Friday, September 3, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Devastation
My brother, Chris, started racing this year and quickly garnered YouTube fame as he deftly maneuvered through (or maybe over?) a chaotic crash at the Watsonville Crit in California.
He is the sole survivor escaping unscathed from the carnage:
At 00:20 he is center screen, bikes and bodies flailing around him:
He is the sole survivor escaping unscathed from the carnage:
At 00:20 he is center screen, bikes and bodies flailing around him:
No Chocolate Milk
Photo by Dave ReidCat. 3 / 15th
There would be no repeat of last year's big win at the great Downer Classic. No sweet chocolate milk chug on the top step of the podium. The race was just as fun, but with less drama and significantly less ceremony at the end.
The race was a brief detour from our family vacation in the Dells and gave me, my dad, and brother a chance to do something more active than sitting around eating and drinking all day - which was nice. Having tasted victory here only a year ago, I have to admit I had high hopes as I toed the line - though my experience this year warranted humbler expectations.
I sprinted for a prime late in the race thinking perhaps I could get myself into a break, but quickly realized I didn't have the legs for it. I settled in and waited for the finish, still feeling decent about my chances. On the final lap I moved into pretty good position, close to the front. Coming down the straightaway on the back side of the course two lead-outs formed - one moving up the right side of the road, the other to the left. Right or left?? I knew the decision was going to make or break the race for me. The train to the right was moving faster so I jumped in - perfect! 5th wheel and I'm set. Wait, the left side is speeding up...passing us...they're gonna make the final corner before us! No!! "You have chosen...poorly." I dropped numerous spots and a lot of speed before coming into the final turn and just did my best to maintain what I could. It wasn't the finish I'd hoped for, but rest assured the week-long vacation alleviated any and all disappointment.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Rainy Day
5.31.10 Memorial Day Masters Weekend (ABR)
30+ Cat. 1-4 / 5th
I hadn't fully committed to racing today so when it stormed a couple hours before my race I decided that was a good enough reason to skip it. However, I was equally uncommitted to not racing so when the rain cleared and the sun started poking out I changed my mind again and headed for registration. Committed. I pin my number, get dressed in a porta-potty, get my bike ready, start warming up...and it starts raining again. So I rolled to the start irritated and certain I would crash - the just punishment for my indecisiveness.
As the race started I decided I would either get into a breakaway or die trying, with a twofold reasoning in mind: 1) it would make the race more interesting and hard; and 2) it would increase the likelihood of my bike and I finishing in one piece. Within a couple laps, three of us were off the front. Within a couple more, we had become five. Mission accomplished. Each time through the Start/Finish the announcer called out the split between us and the pack... "18 seconds!...37 seconds!...52 seconds!" With only about 10 minutes to go our lead was close to two minutes and it was clear we were not going to get caught. Now it was time to figure out how I was going to win this thing against several guys I knew were stronger than me. Hmmm, that's tricky, but I had something up my sleeve.
The break soft-pedaled the last couple laps as we eyed each other and waited for somebody to make a move. Who would go first? I stayed on the front and waited, ready to pounce on an early move. Waiting...waiting... Nobody's gonna go?? You leave me no choice. As we rounded a corner onto a slightly downhill stretch about halfway through the final lap, I jumped out of the saddle and sprinted as hard as I could in an attempt to create a gap I could carry to the finish. "Surely nobody could have matched that devastating attack" I thought as I looked back to survey the damage I'd done. And there they were - all four of them - glued to my wheel as if I hadn't done anything. Crap. I did my best to recover and keep up but at that point it was a lost cause. Unable to keep up to contest the sprint, I rolled in well behind them - proudly displaying an open-palmed celebration of my 5th place and wearing a big smile. Glad I decided to race.
30+ Cat. 1-4 / 5th
I hadn't fully committed to racing today so when it stormed a couple hours before my race I decided that was a good enough reason to skip it. However, I was equally uncommitted to not racing so when the rain cleared and the sun started poking out I changed my mind again and headed for registration. Committed. I pin my number, get dressed in a porta-potty, get my bike ready, start warming up...and it starts raining again. So I rolled to the start irritated and certain I would crash - the just punishment for my indecisiveness.
