Rode a few more nights of superweek, back blew out finishing the night in Shorewood, crank came off in Waukesha (I think I rode 3 laps), skipped one day up north somewhere, and finished the road race at Holy Hill (actually might have done okay if I realized we were finishing, but I also felt fairly apathetic towards the line).
A few fun facts:
1) There was a great guy in Waushea, Colin I think,who opened his shop back up for me after it was closed to fix my cranks and had the hard to find spoke nipple I needed in stock. A big thanks to the guys at Cyclesmith.
2) I saw a great fight between cyclists after the Evanston race. A guy from one of the local teams stopped on the barriers cooling down, and another guy ran right into him. They managed to have a nice slap fight and yelling contest while and Aussie and I cheered them on from 10 feet away him yelling "take off your heels!" and me yelling "Come on ya girls!".
It was awesome.
3) Milwaukee is much, much cooler than I ever expected. Dad and I had a nice brunch down by the shore at a cool coffee shop that was in an old water retrieval building. Right as we were coming out the door, a Ford Escort came slamming into the back of traffic squealing it's brakes and turning completely sideways before it stopped inches shy of the waiting cars.
4) Dad and I went on the Jelly Belly factory tour-or what should actually have been called a tour of their warehouse with videos every 30 feet. A little dissapointing, but it was still like an episode of "How it's made" which is fun.
5) Made the drive home in one long haul. Nothing like 9 hours straight powered by Rockstar and coffee.
6) Felt cool at Holy Hill when the race was delayed and I got to go sit in a nice air conditioned RV while Rock Racing had to lay out in the grass next to their Cadillacs. The race went pretty well, two short but intense climbs, and some wicked sections of crosswind. One of the hills was preceeded by a tight corner, leaving you with no speed to carry into the climb. One time, one time, I had momentum on the outside and the guy two riders into the apex from me blew out a tire, throwing him into the other riders, shoving them into me, and me off the side of the course into what I thought was gravel I could ride through.
It was actually soft dirt.
I had to come to a full stop, remount on the road and sprint up the hill to get into the back of the group which would have dropped me over the next flat section had I not made it back into the fold prior to cresting the climb.
Also was run off the road by one of Rock's champs-thanks for the eratic and unpredictable swerving. Forunatly, this time it was gravel and I sprinted out through it and into the group.
One day of rest and then I'm headed back to North Carolina for Crossroads.
Psyched.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Riding around and around
Accidently took a day off on Tuesday due to some unforeseen RV troubles. We spent 4 plus hours waiting on the water heater, generator and side mirror to be fixed, which in all actuality isn't that bad...but when you're on a tight deadline for race readiness-it's not so good, Al.
I ended up splaying myself across a wicker loveseat in the lounge area while we waited, and falling fast asleep to the amusement of many passers-by (I was also right next to the bathroom, which insured a constant stream of onlookers).
Needed to dump the tanks, get propane, do laundry... all of which cut into the time to arrive at the race site and prep. About 2 hours till the time I needed to be there, I suggested we bag it.
Dad agreed.
We stopped at a Mexican laundromat (I think all laundromats are Mexican at this point), put in a load of assorted race clothes, jeans, boxers and whatever else was dirty. After an hour of telemundo and reading, we headed out to the best dinner I've had in a long time at a place called Houlihans. I had an incredible chicken parm sandwich on focacca bread with pesto, marinara and mozzarella and some wicked desserts.
We drove to the race site for the next day, which was in a park and spent the night.
I got the damned satellite working!
I watched Bonanza, Sanford and Son, Hogan's Heros (I can't get all the channels in and TV Land was the best of the rest).
Racing the next day was a joke...at least for me. We were actually on bike paths.
Let that sink in: They put a pro-level crit on bike paths in a park.
Needless to say, the race was sketchy. There were two turns that incorporated curb hopping, one down, one up (one of which featured a sewer grate in the middle of the only line through the turn).
I raced for about 15 minutes, knew my legs were done from taking the day off and being tired and just pulled the plug. I took a slow spin around for the next hour or so, came back and took a shower, made some dinner and joined Dad to watch Gary Puckett of Union Gap fame parody himself for a crowd of 800 older folks.
It really was sad to watch.
He not only sounded nothing like himself, but also sang mostly other people's hits and relied on nostalgia to keep the crowd interesting as he repeatedly said, "Do you remember______? Man those were some good memories we all made together, weren't they?".
He opened and closed with "Young Girl"
The next day, we made the trip up to Wisconsin to race in Shorewood. The day prior, I finally figured out my rear brake was grabbing at random points onto my wheel as the nice folks at the local bike shop in Nashville had re-rigged my cable so that it caught the faceplate of the stem each time the bars were turned.
Awesome.
I rode around prior to the women's race; saw some friends from home: Annie, Hadley and Ted from Simple Green.
Crazy.
After a 30 minute spin, I went back to the RV and fell asleep until 5ish.
The girls were just starting...an hour and a half late.
10 minutes later, they were stopped again.
Apparently some girl had tanked it hard on the back straight away and needed to be carted off on a backboard, which no one wants to see. Annie had run right over the top of said downed rider and landed square on to top of her helmet.
When she rode up to Ted and I (We were warming up and chatting...he was as nervous as I was the first night and had all sort of questions) she seemed a little dazed, but was headed to redeem her coupon for free beer at one of the local pubs.
