2009 has been rough. It started well enough, sitting in an ale house with a few teammates, with our newly sworn in president's inaugural ball in the background. For a change, we were determined to talk about anything except bikes. Good times.
That night, my father woke up with pressure in his chest. Within 18 hours, a small tear in his aorta had, in the doctor's words, "opened up like a zipper" and he was gone.
The following week, I lived in a hotel in Michigan, sorting things out. I spent a lot of time on the exercise bike, sorting my own things out, the only way I knew how. One day I held 350 watts for 30 minutes. My offseason plan peaked then and there, I never matched that feat again.
If you think it's hard to put yourself in the pain cave, imagine that when you get there, the first thing on your mind is, "What exactly is my heart doing right now? Is it good or bad for me?" We all have to suffer loss at one point or another, and we all have to figure out how to get through it. Little by little, I bounced back in different ways; you get through life, and I pushed myself a little harder, without the question marks looking back at me from the heart rate monitor.
You do what you have to do. I raced, a lot. Probably too much. Results weren't really the goal, but at some point, you get tired of discovering all the factors working against you. I'm not young, I'm not a sprinter, I don't have a lot of time, I don't have hills. When cross season comes, I may not win, but I can settle some scores. I'm certainly not a ringer out there, but it's nice to see some top roadies ten, twenty spots behind mine in the results.
I built up a solid cross bike, and for the first time ever, with ten whole speeds to choose from, though I ended up using two or three max. Word gets out that there will be an "Officially Unofficial" single speed cyclocross state championship. I'm thinking about this race more than I'll let anyone know.
I know that no one is owed a win in this world, and I'm lucky to have a fantastic family, great friends, a solid job, some change to spend on candy for the bikes...but god dammit, it's been long enough. I know it's just a little sub-category of a bastard discipline on two wheels, but single speed cyclocross is what I am. I don't want to win. I want to stamp my authority on it, to leave it a race for second, and post up without looking back. Barring that, I don't mind losing to a better man (god knows there are a couple guys lurking out there that can do the job). I just didn't want to fuck it up.
There were two sides of this race. The race report is one, and this is the other.
Monday, October 05, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Campione di Stato!
2009 Illinois State Road Race Championships
I overcooked my road season, completing 26 races by August 1st. I thought I was done, but the late season championship couldn't be missed. Despite little training time, a bike that limped through the end of the season, and cyclocross on the brain, I pulled one more out.
Or should I say two?
With a season that kicked off with four crits in one day, I couldn't help myself, I had to finish it with a pair of 40 mile road races.
Not much to report on a personal note. I didn't do much to prep for this, so I thought I'd just get in and see what happens. As the day got closer, a bunch of teammates were coming out of the woodwork to race the 4s, and I started to wonder if I should save it and just do one? I'd already registered, and I don't have a single DNF in my resume, and I didn't want a DNS.
So, first race: Masters' 30+ 4/5. Slow race, made slower by getting neutralized twice. Lots of complaints in the pack, but a couple of us had called it from the get-go. That's what happens when nobody turns up the heat. I slipped back from the leaders at the foot of the final climb, but stayed in my plan: spin out through 2/3rds of the hill, stand and big ring it for the final kick. It worked, and it got me a lot closer to the contenders, but not among them. 17th.
(In between, we watched Christina get second place in the 4s. Woohoo!)
Next up, cat 4 men. With 7 of us in the mix, we had lots of plans. Or as some WWII General once said, "Plans are useless, planning is indispensable." Stay up front, stay out of trouble, keep a few guys taking turns in the front to keep the pace honest, carry the aegis as the biggest team on the course, and get into position in the miles approaching the final turn. It's not rocket science, but it's one thing to see it on TV, another to pull it off.
I was mostly recovering in the back row, maybe I spent a lap nearing the front, but the final miles had me far from the action. The narrow road, the centerline rule (enforced by the caravan of oncoming 50 mph traffic), and generally having 75 miles in the legs made it impossible for me to be part of the magic, but here's how it went down:
Max was third wheel making the final turn, with no fewer than five teammates in his wake. He did a little kick, then it was on to Daryl, our good luck charm (he rarely gets out since his daughter came along, but he picks good days to do it). Mike took a turn as we came to the midpoint of the hill, no small affair considering he too was doing his second race of the day. Mike get special points for cracking the top ten in the first race AND contributing to the second. After Mike it was down to the final three:
Andrew, Perkins, and Al Pearson, our newest teammate. We can't have two Als, so we christened him Roadhouse. It fits, as he's built like half messenger, half bouncer. It was his first race as a 4, but Perkles was convinced he had the strongest kick, so he was the end of the line.
