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.
Monday, July 7, 2008
He's got legs and he knows how to use them?
Wow, a day of stress, as outlined above, and then an hour of riding.
That hour was just about the best I've ever felt on the bike (the past two days have actually both been awesome). I was laying down some numbers, for some periods of time, that I haven't seen before. To take a quote I heard from Decanio, that he heard from Hincapie after he ripped up the prologue, "I felt like there wasn't a chain on the bike".
It was great.
I'm a little scared that I'm not going to be able to onto the legs until Friday, but I'm trying my hardest to follow DC's advice and go into this a little off peak and totally rested, maybe a little too rested, so that I'm not blown out by the end of the first week and on the down-slope of fitness.
If I'd know that all I had to do to get faster was go to some bigger races, gut out a few days I thought were going to kill me, and viola hard legs, I'd have done it long ago.I guess 44 races so far this year are doing some good-It's actually as many as I did all of last year...in July. I think I'm on pace for 80 or 90.
Also, on a side note, today would have been my first anniversary if I'd gotten married as planned. Last year, when the scheduled day came, I'll admit it was quite tough on me. A year later, I felt pretty neutral about it. I don't mean to sound callous, because it is in my mind, but I don't have the same emotional response or palpable sadness (although,last year I had a tough time exactly pinpointing the source of what made me so sad about the situation, as I still felt it was the best decision). I do know that if I was married right now, my life would be, to say the least, very different. I wouldn't be out chasing a dream with no job, no security, no real income. Often when I'm out riding and I look around at the country side around me, I start thinking about a life of rambling, moving about the countryside as I please, drifting from place to place and chasing the sun over the horizon. Maybe that longing another generation would call "wanderlust" would have eventually overcome any settling instinct, maybe it wouldn't, but its free to reign now. Living off the grid wouldn't be the worst, would it?
That hour was just about the best I've ever felt on the bike (the past two days have actually both been awesome). I was laying down some numbers, for some periods of time, that I haven't seen before. To take a quote I heard from Decanio, that he heard from Hincapie after he ripped up the prologue, "I felt like there wasn't a chain on the bike".
It was great.
I'm a little scared that I'm not going to be able to onto the legs until Friday, but I'm trying my hardest to follow DC's advice and go into this a little off peak and totally rested, maybe a little too rested, so that I'm not blown out by the end of the first week and on the down-slope of fitness.
If I'd know that all I had to do to get faster was go to some bigger races, gut out a few days I thought were going to kill me, and viola hard legs, I'd have done it long ago.I guess 44 races so far this year are doing some good-It's actually as many as I did all of last year...in July. I think I'm on pace for 80 or 90.
Also, on a side note, today would have been my first anniversary if I'd gotten married as planned. Last year, when the scheduled day came, I'll admit it was quite tough on me. A year later, I felt pretty neutral about it. I don't mean to sound callous, because it is in my mind, but I don't have the same emotional response or palpable sadness (although,last year I had a tough time exactly pinpointing the source of what made me so sad about the situation, as I still felt it was the best decision). I do know that if I was married right now, my life would be, to say the least, very different. I wouldn't be out chasing a dream with no job, no security, no real income. Often when I'm out riding and I look around at the country side around me, I start thinking about a life of rambling, moving about the countryside as I please, drifting from place to place and chasing the sun over the horizon. Maybe that longing another generation would call "wanderlust" would have eventually overcome any settling instinct, maybe it wouldn't, but its free to reign now. Living off the grid wouldn't be the worst, would it?
Trouble in Paradise
A little trouble today on several bike fronts, just makes it hard to focus only riding. Finding a 12mm hex wrench seems to be harder than expected to rebuild my Easton rear wheel, and apparently ordering a pair of race wheels was much more of a hassle than I had imagined. I'm conflicted on how I feel about that second one, as I don't want to be the guy who's just asking for everything, or feels like he's entitled to the world, but on the other hand, I do feel like asking people follow up on their obligations isn't a lot to ask.
All I really want to do is ride my bike; I need to find a way to facilitate that desire to a greater degree than the current situation.
Wheels, tt equipment, race or travel costs, any help on these would be better. Part of me thinks I should just try to go out and recruit sponsors for myself, most of me just wants to be on a team that has all of those already in place. I'd like to think that will be happening in the next year, but I have no way of knowing whether it will or not. How do I find a team with interest, how do we make those interests meet, how do I make it happen, MAKE IT HAPPEN!!!
I guess the answer is that I can't make it happen, I just have to ride my bike the best I can and know that the rest will just have to fall into place, however it is supposed to happen. As may be apparent, I'm incredibly impatient and I'd like for things to be settled.
Race, ride, race, ride, race, ride, coffee (more of that between the racing and riding...maybe there should be 2 coffees between each race and ride).
All I really want to do is ride my bike; I need to find a way to facilitate that desire to a greater degree than the current situation.
Wheels, tt equipment, race or travel costs, any help on these would be better. Part of me thinks I should just try to go out and recruit sponsors for myself, most of me just wants to be on a team that has all of those already in place. I'd like to think that will be happening in the next year, but I have no way of knowing whether it will or not. How do I find a team with interest, how do we make those interests meet, how do I make it happen, MAKE IT HAPPEN!!!