Our race started around 6:30 and they shortened it to 40 miles.
Long story short, I made it through on a bit of smarts and guts, moving up whenever I could take the chance and riding near the front. Still haven't made it off the front again, but we're trying. One or two funny things happened, like a guy hooking my hip with his handlebars coming out of one of the fast turns and both of us riding as one conjoined rider for 150 or so meters (a long time). Finally I got my hip turned enough, and he pedaled hard enough and we split, the both had a laugh about it for a minute as we went up the front stretch.
There were a few big crashes. By big I mean that 3 people went down and 15 took the opportunity to get a free lap. The only problem I had with it was that the officials were putting them back at the front of the main field each lap we came around (2 consecutive laps of 15-20 riders coming back on course). Normally I wouldn't care, but this put me at the back of what was now a fast moving field, and meant I had to do some serious shake and bake to move back up...and burn off some matches I still wanted.
The last 15 laps seemed like an eternity, and each lap being 1.2 miles meant it really was long.
Finished and was very, very happy to be done.
Took another day off yesterday-this time planned (the course was too much climbing for my tastes, along with my back being blown out from the night before, and it was 90 miles one-way to get there only to come back here today).
Awesome rest day. We went to the brand new Harley-Davidson museum and saw a bike basically from every year of production, plus some awesome historical bikes like part for part reproductions of the Captain America and Billy bike from Easy Rider (the real bikes have been MIA since the movie), some paraphernalia from the Boozefighters (the riding club that was the inspiration for The Wild Ones and was basically the precursor to the storied Hell's Angels club)-throw in some board racing video, ton's of old bikes, custom bikes, race bikes, military bikes and bike you could actually climb on and it was great!
Ate dinner down by the lake and took an hour spin on the lakefront, including some time riding on the docks and checking out sailboats.
While we were eating dinner next to the main road/a big intersection, I saw a Ford Escort slam on the brakes and turn completely perpendicular to the road before stopping perilously close to the cars already at the light-still sideways no less.
Wheels finally came in today, which I was pretty stoked about. Got the nipple I needed to finish them off last night and now they just need a few turns of the spoke wrench to be good to go!
Last nights race was blah. I realized my cranks were doing something weird day before yesterday, but I couldn't get any slop when I tried to check the tightness. Kept pedaling on this strange little course with no flow and tons of turns and it was just getting worse. Took it to SRAM, who diagnosed it as a blown bottom bracket and told me I could race on it and he didn't think it would explode, it would just probably feel really weird.
It did.
Only took about 3 laps on the course to realize it wasn't going to work. I was totally freaked out by the shifting of the cranks (3 mil either direction lateral play) and all I could think about was the cranks.
I pulled out.
I'm not sure it really mattered, because everyone I was riding with in my crappy starting spot got pulled after a gap opened.
Took it over to another mechanic, turns out the SRAM guys forgot to put a spacer back in when they pulled my cranks the first night to check on the noise. Wasn't a wasted trip, though, as I got the nipple I needed and a new pair of gloves to boot.
Headed to Evanston, Il now, home of the college I wanted to go to, Northwestern.
I ended up splaying myself across a wicker loveseat in the lounge area while we waited, and falling fast asleep to the amusement of many passers-by (I was also right next to the bathroom, which insured a constant stream of onlookers).
Needed to dump the tanks, get propane, do laundry... all of which cut into the time to arrive at the race site and prep. About 2 hours till the time I needed to be there, I suggested we bag it.
Dad agreed.
We stopped at a Mexican laundromat (I think all laundromats are Mexican at this point), put in a load of assorted race clothes, jeans, boxers and whatever else was dirty. After an hour of telemundo and reading, we headed out to the best dinner I've had in a long time at a place called Houlihans. I had an incredible chicken parm sandwich on focacca bread with pesto, marinara and mozzarella and some wicked desserts.
We drove to the race site for the next day, which was in a park and spent the night.
I got the damned satellite working!
I watched Bonanza, Sanford and Son, Hogan's Heros (I can't get all the channels in and TV Land was the best of the rest).
Racing the next day was a joke...at least for me. We were actually on bike paths.
Let that sink in: They put a pro-level crit on bike paths in a park.
Needless to say, the race was sketchy. There were two turns that incorporated curb hopping, one down, one up (one of which featured a sewer grate in the middle of the only line through the turn).
I raced for about 15 minutes, knew my legs were done from taking the day off and being tired and just pulled the plug. I took a slow spin around for the next hour or so, came back and took a shower, made some dinner and joined Dad to watch Gary Puckett of Union Gap fame parody himself for a crowd of 800 older folks.
It really was sad to watch.
He not only sounded nothing like himself, but also sang mostly other people's hits and relied on nostalgia to keep the crowd interesting as he repeatedly said, "Do you remember______? Man those were some good memories we all made together, weren't they?".
He opened and closed with "Young Girl"
The next day, we made the trip up to Wisconsin to race in Shorewood. The day prior, I finally figured out my rear brake was grabbing at random points onto my wheel as the nice folks at the local bike shop in Nashville had re-rigged my cable so that it caught the faceplate of the stem each time the bars were turned.
Awesome.
I rode around prior to the women's race; saw some friends from home: Annie, Hadley and Ted from Simple Green.
Crazy.
After a 30 minute spin, I went back to the RV and fell asleep until 5ish.
The girls were just starting...an hour and a half late.
