Super Duper Crit

Race blogs, lol. I'm so 2008. May as well put one in the ledger for 2013:

No 50 mile CX races this offseason, just some good old fashioned roller time (a lot of it), rounded off with a little Florida vakay to get some sun and dust off the pack skills. Enter race kickoff day 2013, Burnham's Super Crit, on a killer motorcycle/midget car race track called Blackhawk Farms.

Race 1: 30+ 4/5
They said 40 minutes at the start, but I should have known better. They rang the bell at 30, and I assumed it was a prime, and by the time I figured out otherwise, I recovered for 12th. whatev.

Race 2: 30+ Open
This was a big boy race, and I planned to play it safe and not be lunchmeat for the 1s and 2s. Teammie JFerg followed Zens on an early solo flyer so I sat around at the front. A couple guys went off to bridge, and I let them, though I remember thinking, dammit, I should be up there, he's the sprinter between us, and I go long. Soon enough, I saw him get dropped, and took it up. A couple guys used me up, then jumped to join the other bridgers, who formed a six man break for good.

I chased and chased and chased. A Wisco masters' rider (that's code for 'older than me') couldn't put in much, nor could Zens, who'd initiated the break, and been dropped from it. Nate from Burnham sat on our wheels as we would expect, since he had two guys up ahead.

I was doing the big turns after a while, so I knew I had to thin the group of four before the finish. I attacked after Zens' turn and only Nate could follow. I figured I'd just hold off those two to the finish, and get pipped by Nate in the end. Lo and behold, I was surprised to see the leaders in sight with half a lap to go. Nate had to finally take it up if he wanted to be any use to his guys up there, so I got a break and sucked wheel.

We approached them and two guys had just taken off at blitzkrieg speed to contest the win, leaving these guys eyeballing one another for 3rd. They weren't happy to see two more faces in the mix, so somebody jumped and the drag race was on. I was toast but happy to say I technically completed the bridge, then I noticed Nate fading slightly.

Final turn: me in the back, in our new low profile kit. Photo sorta borrowed from Ali Engin.

It's a deceptively long stretch after the turn, so I had time to run through his sprint and get him in the end. 8th of 31, just behind Chad Hartley, HAAAAY. Not bad for a cat 4 for lyfe. Other than wussing out on establishing the break, and just missing the move that became the break, I was pretty happy with the legs.

Race 3: cat 4
I was toast. I tried to protect teammies when I saw them exposed in the windy section, or drag them to the front, or just put in a hard turn on point when I got tired of the sketchfest in the pack. Somehow finished 18th/65, and Roadhouse got 2nd. Squirelliest race ever. MUST UPGRADE. At least I know I won't be the slowest cat 3.

2011 rebounds

Not much action here anymore, but I figured, what the hell, a little summer wrap-up:

2011 didn't look to be too promising, what with a torn rotator cuff and surgery keeping me untrained for 10 weeks. I played it by ear this year, doing long solo rides, hella intervals, fartlek-on-a-bike, some swimming, and a new one for me: rest and recovery between hard workouts. I guess it worked: I only raced 8 times this year, but the results were pretty good:

-Gravel Metric - win (tie)

-Glencoe - Cat 4 sprint points competition (yeah, it was only a couple of primes, but damn it's a fancy watch)

-Cat 4 State Champ - Points race. That's *my race* and I wanted it more than anything since the SSCX in 2009. I was marked but I took the last 3 sprints FTW. I won both cat 4 races that night, and was the top 4 in the 3/4s race. That's when I started to notice my form was coming on...

-Cat 3 State Champ - Scratch. My first night as a 3 and I won both 3s races! I came looking to work for Jeff, but he ordered me to go for the win myself. He worked them over and made it look easy for me. No disrespect to my fellow racers but the 3s field isn't too deep right now. A couple big dogs have upgraded, and one of the strongest 3s doesn't have a teammate, so Jeff's attacks were particularly effective. Just to bring me down to earth: In the 1/2/3s Points race, I thought I was the baller, getting on Moyer/JT/Whiteman as they established their break...I lasted about 20 seconds.

Felt ok on my first CX race, but I haven't touched the CX bike in 8 months and apparently I've forgotten how to corner in the dirt. I blame all those laps on 20 mm tires at 145 psi.

Onward!

da Tour

I'm easing out of my self-imposed embargo on race blogging, on account of all the thoughts swimming in my head. There's only so much you can explain to a patient wife; the rest has to go somewhere. Why not here?