As the race started I decided I would either get into a breakaway or die trying, with a twofold reasoning in mind: 1) it would make the race more interesting and hard; and 2) it would increase the likelihood of my bike and I finishing in one piece. Within a couple laps, three of us were off the front. Within a couple more, we had become five. Mission accomplished. Each time through the Start/Finish the announcer called out the split between us and the pack... "18 seconds!...37 seconds!...52 seconds!" With only about 10 minutes to go our lead was close to two minutes and it was clear we were not going to get caught. Now it was time to figure out how I was going to win this thing against several guys I knew were stronger than me. Hmmm, that's tricky, but I had something up my sleeve.
The break soft-pedaled the last couple laps as we eyed each other and waited for somebody to make a move. Who would go first? I stayed on the front and waited, ready to pounce on an early move. Waiting...waiting... Nobody's gonna go?? You leave me no choice. As we rounded a corner onto a slightly downhill stretch about halfway through the final lap, I jumped out of the saddle and sprinted as hard as I could in an attempt to create a gap I could carry to the finish. "Surely nobody could have matched that devastating attack" I thought as I looked back to survey the damage I'd done. And there they were - all four of them - glued to my wheel as if I hadn't done anything. Crap. I did my best to recover and keep up but at that point it was a lost cause. Unable to keep up to contest the sprint, I rolled in well behind them - proudly displaying an open-palmed celebration of my 5th place and wearing a big smile. Glad I decided to race.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Alpe d'Ski Hill
5.16.10 Fox River Grove Cycling Challenge
Cat. 3 / 15th
Of all the races I'll do this year, I think I was most looking forward to this one. I thought the short but severe Ski Hill Road climb would suit my strengths and I had visions of cash prizes and the elusive podium position. It would take quite a podium to accommodate 15 places, unfortunately.
For the first half of the race I felt good - I was suffering no doubt but, I figured, suffering in the usual way that everyone else was too. Here's a nice video of us stomping up the hill - while I could still breathe and see straight:
It soon became clear, however, that my suffering was not of the average variety and that I was doomed. With 4 to go I came undone, my legs no longer willing or able to carry me up the hill at the lead group's pace. As the leaders and the race drifted out of sight, I found a sustainable rhythm and a couple other dropped riders and pressed on.
I've heard it said that bike racing is all about managing your relationship with disappointment, and though that seems a bit heavy, I definitely had some managing to do after this one. And so it goes - disappointment becomes motivation; you keep working hard; then you come back and try again. And I'll definitely be back. I still love this race even though it beat me into submission this year.
Cat. 3 / 15th
Of all the races I'll do this year, I think I was most looking forward to this one. I thought the short but severe Ski Hill Road climb would suit my strengths and I had visions of cash prizes and the elusive podium position. It would take quite a podium to accommodate 15 places, unfortunately.
For the first half of the race I felt good - I was suffering no doubt but, I figured, suffering in the usual way that everyone else was too. Here's a nice video of us stomping up the hill - while I could still breathe and see straight:
It soon became clear, however, that my suffering was not of the average variety and that I was doomed. With 4 to go I came undone, my legs no longer willing or able to carry me up the hill at the lead group's pace. As the leaders and the race drifted out of sight, I found a sustainable rhythm and a couple other dropped riders and pressed on.
I've heard it said that bike racing is all about managing your relationship with disappointment, and though that seems a bit heavy, I definitely had some managing to do after this one. And so it goes - disappointment becomes motivation; you keep working hard; then you come back and try again. And I'll definitely be back. I still love this race even though it beat me into submission this year.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Monsters
5.15.10 Monsters of the Midway Cat. 3 / 6th
Flat and fast four-corner crit I knew was likely to end in a sprint. I wasn't particularly excited about that because I've felt a bit dejected recently about my lack of punch at the end of races, but what other option is there when the pace is near 30 mph for most of the race (I'm not exactly going to disappear off the front).
