotten a taste for flying the "blackbird" it sure was tough to come back to earth and give it back. This is great race bike in the unlimited performance category. I wish I had the legs to truly test its limits but that wouldn't stop me from buying one. In the meantime I'm hatching a plan to test the SL3 with Di2.