10 minutes later, they were stopped again.
Apparently some girl had tanked it hard on the back straight away and needed to be carted off on a backboard, which no one wants to see. Annie had run right over the top of said downed rider and landed square on to top of her helmet.
When she rode up to Ted and I (We were warming up and chatting...he was as nervous as I was the first night and had all sort of questions) she seemed a little dazed, but was headed to redeem her coupon for free beer at one of the local pubs.
Our race started around 6:30 and they shortened it to 40 miles.
Long story short, I made it through on a bit of smarts and guts, moving up whenever I could take the chance and riding near the front. Still haven't made it off the front again, but we're trying. One or two funny things happened, like a guy hooking my hip with his handlebars coming out of one of the fast turns and both of us riding as one conjoined rider for 150 or so meters (a long time). Finally I got my hip turned enough, and he pedaled hard enough and we split, the both had a laugh about it for a minute as we went up the front stretch.
There were a few big crashes. By big I mean that 3 people went down and 15 took the opportunity to get a free lap. The only problem I had with it was that the officials were putting them back at the front of the main field each lap we came around (2 consecutive laps of 15-20 riders coming back on course). Normally I wouldn't care, but this put me at the back of what was now a fast moving field, and meant I had to do some serious shake and bake to move back up...and burn off some matches I still wanted.
The last 15 laps seemed like an eternity, and each lap being 1.2 miles meant it really was long.
Finished and was very, very happy to be done.
Took another day off yesterday-this time planned (the course was too much climbing for my tastes, along with my back being blown out from the night before, and it was 90 miles one-way to get there only to come back here today).
Awesome rest day. We went to the brand new Harley-Davidson museum and saw a bike basically from every year of production, plus some awesome historical bikes like part for part reproductions of the Captain America and Billy bike from Easy Rider (the real bikes have been MIA since the movie), some paraphernalia from the Boozefighters (the riding club that was the inspiration for The Wild Ones and was basically the precursor to the storied Hell's Angels club)-throw in some board racing video, ton's of old bikes, custom bikes, race bikes, military bikes and bike you could actually climb on and it was great!
Ate dinner down by the lake and took an hour spin on the lakefront, including some time riding on the docks and checking out sailboats.
While we were eating dinner next to the main road/a big intersection, I saw a Ford Escort slam on the brakes and turn completely perpendicular to the road before stopping perilously close to the cars already at the light-still sideways no less.
Wheels finally came in today, which I was pretty stoked about. Got the nipple I needed to finish them off last night and now they just need a few turns of the spoke wrench to be good to go!
Last nights race was blah. I realized my cranks were doing something weird day before yesterday, but I couldn't get any slop when I tried to check the tightness. Kept pedaling on this strange little course with no flow and tons of turns and it was just getting worse. Took it to SRAM, who diagnosed it as a blown bottom bracket and told me I could race on it and he didn't think it would explode, it would just probably feel really weird.
It did.
Only took about 3 laps on the course to realize it wasn't going to work. I was totally freaked out by the shifting of the cranks (3 mil either direction lateral play) and all I could think about was the cranks.
I pulled out.
I'm not sure it really mattered, because everyone I was riding with in my crappy starting spot got pulled after a gap opened.
Took it over to another mechanic, turns out the SRAM guys forgot to put a spacer back in when they pulled my cranks the first night to check on the noise. Wasn't a wasted trip, though, as I got the nipple I needed and a new pair of gloves to boot.
Headed to Evanston, Il now, home of the college I wanted to go to, Northwestern.
Monday, July 14, 2008
A new idea
So after the race today, I've decided I have a new game plan starting tomorrow.
First off, a bit about today.
Another crit in a neighborhood, although this was more hood than neighborly as the damage to our RV can attest (someone busted out one of the mirrors). The race literally bordered the projects on the front stretch. I'm all for bringing events to economically challenged areas, and exposing kids and adults to a sport they might not otherwise ever see, but I'm also for the safety of my car/stuff while I'm racing.
Rode well for most of the crit, which was freaking pinned for long stretches in the beginning. Apparently a break got away (never saw it, although I was actually "near" the front a few times). I started to get hungry/thirsty around 60 laps remaining; started to try to find Dad.
Dad wasn't in the feed zone.
Apparently he'd gone there right after the start and didn't see anyone else, so he thought he was in the wrong place. It really wasn't a huge deal, I actually just needed to throw off a bottle and get the one out of my pocket-it's just that I only have two big bottles with me and I can't afford to lose them. Things were a bit dicey at times. The last corner was fairly fast, but also required the field to handle competently. On one of the approaches, I was about the third rider abreast to the inside, and as we were going, one of the outer riders tanked it, sending the riders ahead and inside of me into my wheel. I locked it up, sending me into a slight powerslide to the outside which was actually a good thing, as I impacted a rider who was falling to the inside and my momentum/immediate hip pop as I touched him was enough to throw him back upright. His response was a hearty and sincere, "Nicely done!"
I started to want a feed at about 35 to go, and signaled Dad. He wasn't in the best position-not really his fault-and I could only see him or him me for about 50 feet before I was on him. I had to slow down and move to the outside of the field over two laps to signal and then get ready for the feed. Got the bottle without a problem, but right after the field pinned it again, leaving me dangerously near the back and really feeling the acceleration out of every corner.