It only took a few years longer than expected, but we finally got around to doing a proper stage race, the first Tour of Galena. My fitness is off this year on account of my off season injury and surgery, but I managed to get some miles in, so I was looking forward to it. I fancy myself more of an all rounder, so I thought it would be interesting to see how I stacked up in the omnium. Plus, Brian's white hot right now, so we had a real contender to look after.

Things that went right:
I headed out early, pre-rode the TT course, drove the RR course, and built up a tent for the bus dwellers, since I had a feeling they would surface well after dark. My aero wheels were undergeared for the climb, so I was happy to find that out ahead of time and rolled with a mixed pair.



First thing to go wrong:
I drilled the first half of the TT, but at the turnaround, I made a mistake (apparently the kind that triathletes rake each other for!) I came around the barrel nicely, and using every inch of the road, I bore down for a standing start at the edge. A little sandy gravel was hidden on the surface and my rear wheel went sideways under the power stroke. I hit the dirt, and recovered quickly, but it killed my time. I finished 24th of 42. Not too bad considering, but about 23 seconds out of the top ten (and the points that came with it). I have a surprisingly bleedy scalped knee.

An Iron Cycles guy noted the irony that that a couple weeks ago I did 65 miles flawlessly in the gravel (and won), and this weekend, I did a couple seconds and hit the deck. C'est la vie.

Brian killed it and Al Pearson, fresh off a year of grad school, finished with him in 4th and 5th. A genetically gifted Toftoy brother killed us all, but I take some solace in the fact that he beat all of the P/1/2s field as well.

I didn't have high hopes for the RR, but I hoped to hang on to the main field longer than I did. The kickers were ok but the steep climbs got me. To think I used to sprint up rollers all day on a 53x16 back in Atlanta. That was 25 pounds ago (on a good day) but hey, I probably couldn't crack 600 watts back then, right? I fell in with a strong dude from Bellum and before long, two teammates in Al and Josh. The four of us hit lap two with a few xxx'ers and independents chasing.

We had a solid rotation going with Bellum outclassing us a bit in the power department, but we all worked our asses off. We spent a little too much time re-carbing and got caught by 4-5 chasers. This killed the collegial vibe, as not one of the newcomers would take a quality pull.

For some reason, I had discovered that I could hold a solid pace in the 27 on the steep hills, then miraculously around the midpoint, just take off. Great, NOW I find climbing power? I did this once to see if we could shed the wheelsuckers, but no one came with me. I went with it and solo'ed for a few miles, but got caught. I did it again on another hill and got caught after a few miles. My teammate joked about me going for a solo breakaway and I replied "I have to do what the legs tell me to do." I'm not settling in for comfy ride to the line.

I decided to make the last attack count, and just past the vineyard, I found my magical climbing power halfway up the hill. My breakmates inadvertently fueled it, as they settled into 'this sucks, are we there yet' kind of chatter. That shit makes me crazy in races, when people get into a group ride 'just get home' mentality. Frankly it makes me want to attack, so I did, and it stuck for a good long time.

A few miles later I was caught by a xxx'er and a Rhythm guy. 2-3 miles from the finish, I just decided to take soft pulls and watch the distance. xxx was in front and as soon as he figured out that no one was pulling through, we came to a little hill. He motioned for someone to pull through and I attacked. A little digger and I look back to see Rhythm on my wheel and no one else.

We slow rolled it a bit, sizing up the match sprint plan, and passed inside the 1000m mark. He coasted a bit and started stretching his glutes and calves out of the saddle. It was a little earlier than I wanted to jump but I couldn't let the opportunity pass. I went full gas and caught him off guard. It wasn't a huge gap, but it was enough. Up, down, left, right, and held it to the line.

Man I miss road racing. Battling for 30th feels great, until you realize...that it was a battle for 30th.

Brian got a flat, found no Campy 10 speed in the neutral wheel truck, and ended up taking Andrew's shoes and bike. He held on for 25th, his shot at the W and the Omnium were gone. Mike held on for 13th and Max for 18th or so.

My legs were trashed for the crit but I kept telling myself 'so are everyone else's.' Apparently that was not too true as the pace was a solid 27-28 in both stretches for most of the race. My long slow training plan showed and I was out of jumps after a dozen laps. I managed to stay in the pack and dodged crashes to finish 21st. Meh. Brian got second and after being in the top ten all race, Josh went down and killed his frame in the process. Double Meh.

I figure I finished around 31/42 in the Omnium but if I pretend I didn't crash in the TT I could have finished 26th if I'd gotten a single omnium point. Not too bad considering my fitness, but man, exhausting and taxing to say the least.