I guess the answer is that I can't make it happen, I just have to ride my bike the best I can and know that the rest will just have to fall into place, however it is supposed to happen. As may be apparent, I'm incredibly impatient and I'd like for things to be settled.
Race, ride, race, ride, race, ride, coffee (more of that between the racing and riding...maybe there should be 2 coffees between each race and ride).
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Racin' hard, throwin' down
I have an occasion to look back on some of my races and in retrospect, be slightly embarrassed about the manner in which I rode.
This morning seems to be one of those occasions.
Last night, I went to race the Wednesday night NashvilleCyclist crit at LP field-my second night of racing this course in three weeks. The previous encounter with the race left me unsatisfied. I'd come tired, having trained in the morning and was at the tail end of three hard weeks of training and racing. I felt that I'd underperformed; that I hadn't put my best foot forward to the hometown racers.
I thought this week would be the chance to redeem myself.
I went last night with confidence brimming over after my morning ride left me feeling energized and powerful-I felt like there was no chain on my bike, like I could pedal for hours and that amazing connection with the bike you're only gifted on rare occasions.
I arrived about an hour before the race, used the restroom, got myself registered and started to warm-up.
I was still feeling great.
Feeling great, like your legs have all the power in the world, like you can turn, sprint, hammer whatever you want, can be a curse. Those are the times you're most likely to ride without a brain because you feel invincible.
When we lined up a little late after waiting anxiously while several riders from the B race who crashed in the third corner of the last lap were attended to by the medical staff. Basically the first rider into the corner either clipped a pedal, or just plain pushed it too hard, lowsided it into the curb and the next two riders crashed on top of/over him. The third guy down was the worst off, landing on his head and breaking his helmet. It's a sight that, as racers, none of us want to see; look at a crash too long and you can start to get the fear of crashing into your head, start thinking about the pain, the skin searing on pavement, the blood, the bones...all the things that can happen. I have a little touch of it myself right now, but the past few weeks have been helpful in shaking it. The last time I had it as bad as I have it now was after I crashed at the NC state crit in Cary. I was riding tubulars in the rain, pushing it hard in the corners. I came through a downhill, right hand off-camber corner (imagine reverse banking). The rear wheel slipped, I corrected and got it back upright-but something was wrong...the bike was fishtailing. The front wheel locked, turned to the left and threw me high-side, turned broadwise to the road, skidding across the pavement with my bike between me and the field. Most everyone rode away from where I was skidding-one rider tried to make it between me and the fast-approaching curb. He ended up running smack over my rear wheel and flying over me. I was lucky the bike took the hit. The came away with some pretty standard road rash and a big hematoma on my hip from the catapult onto the pavement. The road rash went away, but the hip stayed pain stayed with me for months..and subsequently, so did thoughts of the crash. I think it took me the better part of a year to regain my confidence through corners after that race. I still don't take off-cambers as aggressively as I once did, but I've forced myself into the situation purposely in practice many, many times so I've gained a degree of control over my anxiety. I'm trying for the same now. When you're going well, you don't have thoughts about the potential consequences of racing; you move through the field like you own it, taking positions, cornering hard, riding hard boy.
Those are the best days.
Last night was one of those days.
When we finally started, I moved closer to the front than I usually like to at the start of a crit. Normally, I like to sit in the top 1/4 or so, close enough to mark any move that I think might actually be dangerous, but far enough that I can sit in while the first lap heroes wear themselves out trying to set the pace. After having seen the break roll in the first three laps last time, I thought discretion would be the better part of valor.
Two guys rolled off before the first corner.
I didn't think one of them was of particular concern, but the other had 10 or so teammates in the field which means any move they make, despite the abilities of the individual rider who actually makes it, is dangerous. After the field allowed them to roll almost 500 meters off, I decided it was getting a bit dangerous. I moved to the front and started to pull it back. I must have rolled 4 or 5 laps on the front before I closed the gap down to about 50 meters. I felt like I was freaking flying, and when I looked down at the powertap, the only numbers I were 350 or higher. I was going well, really well.
When the gap gets close, it the best moment to either try and jump across and join the break-if you think it will stick-or jump across, pass the break and attack immediately from there. Having pulled so long, I was in a position of weakness at the moment, and I knew it. I tried to pull back off and let someone else pull, but I found myself trailed by only the light blue jerseys of the largest team; I was stuck riding the front, and it was quickly becoming apparent that I was a marked rider, and apparently one that they were not going to help under any circumstance.
So I pulled.
When we got with 30 meters, the attack I knew was coming went. It was their stud rider with another strong man in tow.
Damn.
I knew I wasn't in a great position to try and chase, but I thought maybe the other team who was in attendance might be willing to pull it back since they had no man in the move, or at least one of the other riders without teammates might want to lend a hand.
I was wrong.
I sat in the field and watched the pair of riders drift away. I started to get a bit antsy. I didn't want to let the race get away from me. I thought about the lesson I learned the race prior, when I decided that I could take 16 other riders myself. I knew that I had decided that wasn't a good idea, I knew that if I started trying to beat everyone on my own I'd be in a bad way.
Ahh, screw it.