The final lap was as frenzied and tense as I've ever been a part of, as everyone drove for the front - pushing, shoving, swerving. In my peripheral vision I could see the makings of a crash, but we would be out of sight by the time we heard the half dozen or so bikes and bodies slamming to the ground. Coming around the final turn I was in a decent position, though already out of contention for the win. As we dove into the corner I could feel it - somebody's front wheel touching my rear wheel - which always ends the same way. I cringed as I heard him crash but quickly re-focused on the finish. I felt decent on the long straightaway and passed a few riders on my way to 6th place - well behind the top guys. As we cooled down, paramedics tended to bloodied riders while they inspected the damage to their expensive toys.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Drag Race
5.2.10 Vernon Hills Grand PrixCat. 3 / 6th
I was looking forward to Vernon Hills because, as a short and straightforward criterium, it would make for a good test of my sprint. If it stayed together I knew I'd have a chance to see what happens when I save myself for the finish and then have a go at it - and the race played out perfectly for that to happen. Burnham was well represented so they shot guys off the front throughout the race but nobody got away and we were together coming in to the final few laps. I positioned myself well in the final lap, 6th or 7th wheel. As we approached the final turn I moved up on the inside toward the front, which in hindsight was a bit hasty as the finishing straight was long and into the wind. Nevertheless, as two riders came by on my left I grabbed their wheels and we stood to sprint. I neither gained nor lost ground at that point - I just sort of maintained my position through the sprint for 6th place. Fun and safe race...just wish I was a little faster.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Classic.
Photo by Gavin Gould
4.17.10 Leland KermesseThis race was so hard it was two weeks before I could bring myself to revisit it for the sake of the report. The 125km (77 mile) race blew to pieces within the first few miles, with crosswinds and a vicious attack dividing the field in half immediately following the neutral roll-out. I basically had to redline it for a couple minutes just to maintain contact with the front half of the race and we hadn't even gone 5 miles yet. I eventually got popped out of the back of this group and rode alone for a bit, but was soon joined by 3 others. We made a pretty well-matched foursome (though I was admittedly probably the weakest link) and worked well together for the next 30 or so miles, making the best of our unfortunate situation. As soon as I started thinking, 'Hey this isn't so bad, it would be great if I could finish with this chase group...' Flat. As I pulled off the road, one of the support vehicles stopped in front of me and I got ready to throw my bike in the back and call it a day. But to my surprise (and horror) a guy jumps out of the van with a new tube and pump! After the quick and unexpected tire fix I'm back on the road - alone. 20 mph headwinds never felt quite so bad. I put my head down and battled on though, the fixed flat breathing new life into my determination to finish. I only had to do a few miles on my own before I was joined by another straggler - a XXX rider who was gracious enough to let me ride with him even though I was dying and undoubtedly slowing him down. Nevertheless, we pressed on, as if staring Leland in the eye and letting it know it wasn't going to get the best of us today. Shortly thereafter I ran out of water but thankfully my new XXX buddy gave me his extra bottle - huge props to Mike Seguin for that classy move - it's nice to ride with good guys. As I came down the finishing stretch both of my legs cramped up as badly as they ever have in all my life. I literally thought I was going to roll to a stop and tip over, unable to use either leg. Thankfully I was able to clip out and step down at the last second, narrowly avoiding tumbling into the ditch. After composing myself and rubbing the cramps out of my legs, I rode the final couple hundred meters to the finish. Just shy of 4 hours on the bike. 55 started, 25 finished. Agonizing but gratifying.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Roubaix
Photo by John Bennett
Just like the real thing.
