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Festivus 2011 - The Airing of Grievances

2011-12-23T00:52:00.008-05:00

Two years ago, when this blog’s author was less ambitious (nor less pompous) about riding, he wrote a post celebrating Festivus, the holiday for the rest of us. To this day it has been among the most popular posts according to Google Analytics.

Apparently MABRA’s lower ranks are thirsty for the minutia of Cat 3/4 racing. Recently, this blog’s author has felt complimented by the outpouring (okay, drizzling) and rumbling (whispering) of a return to its previous prominence (irreverence). That will likely not happen, but a teaser, a vignette, a terse rant or a cool photo just may appear.

To many haters' content, I am sure, it suffices to say that any race reports from my first year as a Cat 2 would have had little else but a grunt, a desperate gasp, and garbled four-letter words for the fast dudes up front. I race a lot during the summer, and slack off during the fall, so there is no recent news either. (It would be nothing short of a Festivus Miracle to see a road race in MABRA after Labor Day anyway – something my southern California friends are not lacking.)

What better way to bring back the blog for a 2011 cameo than to revisit one of its most popular topics? Thus, I bring you my Airing of Grievances for 2011. Following is a list of those who have wronged me:

Joe Bean Road, Battenkill, NY – You are not human, and barely deserving of my grievances. To appropriately describe your characteristics, you are a dirt path sprinkled with gravel. And though your contours are not severe, it is partially your doing that I shall return to upstate New York with a specific fervor in 2012 to vindicate the wrath you placed upon my front tire as I crested your modest summit in the lead group.

Andy Cicero – You actually tried to out-sprint me for 82nd place at Battenkill after your gruppetto caught up to me. Well, good sir, to this I say, nay!

Severin Skolrud – Never again shall I indulge in your whiskey-cider, the effects of which had similar consequences to your overindulgence of nutella sandwiches before BikeJam. Luckily, my parents were not there to watch.

Speaking of which...

BikeSlam/Kelly Cup – STREETCLEANERS. Google it, or perhaps “brooms.” My team of five had four flats at this race, all caused by punctures. The Shimano neutral support tent actually ran out of spare wheels during the Pro/1/2/3 race. If you want to leave that much gravel on the course, please add it to the MABRACross series.

Harry Goldman – I have to give you crap because I know you will actually read this. Stop calling me after 9:30 p.m. unless your bicycle is dying of cancer like right meow. The 9:30 phone prohibition is a rule my parents had when I grew up, and it still is weird for anyone to call me later than that.

ABRT – Can you please put a hill on the Church Creek course?

Race Promoters – Dare I go there? I dare. Of course I have heard the cliché that there would be no races without race promoters. We racers are appreciative. We ARE appreciative – it needs to be said twice. What needs to be said louder, because is permitted to be said too few times, is that racers have every right to critique an event. Get of your pedestals, so the racers can step on the podium. If bike racing were a rock concert and your band sucked, and the venue smelled like chicken sh*t, and racers did not enjoy themselves, why should they come back? Why should they not tell other racers? So here is my plea, race promoters: do not forget what it was like to be a racer. And for the love of clean chamois everywhere, please have enough porta-johns available.

Matthew Latyszonek – Did you even hit the wind once at Reston? L7 weenie. I will race you for your PowerTap. And your Venge. And your aero wheels (all of them).

Harry Fang and everyone whose racing age is 35 or higher – If you want to race your age group, race triathlon. If your category is too fast for you, I see two options: get fast or downgrade. Mostly, though, I want you all to start trying to kick my ass in races like you do in training. Stop preventing the non-masters up-and-comers from being able to compete more frequently (whether doubling up or having their own category) by demanding events that discriminate against young racers. Believe it or not, it’s the 19-24 and 25-34 year-olds that are the two fastest-growing demographics in USA Cycling.

David Kirkpatrick – Stop being so vague.

Greg McMahon – Nobody will ever be able to borrow any of my wheels again, thanks to you. Next time win the race as we discussed, instead of smooching with the pavement.

Christopher Gould & WWVC – Every time I drive to one of the races in Page County, I stop at Copper Fox Distillery in Sperryville to pick up a bottle of Wasmund’s Single Malt Whiskey. It is great that I will be driving out there frequently in 2012, but my liver hates you for it.

Cyclocross Racers – They were words reiterated by my friend and teammate, Luther Swift, when he was the only one of a conglomerate of cyclocross racers that could not keep their wheels anywhere near our drafts on a particular road ride over the Poolesville dirt: “You should race cross!” he said. What I have seen, though, is that cyclocross in the lower categories is largely made up of people who have given up on being good at road cycling. This is a fate I will not [yet] succumb to. I simply give no flying fornication to purchase another bike and pay to pin more holes in my jersey during the time of the year in which the weather is at its best, and the pressure on my legs to act fast is at its lowest. Cease trying to make me indulge this kinky two-wheeled pleasure that I have absolutely no desire to try. I would rather drink a PBR, dress up like Sully and Force, and/or sit in a foldable chair with a dry-erase board and berate you while you suffer. I am a road racer, therefore I do not like racing off the back. I strive to race from the front – where the race is won. It is probably more than coincidence that most of the racers who have incessantly encouraged me to play just-the-tip with cyclocross have been nowhere near the front of their fields in road or cross. Except Luke.

All the Cat 1/2/3 women who did not win at Charm City - Apparently none of you could take any humor from some friendly heckling, unlike the chick that kicked your butts by six minutes. Laugh a little.

Matthew Rosier – There is a biblical story about the prodigal son. It sucks. You should read it.

Referees at Bunny Hop – If you bend the rules once, you should be prepared to bend the rules again. Then you will not have to relegate three of the first seven racers across the line because you told them to get back in the race.

GamJams – Please give a bit more variety in your “Primes and Promos” posts. In the past, I had constructively criticized that an unbalanced fraction of reviewed products were from one single company. Then, when a good friend of mine requested that his own commercial product be reviewed, the author wanted my friend to pay him for a product review.

Dan Drumwright – I do not really have a grievance since this is a continuation of an old one, but I think the narrative should be shared again. In the past few years you have now raced for NCVC, Coppi, Route 1 Velo, Conte’s, V-Day, and Haymarket. I wonder who is next…

Andrew Groleau & Matt McHugh – Y’all are way too fast to keep asking a whole hell of a lot of naïve questions. How many top 10s did you get as a Cat 5, Matt? Yeah, you’ve got it.

Jay Moglia – My ego is still climbing its off-season ass up Helmick Rock Road.

Trash Talkers – It is too cliché to love to hate the New York Yankees, MicroSoft and Apple, the Evil Empire, or any organization that is secure about its identity. Well I am proud to be a member of a cycling club with that sort of history. It is a club that hosts three or four races per year intentionally budgeted to lose money on those races to keep the costs low for competitors and support local charities. I am proud to be a member of a club that provides professional coaching for our junior riders instead of charging inordinate monthly fees for membership. It is a club that reimburses members for a good fraction of their race fees, and even more if they do big events like Nationals, Battenkill, or GMSR. A club whose masters and elite riders annually host race clinics for novices. A club that – like few others nowadays – includes racers from Cat 5 to Cat 1, not to mention the dude that went pro last year. Most importantly, it is more than a club. NCVC is a large family of friends, whether we show up for three or 30 races per year.

- - - -

You are welcome to refute or share your own in the comments, which I will be moderating for decency since my name is searchable to this blog. I have aired my grievances; the feats of strength commence in March. Happy Festivus.

My Old Friend, Speed

2011-02-11T00:08:00.000-05:00

As if it were not evident already, I'll be posting with less frequency. Recently, I just have not had much to say nor the time to organize my thoughts. Here is one arrogant, smart-ass bike racer bemused into silence. Commitments to The Man, The Legs, and The Bike have already taken precedence, and I am now also more accountable to The Team. I am particularly excited about that last one.

It was a huge compliment to be invited to race with the NCVC elite team, as well as is a compliment to race against some stellar athletes in MABRA. It is humbling, no doubt. I will hold a bit more respect to the team, the strategy, and my competitors. And with more commitments on- and off-the-bike, you will hear a bit less of me here, but hopefully not on the road.

I first noticed a certain lack of logic in my rambling mind on a solitary ride on Veteran's Day. Cat and I had just moved into a new place, but I think I had spent only three nights at “home” in the first two weeks. I had just returned from two weeks of back-to-back travel for work – mine of which I consider slightly more patriotic than the average civilian, no offense. I have twice since repeated a similarly miserable travel schedule.

On that particular holiday, though, I basically had to check email and I was done working for the week. So I slept in and went for a mid-day bike ride. The farther I went, the harder I pedaled, attempting to catch up with my old friend Speed.

Aside from a single ride in the three weeks prior, I had barely thought about bicycling, much less racing. In November this was not a concern. My mind was on the obscure idea of commitment in the midst of change.

That ride symbolized the end of what I would usually consider my favorite time of year to ride. Autumn: the only time of year that presents stellar weather with absolutely no responsibility to use force on the pedals. But you cannot remove the racer from a competitive cyclist, so I pedaled hard anyway to distract my thoughts.

It was an appropriate time of year to answer the questions I should have answered weeks before: What do you change from last year or the year before? What the hell is your plan? You've never had one before, do you need one now? Am I still talking about bike racing?

For a competitive cyclist or any person as resistant to change as me, and entering his first year of “elite” racing, it is not ideal, preferable, or in any way fun to have to adapt to a few new circumstances at once. At least it was the off-season, but airplanes and hotels infect me with sickness and exhaustion.

I do not share this to find sympathy, but I have definitely grown an appreciation for folks like my father, a civil servant who traveled about one week per month for my entire youth. Though I rarely share much about my office life, what I do to afford my cycling swag is important to me. It’s been at the cost of my family, who I have spent less time with in the past few months.

It may not sound like much to folks with busier lives than my own, but the past few months have brought lots of changes, no doubt. It has been nothing but an exciting growth. In life, it’s a new home, new work, and even a new pet. On the bike it is a new ride, different responsibilities to the club, and a new team atmosphere.

The hours spent on these solo rides on holiday, they belong to me. They are the same now as they were a year or two ago. These are my miles and my pedal strokes on familiar roads with familiar potholes. Nothing can take this away from me; little can spoil the ride.

Likewise, then, I have to tell myself the same of the upcoming year. To grow I must learn to adapt and accept the challenge of flexibility with extra zeal. These days are mine.

Races are still in the shadows even in January, when my lone pedaling excursions in Montgomery County actually may have counted as “training.” In the second month of the year there is a bit more haste to find our friend Speed.

A novice cyclist half-jokingly asked me and a fellow racer this past fall if we could “teach” him how to hold the wheel of a faster pair of legs. We sneered, somewhat insulted.

Take it on the chin, I thought.

I remember when I was ignorant enough to ask a guy I used to row with about his secret to speed. That was when I was in much better shape than I am now as a Category 2 bike racer.

“Work your nuts off,” he tersely responded.

Speed: it is not a skill. You cannot teach Fast, although you can learn to suffer. Slowly you can adapt to new challenges, whether in life or sport. And that process is not something to half-joke about with competitive athletes.

Here I am again, on President’s day, having returned from back-to-back trips with certain neglect toward my [new] bicycle, asking myself like I did on Veteran’s day what my plans are. And I will try to figure out if I am talking about life or bike racing.

It will not matter. I am in the same place now that I was in three months ago, albeit having adapted to more miles traveled – on bike and plane. This time, though, there is a bit more responsibility to put force on the pedals. To The Legs, The Team, and to catch up with my old friend, Speed.

Gamjams Review: Secret Weapon

2011-02-10T10:23:00.000-05:00

Is it the socks? Or the shoes? That's his old bike in the picture, so maybe it's the trainer.

Nah, man. It's the legs.

As Indurain once quipped to Lance as the peloton's new boss bragged about a new TT rig, "No se olvide de las piernas."

That's the real secret, is it not? New bikes and wheels and shoes and helmets - they're all hype, though without a doubt they give us one more reason to clip in for a ride to try a new toy.

That pair of gams propelling those wheels, though, it is both the strongest and weakest link. And it's always a secret.

Last night I was at Hains for about one hour and fifty minutes. Was I soft-pedaling? Was I suffering? The other racers at the start line will never know.

Hey Russ, Hey Sean...

2011-01-29T14:06:00.001-05:00

Thanks.

And Lance, you too, on those silly powercranks.

Hiatus

2010-12-12T01:00:00.004-05:00

Sometime's there's so much on your mind that you don't know what to say.

Not much to see here, except for a teaser:

See you on the road.

-Siggy

Ed Sander Memorial CX - The Back Nine (Video)

2010-09-27T16:03:00.005-04:00

I'd forgotten how much fun it was to not compete and just enjoy the spectacle of a bike race, especially when there is beer, waffles, and picture-taking. Seeing some of the slick moves, I think the heckling sideline is where I belong in fall/winter.

Here's a video of the Masters 35+ (Cat 3/4) and 55+ on the "Back nine" climb.

Also a video of the start and hole shot for the Men's Killer Bs:

If I get to it, I have a few more videos I can upload tonight, however, I also posted a bunch of pictures on my zenfolio page (the link is already on GamJams.net so you might have already seen 'em). As a racer myself, I appreciate obtaining the photographic evidence of the suffering. The privacy settings are open - save all the memories of suffering you want.

2010 Season in Brief

2010-09-23T17:35:00.009-04:00

Vint Hill Classic, Cat 3/4 - 3rd
Who the hell is Joe Dombroski? Field sprint for second? Let's act like a thief and steal this from the sprinters. Okay, we'll *almost* steal it. Good one, Bridges.

Jefferson Cup Road Race, Cat 1/2/3 - 48th
**Shiverrrrr** It's 40 degrees and raining, and Joe D. bridged to the break solo? Okay, now I don't feel so bad about letting a fellow Cat 3 break away solo last race. Where did the other half of the field go?

Tyson's Corner Circuit Race, Cat 3 - 11th
Why did I breakaway halfway through the race? Oh well, sprint finish! Hmmm, I need to learn my masters' teammates names. They all look alike in spandex and sunglasses.

Chantilly Criterium, Cat 3 - 4th
The lead-out's in position. Perfect. The swarm is coming... darn! When Flanagan takes off in the final lap, you've gotta at least try...

Chantilly Criterium, Cat 1/2/3 - 16th
I will regret owning a stick-shift car after this race. Doubling up hurts.

Carl Dolan Circuit Race, Cat 3/4 - 11th among Cat 3s
I have zero legs after yesterday, and if I never do this crap-shoot race again, it will be too soon. Too many racers, not enough road.

Michael P. Murad Road Race, Cat 3 - 8th
What a charlie foxtrot. Even if we missed the break, I'm going to fight for the table scraps. Futile is fun.

Fort Ritchie Criterium, Cat 3 - 4th
Perfect opportunity, mediocre fitness for execution. Don't pick fights with Flanagan 18-laps from the finish.

Poolesville Road Race, Cat 3/4 - 4th
Nate M. put a chain link fence on the chase? Fine, we'll just fight to slay the sprint. Hello gutter route.

Leonardtown Criterium, Cat 3/4 - 13th
Nick and Catherine made me sign up for this crap? What a waste. Oh dear lord we're going fast... where'd Nick go? Don't get dropped. Don't get dropped.

Ride Sally Ride, Cat 3 - Canceled w/ 3 to go.
Truly like NASCAR on bikes. Woah, why are the road cones flying at us? What would Jens do? Attack! Holy crap my front wheel is flying... I'm airborne! Race over? What? (CRACK THUNDER BOOM) Okay yeah that's a good idea.

Spring Church Creek TT, Cat 3/4 Team Time Trial - 1st
Let's ROLL, boys. Who needs TT bikes when you have FredStylez aerobars? Wow this course is boring. Ohhh, tailwind for the homestretch!

USAF Cycling Classic Crystal City, Cat 3/4 - 18th
This is as crazy as Carl Dolan, but with Corners. I wonder when something bad is gonna happen. Oh, perfect, with 1/2 a lap to go. Hello curb, nice to meet you.

Tour of Washington County, GC - 6th

Tour of Washington Count, Smithsburg RR - 6th
Gotta get into the break for Drew! Okay, now is Drew here? Good. [Repeat four times.] Aaaaand my tank is on empty for the sprint, but Drew's wasn't!

Tour of Washington County, Boonsboro TT - 9th
Hey, neat, I passed Sam. Look tough for the camera, now, one more hill left... crap no! That's the line! Wasn't this course longer last year? I guess I should have read the tech manual.

Tour of Washington County, Williamsport Criterium - 18th
Don't get dropped. Don't get dropped. Don't get dropped. Legs? Hello?!?! Two to go! Crap, why is my GC leader on the side of the road!?!

Reston Town Center GP, Cat 3/4 - DID NOT START
These mountains in California are awesome.

Hagerstown Criterium, Cat 3 - DID NOT START
These mountains in West Virginia are awesome. Hey look, I have ten fingers. Unlike some MABRA racers.

Giro di Coppi Road Race, Cat 3/4 - 5th
My ankle hurts. Like my pink kinesio tape? Hmmm, deja vu from last year, but worse outcome. At least I didn't get beat by the guy with hairy legs.

Lost River Classic Road Race, Cat 3/4 - 8th
Wow, I'm fat and Tom said just said, "buh-bye." The guy with hairy legs can climb, too.

Page Valley Road Race, Cat 3 - 7th
Thanks for putting me in the ditch, Kelly. Sorry Mr. Brookes, I know you're my teammate, but I'm going to sprint past you for 7th. I owe you another one.

Highway to Heaven Hill Climb, Cat 3 - 2nd
Tom M. whooped us and he got the boot? Woah. There are so many better things I can find to do in three minutes and fifty-seven seconds.

Fall Church Creek TT, Cat 3 - 7th
Caught by my 30-sec man in 6 minutes. Nuts. At least I beat Brigham by three minutes this time. Hey look, I beat Nate H. too. This is gonna be an awkward drive home.

Dawg Days of Summer Circuit Race, Cat 1/2/3
Shortened to two laps to go?!?! One torrential lap to go and I'm the pointy end of the lead-out train, let's rock. Okay, done. Only 400 meters to go and I'm OTB talking to the moto ref.

Green Mountain Stage Race, GC - 33rd

GMSR Time Trial, Cat 3 - 38th
Passed once, passed two others. Almost caught my teammate Yon. Holy crap, the boys in Vermont know how to TT. I'm fodder.

GMSR, 70-mile Circuit Race, Cat 3 - 6th
One-mile to go, I'll see what I can do. Uh oh, this flier's legs don't have as much juice after 70 miles over four mountains. Hey, 6th ain't bad!.

GMSR, 70-mile Road Race, Cat 3 - 34th
Apparently, I suck at climbing.

GMSR, Burlington Criterium, Cat 3 - 49th
Why is my heart not beating above 170!? Is that the field half a lap ahead? Make it to the time cut. Make it to the time cut.

Turkey Day, Cat 3 - 12th
Attack! Repeat ad libitum! Crap, R1V is taking their defense of the BAR to levels of stalkerish creepiness I did not know existed in bike racing. Four laps to go and Harry's up the road? Sure thing. Plans change.

MABRA Best All-Around Rider (BAR) Award, Cat 3 - 2nd

Cat 2 Upgrade request submitted on September 12, 2010. Still waiting...

$tatistics

2010-09-14T18:08:00.001-04:00

$857. That is the price of registering to pin a number on 27 times in a season.

- The FACT$ -

Two stage races are included in that number - Tour of Washington County and Green Mountain. Green Mountain alone was $205, though I counted each separate event of a stage races separately as to not effect the average cost of a "single" race. The price also includes one-fourth of a 4-man team time trial.

That means an average race, before the $2-3 web convenience fee or day-of penalty, costs $31.74. If you remove Green Mountain from the calendar that drops to $28.35.

If you exclude Green Mountain's average of $51 per stage, Jeff Cup ($38) and the Air Force Crystal Cup ($40) were the most expensive. Chantilly and Ride Sally Ride were the cheapest at $20.

Lost River, Coppi, Page Valley, and Murad were $35 each. Poolesville was $32; Turkey Day was $30. Everything else I raced was $25 or less.

Highway-2-Heaven was $22 for a 0.8-mile race, by far the most expensive per-mile.

- COMPARISON$. -

Bike racing is surely cheaper than triathlon, where race registrations are rarely below a Benjamin, and sometimes skyrocket to more than a McKinley. Not the mountain - the guy on the $500 bill, if you were wondering.

As much as we complain about bike race pre-registration, it's so much more convenient to our calendars than triathlon. I would guess that we usually register 1-2 months before a race. Triathletes have to register upwards of 6-12 months in advance.

As bike racers with day jobs and families, our intertia can take us in many directions in that time frame. I don't know where I'm eating lunch today, much less where in the world I'll be on a random Sunday next year.

Anyone know how this all compares to running?

- PRE-REGISTRATIONS. -

Another fun comparison is the Northeast cycling culture. They just don't pre-register, apparently. In MABRA, for everything but Jeff Cup or BIG races (Clarendon, BikeJam, etc.), I presume, it would makes sense for all of us to chill out a bit on the rush to register.

At Tyson's, for example, I heard that my club (NCVC) has been able to allow anyone that shows up from any waitlist to enter the race, both in 2009 and 2010. The referees have politely given some leeway for the 51st or 52nd Cat 5, but that still means that a significant number of pre-registrants aren't showing up.

That double-booking is good for our race promoters' budgets, so nobody should be complaining.

Speaking of pre-registration, here's a tally of the number of non-junior pre-registrations for MABRA races that still had their information online (Pre-Reg didn't have much information available).

(Click on the image or a larger view.)

Fun fact: According to PRE-Registration (non day-of) females make up 14% of MABRA racers. That is slightly above USAC's 12% population of women. I'm sure more women sign up the day of each race, but I do not have that information.

One speed bump to this sort of tallying is that race promoters in MABRA are required to report finishers to USAC, but that information is inconsistently reported. Some results include full start lists with DNFs, some include DNSs, some only include actual finishers.

So when you're sending in your upgrade request, you're SOL if you're trying to find out how many starters there were.

- -

Race Report: Turkey Day, Cat 3

2010-09-14T08:08:00.002-04:00

NCVC had about seven racers. Route 1 Velo had four. No other team had significant presence, or more than a pair of guys. Besides the rainy September atmosphere, there's a reason.

Route 1 Velo probably hasn't had four racers in any Cat 3 race this year. That's because Brigham wanted to defend his slim lead in the BAR, from me. All four of those guys entered to shut me down. At the start line, Brigham pointed to me and told his boys, "That's the guy!"

Their plan worked.

R1V literally did nothing but chase me down. Brigham went as far as telling his guys to stop chasing other teams down. I threw down a 4-5 hard attempts to escape. Bridged up to a few breakaways. Attack from the front or back of the pack. Caught R1V sipping water, or took the gutter route. Attacked my own attacks (ouch). Stooped to low levels, but nothing worked with a tiny field and four pairs of strong legs stalking me.

I could gap Brig's boys, but he was always on my wheel, relentlessly. Good on him. Anything I did was wasteful to my own efforts, and really to that of other racers, too.

Ian from Bike Doctor got pretty pissed when I bridged up with two R1V guys doing nothing but following my blue tires. Sorry Ian, apparently you didn't get the "showdown" memo from Brigham and me. We had our own agenda.

Those R1V guys did their job. In a way it was fun racing with a specific mission, butit also sucked to be personally neutralized. With only a few laps to go, I told my NCVC boys to give it a go on their own. I wasn't getting anywhere.

That's when Harry Fang stole the show. Ian snuck away with him, along with my good friend Nate H. from GamJams. If you put Harry in a breakaway, that's darn near a sure victory. I'm glad the other two guys were up there too. Nate because he's my pal, and Ian because he tried so hard to animate a race that I was ruining for everyone. But I had to try. Harry apparently was hoping I'd bridge up - but those three guys were GONE.

In the end, the group of three stayed away. Then we let a group of four sneak away. By "we" I mean the now-miniscule peloton: Drew, Andy, and me from NCVC; all four R1V guys; a few stragglers with other teammates up the road. Only a dozen total.

Two more NCVC had slipped away, though. David Brookes (5-4, 101 pounds) and Matt Dockins (he's at least 6-3), so that looked funny. When two Bike Doctor guys tried to catch them, Drew A. and I chased to save their top 10s. R1V, of course, sat on my wheel until the last lap.

That last lap was super fun racing. Even though all the BAR points were up the road, R1V threw down the hardest lead-out I've ever seen for 10th place in bike racing history. It was awesome, actually - I was on Brig's wheel and couldn't come around. He is one of the best crit racers and sprinters in Cat 3, though I suspect he won't be there long.

Kudos, Brig. Your boys followed the script to a tee. Hopefully everyone will forgive us for our antics, like Ian. He placed second ahead of Nate.

Harry, though, took the win for NCVC. We couldn't snag the BAR, which was a shot at the moon anyway. We tried, though, and still won the last race of the season with three in the top 10.

When I arrived home, before even showering, I submitted my Cat 2 upgrade request.

Uh oh, now I have to learn how to race.

Before & After

2010-09-12T09:38:00.007-04:00

I'm writing this minutes before I jump in the car. As if the nerves from racing up App Gap at the Green Mountain Stage Race weren't enough in a two-week span, today's actually worse. The pressure is on - and it's all on me. There's no hiding in anonymity on your home turf in front of your good friends and teammates.

I've got an army of teammates (finally!) coming out to help me at Turkey Day today. I'm trailing Brigham (R1V) by 5 points in the BAR and somehow we've gotta take that back. To do this, I need to finish in the top seven racers today, and he needs to be at least a few racers back.

It's an uphill battle; failure is the most probable option. Stealing the BAR in the last race of the season (a 1.1-mile dead-flat circle? that's a sure contrast to GMSR) is not an easy task when you consider Brigham is one of the best Cat 3 crit racers in MABRA. No shit. But the line going through my head is from one of those corny-yet-inspiring versus commercials: Just because they're the strong doesn't mean they can't get their asses kicked.

So it's on. Gametime. Raceday - for the last time in 2010. I'm wearing my navy and gold Hylton High School Crew Team henley t-shirt from freshman year of high school. It's my raceday shirt, though I only wear it now when I'm nervous the morning of a competition. Perhaps it's like mithril armor. It reminds me that years ago, I could handle this pressure. I've lost a wohle hell of a lot of races, and won a few times.

Nothing to lose - second place is secure in the BAR, so that means the pressure is equally on Brigham and his three R1V teammates to chase down everything I do, catch all the crap I throw their way. I've got four strong teammates to guide me through, but it's gotta be me. They're all stronger than me, perhaps, in different ways. Hopefully their speed and strengths will rub off on me when I need it most.

If anything, it'll be a fun show. I don't race to simply cross the line, I race to compete. And that's what will happen today.

Race Report: GMSR, Stage 4 - Burlington Criterium

2010-09-12T00:47:00.003-04:00

My criterium report really starts about 8 minutes into my warm-up. That’s when I discovered that my body was still in a total shutdown from the previous three day’s efforts. Throughout a 45 minute warm-up, my heart rate did not break 174 beats per minute. I include a number of one to two minutes intervals in my warm-up, but my body was not responding to high-end efforts.

That being said, shit went further south.

I staged excellently in the first row during the “pre-staging,” but was knocked down by someone more aggressive and about 50 pounds larger on the ride up to the line. What shit luck, too, because Drew A. had told me to stage up front “at all costs” for this criterium. I thought I’d snagged a spot.

I had to laugh, in a way. Although I was pissed I’m sure the guy I landed on was even more livid. I would start the race from the congested fourth row. There really wasn’t any worse place to be. Yon had to leave town for urgent business, but Schlomo managed to save his spot up front. He’s the crit racer, so that was good.

My race, as expected, was over before I gave myself a chance. Deadlegs from the back won’t get you to the front. It’s that simple. I chased gap after gap until I was officially dropped, then tried to work with other victims to fight the friction of crappy roads and make the halfway mark so we’d be ranked in GC. At 21 minutes and 36 seconds into the race, the referees requested that I become a spectator. Throughout that entire ordeal, my heart rate still never peaked.

Three racers had taken off, including the now-former yellow jersey (he lost it on App Gap) who’d won the TT. The trio had half a lap on the field and were sure to hold it. Schlomo, however, was sitting pretty in the main bunch. He held position in about sixth wheel every lap. I even told his dad, who came to watch the race, “He’s getting a top ten today.”

I must have jinxed it. With less than 8 laps left in the race (the free-lap rule having expired), the peloton passed and Dan wasn’t in his usual spot up front. He wasn’t there at all. It was an emptiness I hadn’t felt for a teammate in a wihle. Some other rider had side-swiped him.

Though the refs told him he didn’t have to continue and would be placed, Schlomo finished the race with a cracked carbon, crooked helmet, ripped bar tape, bend shifter, and scrapes all over. Unlike myself, he crossed the last finish line at GMSR.

- -

GMSR as an experience was awesome and horribly challenging. It's exactly what I needed and wanted, although I wasn't in prime shape and had probably eaten a bit too much ice cream the few weeks before it.

Sunday, then. In a dozen hours I’ll pin on my last race number for 2010 and give 'em hell in an attempt to snatch the Cat 3 attendance award (oops, I mean BAR). My season ends after Turkey Day at approximately 1:45 p.m. for better or worse. I’ll be happy to tweedle into the best riding weather of the year. My body has been sending me signals, like a brick in the back, saying, “Sit the F- down, son, and take a break.” Moreso, I'm just sick of the routine of having to pay, drive, pin, warm up and line up just to pedal. I want a few weeks to just ride.

This time tomorrow night, though, no matter what, my Cat 2 upgrade request will be in Tracy’s inbox.

Thanks for reading. Let's tweedle.

Race Report: GMSR, Stage 3 Road Race

2010-09-12T00:24:00.000-04:00

With sore legs after a 70-mile race and then a nervous slumber, I lined up behind Yon and Schlomo in the parking lot of the Sugarbush Ski resort in 55-degree temperatures. Racing a 70-mile point-to-point race with base layers and arm warmers would be a sure change.