The ladies pretty much rocked it. Daph got 2nd in the TT, did the road race on a frickin' 23 toother in the back, and then she and Marie pushed the pace relentlessly in the crit to hurt the field. Daph got 3rd in the crit and 3rd in the omnium. I almost forgot that they were doing their 2nd and 3rd road races, but they have a lot of track experience. Jannette wasn't feeling it, but she's still sort of recovering from last year's crash, having just gotten a dental implant last week. She felt like her body was trying to generate bone, not race bikes.

The crew was in prime heckling mode, we didn't get ticketed for open containers, Jeff killed it in a Karaoke duet with Newt (then raced the crit the next day), and in general, a good time was had by all. Can't wait to do it again, just not any time soon.

Twenty Eleven

There are enough blogs out there about bike racing, and I just don't feel compelled to add to them at the moment. However, I need a place to put the picture above (courtesy of Amy Dykema) to capture the day that I finally won a goddamned road race. Even if it was sort of an alleycat cyclocross type of road race. Blogged to death on the team site here with pictures here.

WWJVD?

Flatlandia Kermesse, 2010.

I need more races like this. It sucked working so hard to get into position and see swarms passing me across the centerline, hiding in the draft of those of us following the rules, but whatever, there's already too much grousing in bike racing, so I'm not gonna add to it. It was shaping up to be a long day. The first run through the dirt and the fun began. Bodies off the road for no good reason, to the left and right, a few piled up ahead of me. The pack responded with heat but within a couple minutes, gassers were leaving gaps everywhere.

It wasn't hard to leapfrog my way near the front, and the longer it went on, the more I was thinking...oh this is good, the 'cross racers were moving up no problem. I was still with some semblance of a lead group back on the road and it got fast. Turn onto section two and it was strung out long. I was making up ground again, but trying not to get ahead of my HR, and...hisssssss. I joined the half dozen guys flatting out.

Waiting for the wheel van I realized how well I'd been doing, with at least fifty guys passing me before I got a wheel, but now I was at the back again. Back in it for a couple minutes, and hisssss. Another one. Two flats in two minutes, so I rounded out my base training with more or less a 50 mile solo TT.

Second time through the long gravel section I pulled a ton of guys through the whole thing, I wanted to be up front to keep an eye on the line to stay away from sharp rocks, and I'm not gonna play games over pulling through when we're battling for 80th place here. My front wheel was a 700x20 track wheel and I never thought I'd make it. Needless to say, once we got back on the road, they rode off eventually but that was fine with me. I caught up with newly-wed Molly and chatted for a bit before snapping myself back into race mode. Every time I passed near the s/f I thought I should just pull in, because there's no way this skimpy track tire will make it...but I thought "What Would Jens Voigt Do?" Needless to say, I soldiered on. I may not have any stellar results yet this season, but I still don't have any DNFs next to my name, ever.

Yeah, it burned looking at the results and seeing the top ten filled with my 'cross dogs, but hey, that's bike racing.

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.

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.

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.

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.

vive le 2008 road season

No more alleycats.

It started as a crazy idea to race a crit on a single speed. But roadies are such dorks. LT, HRMs, watts, weight weenies, base miles, the kinds of things that can take the fun out of riding a bike...finish midpack, ok, I can do this. Maybe a time trial? I shaved my legs. I totally better back this shit up.

I need a road bike. Raid my 401(k), troll ebay, drive solo to Iowa for two races, come home with two medals. Sweet, I'm gonna tear it up.

Sadly, that turns out to be my best showing for most of the season. Join a kickass team. A little rough around the edges, brings it strong sometimes, and long on style. I'm not a bandwagon-jumping, rah-team type of guy, but they were the first team I've seen that made me think...yeah, THAT'S where I belong.

Little lessons, tiny mistakes, shine hard here and there, but when one small thing goes wrong...nothing. Excuses abound. No hill training, I neglect my bike, everybody gets stronger and my winter conditioning doesn't take me the distance anymore.

Whatever. It's fun. Lots of things go right. I took the penultimate turn at Downer's harder and faster than everyone in my heat. I absolutely threw my bike around the descent at Snake Alley. I stayed out of the red zone at Whitewater and saved it for the sprint. I took a few hard pulls out front that earned me the right to point at a spot at 5th wheel and say "coming in." I slipped off from the family just enough times to get my upgrade to cat 4.

So it is with some relief that I made it back to the podium this past weekend. ok, it was a beginners' heat. In ABR. In a time trial. (Technically, I've had less than 15 mass starts, so I can, in good conscience, race that division in ABR.)