Unfortunately he touched wheels with Perkins and went down. Hopefully, his nickname won't be Roadrash for long. Andrew heard the carnage and knew he had to hit it, then and there. It was earlier than the spot they marked, but you have to strike while the iron is hot. He goes. Rooster usually doesn't yield an inch of his wheel, but maybe the jump caught him off guard, but he caught back on in a couple seconds. on? ON! and go go go go until there's nothing left in Candles' tank. Andrew starts to fade into the final pitch and Rooster just hammers. I guess his three "big ring" victories at the track last Thursday conditioned him well, because he was gone. He started to fade at the apex, stole a glance to see if a postup was possible...no way, shadow approaching FAST. He dug it out and threw hard to take it by a length.
Man I love this team. Life threw me some curveballs (and hammers, and kitchen sinks) this past year and I countered with 28 races. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it just added to the mix, but even if I turned out to be the only teammate NOT in the train, still, it feels good to be part of this.
The good photo is courtesy of Luke, naturally. The bad ones are courtesy of my phone. Somebody on this team has to start carrying a camera.
I overcooked my road season, completing 26 races by August 1st. I thought I was done, but the late season championship couldn't be missed. Despite little training time, a bike that limped through the end of the season, and cyclocross on the brain, I pulled one more out.
Or should I say two?
With a season that kicked off with four crits in one day, I couldn't help myself, I had to finish it with a pair of 40 mile road races.
Not much to report on a personal note. I didn't do much to prep for this, so I thought I'd just get in and see what happens. As the day got closer, a bunch of teammates were coming out of the woodwork to race the 4s, and I started to wonder if I should save it and just do one? I'd already registered, and I don't have a single DNF in my resume, and I didn't want a DNS.
So, first race: Masters' 30+ 4/5. Slow race, made slower by getting neutralized twice. Lots of complaints in the pack, but a couple of us had called it from the get-go. That's what happens when nobody turns up the heat. I slipped back from the leaders at the foot of the final climb, but stayed in my plan: spin out through 2/3rds of the hill, stand and big ring it for the final kick. It worked, and it got me a lot closer to the contenders, but not among them. 17th.
(In between, we watched Christina get second place in the 4s. Woohoo!)
Next up, cat 4 men. With 7 of us in the mix, we had lots of plans. Or as some WWII General once said, "Plans are useless, planning is indispensable." Stay up front, stay out of trouble, keep a few guys taking turns in the front to keep the pace honest, carry the aegis as the biggest team on the course, and get into position in the miles approaching the final turn. It's not rocket science, but it's one thing to see it on TV, another to pull it off.
I was mostly recovering in the back row, maybe I spent a lap nearing the front, but the final miles had me far from the action. The narrow road, the centerline rule (enforced by the caravan of oncoming 50 mph traffic), and generally having 75 miles in the legs made it impossible for me to be part of the magic, but here's how it went down:
Max was third wheel making the final turn, with no fewer than five teammates in his wake. He did a little kick, then it was on to Daryl, our good luck charm (he rarely gets out since his daughter came along, but he picks good days to do it). Mike took a turn as we came to the midpoint of the hill, no small affair considering he too was doing his second race of the day. Mike get special points for cracking the top ten in the first race AND contributing to the second. After Mike it was down to the final three:
Andrew, Perkins, and Al Pearson, our newest teammate. We can't have two Als, so we christened him Roadhouse. It fits, as he's built like half messenger, half bouncer. It was his first race as a 4, but Perkles was convinced he had the strongest kick, so he was the end of the line.
Unfortunately he touched wheels with Perkins and went down. Hopefully, his nickname won't be Roadrash for long. Andrew heard the carnage and knew he had to hit it, then and there. It was earlier than the spot they marked, but you have to strike while the iron is hot. He goes. Rooster usually doesn't yield an inch of his wheel, but maybe the jump caught him off guard, but he caught back on in a couple seconds. on? ON! and go go go go until there's nothing left in Candles' tank. Andrew starts to fade into the final pitch and Rooster just hammers. I guess his three "big ring" victories at the track last Thursday conditioned him well, because he was gone. He started to fade at the apex, stole a glance to see if a postup was possible...no way, shadow approaching FAST. He dug it out and threw hard to take it by a length.
