2009 in a nutshell

Finishin Kevin's training crit at top speed, in the dark
The "four-peat" at Supercrit
Clawing back to the pack in Hillsboro
Hearing my name chanted up the hill at Snake Alley
Track debut: A hella bridge to the leaders at Kenosha, not much else
Top ten at Fox River Grove
How many thousands of feet of climbing at Blue Mounds?
9 laps solo in Sheboygan, caught on the bell lap
Top tens at Evanston and Holy Hill
Crashing and finishing at Arlington Heights
Several forgettable crits
Chasing down the break at Soldier Field
Trying in vain to create a break at Soldier Field
Five lanes wide at the Chicago Crit
Foolishly doubling up at the Road State Championships
New cross bike, crappy finish at Jackson Park
First win: Single Speed Cyclocross State Champ!
Top ten for my "birthday race" at Carpentersville
Indian Head: hot tub, karaoke, racing hungover, totally worth it
State CX Champs: pancakes, beer, grillables, Jordan, top ten finish, Bradley's faceplant, too many friends to say goodbye to.

123 days until Hillsboro.

Sometimes a race is more than a race.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Superweek: Arlington Heights

Cat 4/5: 20th.

Masters' 4/5: I met Dr. Steve, courtesy of a seam of uneven pavement on the far right side of turn eight. Nonetheless, I finished.

I had a fantastic Italian beef sandwich and lemon ice from Johnnie's.

Soldiering On

Soldier Field Series, Race #2, 1 July

Totally not feeling the race vibe...Wednesday night. huh? I didn't even get caffeinated for this one. This is why I never get jazzed to go to the track either.

Get there in time to root for Christina. Molly's out with a little bump and run from work. Christina has a good spot after the back stretch, but Jeannette Rho from French Bulldogs came wide around her and grabbed the win.

Barely warm up, still don't feel the vibe but fortunately it kicked in by lap 3. Waitlisted, pinned up seconds before rollout, back row start. How am I going to get up there in all these curves? Find a secret slot in each lap and grab spots, the pace thins out the field and I'm sitting top 5.

Michael Young and maybe Liam? from xXx were up front. I was convinced they would try a punch/counterpunch with every escape attempt, so I sat in at third wheel and covered every one of their launches. At one point, there were 4-5 of us stretching the pace, I put in a solid dig, and we just about had a gap, but each of these guys didn't seem to facilitate the other getting away. Maybe they don't have a plan after all? Granted the 50 foot wide backstretch wasn't conducive to blocking.

It was raining burrito primes, and I wasn't hungry. Sitting in second for a few of them, little goes off and nothing sticks. Brean up there, second in a prime, maybe they'll slip away, but again, nobody wants to escape, they just seem to be looking for burritos instead of securing a spot in the top 5.

I realize with a few to go that we're destined for a bunch gallop at the line, so I back off. They start throwing burrito primes every lap, two and three deep, and this brings out the piranhas. Still no effort to get away on anyone's part. We're all eyeing each other and nobody gets out the shovel to dig.

One guy in third wheel slides out on the final lap, going into the straight, but amazingly no one goes with him. Usually a half lap before the line I'm going backwards on account of riding aggressively all race, but this time...not so much. Not a bad feeling, but still not in a great position to contend for the podium, so I just focus on staying out of trouble. The last couple corners always bring out the bozos, and I'm not about to eat shit in a battle for 8th. Still had a bit of kick left in my legs after the final turn (also a new feeling) but it's a short stretch and there's a wall of faders in front of me, so I thread the needle for 13th. eh. Not too disappionted about it, since I just came to ride aggressively and press the legs. Mission Accomplished.

Brean gets 11th, but he is banged up, so he's ok with that. Courier/cat fiver Al "Roadhouse" Pearson gets 6th, racing in a PBR t-shirt after putting in a day's work. I like that. His third top ten in four races.

Tequila girls (no samples though), a free t-shirt, zero dollars in gas money. Not a bad race, considering it was a parking lot. Say what you may about the Olympic effort, at least it's making the city play nice when it comes to throwing sporting events.

escape from sheboygan

1 x 4 blocks, nothing thrilling, but at least they were 50 minute races.

The 4/5s was small and didn't get started fast. My legs are hinky from all those climbs last week, so I'm not sure about my sprint. 3 laps in, prime was announced and I decide to try it out and got outgunned big time. So I lurked and attacked after the prime...but no takers, they let me go.