I went to the front and started to pull again. I rode and rode and rode and rode. I felt incredibly strong. I'd look back every now and then and see the field strung out coming from each corner. I stood up and pounded the straights. I started to see riders who had blown off the back of the field coming up ahead of me. Guys were coming off in bunches. I was driving them off. It felt good. There were attacks. Guys shot off individually and in groups of two or three. I never really responded, just kept up my pace. They would gain 100 meters, then I would reel them in through a corner, or on a big dig in a straightaway.
Then it started again.
I started to feel my bronchial tube closing. I reached for my inhaler, disgusted and frustrated that my body was betraying me. I could feel my legs burning with the lactic acid now building due to the lack of oxygen. The damn cap was on. I grabbed it in my mouth and spat it away off the course. I took a quick hit off the inhaler before we came into the second corner, a fast double apex. I slid back in the field while I waited for the effects to take hold. It seemed like forever before I noticed my breathing was becoming less labored. The good news was that I wasn't spit out of the field while I wheezed an coughed, terrified that the attack wouldn't clear, that I'd be spit out of the back of another race...in Nashville.
In my mind, were it to happen, I could hear other racers talking about me, saying, "Did you see how hard he went out and blew himself up? Couldn't even finish the race. What an idiot.".
I kept pedaling.
After a few minutes, I started to feel the albuterol acting. The weird thing about the asthma medication, at least for me, is that even when it starts to work it's still not like normal. If you know the feeling of having water caught in your throat after it goes down the wrong way while you're drinking, you know what "effective" asthma medicine feels like for me. In reality, the total time of the initial asthma problem was maybe 3-5 minutes, maybe 2 laps, but it's enough time for a break to put real distance into a field.
As I started to breathe again, I moved back toward the front of the field. I started to pull again, but this time, I knew the pull wasn't quite as hard. I could see it in the numbers. I was staying around 300, but I was dipping under it too. No one was coming around again, so I guess it was still hard enough. While I had been idling in the field, trying to catch my breath, literally, a break of three had rolled away from the field and was making a real gap on the field.
I thought, "Well, I guess it's time to go."
After we came out of the second corner (the double apex), the field swept wide on the straight away to set up for the next corner and their speed dropped while the leading rider tried to force someone to come around. I hit the inside with a hard, but not incredible, acceleration.
I rode through the next two corners and started to settle into my effort. The break wasn't too far ahead of me now, maybe a straight-away ahead.
"We've got a gap, keep driving" said a voice from behind me.
I recognized the voice, it was Tim. I didn't really want to drag Tim with. We'd been racing together for the past month, and I knew he was fairly strong.
He was a rider I didn't understand. I ridden in a break with him for 30 miles and he was strong. I ridden a few crits with him, and he was strong. I'd ridden a road race with him, and he was strong (although he got dropped in that race, but before I did). Hell, he was the cat 2 state crit champ.
But there was a young Guatemalan on his team who was stronger, at least that's the logic by which I think Tim was making decisions. What he didn't seem to understand was that only playing the Guatemalan card every race, they were giving observant racers the chance to simply sit in, wait for him to go, stick on his wheel like glue and know it's suddenly like you've gained 10 teammates in the field who are going to mark every move that tries to go across to their show pony. This was too predictable, and although I knew this was their plan, I still managed to screw it up for myself by chasing down their early move (which also could have gone, but not the same way Guatemala could, but given the fact that no one else was willing to do the work, I decided I would do it).
However, I digress,
"I'm having a damn asthma...I can't breathe right. Damn...", I said in response. I couldn't really get a coherent thought out, and to be quite honest, I realized half way through my sentence that no one really cared and I should just shut up and ride.
I pulled Tim and I clear of the field, and we started to close on the three riders ahead. I knew Tim wouldn't be pulling through if I showed any weakness, or desire to take a breather, and more than likely, he would take the free ride on my wheel until we were close enough to the break that he knew he could bridge on his own and then, if he was smart, attack right by them. I knew this, because this is exactly what I would have done if I were in his situation.
Predictably, as soon as we were 30 meters from the group, Tim shot underneath me exiting a corner and went right by the group ahead. Not long after, I made contact with the rear of the group, slowed down to take a break and recover for a moment. I knew Tim couldn't make it out much further than he had the few previous times that he'd attacked and I brought him back, so I was confident in letting him sit out to cook for a few minutes.
After a few meters of respite, I began to pull again. There wasn't more than 8 minutes left in the race, according to my cycling computer.
There was another attack. Two guys rolled away, including one of Tim's teammates. This was not good.
I started to pull harder.
The situation stayed status quo for the next few laps as I slowly closed in on what was now the group of three.
I came with 20 meters of them. Two riders behind me jumped across. I stood up, pounded on the pedals and was quickly on the back of the group of five. The field was still behind me.
Two to go.
I looked up going through the first corner and realized the Guatemalan was coming up on my left. He and his compatriot in the break had lapped the field. This changed the situation. Because they'd reintegrated, we were now on the lead lap, just one down, which meant the next time to the line was the finish. We'd just time warped to the bell-lap.
I was sitting seventh wheel, at this point, behind the Guatemalan and the other lap-up rider. The four guys in front of him
accelerated out of a corner, and he let it drift away. I came underneath him and accelerated through the straight to catch, saying as I went by, "If you're going to reintegrate, fine, just don't come back and let gaps open."