Man I love this team. Life threw me some curveballs (and hammers, and kitchen sinks) this past year and I countered with 28 races. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it just added to the mix, but even if I turned out to be the only teammate NOT in the train, still, it feels good to be part of this.
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The good photo is courtesy of Luke, naturally. The bad ones are courtesy of my phone. Somebody on this team has to start carrying a camera.
Monday, August 03, 2009
at least somebody in the family's getting a podium finish this summer
Ella competed in the South Shore Tri-Masters Triathlon this past weekend. It's a fun one. Totally relaxed, with an emphasis on introducing urban kids to the sport, so the high strung "stage parents" aren't as prevalent.This was Ella's fifth triathlon. One of my favorite parts of watching them is that, after the first couple events, you're completely out of the picture. Soccer, you're there, and you try not to be a lunatic on the sideline (some don't bother trying), but at halftime you sneak over and give her some tips. Swimming...less so, but you're there, and you can still follow up after the fact. With a triathlon, you really have to let go, and it can be tough. It doesn't escape me that this is a metaphor big enough to beat you over the head with: I've done my job, I have to let go, I can't hold her hand or talk her through it, and I can't keep the haters from trying to bring her down.
I've seen little shits (always boys) looking back over their shoulders, trying to block anyone from passing them, threatening to cause a pileup of bikes. I suspect she enjoys being out of sight for the same reasons, an escape from the threat of instruction. I'm not the most experienced triathlete, but what can you do? You look at the map, you talk through the whole thing, thinking about it, visualizing it, and you help her get her crap to the transition area. Then you go to the beach and dance.
There's always music, an emcee, a bunch of nervous kids, and depending on the venue, a healthy cadre of ubercoach parents. Somewhere along the way, I told her it's a rule you have to dance before the start. It works, though she usually stomps on my feet or flings sand at me instead.
They're off and she's in the front row of 30 girls. She's out of the water 9th, slips through to nip a spot in the run to T1, then about 6th to begin the bike. Only a handful of girls have proper road bikes, and these are her only real competition: 905 is out first on the bike by a long way. 931, her teammate, is a spot or two back, but she's crying and looking around for somebody. She doesn't find them but it doesn't stop her from motoring away on the bike. Another road biker, a couple of bmx-ers (one of them is HUGE, she looks 12!) then Ella. I call out "three road bikes ahead of you!" and my coaching job is done.
She finishes up the bike in almost the same place. She's a long way back from third, so I figure she's out of the medals. The run is only a 1/4 mile, and I didn't think she could make up the ground. Even worse, the amazon girl on the bmx bike should be long gone, but she's right behind Ella! Ella's not exactly lightning in any one discipline, and this girl could pass her in three strides. I see them start the run, and it looks like my worries are unfounded. Ella starts to turn over rapid little rabbit steps, and bmx girl takes giant slow bounds, getting slower already. Off they go.
We wait in the final 50 meters and 905 comes in way ahead of any other girls. 931 has put her tears behind her, and is still in second. Is it possible that Ella ran her way into a medal? She comes in, still kicking hard, and just ahead of her is a boy half a head taller than her. He's looking back and pinning her into the boards; he won't let her pass. She slips through, he counters, they're bumping elbows 10 meters from the finish. She surges through again, and...he can't hang on! He fades and she pushes on through the line. I may not be able to see the whole thing, but I love the parts that I do get to see.
We weren't sure how she did, but sure enough, they called her up for a medal: female 7-10 years old overall (and she's only 9.) She was beside herself, but at the same time, on the way home: "I'm gonna win it next year."
Stay tuned. I promise we'll have a camera by then.
Friday, July 31, 2009
this is for my souljas
The last day before my self-imposed month off, and I'm racing a Wednesday night. I was more excited about the Tokyo Drift League cars setting up for their competition. I have a little malaise at this point, and I was feeling like a training session, not a race or two. Hence the upcoming race vacation.
Seconds into it, a solo xXxer off the front with 3 teammates sitting up at the front. Puh-lease. I chase, but not too ferociously, just stretching it out, maybe 3-4 of us can get up there without too much effort and we'll witness the rarest of birds: a cat 4 breakaway in a 2009 crit. Nah.