But...it wasn't a gimme. There were some strong riders out there...some guys 15 years my junior, some with all the high end gear that can shave a minute or two off in the course of 9.8 miles. I dusted off the single speed and killed it in 22:56, for second place, averaging 25.6 mph. (It would have been good enough for 10th in cat 4, but I think I would have gotten over my laziness and set up and tested a proper TT config for cat 4.)

Our team aspirations of putting someone on the overall podium in the Fall Fling weren't panning out. Rather than show up for the final stage running low on money, time, and energy, I decided to go out on a high note.

and so. Adieu.

quattro stagione: stages 1 and 2

I tried my hand at the ABR Fall Fling: A four stage road race, split over two weekends, so us working stiffs can live out our TdF dreams. Much like a ghetto credit card, I'll be paying back the time to my wife with lots of interest. Race reports will be suspended for some time, replaced by drywalling or some other jobs on my list. But anyway, I couldn't do this crap if it weren't for her holding down the spot at home, so I dedicate my, um, victory results to her.

Day 1: Cat 4 road race, 40 miles, narrow going, a mild roller or two.
I feel ok, but I haven't touched a road bike in a month. My front tire is played out, so despite being 30 psi below its rating, it blows at the start line. I run back towards the car (not really sure what I'm going to do, since I don't have a spare wheel cued up) and an awesome guy named Raymundo hands me a Campy tubular that's probably worth more than my bike. I make it back to the start with seconds to spare. (Note to self, bring extra wheels, even if there's no wheel pit.)

I stay near the front, I do a couple pulls to keep my account in good standing, I creep to the redline a few times, I back off a couple turns at the front, but then again so does most everyone else. The road was narrow, the centerline rule was keeping us three abreast and slow, and a combine thirty feet wide took up the entire road for a mile, keeping us all even slower.

I hit a bump with one lap to go, my speedometer sensor starts clipping the front wheel, and since it's not mine, I don't take any chances. I pull over and fix it, but lose 40 seconds on the pack, at the wrong time. I waved off Brean because it would have damaged both of our chances to finish well. So I practice my time trialing, come in 34th, and my hope for GC glory is dashed.

Brean gets 3rd, Mike gets 10th, Trey, a friend-of-team, cramps up before the sprint and gets 32nd. Nadia, a junior and a Track Cat in her first road race, spaces on her start group, has to make up 35 seconds to join her pack, does so, but finishes DFL. Due to the magic of categorization, she finishes second in "beginner women" and gets a medal anyway.

Day 2: Wood Dale Crit: fast, smooth, not-so-stressful corners, a little kicker before turn four.
I'm working for Brean. Actually, they took away the double points for the road race, since a bunch of people crossed the centerline before the 200 M sprint marker, so they punish the top 20 equally. Which sucks, since Brean loses 18 free points on the deal, but Mike is now in the mix for overall classification, so I'm working for him too.

I decided to race Beginners/Cat 5 as well. Ten laps, and three in, Team Tati executed a move after the hill in turns 3/4, and came through with two hot riders. The second one sat up, and I was a couple spots back, and thought "No Fucking Way" and came around him. Unfortunately the guys in first and second either couldn't or wouldn't chase the guy off the front (Turns out it was Brian Hague, who did the same in the Beginners RR the day before). His 5 meter gap grew and long story short, that kid can TT, nobody would pull through, and we were all left fighting for second. Seven of us separated from the bunch to contest the sprint, and though I thought I'd saved enough through the last climb into the wind, everyone else did too. 8th place. BFD. I thought this Cat wouldn't be so tough, but a sprint is a sprint, and I didn't have it today.

The plan for the 4s race was for me to "get near the front" with 5 to go, my teammates to find me, and me to lead somebody out. I was not in the best form during this race, and was really worried I'd let them down, but I stayed up front, slipped back here and there, chased a break once or twice, worked a bit, backed off a bit, and decided to go for a prime even though the one guy chasing it was already 20 meters ahead when I decided (missed it by a wheel or so).

1/4 of the way throught the final lap, I managed to find myself in 4th, so THAT part of my mission was accomplished. A couple of strong guys from Mack were ahead of me, and two guys got separation while one Mack guy blocked me. I was determined not to let that happen again so I closed it up. I had no idea if either of my teammates were on my wheel, but I suspected I wouldn't make it to the lead out. Sure enough, I caught the leaders, but was swallowed with half a lap to go. Had one or both of them been on my wheel, it might have still kept them in the mix, but it didn't quite work out like that. Mike never made it up to me, Brean was close, but he had chased something down pretty hard with two to go and wasn't his usual sprinter's self. He came into turn three pretty hot and had to ease up, and got swept in too. He finished 24th, Mike at 30th, me at 32nd, and Trey (in his first crit) at 37th. Not exactly noteworthy, but Brean might still be one spot out of the money overall.