The terrain would take us over two small, gradual climbs, then up the leg-sapping Middlebury Gap around the halfway mark. A long descent from Middlebury Gap took us through a number of small towns and valley roads, with only an insanely steep but short climb to the second KOM point of the day. Following this small KOM, there were over 2-miles of dirt roads. The day’s final challenge would be to conquer two climbs in succession, Baby Gap and its impending big brother, Appalachian Gap (called “App Gap”).

Each category’s race started with a shiveringly cold, brake-clenching neutral roll out. Our field was held to exact speed limits until the first gradual climb – which was the TT course in reverse – 5 miles into the stage. Of course, when the referees actually blew the whistle, nobody pedaled hard. Most guys were shivering, so it took some warming up before the race really started. Yon, Dan, and I all were well positioned, but wasting little energy early on.

By the descent of the second “mini” climb, a break of three guys moved up the road. There was no attack; the pace was mellow and the pack simply let them roll away. One by one, a few riders started bridge attempts – including local DC racer John Cutler (RTR/Cyclelife). With Yon to my left, I turned to Dan on my right and asked, “What do you think?” The break was sure to grow if the pack didn’t speed up.

The referees knew this, so they told us there were now seven racers scattered up the road with the leaders between 45 seconds and one minute. The master’s 40+ field was also behind us by only 3 minutes. If we didn’t speed it up – we’d be neutralized for the old guys.

The field came to a general consensus and started hauling ass, but within another minute – no jokes – we were neutralized anyway. The ref led our pack at about 6 mph, so we all took a true nature break on the side of the road (at least 30 guys, pretty funny). When we were finally given the green light – minutes later – we had a field of Masters racers between us and the break, and the first mountain in front of us.

On the lower, gradual slopes of Middlebury Gap, though, we caught up to the Masters field again – they’d let a break slip away and decided to ease off for a nature break. Our race wasn’t yet blistering, but it gradually increased in pace as we climbed Middlebury.

Through halfway up the climb I kept myself positioned in second or third wheel, feeling pretty confident about our strong tempo. Surely we were doing some damage at the back of the group.

The the yellow jersey read my mind’s arrogance. Without standing up out of the saddle or so much as opening his mouth to break, he took control up front with a few guys on his wheel. It wasn’t so much an attack as it was a declaration that the field was not climbing fast enough; he wanted to set an example. I hated him for it.

The rest of the climb, for me, was a struggle to hold on to the wheel in front of me. I drifted from way-up-front to off-the-back of the main group of about 25-30 guys. In desperation I followed the white lines on the road with droopy eyes and a lazy posture, like an addict too far gone. Though my hopes for serious glory on App Gap had been silenced (with the force of a sledgehammer), this wasn’t how I wanted my race to end.

By the top I’d lost about 20-30 seconds to the leaders, but was cresting with three other riders. I didn’t know where exactly where Yon and Schlomo were, but I unfortunately knew they weren’t in front of me.

I worked with the three dropped compadres to haul ass down the descent. I felt like I was dreaming a nightmare of a descent, still riding all out down the mountain to keep my small group on its way back into the race. Battling head-to-crosswinds with the brain-numbing sensation of having just ridden my body into a deeper level of suffer than hell going up the mountain, it was the sort of panicked descent that makes me think, “My mother would kill me if she knew I was doing this shit.”

It was only me and one of the other riders contributing to catch up. Ahead, though, were more stragglers. My grupetto caught up one by one, and with seven guys we finally got a cooperative rotation going. With the lead group now in sight, the crosswinds strengthened on an open false downhill. A 40-man Cat 3 peloton was now frantic in multiple echelons racing down a mountain, and I was in the third group. When the road dropped more and the trees protected us from the gusts, my group finally caught the tail end of the peloton.

I wanted a break – I needed one. It was serious hurt to chase up and down a mountain. As I started getting lazy and taking a sip for the first time in at least half an hour, Schlomo shows up and flies by me. He had more sense to his madness – somehow he’d caught up from another smaller group behind me, but he was going to get his ass to the front. I took the hint.

Only two serious obstacles characterized the second half of the race, and the leaders at this point were between three and four minutes up the road. First though, about ¾ into the course was a seriously steep KOM climb of about 1 kilometer. The climb wasn’t an issue – it was over two miles of straight dirt descending afterward that could make or break your race.

In terms of terrain, the dirt was entirely downhill. It was over two lanes wide and hard-packed from recent rain. But it’s bumpy dirt, so it was never quite downhill enough that it kept people from channeling their inner amphetamine freak on the pedals. Though I crested the climb near the top ten of the main peloton after ramping off someone’s water bottle into the dirt section, I left the dirt second-to-last. We raced the entire dirt section single file (well maybe I did, hanging by a thread at the back).

With referees reporting a shrinking time gap after the dirt, a bunch of MABRA racers hit the front hard on the flats. Nate M. (Coppi), Schlomo, and myself helped the yellow jersey force a harder pace into some headwinds to keep the break in check. Schlomo and I gave up on that effort, though. There just wasn’t enough cooperation, so we sat in for the drag until Baby Gap.

Baby Gap is never steep enough to choke a mule (as our former President once told a certain 7-time tour winner), but it’s never quite steady either. It’s up and then slightly less up, and then you turn and it’s steeper than your legs can manage, but your will pushes them on.

Or maybe that’s just what Baby Gap did to me. Baby Gap forced me to race by checkpoints: Just get to the top. (“Shit, that’s not the top?!?”) Get to the crest of this pitch. Make it to the Moose Crossing road sign. Neutral feed handing out coke – pass these guys to move up!

Schlomo had wished me luck; his legs had waved the white flag halfway up Baby Gap. Effectively, my will was desperate for respite. Cresting Baby Gap, I descended to the base of App Gap proper expecting the race to shatter.

Let’s get one thing straight: App Gap is not as insane of a climb as everyone says. It’s not the hardest climb I’ve done, either. It is only diabolical because you’ve been racing up and down Vermont’s mountains and dirt roads for 66 miles before hitting its steep slopes. When you put a climb like this at the end of an amateur bike race, heaven meets hell.

The race did not shatter too soon, but I sure did. I was running on empty, racing for imaginary checkpoints, and went into pure damage control. My body and mind lost its will to continue holding on even to the scrappy end of the race. So I would hit my 34x26 granny gear tempo, and got as far as my lungs would allow. Then I’d shift into the 34x23 or 21 and stand out of the saddle, dropping myself on each pedal to progress. I kept doing this as the race caravan dropped me, too.

Somehow – many minutes later – I started catching guys one-by-one. With 1k to go, the race had left me as table scraps, but finally I had reached the feared 15-20% pitches of the race. The view cleared and I could see a dozen riders struggling to slalom up the climb. It was a mental boost, though I knew I was in the abyss of the peloton. These racers were worse off than me, though, so one-by-one I caught them. I even caught up to and passed Ben R. (RTR/Cyclelife) who had kept up with the leaders much longer than I had. (Out of retribution, though, he then “outsprinted” me for 33rd place.)

I finished the queen stage in a mediocre 34th place, four minutes behind the winner (three guys surived the breakaway), but feeling as accomplished as ever in my short tenure as a bike racer. Schlomo followed at 14 minutes, and Yon at 20 minutes – this race and its final climb are no joke.

Race Report: GMSR, Stage 2 Circuit Race

2010-09-10T12:12:00.002-04:00

Saturday’s “circuit race” at the Green Mountain Stage Race was actually what any MABRA’n would call an "epic road race." It was 3 and ¾ laps of an 18-mile loop, totaling 72 miles for Cat 3s (54 miles for Cat 4). Each lap had one serious climb of about 2-miles. The climb had a series of stair-steps and false flats, so between the little-ring pitches you were cross-chaining or shifting into the big ring before the King of the Mountains (KOM) line.

The rest of the course was relatively flat and scenic with friendly corners through some of the little Vermont towns; very few of the hills were long enough to cause any problems. If anything was of concern, it was simply the incessantly chopped up pavement on the right-hand side of the road right in the right-tire track for vehicles.

Because the race started immediately on the first climb, it was “neutral.” That meant there was heavy congestion, but Dan, Yon, and I all staged very well and it wasn’t an issue. The smell of burnt rubber dominated the long descent, and it took an entire lap for the pack to settle into a less antsy nature. The three of us were constantly well placed.

Having nothing to lose, I left my options open to go for the KOM points on the second lap. I was hugging the center-line anticipating movement, but a bit farther back than I would have liked. When the climbers opened up the legs 1K before the peak, I simply followed the wheel in front of me. I’d been too far back, though, and we’d been gapped. Three riders with about 30 meters up the road when the guy who I was getting a free ride from just sat up. I jumped to bridge and crossed in 4th or 5th, but the KOM points were gone. And the effort had really sapped some energy - I'd have no more of that.

The burnt-rubber-braking in a huge pack down the super fast descent was the only excitement until about halfway through that second lap. Some deadly screaming in the middle of the peloton and a flying body later, Yon and I had to swerve pretty badly to avoid a flying body and bicycle. The three of us were excellently positioned and communicating, so after threading the needle between a fallen rider and his bike, I told Yon I was okay – and he told Dan.

Small breakaways took off here and there; none would stick. Some riders were simply looking for sprint points and then giving up. Yon, however, had been sitting in the front of the peloton the entire race to keep these efforts on a leash. He spent just about the entire second lap in either in a break or chasing in no-man’s land. For Dan and I, though, the pace was relatively tame in the shelter of a draft.

The third climb, though, the pace was simply nuts. Painful as it was, it was the exact reason I wanted to race Green Mountain. Dan and I are both fairly experienced and competitive Cat 3s, but the single-file pace was pushing through crosswinds in the big ring UP the climb. It was heartbreaking. Who the hell was up there? And for the love of all that is holy and sacred to bicycle racing, how the hell are they doing that?

Unbeknownst to me at the time (because I was unequivocally questioning sanity), Dan was on my wheel. The guy calls himself a sprinter and crit specialist, but he was climbing with the best Cat 3s at Green Mountain.

Unfortunately, after his adventures as tete de la course, Yon had been reintegrating with the peloton at the base of this ascent. Right on cue, as if Merckx himself was granting bittersweet mercy, Yon had all sorts of mechanical issues at the base of this turbo-paced climb. He was gapped by the main peloton after riding over a bottle and losing front-ring shifting.

Dan and I both had similar instincts – after only 50-some miles, it was finally game on. Through the descent and the entire lap, we hovered near the front. The winner of the TT, wearing the leader’s yellow, made himself known as a true haus. Unless he was in it, nothing would get away. Of course, everyone would chase down the yellow jersey, too.

If the third climb was a display of diabolical Category 3 speed (Is there really such a thing?), the fourth climb at least no longer had me questioning my future career as a mere professional race-number pinner. We were racing, and Dan and I were both still in the mix. And a mix it was – the peloton had made victim of half the racers, by now. There were no more than 40 guys with the lead group. Seeing this, about half a dozen riders – including us – were hammering the descent. We didn’t want anyone to catch back up.

The final 10 miles or so were, as the French would say, a bloc. Except in the 1/2/3 races, I hadn’t experienced such incessant, single-file speed. The smallest gaps became crevices into an abyss of getting dropped, and the yellow jersey was the main motor at the pointy end of the peloton.

We were all victims of his last-lap will, quite frankly, but Dan and I were protecting ourselves. Dan told me mid-race that he was concerned about gettign gapped on the one last hill up to an overpass, but it soon became a non-issue. With only a pair of miles to go, the final selection of riders was content to wait for the sprint. If those efforts didn’t cause time gaps, nothing would.

Luckily, the yellow jersey became more concerned about preventing last-lap gaps than winning the stage. With 1-mile to go, the entire group was jockeying. It took some risky efforts, but I made it to Dan who was effortlessly protecting himself in the sweet spot. I wanted to help him in the final kilometer – so I got next to him instead of behind him.

“How are the legs, Schlomo?”

He simply responded with an adamant, “No.”

With 70+ miles raced, cramps were plaguing his legs. This was the longest race either of us had ever entered. He gave me the go-ahead to mix it up without him.

I was stuck, so I had to fight the wind solo to move up farther. There was a struggling rider in 4th wheel up front, so I powered up to him. The yellow jersey was pushing the pace again, and surely, this guy was looking for respite.

The 500 to go banner lit a fire under my butt. I was single-file up front but nobody was moving, so I was going to get swarmed. Within seconds, a thousand thoughts crossed my mind. If I take off I’ll get caught. If I sit in I’ll get swarmed. Surely I’m not the best sprinter in the last 200 meters.

If there’s anything I’ve learned from riding with Chris Chapel, it’s that you cannot be surprised if you start the fight. Within seconds, then, my conscience was trumped by the little devil on the other shoulder and I found myself out of the saddle on the right side of the road. What the hell did I just do?

There was a shadow hanging on to my wheel, but it faded as I kept sprinting. I was that guy taking off way early. I was hoping to catch folks off guard.

My kick faded, though, and I went into a low tuck to drain any last bits of speed before the line. On my left, the sprinters were inching up. By the line, five had overtaken me in the final 50-100 meters but we had a comfortable gap.

I placed sixth in Stage 2, and Dan was in the mix as well in 13th. Yon, mostly solo for the final lap-and-a-half, finished well within the time cut.

Two in the top 15 – we couldn’t complain.

A Couple of Things A Cycling Couple Acquires

2010-09-08T23:27:00.005-04:00

Admittedly, some of these pics show just my stuff (i.e., glasses, pins, race numbers).

I have about three or four numbers worth of pins in the cupholder of my car, too. I promise, Mr. Race Promoter, I'll start bringing my own pins to your race. Sometimes.

Left to Right: Oakley Minute 2.0, Oakley Radar Path, Oakley XX, Performance Siren. Not pictured: Oakley Splice, Oakley Minute, hipster Ray Bans, and some Tifosi transition glasses I won at Murad RR last year. I wear the Radars riding 99% of the time, unless I'm using the TT helmet. Then I'll wear the Tifosi lenses. Having at least one set of glasses with clear lenses is essential, too.

Catherine's got the slew of Specialized shoes. I have the Sidi 6.6 and Genius 5 Pro, along with the OLD 2003 Nike Poggios in the back. Those now have SPD pedals for spinning in on the gym stationary bikes. It's nice to have acquired two pairs of similar shoes for the rainy weekends. I used hard-to-find half-sized Sidis, and the Genius 5 Pro fit a bit looser so I use them in hotter weather when my feet swell up more. I also use them with thicker socks, so my "good" shoes actually are my back-up pair.

The core ball is a good shelf for used tires that aren't quite ready to be tossed just yet. We've also got a shoebox full of tires that are awaiting a winter on the trainer wheels. The core ball, however, has not been used much since race season started.

We prefer Clif Bar products, so we usually get them through a team pro-deal with GW Cycling. Recently we had to restock in-store because we're going through too many Clif Bloks. This huge stash will probably only last us through October. You'll notice the Clif kids' Z-bars. They taste a bit sweeter than Clif Bars and are small enough to easily eat in a few bites on the bike. I highly recommend them over Clif Minis.

After losing a number of bottles in the feed zones throughout race season, it's an understatement to say I went a bit overboard to re-stock for the Green Mountain Stage Race. Catherine and I frequently fight for the bottle caps that don't leak.

You gotta keep the drivetrain running smoothly. I usually use the ProLink, although Catherine just uses that for cleaning and then touches up her gold KMC chain with all-weather Rock-n-Roll Gold. BikeLust keeps the frames looking good, protects them from road grit, and makes wiping down the frame an easy task.

Most of the small parts for maintenance are kept on a shelf we built just for bike stuff. We both use tubes with 80 mm valves instead of valve extenders on our carbon hoops. I also need 60mm valves for my all-around 30mm deep Easton rims. The red box on the left came with a package of talc powder that looks like a baggie of cocaine. Not cool.

You need to have one to match each kit (NCVC and GW, of course), one to fight the wind, and an old one as a spare, right? Clockwise from top left: Specialized Propero, Giro Atmos, Giro Advantage, Specialized S-Works. Cat only has one cycling helmet (not pictured), but her pair of equestrian helmets are in the back. To date, she has not acquiesced to my demand for her to ride horses with the aero helmet.

A season's worth of race numbers for your average Category 3 racer.

A happy couple. Of bikes.

I know this isn't just us, right?!?!

Race Report: GMSR, Stage 1 Time Trial

2010-09-08T13:12:00.004-04:00

GMSR, Part 1 - Why I Raced, and Racing Against the Clock

(Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4 will be posted within the next day or two.)

Before I get into the “race report” for the Green Mountain Stage Race time trial, I need to spit out some thoughts about why I raced.

When I was a rower, I did dozens of races – but I never once competed at the Head of the Charles, arguably the biggest regatta next to the Henley on Thames. To this day, I still say that I’ll one day race the HOTC.

If I ever stop racing bikes, I didn’t want to say I skipped out on the Green Mountain Stage Race.

Green Mountain, to my knowledge, is among the hardest courses and most competitive fields for all-categories of amateur racing in the east coast. Or so I’ve been told. It’s a huge event and a big deal, quite frankly.

My team gives a bit of extra support to racers that want to race competitive events like GMSR. This being a huge appeal, I had secured some extra funding for nine of my teammates, though two more had shown interest. We were also going to stay in a conveniently located and conveniently cheap ski lodge with five other racers from MABRA.

For many different reasons, only six NCVC racers actually registered for GMSR (one stayed in his own lodging). Only Nate Miller from Squadra Coppi tagged along with myself, Schlomo, and Yon in the Cat 3 race. James L. raced the Cat 4. Monika was entering the Women’s Cat 3/4 event as her first competition as a Cat 3.

Apparently there’s just not much appeal to racing in September at a far-away logistical nightmare of a race as tough as GMSR. But I didn’t want to miss out.

- The Time Trial -

I’d consistently earned top-ten results in time trials in MABRA, though I was never near the winning time. Placing 38th on the first day of GMSR, in an 81-man field, was a slap of an awakening. I had few delusions of grandeur, but I didn’t think I would succumb to fodder so quickly.

The race went smoothly, though. I had a darn good warm-up in the heat. Every racer is required to use mass-start equipment, but I had my skinsuit, Tarmac SL with Carbones, and my aero brain bucket to fight the wind.

I started the short, flat stretch into the right-turn in the big ring, only shifting down (I have a compact) when I really needed to. The TT points up immediately, though it’s never steep. I hit a tempo and grinded a high cadence in the “invisible aero-bar” position up the straighter parts of the hill.

One funny thing about GMSR is that the Tech Guide used miles, but the courses were all marked in kilometers. Somewhere up the climb I saw 9K and then 8K and started calculating how close I was to the top of the hill. Just then, my 30-second man started breathing down my neck. I’d been taking the beginning of the hill fairly conservative (though my heart rate would disagree) so I could crest the stair-stepping false flats and windy pitches at the top all-out.

My 30-second man starting to pass lit a fire under my butt and I really got into a painful groove. I simply rode away from him, and caught up to within 50 meters of the guy ahead of me by the top of the actual climb.

The rest of the TT drops gradually downhill. I tucked again, and grinded away trying to catch the guy in front of me. About halfway on through the course there’s a slight dip, and I caught him on the way down. Simultaneously, another racer zoomed by me like I was standing still – but it was a different guy from the joker who tried to catch me too quickly up the hill. (I figured out later he blew up badly.)

With my 30-second man down, I tried to at least keep pace with the tank that flew by me. I couldn’t quite do that, but it kept me pushing harder than I would have alone. For better or worse, I’m a reactive rider. I ride and race better when I’m responding to what is happening around me. Following the tank’s pace didn’t catch me up to him, but we were both catching up to two more riders.

The final kilometer of the TT course is silly and fun. It drops horribly steep down a hill, and returns equally steep up the other side of a ravine. I tucked on the downhill but saved the legs. Since I have a compact, I kept the chain in the big ring and again, didn’t blow up too early on the hill.

About 200 meters after the bottom of the hill there was a lady sitting with a clip board on the right. From what Schlomo had told me the finish would be farther up, so I hesitated but ignored it. The other riders were still racing, anyway. This woman yelling “almost there” would screw with a lot of riders, though.

When the hill started to crest, I started grinding. It suffices to say I was in a whole world of hurt, which I’m sure this report doesn’t quite reflect. By the top I’d gotten into a good sprint for the line, though I think I could have started earlier since the course flattens out by the finish.

I finished in 15:50 – faster than one of my teammates finished last year for a top-20, but I was middle ground in 38th place. I was also the highest placed of the NCVC riders by over a minute. Schlomo placed 71st and Yon was 79th. He may not like me saying it, but Yon missed the Lanterne Rouge by 0.33 seconds.

The other boys at GMSR – they can roll.

What You Missed on Your Drive Home

2010-08-26T15:42:00.001-04:00

After scattered thunderstorms throughout the day, inevitably you thought, "Well I had a good race, time to pack up and head home."

Not so for the Cat 4 racers, who had to close out the day of racing at Dawg Days. By their time slot, the skies had dumped their worst on the Cat 1/2/3 field and it was - once again - a beautiful day for a bike race.

So I hung around to watch my boys race. I am glad I stayed, because they did not come to tweedle. As I sipped pineapple-flavored coconut water by the start/finish line, I took a bunch of pictures. Check out my Zenfolio page for more shots; they're uploading as I type this.

You missed an excellent race while on your drive home. Break after break threw down, and with about 8 laps to go, four men powered away after an attack from NCVC's Matt Rosier. With a 20-second gap, Nick Sachanda bridged to the breakaway - solo in one lap - and gave NCVC a 2-man advantage. On the backside, Paul Varga (DC Velo) attacked his break-mates on the hill. Rosier and Sachanda chased along with Matt Ringer from DVR. Varga could not match the counter attacks, so the rest is in the books.

Because the field was too busy tweedling in their dust, here's what they missed:

Former offensive lineman Nick smashed the downhill sprint - that is not much of a surprise.

Very close behind Nick, though, Rosier snagged the second step on the podium from Ringer, giving NCVC the 1-2 punch by millimeters.

If you're my friend on Facebook, you can check out the video of the 3-up sprint on my profile, but it's not that interesting compared to this last picture.

Race Report: Dawg Days Circuit Race, Cat 1/2/3

2010-08-24T00:08:00.010-04:00

Last weekend, about halfway through a rainy 40-miler, my friend and teammate Samantha asked me a fun question. "Five years ago," she asked, "would you have pictured yourself there?" She was referring to a hesitant comment I made about competing in the "elite" ranks next year.

Hell no was my answer. I told her that I remembered playing photographer at the Murad road race in 2008, where I was watching Catherine race. Specifically, I remember taking pictures of the absurdly ripped calves of racers at the start line. I was a fair-weather Cat 5 at the time, watching Cat 3 racers toe the line.

So showing up at the Tech Center in Bowie, Maryland yesterday - for the second annual Dawg Days circuit race - was quite a contrast. I'm at the end of a satisfying stint as a Cat 3 racing in the Cat 1/2/3 field with a few local heavy hitters, and I was returning to the venue where I first won a bike race.

Some of these guys lined up next to me in the first two rows, like Tim Rugg, came up through the categories with me (or maybe a bit quicker). Others next to us - Chuck Hutch, Jared Neiters, et al. - have been hammering through the local races for decades, with stints on the national and international amateur scene here and there.

That being said, I wasn't too surprised when the teams of Rugg (Harley) and Neiters (Haymarket) took off from the start, a bloc. I'd started in the second row of the big field. Throughout the first lap I was swarmed into the field like I didn't exist. After a string of road races and time trials, it took some testicular fortitude to give myself a crash course (probably not the best word choice) on hectic pack navigation.

Once I hit the front, I found myself off the front getting schooled by Ruggles in an accidental counter-attack. The phrase "What the hell am I doing?" ran through my mind a few times, but there wasn't much time for repetition. Tim's turbo shredded my lungs and I was swallowed up. A bunch of other attacks went back and forth, but everything was frantically chased down by every team. DC Velo in particular did a good bit of locomotive work.

That was the first few laps. The only dry ones, really.

After being off the front, I went straight to the back. That's something I'll have to get used to resisting in the more aggressive peloton. When I finally reached the front of the peloton, the skies opened up in a downpour. Within minutes, there was standing water everywhere.

Fogged up glasses. Horizontal rain. Gritty rooster-tail spray from the wheel in front that you desperately didn't want to relinquish an inch too.

I saw Dan and yelled at him, "We gotta move."

In our first race together in 2008, a training Cat 5 race at Chantilly Cold Toes, Dan and I fought through similar standing-water torrential mayhem. Now we were fighting the elements in a Cat 1/2/3 field. Though we haven't raced every weekend together, we've both helped each other win races. We've come up through the Cat 5-4-3 ranks together. And now we're here - in another thunderstorm of low-visibility pain. For some reason, though, that was okay. There's always solidarity in suffering, between teammates and competitors alike.

The misery was okay right up until I hit the wind on the downhill, anyway. It was easy to move up on the outside (left) through the start finish. Moving at 30+ MPH with the oncoming rain at its most violent gushing, though, was like hitting a wall of needles. But we had to move up. If a big split were to occur, it could happen with the click of one eager racer's gear, or the slight touch of the brakes.

Surprisingly, it was easier to move around the pack for me after the downpour started. The pace had eased from what-the-f*ck to tolerably tough. Our team, along with Harley's equally large roster, had a constant presence up front shared by the entire roster. Each racer was soaked and miserable; it was beautiful.

Photo by Marcus Floro. Click for larger image.

Gauging my efforts near the front was another part of the learning curve. In most Cat 3/4 races I'm darn resilient to the incessant surges of a peloton. Not so with the big boys. Each time I'd make a serious effort up front, I needed a breather to reset. Heck, at one time I was chasing a half-dozen strong break and couldn't close the gap. I really wasn't used to being fodder, but ignored the suckage. Creating gaps was equally challenging, though: someone was always reacting to be on your wheel when you'd surge to the front or try to bridge.

For the second prime, I was on the wheel of Jared Neiters, from Haymarket. I figured with a lull in the pace he was a good racer to be behind for the mid-race glory. Up the hill, sure enough, he bolted. He's small, but I'm tiny, so I sat in his draft for the attack. He pulled off pretty early and I hit the wind. I was not about to drag him to the line for a prime (even though it was 2-place) and I wasn't too confident in the legs. That hesitation meant the peloton caught up quickly. I found myself "stuck" at the front.

So I stopped pedalling.

Like clockwork, though, my teammate Jeff bolted and was gone. He wasn't alone, though - Ruggles held his wheel to take the prime. Then Ruggles hung himself out to dry (not quite the appropriate metaphor for the rainstorm) some more.

With about a dozen laps to go, the rain had eased a bit, but thunder and lightning cut the race short. We flew by the start finish and the speakers and spectators were chantings "two laps!"

Just like that, the jockeying was on. I was near the front on the left side - easy to sustain positioning - and had two teammates in front of me. I was talking to them and through the next lap we fought the inevitable shuffle. With about one-and-a-half to go, I passed another teammate and asked, "Wanna move up?" Negatory - we couldn't make that happen.

Hearing the bell, though, the stars and bars aligned. We got about four of us lined up; I was the pointy end of the spear.

Ramon B (Harley) was causing a late raucous on the inside, but not making much distance. Through the bottleneck after the line, I heard a bunch of yelling behind me that just I interpreted as "go!"

With four guys behind me, I obliged. I've usually got about 7-800 meters of I-hate-myself-for-this speed, and usually I'm using that to fly solo near the end of the race. Now, it was probably fewer meters with the conditions and fatigue, but twice the adrenaline.

From the first turn to the first traffic circle, I was the peloton's bitch, for better or worse. I drained the tanks as if the finish line was whenever the little nitros dial hit EMPTY. As my teammate Paul came by me, so did Tim Brown (Harley).

Like Columbia to Garmin, their late-kick engines trumped ours. Duh - Even with four guys I should have seen that coming and waited for a later surge before sticking my front wheel into the wind so early.

I not-so-casually moved to the right to avoid pissing guys off. One of my guys in the back of the NCVC line yelled, "jump in front of me!" but I was cooked well done before the second traffic circle.

I really have no idea what happened at the very end to give Harley the 1-2 punch, but I did have a nice chat with referee John K - on his motorcycle - before crossing the line in what I think was second-to-last place.

It's by far my worst finishing result in a race - ever - but also some of the stupidest, toughest, and messiest fun I've had racing this year (not to mention most dangerous...). And in each higher category event I have done, I have learned a heck of a lot more about bike racing.

- -

Thanks for reading, and while you're at it take a peak at Nick's Blog for the Cat 4 excitement. That was a super fun race to watch and I'm glad NCVC could defend that Cat 4 title from last year. I know it's reverse-chronology, I'm going to post a write-up on my nut-crushing experience at Church Creek tomorrow. I hope your shoes have dried off after Dawg Days, though. Mine stink.

Race Report: H2H Hill Climb, Cat 3

2010-08-17T20:08:00.002-04:00

I rode a nice long warm-up of 35 minutes, and then I raced up a single hill in 3:57.92. That's just about the entire "race report."

I paid 22 dollars to race up a 0.8 mile hill in less than 4 minutes. I showed up for BAR points, and would much rather have been actually riding my bike somewhere fun. Millersburg, perhaps.

The race, though? Well that effort wasn't enough for the win, not nearly. I was at least hoping to beat SuperDave's previous time of 3:50 (per his challenge in the parking lot). Oh well.

Thomas M. from C3 rode up in 3:36; Brigham (R1V) hit the line at 3:57.48 seconds. Brig was the big target as he's ahead of me for the BAR. Now he gets a slightly bigger advantage.

Ouch, though. Thomas whooped us, and Brig got me by less than half a second. I've lost position in a race (rowing) by two-hundreths of a second before, so half a second is a relative lifetime.

But it still sucks to get beat.

So, you'd think I was on the low step on the podium. In an awkward happening, Thomas was given an absurd TWO MINUTE penalty for crossing the yellow line. I don't know who would penalize someone 45% of their total time for an offense, but that's ridiculous. It put him straight to the back of the 5-man competition.

Yes, only 5 Cat 3s raced a MABRA championship event. I guarantee more MABRA people drove up to Millersburg than showed up on Ilchester Road. As I write this, only 9 are signed up for Church Creek. What gives? Can't we create more attractive championship events than these? At least Page Valley was a sell-out.

I digress.