You can always count on some fool to reel it back in, and that fool was me. I knew it and it didn't really bother me, and I was experimenting with the "controlled burn" - taking my sweet time without having to jump or hammer. Turns out I spent 9 minutes doing this...uh, that's not part of the plan. Guys were hanging out behind me, then jumping up to the break. Hm, clever, but not on my part. Finally, with 8 up there, and not much gap, I closed the last gap. If one good thing came out of this, it was that the field was neatly split in two. They weren't pulling lapped riders, so at least they all got to stay in their own little B group.
Fast forward to the end: I maintained a top tennish spot, then a couple preme attacks go off. Lou Kuhn and Ben Popper are at the front, and when Lou goes with 2 to go, Ben says "Go for it Lou!" Uh oh...is there some cyclocross brethren pseudo-teamwork going on here? Dangerous. I can't tell if Ben's sitting up, and half a lap goes by. I am NOT pulling again, so I wait. A guy with a hammer and sickle calf tattoo chases (I see this guy everywhere, I have to figure out his name one day) and I'm on his wheel.
We catch Lou, but now there's less than a lap to go. We're on the back stretch. Hammer and sickle realizes he's in the worst spot: the front. He looks back and slows up. No way. I'm not leadiing out anyone to the line. I probably should have jumped, but instead I wait for someone else to do it and insert myself somewhere. A few spots further back than I'd like, but whatever. We hit the corner and all pretty much maintain position through the bends. No room for a proper sprint, so I hang on for 6th, maybe 7th.
Back at it minutes later, my "last" crit of the season, and one lap in I flat. I'm slightly relieved for a second, but I've never DNF'ed in my life and I'm not starting now. Lew gets me back in, I chase on, grab a few spots here and there. My plans to work for Max and (new teammate) Al "Roadhouse" Pearson go into the can.With 4-5 to go I make a big move to get into the top ten and some dippy lapped rider goes off to the right (as instructed), but not by very much. So, is he continuing to fade to the right, and will he pinch me out? or do I be a total ass and blast through the narrow gap between him and the pack? I should have done that, but one little lean into the next turn and he'd have boxed me in at speed. This is why they usually pull lapped riders. This race was filled with them.
So I lose all my spots and that's about it for me. Pack finish. On to a month or so of race-free living.
Seconds into it, a solo xXxer off the front with 3 teammates sitting up at the front. Puh-lease. I chase, but not too ferociously, just stretching it out, maybe 3-4 of us can get up there without too much effort and we'll witness the rarest of birds: a cat 4 breakaway in a 2009 crit. Nah.
You can always count on some fool to reel it back in, and that fool was me. I knew it and it didn't really bother me, and I was experimenting with the "controlled burn" - taking my sweet time without having to jump or hammer. Turns out I spent 9 minutes doing this...uh, that's not part of the plan. Guys were hanging out behind me, then jumping up to the break. Hm, clever, but not on my part. Finally, with 8 up there, and not much gap, I closed the last gap. If one good thing came out of this, it was that the field was neatly split in two. They weren't pulling lapped riders, so at least they all got to stay in their own little B group.
Fast forward to the end: I maintained a top tennish spot, then a couple preme attacks go off. Lou Kuhn and Ben Popper are at the front, and when Lou goes with 2 to go, Ben says "Go for it Lou!" Uh oh...is there some cyclocross brethren pseudo-teamwork going on here? Dangerous. I can't tell if Ben's sitting up, and half a lap goes by. I am NOT pulling again, so I wait. A guy with a hammer and sickle calf tattoo chases (I see this guy everywhere, I have to figure out his name one day) and I'm on his wheel.
We catch Lou, but now there's less than a lap to go. We're on the back stretch. Hammer and sickle realizes he's in the worst spot: the front. He looks back and slows up. No way. I'm not leadiing out anyone to the line. I probably should have jumped, but instead I wait for someone else to do it and insert myself somewhere. A few spots further back than I'd like, but whatever. We hit the corner and all pretty much maintain position through the bends. No room for a proper sprint, so I hang on for 6th, maybe 7th.