I came into the last corner and was on the inside of another rider (we'd been going through two or more abreast all night). Well, unnamed rider decided to swerve tight, come across my wheel and send me right into the curb. All I could do was hit the brakes to avoid t-boning him and pull the front upright to change my angle. Subsequently, I lost all momentum, and being so near the back, found the last 10 or so riders flying past me at full speed out of the corner (the last corner was fairly fast if you carried your speed, and the pace required a sustained 50-100 meter sprint to hold the field once on the front straight).
At that point, I didn't have enough to get back on...at least I don't feel like I did, although you always question afterwards if you really did and just didn't want too.
Either way, I don't think riding that last 10 miles was going to make a difference. I didn't feel bad, but I didn't feel great either, and no one cares whether I got 50th or didn't finish at all, at least no one that I need to care as far as my cycling career is concerned. I did feel like utter crap for about 2 hours after the race; could barely eat and thought I was going to pass out several time-totally empty.
So, now back to the new plan, which I'll call "Plan screw it". Now, don't think this is a negative plan, or I'm giving up at all, it's in fact quite the opposite. You see, I realized that what I'm doing-riding conservatively just to finish and maybe, hope upon hope, I might get a result, is neither working nor fun. I'm doing exactly what I've criticized others for doing in races, always saying that I don't understand what the point of competitive bike racing is if your content to just go out and sit in the field.
New plan: Go out and crush it. Attack, counter, sprint, try to get in breaks, ride on the front like it doesn't matter that legit pros are waiting to drop you if you over extend, or even just extend yourself. In my opinion, if I'm riding conservatively and nothing good is coming of it, and I'm even getting dropped, I might as well go out and blow it out having fun, because then, even if I get dropped, I had a hell of a good time earning it.
I like the new plan, and I think tomorrow is going to be a much better day for it.
Also, I need to remember to really thank my Dad for all his help and tell him how much it means to me that he's helping me pursue my dreams.
First off, a bit about today.
Another crit in a neighborhood, although this was more hood than neighborly as the damage to our RV can attest (someone busted out one of the mirrors). The race literally bordered the projects on the front stretch. I'm all for bringing events to economically challenged areas, and exposing kids and adults to a sport they might not otherwise ever see, but I'm also for the safety of my car/stuff while I'm racing.
Rode well for most of the crit, which was freaking pinned for long stretches in the beginning. Apparently a break got away (never saw it, although I was actually "near" the front a few times). I started to get hungry/thirsty around 60 laps remaining; started to try to find Dad.
Dad wasn't in the feed zone.
Apparently he'd gone there right after the start and didn't see anyone else, so he thought he was in the wrong place. It really wasn't a huge deal, I actually just needed to throw off a bottle and get the one out of my pocket-it's just that I only have two big bottles with me and I can't afford to lose them. Things were a bit dicey at times. The last corner was fairly fast, but also required the field to handle competently. On one of the approaches, I was about the third rider abreast to the inside, and as we were going, one of the outer riders tanked it, sending the riders ahead and inside of me into my wheel. I locked it up, sending me into a slight powerslide to the outside which was actually a good thing, as I impacted a rider who was falling to the inside and my momentum/immediate hip pop as I touched him was enough to throw him back upright. His response was a hearty and sincere, "Nicely done!"
I started to want a feed at about 35 to go, and signaled Dad. He wasn't in the best position-not really his fault-and I could only see him or him me for about 50 feet before I was on him. I had to slow down and move to the outside of the field over two laps to signal and then get ready for the feed. Got the bottle without a problem, but right after the field pinned it again, leaving me dangerously near the back and really feeling the acceleration out of every corner.
I came into the last corner and was on the inside of another rider (we'd been going through two or more abreast all night). Well, unnamed rider decided to swerve tight, come across my wheel and send me right into the curb. All I could do was hit the brakes to avoid t-boning him and pull the front upright to change my angle. Subsequently, I lost all momentum, and being so near the back, found the last 10 or so riders flying past me at full speed out of the corner (the last corner was fairly fast if you carried your speed, and the pace required a sustained 50-100 meter sprint to hold the field once on the front straight).
At that point, I didn't have enough to get back on...at least I don't feel like I did, although you always question afterwards if you really did and just didn't want too.
Either way, I don't think riding that last 10 miles was going to make a difference. I didn't feel bad, but I didn't feel great either, and no one cares whether I got 50th or didn't finish at all, at least no one that I need to care as far as my cycling career is concerned. I did feel like utter crap for about 2 hours after the race; could barely eat and thought I was going to pass out several time-totally empty.
So, now back to the new plan, which I'll call "Plan screw it". Now, don't think this is a negative plan, or I'm giving up at all, it's in fact quite the opposite. You see, I realized that what I'm doing-riding conservatively just to finish and maybe, hope upon hope, I might get a result, is neither working nor fun. I'm doing exactly what I've criticized others for doing in races, always saying that I don't understand what the point of competitive bike racing is if your content to just go out and sit in the field.
New plan: Go out and crush it. Attack, counter, sprint, try to get in breaks, ride on the front like it doesn't matter that legit pros are waiting to drop you if you over extend, or even just extend yourself. In my opinion, if I'm riding conservatively and nothing good is coming of it, and I'm even getting dropped, I might as well go out and blow it out having fun, because then, even if I get dropped, I had a hell of a good time earning it.
I like the new plan, and I think tomorrow is going to be a much better day for it.