With Thomas' relegation, Brigham took the hill climb jersey and I got the silver medal. The next guy - Todd from Bike Doctor - was a few seconds back. The fifth dude from Evo is probably still climbing the hill. (Just kidding...!)

So what else could I have done?

I averaged 187 beats per minute for the stint, and my max this year has been a low 194. I saw 191 and 192 during the race - a bit too early, probably.

I thought I went fairly conservative on the first pitch, but in hindsight I'd ease off even more so I could get up the deceivingly long second pitch. Either way, cresting hard by shifting into the big ring as soon as possible seems darn important.

Definitely 0.44.

Still, it's not half as heart-breaking as 0.02.

Keck Baker finished in 3:23. That's another level, for sure. I can imagine taking a few more shots at the hill and dropping 5, 10, or maybe even 15 seconds, but surely not 34.

Race Report: Page Valley Road Race, Cat 3

2010-08-09T23:38:00.001-04:00

Finally, we had a Cat 3 team. We had six guys committed to the common good: Drew A., Andreas, and hotshot juniors David B, Justin M, and Avery all lined up with me.

Whether our legs were there or not was another question. For most of us it was the first time racing on the challenging, beautiful course in Page Valley.

I staged well and had a nice front-row seat for the first lap. Since I didn't know the course, that's how I wanted it. Luckily, David was next to me throughout a good bit of the first lap so I was able to get the intel from a cognizant source.

How close are we to the climbs? After the next turn? Okay, so should I be in the little or big ring going into it?

David ferried me like a blind man through the first lap. Seems inconsequential, but little details like that really help when you're in new territory. A lot of guys give the juniors hell, but the kids know how to roll. Most of the juniors on NCVC have done twice as many races as me - including most MABRA races multiple times. They know what's up.

Justin sure did, he grabbed Pete Warner's wheel and they rolled off at one point early in the race. Bold move, Mr. Mauch. Unfortunately that did little for either of them. Pete's a rouleur; you don't let him sneak away.

Aside from an antsy RTR/Cyclelife guy pointing the fences before the race officially started, not-so-quietly whispering something like, "Have we started? Can I go yet?" to one of his teammates, the first lap was a non-event. The dude in black attacked melodramatically immediately after the start, which was just a funny site. It was obviously their hopeless plan to burn a guy's matches so they wouldn't have to work.

Fine with me. I didn't know the course, but I wasn't going to feel threatened by any of those guys solo for the next 60 miles.

We rolled through the first lap or two with little excitement but a frantic, panicked, yet half-hearted chase after an unattached mountain biker that took a minute on the field. The flats were darn quick, which was fun as hell. The hills were tough but not insanely aggressive.

I can handle this, but can I do this for 63 miles?

The big-ring part of the climb was real smooth, and there would be inevitable surges and shuffles in the pack when guys started having trouble. Turns out most of them just tried to stay in the big ring too long, I think. Lots of dropped chains and noisy drivetrains. Luckily no NCVC guys this time.

Shift early. Spin the legs. Sh*t, I need more water.

On the first lap I'd ditched a bottle but got pinned to the left through the feed zone. That was okay. Thirsty now, though, I reached for a feed from Andrew, David's twin brother. Perfect, I thought.

"This is David's!" yelled Andrew.

Crap.

I had one bottle left but wanted to avoid the feeds later on. David was right behind, so I passed it to him. As expected on the hill, I lost all positioning waiting on the slow right-side to snatch a drink. I looked at David again, and we surged up past the finish line to get back with the leaders.

Or so we thought.

A group of about 10 guys had gapped the field by skipping the feed, basically. That was too big of a group with a variety of team representation, so I hit the front hard on the kickers before the descents to catch up. I tried to bridge, but really a lot of us trickled up and the pack got back together after the right-turn-of-death. A bit of attrition, but not nearly enough.

Halfway through the race there was still little attrition. Guys would kick here or there on the hills, but we'd chase. The big-ring climb strung out the pack on that third lap, but nobody had the energy to really gun it over the steep parts - including myself. Anticipating some gaps, I'd burned matches sliding on the left side of the single-file climb. I wasn't the only one with that idea, though.

Are you British?

A bunch of riders flooded to the front - even way to my left - so I got stuck in the middle. For probably the third time, a train of white and green Fiorucci kits would drill it up the left gutter disregarding the center line. (I'm just saying, if you're that strong and savvy, you can find another way that isn't weaselly.) The younger guy got my message and was letting me sneak out of the middle when the pack thinned up to speed again.

I ended up leading the pack over the crest next to Grayson (or Tony?) from DVR/Bike Rack. The effort was to no avail except to see a car in our way as we accelerated to 35.

They saw the cop car and moto. Did they have to turn into the driveway now?!?!

The fourth lap provided a bit more of a pain for everyone. It wasn't particularly animated. Personally, I had conservative goals. In hindsight I was being lazy - last year and even earlier this season, I took more risks. I was happy to only surge when needed, I guess. Racing that way is boring, though. Especially for three hours with a hipster song stuck in your head.

60 miles is a long time to race.

The group tweedled up the big-ring climb on the fifth go-around, until Tom B. (Coppi) took off solo. It was a smart place to attack by a guy who's proven he can hang out solo. I got to the front to check out the situation, as did Tony A. His Bike Rack teammate Denniswas already dragging a bunch of Cyclelife guys to Tom's wheel, the field behind us all. No dice.

Photo by Dave Kirkpatrick.

We didn't quite tweedle up the next climb or descent, but the pack - now about 25 guys I'd guess - was gruppo compatto. A Cyclelife dude took off with a lap to go, though, and we lost site of him. Bold move on his part.

How you doing, Bert?
- - I'm doing all right, Dave is riding like a champ too. You? - -
Not good.

That was the conversation between Drew and me on the final lap. His legs were still finding their way back from the Pyrenees, so the distance and dry heat was taking its toll. Dave and I were still there, though. Justin and Andreas were MIA.

Drew told me to watch Tom, which was already on the agenda. I was also keeping track of a few other contenders - Dennis and Tony from Bike Rack, Nick and Pete from WWVC, Mike C. from Kelly. They were all near the front, but not all the way up front. Cool.

I'm on Tom's wheel. Perfect.

The first climb was the calm before the storm, though we caught the Cyclelife dude and gave him some Kudos. He stayed out there pretty long. We also caught Justin, who was a lap down.

Charlie foxtrot.

Yeah, I'd call it a clusterf*ck. The road was just constipated with Cat 3s. I was on the inside line, behind Tom, riding into the left-turn-of-death that kept causing dudes to race cross in Page Valley.

After the turn, the peloton hit the brakes. I was on the left - where I like to be when the road opens up - still on Tom's wheel. With about three feet to my left, I was hesitant to gun it too early because I could hear the moto revving.

Can we use the whole road?

I actually said that, out loud, because we weren't f*#%ing moving! I was ready to pounce, but I wasn't sure when we could go. Screw this conservative riding bullsh*t. What had I been thinking? I'm a long-sprinter.

As the tension grew, though, the patience snapped. When I saw the signs of a shuffle, I started rolling on the left. So did Tom. Perfect.

WATCH IT! HEY! I'M ON YOUR LEFT!

A Kelly dude became victim of the squirrelly scatter up front, so before his rear wheel romanced my front, I lost Tom's wheel by riding in the gravel past the 200 meter-to-go sign.

What is with the guys wearing green kits today?

Even the small jolt shattered what was left of the constipation, but I'd let myself get abused and lost the lead group.

Thanks, Renshaw.

When I got my wheel to stop jumping over gravel, I looked back with only meters to go. Only my teammate David was going to pass me - and usually I'd give it to him. There was nobody to catch and nobody else catching.

David, I need the BAR points.

I was sitting second on the BAR, so I'd told the guys if we were in this exact situation, I needed the extra points for placing umpteenth. Every little bit helps, right? (Well it still wasn't enough.)

David was gracious enough to let me half-wheel him across the line. The little dude who led me out last year as a Cat 4 in a few too many races still has more class as a racer - at 16 and 100 or so pounds - than most guys I've ever raced with or against.

In first was Nick from WWVC. A Coppi + Page Valley double is a fierce, dominant showing on his part. Well done. The random Kelly dude took 2nd, Tom (Coppi) took third, Dennis (Bike Rack) in 4th, and Mike C. (Kelly) 5th.

At least I knew who to watch, right? I failed to truly contend myself, finishing a decent 7th ahead of David, who actually deserved it. My good friend Greg from William & Mary finished a respectable 10th, even though the main strap on his left shoe had been ripped off by someone's spokes a lap earlier.

I'd hoped for better, but was too passive throughout and let myself get bullied at the end. The positives, though, are that my legs felt pretty darn fresh for a 60+ mile race with a bunch of climbing. They felt much crappier on the steep hills of Lost River, which was 25 miles shorter.

- -

So, nearing the end of my Cat 3 season (with only the Green Mountain Stage Race left on the "A-race" calendar), I cannot really complain. In all of the MABRA Cat 3 road races this year, I've finished rubber-side-down in the top ten: 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th (twice). Aside from being able to break onto the podium, I wish I'd more often been in a place to help a teammate with a big punch take some glory, too. The most fun I've had in a race this year was draining my tank by serving as a domestique at Washington County.

Green Mountain, though, is an entirely different arena. We've got a motivated Cat 3 group and I'm excited for the experience.

AppGap, you're next.

How Not to Make Friends at Hains Point

2010-07-29T22:37:00.007-04:00

It's been a while since I've ridden the Thursday night sprints at Hains, so I'll give a throw-back style blog today of our silly, egotistical, we-actually-suck antics. (I was there last week too late, so only like four other guys were sprinting. That doesn't really count.)

Tonight, though, even for a storms-are-pending sort of evening, we had racing and rainbows. Literally. I arrived at Hains at about 6:30, did a warm-up lap with my teammate Andre, and jumped into the group.

There were a few familiar faces, which is cool. Mr. Butts from Harley. Sam from DVR/Bike Rack. Michelle H. from CAWES. My NCVC boy Andrew S., along with my main Hains compadre Chap. The group was actually significantly smaller than usual, though, probably because the clouds made Arlington look like Mordor.

The first lap was very Cat 5ish. Guys would get to the front and not work. Guys would attack, but not really. More guys would just sit in. Being my first lap - I was one of those guys.

So, the girl took care of it. M-Hart seemed to have enough of the boys' antics and started hammering up front. Awesome. The Freds loved it, I'm sure.

Meanwhile, newly engaged Mr. Butts was sitting comfortably in the group. We were going 28, and he seemed to be having a nice recovery ride. I think he was riding at the back choosing wedding envelopes or something. Not breathing hard at all, looking suave like he just landed a date with the Angel of the Mountains or something.

The Cat 5 antics continued. Trying to negate the nonsense, Chap was sitting comfortably up front on the sprint-side. Andrew and I were on his wheel in the middle. Nobody was getting frisky early, and the pace wasn't that quick.

So Chap did what he taught me, and he did what he does best on a bike. He threw the first punch and it a one-swing fight. Chap took off early, from the front. It caught most guys off guard, so it was a frantic bunch sprint in Chap's wake. I weaved around a few folks and jumped pass all but one pal, Dave.

This guy, who formerly led the Marine Corp's tri team, is as tall as the jolly green giant and rides a Ridley taller than me. Dave hammers and has a nice draft - a good pal to have on the bike. Since the sprint was a bit sketchy and slow, we start conspiring.

Of course, then, on the next lap, I help M-Hart drill the pace up front. She was setting some tempo, but guys were still talking behind us. Let's make something clear.

M-Hart can roll. She frequently beats up on the guys at Hains. No doubt. But when the strong lady racers are putting their nose in the wind and the guys are chatting, well, that's not chivalrous. So I helped out with some mad tempo, because I didn't like the chatter in the back.

I pull off, M-Hart stays on my wheel. Dude next to me, riding a bike with Zipp 808s while wearing a neon-yellow sleeveless T-shirt, looks at us like he wants to die.

Fine. I hit the wind again to burn my own matches like an idiot. It kinda hurts, so I pull off around the bend and sneak behind a Coppi dude on the left of the line. Coppi dude is trying to cut off Chap and sneak into a gap that doesn't exist. This is not a good idea. Do not piss of the Chap.

Instead of getting put in the gutter by Coppi, Chap pins him to the left. That means I get a nice draft to recover and see if I have any wheaties left. I look back and Dave's on my wheel. Coppi starts moving, so I nullify his proposition and jolt, knowing Dave is in on the conspiracy.

Dave and one other rider catch my wheel. As we pass the front of the group on the left, 808s dude with the neon sleeveless T jolts on the right side. He's not going nearly as fast as us, so his heart is broken. I think he left to listen to some Meatloaf music.

How a 5-8, 145 pound dude riding a tiny Specialized gives a lead-out to a 6-4 dude, I have no clue. But it worked. Dave came around and the one other dude was holding on for dear life. After that the dude said to Dave, "I thought y'all would slow down before the line."

No. That's not standard operating procedure when you're trying to kick ass.

So the next lap I find myself behind Andre and Andrew, my boys: I race with these guys. Mr. Butts is way up in the group, I've been watching his wheel the whole time but he's being polite tonight. I think he was tasting wedding cake samples now instead of embarrassing all of us yahoos, so I tell Andre and Andrew to move up on the left instead of being so far back. It's unsafe back there. We'll protect each other.

The pack gets shuffled as Mr. Butts ups the pace, so Andrew and I switch roles twice. Somehow Andre took a hefty pull, then I end up at the front with other dudes on my wheel. Andrew's pinned, so I gun it while Mr. Butts is distracted choosing sniffing glue for the invitations.

Siggy takes a flyer at Hains. The sun also rises.

Eight minutes later, I found myself mysteriously off the front with our HANDicapped (get it?) friend from DVR/Bike Rack, Sam.

Okay, that was Corny.

Sam laid down a mean attack and I was dumb enough to follow Andrew's chase. It hurt. We took two rotations and then all got lazy. Andrew pulled off, I took a pull, and by the time I was back there Sam had pulled off and I was in the wind again. Screw that! I sat on his wheel for two seconds, and then Sam sat up anyway.

At this point, I have two choices. Sit up and get passed by the group, never to be seen again, or continue pedaling hard in hopes of catching on after the stop sign. I choose the latter. I'm a moron, and my brain just thought, "hammer." My heart rate is well above 3 hertz and plateauing, ouch. (You non-science weenies can figure that out later.)

I look back to see two freaks going NUTS out of the saddle. It's Cliff from R1V with none other than Cat on his wheel. HECK YES. If I'm gonna be embarrased, at least it's not by Mr. Butts sampling wedding hord'oeurves again.

I'm excited to see Cat off the front of the sprints, so as some chasers pass me I yell, "Yeah that's my girlfriend kicking your ass!"

Books not yet written: How not to make friends at Hains, by Rude Siggy. Chapter 1.

So a guy named Severin rolls up and asks me why I was talking about his girlfriend. Umm, no pal, I think there's a misunderstanding. It takes a few minutes to clear things up, but I plan on leading him out.

Then Dorothy and Toto show up.

We hit the sprint side and there's frikken horizontal rain and wind coming from underneath trying to rip my wheels off my bike. I'm sitting third wheel before the sprint, kinda bored in the echelon from Hades, so I yell, "C'mon boys!"

That did not get their attention, so I took off by the double sewers. I look back to see one guy chasing. He's in a tux - no, wait - that's just a Harley kit. It's Mr. Schiffman, errr, I mean Mr. Butts. Game over, right? Nah, I guess he was too busy writing vows to sprint, especially with cows flying across the road in a downpour.

So everyone goes home in the middle of the storm. This is DC though. Two minutes later, of course, there's a slight wind but nothing in the sky except for a rainbow. Such is the Thursday night ride at Hains. It's a big sweaty mess, and you go home before you start seeing colorful hallucinations.

Because of the plague(s) I contracted recently, some travel, a bunch of races, and that thing I do from 8ish to 6ish every day, I hadn't been doing much "sprint" work or any group rides besides hilly races of attrition. I paid for it on Sunday in West Virginia when Chuck Hutch and Russ Langley decided to pull out the rulers and put us all to shame in the first six minutes of a two-mountain, 55-mile ride. They must really like alone time because it sure wasn't a "group ride."

Today, I made up for some lost speed work. Fun and tough, race-like group, and a bit of recovery in between surges. I'll be back again for the next few weeks, that's for sure.

...and Mr. Butts, if you're reading this, congrats.

Race Report: Lost River Classic, Cat 3/4

2010-07-26T23:07:00.002-04:00

I think I shook Dave K’s hand and contracted the Dave K plague that kept him – the race’s mastermind and creator – from finally racing it.

Nah. The hacking, congested, green-snotted mess that was my respiratory system was probably caused by four hours in a cloud of gravel dust on Friday afternoon. (Luckily the symptoms of the plague did not affect me until Sunday's "Chuck versus Russ" group ride.) If there’s any way to open up your legs and lungs for a race, it’s definitely not using a leaf blower to remove any dusty evidence of West Virginia gravel from the country roads of the Lost River Classic.

That evidence also included a fully-grown but flattened Raccoon on Crab Run Road. Removal required more than a leaf blower, and you can thank Glen Archer for shoveling it out of your line.

A long warm-up on Howards Lick road loosened my legs (anyone using a trainer in that heat was an idiot and missed some nice scenery). The warm-up claimed victim to one of my teammates, though. After registering and pinning on his number, Rich found himself bleeding in a ditch while descending back down to the staging area. He took the spot as the first “DNF” in the Cat 3/4 race, which is unfortunate because he's great when the road points to the sky.

I made sure to get good staging because I was nervous that a 75-man field on narrow roads would cause some constipation of the peloton. I didn’t want to head up the first big hill in 60th wheel and have to burn match after match weaving through first-lap stragglers.

Well, I found myself in about 4th wheel next to Justin M. and David B., two of my junior teammates. Nick S. was in the front of the peloton. I told the guys to stay right there so nobody could sneak by and we’d hold good positioning on 259 until the yellow lined disappeared. Nick’s job was to keep the pace moving so people would string out a bit and move around.

Nobody wanted to sit in his monstrous draft, so he simply rode away. A few of my rivals asked, “Who’s up the road, Bert?” When I responded that it was my 240 (nay! 239!) pound teammate, they still questioned expending energy so early on. “Didn’t he win Reston?”

Yes he did, so I kind of had the hope that he would get an absurd gap after the first hill and hold it out for a while. He actually won his first-ever race in February, on North Carolina hills, by taking off on the first hill. That didn’t quite happen. Gravity got the better of Nick.

The road guards before Jenkins Hollow climb (up to the church) told us he was a minute and a half up on the field. When the hill straightened out, he sure wasn’t that far up. We caught him after the hill, and he had a big smile on his face. Nick had at least done his job and saved us from having to pull. Positioning became a non-issue for the better climbers, at least on the first hill.

If there’s any one place I improved from last year, it’s on the descents. I’ve been riding out in WV a few times per year now, so I know the course well. Eric took me to descending school in California, so it’s a work in progress that is getting somewhere. I am happy to say I felt the effects and saved a lot of effort by holding positioning down the hill from the church.

The following curves of Howards Lick Road at 30+ mph are the most fun road on the course, and the Dispanet climb comes way too early. Like the first round of punches on Jenkins Hollow, the peloton was just testing out the legs up Dispanet the first lap up. No real attrition but a fast, strung-out descent. Nice and safe at the front.

Sam (DVR/Bike Rack) got bored on 259 and rolled the dice as he did in the final lap last year. I wasn’t about to take off solo or attempt a long bridge, but Gus (GamJams) and I had a few ideas of spicing up the race early on. I accelerated on the kicker after the yellow line ends, turning onto Crab Run Road. Nobody bit the bait as I hoped, so I sat up. As the group caught up, Gus added some lighter fluid to the fire and the group accelerated.

Him and I took about three or four hard pulls each, but a dude from Bike Doctor and an AABC rider seemed to be blocking for Sam. They simply didn’t help push the pace, but kept stealing third and fourth wheel – dragging 50 guys behind them. I saw that and told Gus that I was going to turn the afterburners off at the one-lane bridge to catch my breath before the climb. He kept hauling ass.

The tentative group let Sam hang until the Jenkins Hollow, but this time the would-be contenders made their faces known. Gus had already done so, and continued pace-shifting the peloton up the climb. I stayed in the top 5-8 riders in case of a split and hit the church in top wheel. I avoided the feed zone entirely, simply switching a third bottle from my jersey with an empty one. Through the descent, no fewer than three R1V guys shot by me and screamed down Jenkins Hollow.

A bit gassed from the efforts of the second lap, I was not too surprised to see last year’s Cat 4 winner, Tom B. (Squadra Coppi), pushing the pace from the bottom of Dispanet. That was the first moment that I was truly put into a world of pain. At the same moment, my teammate David B. pulled a Schleck right next to me; the field was not waiting for him to fix his chain. Bad news all around.

I remembered a ride I did earlier in the spring in Poolesville where David’s brother, Andrew, had found me with a quick group pacelining to Poolesville. He joined the ride, and a few minutes later he said, “Bert, I can’t hold the pace.” I smiled to him and said, “They can’t either. Just hold on.” Sure enough, Andrew held on for the ride because everyone’s legs fatigued.

Up the climb to Dispanet, my heart rate was in the high 180s, but I had Andrew’s luck. The final stairstep of the climb arrived before my legs gave way. A bit of persuation (“Shut up legs!”) and I was good to go.

I’d started near the front of the group, but ended up with at least 20 other racers in front of me. Surely, it couldn’t have been just me in pain. Looking back by the lemonade stand with the pace still bordering on ludicrous speed, the peloton – or what was left – was spreading out across the Lost River valley. I started to race more conservatively.

I stayed in decent position down the gradual-yet-quick Dispanet descent again, and tried to keep tallies of my teammates. None was in front of me, which was a bad sign. Justin Mauch was next to me so I asked him – he wasn’t sure either. I couldn’t look back for more than a fraction of a second without riding myself and four others into a ditch, so I had no clue how many folks were still in the group until the turn on 259 – lots of folks. I saw that David had caught back on, and Matt R. was still with us. Mingo was too, but big Nick was gone.

The rollers on Crab and Cullers didn’t leave many memories, and the more gradual ascent of Jenkins Hollow was a swift kick to the nuts, but the real “selection” had been made earlier in the race. The final turn up Dispanet showed mercy as well, but a few teams really punched the final descent. From the crest of Dispanet to the finish, there would be no calm before the storm.

With the penultimate ascent behind us, I was hiding in the group next to Justin, the only other NCVC racer in the group. He was riding like a 90-pound juggernaut, so I asked told him to keep it up. “If you see an opportunity, take it.” I was doubting my own punchiness, but the little man was throwing bones.

Right then, the entire peloton missed a golden opportunity. Tom B. – last year’s winner – took off on Route 259 in a clever counterattack. A few half-hearted chasers followed, but the group was content to let Tom tire himself out.

Cullers and Crab run were pedal to the frikken pavement, at least for me. Teams were each sending a guy up the road in a frantic chase, but I had little more than tempo left in my legs. I sat in and gradually passed riders who’d hit the wind too hard. A number of them simply slipped from the rear of the single-file peloton after gassing themselves on the tricky rollers.

No less than three minutes after I’d told Justin to make the most of his race, while I’m biting a bottle at 28 miles per hour over potholes with a death grip on the bars and sweat dripping into my eyes, he shoots from halfway back in the group a la Vinokourov. Tony A. (DVR/Bike Rack) and his teammate Dennis decided Tom’s move was a real threat, and tried to bridge up. Though Dennis faded back into the group, Tony held out for a while and Justin was on a mission to catch him.

Niether of them quite made it, and they each got spit from the even-more-shreaded lead group. The pace took its toll, and immediately on the final climb to Jenkins Hollow the lead group split into two. Tom was up the road, and five riders were in front. When I looked back, I found myself in an uphill no-man’s land simply because I had been a bit too far back in the peloton. I had to bridge the gaps of tired racers. I could not bridge the gap, and I did not enjoy my time in no-man’s land.

If anyone went up the hill fastest, it was Dennis from Bike Rack. He nearly got spit out the back of the peloton on the rollers after working for Tony, but had caught up and embarrassed me. We gained on the popped riders from the lead group by the end, but did not quite reach them. The road simply ran out, which was a good thing. I gave it a last kick to the church, but only the fumes to get me across in 8th place behind Dennis.

Tom held out for a bold defense of his Lost River title, with Paul Hades (oops, I mean Rades) from GamJams taking a hard-fought, well-won second place against Mathias (Snapple), the fastest dude with more leg hair than the abominable snowman. (All jokes, Mathias! I shave my legs so folks don't confuse me with Meidhof.)

Dave K, I think you gave me the plague. Not because of your actual plague, but because this course is that tough. It makes you dig deep, and my body paid for it after our reminiscent cocktail hour(s) Saturday. I'm still cashing the checks for that painful second zip up Dispanet, and a bit too much fun at the Lost River Guest House.

Water Bottle Thievery

2010-07-19T21:08:00.000-04:00

The 2010 Giro di Coppi stood up to the races “heated” reputation, with temperatures just shy of the triple digits. Staying cool and hydrated is a necessity. Personally, I combated the heat with a plethora of bottles filled with water and sports drink. I brought seven, to be exact. That was my entire collection of water bottles, consolidated in one cooler.

I drank two dry before lining up for the start – refilling one and placing it in a cooler with two other spares for me or my teammates. I started with two on the bike, and one slightly smaller bottle in my jersey pocket.

If you guess that a bottle costs five dollars from a bike shop, I brought $35 dollars worth of hydration receptacles to the Giro di Coppi.

At the end of the first lap, I dumped a bottle at the feet of one of my teammates’ girlfriend, who was graciously feeding our squad along with another teammate’s better half. She flawlessly handed me another bottle at speed. I’d have three more bottles for three more laps, so I avoided the mayhem of the feed zone for the rest of the race.

Aside from dumping an empty water bottle from my rear pocket on the third lap, in which I made eye contact with a dropped teammate on the sideline, then tossed him the bottle, I had little to worry about. I ended up smacking him in the face with the discarded bottle. That’s neither here nor there, unless, of course, the bottle bounced too far off Drew’s head into the brush, never to be seen again.

That is what happened with four of the seven bottles I had brought to the race: they simply disappeared. I checked in my cooler, my car, my teammates’ coolers and their bikes to see if we’d been passed each others’ bottles (our feed zone girls are trained not to discriminate). I walked both sides of the road surrounding the feed zone to no avail. This race cost me more than registration.

Perhaps my teammates took them as feeds and discarded them in the style of a pro peloton with 8 speedy kilometers to go, flinging them across Montgomery County. Personally, I try to return them to the vicinity of my teammates in the feed zone, in hopes of their not-so-inevitable return. Thus the water bottle assault on my boy D-Wis. I do apologize if that bottle bounced back into the road, but it gave a few of us a good laugh none-the-less.

Either way, that particular bottle landed in the vicinity of my own compadres. That is why I believe that there is theft among the MABRA peloton.

Having tossed a bottle or two in the feed zone at the Murad Road Race, I deemed one MIA after policing the area for my wounded soldiers - one of which was a brand new bottle.

No less than a fortnight later, at the Poolesville Road Race, my junior teammate David B. returned one of my sharpy-marked bottles that he found at that race's feed zone. Here’s the irony: I did not toss any water bottles to the side of the road at Poolesville.

David had passed me the formerly new water bottle I had lost at Murad, fourteen days prior on nearby roads. The plastic on the two-week old bottle had been worn thin, as if it had been held in a bottle cage lined with sandpaper. What had happened to my tortured comrade? More importantly, who had used and abused him in such a manner, without ensuring its safe return to my own bottle cages?

There is hope against the thievery of our plastics, though. At the Giro di Coppi just days ago, probably the nicest guy in MABRA, having found one of my water bottles aptly marked with my name and team initials in permanent marker (as are all of my bottles), limped across the parking lot amidst post-race fatigue to return it to me. Nate H., you saved me $5. (I think that was you, right?)

If you see a fallen soldier with my name on it, I would be more than happy to buy you a beer for your honesty and effort in returning these to me. They are all marked with my name or initials and “NCVC.” There are at least four of my rogue (or looted) bottles currently wandering between MABRA’s community of water bottle cages or the grassy road shoulders of Montgomery County.

While I do not promote pollution, I am hoping it is the honest lost-in-a-ditch fate that is finding my bottles. For now, I will grant immunity to anyone in MABRA that returns any of my bottles to me. In the future, however, you’re getting a bottle in the face if I see you looting the feed zone for discarded plastic.

Ask Drew, I have good aim.

Race Report: Giro di Coppi, Cat 3/4

2010-07-19T06:48:00.000-04:00

On terrain as undulating as we've got for the Giro di Coppi, the chance your body will hold up to allow you to place well once is slim enough. Try to double the feat. Well, I was trying. It's hard to make realistic goals for a race you've won before. Let's start there.

This year, the race followed the similarly dumb theme of combining Cat 3/4 because the masters apparently *need* their own field and BAR category. (Why the hell do we have age groups for 35 year-old racers when most of them are already the best locally. This is cycling, race your damn category.)

I digress.

Coppi is always scorching, but I'm cool with that. I drink a lot and dump water on my head to stay cool. Coppi's also undulating up-and-down, which suits my legs and small size well. Having posted a "1" as a result in the Cat 4 field last year (though it never showed up on USA Cycling's results, good job Squadra Coppi), my goals this year were relatively modest. I had a top ten in mind.

Okay, I promise to stop throwing in bitter caveats.

During my 20-minute warm-up, I dried an entire bottle. I got excellent starting position next to Mike M. from nature Valley, who I had stolen the Fausto bobble-head from last year. Teammates lined up somewhere in the field with me were my best boy D-Wis, James L., Andrew S., up-and-coming Matts R. and D., Dennis, and a few other folks including two racers fresh from junior nationals, Avery and David.

The mixed field was antsy, and immediately three guys popped off the front. As Andrew and I were watching the gap grow from a dozen riders back in the field, D-Wis tried to bridge. Watching the gap grow with Drew stuck in no-man's land was like watching a man do splits over two chairs. Eventually he'd slip through the crack, and he did - in our direction.