Back at it minutes later, my "last" crit of the season, and one lap in I flat. I'm slightly relieved for a second, but I've never DNF'ed in my life and I'm not starting now. Lew gets me back in, I chase on, grab a few spots here and there. My plans to work for Max and (new teammate) Al "Roadhouse" Pearson go into the can.With 4-5 to go I make a big move to get into the top ten and some dippy lapped rider goes off to the right (as instructed), but not by very much. So, is he continuing to fade to the right, and will he pinch me out? or do I be a total ass and blast through the narrow gap between him and the pack? I should have done that, but one little lean into the next turn and he'd have boxed me in at speed. This is why they usually pull lapped riders. This race was filled with them.
So I lose all my spots and that's about it for me. Pack finish. On to a month or so of race-free living.
Monday, July 27, 2009
ChiCrit
I'm totally disenchanted with crits at this point in the summer, but it's hard not to love this one. Fast and wide, nowhere to hide. All the luxuries of big ticket bike race, so what if it's largely staged to sell our Olympic-hosting capabilities.
Cat 4 starts fast and never lets up. I heard there were rider/pavement incidents but I didn't see any, and thankfully I wasn't involved. Other than picking a line through the 3 manholes on turn 7, I'm not sure why, there was plenty of room everywhere. I suppose people are always capable of going where they don't fit. Pack finish.
Masters' 35+ 4/5: Slower pace, but at least it leaves me feeling like a bike racer and not pack fodder. Hanging out in the top 10, Brean pops up and I'm thinking leadout to the end? - A little early, maybe leadout for preme cash? He takes off (between preme laps, huh?) and the pack picks up with a bit of urgency. Turns out he mis-heard the announcer on lap counts. I lose positions, but on the next lap I go for the second spot in a two place preme. Whole Foods gift certificate...I really can buy groceries with this one, so I go for it.
The top spot is long gone, but a xXx Brian and I go head to head and he takes it. Ah well, I nipped him for a preme at Super Crit, so I guess we're even. The preme winner is dangerously off the front with two to go. This is not a course built for blocking, but of course xXx have the numbers, so you never know. No one's having it, and we start to pull it back.
Not quick enough for my taste, so I decide to personally bring this one in, knowing full well it will cost me in the finish. I couldn't see who it was, but they have a couple guys who can do 4 minutes off the front, and I'm not gonna let that happen today. Brean has way more kick in the finish anyway, so I don't mind. It turned out to be an easy catch, but sure enough, the pace picks up and I'm pack-swimming into the finish again. At least this one left me feeling a little more like a shark, and a lot less like a bucket of chum.
Cat 4 starts fast and never lets up. I heard there were rider/pavement incidents but I didn't see any, and thankfully I wasn't involved. Other than picking a line through the 3 manholes on turn 7, I'm not sure why, there was plenty of room everywhere. I suppose people are always capable of going where they don't fit. Pack finish.
Masters' 35+ 4/5: Slower pace, but at least it leaves me feeling like a bike racer and not pack fodder. Hanging out in the top 10, Brean pops up and I'm thinking leadout to the end? - A little early, maybe leadout for preme cash? He takes off (between preme laps, huh?) and the pack picks up with a bit of urgency. Turns out he mis-heard the announcer on lap counts. I lose positions, but on the next lap I go for the second spot in a two place preme. Whole Foods gift certificate...I really can buy groceries with this one, so I go for it.
The top spot is long gone, but a xXx Brian and I go head to head and he takes it. Ah well, I nipped him for a preme at Super Crit, so I guess we're even. The preme winner is dangerously off the front with two to go. This is not a course built for blocking, but of course xXx have the numbers, so you never know. No one's having it, and we start to pull it back.
Not quick enough for my taste, so I decide to personally bring this one in, knowing full well it will cost me in the finish. I couldn't see who it was, but they have a couple guys who can do 4 minutes off the front, and I'm not gonna let that happen today. Brean has way more kick in the finish anyway, so I don't mind. It turned out to be an easy catch, but sure enough, the pace picks up and I'm pack-swimming into the finish again. At least this one left me feeling a little more like a shark, and a lot less like a bucket of chum.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Superweek: Evanston
Not much to report here. The circuit proved to be a bit less treacherous this year, but they still didn't get the mattresses over the rail at BK until after the first nasty crash of the day.
The 4/5s had been steadily shedding riders, and the core group seemed pretty solid. I wasn't coming into this race looking to shine. The fam was there, my wife was nervous, having picked me up from the hospital more than a few times. Normally I like a technical circuit, but I could smell desperation in the late laps.
