Classic.

Photo by Gavin Gould

4.17.10 Leland Kermesse

Cat. 1,2,3 / 22nd

This 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.

Roubaix

Photo by John Bennett
Just like the real thing.
OK, maybe not quite.

4.10.10 Hillsboro-Roubaix (Hillsboro, IL)
Cat. 3 / 10th

A race needs a good deal of character and a cool name to get me to drive four hours, and the Hillsboro-Roubaix Road Race has both - so I did. The Cat. 3 field was pretty well stacked and ran about 100 deep, so the stage was set for a good time. The 58 mile course, stiff breeze, and rolling hills guaranteed it would be a tough day - and it didn't disappoint.

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.

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...