Also, I need to remember to really thank my Dad for all his help and tell him how much it means to me that he's helping me pursue my dreams.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Redemption and hitting eject
So last night was a much, much better effort for me.
The race was 4 corners, none of which were super technical so you could carry speed with two long, long straightaways separating them. I got a decent start, moved up to the front, and from what I could tell, never really allowed myself to move back further than the front third, or maybe the front 40%. I could move in the group, handle my bike confidently and my legs felt good. I even tried to bridge across to a break at one point (I really was just moving up, suddenly found myself closing on the front of my group very quickly, saw the break ahead and figured, "What the hell?". I shot out with one guy on my wheel, didn't really feel comfortable standing up on the neutral wheel I was riding and thereby didn't give a full-bridging effort. I let him take a pull, which was painfully slow, then we were reabsorbed by the field, now being led by three KBS riders in full chase mode).
One of the more interesting things that happened was when I broke 2 spokes on my rear wheel, which then shot through my tube and into the tire causing a massive blowout on the back stretch. Negotiating the backside each lap was about like running full speed through a dark hallway; you have an idea where you were going, but you couldn't necessarily see the obstacles in your way. There were 5 or so manhole covers which sat about and inch below the road surface, then on either edge of the road there were massive frost cracks/heaves and interspersed randomly were other seams and near potholes. I think I dead-centered the manholes at least 10 times, and went through one of the rough sections on the side so hard that I thought it was going to rip the bars out of my hands.
Needless to say, when my wheel went, I wasn't surprised (although it was actually immediately preceded by hitting any of the afore mentioned hazards).
I stopped at one of the cross streets in an attempt to cut across the course to the pits on the front side. When I came to a halt, not only was my Dad right at that spot (had no idea) and able to give me a bottle, but the paramedics were sitting in a golf cart watching the race. One of them was kind enough to give my bike and I a ride to the pits. It was an interesting diversion for a few minutes to talk with one of the spectators while I was racing.
Paramedic: "Man, you guys are going fast out there. This is pretty fun to watch, and you really haven't given us much to do"
Me: "Yeah, it's a lot of fun tonight. I thought I did see a guy go spine first into a telephone pole on the first lap, but he was getting back in later, so I guess he's okay,"
Paramedic: "Uh, I must have missed that,"
I kept racing, rolled in the last few laps and finished just inside the top 50. I was feeling pretty decent until I really tried to press it, then I realized that the whole, "I don't have gels, only a powerbar and gatorade" was catching up to me.
Really, I was just happy to have finished the race with the field after being dropped the night before (which actually turned out to be a good thing, as I found out yesterday my lockring was broken...again, and had I tried to really gun it there was a distinct possibility I could have come crashing down in a heap with other riders on top of me).
Today I spent most of the day trying to get the wheel fixed-no dice. After driving all over downtown Chicago in the motor home to find the one shop with a spoke cutter (the easton wheels have weird spokes), I was told the hub was essentially toast due to the way the spokes had broken flush with it's edges, making removal of the remains near impossible.
Got to the race, got ready to rock by 5, started to ride the course and heard there was a riders meeting at 5:15 at the start finish.
They wanted to cancel the race.
It seems the course was originally slated to bee .7 of a mile and six corners. Upon arriving at the race site, which was in a neighborhood still under construction, they found the section of what would have been the extra section of the course to be unsafe for riding due to poor pavement/elevated manholes in the corners.
What remained was .5 long, and had one sketchy corner that was at the bottom of a slight downgrade with a powerful tailwind pushing you to max speed if you so desired.
Several of the pros had decided this was a poor, poor idea and were trying to convince the riders, officials and promoters that we shouldn't be racing, or at least should race two heats or some other idea.
No dice, again.
The race announcer, an ex-rider from the way-back machine, basically called us all out for being pansies and said that in his day, riders just rode the course and adapted.
Basically, the compromise that was struck was that if you didn't want to start, you could have your money back and the points for the evening's race would be reduced.
For some reason, I decided to give it a go.
We lined up with maybe 80 of the 150 riders and took off. I moved up a bit at first, and the field took it easy around the third/sketchy corner. I moved up a bit more, and the field started to pin it. The corner wasn't too bad, but the further back in the field-actually anything much more than 10 back in the field, and you'd lose a ton of speed, then have to sprint out into the headwind of the front side to catch back on. The sprint wasn't actually that bad out of the corner, but turning into the wind single file, in what really should have been echelon conditions each time around was tough.
I rode around for a bit, some dude rammed me in a corner and almost took out a whole line. I think he apologized in his own way by reaching around and slapping his own back/butt in a gesture of "my bad". Three times though the corner my wheel slid out, and once the bouncing caused my chain to fall off as I exited the corner-that was so uncool that I won't even go into how uncool it was.
I rode around for a few more laps of the field being strung-out single file and started to get a bit tired. I realized that I was not having fun at all-and it wasn't just the suffering. Fun and suffering in a race aren't mutually exclusive. You can go out and push yourself past you pain tolerances and come out the other side smiling because the race, or the course or some aspect of the riding made it worthwhile.
I could find no redeeming aspect to this race. If it had just been another race on my local schedule, I would have skipped it and just gone out training, even thought I sincerely love racing my bike.
I decided I'd had enough.