Sure enough, the last lap through turn five, all hell. A couple bodies were already on the curb when I saw a rider endo into them. He landed on the pile and his bike cartwheeled up over them all. A couple riders tried to squeak by but spilled out into the road. I just made it through to finish 7th. Two paydays in one week...Too bad a couple of those spots were at the expense of racers on the ground. (2CC, maybe SCW?) I did see what looked like a Zipp 808 broken at two places on the rim. That's a lot of carbon fiber to be snapping under force, hopefully the guy laid out is up and about.
Cat 4 minutes later, I found a spot at the back and just stayed out of trouble. At one point I found Mike in front of me, and I got the idea to pull him up to the front before fading into oblivion. By the time I got into position to tell him the plan, there were two to go. Perfect! The pack surged, sagged, and we shot up the side. Not the side we wanted, but the clock was ticking.
There wasn't any room for him to pass me, and for an instant I thought maybe I could keep this leadout going a bit longer, try to sustain it through the final lap. Unfortunately a crash late in the straightaway send the pack overflowing onto our side...and we were back to our middle-to-back pack position, 28th for me. Oh well, at least I got to look like a competent bike racer there for a second. Frankly that race was clocked at 32 for a few laps, and I wasn't expecting to go the distance.
Ella suited up for a similar race; the 8-9 year olds did half a lap, and actually got to experience the BK Stacker. She was a bit nervous at the start, and a crash sent half her pack tiptoe-ing through the bodies as well, but she made it unscathed. Maybe 17th, 3rd female? Not bad for the first run of the summer.
At Evanston, the #1 goal is to stay upright, so it was a few wins in that regard.
The 4/5s had been steadily shedding riders, and the core group seemed pretty solid. I wasn't coming into this race looking to shine. The fam was there, my wife was nervous, having picked me up from the hospital more than a few times. Normally I like a technical circuit, but I could smell desperation in the late laps.
Sure enough, the last lap through turn five, all hell. A couple bodies were already on the curb when I saw a rider endo into them. He landed on the pile and his bike cartwheeled up over them all. A couple riders tried to squeak by but spilled out into the road. I just made it through to finish 7th. Two paydays in one week...Too bad a couple of those spots were at the expense of racers on the ground. (2CC, maybe SCW?) I did see what looked like a Zipp 808 broken at two places on the rim. That's a lot of carbon fiber to be snapping under force, hopefully the guy laid out is up and about.
Cat 4 minutes later, I found a spot at the back and just stayed out of trouble. At one point I found Mike in front of me, and I got the idea to pull him up to the front before fading into oblivion. By the time I got into position to tell him the plan, there were two to go. Perfect! The pack surged, sagged, and we shot up the side. Not the side we wanted, but the clock was ticking.
There wasn't any room for him to pass me, and for an instant I thought maybe I could keep this leadout going a bit longer, try to sustain it through the final lap. Unfortunately a crash late in the straightaway send the pack overflowing onto our side...and we were back to our middle-to-back pack position, 28th for me. Oh well, at least I got to look like a competent bike racer there for a second. Frankly that race was clocked at 32 for a few laps, and I wasn't expecting to go the distance.
Ella suited up for a similar race; the 8-9 year olds did half a lap, and actually got to experience the BK Stacker. She was a bit nervous at the start, and a crash sent half her pack tiptoe-ing through the bodies as well, but she made it unscathed. Maybe 17th, 3rd female? Not bad for the first run of the summer.
At Evanston, the #1 goal is to stay upright, so it was a few wins in that regard.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Superweek, continued: Holy Hill
Last year my chain skipped with every shift and I blame my 34th place on that, but really I was underprepared for such hills. Not to say I was any better this year, but I hoped that Snake Alley, Blue Mounds and Fox River Grove would count for something.
Lap 1: I feel ok, stay up front, out of trouble. Some junior goes off the front and no one cares but he's caught after 3/4 of a lap.
Lap 2: I see a lot of faders up the hill, so I attack over the top. I know it's easy to catch an escapee on a downhill, but I thought if a xXxer and 4-5 of us got away, we'd have blockers. No one responds. I keep a gap on the eastbound leg, but let myself get caught. For the next 5 miles, I press the pace, get hung out in the crosswind, and take too many pulls...the pack stretches out but no one lets a break happen. On the feed zone hill, my efforts catch up with me, I take it in the wrong gear and get swarmed and start to bonk. Shit. I barely keep pace up the hill, but the pace is steady, so I'm still in the pack.