The break did not have any racers from the heavy hitting teams. DC MTB and Kenda were present (with one other guy) but none of the larger squads. It took the entire lap, but the break came back with a well-organized, cooperative chase. The organization also made evident who the stronger teams were, by far: Coppi and DVR/Bike Rack. Those teams didn't just have numbers, but firepower.

To give you an idea of how strong the chase was when the break was out of site, I remember seeing my heart rate in the mid-180s on Old Georgetown Road, the unmarked stretch that gets gradually steeper and hotter into the sun. It took me until after that to feel truly warmed up.

I finished a bottle during the first lap to ditch one and make space for a feed. We had two NCVC girlfriends out in the sun with three coolers worth of bottles. (Thank you Lauren and Laura!)

To be quite honest, I don't remember anything significant happening on the second lap. The hairy-legged dude in the Snapple kit pulled the field around the entire lap. Apparently another racer asked him what he was doing and he claimed he was just "trying to get a work out."

That was fine with the rest of us. Good pull.

I spent just about the entire lap sipping more water, having a snack, and hovering within a safe distance of the guys in the wind. I had a few guys I wanted to keep an eye on, and they were on. Avery and Drew had been up front early on, but both started fading back because of the pace on the hills.

Andrew and Dennis emerged up telling me it took 'em the entire time to be able to move up. Crowded roads, I guess, but I found it easy to move around near the front of the group after cresting every hill, turning every corner, or before/after the feed zone. Matt and Matt found their way up the pack later on - which was important on the third lap.

The third lap was quick. Matt D. and Andrew both stuck their noses in the wind a good bit to keep our colors in each move. Just about every hill saw one guy giving a dig, and about a dozen guys chasing. Tom B. from Coppi and I chatted a bit and agreed, the stretch on Old Georgetown Road could snap the rubber-band of the peloton.

I didn't get as far up as I would have liked on that stretch, but I managed to made the second split after the left-hand turn. Coppi had a pair of guys up front in a 6-man group. I was chasing with two others, but eventually had to jump on my own to catch the lead group. One minute later, the lead group was a dozen-strong, including about four of five Coppi riders; I was the only NCVC racer there, so I only briefly hit the wind in such a big group.

There were some recognizable names left out of this third-lap party, though. By the time we turned onto Barnesville Road, the peloton - or the 30-some racers left in it - were gruppo compacto.

On this stretch, two crazy things happened:

(a) I saw one of my teammates that started the race with us driving his car in the opposite direction, bike on the roof rack. He was already on his way home. F*@#.

(b) Tony A. from DVR/Bike Rack hung himself out to dry, quite literally, for the entire stretch of Barnesville Road. The haus took a massive dig in an attempt to get away, but nobody joined him.

This included me. I was doubting my own legs' abilities and was racing in a boring, conservative manner. (You probably noticed an NCVC rider with a bunch of pink Kinesio tape on the back of my right calf. Yep, that was for my ankle/achilles, and Catherine's choice of color.)

Tony's bold attempt didn't last past the finish line, and the calm-before-the-storm ensued for the final 12 miles. My young and bantam teammate David, who'd been hovering near the front the entire race, rode up next to me and said two words: Deja vu.

He was right. David was referring to our Cat 4 race last year, where the hard efforts still couldn't narrow the pack down to fewer than half of the competitors. Racers were hot, tired, and too evenly matched.

The final jolt up Old Georgetown Road was hardly a scene from a race. A Haymarket rider took off, and the rest of us chatted about it.

David turned to me and commented that this was deja vu. We were, like 2009, too far back in the pack. I couldn't disagree, so we had to weave our own routes to move up in the pack. I was patient, however. Last year I was nowhere near the wind, but timed my sprint well.

Perhaps this year I was being too comfortable with my position behind the sweet spot, but hugging the center-line. Last I saw, David was a rider or two farther up on the right gutter. I'd told him to find my wheel if possible but his pack-surfing skills put mine to shame. I couldn't find any other teammates directly around me, and the pack was as congested as the beltway during rush hour. Nobody was moving very far on Barnesville road.

The Haymarket rider frightened folks by toughing it out against the wind a bit longer than any of us expected. That's for damn sure. Past the feed zone into the final downhill, things finally sped up and got sketchy, once again like last year. No real problems, though, this entire 50-miler played out as safe as I can remember for any of my races.

My positioning did not improve until the foot of the final hill. A slew of riders jolted into the left lane well before the 200 meter sign, so I followed. Heck yeah, open road.

CRAP nope, it wasn't open. One of the big Coppi riders decided to transform himself into a tree trunk on the final hill. The dude came to an absolute standstill as I was accelerating, and I had to swerve hard left up the hill, which killed the mojo of my achilles and ankel, so I had to sit back down in the saddle.

Still, I passed probably a dozen riders congested, cramped, and cooking in the right lane. I found myself in third wheel with about 50 meters to go. Could it be? Can I pull this off again?

Not with these legs, not today.

To my left, a WWVC rider led a DVR/Bike Rack rider off my wheel. They'd timed it perfectly. I couldn't quite catch the riders in the right lane, either. I had started my sprint from about one or two riders too far back and it was too much real estate to cover.

If my ankle hadn't taken enough of a beating, I really was desperately dumb by the end of the race. I was not, however, about to secede fifth place to the peloton's super-domestique from Tri-Team Snapple. The guy has a diesel engine, but I burnt the fumes to hold position ahead of him.

I finished 5th, which I am contend with. Snapple took sixth, and my friend and former teammate Greg G., racing for William & Mary now, placed 7th. A pair of WWVC racers ended up taking the win and another spot in front of me. DVR/Bike Rack took second place from my own wheel. I have no clue who finished third.

Aside from being the victim of three water-bottle thefts, I can't complain too much. Giro di Coppi is on some beautiful, fun roads. Interpret this whichever way you want, but it's always a hot contest, too. I like this race a lot.

California - Angeles Forest & Baldy Mountain

2010-07-19T01:08:00.000-04:00

I should have posted these pictures over a week ago, but...

My final "big" ride in California (about two weeks ago) was a 70-mile journey up to Baldy Mountain, a ski resort in the Angeles National Forest. Like before, my friend Eric Bruins dragged me up the mountain roads. We had a few of his USC and Big Orange cycling teammates for company, too.

We started a bit above see level, warmed up on a bike path, then stair-stepped our way up three major climbs to the base of the ski resort at 6500 feet. Off the path, the majority of the route we took was on roads closed for the holiday weekend (to prevent pyros from playing with fireworks in the dry forest), so we walked our bikes around/over some gates to have totally open roads.

Check out the views:

The ridge road we rode to Baldy Mountain, which in the background...

"We came from over there."

The reward - Eric had been promising to take me to In-n-Out for days.

I posted these pictures at the same time I posted my Giro di Coppi race report. Either scroll down, or If you got here via a direct link, you can check that out here.

Thoughts on Le Tour, Week 1

2010-07-13T23:48:00.002-04:00

July is every cyclist's holy month; we often sacrifice riding for watching versus. Work work work is my current modus operandi, but how can I not blog at least once about the Tour?

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It seems that to be as egotistical a bike racer as possible, you need to have a blog - I'm a perfect example thankyouverymuch. Well there's one cyclist that is anything but egotistical, and manages to keep a blog while racing Le Tour. His name is Chris Horner, and you have to read his race reports.

If they weren't about the Tour de France, his posts would fit right into the coulda shoulda woulda of GamJams' local bloggers' race reports. I've had a cycling man crush on Horner and his style of racing for a long time. To see a guy in the tour that is so purely excited just to be there is more motivating than any over-publicized "comeback."

Horner's come back many times from the life of domestic pro to domestique. He gets my respect for that, and for sharing the stories of his daily suffering as if he were just another bike racer.

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If Contador doesn't name his first born Daniel it would be offensive to the entire Astana team. Daniel Navarro from Astana is an animal, a selfless workhorse, and incredibly gifted athlete*. For the past two mountain stages it's been his wrath - not Alberto's - that has wreaked havoc on the tour. Sure, he's had the help of Vino and other Astana guns, but it was his painful, seemingly endless snearing at the pointy end of the peloton that shreaded the rear as the road went up. His faces of pain, though amusing at times, make my legs hurt. I feel like he's dropping me while I sit on the couch.

*God I hope he's not doping.

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Jens Voigt takes the second step on the podium for teammate-of-the-week. The rouleur of rouleurs made the breakaway on a five-mountain stage, probably just so he could help his leader, Andy Schleck, as the break dissolved on the slopes of the Col de la Madeileine. He paced Andy as much as he could, but he deserves accolades for his

What caught my attention most was the way he desperately sprinted after Schleck and Contador just minutes from the top of the climb, then dropped his head and shook it in disappointment when he could no longer help, as if he had not done enough. If there is any professional cyclist I would never doubt, it would be Jens. He really must have knocked himself out for the count.

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The tour has pedaled into the alps, but the fight for the green jersey will continue eventually. Thor knows how to win the points, though Cav knows how to win the sprints. If anything, I am glad Petacchi spiced up the flatter stages. Though I've never been a fan of Salbutamol abusers, he demonstrated his expertise in the violent run-ups to the finish line. That's how you do it. Twice. He had help from teammates, but to my knowledge he's still the only sprinter that has bested the HTC-Columbia train when it has been lined up full-force in 2009 or 2010.

Garmin, on the other hand, always seems to miscalculate the lead-out without correcting their mistakes. To me, their gone-too-early trend was most evident during the final stage of the 2009 Tour, when George Hincapie of HTC-Columbia let the Garmin train overtake them with just over a kilometer to go. What happened next was exemplary patience and experience from Big George (he pulled off in the direction of the other team's sprinter), and a hell of a kick through the corner from Mark Renshaw.

If you watch the first ten seconds of this video (can't embed it), you'll see what I'm talking about. It's happened to Garmin at least twice at this year's tour, too.

If you can't overpower another team, you can at least put your sprinter in good positioning, right? Wrong - not against HTC-Columbia when Cav is on his game. At the Tour, the only person I've seen beat Cav in a straight-up, flat sprint is Petacchi. He did so by bolting early, not by sitting in the jet-stream of the manx-missile. That seat, of course, seems to have been reserved for Tyler Farrar. I like the guy and understand he was injured last week, but how many times do you have to get stung until you move away from the bee hive? Sorry Tyler, but you can't come around Cav once he's started his sprint. Try something new.

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As cool as it would have been to see Armstrong contend, is anyone else glad that all of the Lance brouhaha was smashed into one stage. Instead of hoping to the last stage that he'd have a chance, inevitability struck early for the over-aged boss and fairweather contenders. Now, the real Tour begins.

Journalists have to attract readers by focusing on big names and inconsequential rivalries. I understand that. What I don't understand is the clueless vibe of surprise that, just one week into the tour, it's a two-man shootout. (Yeah, there's a long way to go, blah blah...)

Schleck versus Contador: If you didn't see this coming or if you were not excited for the show-down, you obviously did not pay attention to the 2009 Tour de France. The skinny pair clearly consisted of the best climbers (re: Ventoux, etc.) and both manorexics figured out how to pedal their aero rigs when necessary. Understand, then, why I am annoyed by the first paragraph of this article.

VeloNews does an excellent job of reporting on cycling, no doubt. Like many other publications, though, they must bring in the ringers for Le Tour. Check out last year's podium. It was not an open tour, and Schleck should not be a surprise candidate. If anyone should have surprised us with speed, it would have been Lance. Even blaming the three crashes two days ago for his sub-par performance, why couldn't he even keep up with Levi and Menchov on the Madelleine?

Oh, did someone say dark horse? I've been waiting to hear Menchov's name mentioned once, by anyone. One point awarded back to you, VeloNews.

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Vino attacked on a stage that finishes after a major descent. The sun also rises. It didn't work today (or even come close), but it has in the past.

Vino attacked on the final climb of Stage 9 in the 2003 Tour de France and took the infamous stage that saw the true end of Beloki's career as a GC contender, and the beginning of Armstrong's career as a cyclocross racer. In 2005, Vino pulled an identical stunt, this time dragging Santiago Botero (then on Phonak) with him to the sprint, and beating him senselessly for the win.

I think the last time I remember him pulling the stunt was days after his "tragic bonk" in 2007, which was obviously planned. Vino strategically lost more time, and attacked berserk to win Stage 15 - again a stage ending with a descent. This, though, would be the end of his reign - he tested positive for EPO in a Time Trial four days prior.

Still, even after a failed attempt today, I enjoyed seeing the tactics of sending Vino - another dark horse - up the road to make the other teams burn matches. The doper-in-denial has always been one of my unfortunate favorite racers to watch.

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Kudos to Sandy Casar (bow wow!) for owning the small-group sprint for Stage 8, but who the hell put the finish line in the middle of a turn? That's just dumb stuff right there.

And, I think my final thought must be this: the yellow jersey must be made of Lead this year. It is no surprised that Cancellara and Chavanel felt the weight of the Maillot Jaune, but what happened to you, Cadel?

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Thanks for reading. I'll post pics from my last ride in California and my recent trip to the Lost River Barn later, but it's Tour time. This was more important, and more interesting.

California - Palos Verdes Ride (July 4th)

2010-07-06T01:08:00.000-04:00

After our 78-mile jaunt through the Santa Monica mountains on Saturday, Eric and his teammates Bladi and Dave let me tag along for a "short recovery ride."

It would be a 60-mile day, riding along the windy, SoCal towns along the pacific coast, then looping around Palos Verdes. The ride was relatively flat except for an 8-minute, 800 foot ascent on some switchbacks to get over a big hump from the outside of the Palos Verdes peninsula back to Redondo for a coffee stop.

As Eric explained, DC's Arlington hill rides are similar: Everyone does this route a bit too often. Having never ridden the roads myself, I enjoyed them immensely, and the spectacular views off the pacific coast even more. Luckily there was no photo evidence when Eric hit the tempo on the one climb of the day.

Another nice addition is that there's a sweet bike path from Marina Del Ray to about 1/2 mile away from Eric's place. That provides pretty good access to many parts of town (you can see this in the last picture).

I'll post up pictures from the afternoon/evening of the 4th of July and our epic Monday ride up Baldy mountain later...

California - Latigo Canyon & Piuma Mountain

2010-07-06T00:38:00.001-04:00

Not many folks may remember the name Eric Bruins, but I guarantee that every guy that raced Cat 4 with NCVC in 2009 knows the guy. Yeah, he's the dude that goes up hills. Fast. He's the dude that rides tempo. Forever. He's the dude that just completed the 155-mile Climb to Kaiser. (Check out the elevation profile from his Garmin data.)

Thus, Eric was given the mission to shock my legs back into long-distance, hard-man riding shape.

Eric rode with GW Cycling and NCVC during the spring/summer of 2009 while doing a semester and internship in DC. Now he's back in Southern California after graduating from USC.

I had a business trip to downtown LA, so I took a few extra days off for the long weekend to visit Eric. Naturally, I had to find a way to ride with him.

I rented a bike from Helen's Cycles in Santa Monica. They hooked me up with a Cannondale CAAD9 equipped with Shimano Ultegra (DA 7800 rear derailleur), FSA Gossamer crankset, and MAVIC Aksium wheels. For a weekend of riding, that'll do. I'll probably post a review of the bike later.

On Saturday, Eric and his teammate Nick took me through Venice Beach and Santa Monica to the PCH, where we drilled it to Latigo Canyon.

We then descended the now-famous "Rock Store" slope used as a climb in the 2010 Tour of California. From there, we hit some valley roads to climb Piuma Mountain, which had some great overlooks (ahem) toward Malibu and the Pacific.

This fairly "normal" ride from the Santa Monica/Venice area totaled 78 miles over two mountains. Wow. Riding in California rocks.

More pictures from our other crazy rides to come...

Race Report: Tour of Washington County, Cat 3

2010-06-20T23:58:00.002-04:00

Stage 1: Smithsburg Road Race

Our team had only four guys in the race: Drew A., Yon, Chris H, and me. It also should be stated that I think this is one of the funnest road race courses in MABRA.

Yon and Chris are both new to MABRA, so it would be their first time racing Washington County. I did well in the road race last year as a Cat 4, and Drew is our strongest time trialist. That being said... here's how it played out.

The neutral roll out wasn't. The first lap was neutral.

The second lap was mostly neutral, except for a few solo attempts to spice life up in the peloton. Nothing stuck; guys were merely hung out to dry. Mad props to Sam from DVR/Bike Rack for making a race of a group ride, though. He was really aggressive early on.

Drew and I managed to hold position extremely well. We were able to talk to each other, and I was the point man making sure nothing to threatening got far up the road without at least one of us in it. That was pretty easy with 60 pairs of antsy, fresh legs the first two laps. No sweat, aside from the 95 degree temperatures.

The third lap finally had some excitement. I made sure to stick with the leaders when a group of 8-10 guys moved up the road. Soon there after Drew comes up behind me and say, "Bert, I'm here." We really cooked it up the relatively short first climb on the course, that's for sure.

Perfect, right? Not really. More people kept crashing the party at the front of the race. The breakaway was forming too soon.

A guillotine hit the peloton hard and formed a lead group of 20 riders with a lot of strong riders. NCVC had Drew, me, and Chris in this move (though he told us he was worse for wear by that point). Drew and I both jumped in the rotation to push the pace and cause a separation - every team was represented - but the chasers were too motivated. Everyone wanted to be up front.

Gruppo compacto, the big break was caught and then things slowed down again. Throughout the 4th lap there were more small breakaway attempts, but nothing so threatening that we couldn't have swatted it down or bridged up with miniscule efforts. The fifth lap was similar, but pretty quick causing some attrition in the peloton. That was good for us as it evened the playing field. Fewer teams would have more than two pairs of working legs.

Up the big-ring climb on the backside of the fifth lap, the race unraveled. A breakaway of four snuck away when most of us were just too lazy to care. Because of the terrain, we could see where they were on the descent, and they were distancing themselves for sure. Mike Fawell and one other rider started chasing.

That triggered Drew to hit the wind, which triggered me to get him out of the wind. I rode up along side and nodded, then got in front. Tom Blonkowski was on my wheel, and the main group (by then maybe 25-30 guys?) simply let him and I ride away. Tom was blunt and quickly told me, "I can't help you Bert." It was a nice courtesy, so I set a tempo and, as he also recommended, made sure not to blow up riding "the wall" for the fifth time.

I think Tom realized that we cleared the peloton, because he started helping me bridge up to the pair in front of us - it was his teammate Nate M. with Mike. There were another few guys up the road. Tom and I caught Mike and Nate after the lap counter, but the rotation was scrappy and we all seemed beat.

Once again, from behind, Drew told me he'd made a clean bridge, too. He was able to follow some wheels without expending too much energy since I had been up the road. Not bad. He was telling me this, though, by using different words: "Stay with it!" That first climb took its toll on me since I'd put a big effort into bridging up.

Through the windy, flat section before the feed zone, our chase group finally got organized enough to gain on the leaders. We caught them halfway up the big-ring climb after the backside turn. Some of them must have thought we were the field, because they simply sat up. When that happened, a few of us made sure to let 'em know, it's just a dozen of us - hit it boys!

I had been putting a few too many wasteful efforts in to be in random breaks, so I asked Drew how he was doing. Okay, he told me. Good, because I wasn't as confident as I should have been at that point. As long as he was safe, though, I'd done my job.

We did keep the tempo hot over the climb, but with an obvious selection, few were willing to put much effort into the last few miles. The pace was low, so Drew told me to keep things in check. There was no reason to lose time to anyone with a mile or two left in the race. I stayed up front from then on, but we crested "the wall" with few serious surges and no casualties. And the next hill, and the next.

A Coppi rider and myself were side-by-side in front of another ten riders with too few hundred and some meters to go before a sprint opened up. From the front with deadlegs, I kicked, but the legs barely responded from a slow speed and then they refused to give more on the end of the uphill sprint. As I was fading, though, Drew emerged and passed me. Brigham from R1V took the win with an AABC in second. Drew managed to sprint passed a few of us for third. I held on for sixth.

Not bad at all - the race played out exactly as we had wanted, only because you can't credibly belive you'll always get a 1-2 finish with your teammate. If there was one change we would have made, we would have been more aggressive on the final stretch, though. The slow pace made the sprint crowded, and surely wasted time for the overall classification.

Stage 2: Boonsboro Time Trial

I set up my bike with used clip-ons I bought a few years ago for $25 and did nothing else to my bike (it had the MAVIC Carbone SLs on all weekend). With my new aero-helmet on, I pedaled hard as hell and it hurt. A lot. That's the gist of the TT, but there are a few key events.

Around the turn I knew I was gaining time on my 30-second man, Sam M. from DVR/Bike Rack. Unfortunately, it looked like I was losing ground to the guy behind me. The tailwind helped me keep a hot tempo, though, so I passed Sam halfway on the homestretch.

I overestimated the distance, so when I saw the white tent I was PISSED. I left a bit too much on the course and had to sprint at the end instead of gradually racking myself into submission throughout the last 3k, which I'm good at. I left some time on the course, but took back 11 seconds on the guy behind me - a Kelly Benefits rider named Cohen. Not bad. Drew followed soon after him, even better.

Drew and another rider, Mike Fawell, have the same coach, so they chatted after the TT. Drew estimated his time to be around 23:20, and mine was 23:42. Apparently Mike's time was slightly over 21 minutes.

Oh snap, the GC just got locked up.

Stage 3: Williamsport Criterium

We were under the impression that Drew was sitting seconds from the podium because road race bonuses had not been applied. He was actually on the podium, so his plan to be aggressive and chase some time bonuses was for naught.

Personally, I had little choice but to tailgun the crap out of this race. I sucked bigtime. My matches were left in Smithsburg.

If you've ridden semi-technical crits like this with me, you've probably learned that my rear wheel is a bad omen for your race. Siggy is not savvy, brave, or crazy enough to corner like a freak when I'm surrounded by a bunch of my best spandex-clad friends. I fear cornering in high-speed races, which means I gap myself.

Luckily, I'm really good at filling the gaps. It is a royal waste of energy, but it is my survival tactic. Unfortunately for you, if you're behind me, you have to fill my gap too.

This means three things when I'm playing tailgunner (as I also did in Leonardtown):
a) I feel like baked cow patties in a hot, sunny field.
b) Concurrently, I'm being courteous staying out of the way of the guys up front actually doing something.
c) If you're behind me, you're probably going to get dropped.

Along with my fellow tailgunner today, Nate Hakken, we were the rearward gatekeepers of the race. If the Cat 3 peloton at Williamsport were a pair of thermal underwear, we were the butt flap.

After the road race, I had zero gas and our race started out pretty darn quick for my legs. I went into survival mode. From arears, I was able to make sure Drew was safely in the group - he was riding a great race. Yon and Chris, unfortunately, got the proverbial butt flat closed on them; the pack shat out about 20 riders immediately.

The Kelly rider who started behind me in the TT eventually got away with one other dude and gained himself some massive time, plus a bonus. That sucked to hear because the break that I saw was Bike Doctor and AABC, but I had absolutely no power or will to do much about it anyway.

With two to go, I was bridging a few gaps as Bike Doctor put the pedal to the metal. It was a great effort on their part to nullify any calm before the storm. They kept things safe by keeping things fast.

But Drew was gone. He wasn't ahead of me - I was sure of that - and I didn't see him in any of the nearby little groups behind me. I was tailgunning the front group and there were stragglers behind me.

Crap!!! WHERE THE HELL IS DREW!?!

It made little difference to me in the race, but it turns out his chain went into his spokes and locked up his rear with about 2 laps to go. Thankfully, as I crossed the line in umpteenth with the lead group (next to GC winner Mike Fawell), Drew was awarded "same time" for his mechanical mishap.

Not bad.

- -

Drew and I finished 4th and 6th on GC, respectively. Cash money, upgrade points, BAR points, and the satisfaction of a good weekend of racing. Not bad.

We celebrated by watching the merciless battle which became 1/2/3 race with some disguised tasty beverages, of course.

Double Violation of E.O. #060310

2010-06-08T22:44:00.007-04:00

The following photo of a cyclist (who I assume is named Fred) is a double violation of Siggy's Executive Order #060310. The offending rider, witnessed at Hains Point tonight, breaks #2.7 and #3.1.

I might have to amend the Executive Order to have an "extraneous attachments" rule. I don't even know what to say about the trailer.

Speaking of Freds, check out this new blog, FredStylez, on the unfortunate run-ins with the Fred stereotype.

Race Report: Ride Sally Ride, Cat 3

2010-06-08T00:50:00.003-04:00

The NCVC Cat 3 squad went into the Ride Sally Ride Criterium with one of our strongest rosters in a race this year: Will Wong, Dan Schwartz, Karl Anderson, Yon Nuta, and myself lined up next to Avery Wilson in his first Cat 3 race, and Andreas Gutzeit, who won the Master’s 3/4 race just a few hours earlier. (Drew Armstrong had signed up, but punctured his tire while warming up on the W&OD at the worst possible moment...)

The race was quick to start, but not quite painful enough. There was little attrition because it was easy to protect yourself from the wind; a course 4-lanes wide is also friendly to “moving up” on the outside. Andreas and Avery were constantly present at the front, with our victorious German setting the example of how to “cover” the peloton. Nothing threatening got away without NCVC, mostly because he was up there and young Avery (with helmet-cam) was right behind him the whole time. Dan and Will - probably the better sprinters of the group - seemed to be able to protect themselves well, too.

About 8-10 laps into the race, there was a bad crash after the start/finish. From the front, it sounded like someone was taking a baseball bat to carbon fiber; there were loud cracks, bangs, and scrapes. Yon Nuta was caught behind the crash but survived by “riding over someone’s leg." Luckily he kept it upright and took a free lap.

I was all over the place, which is good and bad. I couldn't quite stay in one spot at the front too easily. Ride Sally Ride is a short-loop criterium (only 1km) but its width gives the races a dynamic very different than most “technical” circuits. While I'd get swarmed frequently, it was similarly easy to move right back up, even through the middle of the pack. And it wasn't too hard to move from side-to-side, either.

The weirdest dynamic of the race, because of the width of the course, causes a bit of danger. Everyone would move up on the outside before the turns, then start to slide in narrow for the corners. The guys already leading the pack on the center start to move left (outside), so the pack gets really congested. On a 4-lane wide course, that means a lot of cyclists are trying to share very little real estate.

At one point, someone came wide on Dan through a corner, who swerved wide on Josh Flexman, who swerved wide on me. We all freaked out a bit. No harm no foul, but I almost had to veer off course instead of swerving while banking a turn. It gets sketchy at times, that's racing. After that, I distinctly remember thinking, "move the hell up!"

Well, up the road Andreas was still a haus. I had to move up in the wind, but that wasn't a bit deal at this race. A few guys got up the road and when Andreas looked back, we nodded at each other. Then he bolted. Four guys were up the road from four teams, so a few of us tried to slow things down. A fifth team saw the strategy, and gave a weak chase instead of attacking or bridging. Everyone followed.

I managed to hold position, and a few funny things happened. Andreas and his break were getting caught, so the right thing to do is keep the pace high. My ego got the better of me, though, so I waited until the start/finish to bolt. Sitting third wheel by the line, I jolted.

Why'd I wait? Well, it's nice to catch your breath, but my parents drove out to see the race. Gotta give 'em a show, right? I knew it would probably be a futile attempt, so who cares? The point was to keep the pace quicker. It's safer that way.

I was off the front for about a lap alone when an AABC rider and a Bike Doctor rider joined up. They came one at a time, and I told the first guy to "take a break" and then he helped a bit. When the second guy got there, I started looking back. The gap wasn't gaining much ground and there were a few guys in no man's land. By the time we'd each taken a pull, the race had caught up.

Then the race got... slow. About 14 riders wide across 4 lanes. THAT slow. It was scary and dangerous. Then nothing happened for about 5 laps - the calm before the storm. Literally.

The winds had been escalating, but they had not affected the race one bit. During the lull, I had thought about our team's strategy and my strengths - attack way early on the last lap. I was gauging the wind to see when would be the best time to punch it.

Well, on the fourth-to-last lap, the winds got so bad that the road cones were flying into the peloton, now riding about 14 miles per hour. Everyone was swerving - and rain started flying at us like a wall of darts. I'm pretty sure at least four signs of the apocalypse changed the race in the course of a lap.

When shit goes down, I move up. The peloton scattered all over, slaloming around road cones, so I hit the gas and hit the wind. I weighted my front wheel - which was trying to sail me to the opposite side of the course - and punched it hard. Two guys were up the road with me, my teammate Dan just behind me, and I was actually laughing hysterically while racing frantically. This was NUTS, but I figured it was time to make a race of this little criterium.

As we cornered to the start finish line, I was so pumped. Earlier in the day, I'd joked with a teammate that little crit courses like this are like riding a bike in your bathtub. Now the sky was pelting us with buckets of rain, how appropriate.

I have a sort of insane affinity for horrible conditions. My heart was broken, yet thankful at the same time with what I saw next: a ref standing in the middle of the road (in a full-blow storm, no less) blowing the whistle and waving us off the course.

Aww man, Siggy was just starting to have fun!

It was scarily dangerous out there, though, and if we had to be neutralized for the second year in a row at RSR, so be it. It was definitely a good call!!

- - - -

There were some complaints on the MABRA list about people wanting their $20 registration fee back for not getting to finish the race. You know what I say? Suck it up. I'm a cheapskate, but we got to race. We simply didn't get to race for the line in a silly, inevitably chaotic sprint. If you did nothing before the last three laps to participate in the race and make your Jackson worth its while in attacks or experience, that's your own fault.

Race Report: Church Creek Team Time Trial, Cat 3/4

2010-06-05T18:48:00.005-04:00

There's not that much to report for individual time trials, but at least team time trials give you a bit of drama and excitement.

Alternative Title: Siggy Wears Women's Clothing, NCVC Wins a Bike Race

NCVC had signed up a squad for the 3/4 event at Church Creek - originally Andreas G., Pete L., Marc K., and Drew1. Andreas couldn't make it, so late last week I told the guys if they didn't find a replacement, I'd join in.

I looked at the flyer last night and saw that there was a "no swapping registration" clause. Whoops. Well I made the drive out anyway in hopes that ABRT would have some sympathy. They did, so all of the practicing my German accent was for naught. I didn't need to convince anyone I was a 40-year old German dude.