Whenever I make statements out of anger in a race it's always what I really feel in that moment, and to be honest, I probably feel the same way all the time, I normally just have enough self-control to keep my opinions to myself. Every now and then, though, when the conditions are right (I'm tired, already mad or frustrated at some situation or maybe even a specific rider), I lose my cool and say something I shouldn't. I always feel badly later for having done it, but it feels good to have done it in the moment. I can think of twice that I've really lost it and put the fear of God in another rider, both juniors actually. (I know, I shouldn't be the old guy yelling at kids, but it just always seems to be the younger racers who take big chances with everyone else's safety or open their mouths up and try to tell me how to ride my bike).
So, with the gap opening, I decide to chase. Why not, right?
Three turns later, I was on their tail, only this time, it had not been a pretty, even effort. They were shooting for the line, 3-6th places still up for grabs and they were trying to hold the gap and take the spoils. As soon as I was on, around came the field of riders I'd been dragging all night. The last two corners are fast, but if you take them with too many riders, not all at the same speed, or with the same ideas about safety when you're in the back of the field, they can be sketchy.
I sat up.
I was out of the top 6, and to be honest, if there aren't either points of money on the line, I could care less about my placing and I'd rather stay out of harms way.
I think I rode across the line either dead last, or close to it. When the field came by, I realized that while I'd been battling it out with five or seven other guys at the front all night, we'd kept the will of almost 20 other riders in check. There were faces in the race I hadn't seen all night, and they looked dog tired.
That felt good.
As we rode around slowly on the course after the race, I listened as other racers gave their accounts of the race.
"Well, I was up in the break, then I blew. But man, was that a spectacular implosion or what?"
"I was trying to help you and attack, but I don't know, I just didn't have it"
"You need to tell your boy (referring to the Guatemalan, that when he hit the field, he had a gap on the other dude with him in the break. If he'd straight gassed it as he came by, he'd have outright taken the win."
I drifted by conversations, missing the fact normally I'd be joking with Curtis or Daniel right now.
"Man, you were riding hard tonight, I was having trouble holding your wheel at some points." came from my left.
I'd been sitting by Tim and one of his teammates, a 3 I'd met on the start line the first day of the Tour of Ohio, and apparently I was now included in their conversation.
"Me and another guy kept taking shots at you all night," Tim quipped.
"Yeah, I noticed." I said.
"What's wrong with your bike?" Tim asked.
I wasn't really sure what the answer to his question was, as there really are a few things that aren't quite perfect, like the shifting or the knocking when I stand up and pedal hard, or the back wheel that's never quite true. I said something about the shifting, and somewhat trailed off mid-sentence.
"You were taking wide lines through the corners. I hadn't see you do that before, I thought it was maybe to compensate for whatever was wrong," Tim said, obviously becoming more uncomfortable expressing his opinion on what my motivations were as he went on with the sentence.
"I thought it was to close off the other lines," chimed in the teammate.
"More to close the lines," I said, which was totally a lie, but I liked the sound of it, so I agreed. Really I'd just taken wider lines so I could pedal into the turn further, pedal through some of them, and pedal out sooner. It wasn't the shortest distance through the corners, but I could take in the most speed and keep it constant through the turn, eliminating the need to jump out of the other side and keeping my efforts smooth. Mostly it was just a function of pacing out my efforts so that I could stay at the front and go longer.
"All that riding in Ohio seems to be paying off in your form. You're definitely going way better today than just the last time you were out." said the 3 teammate.
"Yeah, Ohio was tough. I was tired last time, coming off a long couple of weeks, and I'd trained that morning," I realized I was starting to sound like a dismissive jerk, "thanks though, I feel like I'm going better."
"Thanks for what?"
"The compliment, I'm not, sorry, I'm bad at them," I said, thinking in my mind that maybe I'd rather sound like a douche than a bumbling idiot.
The talking went on for another few minutes, Tim disappeared at some point.
I'm starting to get the feeling he doesn't like me.
I drove home, calling Curtis and my dad, feeling like I'd really done something that night. I'd taken a race, a race when I had no teammates, and done what I'd failed to do at the road race the weekend before: I imposed my will on it. I decided I wanted to bring moves back, asked for and expected no help, and made it happen. I decided I wanted to set the pace, I made that happen. It felt good to have shown I can ride my bike when I want to ride my bike.
The next morning, however, I started to wonder if what I'd really done was just show that I'm not a smart racer. After all, I'd played right into the hands of the other teams tactics, let their main man go and lap the field, then gone so hard that I didn't contest the sprint finish. Maybe instead of taking it as a show of force, people just thought, "Here's a guy dumb enough to sit on the front and do all the work, so why not let him?"
The more I reflected on it, the more I realized I can't control what other people think, and as much as I'd like for them all to know what I was thinking while I was racing, that I knew full well what I was doing each time was counter productive as far as a placing goes, I can't make anyone else understand my motivations than I can theirs.
Maybe they do think I'm stupid, but no one else seemed to want to race their bike, and I'm damn sure not going to pay $10 to go out and sit in a field in a race that matters not one iota for my season. I think I got my $10 worth of fitness, and more importantly, fun.
I'll save the boring racing for a time that it does matter or when I feel like I'm in a situation when I can't afford to make mistakes because the field will spit me out the back if I go too deep at the wrong time.
Maybe it was a good night after all.