It was 12 minutes into a 50 minute race. oops...

I went with it for 10 laps, and had almost a half lap at one point. I thought if I could get out of sight, some panic attacks might fly off, but with 4 long blocks to spot me, no chance.

Some 'sconnie ladies were screaming CUTTIN' CREW and the announcer mangled my name 17 different ways. Everybody could see I was fading so decided to sit up...but I still had 200 meters on the field and they rang the bell for a $40 prime so I decided to go for one more. I won it, but three guys went for it and were up with me. Finally! A bony 17 year old lookin' dude, a Gear Grinder, and a guy a bit labored by the bridge.

I sat in and let them pull for a couple but one of them was little help and another faded after a couple laps. They rang the bell for a prime and the skinny kid goes for it and none of us can match him...I don't have many matches left, and I don't want to burn one on a prime, as I'm thinking we'll all pull back together and keep this thing out.

He goes and never comes back.

How ironic; the same logic I used to escape ("he's just going for the prime") was used to escape me.

I'd been out solo for 20 minutes, then 15 more with an undergunned break, and I'm destroyed. We are the wrong guys for the job. I end up doing half-lap pulls into the wind myself because nobody else has staying power, but I don't have the speed. The field has assembled a chase and we're doomed. Caught with one to go. 22nd. I only beat my breakmates and the skinny kid wins.

Masters: Hurry up and slow down. Despite only having a ten minute rest, I felt surprisingly ok because the pace was slow. I lurk on the front, thinking someone might make a break happen. Geargrinder had like seven guys in the field but they were attacking each other. huh? They could have owned this race. Team Xtreme had 3-4 guys and if they both put someone in the break, literally half the remaing field would be blocking. I felt like there was a prime every three laps, but they all just slowed up after. The crazy thing is, this one guy got almost every one of them. He pulled in like $150! Why didn't they have all those when I was out all that time? Maybe because this race was dull and the table had to do something to fan the racing flames. twentysomethingth place.

In retrospect, I realize that's why they didn't put any out there while I was attacking...maybe it was a better race...they let it race unfold, and just as I wilt...THEN run a prime. Thanks, guys, I could have used it a few laps earlier!

But hey, Sheboygan knows who the cuttin' crew is now. and 40 bucks is 40 bucks. and I listened to 3 hours of Michael Jackson on the way home. Hooooooo!

Up, Down, Repeat

I seem to be climbing a lot of hills for a flatlander.

Despite the raucous crowd that comes with Snake Alley, Fox River Grove is more of a real crit and less of a sideshow attraction. You have a steep section, two stairsteps, a wide open downhill to attack while everyone's recovering, and a number of corners that you can take as hard as you can manage, after the traffic thins out. So many places to attack and be attacked.

The family came out for this one, and despite the, uh, logistical delays that come with that, I made it to line with all but a warmup.

I put it all in the first race, the Masters' 4/5s. To be more specific, I kept an eye on the lead group as best I could, tried to keep the HR under control, often losing plenty of spots spinning up the climb, and I attacked once on the climb mid-race when I sensed my group was reeling. That netted me a good 6-8 spots, and lifting the pace near the top got a few more here and there.

Other than losing sight of the leaders (not entirely unexpected), I managed to execute my one plan: on the final climb, shift two cogs up and pour on the power. Another 4-5 spots here, then caught 2-3 guys over the top. My teammate Mike was off in the distance, and had it been anyone else, I'd have mounted a stiffer chase. I was afraid I'd drag my two chasers right up to him in the final seconds of the race, so I hesitated a bit. I ended up ditching them and sprinting it out with him. He took 7th.

On Father's Day, my first without one, I finished 8th. His birthday was 8/8. Numbers are funny things, they let you see things where they might not be.

U-turn, hyperventilate, drink, gu up, take a gypsy shower, rip off a number and back at it. I'm starting to perversely enjoy this back-to-back crit routine. My teammates make me feel like I've got a pit crew.

The 4/5s: I was a little bummed to hear they'd be aggressively pulling lapped riders. I don't have a single DNF on my resume, and I don't want one today. I start easy, letting the leaders ride off, and I'm left with a quiet battle with my heart rate. I gain and lose spots. I have no idea where I finished.

But the best part of the day was, of course, having the fam on hand. I didn't have to drag them across the state, no soccer games, no birthday parties, just Supermom and the kids walking the course, cheering me on here and there. My favorite souvenir is the hand-painted sign: Go Dad Neurohr!

