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!
Friday, June 26, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
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!
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!
Friday, June 19, 2009
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.
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.
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