This morning seems to be one of those occasions.
Last night, I went to race the Wednesday night NashvilleCyclist crit at LP field-my second night of racing this course in three weeks. The previous encounter with the race left me unsatisfied. I'd come tired, having trained in the morning and was at the tail end of three hard weeks of training and racing. I felt that I'd underperformed; that I hadn't put my best foot forward to the hometown racers.
I thought this week would be the chance to redeem myself.
I went last night with confidence brimming over after my morning ride left me feeling energized and powerful-I felt like there was no chain on my bike, like I could pedal for hours and that amazing connection with the bike you're only gifted on rare occasions.
I arrived about an hour before the race, used the restroom, got myself registered and started to warm-up.
I was still feeling great.
Feeling great, like your legs have all the power in the world, like you can turn, sprint, hammer whatever you want, can be a curse. Those are the times you're most likely to ride without a brain because you feel invincible.
When we lined up a little late after waiting anxiously while several riders from the B race who crashed in the third corner of the last lap were attended to by the medical staff. Basically the first rider into the corner either clipped a pedal, or just plain pushed it too hard, lowsided it into the curb and the next two riders crashed on top of/over him. The third guy down was the worst off, landing on his head and breaking his helmet. It's a sight that, as racers, none of us want to see; look at a crash too long and you can start to get the fear of crashing into your head, start thinking about the pain, the skin searing on pavement, the blood, the bones...all the things that can happen. I have a little touch of it myself right now, but the past few weeks have been helpful in shaking it. The last time I had it as bad as I have it now was after I crashed at the NC state crit in Cary. I was riding tubulars in the rain, pushing it hard in the corners. I came through a downhill, right hand off-camber corner (imagine reverse banking). The rear wheel slipped, I corrected and got it back upright-but something was wrong...the bike was fishtailing. The front wheel locked, turned to the left and threw me high-side, turned broadwise to the road, skidding across the pavement with my bike between me and the field. Most everyone rode away from where I was skidding-one rider tried to make it between me and the fast-approaching curb. He ended up running smack over my rear wheel and flying over me. I was lucky the bike took the hit. The came away with some pretty standard road rash and a big hematoma on my hip from the catapult onto the pavement. The road rash went away, but the hip stayed pain stayed with me for months..and subsequently, so did thoughts of the crash. I think it took me the better part of a year to regain my confidence through corners after that race. I still don't take off-cambers as aggressively as I once did, but I've forced myself into the situation purposely in practice many, many times so I've gained a degree of control over my anxiety. I'm trying for the same now. When you're going well, you don't have thoughts about the potential consequences of racing; you move through the field like you own it, taking positions, cornering hard, riding hard boy.
Those are the best days.
Last night was one of those days.
When we finally started, I moved closer to the front than I usually like to at the start of a crit. Normally, I like to sit in the top 1/4 or so, close enough to mark any move that I think might actually be dangerous, but far enough that I can sit in while the first lap heroes wear themselves out trying to set the pace. After having seen the break roll in the first three laps last time, I thought discretion would be the better part of valor.
Two guys rolled off before the first corner.
I didn't think one of them was of particular concern, but the other had 10 or so teammates in the field which means any move they make, despite the abilities of the individual rider who actually makes it, is dangerous. After the field allowed them to roll almost 500 meters off, I decided it was getting a bit dangerous. I moved to the front and started to pull it back. I must have rolled 4 or 5 laps on the front before I closed the gap down to about 50 meters. I felt like I was freaking flying, and when I looked down at the powertap, the only numbers I were 350 or higher. I was going well, really well.
When the gap gets close, it the best moment to either try and jump across and join the break-if you think it will stick-or jump across, pass the break and attack immediately from there. Having pulled so long, I was in a position of weakness at the moment, and I knew it. I tried to pull back off and let someone else pull, but I found myself trailed by only the light blue jerseys of the largest team; I was stuck riding the front, and it was quickly becoming apparent that I was a marked rider, and apparently one that they were not going to help under any circumstance.
So I pulled.
When we got with 30 meters, the attack I knew was coming went. It was their stud rider with another strong man in tow.
Damn.
I knew I wasn't in a great position to try and chase, but I thought maybe the other team who was in attendance might be willing to pull it back since they had no man in the move, or at least one of the other riders without teammates might want to lend a hand.
I was wrong.
I sat in the field and watched the pair of riders drift away. I started to get a bit antsy. I didn't want to let the race get away from me. I thought about the lesson I learned the race prior, when I decided that I could take 16 other riders myself. I knew that I had decided that wasn't a good idea, I knew that if I started trying to beat everyone on my own I'd be in a bad way.
Ahh, screw it.
I went to the front and started to pull again. I rode and rode and rode and rode. I felt incredibly strong. I'd look back every now and then and see the field strung out coming from each corner. I stood up and pounded the straights. I started to see riders who had blown off the back of the field coming up ahead of me. Guys were coming off in bunches. I was driving them off. It felt good. There were attacks. Guys shot off individually and in groups of two or three. I never really responded, just kept up my pace. They would gain 100 meters, then I would reel them in through a corner, or on a big dig in a straightaway.
Then it started again.