I did, however, have about 8 minutes to poo, change, snack, and rehydrate in 90+ degree heat and sun. That was fun. There are fewer things more fun than driving to bike races through the Saturday morning rush hour of beach-goers.

Lining up at the start, I had intentionally left my saddle bag ON my bike. Nobody seemed to care except that one younger ref that's a stickler about everything, so she yells a lot unnecessarily. In a mass-start race, I get the saddle-bag rule. In a 40k time trial, though, I'd prefer to keep the saddle bag on my bike thankyouverymuch.

With a saddle bag, if I flat, I won't have to wait in the 95 degree heat and bright hot sun on the side of the road in B*mfuck, MD with little water or food wearing only lycra until a sag wagon came by. There were what, three moto refs on a 40k course? Imagine how long it would have taken to get a pick-up because you flatted. That's unsafe in this heat.

Luckily I didn't need the saddle bag anyway, but c'mon. This is a poor interpretation of the "nothing attached to bicycles" rule for TTs, considering nobody checks how tightly bolted clip-on aerobars are.

Off the soapbox and onto the race, huh?

We started out a bit iffy. Pete and Marc raced in the morning, so Drew and I said we'd take slightly longer pulls and would keep the other guys between us in the lineup to get equal recovery.

That sorta worked. The wind was pretty strong, so we couldn't keep the speed up as long as any of us wanted to. About 15-20 k into the race through the horribly bumpy section ("smooth roads" my @$$), Pete started having some trouble after corners and through the thick wind. We regrouped a time or two, then he started letting us rotate in front.

Somewhere along the way, two things happened that changed the race for us. First, we heard from a ref that we were at "2:30" from the team in front - DVR/Bike Rack. Since we started 2 minutes down, that meant we were 30 seconds back. Secondly, we lost Pete. He'd given us the verbal warning and you could see the warning signs, so that was okay.

Marc was riding incredibly strong for his second TT of the day, but didn't have the pop and power to hold as high of a speed in the wind. Drew and I told him to take short pulls and hold on if he needed to stop. We were both fresh and feeling okay.

With about 15k to go, we reached the super-smooth, wide road with a fun tailwind. GAME ON. Our speed ramped up significantly and we found the rhythm.

Marc started letting Drew and I rotate in front of him, which worked out surprisingly well. We could hold the higher tempo better, and after a rotation or two we were flawlessly trading pulls in front of Marc with little wasted space between us. We'd each pull for about a minute, holding anywhere from 28-31 mph.

The course was marked well, so at 5k to go Drew says, "...one lap at Hains." It's exactly what I needed to hear.

We started taking slightly shorter pulls to keep the pace hot. Going in to 1k-to-go Drew took a strong dig. When he pulled off, I said "just hang on." I tried to give him a few seconds to get in the draft by clicking a few gears (I was on my road bike) and heard, "GO!"

So I did, and we rolled in around 33mph, in 56:13. DVR/Bike Rack was just rounding the corner, so we knew we'd made up substantial time on them compared to the halfway mark. Evo took a few minutes to roll in, so we were confident there.

Turns out 56:13 was just enough for the win. Coppi had fielded a mostly-Cat 3 squad in the "open" event, at 56:21, which was a good gauge for us too.

We all agreed that our first half of the race was a bit staggered. Each of us had his own tempo, but we found the rhythm eventually. It's not always that bad if you accelerate into the finish, though.

- -

So about the "woman's clothing" alternative title: I don't focus much of my energy on time trials, so I do not splurge much cash on aerodynamic toys. I was wearing a hand-me-down skinsuit from a former NCVC racer. She wore a women's medium and it fits me pretty darn well.

I also was using cheapo aerobars that I bought used from a guy online for about $20. I had a panicked moment when I lost a bolt yesterday, but Jeff Trinh at Revolutions Cycles (plug) in Georgetown searched through his spare bolts and found one that worked for me. Mr. Trinh saved my butt there.

Lastly, I was using Nate H.'s aero helmet since he missed registration and decided to do a half marathon instead (crazy stuff, running, if I may say so). Nate went out of his way to even deliver it to me during a ride yesterday.

Racing (and winning, albeit only two other teams officially) a TTT with teammates is fun, and being part of a generous community of fellow bike racers is pretty darn nice, too. I think I owe some people some beer.

Siggy's First Executive Order

2010-06-03T23:08:00.001-04:00

During a post-ride conversation late last night at Heidi's Deli, the conversation between my teammates and I somehow evolved from the census, to government, to monarchy, to my blog. My ego, then, loved the idea when my teammate Andrew David suggested that if I ruled the world, my blog posts would each be executive orders.

I hereby accept your proposal, Mr. David, so here is my first Order.

- - - -

Siggy's Executive Order #060310: Proper Usage of Aerobars

Subject: E.O. 060210 hereby pronounces the appropriate usage and prohibitions for riding a bicycle with aerobars.

1.0 Definition

1.1 For the purpose of this policy regulation, "aerobars" consist of any extension of bicycle handlebars that serves the purpose of reducing aerodynamic drag, including permanent and clip-on aerobars.

1.2 Aerobars shall never be referred to as "tri-bars" because they are not limited to usage in triathlons.

1.3 For the purposes of this Order, riding in the low hand position commonly called "invisible aerobars" on a road bike in an effort to reduce aerodynamic drag shall be included in the definition of "aerobars."

1.4 For the purposes of this Order, "cyclist" is categorized as any athlete on that is riding a bicycle. This term shall be inclusive to all types of cyclists riding any type of bicycle, including multi-sport athletes that choose to be mediocre at multiple sports than good at a single sport.

2.0 Proper Usage and Prohibitions

2.1 Aerobars shall only be used and ridden (or attached to a bicycle) when specifically being used for time trial (TT) practice, TT intervals, or TT races.

2.2 Every effort shall be made by a cyclist to ride a normal road bike with drop handlebars on recreational, training, or group rides. All riders shall remove non-permanent aerobars from the bicycle for all rides on the road, except when 2.1 (above) is applicable. (Unless the primary bicycle of a cyclist has been damaged, every cyclist shall use their road bike. No cyclist or multi-sport athlete shall use their TT bike as their primary bicycle, nor shall they leave aerobars installed on a road bike for longer than is necessary for training.)

2.3 Aerobars shall never be used while riding in a group. (See exceptions 4.1 and 4.3.)

2.4 Because wind resistance increases exponentially with speed, the aerodynamic benefit is arguable and negligible at slow speeds. Riding in aerobars at slow speeds can decrease handling, especially in windy conditions. Thus, to prevent squirreliness among slow-moving athletes, aerobars shall never be used at speeds under 17 miles per hour. No exceptions.

2.5 In concert with 2.4 (above), aerobars shall not be used while accelerating from a stop.

2.6 Cyclists shall not assume a tuck position in aerobars on corners with a turning angle of more than 90 degrees.

2.7 It is explicitly prohibited to put a permanent aerobar cockpit or clip-on aerobars on a hybrid bike or mountain bike. Concurrently, aerobars are prohibited unless their primary purpose is to reduce aerodynamic drag. Aerobars used solely to provide an additional position are in conflict with this Order.

2.8 Aerobars shall never be used on trails, bike paths, or multi-use paths. No exceptions.

2.9 Aerobars shall not be used when following a vehicle or another cyclist within 10 meters. (See exception #4.1.). Motorpacing a scooter in aerobars is discouraged, but allowed only if the scooter is a Vespa by brand.

3.0 Apparel

3.1 When riding in aerobars, a cyclist shall wear no clothing that causes any extraneous negation of the reduction in aerodynamic drag provided by the aerobars. (Though normal cyclist jerseys are permitted, they shall NOT flap in the wind, in particular at the hem.)

3.2 When riding in aerobars, the area of skin between on the dorsal side of a cyclist between the top of the shorts and the bottom of the jersey shall never be visible. Bib shorts and skinsuits are encouraged. Tri-tops and cycling- or tri-shorts that do not explicitly cover the entire torso, middrift, and back-hair area are explicitly prohibited.

3.3 When riding with aerobars or on a bike equipped with aerobars, arm warmers may only be worn if they leave no exposed skin between the top of the warmer and the bottom of the sleeve cuff. It is explicitly prohibited to wear arm warmers with a sleeveless jersey.

3.4 In concert with 3.1 (above), only cycling gloves designed specifically to reduce aerodynamic drag may be worn while utilizing aerobars.

4.0 Exceptions

4.1 Aerobars may be used during the training for and competition in a team time trial.

4.2 Aerobars may be used during workouts or rides that have the specific purpose of gaining familiarity on a TT bike or for intervals on such a bike that will enhance performance in races such as time trials.

4.3 The invisible aerobar position may be used by a rider leading a group of cyclists.

5.0 Consequences. If any cyclist is witnessed by another riding aerobars in a manner that is not in accordance with (IAW) this Order, the following penalties may apply.

5.1 If the rider holds a USA Cycling license, he/she shall be automatically downgraded one category.

5.2 A witnessing rider can permanently and immediately assume ownership of or commandeer the time trial bike of an offending cyclist, as long as the witness uses it IAW this Order. (Note: If the frame is not the correct size, the rider witnessing the infraction can choose to take select components, such as deep-section carbon wheels, in lieu of the entire bike.)

5.3 After a warning for a first infraction, a rider attempting to use aerobars in a group may be forcibly ostracized from the group pon second infraction. If the rider's bicycle has not yet been pilfered, he/she shall be permanently banished from the group for a third infraction.

5.4 Cyclists found to be in conflict with #2.7 (using aerobars for an additional riding position instead of aerodynamic advantage) shall immediately trade in their bicycles for a recumbent bicycle.

- - - -

Unrelated to anything else: If ever there were reason to have official replay for field calls in baseball, this might be it. Does a national past time have to be so old fashioned?

Hot Dogs on Memorial Day

2010-05-30T18:01:00.005-04:00

Rode with a few of my "betters" yesterday: four Cat 1s (congrats Greg) and a Cat 2. Base was the plan, a route to Sugarloaf or White's Ferry.

In a long ride through the twilight zone that included a tornado and ruby slippers, we chose to cross over the Potomac for the fair cost of a buck each on the General Jubal A. Early, a hardy watercraft for sure.

Being on my bike while being on a boat. There is something quite weird about that.

We'd gotten a cue sheet for a neat ride from some Potomac Pedalers, but once in Leesburg we missed a turn. It was a fun adventure none-the-less, and a beautiful day to log 113 miles.

There were not too many hills, so the first 101 miles averaged 21 mph. Ouch.

I learned a good cycling-related vocabulary term, though, from one of the guys. We made the mistake of putting the two hammers in the group next to each other, so Cat 1 half-wheeling ensued. If you've ever been at the rear end of a group led by such strong legs, you've felt it, too.

These random surges, well, the team cap'n defined this as Cat 4 speed. In somewhat less comprehensible jargon, another teammate explained it to me: Too fast to go slow, too slow to go fast. It's that speed that gets nothing done for your fitness and just makes you feel like crap after a ride.

"Hey, I'm guilty of that sometimes," I told them. I will be the first to admit I get unintentionally frisky on some rides. Riding with them boys, though, is smooth. It's quick but steady, a sure change from this morning's big team "Espresso ride." (We usually do that route during the winter, but also on holidays.)

The Espresso is always a motley bunch, and at Cat 4 speed, or at least the most erratic pace possible. It's fun as hell because of it, but with sprints and regrouping points it definitely is not good for much more than camaraderie and some fun.

What am I saying, though? Those are the two main reasons I ride. Add in some ego-bashing sprints, and it's a hell of a time on a beautiful long weekend. You never stop learning in this sport, whether it's vocabulary terms or wisdom of how to win a sprint without doing an ounce of work (thanks for the lead-out, Paul!).

As we were having some refreshments after the Espresso ride, Paul says he wants to ride up to Bethesda on the trail. He just rode up from Alexandria to do a 45-mile team ride, and he was one of the motors on yesterday's long haul.

I ask, "Do you actually need more miles?"

It's like eating a hot dog. Nobody needs a hot dog. You just want a hot dog.

Noted.

Sometimes, you just want to ride.

If the ruby slippers, tornado, Gen. Jubal A. Early were not enough, a whole hell of a lot of bikers invaded town this weekend for Rolling Thunder. I strolled down to Constitution in full NCVC kit to check out the scene, but I am pretty sure I caused one myself.

Lycra does not fit in with leather vests (though it seems that handlebar moustaches are a growing trend in the North American pro peloton).

Friday Ramblings: The Revolving Door

2010-05-28T00:08:00.004-04:00

This winter and spring one of my teammates that I logged countless miles with was Jason Hartz. He raced religiously throughout the first half of the season, but is now moving to Alaska. Though he and I actually did not race together much this year, his sometimes-futile tenacity in bike races made racing exciting, something I cannot say I do to my own races enough. Riding, racing, and enjoying the occasional beer was pretty darn fun. I wish my pal well as he starts the Alaskan chapter of NCVC.

On the flipside, two of my now-former riding pals are coming back to DC for muggy summer internships. Seth O. and D-Wis are both doing their law internships in the district. Seth is up and coming in the Cat 5 and cross ranks. D-Wis, well, most readers of my blog have heard of D-Wis (aka Drew W, Drew2, big Drew, etc.).

If you frequent Hains point and ever have the chance feel the wrath of my suicidal flyers, well, my #1 leadout man is back, suckers! Feel the wrath of D-Wis!

[/arrogance]

- - - -

In an effort to get rid of the inner crit racer, I skipped last weekend's races to ride longer miles. That worked, and then I did an hour of tough tempo to "spin the legs out" on Monday. I never ride on Mondays, so my legs were already tired last night. I did the V-Day/NCVC "hill ride" in Arlington, and followed it up with some more tempo on the GW/NCVC night ride. Yeah, heavy legs after that.

Tonight in the sprints group I was flying mostly solo with my sluggish legs, except for one particularly ruthless leadout from The Professor of NCVC Cat 4s, Chris Chap. We rode near each other for a few laps and he didn't budge until later than I would want.

On one lap, though, he finally asked his legs to cooperate and drove us hard, out-of-the-saddle, in a perfect lead-out speed where you barely want to hold your own man's wheel. Dennis happened to be on my wheel, which was sweet too. Nice 1-2 punch, thanks to good timing from Chap.

Folks seem to be a bit lazy on the non-sprint side at Hains these days. Each lap, for me, there are a few guaranteed occurrences:

- SuperDave and/or Mrs. SuperDave chase a car or triathlete.
- Artemis chases while the rest of the peloton watches.
- Two or three random riders chase Artemis. One gets dropped immediately.
- Siggy gets to the front to get things moving, slowly but surely.
- Peloton talks about the weather.
- Siggy finds himself off the front, sits up.
- Danny from V-Day attacks.
- Siggy looks back to find Drake on his wheel, and we finally ramp it up.

The rest of the lap gets a bit less rigid in agenda, but here are some possibilities:

- SuperDave hits mach 2.0 and is never seen again.
- A tour bus interrupts the chase to the "breakaway."
- Siggy wastes energy pulling the break back.
- After taking a pull, Siggy finds a slot near the front, wheelsucks, and attacks after the double sewers.
- The entire peloton chases a dude in aero-bars at 34 mph.
- Gaps ensue; only three people hang on. Cyclists are scattered throughout Southwest DC.

Each of those happened at least once tonight, though I am obviously discounting a plug for all of the familiar faces that joined us tonight. Noteable events not included in the previous lists include "Siggy gets schooled by DJ Brew" and "Cliff pips [insert your name here] at the line." There was also one instance of "Siggy shamelessly wheelsucks a Harley dude."

Fun stuff, no? Here's the Garmin data for tonight. (You can tell which sprint was Chapel's lead-out, hitting 37.2 mph). According to multiple sources, Hains was also the one part of the metropolitan area that did not get stormed on. Win.

- - Now for something completely different... - -

Baseball and cycling could not be more different as sports. One focuses on hand-eye coordination, the other on pure physical endurance. One is the American pastime, the other and ignored, red-headed stepchild in American athletics.

I am not sure if it is an unfortunate, then, that I have read so many comparisons between the two sports in a short time frame. Yet none of the articles have much to say about athletics. Instead, they ask, "Is Floyd Landis the Jose Canseco of cycling?" You tell me by clicking here, here, and here.

What baffles me most about Landis' allegations against Armstrong & co. is actually the response of Armstrong's team, Radioshack. Most teams whose riders fall under suspicion of doping protect themselves before they protect the individual. They would insist they had nothing to do with it, and prevent the rider from racing.

During Operacion Puerto, entire teams stopped racing because of a scandal involving a few names. Now a team may be implicated, and they're turning a cold shoulder. I was under the impression that all of the ProTour teams had an agreement that no rider under investigation was supposed to race. (Not an official rule of the UCI, just an agreement between the ProTour teams.)

Perhaps Armstrong and Radioshack are not yet officially under investigation, and perhaps the constant doping accusations that Armstrong has combated for the past decade make this deny, deny, deny approach the appropriate and predictable response. There are rumors of a possible federal investigation on Armstrong and Tailwind Sports, the company that owns the Radioshack team. Yet the investigation seems likely to be searching to penalize fraud and conspiracy, not doping.

Surely Radioshack has a unique circumstance, the team pretty much is Armstrong, but it is not just Armstrong who is being accused of misbehavior this time. The entire management is being hung to dry with the Boss. Radioshack vehemently denied Landis' allegations, of course, but with federal investigations looming, I found this to be a suspiciously defensive, if not a disrespectfully indifferent direction. Their response is also a sharp contrast to the statement by Garmin-Transitions which asks for only the truth and transparency. (Say it ain't so: Could Dave Z. surprise us with a confession?)

To me, the realization that something is afoul smacked me across the face when I saw replays from the 2001 Tour de France on Versus. On every mountain finish, the racers tempo, the tactics, and the attacks were an order of power more so than they are even today. (Contador does not even attack and drop everyone with that many kilometers to go!)

I entered the sport in the heyday of US Postal and Lance Armstrong. As an obsessive fanatic for everything pro cycling now, I have no shame in thinking I was duped. It will be hard to continue to believe what I was seeing, whether or not the house of grand tour contenders in the ProTour as we know it burns to the ground.

- - - -

Landis, Heras, Vinokourov, Basso, Schumacher, Piepoli & Ricco, Ullrich, others and even Armstrong: They were once the heroes of a sport we love. Now, even though some are still contenders, they impress me as much as the hot chicks in high school that got fat during college.

We've moved on and are underwhelmed. Their heyday is over; there is no reason to swoon any longer. There are now better names to watch for. Here's to the up-and-comers:

Hopefully they're clean.

- - Back to your usual programming... - -

I think all of us Hains Point regulars need a friendly reminder. Here is one of my favorite-ever Hains Point posts, from Le Amateur Domestique.

Have a good weekend. Skip the barbecues and get some riding in.

Friday Ramblings: Normalcy in the Chaos

2010-05-20T23:26:00.006-04:00

Tacks all over the road at Leonardtown. A 56-man breakaway beats the contenders to the line by 13 minutes in the Giro d'Italia. Floyd begs for attention by writing an intriguing e-mail to ESPN. Concurrently, Lance crashes out of the Tour of California.

My bottom bracket started clicking. My bike lags when shifting into bigger cogs.

Yes, the world of cycling has gone NUTS.

In the midst of chaos, though, there is always normalcy. Tonight, at Hains, the usual mayhem provided regularity. Buses riding in the middle of the lane and making u-turns, tri-geeks slaloming through the dotted white lines, PEPCO trucks blocking the road, tourists parking EVERYWHERE, Mrs. SuperDave moto-drafting a soccer mom's minivan.

Like the world, Hains was nuts, which made life a bit less chaotic. Something, at least, was just as it should be.

A bunch of NCVC guys were there, which made me happy. From Cat 1s to Cat 5s, NCVC guys were rolling at the front. Sure, we couldn't figure out when to chase each other down or lead each other out, but Hains is about only two things: speed and ego.

On one lap we had the lineup reversed, with Jeff D. (cat 1) and Paul M. (cat 2) leading me (cat 3) in front of a line of our Cat 4/5 guys. A Squadra Coppi guy ended up taking that sprint over me by a wheel, but man, he deserved it. Paul and Jeff were rollin' quick. Quick is good and safe, but it hurts. Paul made a massive pull after Dickey, and I did my worst, but it wasn't quite enough. Pretty cool to see how they shattered the group, though.

After that lap, even Paul commented on how Jeff just kept clicking to a harder gear until he ran out. Each ker-chunk of the chain dropping into a smaller cog brought a bit more pain to my own legs, but it was nice to know it wasn't just me.

I heard there were some Harley guys in another group about half a lap up, but the group that I was in was fairly lazy. Later on in the evening, too many guys were soft-pedaling the non-sprint side. I hit tempo at the front to keep things moving. Then I would up the pace around the bend to string things out. With some luck, I could pull off to find a teammate to let me back into the front of the line-up, or fill a gap.

I should pass kudos to one Hains regular that never eased up on the DC side. Drake, here's your plug. Great riding tonight.

Drake is recognizeable as one of the only guys in the black kit of Descartes Cycling kit. We give each other a hard time at Hains, and when he said he was pooped tonight, he kept pedaling. Hard. After a whole bunch of laps he tried to say his goodbyes, but I said, "one more, always." He rolled with us for one more. It hurts, Drake, but that is your body getting faster. Break down to build up. At least that's what I tell myself after every sprint lap.

Anyway, tugging the group around on the DC side would waste some energy, but this is practice. I'm never going to feel fresh at the end of a race, so I might as well go into the sprint breathing hard. It seemed that one or two other guys had the same idea. There was a super strong dude in a black and white kit that was really setting a hot-shot pace. I loved it.

There were a bunch of NCVC Cat 4/5 guys riding in the group tonight. I say "4/5" but really they're all Cat 5s, but some just received their upgrades. They were riding like champs, too, because they were riding together. Nick, Andre, Matt, Dennis - well done. It is cool riding with you all, and super cool when you kick my ass.

Two things made my night. One was seeing one of my best friends finally ride his bike again after years of talking about getting back to Hains on evening. Matt G., keep at it. But I digress...

The second moment that made my night was pulling off of the front after a hard tug, and seeing all four of those now-former-Cat-5 NCVC guys leading the group. And then seeing Dennis give a text-book lead-out to Andre through a swarm of folks sprinting. It's neat to see development in action, especially when the progress is obvious.

Oh, and Happy Birthday, Dennis. I think we all owe you a beer or three for the lead-outs. Or maybe we should all chip in and buy you a front brake that does not rub.

Why were our bikes clicking? Were they talking to each other?

Oh well. Back to the sprints. When I was not burning energy by keeping up the pace (and sometimes when I was), I'd actually try to sprint. I call myself a flyer - a long sprinter. I can do better from 400-600 meters because I can hold a high speed better than I can accelerate suddenly in the last 100-200 meters.

I wanted to work on the weakness of this last-moment, head-to-head sprint. Somehow, I kept getting stuck out in the wind way early (habits die hard?), so I had to play my own game. I'm good at it, so it was fun and tough, but not necessarily as productive as I would like.

On one lap Matt set a hard pace early, and then Paul past him. I let Matt back in second wheel to give him some space, and I knew Nick was behind me. Paul's tempo is nothing easy to overcome, so when he pulled off I told Matt to make sure he accelerated, even if it shortened his pull. He played it perfectly by setting a harder tempo, though it stuck me out in the wind early. Whatever, at Hains it's good practice. I dropped low and went all-out, but screwed over Nick, though... whoops.

On another lap later in the night, folks were tired to Paul straight-up pulled the entire sprint-side. I was on his wheel ready to hti the wind, but he didn't let up. With about 400 meters to go he stood up with a last surge. I could barely pass him for the sprint, but nor could anyone else. Holy hell, I got a lesson in speed and a painfully nice lead-out. I owe you one, Paul.

Random thought: What's up with the dude that has the cut-up shorts? I don't care what sort of fashion statement anyone wants to make, but, umm, he can't choose if he wants to ride in the group or not. It's annoying and dangerous. Whatever - at least he gives us someone to chase down.

More kudos: There was a guy and a girl pair of [what looked like] fairweather triathletes rolling with our sprints group tonight, on road bikes. About 30-some miles into my ride, they said, "Last lap... We've already done 34 miles and have to race this weekend." I gave them a hard time about racing, but they were hangin' tough and riding well. Especially her. She was consistenly up front in the sprints. Yeah guys, she was kickin' our asses.

So, what drives some potentially great cyclists from trying our sport? I know we're arrogant, unfriendly, and indifferent to other athletes. I try to combat this by joking with people like them. Yet if it was not obvious to her that she was riding well in a fast group, someone should smack her on the side of the head with a mini-pump and tell her: you need to race bikes. What does it take to get chicks to race bikes? Especially the ones that can't swim or run...

I do not think the sprints were as fast or as difficult as last week, but I averaged 22.1 mph for the first 1:50 of my ride anyway. (I stopped the "lap" after my last sprint.) We would usually ramp up to about 25-26-27 MPH on the DC side and then hit 28-31 MPH on the airport side, but the sprints were only (haha) about 32-35 today. Last week we were hitting 37. Here's the Garmin Data.

- -

Disclaimer: I did not spell-check this post or edit it for mistakes at all. Oh well, maybe I'll read it again in the morning. Yes, my "Friday Ramblings" are usually written on Thursday nights, so what?

G'night, good morning, good weekend... thanks for reading.

Race Report: Leonardtown Criterium, Cat 3/4

2010-05-17T00:48:00.010-04:00

Like yesterday's race at Poolesville, the Leonardtown Criterium was not even on my radar of events to tackle this year. My buddy Nick S., the former front lineman, wanted to race it (his oh-so-thorough race report is here), as did Catherine, so the peer pressure was on. I have been riding and racing well, so why not?

You know, a 200-mile week that included the Poolesville Road Race, perhaps? Or maybe there's another reason I hesitate to pin on a number before technical criteriums.

Whatever. I pinned on the number and lined up next to five of my NCVC teammates including Nick (Cat 4), the young Justin M. (4), Ray (4), Yon (3), and speedy Harry F. (3) who had raced Master's earlier in the day. These are all pretty fun guys to ride, race, and have a beer with, so I was excited.

The course opened immediately after the Women's 1/2/3 race finished. I was a bit unnerved by a few things. First of all I had some business to do in the porta-johns immediately before the race. While I was in line for the porta-crappers, Catherine had been sitting pretty near the front of her race. On the next lap, she simply was not in the pack at all.

Great. Luckily Yon was able to track her down as I did my business, and I checked up on her briefly before jumping on the course to take two preview / warm-up laps (I had a good warm-up on the trainer though).

I take my warm-up laps at speed to practice the corners, but today that worked against me and Justin. We did two laps, and everyone else did only one. That means we started near the back of the group! Not good in a technical crit.

The course is shaped like an arrowhead, with a STEEP and SHARP downhill-to-uphill right turn before a narrow stretch at one end, then two basic and fast 90-degree right turns before the start finish. The line is about 150-200 meters after the last turn.

The race started fast and the pace sustained ruthlessly for the first 1/3 of the race, no doubt. The sharp turn kept giving me problems because I was never happy with the line I took through it. I'd slow down excessively into it and then have to sprint to close my own gap and sneak into a draft.

Within a few laps, the back of the pack had shattered. I had been tailgunning the race for a few reasons: (a) my poor starting position, which was my fault; (b) my lower back muscles had been killing me, and that's what I do when my back hurts in case it spasms, locks up and I have to drop out; (c) I did not have the testicles to bomb through the sharp turn, or the strength to move up through the pack.

Racing in the style of David Moncoutie, who likes to be off-the-front or at the back, I chose to be a tailgunner. Was this a smart decision? Probably not, but I was able to control my positioning throughout the first half of the race and overcome the gaps of the weaker guys in front of me.

If you're reading this and think this is a good strategy, then hear this: I RACED THE FIRST HALF OF LEONARDTOWN LIKE A WEENIE. I did know, however, that I had the legs to race from arriere du peloton, and the necessity was there. I started this race tired. Do not use this approach by any means. I might as well have been on the sideline for the first half of the race. I was feeling that poopy so I decided to stay out of the mix until my legs came around.

It was comforting to see a few familiar faces at the back with me - Martin A. from DVR/Bike Rack and I had a conversation of sorts about how much more we preferred road races. A Bike Doctor guy whose name I forgot asked if I was "that guy" with the blog (yep, here's your shout-out!) and then we discussed the threatening sound of the following moto. I make it sound easy, but these were stuttered words through sprinting accelerations, short lulls, and a lot of pack shuffling.

Halfway through the race, the legs came around and the pace eased up. Basically, any rider that I had passed eventually got dropped but I managed to hold the pack. I heard the moto close behind me a few too many times, and when I could see fewer and fewer racers in front of me with the pace easing, I knew I'd made the selection. About 20 guys survived; only Harry and I were still in it for NCVC.

With about 8 laps to go, a group of for guys went up the road at the perfect moment - the racing at its fastest. It was two Bike Doctor riders (Alex and Bruno), Brigham from R1V, and some other guy. Bike Doctor had a huge presence in the peloton of survivors and had been laying the smackdown on the pace, but their attempt to block was thwarted by Harry, a motivated Skanska rider, and a guy in black/white/yellow (what kit is that?).

About halfway through on the backside, when Harry was at the front, I got a great tow up from a big dude and used it to launch myself up to the break. It took me flying through both turns, down the start/finish stretch, and until just before the sharp corner to catch the guys, but I caught 'em. The guys in the wind probably didn't know that though, haha. I was hiding from the wind.

It was a clean bridge over a substantial gap, so I told myself before the corner, "This will be the most important effort of your race. Stick with 'em after the turn!"

Through the sharp turn, though, I was gapped immediately. The bridge had burned too many matches in a few moments, and the break rode away from me. I just could not hold it. My fatigued legs and drowning lungs would not answer the demands that my mind can usually overpower them with. I looked back to the main group, took a sip of water, then sprinted in between turns 2 and 3 as they overtook me. Luckily I was able to catch on again pretty easily.

The move was made, and the "other guy" from the break faded away too (at least I think there were originally 4 people up there).