Guys were starting to push it through the third corner and testing their limits, the field was suffering immensely under the strain of the pros having their own race at the front-two factors that were going to, at least in my mind, lead to an eventual disaster.
If you have to talk the racers into thinking a course is safe, or expect them to rely on good judgement to make the course safe by showing restraint and not pushing it to the limit through a corner, then the course isn't safe.
I pulled off and rode to the RV.
I felt a little bad, but at the same time, I really didn't want to be out there. I didn't feel like I was going to contest a result, I wasn't going to be in the money and I thought bad things were only going to happen from there.
As I was getting out of the shower I heard it: The double pistol shot.
The double pistol shot was the signal the officials sound when the race is to stop, like a black flag in NASCAR.
There had been a crash bad enough that it was going to require an ambulance and the race to clear off. I felt slightly vindicated, although I also felt like a terrible person for feeling satisfaction in having been proved right about there being a disaster on the horizon.
We left as a fire truck and two ambulances were arriving.
All I know is that for two of the three nights, God has been protecting me from harm. First getting popped while my wheel was a ticking time bomb, and second being in pain and deciding that it just wasn't worth it for once.
A big thanks to the Big Man.
The race was 4 corners, none of which were super technical so you could carry speed with two long, long straightaways separating them. I got a decent start, moved up to the front, and from what I could tell, never really allowed myself to move back further than the front third, or maybe the front 40%. I could move in the group, handle my bike confidently and my legs felt good. I even tried to bridge across to a break at one point (I really was just moving up, suddenly found myself closing on the front of my group very quickly, saw the break ahead and figured, "What the hell?". I shot out with one guy on my wheel, didn't really feel comfortable standing up on the neutral wheel I was riding and thereby didn't give a full-bridging effort. I let him take a pull, which was painfully slow, then we were reabsorbed by the field, now being led by three KBS riders in full chase mode).
One of the more interesting things that happened was when I broke 2 spokes on my rear wheel, which then shot through my tube and into the tire causing a massive blowout on the back stretch. Negotiating the backside each lap was about like running full speed through a dark hallway; you have an idea where you were going, but you couldn't necessarily see the obstacles in your way. There were 5 or so manhole covers which sat about and inch below the road surface, then on either edge of the road there were massive frost cracks/heaves and interspersed randomly were other seams and near potholes. I think I dead-centered the manholes at least 10 times, and went through one of the rough sections on the side so hard that I thought it was going to rip the bars out of my hands.
Needless to say, when my wheel went, I wasn't surprised (although it was actually immediately preceded by hitting any of the afore mentioned hazards).
I stopped at one of the cross streets in an attempt to cut across the course to the pits on the front side. When I came to a halt, not only was my Dad right at that spot (had no idea) and able to give me a bottle, but the paramedics were sitting in a golf cart watching the race. One of them was kind enough to give my bike and I a ride to the pits. It was an interesting diversion for a few minutes to talk with one of the spectators while I was racing.
Paramedic: "Man, you guys are going fast out there. This is pretty fun to watch, and you really haven't given us much to do"
Me: "Yeah, it's a lot of fun tonight. I thought I did see a guy go spine first into a telephone pole on the first lap, but he was getting back in later, so I guess he's okay,"
Paramedic: "Uh, I must have missed that,"
I kept racing, rolled in the last few laps and finished just inside the top 50. I was feeling pretty decent until I really tried to press it, then I realized that the whole, "I don't have gels, only a powerbar and gatorade" was catching up to me.
Really, I was just happy to have finished the race with the field after being dropped the night before (which actually turned out to be a good thing, as I found out yesterday my lockring was broken...again, and had I tried to really gun it there was a distinct possibility I could have come crashing down in a heap with other riders on top of me).
Today I spent most of the day trying to get the wheel fixed-no dice. After driving all over downtown Chicago in the motor home to find the one shop with a spoke cutter (the easton wheels have weird spokes), I was told the hub was essentially toast due to the way the spokes had broken flush with it's edges, making removal of the remains near impossible.
Got to the race, got ready to rock by 5, started to ride the course and heard there was a riders meeting at 5:15 at the start finish.
They wanted to cancel the race.
It seems the course was originally slated to bee .7 of a mile and six corners. Upon arriving at the race site, which was in a neighborhood still under construction, they found the section of what would have been the extra section of the course to be unsafe for riding due to poor pavement/elevated manholes in the corners.
What remained was .5 long, and had one sketchy corner that was at the bottom of a slight downgrade with a powerful tailwind pushing you to max speed if you so desired.
Several of the pros had decided this was a poor, poor idea and were trying to convince the riders, officials and promoters that we shouldn't be racing, or at least should race two heats or some other idea.
No dice, again.
The race announcer, an ex-rider from the way-back machine, basically called us all out for being pansies and said that in his day, riders just rode the course and adapted.
Basically, the compromise that was struck was that if you didn't want to start, you could have your money back and the points for the evening's race would be reduced.
For some reason, I decided to give it a go.
We lined up with maybe 80 of the 150 riders and took off. I moved up a bit at first, and the field took it easy around the third/sketchy corner. I moved up a bit more, and the field started to pin it. The corner wasn't too bad, but the further back in the field-actually anything much more than 10 back in the field, and you'd lose a ton of speed, then have to sprint out into the headwind of the front side to catch back on. The sprint wasn't actually that bad out of the corner, but turning into the wind single file, in what really should have been echelon conditions each time around was tough.