I started to feel my bronchial tube closing. I reached for my inhaler, disgusted and frustrated that my body was betraying me. I could feel my legs burning with the lactic acid now building due to the lack of oxygen. The damn cap was on. I grabbed it in my mouth and spat it away off the course. I took a quick hit off the inhaler before we came into the second corner, a fast double apex. I slid back in the field while I waited for the effects to take hold. It seemed like forever before I noticed my breathing was becoming less labored. The good news was that I wasn't spit out of the field while I wheezed an coughed, terrified that the attack wouldn't clear, that I'd be spit out of the back of another race...in Nashville.
In my mind, were it to happen, I could hear other racers talking about me, saying, "Did you see how hard he went out and blew himself up? Couldn't even finish the race. What an idiot.".
I kept pedaling.
After a few minutes, I started to feel the albuterol acting. The weird thing about the asthma medication, at least for me, is that even when it starts to work it's still not like normal. If you know the feeling of having water caught in your throat after it goes down the wrong way while you're drinking, you know what "effective" asthma medicine feels like for me. In reality, the total time of the initial asthma problem was maybe 3-5 minutes, maybe 2 laps, but it's enough time for a break to put real distance into a field.
As I started to breathe again, I moved back toward the front of the field. I started to pull again, but this time, I knew the pull wasn't quite as hard. I could see it in the numbers. I was staying around 300, but I was dipping under it too. No one was coming around again, so I guess it was still hard enough. While I had been idling in the field, trying to catch my breath, literally, a break of three had rolled away from the field and was making a real gap on the field.
I thought, "Well, I guess it's time to go."
After we came out of the second corner (the double apex), the field swept wide on the straight away to set up for the next corner and their speed dropped while the leading rider tried to force someone to come around. I hit the inside with a hard, but not incredible, acceleration.
I rode through the next two corners and started to settle into my effort. The break wasn't too far ahead of me now, maybe a straight-away ahead.
"We've got a gap, keep driving" said a voice from behind me.
I recognized the voice, it was Tim. I didn't really want to drag Tim with. We'd been racing together for the past month, and I knew he was fairly strong.
He was a rider I didn't understand. I ridden in a break with him for 30 miles and he was strong. I ridden a few crits with him, and he was strong. I'd ridden a road race with him, and he was strong (although he got dropped in that race, but before I did). Hell, he was the cat 2 state crit champ.
But there was a young Guatemalan on his team who was stronger, at least that's the logic by which I think Tim was making decisions. What he didn't seem to understand was that only playing the Guatemalan card every race, they were giving observant racers the chance to simply sit in, wait for him to go, stick on his wheel like glue and know it's suddenly like you've gained 10 teammates in the field who are going to mark every move that tries to go across to their show pony. This was too predictable, and although I knew this was their plan, I still managed to screw it up for myself by chasing down their early move (which also could have gone, but not the same way Guatemala could, but given the fact that no one else was willing to do the work, I decided I would do it).
However, I digress,
"I'm having a damn asthma...I can't breathe right. Damn...", I said in response. I couldn't really get a coherent thought out, and to be quite honest, I realized half way through my sentence that no one really cared and I should just shut up and ride.
I pulled Tim and I clear of the field, and we started to close on the three riders ahead. I knew Tim wouldn't be pulling through if I showed any weakness, or desire to take a breather, and more than likely, he would take the free ride on my wheel until we were close enough to the break that he knew he could bridge on his own and then, if he was smart, attack right by them. I knew this, because this is exactly what I would have done if I were in his situation.
Predictably, as soon as we were 30 meters from the group, Tim shot underneath me exiting a corner and went right by the group ahead. Not long after, I made contact with the rear of the group, slowed down to take a break and recover for a moment. I knew Tim couldn't make it out much further than he had the few previous times that he'd attacked and I brought him back, so I was confident in letting him sit out to cook for a few minutes.
After a few meters of respite, I began to pull again. There wasn't more than 8 minutes left in the race, according to my cycling computer.
There was another attack. Two guys rolled away, including one of Tim's teammates. This was not good.
I started to pull harder.
The situation stayed status quo for the next few laps as I slowly closed in on what was now the group of three.
I came with 20 meters of them. Two riders behind me jumped across. I stood up, pounded on the pedals and was quickly on the back of the group of five. The field was still behind me.
Two to go.
I looked up going through the first corner and realized the Guatemalan was coming up on my left. He and his compatriot in the break had lapped the field. This changed the situation. Because they'd reintegrated, we were now on the lead lap, just one down, which meant the next time to the line was the finish. We'd just time warped to the bell-lap.
I was sitting seventh wheel, at this point, behind the Guatemalan and the other lap-up rider. The four guys in front of him
accelerated out of a corner, and he let it drift away. I came underneath him and accelerated through the straight to catch, saying as I went by, "If you're going to reintegrate, fine, just don't come back and let gaps open."
Whenever I make statements out of anger in a race it's always what I really feel in that moment, and to be honest, I probably feel the same way all the time, I normally just have enough self-control to keep my opinions to myself. Every now and then, though, when the conditions are right (I'm tired, already mad or frustrated at some situation or maybe even a specific rider), I lose my cool and say something I shouldn't. I always feel badly later for having done it, but it feels good to have done it in the moment. I can think of twice that I've really lost it and put the fear of God in another rider, both juniors actually. (I know, I shouldn't be the old guy yelling at kids, but it just always seems to be the younger racers who take big chances with everyone else's safety or open their mouths up and try to tell me how to ride my bike).