Somewhere before or after that break, there were a few moments of mayhem. Tacks had been thrown all over the course all day (Catherine was just one victim of many) and my friend Dan D. (Contes/V-Day) took a nasty spill because of one on turn 2. Three guys barreled into and over him. A few of them managed to take a free lap and jump back in.

With a handful of laps to go, a few individual riders were doing some work to pull back the chase. I had told Harry to let me know how I could help him - but I was pretty much useless. With help from some other riders in black kits (dunno who), he put in some great efforts to reel in the break, but it was futile.

Martin actually put in a HUGE effort to speed up the pack on the backside with three laps left, thinking he was working for his boy Tony, who'd won Poolesville on Saturday. Little did he know that Tony had taken the driveway route on the sharp corner. Last I saw of him he was riding in the grass next to the road weed-whacking or something. (Ed: Tony had a mechanical and had to pull safely off the course intentionally.)

The break was bound to stick, so I thought about letting Martin know that Tony was out of the race. Two things were going on though, they're good guys, but a different team - Martin burning his matches would only benefit me (sorry pal!). I was in absolutely no position to leave the draft, ride in the wind up to him and say, "Hey, you can calm down, Tony's gone and I don't feel like going this hard." His pace kept the group strung out.

The situation differed on the final lap. I had managed to sneak into fifth or sixth wheel before the sharp corner, which was awesome. I wanted to surge immediately after corner 2 and make it a LONG sprint. That's how I roll.

Unfortunately, the leaders took the gutter route on the left, and slowed down. Riders came up on our right and similarly sat there, so I was pinned to the left gutter. I even remember saying out loud, "oh this sucks." A few more guys flooded the right, so I was near the back and left.

All or nothing now: through turn 2 FLEW up on the left gutter past a few sedentary guys hoping to make up ground. I took turn 3 quick, and gained a bit more positioning for the sprint. I was in the top 10 now, but my kick was used up and a few guys passed me before the line. I finished as lucky number 13.

Before our sprint, Alex and Bruno had dropped Brigham, giving Bike Doctor a powerful 1-2 finish, respectively. Good on them boys for aggressive and impressive racing once the selection of finishers had been made.

Thoughts:

- Usually, I wouldn't waste energy on a bunch sprint but the pack was pretty small. I thought I would have a chance at the money, but had lost my good positioning before turn 2. I should have been able to predict the swarm and either be patient at the back and swarm up, or jolt before I got pinned to the left gutter.

- After the race, I had considered reporting a specific rider for littering during the race. It baffled me that TWICE in a 45 minute criterium I saw him throwing wrappers or trash on the course. How and why was he eating during a short, fast, technical crit? If he could do that, why couldn't he put the wrappers back into the pocket of his skinsuit (and it did have a pocket!).

Instead of reporting him, I just talked to him during the cool-down. Leonardtown is gracious to host this race, and as much as that sharp corner SUCKS BALLS, we don't need to be throwing trash on people's driveways here or at any other venue. Hopefully he does not think I am a dick for politely mentioning it face-to-face, and hopefully he got the message. (Though I've been keeping my mouth shut more since recently, at Murad I tried to politely approach a racer about an issue but he cursed me out.) Personal vendettas aside, how do you address issues like littering?

- I usually fear mixed-category races like Cat 3/4 events. Today, the race was surprisingly safe. The usual nihilism of us Cat 3/4 guys seemed to be non-existent, or at least superseded by everyone's exhaustion. It reinforced my belief that although torturesome, faster is safer in bike racing.

- My legs were shredded to start with, and I survived. That is promising and demoralizing at the same time. In a way, I was pissed I had even raced - the two folks that convinced me to sign up did not even finish their events, and I finished mine after a mediocre, unmotivated performance. For what? The fact that I made the selection through the incredibly fast first half of the race, though, reinforced a good bit of toughness. Road races have their moments of fury, but criteriums like Leonardtown have less mercy about shoving riders off the edge. At worst, it is some of the best training.

- -

I do not have any races planned for the next two weekends, but might sign-up last minute for random events in the mid-Atlantic (Wilmington?). After a bunch of race weekends, though, I might just want to get out and ride my bike again. I'll have plenty of races in June and July, with some events in August and September too.

Right now, it's that time of year, about halfway through my "racing season," that a post-ride drink at Dean & Deluca sounds much more appealing than burning myself out by pinning on numbers.

Race Report: Poolesville Road Race, Cat 3/4

2010-05-16T20:58:00.000-04:00

I've been riding my bike around the DC area for about five years, and this is my third season actively racing in MABRA. Yet I had not raced at Poolesville, even though it is an event hosted by my own team, NCVC/UnitedHealth Group.

Man, I was missing out.

Poolesville's claim to infamy, as a long-running race outside of DC, is that it has a 1.5 mile dirt road as a stretch of the course. The turn into the dirt and the gravelly stretch are notorious for carnage. As cool, intimidating, or "classic" as that is, the dirt is overstated. There is so much more about this course that is pure fun.

There are short steep hills, gradual dragging hills, false flats, windy stretches, and curvy chicane-like roads through tunnels of trees. There are smooth roads with fast turns, and rough roads with sharper turns. To say that the Poolesville Road Race is scenic is an understatement.

Where I was once a disbeliever, Poolesville has everything, and that's what makes it a pretty cool event that has sustained its popularity for two decades. Until this admission, I was a skeptic. Thus, I entered today with little pressure: Poolesville was not a priority. If I finished the race upright on two air-filled tires, that would be good enough.

- -

The race started out slow, and the entire first lap was a social parade until my own teammate, Drew1, attacked at random. In a way it was silly, but necessary. Someone needed to make the inevitable first attack, and Drew was smart enough to string out the field before our first dangerous, gravel-filled turn into the dirt section.

The move was futile, but helped the pack remember that Poolesville is not a charity ride. Nobody was put into severe strain, at least not until the scrotal-tightening downhill before that brutal turn. Everyone wanted to be up front, but somehow it seemed we all managed pretty well. Perhaps too well.

I was probably halfway back in the pack thinking, "I'm too far back for a technical section." I tried to move around to find the faster line of the two tracks (and almost cut-off a good friend in the process, sorry Dave!), but it did not matter. The pack stayed together and took the dirt strong, but not at a pace that would cause mid-pack splits.

For the entire next lap, the pack jimmied around the race course with a bit more haste but the same overall lack of aggressiveness. The second run into and through the dirt was equally forgettable. The second half of the second lap was more spirited, and that's when my legs started to get antsy. The jitters were entirely gone and I was now motivated to make a race of this... race.

Drew had been hovering near the front extremely well, and Chris H. was covering a few moves too. Coming up one of the long false-flats, Chris was chasing down a promising breakaway of about 8 guys. The front of the peloton was single file, so I hit the wind a bit and then caught a free ride wheelsurfing up the pack. Then I hit the wind again, passed a suffering Chris in the lead and said, "Shut it down." With one guy on my wheel, I made a clean bridge to the break - they weren't very far up anyway.

A few more guys bridged up behind, so we had every team represented. I was actually one of the few teams without a teammate in this move. It took about half a mile to get a rotation, but too many guys were not cooperating. I took my pull and looked back to see twelve guys behind me, and nobody coming up the other side to hit the wind. So I flew through the turn, then stopped pedaling.

The GamJams and Skanska teams tried to power the break, so I rotated a bit with Dave K and his boys to make the move work. It was for naught; the entire pack had chased their teammates. Still, I pushed the pace through some tiny rollers and curves on the first half of that lap to hold my positioning.

A lone GamJams rider attacked solo and hung himself out to dry for a while. He lead through the dirt, but not quite quick enough. Martin A. (DVR/Bike Rack) and I pushed the pace through the dirt more, but still could not cause a split. I had a pretty hard week of riding, so the mid-race efforts took their toll on my body. Eventually, I got kind of tired and lazy.

Somewhere between the third and fourth laps, nothing exciting happened except that a breakaway of two strong riders took off: Tony Abate (DVR/Bike Rack) and Jordan Cross (Squadra Coppi). I did not have the best seats in the auditorium, but I am pretty sure they slipped away while everyone else was just as lazy as me. Good move, good on 'em.

Through that fourth lap, DVR/Bike Rack and Coppi closed the flood gates. One particularly large rider from Coppi in particular did an irritatingly good job at single-handedly blocking every effort to bridge or chase the breakaway. It was as amazing as it was annoying. He just kept sticking second wheel, and guys kept letting him hit the wind.

On the fifth lap, the breakaway had gotten up to one minute's gap on the field. Surprisingly, the field was also still in tact with only few victims from flats on the dirt or a crash on a little hill. It took me too long, but I eventually got up there, along with my Cat 4 teammate Mike L. We talked a bit and committed to move up farther to at least try to do something.

Something didn't work. Coppi was resolute in forcing a constipation of the peloton. At one point, I hit the wind on his right, then to pull off I gradually moved farther and farther left while slowing down to force him across the center line. The other guys either did not get it, or did not want to work. Coppi fought his way back up and clogged the pipes again.

At that point, Drew, Mike, and I basically decided that we did not have the legs for a serious chase. If we burned the matches with less than a lap, we would have nothing left to give for the sprint. I am certain that is what most of the guys in the field were thinking. I am still regretting my own apathy. Somewhere before the end of the fifth and final lap, a GamJams rider made a solo escape.

The three of us held our positioning extremely well in the second half of the last lap. Drew and Mike were in the right place the entire time; I had to fight the wind to make it up to them when the group was single file. Right as I made it up, the guys in front went double-wide so I didn't have to sneak in between our line. I knew the final turn was a lefty, so I stayed on the left. (I figured the pack would flood the left and we might get boxed in. If I was on their left, I could create some space for us.)

That's not exactly what happened, but close. Coppi was doing such a good job at clogging the front of the pack, they did it again with 1k to go (after the break had succeeded - Tony took the win). That ruined our chances of catching solo GamJams rider, though. He stuck it out to get third.

I got stuck about six riders back, behind Mike, and the pack was gutter-to-gutter. At that point I lost track of Drew. From behind, I heard "Go Nate!" from another Coppi rider who must have similarly wondering why his boys were not moving. The sparked a fire under the asses of the riders in the wind. I yelled to Mike, "If you get a shot, go!"

The acceleration with about 700 meters opened up a bit of space, so I moved up a few wheels by sliding right. The pace was frantic but not yet painful, and with 400 to go I saw a huge gap open up on the right gutter, so I took it. It was risky: their were road cones shutting down the gutter, so I had to burn some matches to move up before I'd become road furniture.

I made it up, took half a breath, and just kept going. I knew there was at least one guy on my wheel, but I figured I had a better shot at stealing the sprint from an early surge than a kick with 200 meters to go.

It worked. One AABC rider held my wheel until the 200-to-go sign, but then I gapped him with a final kick and gapped the field more. I took 4th place, and Mike managed to take 9th place overall - the best placed Cat 4.

Here's the Garmin data for the race (including a bit of cool-down).

- -

Complaints? Not really. Thoughts? A few...

a) Like Murad, we missed the winning breakaway, but we were still aggressive and shared the workload well. Our Cat 3/4 race was probably an outlier, had overestimated the influence that the dirt section would have on the race. The rest of the race course actually made a bigger impact, and I think it matches my scrappy strengths well. Maybe next year Poolesville will get a higher bidding on my calendar of priorities, but it will be hard to top the result.

b) Many people make changes to their bike for Poolesville. Aside from cleaning the darn thing and lubing the chain, I made absolutely no changes to my bike. For those curious, I did not use my carbon wheels - just my everyday racing/training wheelset from our team sponsor: Easton EA90 Aero. I rode with fairly fresh Continental GP4000 tires at just under 110 PSI (I weigh 140-145 pounds).

c) I do the sprints rides at Hains Point nearly every week. Hains is a boring, straight stretch in an antsy group of riders, not too dissimilar from today's final battle in the field after the last turn. I am certain, then, that those silly efforts paid off for something. It is bittersweet to miss the podium by one step (4th is my lucky number this year), but it is satisfying to definitively win a field sprint none-the-less.

- -

I'll try to update this post with some pictures as they're posted later this week. Leonardtown Criterium (Cat 3/4) tomorrow. G'night and thanks for reading.

Friday Ramblings: Skyscraper of a Workout

2010-05-14T23:58:00.001-04:00

Note: I wrote this Thursday night and forgot to post it...

- -

Here's the Garmin file for my Thursday Sprints workout with the Hains Point group: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/33200673. I think it looks like a city skyline.

The 45 mph sprint is a farce. That's gotta be distortion of the Garmin. The 37.2 mph sprint, however, is entirely accurate. The Harley boys were out there for the first few laps, so hanging behind Brian Butts, the Tims, and Michael F. was kinda nuts. Add Steve (aka Nessie) from Haymarket, and it got REALLY quick, which was awesome practice. The speed also strung-out the group, which made it somewhat safer.

Basically, this is a journal entry. Here are some things I remember...
- -

On one of the final super-fast laps with the Harley guys (before they went home), I picked up the lead about halfway on the sprint side, and was holding about 32 MPH when I started catching up with a car. Around the double sewers (700 meters to go?) I was about 10 feet behind the car when I sat up and waved my hand - sprint off, guys.

Then I watched as that crazy, helmetless Saroff guy inched between the old, red Hyundai and a group of Artemis juniors at well over 32 miles per hour.

He catches enough crap for rolling without a brain bucket, but hey, if I'm hitting the brakes at 32 so I don't romance the trunk of a car, there's probably a reason. You want to win a pointless sprint by threading the needle? Well, it's not cool in my book, but I won't stop you.

To make me feel like a real dick, 2-3 other *VERY* experienced guys felt the urge to follow. My natural instincts to not do stupid sh*t were offended. It doesn't matter, most of those honchos beat up on us children (as if Harley wasn't doing a good enough job) for four or five laps, then went home too.

End rant.

- -

On another lap, I was in a similar position yankin' the group around with about 1k to go. I look back to see that I'm now leading only Mr. Butts and Nessie. These guys can roll.

I'm not sure if I pulled off or he just powered by me, but Nessie laid the smack-down and I'd already contributed my pair of legs worth of suffer.

Mr. Butts had been beating up on us, so I yell "Go Steve, go!"

Then I see him sit up. What the...? Why'd he do that? I talk to him after that sprint...

"You alright Steve?"
- - "Sorry..." - -
"For what? Why'd you stop?"
- - "I thought you said something..." - -
"I said go!"

Yep, Sorry Nessie. I wasn't trying to ruin your mojo! I just wanted you to give Mr. Butts a whoopin. I was rooting for you!

- -

After some laps, I found myself behind my Cat 5 teammate Nick Steber. He actually looks a lot like the other Nick S. except that he's a 1/2 scale of the big guy. Anyway, he's tiny - even smaller than me.

Some dude takes a decent pull past the airport, then Rob hits the wind with a fury. He's rolling. I'm eager to see what Nick is gonna do. He's looking around, tentative, probably wondering, "What the F am I doing sitting second wheel in a group of 40 guys, going 32 mph?!?!" You're doing exactly what you need to do, Nick, and your teammate is right behind you enjoying the ride.

I let him know I'm there. When Rob pulls off, Nick does exactly what he needed to do - he holds the tempo at a fierce pace. "Keep rollin'!" I yell because I do not wanna get stuck out in the wind too early - at least not since I had teammates in front of me.

He rolls, good and fast, for what feels like an eternity to him I'm sure. I hit the wind way early for a sprint, but Rob and Nick had cracked the glass. When I leave Nick's draft, I apply a sharp pinprick of force where its needed to shatter the cracked glass that is the Hains Point peloton. After a few hundred meters I look down for the shadow of chasing wheels - none.

When I cross the line I see big Cliff from R1V trailing behind. "I tried to lead you out Cliff, what happened?"

- -

Rob must have enjoyed watching that one after he caused some massive splits, so at this point we start to conspire.

I was pushing the pace at a decent tempo - nothing in the red - on the "easy" side all night. My main intention was ruin any casual conversation. (Just kidding, that would be hypocritical of me! It's simply safer and more fun when it's fast.)

I pull off around the bend and look back for gaps. Rob lets me slip in front of him. Cool.

A group of antsy riders are not satisfied with the lack of pain, so they start moving up on the right. We're on the left, but there are a number of guys scattered behind us that coudl swarm at any minute. The two lines up front are battling half-assed for superiority.

Rob sees me looking back to my right. Now I know he's there. Then he sees me look left to see if we're about to get swarmed. Nothing urgent, but inevitable. The pace is nothing to be impressed by. He says "go."

I obey. I roll past the indecisive lines of riders to our right. This is our statement.

Luckily, Rob's about my size, because I do not create much of a draft when I kick for a long drag. I get forward on the tip of my saddle, hands on the top of my hoods, head and body super low. I looked back once early to see if we had company, and I knew we'd created a gap. Cool.

This hurts like hell, but it's Rob's turn to have some fun. Keep at it, Siggy. I just keep going, accelerating until I can't. When Rob senses this, he kicks - like a freak and holds a LONG sprint. One rider held onto us, a guy from AABC.

His sprint is decisive, very decisive, and the AABC rider stays in his draft for what seems like too long. Then - no joke - Rob sits up about 10 meters before the line, looks back, and shows a hint of smile masked by asphyxiation. (And the AABC guy kicks for the line.)

Apparently, Rob did not know there was a line, so he did not care. He laid down a massive sprint, it was satisfying, and he didn't feel the need to keep sprinting any closer toward the upcoming stop sign. I guess it's a win for both of 'em.

- -

On the second to last sprint, we're riding around the tip of the Hains peninsula, I'm on Rob's wheel but the group is moving a bit too leisurely. Folks moved up on both sides of us and we've gotta be at least 15 riders back. No positioning to contend, and at Hains it's no positioning to stay upright either.

It is not an easy decision to leave the shelter of your own teammate's draft, but I see Dennis B. (Bike Rack) fly up on the right side - he's thinking the same thing as I am. SuperDave is up the road wheelsucking an eager guy that probably won't be able to hold an early move.

We make it up to the front of the group and relax for a few not-so-easy pedal strokes. It's NCVC Cat 4/5s leading the pace, letting SuperDave and his unfortunate companion linger in the wind. Priceless, I love it boys!

Dennis obviously saw what was up, and noticed an opportunity. He takes two breaths and hammers again, dragging us up to Dave's wheel as quickly as possible. A smooth, quick, clean bridge. Well played.

Dave and the other guy, though, must have been worse for wear. Their pace thins and Dennis keep rolling. Smart move, Dennis. Powerful kick, too.

I start wondering if he even realizes I am on his wheel. Or maybe he knows someone's behind him, and he's dragging the entire group around. Not so. Either way, I still haven't hit the wind and he's made a decent gap on a frantically chasing field.

I'm eager now, so when he hesitates, I kick. He holds my wheel, but had burnt his matches. Like Arashiro, the guy that did the work got gipped. Sorry Dennis, but man you played that smart.

- -

Obviously nothing extraordinarily exciting here, so stay posted for a Poolesville Race Report.

Mid-Week Rides, Ad Libitum

2010-05-14T00:10:00.005-04:00

Tuesday (click for Garmin file)

The clock struck 5:45 p.m., and I knew I had missed my chance to leave the office for the group rides (Wakefield or my team's ride from Spokes).

On Monday night, though, my favorite vegan+straight-edge teammate Chris Cee had left me a message about riding at Hains Tuesday. I sent him a message after work, and he was already at the Point. Game on.

I did not have any plan but to ride, so I shadowed the second half of his workout. We did a bunch of 30-second and 15-second sprints (which I treated as spin-ups). He headed home while I still had some energy to burn, so I just set my body into a hard tempo mode. I found the groove and decided I would do 20 minutes.

Yeah, it turned into a backwards workout.

At about 19 minutes I see an NCVC jersey well up the road. It was a good carrot in front of this donkey, especially near the end of a long interval. Screw the clock, let's catch him. Little did I know that it was a Cat 2 teammate doing a few 1-minute "openers" at the exact moment to cause my legs' demise.

Well, at about 22 minutes I finally caught up to Rob S. and we rolled at an easy tempo and chatted a bit about bikes, races, upgrades, and whatever else a pair of bike racers should chat about. Good times.

I don't know what I'm doing tonight, but that's alright
I don't know what I'm doing with my life, but that's fine...
...Feel like I can learn a lot if I openup my eyes,
But I'm just fine...
~O.A.R. "Tonight"

I had no specific intentions when I clipped into my pedals, but sometimes, it feels good to just get on the bike and go. If anything it will fight the angst and clear your mind from the minutia of daily life. Just one reason I ride.

Wednesday (click for Garmin file)

On Wednesday evening I met up with a few GW Cycling and NCVC pals for the return of the GW Cycling "night ride." Of course, a ride on a college campus during the end of finals week is not going to fetch many pals, but that was okay.

Jason H., Rich H., Schlomo and I headed down to Hains at dusk. A single hour's worth of respite from the rain is all we had and all we needed. We naturally settled into a perfect single paceline, each of us contributing what was necessary without hitting the red too soon. It was an efficient workout, so we rolled with it.

We did six laps, each gradually increasing in tempo with only stop signs to hinder our cyclical progress. The gradually darkening sky magnified the fatigue of legs, the emptiness of lungs, and insecurity of minds. By the last two laps, even with lights it was hard to tell where a front tire meets a rear.

In any group of cyclists, you need to trust the guys around you. At a hot tempo, the desperation for respite from wind overcomes fear. Wherever that next wheel is, you will not let it meander more than inches the road.

Last night I was riding with three guys - each of whom I have probably ridden at least a thousand miles with. The insecurity was hardly an issue.

More than a normal ride, the darkness requires an unquestioned trust in the riders around you. Between the painfully imposed silence caused by heavy breathing, there is an underlying dependence in the pair of legs leading yours: that his actions are exact and his legs have the will to continue when yours will not.

Four teammates in a perfect, painful rotation at the desolate urban velodrome that is Hains Point at night. Just another reason I ride.

Race Report: Fort Ritchie Criterium, Cat 3

2010-05-09T23:58:00.000-04:00

The temperature was nice, but it sure was gusty for this 2010 edition of the half-technical, half speedy Fort Ritchie Criterium.

While discussing whether we should use carbon wheels or not, Catherine discovered her rear Carbone was flat. That settled that issue for her. After my warmup on the trainer (works better for me), I was switching my rear wheel. Pumping up my own Carbone, the valve pin popped off with a loud hiss of air. Well, two for two. I guess we're rolling with the low-profile aluminum rims today. The deities of bike races had spoken.

The Cat 3 race had a relatively small field of 44 (or at least that's what the results sheet said). NCVC had three guys: Drew A., Schlomo (Dan S.), and myself. We knew the strong winds could make this race interesting, and that the field drops most of the competitors. Our plan was to share the efforts to cover the front, and try to make something happen after the initial non-sense.

On the first lap, Drew got to the front immediately. I watched him push the pace with a couple of gents from the back, because of a horrible clip-in. I've just sucked at clipping in this year.

The pace was not unbearable, though, so I was able to move up easily during the next two or three laps after the start/finish and the slight uphill. Drew's little move with a few guys was caught quickly, but with little delay a group of five split away from the pack. Schlomo covered that move.

Though promising in strength and team representation, that group never got more than a corner ahead of the field.

As a few guys chased to bring back Schlomo's break back, I weaseled my way up to the front of the pack. I found myself among a few aggressive racers - Michael Flanagan (Harley), Dan Drumwright (Conte's), and a slew of Bike Doctor guys. The BD guys have a big Cat 3 squad and have been aggressive all season, which makes racing super fun.

Between Drumwright's incessant attacks, Michael pulled the field around for almost an entire lap - if not more. His tempo was strong and kept Drumwright and the field quiet, but when he pulled off, there was a certain antsy feeling among all of the riders.

That's when I followed Drew's previous advice for us to try to make something happen after the initial craziness in the race. I simply put my head down and continued the hard effort that Michael had started, and eventually created a gap ahead of the peloton.

After a few seconds solo, I looked back to see Michael bridging up with one Bike Doctor racer. I simply thought, "Perfect!" then took a sip of water and jumped in behind both of them. Eventually, a second Bike Doctor rider joined our breakaway, but it turns out he was off-the-back. Both Bike Doctor racers did not hit the wind very much. The tempo took its toll on them quickly.

Michael and I rotated through the first prime to keep the tempo high and consistent. I was behind him for the line reconsidering our agreement, but figured there would be a second prime I could take. (Unfortunately the refs made it a field prime, darnit!) Good reminder: No gifts! Michael won a case of beer for that effort and there was no second chance for a consolation prize.

Bike Doctor's presence in that breakaway was very necessary. Those first few laps, a Bike Doctor racer off the front prevented one of the biggest and strongest teams from chasing. Michael was the only Cat 3 on Harley this year, and during those first few laps of the breakaway, I saw that Schlomo crashed out of the race on the left turn and Drew was now on the sideline, too. He'd been caught behind the accident and could not catch back on. Only Bike Doctor would have had guys blocking, or at least ready to counter the move.

Flanagan is a true time trial artist, and I am quite the opposite - a flyer of sorts. Most of my "training" (if you call it that) consists of lots of tempo with many 2-6 minute surges. Michael loves those 20-40 minute TT efforts. After the Bike Doctor riders sagged back, we continued to work really well together (even as a Carytown racer caught onto our train). On the backstretch, though, we had an interesting audience: Chuck Hutch. Every time we would pass, he'd simply yell "Drop him!" to Michael. (Start foreshadowing.)

Our gap grew big enough that we could see a comfortable gap to the field as we took the only left-hand turn on the course. That was an encouraging contrast to Chuck's Jedi mind tricks. The gap grew bigger and bigger for about 10 laps, and we could see the field rolling through the start/finish. It was a huge motivator.

Knowing that we'd started the effort with over 18 laps left to race was a tough sell to my legs, though. I figured if I could not-so-simply hang on to Michael's tempo, I could outsprint him. I am pretty sure he knew what I was thinking and could notice any of my hesitations and growing weakness (shorter pulls, more drinking water, etc.).

Under a bit of stress with about 10 laps to go, I clipped a pedal on the turn before the start/finish line (but held the bike upright). I made the common noobie mistake of pedaling before the bike was upright. That killed my momentum, and Michael looked back to see that I was gapped.

He upped his tempo a bit; it was a super smart move on his part - the pedal clip was just a stimulus. Our cooperation had been heavily turning into Siggy-sucks-wheel anyway. I was having trouble holding his hard tempo and had unintentionally been taking shorter pulls. A smart move on his part was to just kept rolling on with out me.

I tried to surge immediately to minimize the gap but could not catch him. Solo TT mode it was, and a lesson learned: don't start a fight you can't win!

With 10 laps to go, I knew I had a substantial gap on the field, but had no clue if I could hold them off. I have seen a dozen of small-group breakaways where only the lead rider survives the chase, and did not want the same fate. I had already become victim to Michael's tempo, but I did not want to get caught - or worse - passed and dropped.

A lapped Carytown rider was still sucking my wheel (as he did for the next three laps). At some point, he actually asked me, "Are you off the front or back?"

Uhh, WHAT?!?! You didn't realize you were hanging on to the lead breakaway?!?! Oh well, at least he didn't get in the way. I was humorous but I was in no mood to laugh. I simply yelled "FRONT!" and kept pushing with my head down. He was not bothering me. If anything, it was nice not to be entirely alone.

With about 5 laps to go, two strong riders I recognized had made a clean bridge up: Mike Fawell (HPC, 2009 winner of Jeff Cup and Wolfpack as a Cat 4) and Alex Weiler (Bike Doctor, won Murad Cat 3 last week).

I managed to work with them for a lap before Alex asked me the important question, "How many guys are up the road?" I could not believe what I was hearing. How could he not know? Then again, I had a very different perspective on the race thus far and we were lapping straggling riders every minute. I simply said, "one" and then I could not believe what I was seeing: he simply took off.

There was no holding his wheel - at least not for my tired legs and dried-out lungs. From what I hear he was that decisive bridging up to me, too. Strong riding, Alex. Chapeau.

The accelerations trying unsuccessfully to keep up with Alex dropped the Carytown guy (or maybe he finally got pulled), so Fawell and I traded pulls for a pair of laps. Watching another step on the podium pedal away from me was salt in the wound that was my entire body. I am sure Mike was thinking about the podium as much as I was, so we were trading pulls erratically, though working together relatively well.

Alex and Mike bridging up to me probably saved my race from being a total fluke and failure. I had initiated the breakaway WAY too early for my fitness. Having a wheel to hold occasionally provided necessary respite.

The peloton was gaining and I could not stop thinking, "Do NOT screw this up, do NOT get caught now." I wanted to hold on to something, if not just to prove to myself that I could beat the field. I wanted to know that I could dig that deep from so early on.

The sound of the bell was a huge relief. By then I knew I would not get caught. I took the pull past the start/finish leading up to the sharp corners, and I kind of half-assed it. I figured I would be able to answer a surge if Mike Fawell (not Michael Flanagan, who was already crossing the line first) jumped around me as I pulled off, then hold his wheel to try to beat him in the sprint.

That plan failed.

My lungs and legs were dead, and I could not dig quite as deep as I thought. When Mike took his pull, he accelerated through the corners and simply road me off his wheel on the final half-lap. I kept him in sight but rode in hyperventilating for 4th place, still comfortably ahead of the accelerating field.

You know when you've worked darn hard for something, and you don't want anything to steal the measly rewards of the effort? Well you can imagine the panic I felt when I didn't see my number on the results sheet.

It was a humorous mistake compounded by coincidence - the referees had put "336" down for 4th place, although I was number 311. Apparently, I had finished a huge 36 seconds behind Michael Flanagan, the winner, and it was an innocent, hasty penciling error by the refs that they corrected immediately. The freak coincidence was that the winner of the field sprint was an AABC rider whose number was 336, so his result then disappeared. They had to bump everyone down once in the rankings, but it was ironed out smoothly.

Last week I had someone ask me how many upgrade points I have because I have placed in the top ten a few times. Actually, I have only 9 or 10 points depending on how many Cat 3s were in the Cat 3/4 races.

I have been racing aggressively and finishing well, but still not well enough. I should say, though, that my prerogative is not necessarily to chase points for myself in a rush to upgrade. I want to race strong and work well with my teammates (some of whom want to upgrade), and believe that taking each race as a goal in itself will put me where I should be.