I rode around for a bit, some dude rammed me in a corner and almost took out a whole line. I think he apologized in his own way by reaching around and slapping his own back/butt in a gesture of "my bad". Three times though the corner my wheel slid out, and once the bouncing caused my chain to fall off as I exited the corner-that was so uncool that I won't even go into how uncool it was.
I rode around for a few more laps of the field being strung-out single file and started to get a bit tired. I realized that I was not having fun at all-and it wasn't just the suffering. Fun and suffering in a race aren't mutually exclusive. You can go out and push yourself past you pain tolerances and come out the other side smiling because the race, or the course or some aspect of the riding made it worthwhile.
I could find no redeeming aspect to this race. If it had just been another race on my local schedule, I would have skipped it and just gone out training, even thought I sincerely love racing my bike.
I decided I'd had enough.
Guys were starting to push it through the third corner and testing their limits, the field was suffering immensely under the strain of the pros having their own race at the front-two factors that were going to, at least in my mind, lead to an eventual disaster.
If you have to talk the racers into thinking a course is safe, or expect them to rely on good judgement to make the course safe by showing restraint and not pushing it to the limit through a corner, then the course isn't safe.
I pulled off and rode to the RV.
I felt a little bad, but at the same time, I really didn't want to be out there. I didn't feel like I was going to contest a result, I wasn't going to be in the money and I thought bad things were only going to happen from there.
As I was getting out of the shower I heard it: The double pistol shot.
The double pistol shot was the signal the officials sound when the race is to stop, like a black flag in NASCAR.
There had been a crash bad enough that it was going to require an ambulance and the race to clear off. I felt slightly vindicated, although I also felt like a terrible person for feeling satisfaction in having been proved right about there being a disaster on the horizon.
We left as a fire truck and two ambulances were arriving.
All I know is that for two of the three nights, God has been protecting me from harm. First getting popped while my wheel was a ticking time bomb, and second being in pain and deciding that it just wasn't worth it for once.
A big thanks to the Big Man.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Pwned
Got my butt handed to me today.
No way around it. I warmed up too much, was nervous about a turn on the course, rode like an idiot at the back of a crit (although there was reason to think this was going to be okay for the first few laps, but then the entire race dynamic changed and I was caught out in the cold).
It basically became a problem of me having to keep it pegged almost the entire lap. The hill required a max effort, the chicane to follow wasn't too easy but let off the gas a little, then the two fast turns required me to get on the brakes to keep from driving my fat butt into the riders ahead of me, and for the life of me I couldn't modulate my speed well enough out of the last downhill corner to either not slam into riders or not cause a gap to open which I'd have to close. Overall, it made for a painful situation.
The only thing in which I can take solace is the simple fact that there were a number of guys who got dropped before me-maybe 30.
What did I learn? In a field like this, I cannot afford to make mistakes and waste energy-like riding in the back. Also, I'm about 6lbs heavier than I'd like to be and the extra stress of dealing with my family in the RV isn't helping.
Plan for tomorrow-ride the front of the race, make the huge effort to get there initially, then fight like a boar to keep it. Watching the race, post-dropping, I could visibly see the difference out on the straight away from front to back had to be 200 watts out of the corner to drag back together each lap. That'll kill 'ya.
No way around it. I warmed up too much, was nervous about a turn on the course, rode like an idiot at the back of a crit (although there was reason to think this was going to be okay for the first few laps, but then the entire race dynamic changed and I was caught out in the cold).
It basically became a problem of me having to keep it pegged almost the entire lap. The hill required a max effort, the chicane to follow wasn't too easy but let off the gas a little, then the two fast turns required me to get on the brakes to keep from driving my fat butt into the riders ahead of me, and for the life of me I couldn't modulate my speed well enough out of the last downhill corner to either not slam into riders or not cause a gap to open which I'd have to close. Overall, it made for a painful situation.
The only thing in which I can take solace is the simple fact that there were a number of guys who got dropped before me-maybe 30.
What did I learn? In a field like this, I cannot afford to make mistakes and waste energy-like riding in the back. Also, I'm about 6lbs heavier than I'd like to be and the extra stress of dealing with my family in the RV isn't helping.
Plan for tomorrow-ride the front of the race, make the huge effort to get there initially, then fight like a boar to keep it. Watching the race, post-dropping, I could visibly see the difference out on the straight away from front to back had to be 200 watts out of the corner to drag back together each lap. That'll kill 'ya.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
On the road
So at 5pm (that's right, 5pm, not am) we finally got on the road to Chicago-after stopping at Radioshack for roughly two hours while the wonderfully pleasant owner tried to explain to my father and I how the Dish Network system we were purchasing could be installed (oh, he also explained, at length, his involvement with and advocacy for local tennis programs, his recent discovery of the Body for Life Program and it's benefits and the purchase and subsequent restoration of a Datsun 240z), then a short trip to Lowes, then other assorted delays related to dad's need to get work done prior to leaving.
None of this really bothered me, other than the fact that we didn't make it all the way to Chicago, or at least to a place closer to Chicago where we could safely park the RV for the night.
Didn't get to ride the day before the race, feel fat (am fat), not the best frame of mind before the biggest races of my year so far.
I looked at the past winners of Friday's race-Steve Tilford, Victor Rapinski, Jonas Carney-crazy to think I'll be lining up with guys of that caliber tonight.