Race of the Future

A couple TdFs back, I remember hearing the Versus commercials with the sound bite, "This isn't a bike race, it's a death march." That was running inside my head for Blue Mound, candidate for the 2016 Olympic road course. Welcome to the Queen's stage of the Tour of America's Dairyland.

I've had some horrible experiences on a bike over the years:
-stomping both feet ankle deep in icewater before riding through 20 degree temps, having to cut my icy shoelaces to get out of my shoes
-riding 130 hilly miles on a touring leg alone on a loaded bike, with a jar of nutella and no money
-riding to work with a windchill of -30, truly scared my extremities wouldn't make it without damage
-doing a 200km brevet on a fixed gear, 20mm tires, a carbon saddle, and zero training miles

Simply put, Blue Mound put them all to shame.

Lap one, cat 4/5, 50 starters. We take it easy, unsure of what lies ahead. Bomb through the downhills at 45+. At the first climb, the field shatters wide open.

Mike's in the lead group of 8 and they get a gap. I have no long road sessions and zero hill miles in my legs (I don't think Snake Alley really counts), so I'm lagging. With a lot of room to aggressively corner on the descents, I recover a few spots to find myself time trialing in 12th or so. My group of four is cooked. I either have to pull at 21mph or sit in at 19. I can't bring myself to sit in. We have yet to hit the real hill.

We hit the hill and hell begins in earnest. I can't tell you what really happened for a number of miles. My computer had inexplicably rebooted so I had no idea what mile we were on, and I'm not sure I wanted to know. We don't so much climb as scrape our souls up the pavement.

Match the riders ahead of you and you risk bonking with miles to go. Space out too much and find yourself alone. Nothing to do but just focus on the front wheel and my HR...161...175...somewhere in between... Looking ahead is a mistake, nothing but climb. Is that the last turn before the topout? Even the cheering fans on the hills are solemn. Cat 3s and women litter the course, some are retiring already. We are less than halfway into this race.

Rollers, we recover. We pick up Adam. He's been somewhere in the top ten, but now faded back to us. He hasn't trained much this spring, and hasn't raced at all. He rode a thousand miles around Lake Michigan in under two weeks, took a single rest day and suited up for this race. He's in the pack with us.

Again I pull too much, but I try to ease up a little more this time. We come together, maybe 10th-18th, we've picked up a few from behind us. No one's pushing it. I put in a few weak digs to thin the pack, but it doesn't thin as much as I'd hoped. We enjoy 50 mph on eight miles of downhills, but the hills come too soon. A couple go off the front, a couple off the back, none to be seen again. I'm in with three others, and we approach the mid-lap climb. One ditches us.

And on. We pick up Mike. This is not a good sign. He's a climber, suited for endurance races. This should be his day. He's been dropped by the lead group. Turns out his biggest cog is only a 23, and his legs are failing. He asks if I have a 25, and I consider giving him my wheel, but the fact is, it's been misbehaving, the chain twinkling on the spokes while torquing in my climbing gear...which is most of this race. I'm afraid stopping to swap wheels would mean the end of the day for both of us.

The penultimate climb comes. Can't remember from the map...one, two, three miles long? I am just mindlessly chewing up rpms now. I'm third of four in our group. Mike is out ahead, but cutting diagonals across the course. Red/white tails him, then me. Chronometro behind me. He'd told me he didn't have many matches left, but I keep waiting for him to pass me like everyone else has.

Mike pulls off and dismounts. I approach the feed zone, still on the climb, but after all this, it feels like a flat. Shift and hammer. I put away chronometro for good. Red/white is out ahead but pretty far. We approach the turn for the finish. He's probably written me off, and he's chasing Kristen from BH and another woman. They've been trading spots with us for a five miles. Sometimes they're so relaxed they look like they're on a cooldown ride; other times they bury us.

I downshift and go hard on the final pitch. Twenty meters separates me from red/white, then fifteen, but he sees me and my chance is gone. A little dig and he's on the flat, 150 meters to the line, and rides away.

I finish fifteenth. As always, I have to pat myself on the back with the "little" victories: Chronometro lives in the area, and has trained here a lot, and I still held him off. Nearly half the field abandoned, not to mention half the cat 3 field as well. Still, it stings to know I was riding inside the top ten for a spell.