Somewhere, somehow, I have to find the fury to break onto the podium.

- -

Much thanks to my teammate Yon Nuta for taking pictures. He drove to the race planning to line up with us, but his front carbon fork drop out cracked on the windy drive over. Nuts, huh?

If you are my friend on Facebook feel free to comment on the Facebook album). The full-sized pictures are available for download on my public Zenfolio page here.

Tim Rugg: Then and Now

2010-05-07T14:14:00.007-04:00

So last night I'm riding at Hains, as my usual Thursday night routine goes. I noticed, though, that there were a ton of "regulars" giving their TT bikes some attention and disregarding the antics of the sprints group, including a friend and rival of mine named Tim Rugg in his Battley-Harley Davidson kit riding his 2009 Scott Plasma LTD.

Today, I have been perusing old photo albums from local bike races. (Before I raced every weekend myself, I'd just take pictures at races.) It is certainly a contrast, then, that I bring you the follow pair of pictures with Mr. Rugg's permission. These are from his first-ever bike race, the Category 5 Smithsburg Road Race in the 2008 Tour of Washington County.

The photos corroborate the legend. He did, in fact, finish the race in the top-10 on his infamous Scattante bike dressed in a V-neck t-shirt and swim trunks:

(Click the images for the larger versions.)

Love the socks, Tim.

Friday Ramblings: What Is Mine

2010-05-07T02:08:00.000-04:00

I spend a lot of time thinking about life and racing, but never at the same time. I enjoy racing, because when I am in a race I instinctively think only about racing itself. I never think about the burdensome tidbits of life.

At Murad last weekend, with half a lap to go, I threw my legs and lungs into a fury with a futile attempt to catch a last-lap breakaway. Was I thinking about a certification exam I have for work in two weeks? About a mother's day brunch reservation? About the funeral I attended last week, or the one I had to attend this week? About upcoming races?

Even though these thoughts scroll doubt and stress through my brain with every second that passes, they did not cross my mind once while I had a number pinned to my jersey. My only thoughts were on keeping a high cadence, about sucking wind into my lungs, and how bad of an idea it was to (a) attack the field so late with such a big gap to the break and (b) look at my heart rate monitor. (Seeing 192 beats per minute is rarely good news, and being lonely in no-man’s land is not much fun either.)

There are underlying themes that intersect these thoughts of a racer with the common thoughts of any normal guy that is totally stressed out: self-doubt, confusion, and hope. On- or off-the-bike, the introspective self-doubt challenges you, while the breadcrumbs of hope keep you from thinking that an effort is for naught.

Never in the middle of even a boring bike race (does one exist?) or a solo training ride, whether up a mountain or on MacArthur Boulevard, have I lost that tunnel vision. Like a meditation, with total emptiness it provides an acute clarity for what is among the moment, here and now, what is mine. I only wish that, like many other traits of my personality, that focus was permanent. I wish that I could focus energy as well to other pursuits as I do and always have for athletic competition.

(Cue the song of the blog...)

Sharp and nimble, the wind unfolds,
Got me to my feet again,
Past the mountain, I hear a cry,
Coming from the pinnacle,
In the distance, a city shines,
Oh, what a welcoming...
~ O.A.R. "What is Mine"

Maybe it is an instinct of survival to commandeer the mind and body to a single pursuit during physical exertion. Yet sometimes I would happily take an ounce of focus from riding to better my focus in studies or work or acts as simple as reading and conversing. I can only imagine to be focused so sharp and nimble to a single effort off the bike as I am on the bike. I sometimes hope that maybe, if I continue riding, this habit of focus will transcend athleticism as if it were as an act of studying.

Recent events in my life - inside and outside of bike racing - have me thinking more about this focus, and how it relates to respect, reputation, and legacy. Perhaps these thoughts have made me more self-critical (but unfortunately no less loquacious).

Undoubtedly, I would rather be a good person than a good bike racer, because much of being a good competitor is being a good sportsman - an inkling I think we all forget frequently. If being a bike racer is a lifestyle and not a hobby, than my character while assuming the role should be as prominent. The person I am when I step into my office on Monday, ride at Hains Point on Thursday, or pin on a number at a bike race on Saturday, it is still the same guy.

Especially since two years ago, the sport of cycling (and specifically bike racing) has taken over much of my life and made more focused as a person than I was before. Both life and sport require the tolerance to judge your own actions critically, to show appropriate deprecation toward them, and redeem them with sincerity. Without cycling or at least some sport, I feel I would lose many of the habits I have learned about growth, balance, patience, and focus.

Sure, all of this riding is just to be able to cross a duct-tape finish line in a bike race. If at the same time it teaches me a lesson or two about life, though, I will happily do my homework.

Race Report: Murad Road Race, Cat 3

2010-05-02T11:28:00.001-04:00

Five of us NCVC guys lined up for the scorching 56-mile Cat 3 Murad Road Race: Dan (aka "Schlomo), Chris H., Karl A., Brad K., and me.

Before the race started, I drenched my hair and jersey with water to start off cool. I started with a bottle of sports drink and another of water in the cages (mostly for soaking myself), with an extra bottle of sports drink in my jersey, too. (Much thanks to the Kendalls who passed our team bottles in the feed zone throughout the race!)

Not much happened for the first pair of laps, a few mild attempts but everyone was happy to just get into the groove of racing in 90-degree weather. By the end of the second lap, a group of three had gotten off the front with a decent gap.

It took me the first two laps to move up into the sweet spot, when I saw Dan in the wind and said, "Get me up there." He dragged me up when the pack was single file, so I used him as a lead-out to launch a bridge. It took about a minute, but I made it clean.

Two of the guys break fizzled away and a few more guys bridged up - including Dan and Chris - but the gap shrank. We had a decent-sized group with good representation, but there was little cooperation. Dan, Chris, and I all pushed the pace for at least half a lap but it wasn't the right time. At least on Hughes we were able to get feeds easily while off the front.

Over laps 4-5-6 we lost Brad to a mechanical. A two-man break got away with a Bike Doctor and AABC. The pack let them hang out to dry for a while, but Tony A. (DVR/Bike Rack) and I weren't enjoying their 40-second gap. I told him, "I'll help if you will."

Him and I moved up to see a few R1V guys in the wind, and helped them try to drag the break back. The first Bike Doctor guy had dropped off the pace of AABC, but another guy countered. I followed but it was obvious we weren't getting help from some stragglers, and we had a fast-moving group behind us, too. No dice there.

On the last lap three guys got up the road early, but not by much. Again the pack let them hang out there. Eventually four more guys got up the road in between, yet neither group had more than 15 seconds turning onto Partnership Road. When the groups merged, riders cooperated well.

Unfortunately most of us NCVC guys were nowhere to be found up front. Dan was in the sweet spot as he had been basically the entire race patrolling the front, but now pinned on the right gutter. Karl, Chris, and I were all trying to move up (about 25 riders back I would guess) but had some trouble. Personally I just didn't have the guts to slip through the non-existent gaps or around the center-line. My instincts just wouldn't let me.

Every rider in the pack became a victim of the calm before the storm - the break gained some ground with great blocking from Bike Doctor and AABC again.

When I finally made it to the front, about halfway down River Road, I noticed there were a few guys in no-man's land. It was risky, but I figured I had had to try a last-minute bridge. At that time, Schlomo was right up front where he needed to be for the bunch sprint.

I jumped, looked back to see nobody chasing, and caught a DC Velo rider in no-man's land. We rotated twice, but then he didn't hold my wheel after he took a hard pull, so I TT'd it solo onto Hughes Road. I was gaining ground quickly between groups, but not quick enough.

I got to about 30 meters behind the breakaway (though I'm probably being optimistic) but then they started sprinting and it was too late. I looked back and had a comfortable gap on the field, though, so it wasn't for naught and I took 8th place. Dan was near the front of the bunch sprint, at least for a top-20 with Chris and Karl not too far back.

I had a good amount of trouble moving around the pack on the narrow course, mostly because I'm not savvy and brave enough to find tiny gaps. That sucked at the end because we missed the last-lap break, which was the only breakaway that mattered. C'est la vie. I won't complain about a top-10, but it would have been nice to put the stars and bars in the money.

Here's my Garmin data for the race. The first few spikes to 180 and 190 are bridging up to the gap on lap 3, and trying to make something happen (but not making anything happen). The spike around 1:30 is helping R1V bring back the two-man break, and then the final plateau shows nearly 3 painful minutes with my heart rate at 190+ for the final flyer trying to bridge up. That hurt.

Thanks for reading - and good luck to everyone racing Bunny Hop tomorrow.

Friday Ramblings: Placidly Amid the Noise and Haste

2010-04-30T00:56:00.007-04:00

I commonly tell new cyclists I mentor that they should surround themselves with people whose characteristics they would like to emulate. Over the past seven years, I have had the opportunity and privilege to work with two great men: Bob (the boss) and Brian (my manager). They have been the best mentors a young professional could be blessed with, and their tolerance, understanding, and support for my athletic pursuits has always been appreciated.

In February, Bob came into the office for the first time in months. My colleagues and I call this a “Bob” sighting. For health reasons, Bob had not been in the office since November. The dutiful baton of client satisfaction had been passed on.

I had my bike in my office, and I remember him asking, “New bike?” I explained to him it was just the new carbon wheels, and he took some time to question me about them.

Bob always took interest in the Tour de France and my own racing and, too. I remember when Floyd bonked in 2006, and I said, “It’s over for him.” Bob laughed and doubted me. The next day, we were both listening to Eurosport’s commentary on our computers when Floyd threw down his bold move that would effectively win – and lose – him the Tour.

After every race weekend, I would return to the office with sore legs. Bob would insist on hearing more about my results than I would usually share at work. When I told him that a friend captured a video of my first win, he needed to see it. I gave him the link, and through the adjacent wall of our offices I heard Joe Jefferson’s voice through the computer speakers and Bob yelling, “Oh look at those suckers back there!”

You don't know much about people when you first meet them. Bob met me on the other side of the building in 2003. I was a bored summer intern alphabetizing expense reports (seriously). My most exciting (note sarcasm) job task was reporting on congressional hearings for non-proliferation.

I was under-utilized, and Bob heard about the bored intern. He introduced himself and his program humbly, as a guy that needed help with a cool project. He then asked me the biggest understated question ever, “Would you be interested in helping?”

Seven years later, I am still helping.

But I was sold. One of the division Vice Presidents had hired me, but I never met him (and still have not to this day – he’s moved on to a different company). I would later find out that he was a former ambassador to one of the former Soviet states; he was a busy man that had little time to allocate to his intern.

Three years of busy summers and winter- and spring-breaks working in an office (instead of partying at the beach), I asked Bob if I could continue working as an intern after graduation, at least until I found a job.

“To hell with that,” he gasped. “We’ll keep you.”

Bob was a God-sent mentor and role model for a young professional. Among the ideals that I learned from him were to work hard, so you’ll always have work. Good work begets more work. He encouraged his people to take care of their people – our work family understood that our real families take precedence.

He also understood and sympathized with a healthy dose of leisure. Even in his late 60s, he was among the better tennis players nationally for his age, and would travel with his wife to Colorado for skiing and mountain biking. As my career bloomed under Bob’s guidance, so did my obsession with cycling. I bought my first bicycle during my first summer internship, and continued growing as a cyclist-turned-bike racer through the years.

Around 2004, Bob was diagnosed with spreading colorectal cancer. Throughout the past five years, he has had multiple invasive surgeries I do not need to describe, and has had his taste buds burned by at least three chemotherapy cycles.

Because of his personality, you never would have known about the cancer, but recently, it returned with a serious aggression. A new, growing tumor was surrounding some digestive organs, which made it inoperable. Chemotherapy treatments were proving to be ineffective. Worsening liver and kidney problems gave his skin and eyes a yellow hint, from jaundice.

When Bob visited in February, he told us that he found it disturbing how people show denial by distancing themselves from those struggling with illness, though I could tell he made little of it. He had cancer, and he could not deny it, so he did not let others’ denial affect him. True to his personality, he always addressed his worsening condition with us directly.

Perhaps it was still a farce; Bob was too strong for me to understand the seriousness of his condition.

His recovery periods from surgery and chemo were not as relaxed as you would expect from a senior-citizen victim of disembowelment and chemotherapy. During a recent recovery from surgery this past fall, Bob traveled to Vail. "It's all about the process,” he would say about life. Cancer would not stop him from enjoying himself. If he had to suffer, it could be on his terms, at least some of the time.

"First my goal was to put on my skis,” he told me during the most recent Bob sighting, in March. “Then it was to make it to the top of the lift. Once I got up there, well..."

That’s Bob, and his recovery was in his happiness. His happiness – his life – was in the process.

Before leaving the office after this most recent Bob sighting, he asked me about racing. There was little to report – I had not yet raced in 2010, but I assured him that I was riding well and was excited to race.

That was the last conversation I would have with Bob. It was about life in general, and bike racing.

When I arrived in the office on Monday morning of this week, a colleague told Brian (my manager) and me that Bob’s wife had just called him. Bob had passed away Thursday.

Bob had explained his condition to us; he had not hidden many details. His strength, though, was deceiving. Though we knew he was constantly in and out of the hospital, he would visit in high spirits often. None of us thought his five-year fight would end so abruptly because of the new developments of cancer in his body.

A cyclist who does not dream of winning a bike race is nary a racer. Such is the same with life. A person who does not swing for the fences, at least occasionally, does not live.

Bob was a West Point graduate that was catcher and captain of their baseball team when West Point used to scrimmage the Yankees (at his house he has a picture of him catching with Mickey Mantle at the plate). Baseball was a strength, but he was an incredible skiier and was still regionally ranked as a senior tennis player, too. His enthusiasm for sport never let up, even while encouraging others like me.

Bob retired from the Army as a Colonel, having served in Vietnam and further. He had a master's degree in Missile Engineering, which he less-humbly admitted when he made the trite quip, "It's not rocket science." Through his current work, he never fully removed himself from serving his country. He was a proud husband, father of two, and grandfather. Bob was a friend to many, and an example to more.

Imagine if for any single pursuit in life, you possessed the calm toughness that Bob possessed for the past five years. I cannot fathom his insufferable pain, but imagine if you could ride, race, or live with the desperate hardiness of a man dying of cancer.

If life is in the process, as Bob says, then death is the abrupt, dark finish line in a race against life. Having endured so much, passed on so much, and enjoyed life to the fullest, how could he not have won, even against such an undefiable opponent?

I do not really know if this is my own sort of eulogy, my method of grieving, or a challenge to myself to live and race by Bob’s indelible guidance. Perhaps they are all one in the same. On a wall in his office, though, he had framed the words of a poem he seemed to live by, which I will not soon forget: Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence... With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

The Luck Continues (RTR, Day 4)

2010-04-26T21:58:00.000-04:00

Not much to say on this delayed post of Sunday's ride out at Lost River. Here's a link to the route and garmin data. The complete public facebook album is here.

The route was a simple and easy lollipop on the front side of the barn, over the WV/VA line, looping by Bergton and Criders.

Here are some pictures...

Much thanks to Jay & Audrey for their hospitality in making this part of West Virginia such an awesome place for cyclists to call home for a few days. (That is not mentioning the cookies, chocolate-filled croissants, and chicken soup Audrey left for us.)

Oh, and it didn't rain a drop on us one bit the entire weekend. That was good luck.

The Luck of the Barn (Day 3)

2010-04-24T22:36:00.006-04:00

After yesterday's long and tough jaunt south and west, our legs were cooked. We had planned to start early to beat the rain, but the skies cleared up so we delayed to a more leisurely hour. Just in case the skies did open, we planned for a flexible route that wasn't too tough. We had a few others join our group too.

Whether it was karma, luck, or science, rain never came.

We headed down the "front" of Howards Lick Road toward Route 259, detouring for a lap on the Lost River Classic Course. We met Jay coming down the descent on Jenkin's Hollow, then crossed 259 and headed up Upper Cove to Middle Cove (where Jay dropped off his jacket in his mailbox because it was so nice).

At Lower Cove, we headed right up into GW National Forest. The road eases up until the dirt sections, which are hard packed with bits of gravel, and tolerably steep. It's a great dirt road.

...but it was a bit muddy today.

At the fork, we regrouped before the dirt descent. The right option takes you to Virginia, but we headed left, back down to the Lost River valley. A few miles of gravel/mud/dirt descending, and we sped down Mill Gap Road.

There, we had awesome paninis and coffee for lunch at the General Store.

It was scrumptious, and Dan spent some free time between swigs of coke (in the glass bottle) chasing the house pet: a Hen (yes, a chicken) named Henrietta.

With full stomachs, we then headed back across 259, taking the scenic Kimsey Run up to Dove Hollow. Dove hollow is a painful, gradual climb back to Lost River State park, and then we tortured ourselves up the front side climb back to the barn.

Our bikes were filthy from the gravel and dirt climb/descent, but the weather held out for us.

Like well-behaved cyclists, we promptely cleaned up our rigs...

...with a beverage in hand.

Links to the public facebook album (which keeps growing), and the garmin route/elevation data.

Friday Riding: Hinckle Mountain, WV (Day 2)

2010-04-23T21:45:00.012-04:00

Five of us got out here Thursday night or Friday morning, which allowed for a long Friday ride. Jay offered to let us join him on an adventure - tackling a dirt climb he'd never done before.

We obliged.

Dropping off the backside of the barn, we took an unusual left off of Howards Lick Road onto South Fork Road for 15-20 miles.

Our first right was right onto Hinckle Mountain near the mini town of Milam, which immediately ascended on dirt and gravel. Just about all of us had to unclip at least once or twice - it was that steep, bumpy, and slippery beneath the rear tire. The pictures just don't do it justice...

I obviously could not take pictures when my hands had a death grip on the bars, so these pictures are a huge farce. The climb is insane, though the tolerable patches are still the majority of the route, and the views are worth the drag up.

At the top of Hinckle Mountain, a few dirt roads intersect. We took a guess and headed left (to Jay's left in the backround of this picture). As you can see, the gravel is tolerable and wide in this section; the descent is gradual and relatively smooth.

Eventually, it turns paved and you can FLY down some fun curves that do not drop too steeply, arcing back northwest to Mozer, WV. We then took a right turn onto South Mill Creek (Co. Road 9), a fun Valley roads all the way to Petersburg. We cooked a quick paceline there, which definitely burnt some matches.

On the way from Petersburg to Moorefield, we threw in an extra "mini" climb of 2.5 miles or so - at 10% grade - just for good measure. At 60 miles, we were all spent so we took it easy, but the views of Petersburg were spectacular.

Of course, after Moorefield, there's a 4 mile death march back to the base of Howards Lick Road, where it's a 6-mile climb back up to the barn. You cannot reach the top of the mountain without hitting rock bottom.

With dismal weather pending, it was awesome to log the big miles on a Friday. There's a bigger group tomorrow, but those of us with the will (and vacation leave) adequately destroyed ourselves today. Jay, thanks for a great ride and using us as crash-test dummies.

Disclaimer: Most likely, you probably do not want Jay to take you up Hinckle Mountain, no matter how pretty and smooth these pictures make it seem. It's nuts.

Need proof? Check out the profile on this link for today's route and Garmin data, then add in a lot of lose gravel and some stair-stepping slate as part of the road. More pictures are on a public Facebook album here.

Update: Here's a link to Jay's blog post about the maiden Hinckle Mountain expedition. Check it out - it is much better literature (and photography) than I can provide.

Be Jealous (Lost River Barn, Day 1)

2010-04-22T21:49:00.009-04:00

Rain may be coming, but so are the races. The fun races are up the road - on the calendar, that is. So we'll deal with the rain.

The real races, those not held in corporate developments. Not that I have anything wrong with those (hey, I do well), but as my teammates James once said to me, "Those aren't the races I dream about at night."

So, I reserved this MABRA "off-weekend," well in advance to drag a few of the NCVC boys out to the Lost River Barn. A lot of miles to fatigue the legs lie ahead.

On the way out earlier this afternoon, I stopped by the Lost River Brewing Company in Wardensville, WV and picked up some growlers of tasty beverage. I highly recommend 'em. Rumor of the barn says their elixirs ease the pain of tired legs. (Take my word for it too, it's yummy.)

Today was solo. I rode at a nice, relaxed, jog of a pace down the easy side of the mountain (if there is one) to the Lost River Classic course and a fun loop on Dove Hollow and Whetzel Hollow roads. Dove Hollow used to be paved...

A good afternoon of nothing special, and since I did not have any teammates half-wheeling me today, I made a few stops to check out the scenery.

More pictures here. I'll be updating throughout the weekend.

How was your Thursday ride?

Race Report: Carl Dolan Circuit Race, Cat 3/4

2010-04-20T00:08:00.001-04:00

With 70 miles under my legs Saturday (50 racing), I didn't have much "pop" Sunday at the Carl Dolan Circuit Race. Instead of "doubling up" as I had planned earlier in the week, I just entered the Cat 3/4. Wimpy, I know, but I listen to my body.

I should preface this post by saying that it is more like a summary of the dangerous excitement of bike racing. My buddy Drew A. said it best to me last year, "This is a tough, sometimes very dangerous sport--you gotta be out there to win or really help your team win, or else it's not worth the risk."

Enjoy the re-cap of the mayhem, because from my end there was little strategic action overall. I was off my game.

Photo courtesy of Jim Wilson.

I was pretty much a sitting duck throughout the race, unwillingly conserving my matches. The few times I was at the front, I was drilling it up the hill instead of on the downhill fast stretch into the hill like most guys. I hoped that it would cause a split sustaining the stronger pace, but with 125 guys, there were always enough riders that could follow easily. If anything, you could recover up the hill as long as you weren't first into the wind. Oh well.

I remembered that this race was sketchy last year, and it reinforced my thoughts that 3/4 races are among the most dangerous events. For this event, it's too many guys, not enough road. The non-selectiveness of the course doesn't help the safety, and the bottleneck taking nearly three lanes of traffic to one before the downhill is just scary. Too many guys disregard the center-line rule, and the referees can't be everywhere at once. The inevitable self-policing doesn't work either.

One of the rounds up the hill I was behind my teammate Chris H., and a rider swerved into his line. He was forced outward and decelerated horribly, so my front wheel went into his rear (sorry Chris!). It was pretty darn scary rubbing wheels, but luckily we got out of that upright. I didn't see him for the rest of the race, but before he sagged back too much he said something about his brake rubbing. (My front brake was rubbing as well but I was able to self-center it while pedaling.) Hopefully I didn't ruin his race...

Soon thereafter, on the next lap, an ABRT or AABC rider was looking behind and to his right, and swerved left into me. Apparently he didn't like it when I held my position, even though I apologized for scaring him. Sorry bro, but I'm going that way, with the race!

Unfortunately, these sorts of incidents were the "highlights" of my race. A good amount of time was also spent strategically socializing with some of the other Cat 3s that I know, respect, and consider great racers. Regardless of the team we were on, we'd help each other get into safer positions knowing we were eager to make something happen. Still, I was just off my game and the field did not encourage much action.

By the way, have I mentioned that the entire field braked HARD every lap before the turn? Oh well, that's racing and definitely was motivation to move up. No huge problems there as far as I know, and the stretch after the turn is always super fun. It sucked for my three junior teammates though, who were holding position better than any other NCVC guys, but spinning out their restricted gears (cough cough, dumb rule).

The final two laps of each Chantilly race were not smooth by any form of the definition, but the chaos that was the final 2-mile lap at Dolan made me uneasy about my health insurance policy and bike racing in general. There were at least two crashes and a whole lot of knuckle-to-knuckle, bar-hooking racing.

Blatant callout: At one point I even saw a certain team's riders pushing each other up the hill trying to help each other reintegrate with the pack. Good teamwork? Sure, but it's definitely not safe when one guy is sinking through the pack and another loses all momentum and forces himself in the other direction, widening the barrier. I am certain these riders were Cat 3, so guys, please, let's take it easy.

The last lap was a total queezy feeling; one that a masters teammate of mine jokes is Scrotal-Tightening Fear™.

Usually the final mayhem is sorta fun, but my mind and legs were not 100% into it and this was unusually bad. I had decent - not great - positioning, and worked with a strong Cat 4 teammate, Mike L. Him and I traded the wind to keep moving up on the outside, but through the backside bottleneck, too many riders regarded the yellow line with little respect. I asked him how he was feeling, and he said he was good. I was doing just fine but knew that my kick got left in the locker at Chantilly 1/2/3.

We were swarmed before the final turn, which meant we were way too far back anyway. By then I knew the podium was too far up the road. With 1k to go I flew on the inside line to bring us up, and caught Jose's wheel, figuring he would sprint. The big lead group that would become the podium was up on the left though. It was for naught.

Jose seemed to agree, and totally turned off the engine early up the hill to find a draft. I kept a hard tempo and came across Michael F. from Harley on my left, who'd outsprinted me the day before. I stood up to get some real estate on him (revenge has weird powers, sorry Michael), then sat back down and kept it as straight as possible, near the right gutter, to the finish. A lot of guys blew up early everywhere, so the shortest route was still a slalom.

Up ahead, I saw Andrew Bridges post up for another V. Kudos buddy. Dominance.

I crossed as the 11th Cat 3, and Mike crossed right behind me as the 11th Cat 4. Mediocre on our part.

After the race, Mike had a pretty ugly scrape on his leg. I asked him if he'd gone down, but nope - someone's wheel had literally rubbed the skin off of the side of his calf. Our 3/4 team's conclusion was that finishing that race rubber-side-up was a bigger victory than we would normally consider that expectation. Somedays you (okay, I mean me) just do not have the guts, luck, or the legs.

Contrasted with the races on Saturday, I will quickly forget this particular race. It is unfortunate, but there's a reason Carl Dolan has a yearly reputation for carnage. As much as everyone appreciates the opportunity to race twice in one day, I think it would be safer to have smaller fields (75 guys?) with straight categories. Call me a wimp, I know, but I like driving home in one piece.

Fool me once, fool me twice; somehow I've dodged the bullet both times, though I don't know how much more Fear™ I can tolerate in Columbia, MD.

Race Report(s): Chantilly Crit, Cat 3 and 1/2/3

2010-04-18T23:58:00.002-04:00

RGS Title Chantilly Criterium

Cat 3:

Catherine was racing at Virginia Tech, so after a happy hour with some NCVC folks, I participated in some festivities with some fraternity brothers to celebrate one of them getting married next week. Somehow, my late-night of socializing Friday did not affect my legs and lungs too much.

When I arrived at the course, I was surprised by the strong winds. This course always has some breezes, but the constant wind encouraged sailing, not cycling. The good news is that I was greeted with news that one of the NCVC Cat 5s took the win off-the-front. Awesome job, Matt.

Later on, the 20-some lap Cat 3 race started off slow for us, until 200 meters before the finish of the first lap for the soon-to-be infamous first lap primes at this race. I personally don't understand what they're for, but I was not about to mix it up that early. Some folks did, and that started a string of incessant attacks.

I only had two teammates in the race with me - Chris H. and Drew A. By the second lap, Chris had attacked and was off the front. Alone. He later told me he just wanted to "make sure the bike worked," so I had to laugh. It was a bold move and the first of many attacks in the first ten laps.

The three of us did a decent job of covering the moves, and even when there were some promising breakaways with great representation, nothing stuck. Nothing. Cooperation was lacking overall and the headwinds after the start/finish killed the legs of the man in front. That was that.

Halfway through the race, the attacks were more subdued. Maybe it was from tired legs, maybe it was because there was a universal realization that nothing was getting away.

With about 5-6 laps to go, Drew and Chris found me separately and we got talking about the finish. I told them to stick to the outside so we could fight the swarms, and told them where we'd have to surge if we weren't already that far up. I had found a nice train of three or four riders in blue and white DVR/Bike Rack kits - right where I thought would be the prime real estate for the final lap. Drew and Chris found me, and moved in front of me. Perfect positioning.

In the penultimate laps, we were getting swarmed, and I was telling the guys we needed to move up. At one point, I even saw a good gap and just moved right past them - I figured it didn't matter which order we were in. That pattern happened at least once more. Chris was able to hold his positioning when Drew and I got stuck in the back. I told Drew, "We've gotta move up, we've gotta move up NOW!" The guy tucked down and dragged us up on the outside, it was beautiful.

I didn't hit the wind at all, because he put me right on Chris' wheel with a lap to go. We were in good positioning but the swarm on the left/outside was inevitable. With half a lap to go, we were looking for escape routes.

I saw Mike Flanagan surge ahead of the last-lap swarm. He's got a bullseye on the butt-panel of his shorts as the sole Harley Cat 3, so I followed. Rumors are the guy knows how to hold a hard tempo for a long time. It was too early to sprint, but it was a risk that had to be taken - the flood of fresh legs was coming.

Mike gunned it with me chasing, and we lead through the final turn at a fearful tempo, but he gapped me. With little energy left, I sprinted in the saddle. Jorge from Artemis and Andrew Bridges passed us within the last 100 meters, and I tried to reach Mike, but he took 3rd by inches. I finished fourth.

- -

Cat 1/2/3:

A decent result and some cash were convincing factors to enter the 1/2/3 event so I'd get some insane-tempo riding in, or at least more than 20 miles. Drew and I had fetched some necessary turkey, and both pinned on our second numbers for the day.

Even while warming up with the team, I needed to ease off. I kept sucking down water to rehydrate and my legs warmed up too quickly since I'd already raced. I was able to relax before the race, trying to figure out how to layer my clothing. The temperature had dropped and the wind had become stronger. It was nuts, actually.

The Cat 3 race took off mellow until someone attacked, but the 1/2/3 had no hesitation in its aggressiveness. Nor did it have any respite. I spent the first 8 of 30 laps fighting positioning and getting into the rhythm, I really felt over my head for a while. I had a good start, but lost positioning after the first prime.

At some point, Greg A. rode up next to me and said, "get up there and cover some attacks." I guess that was the extra motivation I needed - guidance. Confident, adamant guidance. Any other way, it's hard for an underdog to be brave (or dumb) enough to mix it up with the big boys.

I made it into the sweet spot and basically spent the better part of the next 15 laps covering attacks or at least trying to be on the faster end of the splits. The teammates were pretty darn active, especially Paul M. who has an uncanny ability to control and cover the front of a race.