OK, maybe not quite.4.10.10 Hillsboro-Roubaix (Hillsboro, IL)
Cat. 3 / 10th
The first 29-mile lap was an exercise in moving up through a tightly-packed and well-defended peloton. Many of the rural roads were narrow and could only accommodate 3 or 4 riders across, and the dreaded center-line rule made it risky to make any moves on the left. The crosswinds meanwhile forced riders left as they battled for shelter while the moto-refs intermittently came by to take down numbers, honk, remind, and reprimand. Between poking my wheel into the slightest of openings and riding in the gutter with my face in the wind, I eventually made it to the front a couple miles before the start of the second lap. I was predicting the fireworks would begin early in the latter half of the race and I wanted to be there when they did. Marking wheels as we rolled out of town I waited...and waited. Finally I decided to initiate the action, hoping I might lure somebody into a break. I jumped but was quickly reeled back in. My brief and futile attempt to get away was useful in one sense however - it helped me realize how bad my legs already felt after 40 miles - with nearly 20 still to go. So I settled back in, maintained a decent position, and hoped my legs would come back to life.
As we approached the final hill into town, I realized I was going to reach my initial goal for the race: to simply finish with the lead group. My legs were pretty well destroyed as we started up the climb and I was just trying to stay smooth to prevent cramping. It became apparent as the road turned upward however that I wasn't the only one who was feeling it. Guys were fading left and right and all of a sudden we were going over the top and I was near the front. I tweaked my expectations a bit and started thinking about going after a decent finish as we made a hard left toward the downhill. We came screaming down the descent into town and hit the fabled brick roads at around 45 miles-per-hour. I grabbed the bars as tightly as I could as the vibration loosened what little grip my sweaty hands still had - temporarily blocking from my mind the reality of what would happen to a person falling on broken brick pavement at this speed. I knew I didn't have much of a sprint in me (I couldn't even stand up) so I held on tight and followed wheels as closely as I could down the long finishing straight. 10th place.
And though it doesn't look like much on paper, it's probably my proudest finish to date considering how hard I had to work for it.
A special thanks to the Wells family for sharing their home for our "Tennessee Training Camp," which undoubtedly helped me make it to the finish line intact.
As we approached the final hill into town, I realized I was going to reach my initial goal for the race: to simply finish with the lead group. My legs were pretty well destroyed as we started up the climb and I was just trying to stay smooth to prevent cramping. It became apparent as the road turned upward however that I wasn't the only one who was feeling it. Guys were fading left and right and all of a sudden we were going over the top and I was near the front. I tweaked my expectations a bit and started thinking about going after a decent finish as we made a hard left toward the downhill. We came screaming down the descent into town and hit the fabled brick roads at around 45 miles-per-hour. I grabbed the bars as tightly as I could as the vibration loosened what little grip my sweaty hands still had - temporarily blocking from my mind the reality of what would happen to a person falling on broken brick pavement at this speed. I knew I didn't have much of a sprint in me (I couldn't even stand up) so I held on tight and followed wheels as closely as I could down the long finishing straight. 10th place.
And though it doesn't look like much on paper, it's probably my proudest finish to date considering how hard I had to work for it.
A special thanks to the Wells family for sharing their home for our "Tennessee Training Camp," which undoubtedly helped me make it to the finish line intact.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Off and Running...
When you have a daughter who looks up at you like that before you leave for a race, what more could you ask for?3.27.10 Burnham Spring Super Crit (South Beloit)
Cat. 3 / 10th
Cat. 1,2,3 / 31st
Saturday kicked off what will hopefully be a productive season of racing. It felt good to get out there again and mix it up, test the legs a bit, shake out the cobwebs, and see some familiar faces. I raced twice in an effort to put some good, hard miles into my legs with a couple longer road races quickly approaching.
In the 3's I tried to be a bit more aggressive than usual and stayed near the front, helping to chase down breaks (except the one that counted, unfortunately - well played, XXX). As we made our way to the finishing stretch on the final lap, Chazz Martin jumped super hard and super early and I went with him - foolishly. Guys were passing me left and right as I died to the finish line. As my dad wisely put it afterward, "Now you just need to work on your half-mile sprint." Thanks, dad. It was actually probably a good gamble for me to take, as the true sprinters would have blown my doors off either way. In the 1,2,3 race I just sat in and held on, unsure of how long my legs would last. I felt better than expected and took one final dig off the front about halfway through the final lap to make sure I had sufficiently punished myself before pulling the plug and rolling in with the pack.