Mike remounted and finished 19th. Al "I'm not much of a climber" Urbanski finished 6th in the 3s, but to be honest, at this point the only way Al could surprise us would be by sprouting wings. But the out-of-nowhere hero finish of the day belongs to Adam Clark: after a rather unorthodox training strategy, fading and recovering, he finished 7th!

Hero.

Best Day Ever (on 2 wheels)

One year ago this weekend I unpacked my first proper geared road bike, and this year I was in the Tour de France. Sorta.

Snake Alley, 2009
Sometimes life ties you up. No racing for the last 6 weeks, and not a lot of training miles either (not to mention there are no Snake-like hills in these parts). Couple that with the fact that I haven't been built like a manorexic climber since age 23 or so, and let's just say I didn't have high hopes for Snake Alley. What can you do? There are no real tactics, it's just...go hard, climb, bomb the downhill, pedal through a few turns, repeat. Try not to bonk.

I mostly raced about 1% inside my red zone, which was the plan, but I finished two spots out of the money in 17th, whatev. Max had a mechanical and Mike finished in 8th. His magic climbing beans are continuing to pay off this year. (Molly cramped, toppled, rubbed it out and got back in, and in the 3s, Al worked his way from 45th to 12th, 8 of those spots on the last lap.)

So if you're not going to be a factor in a race, I figured, you may as well not be a factor in two. It's a long drive for only 40 minutes of racing. While it's not uncommon to double up, it's not something that a lot of people do at Snake Alley, save maybe the Masters/Pros looking for another paycheck. And they generally don't do it back to back.

So minutes after my race, the Masters are cued up, looking especially sparkling and fresh, and I'm dumping ice water over my head and trying to control the hyperventilation. I get to the line looking like hell...well, let's just say it's not pretty. The whistle goes and I'm off the back. Whatev.

So here's where the day starts to get fun. On my next trip up the snake, amid a few comments of "that guy's already dropped on the first lap? ouch"...I get to the Cuttin' Crew's Couch Corner, ride through a row of high fives, maybe pull a wheelie for a microsecond, and the Crew is going nuts. Within a couple laps, about three switchbacks full of fans are in on the fact that I'm rolling back to back races, and they are pouring it on.

If you've never heard a deafening crowd chanting "A-VI! A-VI! A-VI!" You should try it sometime, with your own name, of course. I was laughing out loud at how ridiculous it was, throwing wheelies when they called for them. I had fans inches from my face, yelling GET UP THERE and a guy in antlers with a flag running me over the crest. In short order I was lapped by the leaders, and I wonder what they must have thought as they were climbing the hill, and the crowd was going insane for...who? Somebody later told me you could hear it from the start/finish, three blocks away.

What to say about this? 22 laps up the Snake. Best day of racing ever. Teams are good for a lot of things, but when they are inciting a near riot on your behalf...well, you just don't get that anywhere. So first and foremost, this is for them.

god's speed

Somehow in the trip south we gained 30 degrees and lost all the clouds. Maybe signing God's code of conduct did the trick?

Brilliant day, brilliant race. If they were all like this, you could come home happy with the result no matter where you ended up.

First off, team results: Molly attacked too hard on the hill, got separation, and chased back on to finish 13th of 23.

In the 3s, Al "I wouldn't bother putting wheels in the truck cuz you'll never catch back on" Urbanski got in a break of seven, built a three minute gap, but 61 miles in, flatted. The truck guy gave him some wheel and pushed him off, yelling GO! Chased back on for 5 miles, catching them in the last half mile. Went for a sprint move but finished fourth. Just out of the brick trophies, but hot results, the hottest of the day. Stan flatted earlier, but was right near the "team couch" so he opted for that.

Cat 4s set out with Cuttin' Crew and xXx up front, controlling the easy pace. A couple danglers get nothing. Squawking in the pack that "if we're going to control it, we should at least push the pace." - Uh, plenty of room up here if you want to show us how it's done.

My 45 minute crit seasoning shows, because at 47 minutes I fade for a few moments. Recover in the back, move up through the field just in time for the first hill. Ouch, but not too bad. Hill 2 shoots me out the back, along with half the pack. I see 3-4 danglers out ahead, if I can only get to them, maybe we can work it out and get back on. Start the second lap trying to do so, but a fruitless effort. I catch them and it turns out they're no use for pulling. I soldier on, averaging 22 mph and somehow getting stronger. I sweep up a dozen or so, nobody can hang on.