So, with the gap opening, I decide to chase. Why not, right?
Three turns later, I was on their tail, only this time, it had not been a pretty, even effort. They were shooting for the line, 3-6th places still up for grabs and they were trying to hold the gap and take the spoils. As soon as I was on, around came the field of riders I'd been dragging all night. The last two corners are fast, but if you take them with too many riders, not all at the same speed, or with the same ideas about safety when you're in the back of the field, they can be sketchy.
I sat up.
I was out of the top 6, and to be honest, if there aren't either points of money on the line, I could care less about my placing and I'd rather stay out of harms way.
I think I rode across the line either dead last, or close to it. When the field came by, I realized that while I'd been battling it out with five or seven other guys at the front all night, we'd kept the will of almost 20 other riders in check. There were faces in the race I hadn't seen all night, and they looked dog tired.
That felt good.
As we rode around slowly on the course after the race, I listened as other racers gave their accounts of the race.
"Well, I was up in the break, then I blew. But man, was that a spectacular implosion or what?"
"I was trying to help you and attack, but I don't know, I just didn't have it"
"You need to tell your boy (referring to the Guatemalan, that when he hit the field, he had a gap on the other dude with him in the break. If he'd straight gassed it as he came by, he'd have outright taken the win."
I drifted by conversations, missing the fact normally I'd be joking with Curtis or Daniel right now.
"Man, you were riding hard tonight, I was having trouble holding your wheel at some points." came from my left.
I'd been sitting by Tim and one of his teammates, a 3 I'd met on the start line the first day of the Tour of Ohio, and apparently I was now included in their conversation.
"Me and another guy kept taking shots at you all night," Tim quipped.
"Yeah, I noticed." I said.
"What's wrong with your bike?" Tim asked.
I wasn't really sure what the answer to his question was, as there really are a few things that aren't quite perfect, like the shifting or the knocking when I stand up and pedal hard, or the back wheel that's never quite true. I said something about the shifting, and somewhat trailed off mid-sentence.
"You were taking wide lines through the corners. I hadn't see you do that before, I thought it was maybe to compensate for whatever was wrong," Tim said, obviously becoming more uncomfortable expressing his opinion on what my motivations were as he went on with the sentence.
"I thought it was to close off the other lines," chimed in the teammate.
"More to close the lines," I said, which was totally a lie, but I liked the sound of it, so I agreed. Really I'd just taken wider lines so I could pedal into the turn further, pedal through some of them, and pedal out sooner. It wasn't the shortest distance through the corners, but I could take in the most speed and keep it constant through the turn, eliminating the need to jump out of the other side and keeping my efforts smooth. Mostly it was just a function of pacing out my efforts so that I could stay at the front and go longer.
"All that riding in Ohio seems to be paying off in your form. You're definitely going way better today than just the last time you were out." said the 3 teammate.
"Yeah, Ohio was tough. I was tired last time, coming off a long couple of weeks, and I'd trained that morning," I realized I was starting to sound like a dismissive jerk, "thanks though, I feel like I'm going better."
"Thanks for what?"
"The compliment, I'm not, sorry, I'm bad at them," I said, thinking in my mind that maybe I'd rather sound like a douche than a bumbling idiot.
The talking went on for another few minutes, Tim disappeared at some point.
I'm starting to get the feeling he doesn't like me.
I drove home, calling Curtis and my dad, feeling like I'd really done something that night. I'd taken a race, a race when I had no teammates, and done what I'd failed to do at the road race the weekend before: I imposed my will on it. I decided I wanted to bring moves back, asked for and expected no help, and made it happen. I decided I wanted to set the pace, I made that happen. It felt good to have shown I can ride my bike when I want to ride my bike.
The next morning, however, I started to wonder if what I'd really done was just show that I'm not a smart racer. After all, I'd played right into the hands of the other teams tactics, let their main man go and lap the field, then gone so hard that I didn't contest the sprint finish. Maybe instead of taking it as a show of force, people just thought, "Here's a guy dumb enough to sit on the front and do all the work, so why not let him?"
The more I reflected on it, the more I realized I can't control what other people think, and as much as I'd like for them all to know what I was thinking while I was racing, that I knew full well what I was doing each time was counter productive as far as a placing goes, I can't make anyone else understand my motivations than I can theirs.
Maybe they do think I'm stupid, but no one else seemed to want to race their bike, and I'm damn sure not going to pay $10 to go out and sit in a field in a race that matters not one iota for my season. I think I got my $10 worth of fitness, and more importantly, fun.
I'll save the boring racing for a time that it does matter or when I feel like I'm in a situation when I can't afford to make mistakes because the field will spit me out the back if I go too deep at the wrong time.
Maybe it was a good night after all.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Good 'un
Did a 30 minute opener this morning and the legs felt great. Rode straight up the hill, over Temple and Old Natchez like there wasn't a chain on the bike and hit a sprint out on the way home. Hope I didn't do too much, but I didn't ride yesterday, so I wanted to open the legs back up a bit.
Another trip down to LP field tonight, next stop on the Johnathan's confidence recovery road tour.