Oh well-stick with fear and arrogance.
We drove the course this morning when we finally arrived (and then later parked, which was another tail of woe all together involving my father's reluctance to put the RV in reverse). Course looks pretty good; one fast downhill right, one grading uphill, but overall not too bad-although I'm sure it will seem it at full-tilt boogie 40 miles into the race.
I couldn't find any gels, so I'll be riding tonight with Clif bars. I have no idea how this is going to work out.
None of this really bothered me, other than the fact that we didn't make it all the way to Chicago, or at least to a place closer to Chicago where we could safely park the RV for the night.
Didn't get to ride the day before the race, feel fat (am fat), not the best frame of mind before the biggest races of my year so far.
I looked at the past winners of Friday's race-Steve Tilford, Victor Rapinski, Jonas Carney-crazy to think I'll be lining up with guys of that caliber tonight.
Oh well-stick with fear and arrogance.
We drove the course this morning when we finally arrived (and then later parked, which was another tail of woe all together involving my father's reluctance to put the RV in reverse). Course looks pretty good; one fast downhill right, one grading uphill, but overall not too bad-although I'm sure it will seem it at full-tilt boogie 40 miles into the race.
I couldn't find any gels, so I'll be riding tonight with Clif bars. I have no idea how this is going to work out.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
On the eve
So tomorrow morning, I depart for the great wilderness, the barren northern expanse know as the greater Chicago and Milwaukee area. Not quite a wilderness, but in the same way that our frontier forefathers had no idea what awaited over the horizon, I'm headed into truly unmapped territory in regards to my riding.
Every race, spare one, I'll doing in the next two weeks is either 100k or greater (the one "short" evening is 90k, or roughly 6 miles shorter; the longest day is 140k, roughly 24 miles longer, so the scales tip to over 100k in the end).
I've never raced a 100k crit before.
I've raced a, mind you "a" meaning one singular, 40 mile crit before, but never a 65 mile crit. I don't know how I feel about the whole thing. I know that the only difference between 40 miles and 65 miles (other than the obvious: 25 miles) is eating properly throughout the race and conserving your energy a bit more to pace it over the increased distance-these are factors with which every rider will contend. What I don't know, unlike most of my competitors, is how my body is going to react to those extra miles. By the way, that 40 mile crit about killed me (but I've been telling myself it was as much about the course as it was the race-though the race did average 27mph, translating to right about an hour and a half, as opposed to two and a half hours).
If I can get through the first night-and by get through, I just mean finish-I'll be feeling 10 feet tall and bullet proof as Travis Tritt said.
When I talked to Daniel yesterday, he said 100k crits weren't as tough as they sound, they'd start out fast-but not as fast as normal- and then they'd settle into a rhythm for the long mid-section as everyone goes into survival mode, the kick up hard for the finish. Now, given the number of variables involved in racing crits-the course, breaks, the inclinations of the field-it could work out in an entirely different manner.
One thing is for sure: Racing 65 mile crits every night is going to kick my butt into high gear shape and I'll probably return several pounds lighter than I left (maybe the extra couple I'm packing right now are just fuel for the furnace over the longhaul!).
Overall, I think I'm both excited and nervous. I know I have good legs (although they felt like poo today), I have pretty good fitness overall and I have a fair handle on what I'm capable of doing right now. If I can take those factors, mix in a bit of smarts, some good luck and the huevos to take my chances when I see them, I might be able to pull off at least one decent showing.
As my Dad keeps reminding me, it's all a building process.
Every race, spare one, I'll doing in the next two weeks is either 100k or greater (the one "short" evening is 90k, or roughly 6 miles shorter; the longest day is 140k, roughly 24 miles longer, so the scales tip to over 100k in the end).
I've never raced a 100k crit before.
I've raced a, mind you "a" meaning one singular, 40 mile crit before, but never a 65 mile crit. I don't know how I feel about the whole thing. I know that the only difference between 40 miles and 65 miles (other than the obvious: 25 miles) is eating properly throughout the race and conserving your energy a bit more to pace it over the increased distance-these are factors with which every rider will contend. What I don't know, unlike most of my competitors, is how my body is going to react to those extra miles. By the way, that 40 mile crit about killed me (but I've been telling myself it was as much about the course as it was the race-though the race did average 27mph, translating to right about an hour and a half, as opposed to two and a half hours).
If I can get through the first night-and by get through, I just mean finish-I'll be feeling 10 feet tall and bullet proof as Travis Tritt said.
When I talked to Daniel yesterday, he said 100k crits weren't as tough as they sound, they'd start out fast-but not as fast as normal- and then they'd settle into a rhythm for the long mid-section as everyone goes into survival mode, the kick up hard for the finish. Now, given the number of variables involved in racing crits-the course, breaks, the inclinations of the field-it could work out in an entirely different manner.
One thing is for sure: Racing 65 mile crits every night is going to kick my butt into high gear shape and I'll probably return several pounds lighter than I left (maybe the extra couple I'm packing right now are just fuel for the furnace over the longhaul!).
Overall, I think I'm both excited and nervous. I know I have good legs (although they felt like poo today), I have pretty good fitness overall and I have a fair handle on what I'm capable of doing right now. If I can take those factors, mix in a bit of smarts, some good luck and the huevos to take my chances when I see them, I might be able to pull off at least one decent showing.
As my Dad keeps reminding me, it's all a building process.
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