I find Andrew (teammate) and Andrew (Yeoman) from Pegasus. Maybe we can all work it out, so I slow up. Turns out I'm doing all the pulling. I'd lost my water bottle but now I'm sticking around teammate Andrew to use his. I absentmindedly drink too much and almost drop him. Sorry dude! Finally I have to go, I hand it back and press on, collecting spots.

I spot a guy on the killer hill out ahead. I gotta get this guy, who cares if I'm mid-pack. I'm not done racing. I get close on the hill but he sees me. I catch him at the crest, drop him on the downhill but I take the lipped corner too easy and burn out a bit on mild cobbled climb. He catches up to me, then fades. Another guy in the distance, in green. Is he too far? Maybe. Gotta try, now THIS is my race.

He's got thirty meters on me in the corner. He glances back but I think he writes me off. I take the turn and start to build. He easily picks off another rider and sits up a bit, but oh no! teammates cheering me on! He sees me and starts to really wind it up. Twenty meters and closing, ten, can he hold me off? No. I get him in the final meters and hold it by inches.

Iron Mike Morell got his best finish ever at 6th, and looking for more hill races this summer. Rooster improved his endurance showings over last year and got 12th. Max at the tail end of the pack, 29th. Me at 41st, Brean shortly behind me (dropped from the pack due to mechanicals, but got back in it). Nordyke building early season conditioning, a bit behind him.

For me, everything went great today, except for that hill. I'm not too disappointed though, I haven't done any long rides or hills, so I'm not too surprised. All in all, a gorgeous day for riding. Back on the bus for the postgame analysis, $7 twelve packs of Stag beer, and the long ride back to the city. Good times.

I'd love to cover Super Crit but...

I'm a little fuzzy on the details. I'll try:

Pre-race:
Ella skips the clinic, we do half a lap, her mission is accomplished. It would have been nice to clock some more, maybe jump in the juniors race, but it's in the 30s, and she's done. She spends the day hanging out with Molly on the bus, and Uncle Stan teaches her all sorts of colorful new words. On the plus side, after a day with the guys on the bus, she no longer considers me stinky, even after 4 races.

Race 1, 4/5 Killer Bs
Andrew makes it into a break of 4, I block. The break can't get it together to share the load, he has back to back pulls, somebody kicks it up, and as a result, he gets dropped. I chase them hard, everyone lets me, but they stay away. Bunch sprint for 9th.

Race 2, Masters' 30+ 4/5
Mike and I line up. I can't remember much about this one. I win a prime, the one I wanted, for a chain. Try to stay out with a xxx'er, but it doesn't happen. They have 20 teammates in the field, but they want their own glory apparently? You never know with xxx. I think I soaked up a bunch for 17th, I can't remember how Mike does, but it's well ahead of me.

Race 3, Elite 4/5
A couple minutes of rest, gu, fluid, and back at it. I'm dying for 3-4 laps but somehow get stronger. I start patrolling the front and let Max slip off with another rider. The other guy fades but a new guy gets in, then another. 3 could stay out, but they fight for a prime (which wasn't even awarded, since it was only for the field!) and they fade. A xxx'er goes for a late prime solo, gets it, I chase him down since there's one lap to go, but when we catch him 2 xxx'ers counter and stay out for the win. oh, NOW they work as a team.

Race 4, Elite 3/4
Fast and pressing, the sleet starts coming. 55 minutes. I'm totally NAF for this one. Not A Factor. I barely hang on at a couple points. I'm just going for a start and a pack finish to count towards a Cat 3 upgrade, and I miraculously make it.

I have nothing left, but then why is my body kicking me out of bed at 5 am? Stupid, stupid body.

rinse, lather, repeat

Half Acre - Kevin's Crits 4/5

Thursday.
Check the team site for today's update. We've got some sexy results.
chicagocuttincrew.com

On a personal note, eh: I attacked at the gun and went a lap or two. Nobody chased. I guess I'm not much of a threat! I was bored, itching to go, and I just wanted to kick start it, and maybe get the pack going and burn off the weaker part of the field. I did this a lot. Most people didn't care, some other people tried the same thing. After a while I just played, attack, fade, recoup a few spots. Perhaps it was the lack of mighty headwinds, but the pack didn't panic over any attacks, and they all came back.