It's hard to explain how good it is to feel like the legs are coming around, and your form is becoming more consistent. The biggest downfall to feeling great is that sometimes you hit it out too hard because you're feeling good and overcook yourself-ride a little conservative and you can make a little something happen...hopefully.
Another trip down to LP field tonight, next stop on the Johnathan's confidence recovery road tour.
It's hard to explain how good it is to feel like the legs are coming around, and your form is becoming more consistent. The biggest downfall to feeling great is that sometimes you hit it out too hard because you're feeling good and overcook yourself-ride a little conservative and you can make a little something happen...hopefully.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Hooter's Golf
I saw a great article in the Tennessean last week about an upcoming event on the Hooter's Pro Golf Tour to be held locally. The Hooter's tour, in case you're a normal person and know nothing about golf other than that nice, young man Tiger Woods, is like the PGAs AA or single A affiliate.
The article was really more about the players on the tour than it was the event, saying that many of them go into debt to compete for a shot at the 'bigs" of the PGA. Sleeping in your car, spending out of pocket for tourney entry fees, trying to convice a major equipment manufacturer to sponsor you despite your status as a professional nobody-all these things seemed familiar to me.
One anecdote mentioned did pique my attention. One of the vetrans of the tour sells yardage charts to other golfers for $15 a piece. He's been around long enough on the Hooter's Tour that he's charted all the courses-a man of dedication. I can't help but admire his entrepenurial spirit that helps him keep his dream alive/not have to work a real job for another year (although for pro golfers, I think a real job actually consists of resigning yourself to advising 57 year old orthodontists at the Krabgrass Kountry Klub 30 miles west of Tulsa, Oklahoma about how they can improve their swing enough to break 90).
I really believe there is a great book, or series of books, in following athletes on the second or third tier of their sport and profiling the different mentalities that keep them going. Hooter's Golf, minor-league baseball, pramatuer cycling, bowling, arena league football, NBADL, hockey minors, aspiring olympic athletes (maybe aspiring first-timers), semi-pro soccer (although I'm not sure MLS players are exactly living the posh life) and even local nascar series drivers-I think they're stories would be more compelling than the average "born with it" pro-athlete.
The article was really more about the players on the tour than it was the event, saying that many of them go into debt to compete for a shot at the 'bigs" of the PGA. Sleeping in your car, spending out of pocket for tourney entry fees, trying to convice a major equipment manufacturer to sponsor you despite your status as a professional nobody-all these things seemed familiar to me.
One anecdote mentioned did pique my attention. One of the vetrans of the tour sells yardage charts to other golfers for $15 a piece. He's been around long enough on the Hooter's Tour that he's charted all the courses-a man of dedication. I can't help but admire his entrepenurial spirit that helps him keep his dream alive/not have to work a real job for another year (although for pro golfers, I think a real job actually consists of resigning yourself to advising 57 year old orthodontists at the Krabgrass Kountry Klub 30 miles west of Tulsa, Oklahoma about how they can improve their swing enough to break 90).
I really believe there is a great book, or series of books, in following athletes on the second or third tier of their sport and profiling the different mentalities that keep them going. Hooter's Golf, minor-league baseball, pramatuer cycling, bowling, arena league football, NBADL, hockey minors, aspiring olympic athletes (maybe aspiring first-timers), semi-pro soccer (although I'm not sure MLS players are exactly living the posh life) and even local nascar series drivers-I think they're stories would be more compelling than the average "born with it" pro-athlete.
Lesson Learned
I raced in Memphis last weekend. More appropriatly stated, I was in a race in Memphis last weekend. I rode like a teenager trying to sprint to second before his date could object. Moral of the story: When you're in a race of 17 people, none of whom are your teammate, 12 of who are from 2 teams, don't try to ride against them by yourself.
I tried.
Tip 2: When a pro tells you to sit in, the break will come back, you might try doing it-He might know the deal.
TT and Crit were more interesting. I intended to go out and ride the tt easy and ended up a minute off the winning pace for 4 miles. Considering I took no tt equipment, I don't feel too bad. I sat in the crit like a kid throwing a tranrum in the toy isle. I refused to go near the front, minus my one bridging attempt (to the winning break-didn't make it). Came in 8th in the sprint (minus 2 for the riders who lapped the field, so maybe 7th). I have no-repeat, no-sprint right now.
On the upside, I did feel like Sunday I made some signifigant strides to overcome my lately-aquired fear of cornering in crits. I think a few more hours of throwing the bike through turns at break-neck speeds with other ill-advised, but like-minded, individuals and I'll be cured...I hope.
I tried.
Tip 2: When a pro tells you to sit in, the break will come back, you might try doing it-He might know the deal.
TT and Crit were more interesting. I intended to go out and ride the tt easy and ended up a minute off the winning pace for 4 miles. Considering I took no tt equipment, I don't feel too bad. I sat in the crit like a kid throwing a tranrum in the toy isle. I refused to go near the front, minus my one bridging attempt (to the winning break-didn't make it). Came in 8th in the sprint (minus 2 for the riders who lapped the field, so maybe 7th). I have no-repeat, no-sprint right now.
On the upside, I did feel like Sunday I made some signifigant strides to overcome my lately-aquired fear of cornering in crits. I think a few more hours of throwing the bike through turns at break-neck speeds with other ill-advised, but like-minded, individuals and I'll be cured...I hope.
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