Lap 3: Trying not to burn matches. Trying to recover, but really just drifting towards the tail end. The junior keeps attacking, but nobody ever goes with him, and nobody really panics, so he eventually comes back in.
Lap 4: More of the same. I keep thinking I feel like shit, and I'm gonna die on the hill, and I have to do it 2 more times. I make it over. I'm at the back, better to find spots to hide from crosswinds.
Lap 5: I'm the last guy in the pack...for the entire lap. 2, 3, 5 guys slip off, I leapfrog them to rejoin. Repeatedly. I'm thinking I'm fucked. The pack has gone from 60 to 40 but I'm still on. The follow car is right behind me, about to pass. At some point xXx Liam is off the front? Textbook xXx, but not my problem right now. The pace has been pretty solid, but nobody's panicking and the blocking doesn't seem to work. He's back in after a couple miles.
We hit the hill for the last time, and I'm waiting for the blitzkrieg. Everybody's dying and I just thank the fucking stars that I didn't get dropped 3 laps in like last year. I don't want to get stuck in a packlet of droppees, so I bury it and go from 40th to 30th. Over the top, again, I'm waiting for the blitz, but it's pretty limp. Everyone's dead. I hammer and get 5 more spots, make the turn, 5 more spots. We make the turn to the finish. I'm in 20th and there's a sprint in the distance that's not for me. I build speed for 300 meters up the hill and get 10 more spots. I finish 10th. It's not a W, but given the situation, fine with me!
The junior won it, and he deserved it, if only for the fact that I wish more people would race as aggressively as he did. Turns out his limited gearing was probably perfect for a climbing sprint. Note to self, when reporting results, it helps to know who the winner is. Oops.
The kids won't let me live it down when I don't win a little something for them, so the cheese castle kept some of my paycheck. Vive la road! Next year, less crits and more of this.
Lap 1: I feel ok, stay up front, out of trouble. Some junior goes off the front and no one cares but he's caught after 3/4 of a lap.
Lap 2: I see a lot of faders up the hill, so I attack over the top. I know it's easy to catch an escapee on a downhill, but I thought if a xXxer and 4-5 of us got away, we'd have blockers. No one responds. I keep a gap on the eastbound leg, but let myself get caught. For the next 5 miles, I press the pace, get hung out in the crosswind, and take too many pulls...the pack stretches out but no one lets a break happen. On the feed zone hill, my efforts catch up with me, I take it in the wrong gear and get swarmed and start to bonk. Shit. I barely keep pace up the hill, but the pace is steady, so I'm still in the pack.
Lap 3: Trying not to burn matches. Trying to recover, but really just drifting towards the tail end. The junior keeps attacking, but nobody ever goes with him, and nobody really panics, so he eventually comes back in.
Lap 4: More of the same. I keep thinking I feel like shit, and I'm gonna die on the hill, and I have to do it 2 more times. I make it over. I'm at the back, better to find spots to hide from crosswinds.
Lap 5: I'm the last guy in the pack...for the entire lap. 2, 3, 5 guys slip off, I leapfrog them to rejoin. Repeatedly. I'm thinking I'm fucked. The pack has gone from 60 to 40 but I'm still on. The follow car is right behind me, about to pass. At some point xXx Liam is off the front? Textbook xXx, but not my problem right now. The pace has been pretty solid, but nobody's panicking and the blocking doesn't seem to work. He's back in after a couple miles.
We hit the hill for the last time, and I'm waiting for the blitzkrieg. Everybody's dying and I just thank the fucking stars that I didn't get dropped 3 laps in like last year. I don't want to get stuck in a packlet of droppees, so I bury it and go from 40th to 30th. Over the top, again, I'm waiting for the blitz, but it's pretty limp. Everyone's dead. I hammer and get 5 more spots, make the turn, 5 more spots. We make the turn to the finish. I'm in 20th and there's a sprint in the distance that's not for me. I build speed for 300 meters up the hill and get 10 more spots. I finish 10th. It's not a W, but given the situation, fine with me!
The junior won it, and he deserved it, if only for the fact that I wish more people would race as aggressively as he did. Turns out his limited gearing was probably perfect for a climbing sprint. Note to self, when reporting results, it helps to know who the winner is. Oops.
The kids won't let me live it down when I don't win a little something for them, so the cheese castle kept some of my paycheck. Vive la road! Next year, less crits and more of this.
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