And so it begins...
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Anticipation
Photo by Luke SeemannThe first race of the season is only a couple days away. I can't wait. But I'll miss the off-season, at least briefly.
I suppose the beauty of the off-season lies in its limitless potential. Hope and aspiration are unburdened by the weight of reality. The anxiety and anticipation build until that first race. So many unknowns. 'Have I trained hard enough?' 'Will I be better than last year?' 'Will I win?' 'Will I get dropped?' 'Will I be overgeared in my first bunch sprint?'
On Saturday the questions will be answered. Expectations will be realigned with reality, whatever it may be. As racing season gets into full swing, fate will sort us into a natural order - most of us falling into the taller portions of the bell-shaped curve.
Come Saturday it is fully possible I will be as average as ever. And it won't matter even a little bit. Because we'll be racing - and regardless of the outcome it just doesn't get much better than that.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Hit 'n Run
Anyone who spends any time riding suburban Chicago roads can tell you that drivers are not always thrilled to see us on them. Inexplicably, it enrages some drivers to the point of violence. The other day, two friends and I were riding on Army Trail Road near St. Charles when we were nearly killed by one of these:
If it were simply negligence I wouldn't have thought much of it, as I've had near misses with careless drivers on numerous occasions (just today somebody pulled out in front of me and I had to hit the brakes hard to avoid a collision). No, this was something uglier and scarier. This was intentional.
We were hugging the side of the road and riding single-file as a car approached us from behind and honked several times. Figuring he was just announcing his presence I didn't think much of it...until he nearly clipped me as he passed - maybe 3 or 4 inches off my elbow - probably doing 40 or 50 miles-per-hour. Andy, who was riding on the front, wasn't as lucky. The SUV's side-view mirror caught him in the back and sent him sprawling, with the second rider in line quickly crashing over top of him. I veered around the chaos and skid to a stop, reeling from what had just happened. I strained in vain to make out anything of the SUV's license plate as he sped away like nothing had happened.
Thankfully, and somewhat miraculously, nobody was seriously injured. Just plenty of bumps, bruises, and the always pleasant road rash. A 911 call, fire truck, ambulance, several police cars and an hour later, we were able to finish what was left of our ride (the latter half was much less eventful). As I shared this story with a friend later that day, he relayed that he had ridden also and had been passed by a motorist giving him the finger and screaming obscenities at him - all because he was riding his bike on the road.
If I am ever killed riding my bike, please know that I died happy...but I'd still rather not.
Share the road.
If it were simply negligence I wouldn't have thought much of it, as I've had near misses with careless drivers on numerous occasions (just today somebody pulled out in front of me and I had to hit the brakes hard to avoid a collision). No, this was something uglier and scarier. This was intentional.
We were hugging the side of the road and riding single-file as a car approached us from behind and honked several times. Figuring he was just announcing his presence I didn't think much of it...until he nearly clipped me as he passed - maybe 3 or 4 inches off my elbow - probably doing 40 or 50 miles-per-hour. Andy, who was riding on the front, wasn't as lucky. The SUV's side-view mirror caught him in the back and sent him sprawling, with the second rider in line quickly crashing over top of him. I veered around the chaos and skid to a stop, reeling from what had just happened. I strained in vain to make out anything of the SUV's license plate as he sped away like nothing had happened.
Thankfully, and somewhat miraculously, nobody was seriously injured. Just plenty of bumps, bruises, and the always pleasant road rash. A 911 call, fire truck, ambulance, several police cars and an hour later, we were able to finish what was left of our ride (the latter half was much less eventful). As I shared this story with a friend later that day, he relayed that he had ridden also and had been passed by a motorist giving him the finger and screaming obscenities at him - all because he was riding his bike on the road.
If I am ever killed riding my bike, please know that I died happy...but I'd still rather not.
Share the road.
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