Nadia vindicated us all by grabbing another 2nd place in her Cat. She couldn't hang on to the pack at the gun, but linked up with another rider for some good pacing, sweeping up a couple dropped riders along the way. At least SOMEBODY around here is still on the podium.

Next week: goofy helmets and bars for the 10 mile TT, then one final crit.

On the 12th day of Superweek my road bike gave to me

A goddamned creaky drivetrain.

Holy Hill. More like Holy Shit.

When the the bike shop says get a new chain *before* your next race, you should believe them, especially when it has a variety of climbs every lap. With my non-access to hills like this, I would have been lucky to stay in the mix, but it would have required split-second shifting. Not two dropped chains, dozens of skipped shifts, and general redlining to make up for getting caught out of gear every 3-4 minutes. Excuses, excuses. I have little to report, as I was in trauma. A couple long easy hills, a couple short hard ones, a long medium and a long hard one, 5 laps. It would have been fun to race if I had a working drivetrain and, uh, hills to practice on within 50 miles of my life.

On the plus side, it turned into a killer climbing workout, and my legs are aching in ways they haven't for years. If I could only do this every week or two without driving out of state, I might be a decent road racer. Another highlight was drinking beer with the team on the hood of the Cuttin' Cruiser after the Pro rollout. Ice cream truck music, a fog horn, and Public Enemy: the Rock Racing Escalade has nothing on it. It will be a miracle if they ever allow us back in Wisconsin again. The team didn't have the strongest day (12th and 14th, earned some gas money), but you gotta have some fun somehow. Thank god half the State Police were tied up marshaling the course.

UWW race report

The official at the starting line said 7 laps. At the end of seven laps, I moved up through the field in the final mile, contested a three-man sprint to take second, to hear the sounds of....the bell? WTF?

(The flyer said 5.5 miles per lap, 43 miles = 8 laps, but the guy with the patch clearly said 7 laps...and that's what the counter said as well...)

I'm not a total idiot, there were a bunch of us that got screwed and left flat in the final lap. I would have been more likely to trust the bell (or lack of it) if the field wasn't so screwed at the end of lap six. Long story short, the Masters 4/5s started ahead, we caught them, they caught us, we commingled and some tried to do the right thing, some tried to gain advantage, but really, there's only so long you can expect two packs to ride side by side without interacting and taking a draft or two. So coming through the s/f in a 100+ mixed pack and NOT hearing a bell was not surprising.

Overall, it was a decent day, as my teammate Brean took second in the "real" finish. (Oh yeah, I'm on a team now, go Cuttin' Crew! Messenger trash, woo!) From what it sounds like, the field was whupped and unable to chase down the eventual winner, and even too spent to keep him from winning the field sprint. At least SOMEBODY on the team got a podium. It would have been nice to see what might have been with both of us in the final sprint...

Spring Prairie 4/5

This race barely deserves to be written up. The only thing that really bothers me is that I thought I felt ok, and I can't hang my dismal performance on any one thing, but maybe a few. Overtraining this week? Running too much last weekend after taking the winter off? Too little sleep? Getting soaked in my warmup and standing around for 2 hours to wait out the lightning? Being sketched out by the wet start and playing it safe in the back? Not climbing a hill like that in years? Probably that most of all.

Whatever. Bradley and I broke off at the rollers after the start/finish on the last lap. I drafted him for a spell, then tried to pull him back to the group, but he waved me off. I caught the pack after turn 1, only to fall out again just before the big downhills. I counted a three second gap, and thought "No problem, I can close that on the downhill." Problem is, on the downhill, three seconds is three times further away. 45 mph, chin practically on the top tube, but I could not close it. If only I'd shaved my legs and carried a couple of water bottles!

34th place, two spots out of the main field, a little better than halfway in the standings. Al, however, was in top form, and cleaned it with some solid blocking from the Crew and Pegasus, who had someone trying to bridge.

training weekend

Or, more accurately, coaching weekend. Highlights included watching my eight-year-old daughter thread the needle on her new road bike.

Highly anxious moments included watching my eight-year-old daughter thread the needle on her new road bike.