Eventually I rested, tried to link up with teammates for some kind of train, but at one to go, the whole bunch was pretty much intact, and I was waiting to get swarmed again, after burning so many matches playing games. I certainly didn't get swarmed, but I didn't exactly make it close enough to contest the sprint either, an improvement, though I only pulled 17th. Still, my late game is getting better.

If only I could race three nights a week all the time, I might get somewhere. Possibly keeled over.

getting the kinks out

Half Acre Crit Series

Wednesday
I skipped this one, so technically it shouldn't even be here, but since I've accidentally become the source of news for my team this week, here goes nothing:

Mike suits up for the third consecutive day. He cannot be stopped. Unfortunately, his bike can, and is, by a flat just a couple laps before the finish.

Brean has a "new" bad ankle to keep his mind off his "old" bad ankle, and hasn't been training much, but he decides to give it a go nonetheless. An early race mechanical suddenly leaves him with the nose of his saddle pointed south, and he spends the rest of the race mostly on the bars.

A few breaks try, nothing sticks, and with 3 to go, a couple guys get away for good, with Dave ? from xXx taking the win. Brean hangs in the sprint for 13th.

Mike was last seen coming up with a plan to convert the bus into a street sweeper before Thursday's race.

dodging the storm

Half Acre Crit Series

Tuesday
Fast as hell, cuttin' crew missed the break, chased for 5-6 laps to get back in, I burn out, Jeff and Mike made it in. The sweetest words I've ever heard: "they made the break" and I sit up and coast in the field. Ernie sees the 'lap of death' look on Jeff's face and drops him. Jeff gets collected with the remains of the field, including me. Mike gets a flat, Stan flies like the wind to get another off the bus, Mike rejoins the lead group...and flats. He's out. Jeff and I in a loose pack of eight. I try to protect/pull Jeff the last half lap, off to the side a bit in a crosswind, but it doesn't work out, turns out he doesn't need me anyway. He cleans the bunch sprint, I finish four spots back.

icebreaker 2009

Half Acre Crit Series, Cat 4/5

No prizes, no primes, no lights (!), just a bunch of guys shaking off the winter.

Monday
First the ladies: Jamie had a solid outing, but it had to be tough in a field of six. 20 mph crosswinds made it possible to ride in the gutter, leaving nothing to draft. They split into 3 and 3, and I missed the details, but she came in at 5th.

In the men's race, Mike and I were up front and staying out of trouble, pushing the pace, covering stuff, letting little gaps open that others had to close down, finding the gutters out of the wind. Nothing too fancy, but throwing the gauntlet down here and there, softening the pack without killing ourselves.

Unfortunately, the 3-5 minute tempo before the sprint put the hurt on me. It would have been nice to have a tempo/leadout/sprint train, but frankly, I wasn't quite up to the call.

But not a bad plan, considering we had no plan: Jeff was rested and ready for the sprint, and he lit it up. Ernie (Van Wagner/Yojimbo's) was the only one able to contest it, and he came around Jeff to take it by maybe half a wheel. Considering he's a tree-legged cat 2 trackie, not too surprising. Mike held on for 9th and I was 3 spots or so behind him, but they didn't map the placings that deep so I'll never know. We got a spot on the podium, a top ten...and a domestique in the bunch. I'm ok with that.

farmer wins tour

Yes, it's been a while. What started as a place to blog about single speed/fixed, and messenger nonsense...well, let's just say, any schmo with a computer and a bike can do it (and they all do), and Bike Snob NYC has pretty much cornered the market on alt.bike.news, to the point where I'm constantly amazed the guy has enough time and energy to bloviate on half the stuff he does. It's like those lifelong academics who can spend an afternoon debating formalism vs. de-constructionism. At some point, you're like, who the fuck cares? Ride already!

Plus I'm happy to hear from my bike shop source that the fixed gear trendsters are slowly moving on. I don't know what's next for the hipster masses, and I'm sure there will be a few left behind, but that's ok. One might say the same about me. I was about ready to hang this blog up for good, but surprisingly I still get a few hits on the fg vs. ss page. So anyway.

This post is not about my blogging needs, but about a teamless amateur who beat a bunch of pros in Argentina's Tour de San Luis. My favorite athletes never get on the Wheaties boxes. This was no ABR race neither, Team Saxo won the final day's sprint, and none other than Ivan Basso finished fifth in the GC. Read all about it at Podium Cafe.