However, in no time, she was drilling nose wheelies, skitching tows, and telling cars to get their driving balls back. Kidding aside, she is totally capable of riding miles in traffic (taking the sidewalk when it's smarter to do so) without my input. It's a beautiful thing. I had to move the tag-along over to a ss road bike, so her brother and I could keep up. Another highlight was having him as a stoker, feeling him kick it up a hill so we could beat her.

In other news, my wife finally did the women's track clinic at the Velodrome, two years after offhandedly opting in. For those of you not in on the joke, my daughter asked mom why she didn't race on Friday nights. Mom replied "why not?" - not really caring one way or the other, but mostly wanting to show her that it's fun to try new things, to race, even if it's all a little intimidating. Of course, that's all I needed to start building up a track bike. A long-lost friend of hers, who had messengered in Chicago ten years back, heard this and gifted her a Campy Record pursuit tubular wheelset (coincidentally built by Marcus), with the only condition "that she race them." So that's how she ended up with the nicest track bike in the family.

And the only one to hang in the basement, unridden for two years. And by unridden, I mean "never borne the pressure of a human on the saddle."

I'm not giving her grief on the subject, since it's about twelve thousand times more difficult to be supermom than it is to be me (especially being supermom in a family that has me in it, who practically counts as one of the kids, but with a salary). She missed a couple women's clinics in the meantime, until this last weekend.

Six tattooed and pierced women in their 20s, two experienced roadies in their 30s, and my wife. I should point out that she's so busy being supermom that she takes about one bike ride per year, in a triathlon. She half-jokingly introduced herself as "I don't know anything about this, I'm just here because my husband built this bike and told me to come to the clinic. He told me to get a picture to make sure I wasn't running off to get a pedicure." She got the impression that some of the tattooed ladies were rather scornful of the subservient picture she painted. If they only knew that she's the Generalissimo around here, and she signed up solely to be a role model for her daughter. Tattoos don't make you tough, ladies, try being Supermom.

I half expected her to come home terrified from her first fixed gear experience. In short: loved clocking laps, not so crazy about the racing. Partly because she doesn't feel particularly conditioned at the moment, but also because she didn't come to prove anything, unlike many of her classmates. She enjoyed the team pursuit a lot more than the miss and out. However, she informed me that she's still planning on following through with her promise; she is going to race some Friday. Two more weeks until opening night!

debut

After so many years of making fun of lycra-clad shaven roadies...I've become one: Wapello-Mediapolis. Memorial Day weekend, 2008.

With all of 100 miles of training time on a geared bike, I was looking forward to a proper road race. I suspect I'm more of an all-rounder and climber, though I barely leave the confines of Cook county, hardly a training ground for mountain champs. In other words, I can't say that I'm crazy about my chances in a race that involves doing laps and beating everyone in a sprint. To be honest, I've never even contested a proper sprint, unless you count cars.

With that said, I didn't expect it to be so challenging. 24 miles? Cat 5? No problem!

The race turns out to be a three-legged u-turn. First we head into the wind, relaxed at 18-20* mph. Even this turns out to be enough to drop four of the starting 15. I count heads and think "If I beat just one of these guys, I'll medal." I tell myself that's how losers think. Winners think about winning.

(*Note: I accidentally reset my speedometer at the start line, so I'm not sure the wheel diameter was calibrated correctly. The speed figures are approximate.)

We turn into a tail-y crosswind, and it picks up to 24ish. I'm at the back of a long line, focusing on staying tight amidst the accordion efforts. Still waiting for something to happen. Somebody leads us through a patch of gravel and some panic braking almost leads to trouble. Adrenaline going, I find myself in sudden trauma trying to hang on at 28 mph...29...30...I find myself looking at a gap ten feet out, for the first a couple real points of panic: MY RACE ENDS HERE IF I DON'T GET THAT WHEEL BACK. I get it back. I look out from behind my pacer to see we're all separated: four ahead, seven of us a hundred yards back. Shit. This is why you don't hang out back here.

Everyone fades but three of us. We're all looking at each other, but I know I was just coming back from redlining, and not about to charge after them. I suspect we all felt the same. Suddenly, a fourth joins us, "Well, are we gonna get 'em, or what?" He sounds more than a little annoyed with our lack of effort. Green hits it, red hits it, white hits it for an anemic pull, and it's my turn.

The fear of getting dropped by the wayside seems to keep me from giving it 100%. What if they use me up and I'm off the back as they bridge? But then something else kicks in: who fucking cares anyway? What, am I going to sit in like a wuss to protect seventh? I may not be as strong as green or red, but I'm not gonna punk out like white jersey. I throw it all out there, and then some, and damn near bridge us all the way back. I'm about two seconds from dropping when green takes over and I slip in to hug his wheel tight. I recover, heaving. We're back in. Eight of us in the lead pack now.

We make the turn into the final third, and hit the first "real" climb. Actually five of the last seven miles are a steady climb, but the tailwind negates much of it. I'd told myself I would cover any attacks here, maybe launch a few soft ones to see what happens, and maybe a full attack. In typical fashion, I think too little and attack too hard.

I peel off left and look back, trying to see who's coming up, trying to not block anyone in...I lose focus for a minute, touch the yellow line, and the course marshal beeps. He comes up, gives me a warning, and by the time I slip back in, the line is strung out far (good!) and I get in at fourth. Only one small problem: there's a gap ahead of third. Strong white (who I believe was pulling up front since the gun) and green are off. Third is not closing it. Sixth and seventh are not coming up to help, and punk white is off the back. I realize I have to get it back. I go, and no one tails me. I'm out in no man's land...closer, closer, closer...then further, further, further...

Four of us group up and try to get them. We take pulls at 27ish, still climbing a bit, but we're clunky or maybe just not fast enough. I'm dying. I drop back a slot in the rotation after every pull for a couple extra seconds of rest. I get a couple looks like "you're up" but wave them through. I'm not pulling my weight, and we're losing the two leaders anyway.

I take 30 seconds in back to breathe, and hit it hard. Was it an attack? A last ditch attempt to get the group going? Whatever it was, we're about at the next uptick in the hill, and I go, holding 29+. I'm long and strong up the hill, and in the process, sixth is off the back. Three of us now, racing for third. I'm feeling good, so I stay there. I suspect they are leaving me out to save it for the sprint for bronze but I don't care.

True enough, I see a "1000 meters" sign. Hooray! No, shit! I'm in the front! Bad!

Three things I know about sprinting:
1. I have no idea where and when to start.
2. I have almost no experience at it whatsoever.
3. I know I shouldn't be in front.
Long story short, I pull over and damn near stop. I would have track-stood to get into the final spot, but stragglers were creeping up the hill, so I settled for drafting red while he wound up. I came around him just right, but I realized orange was doing the same to me...I'm not surprised to be in at fourth. All I can think about is how I should have dropped back into a tight spot after my attack, instead of being so damn careful not to box anyone in. Live and learn.

Turns out Strong White Jersey won it, leading wire to wire, and that he's been a, um, "successful" Cat 5 for a number of years now. WTF?

race report haiku

first road bike; first race
climb five miles for fourth. then
seventh at the snake!

I don't have time for a full report, but I did the Wapello-Mediapolis road race on Friday, the Snake Alley crit on Saturday, and I came home with a pair of medals. More details later, but I will say this, a tiny mental slip-up (I was expecting more) cost me top three in the road race, and I nipped two spots to get into 5th at the last topout of snake alley, only to freewheel my way around, thinking I had another lap. I did, however, get the last medaled spot, so I came home with a couple bits of hardware clanging around my neck. What's that kids? I can't hear you! Yeah, yeah, I know they medaled pretty deep, (and it's only cat 5), but hey, it's nice to come home from my first two (geared and sanctioned) bike races with something.

bringing sexy back

I kicked off my sanctioned road racing career. I did NOT shave my legs, slather on the embrocation, wear padded shorts or a lycra jersey. I came home with a crisp roadie tan line on each arm, and I'm not happy about it, but wife beaters aren't legal. Apparently my old company jersey just doesn't fit like it used to (guess which one is me). At least I wasn't hanging out the front of it...

I did race single speed, with a straight bar. You run what you brung, and that's all I got.

Yeah, yeah, what was I thinking...here's a snapshot of what was running through my mind:
-I haven't been dropped yet.
-wtf am I doing here?
-wow, I haven't been dropped yet.

I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, not even in your Breaking Away dreams does someone win such a thing, but it was fun. Highlights:
-Not getting dropped
-Not crashing

Open Cat 5 was fast and tight and occasionally frightening. I was in the mix most of the race, but was damn near off the back with 800 meters to go. At 300 meters, about half the pack either bonked or gave up, and I clawed my way back to finish 22/50. The Crew took 4 of the top 5 spots, executing a brilliant leadout train. Despite what I've heard about "Crash 5" races, it was surprisingly clean.

I wasn't sure what to expect in Masters 30+ Cat 4/5, but let's just say it was neither fast nor tight. It did however, make me feel 10 years younger. Woulda, coulda, shoulda, but let's just say if I had but one more gear and a collaborator, it would have been a different story, but every surge was countered with a good long rest. The course was a brilliant motorcycle racing track with about 8-9 turns (none too tight to pedal through) but the crosswinds were murder. Since "breakaway" was clearly not in anyone's vocabulary, I was free to hang at the back of the pack, and hide from the wind on whichever side I needed. There was lots of yelling and some panic braking. One guy alongside me told me to watch my line (which was totally straight btw), though he was literally so far away from me, that someone else could almost have ridden between us. One guy was even using hand signals and calling out "slowing!" My primary goal was to stay off the pavement in the company of such knuckleheads.

I "almost" got a prime - meaning I came from the back to take 3rd, though I was 30 yards off the winner. I probably could have taken the wind-sheltered gutter a little more aggressively before the final turn, but I was convinced there was a crash in the making. While the Cat 5s had started whipping it up at this point, these guys were snaking out wide, back and forth, looking backwards, like they've seen on so many Tours de France. I'd hoped to be at "the front of the middle third" by then, but I played it too safe. I might be spinning a different yarn had I gotten mashed up. It ended like a abbreviated version of my first race: the sprint started late, finished early, and I soaked up as many spots as I could while half the pack was in oxygen debt, finishing 21/50. I gotta get me a proper road bike.

I came around fast on the rest lap and got permission to do the Cat 4/5 race, but it was full at 75 racers, and after they counted everyone up, they came in and pulled me out. It's probably for the best, because it was longer, faster, had a bunch of crashes, and from what I heard, was even more chock full of angry roadies yelling about somesuch thing. The Crew had a nice pull at the end, but they needed one more man to take it all the way to the line, and they got nipped.

Good times. At least it didn't end like this.

54x14 fixed rider wins 50 mile time trial

From the Eastern Daily Press (Norfolk, UK) comes this rather impressive bit of news: Brian Phillips won a 50 mile time trial on a carbon fiber monocoque fixed gear, in 1:56.32. (No pics.)

Perhaps critical to his feat were the high winds that had riders clocked at 14 and 44 mph on the out-and-back course. I guess a 44 mph wind-aided solo ride is one of the rare cases where a 54x14 pays off.

Until recently I've always ridden pretty steep gears (53/54 x 15/16) and I've pushed it into a headwind for 25 miles, and it sucked. As a matter of fact, most of my recent riding has me fighting winds above all else, and it pushed me to dig into the parts bin for a 54x20. A little spinny for me, so it adds a bit of time to my 50 mile daily, but keeps my heart rate up and I suspect the added aerobic effort has knocked a couple pounds off.

I never paid much attention to gear inches (since technically they depend on the tire height as well, and are completely different for mountain bikes), but just the ratio, since you can do them in your head or on paper if need be. To illustrate, I always rode a 16 cog, since it's a readily accessible BMX freewheel. It's wise to keep a similarly-toothed fixed, so you don't have to add/remove chainlinks, or adjust the rear brake if you have one. When I started building single speeds, most road bikes had 52/42 chainrings, so most people built 52x16. Some dug up bigger chainrings (like me) and some hunted for smaller ones. (I think that smaller ones are much easier to come by now, what with the Internet and the rise in FG and single speed bikes. You used to have to get track bolts through the mail for chrissakes, but that's another story.) In any event, I see a lot of 48s out there now, so some common ratios are:

chainring	cog	ratio	comment
54	20	2.7	spinny, but nice for quick starts and headwinds
48	16	3	common track/ss gear, good for mild hills
52	16	3.25	common ss gear, a little steep for hills and sustained headwinds
53	16	3.3125	if you like it a little steeper
54	16	3.375	steeper still, usually leads to a fairly slow, but strength-building "soloflex" whole-body climbing technique
54	15	3.6	my fg ratio, good for pack speed, not for quick starts
54	14	3.857143	the gear this guy was riding

I'll probably move up to a 3.0 ratio, using a 54x18, though I suspect I will be spinning high rpm trying to keep up on blistering group road rides. Clearly this guy has plenty of power to turn them over in a fierce headwind.

On a side note, rather than switching out chainrings all the time (since they require 5 bolt changes, and possibly adding/removing chain links) I just have 3 different cogs: 16, 18, and 20. I keep a 48 up front on the 'cross bike and a 54 on the ss/fg, so I always have a range to work with, and it only takes a freewheel bolt (or lockring tool for fg) to swap them out.