The little details are too painful and blurry to remember, but at one point a split with a dozen riders happened right behind me. Paul was near the front of the group, and I was the second to last rider. The huge headwinds would shuffle the group after the start/finish, so I jumped up as much as I could. If I was in the wind, he was not. That was my thought process.

After two laps off the front in a group of a dozen guys with stronger legs, I couldn't hold on to the wheel in front of me. That wheel just kept inching farther and farther away. Time for some damage control - try not to get swarmed and dropped by the chasing pack! I took some water, caught what little breath I could, and got ready to accelerate into the group.

I did not get dropped, which was a small victory in itself. Actually, a teammate gave me a good spot back near the front of the pack, which was single file. In a way this was a gift, but I was still in a position to do some damage. Groups were shattering off the front of the race, and we needed to be up there. The elite guys on NCVC and all of the teams do an incredible job of representation in breakaways, and I'm surprised nothing lasted. Most breakaways had all the major teams.

But this is not Kansas any more. The speed, surges, and show of strength was incessant. Somehow, I managed to count down the laps with seared lungs and tired legs.

I had finished my bottle with 8 to go, with 5 to go I was doing my best to cover the sweet spot and try to recover, which didn't really happen. With three to go Andy passed by me and another teammate saying "three to go" as a friendly warning. I responded, "I'm dead, use me when you need me." I was struggling through the wind and - like every previous strung-out lap - had struggled to hold the wheels in front of me after turn #2. But I was hanging out near the pointy end of the race.

Two to go, and the antics of the real wheelsuckers began. I got pretty pissed off when I realized that I'd busted my ass to be at the front so long, but saw guys I recognized finally emerge from the abyss of the peloton. That lit a fiery spark under my chamois, and I was ready for the final lap.

Anyone that has a belief that a 1/2/3 race is safer or less hectic than any other category needs to experience the final two laps leading up to a field sprint of a 1/2/3 race. If Cat 3/4/5s are punchdrunk and hungry for a finish line, the 1/2/3s are closer to the rivet at higher speeds, and more of the guys have the ability to surge. It was scary, fast, and in hindsight really frikken' fun - even though I was not in shape to place.

With one lap left, a huge surge of riders fought through the headwind on the left leading into turn one. That made huge gaps in the middle of the peloton, and then the group strung out to two-wide on the backside. I was on the inside about a dozen riders back, which was not ideal but I was thrilled to be that far up. To my left and front was a teammate - I said something to him before the final turn, and unfortunately he thought I was one of the team's sprinters telling him to make the move. He surged hard, but I was pinned to the curb anyway. (Sorry...!)

I took that final turn at a speed that ensured my trust in my tires, but that spread out the riders. I just sprinted from the line thinking, "leave it out there." It was a front pack finish (16th of 72 starters) with at least one teammate in the money. Except for getting dropped from the break (haha) and the slight mis-communication (whoops), I was pretty happy with how I rode.

RGS Title M123 - Finish from Brian on Vimeo.

I'm fatigued though. There is little chance I can convince myself to double-up with racing tomorrow. I dug too deep in this race a few too many times, and I can't sequel that effort tomorrow. Instead, I have homework to do. Yippee.

- - - -

A few other thoughts:

- Much thanks to Evo for setting up a cool event with a strong sponsor (RGS Titles) - the roads on this patch of pavement are nearly perfect, and the unusually generous cash prizes for this little criterium were a nice surprise.

- I warmed up for the Cat 3 racing on my MAVIC Carbone wheels, which have a 58 mm rim. As I filled up some bottles, one of my mentors from the master's squad gave me the straight dope - lose the carbon. I hesitantly took his word for it, though I only switched the front wheel because my spare set's rear has an iffy hub. I'm a little guy, so that made a huge difference in my handling while cornering through the gusts.

- My parents came to watch my race at Tyson's, but I was pretty disappointed with how I raced last week. I dropped a few F-bombs after that race (sorry mom!) because of it. Today while I was debriefing with Drew and Chris, I was excited - we'd all raced well and worked together in the final lap, which earned us a decent result and some lunch money. My mom, who came to today's race as well (thanks mom!), had a good laugh at the contrast in my post-race attitudes. ("You should have seen him last week," she told Chris.) Emotions run high after the finish line, that's obvious. If I did not have some passion for it, I would not be racing. That's for sure.

Good racing, and thanks for reading.

Friday Ramblings: I'm Not a Cycler

2010-04-16T01:08:00.000-04:00

There are a many verbal nuances in the two-wheeled world that the muggles just do not understand. Those who do not ride and race road bicycles simply do not care about PowerTaps or Pro3s, headsets or tubulars. There are certain words that are used to describe our kind of athlete, though, and they are not always used correctly.

For example, I am a cyclist, not a cycler. Watch the first ten seconds of this video:

Does that annoy you as much as it annoys me? (Probably not, I know.) Let's clarify some of the terminology.

This distinction between two similar words may seem subtle, except for the fact that I have no clue what a cycler is and I cannot stand the sound of the word. If I had a nickel for every time I have been called a cycler, well, I'd probably buy a few sticks of gum or something. I would, however, fruitfully enjoy the satisfaction of the vindictive gaze I definitely would have given to the incompetent character used the term.

If you think "cyclist" is not the appropriate term, consider bicycle rider/racer. At least that term distinguishes my man-powered machine from a gas-guzzling, noise polluting hog or a zippy, neon-colored crotch rocket.

For Pete's sake, though, the prefered term is cyclist. I'm not a cycler.

Nor am I biker. I am a cyclist and I am arrogant about that title. Sure, you're probably thinking, "mountain bikers use that term to refer to themselves, why not you?"

As I said, I'm arrogant. More importantly, I'm a road cyclist; my bike's wheels and tires are measured in millimeters, not inches.

To me, the term biker used on its own describes a character with a handlebar mustache, leather chaps, and a motorcycle. I wear spandex. If you want to call yourself a mountain biker, though, that's kosher in my book - just don't forget the adjective.

I should add the act of pedaling a bicycle to my nit-picking of the title: You are not "going for a cycle" or "going to a cycle race." You are going for a bike ride. Like cycler, maybe "going for a cycle" is not grammatically incorrect, but they both sound dumb.

Cyclists go cycling on bicycle rides, or perhaps cyclists go to bike races. Cycles, though, describe weather patterns and menstrual activities (perhaps those of cyclers?), not athletic training.

We're cyclists, and we ride bikes.

Race Report: Tyson's Corner Circuit Race, Cat 3

2010-04-11T21:32:00.012-04:00

I read last year's race report for Tyson's last night, and had a few moments of reminiscence: I hate this race.

It was incredibly difficult for me last year, but at least I was happy with the way I race. The swarming of the peloton forces me to have trouble holding positioning, and the up-and-down of the hill affects me more than I would expect. I'm good on longer or steeper climbs, but this one does not agree with my legs. Then I simply botched the final turn in 2009.

This year, I didn't make any of the same mistakes (besides entering), but I was pretty pissed off with how I race. I just made a few dumb decisions. The team did okay, though we had a small, motley roster.

They started about 5 laps into the race when the prime bell rang. I had stellar positioning going into the corner before the intermediate sprint, and was feeling frisky. Why not give it a go? I was riding well up the hill for the past few laps, well below my limit. I could have cared less for the prime - I wanted to drag some folks up and then keep a high tempo to see if I could create a gap.

Well, I created a gap pretty early and only pulled one guy with me. He out-kicked me for the prime. Around the top corner, I looked at him and said, "Keep going!" and he said, "I can't."

Well I did, and luckily two others bridged up. One guy from Gamjams, and another dude in what looked like a black kit with Redskins' colors.

(Photo from Joe Mallis.com)

I busted my butt to grab their wheel on the downhill, but the next two laps put me into the red. The GamJams racer looked back at me at one point and said, "You gotta help out."

I didn't say anything back. On the second uphill, I took a pull up the hill. He gasped "thanks" but that was all I had to offer. I would have helped more if I could have, but I got dropped from the break I initiated.

Haha. My parents were at the race, so at least they got some entertainment.

That early in the race, it was probably a good thing. I settled back into the pack, recovering as best I could for a few laps. Because NCVC only had four or five guys in this race, I felt obliged to hover near the front. I spent a good bit of wasteful energy in the wind protecting my positioning, although the pack was pretty well behaved.

I did have a gay moment with an AABC guy through the turn before the downhill. With me on the inside, we leaned into the turn together and became glued to each other. WOAH. Yeah, good teamwork saving that from being a big SNAFU.

There was some other mid-race mayhem caused by the road cones coming out of the final turn. On one lap, a huge dude simply shoved me off the course. I took out a road cone on my way out, and as I tried to get in guys kept just taking the outside line and moving up saying, "How much room do you need!?!?"

More than eight inches of road, idiot.

Eventually some dudes let me in, but a few laps later the same thing happened to a Haymarket dude. When the referee or some other riders said something to him, he exploited his own mistakes.

"I can't hear you!"

"Take your headphones off!"

The pack went wild yelling at this guy for little reason. Apparently he was going berserk because "he couldn't hear his surroundings." So said my fellow racers, anyway. I was too busy paying attention to the race, but a dozen guys paying more attention to getting this guy relegated was just dangerous. I hadn't noticed anything until later, when he had 12 inches of earbud cords dangling out of his jersey from side to side.

That mayhem ended with more surges - they were incessant throughout the race. One or two laps would be relaxed, and then someone would get impatient. I protected my positioning as well I could, which still wasn't stellar.

With about 7-8 laps to go, the front half of the field (yeah, that many) was strung out on the top section of the course into the downhill. I would have been in the "sweet spot," but we were moving. It was a dangerous situation to be more than a dozen guys back, so I moved up in the wind going down the hill.

Up the hill, sure enough, a big split formed. Probably ten guys were up the road, including every team except ours and three GamJams riders. I needed to be up there, or someone from out team did.

So I jumped.

That might have been one of the more painful bridge attempts I've done, but it took me half the hill and half the downhill to get there. One guy came with me, which was okay.

Sure enough, by the next uphill, the split had been filled. Nobody at the front end of that split even realized there had been a big gap.

More non-sensical attacks and riding later, I'd managed to hover from back to front in the pack a whole lot. I should have been delivering bottles from the team car to the guys up front or something. Generally, I'd either get swarmed on the downhill or waste a whole lot of energy taking the windy outside line. I couldn't hold my positioning, at least not until it really mattered.

With three to go, the referees rang the bell for a prime. That was great, because it got the guys up front strung out and tired. When they sat up, I had great positioning for the final few laps. Much jostling later, with one lap to go I was in the "sweet spot" but surrounded.

"We've gotta move outta here," I told Andrew, my buddy from Haymarket who was blocking my right side. (Start foreshadowing.)

He knew exactly what he was doing, and I was really just talking to myself. Siggy, move. You're gonna get swarmed.

I fought my way to the outside and became a windcatcher on the downhill and into the final turn. I'd found my teammate Harry, but couldn't get his wheel. Some big dude was hogging the line between Harry and the guy to his left. I got a bit of a draft since the course bent left, but not much.

At the time, I didn't know if it was Harry or Will, though.

"NCVC, let's go! Let's go NCVC!"

Nothing' happened, because Harry didn't realize it was me, either. F@*#.

With Harry in perfect positioning himself, I flew through the final turn on the outside, which was awesome. (I did not pull the same inside-line mistake as last year.)

Feeling strangely fine, I looked around and gunned it early. I thought I'd do the exact same move I pulled on the prime, when only one guy hung with me. It was dumb and risky, and WAY early.

It was a stereotypical Tyson's dumb sprinter move, and an easy way to get outgunned in the final 100 meters of the long uphill sprint. This is especially true when you've been wasting energy in the wind the entire race, and the entire last half lap.

Passing the 200 meter sign I was up front. That was neat while it lasted, but I was not surprised when my legs would not accelerate like they had earlier in the race. Then a bunch of guys passed me.

Luckily, one of them was Harry. I'm pretty sure he finished top five. My pal Andrew Bridges took the win with his token banshee-on-amphetamines sprint. That was impressive.

Somehow I still finished 11th, but I was pretty disappointed with how I raced. Live and learn. I did not need to be so antsy, and next time I'll get Harry (who had been protected from the wind) to follow me. He had a good, late kick anyway, and I think I could have led him up the hill.

I'll still be quietly happy with a rubber-side-down finish any day, and I put on a good show for the 'rents, haha.

Friday Ramblings: Bike Inflation

2010-04-09T01:28:00.005-04:00

Like every bike racer, I'm not bike shopping right now, but that is just to say that I am always bike shopping.

Perusing some websites recently, I clicked on a bike that was $2,200 for a mid-level carbon fiber bike with Shimano 105. Another was about the same price, but aluminum with Ultegra. These were raceable mid-level bikes online (cheaper than in shops), and this stuff ain't cheap.

It seems that price inflation in the bike world is on a steeper curve than my income has been, yet only at certain levels. My perception is that what was cheap then still is not quite out of reach, but what was pricey then is priced as platinum now.

I had to compare these bikes to my own experience, though. As cyclists, we have our own version of inflation. The more we ride, the better frame and components we want: bike inflation. I think I have a personal example of bike inflation that many cyclists can relate to.

Let's start from the beginning...

During the summer of 2003, a few stars aligned to get me into cycling. I had just decided to take a hiatus from rowing; I landed an internship at a company that sponsored a ProTour team, though it was unrelated to my job; and Lance was dominating his fifth Tour de France. I had broken a cog on my mountain bike, so one antsy evening, I picked up my dad's 28-year-old Huffy road bike, and took it for a spin.

I was hooked.

That bike is WAY too big for me, but it flew. I had never been on a thin-tired bike before (only mountain bikes). As an alternative to a rowing shell, the speed immediately convinced me: this is what I'm gonna do to stay in shape. I eventually got new tires for that bike, and zip-tied a bottle cage directly to the down tube because it did not have bolts. To this day, the wheels are both still untrue and I am pretty sure it has the original chain. Luckily, it is now just an artifact in a basement.

After a few modest paychecks, I decided to graduate from my dad's Huffy 10-speed. I went to a few different bike shops and checked out my options, but was amazed. Road bikes were expensive. Holy crap, why would anyone pay upwards of $2,000 for a toy?

I was so naive, even though I had spent the previous five years rowing in $30,000 carbon fiber 8-man rowing shells, or $5,000 single sculls.

The first bike I bought myself was a 2003 Giant OCR2 for $550 including some cash-back, admittedly from Performance Bike. I thought that was a stretch for my wallet. The bright blue bike came with some bombproof high-spoke MAVIC CXP33 wheels and Shimano Tiagra all around. Because I did not really know any better, it had a triple chainring.

I should address my opinion of Performance before someone questions it: I now share the same disdain for Performance that most maniacal cyclists do, but at the time I knew no better. It was the most accessible shop (and still is for many people). Quite frankly, the prices of bikes at boutique small-business shops was and still is absurdly higher.

Nowadays, I can afford to pay extra pennies for the relationship with a bike shop that goes along with being an addicted rider and racer. That relationship gets you quick service when you're desperate. Back then, as a newcomer to the sport, I did not know I needed that relationship, and could not afford it. All I needed and could afford was a bicycle with the best bang-for-buck value. Unfortunately, that bike did not come from most of the shops that support the cycling culture I enjoy being a part of today.

Quite frankly I was cheap (but that has a bad connotation, so I will call myself thrifty). I could not justify paying, for example, 25% more for a "brand name" at a bike shop when the components were the same low- to mid-level crap, and the frame was a similar mid-level Aluminum.

While Performance does little to promote the bike racing community locally, it provides access to cheapskates that want to ride. You gotta give them that. The Giant OCR2 I purchased at Performance was my all-access backstage pass to the cycling world.

It was the first bike I bought and I went on a lot of cool rides with that bike, so I could not justify selling it for a long time. I would only be able to pocket a few Benjamins for it, so I have indefinitely leased it to my pops. He takes care of it, but rarely rides it without me tagging along. It is basically a 6-7 year old bike in pristine condition. (Anyone need a size medium starter bike?)

I should add, my parents have one heck of a collection of bicycles in our house. That's a story for another post, but I think the count is up to 13 bikes, including the old huffy roadie, old kid's bikes, my old BMX, a few mountain bikes, and a tandem cruiser my dad got for pennies as a closeout.

Back to the Giant. I am pretty sure that at the time, I got a fair deal on that bike.

Within a year of getting into this crazy sport, I was getting addicted. I attended a few group rides, including Wakefield and Potomac Pedalers stuff. I did not know the proper etiquette at the time, and got kicked out of the B group on a Pedalers ride - they sent me up to the As. Whoops. Eventually I caught the fancy for nicer bikes, and wanted one of my own.

I did not just want a road bike, I wanted a race bike.

A year of riding later (occasionally with the GW Cycling team) and during the summer of 2004, a few more paychecks trickled in that afforded me liberty to peruse bike catalogs again. The simple truth is that I was still thrifty, but I lusted something better. A friend working as a manager at a shop had a "last year's model" he said I should check out.

The bike was a 2003 Fuji Team - the final year this particularly underrated bike was produced with an all aluminum frame. It was discounted to $1200 with 10% cash credit at the store, so I took the deal. This bike, on which I started racing at Greenbelt after another year in 2005, came with a workhorse setup: lightweight aluminum frame; Shimano Ultegra shifters (9-speed back then), brakes, and derailleurs; Ritchey cockpit, wheels, and crankset. It weighed a hair over 17 pounds stock.

Not bad for just over a grand, right? I realize that was not MSRP, but can you find that sort of deal now? I can only think of one example that comes close: the Cannondale CAAD9-4 or 5, but I think you understand where I'm going with this.

I rode and raced the Fuji through the spring of 2008. Through the years, I had been hit by a car and replaced the wheels. I had the quintessential scratched shifters and brake levers from random acts of negligence.

The rims had been scratched from a skidding wreck at the UMD crit. The frame had been dented when I ran over a crashed Bike Rack rider's head at a Chantilly Cold Toes race, and became a landing pad for another rider. The derailleur hanger and rear derailleur were bent in an accident caused by sub-par maintenance, when the old chain jumped the worn cassette into the rear wheel, locking it up and sending me skidding.

I pretty much rode that bike (and, because of a lack of maintenance, nearly my life) into submission. The term "fixer upper" did not resonate, so for months I shopped around. I had graduated and was fully employed, so my budget was about double from when I bought the Fuji.

I had been considering a stock Cervelo Soloist build with Ultegra, or a Ridley Excalibur with Rival, both for around $2,000. Catherine, instead, found me a 2007 S-Works Tarmac SL frame that had been offered to her by a Specialized Concept Store in Annapolis. To be honest, I did not want a Specialized at the time, simply because everyone rides a Specialized.

Well, there's a reason everyone drives a Honda Civic. I knew then paying retail, and still believe now since I've joined a team sponsored by Specialized, that they are great bikes. Had I not found another "last year's model," though, I probably would not have been able to afford the bicycle I built up. That is besides the point.

The shop had offered it to Catherine discounted as a replacement frame in 2007, but she wanted a Roubaix. When she called the shop again in 2008, it was still available and significantly cheaper. Their hard-to-refuse offer also included the BB30 Specialized Carbon crankset. (I think they were simply too lazy to uninstall it.)

When I cracked the numbers, I realized I could still hit my budget by using some parts from the Fuji. I purchased the frame, and had the shop build it up with the Ritchey components from the Fuji, the old Ultegra brakes, and the new Dura Ace 7800 shifters and derailleurs. The DA 7800 components were going on sale everywhere because Shimano had just announced that the 7900 groupset was being released later that year - a win for me. Later that summer, I also upgraded the wheels.

The total project - including build - was around $2500 for a pro-level carbon bike. It was the same frame ridden by Team Gerolsteiner in 2006 and 2007, and with the exception of the wheels, the same components ridden by many professional squads. It weighs 16.2 pounds.

My mom often asks me, "how much does your bike cost?" To prevent her from fainting, I have never answered her question directly. I do, however, try to clarify her curiosity. "Do you want to know how much I paid for it, or how much it's worth?"

The two numbers are very different. If I bought a stock S-Works Tarmac SL with Dura Ace back then, the bike would have been well over $5,000. That is nearly ten times the price of the Giant.

When I first purchased that Giant, I saw a road bike at a pricepoint; I did not realize that Tiagra was junk. After a year, I bought a bike that I thought was a step above what I needed (in price and componentry). It served me well, and then I upgraded again. Big time.

Contrasted to the price that most of us club cyclists pay for bikes, however, the cost of my Tarmac was not necessarily a bargain. Sponsor shops or bike sponsors definitely offset the damage on our wallets.

Somewhere in my own stable's inflation of getting better stuff, and then getting even nicer stuff, I lost track of the concurrent financial inflation going on in the bike world.

When I realized recently that I would need to drop nearly another $2,000 if I wanted to get a stock, race-worthy "rainy day bike" that was up to par with that workhorse Fuji, I was heartbroken.

To protect my S-Works, I was curious about another bike so I could have a back-up, but also something to ride without hesitation in bad weather and on crappy dirt roads. Instead of getting a used frame, I would have preferred a full stock bike because I am too lazy to build one all up again.

Perhaps that is the most significant factor that influences every cyclist's lustful bike inflation. Prices increase with time, but bikes (and wheelsets) multiply.

Really, though, I'm not bike shopping. Really.

I Want My Twenty Back

2010-04-06T21:04:00.010-04:00

With half of the NCVC hotshots racing Morgantown, I was summoned as a willing victim to join up for a long ride with my betters on Saturday. I really had been looking forward to this ride until Friday afternoon, when I left work early because I was pretty darn sick. I'd spent more time on the toilet than I had in front of my desk. Something flushed my tummy.

My butt traded locations the rest of Friday afternoon between the porcelain and the couch. My body wasn't absorbing anything. I was so dehydrated that I was literally bonking by being awake. I managed to stomach some easy foods like yogurt, soy milk, and applesauce, but that didn't help much. I passed out unusually early that night.

Around 5 a.m. on Saturday morning, I woke up feeling, well, hungover. In addition to a headache, my entire leg and back muscles were sore, as if I'd finished Jeff Cup again. Something was off, and it wasn't looking good for riding. I ate a 5:30 a.m. breakfast, drank a bunch of water, then took a nap.

I woke up in time for the ride anyway, surprisingly feeling like a champ. I simply had been dehydrated, I guess. Kitted up, weaved through tourists, and met up with some guys by the Jefferson. We TTT'd it down to Alexandria on the Mount Vernon trail to meet the rest of the group.

Yeah, that was one of the dumber decisions I've ever made. (Not to mention riding after food poisoning or something.)

The ride was fun as hell, lots of quick pacelining and then a bunch of leadouts/sprints. I felt good for the most part, until we left the little street of solace we'd used for the repetitions. As we headed back North, a stop at a gas station was a God sent. I needed water, but also the bathroom. Badly.

After refilling and draining, my body just shut down. To be frank, I started recognizing my own signs of shock. I was shivering in 73 degree sun. My body had again dehydrated and lost all sugar; it hadn't absorbed any of the fuel I'd eaten.

Doug, another guy that tagged along as a willing victim, had been having some trouble on the hills. The group didn't want to leave him behind, so I volunteered to drop back and ride with him.

I didn't really volunteer, though. I had to drop back. I was a danger to a group and didn't want to do something stupid or faint at speed. It was really Doug who would be escorting me back into town for about 20 miles heading North. That was probably the longest 20 miles I've ever ridden, but it wasn't the 20 miles of "lighting it up" with the team I had wanted struggle though.

I was a wreck back at home. My body released all its sustenance back at home once again, then I showered, snacked (pointlessly), and took a nap. I probably should not have ridden in the first place, but I did not want to wimp out, either. Then I had to wimp out after 60 miles. I was that guy.

When I woke up, I felt like a champ again. I'd already forgotten the fiasco that had been those last 20-some miles of my ride, but knew I shouldn't push my luck again. I did not want to be a burden on another group. Sunday was a chill Easter with the family, off-the-bike.

Today, I got my 20-some miles back. I usually go to a "sprints" ride on Eisenhower Avenue with a motley group of NCVC folks. Instead, I snuck over to Wakefield Park to join a bunch of Whole Wheel Velo racers and some other familiar faces for a labyrinth of a ride through suburban Virginia. Joey (WWVC) and Pete (Your Ad Here) kept me on the right path, because the route weaves, loops, and doubles back on itself constantly.

The "A" group is kept pretty darn quick thanks to the legs of one Mr. Vaughan from Haymarket, among others. The route is never quite flat, and rarely straight. As a guy that feels I need to improve in technical riding situations, Wakefield is the perfect medicine.

I forgot my HRM and Garmin, but my heart pounding in and out of my chest kept me sane and on the rivet. The ride doesn't stay on one road for more than half a mile, so I was on the edge holding drafts at speed through various sharp corners the entire time. Any hesitation in the tempo was followed up by an attack, and each attack followed by a feisty chase.

Throw a few bona fide sprints in, and it was excellent criterium practice. I was barely warmed up enough for the first half of the ride, but spent a darn good amount of time chasing the feisty folks (ahem, Mr. Vaughan) for no better reason than to be the chaser. I am pretty sure Pete got a good laugh about that.

I did not have the lungs to laugh. I was busy gasping from the surges and dizzy from all the turns.

At least my stomach didn't flip, so I got my miles back.

Luck or Legs

2010-03-31T23:58:00.001-04:00

It was a crappy winter, but I had a pretty good month of riding and racing. I pinned race numbers on twice and had little more than crappy weather to complain about after the finish line.

I cleaned my bike while downing an Arrogant Bastard Ale last night, so the machine was asking to be ridden. My very understanding boss gave me some leeway to escape the office and enjoy the nice weather, so I took the hint. The GW team has a "Wednesday Night Lights" ride starting at 8 p.m. (and you're more than welcome to join), but that was later. I was eager to ride.

With the extra free time, I rode up the Capital Crescent to Bradley, turning down Seven Locks and back on MacArthur. It was refreshing - I hadn't ridden alone in a while. Setting my own pace was something new, and a tailwind on the way back into the district was a boost. I refilled my water and met up with a good group of NCVC and GW folks for the Hains night ride. Nate and I, as usual, were trying to be the safety-conscious camp counselors, but certain people confused a social Wednesday night tempo with the Thursday evening sprints. Conflicting agendas, so we just let 'em go and tire themselves out a few times.

After Nate left, my attempts to subdue the eager legs with a tough but steady tempo did not work (yet the other guys did not stay in the wind very long, what gives?). Screw behaving. I told the antsy boys that if they wanted to sprint, I would lead them out. Instead of surging whenever they got bored, they could actually sprint at speed. I just kept shifting up on the final backstretch from 23 to about 27 or 28 mph, then pulled off and caught the back of the lineup.

Schlomo followed with a good tug, which took a hit on Chris and Rich, the vegan/vegetarian pair in the five-man lineup. The two herbivores did not have the primal rage to hold the wheel in front of them, so not-very-Little Nicky seized the opportunity. Dan and I were still catching our breath from quick pulls when Nick launched early.

I was already ten meters behind, gassed, and could not close his gap. I got close hoping Dan was on my wheel to jump up, but he had been totally caught off guard by Nick's surge.

One point for the big guy, but everyone wanted to go home after that.

My sprint night is Thursday, so I will be at Hains for the Thursday sprints, but with extra hesitation. Last week, a tourist with a camera stood in the middle of the road to get a picture of the peloton speeding under the cherry blossoms. Unfortunately, they could not tell how quickly us cyclists were approaching through their telephoto lens. That was just a close call, luckily. With the trees blooming, I am not that eager to be photographed in such a manner, nor do I want to become one with the rear bumper of an inept driver.

Plus, I rode a relatively quick fifty miles on a Wednesday night. I wish this was normal for me, but it is not. It was definitely a spontaneous workout. No need to push my luck weaving through tour buses at 30 mph when there is a nice weekend coming up.

It seems that when the weather gets nicer, my teammates try to plan their weekend rides earlier and earlier in the week. Since Monday teammates have been chatting about our Saturday riding plans. We are all over-anxious to ride.

Being the follower is fun. It takes a weight off of my shoulders when I don't have to be the guy encouraging other people to actually ride. Thankfully, it will not be difficult to get people pedaling this weekend.

While it is tough to play favorites, I enjoy having choices for my team's rides. I have pals riding all over DC, MD, and VA at various paces and distances. If Schlomo cannot convince me to road trip to Smithfield, I will definitely be enjoying (or suffering through) some tough miles.

Smithfield's appeal - or lack thereof - is tough to justify. A year ago I would pass any distant race off as a waste of a good day of riding spent in a car for 45 minutes of going in circles. The race bug stung me during the two previous races in this month, so a road trip is tempting. There is also an additional sweet topping of extra motivation: winning free pants.

I would say my season's fuzzy scope is set later in the calendar, but I am tempted to race. It is hard to ignore the urge to test your legs more, especially when its only your mind slowing you down.

Sunday's race in Charlottesville destroyed me physically for days, but mentally I recovered motivation quickly. It was definitely a challenge I needed. Add that to a decent result on Vint Hill, and I am eager to find out if luck or legs are pushing me across the line.

It is hard to choose: log a fun/tough 3+ hour ride on Saturday, or drive three hours (each way) to pay to race for only one hour.

Which will be more fun? Which will benefit me more now and later?

I know what you're thinking (cue peer pressure from my teammates): double up at Smithfield. I could, but that's expensive and the race bug did not give me that much of an itch.

At least not yet.

Race Report: Jeff Cup, Cat 1/2/3

2010-03-29T14:08:00.015-04:00

I don't really know many of the names or faces in the 1/2/3 field yet, so instead of telling the story, here's my point of view of the 1/2/3 race at Jeff Cup:

- - - -

Holy crap this is a huge field, and I'm the low guy on the totem pole.

Neutral roll-out? Why are we going 28 mph?

STOPPING!?!?!?!

Okay, relaxed now, this is more like it. Do your job, find your guy.

Crap here we go again...

STOPPING!!?!?! Why is this happening on this road? It's a highway! We're neutral!

- - CRACK - -

Oh, that was definitely the sound of broken carbon fiber back there, and we haven't even started yet. Someone is going home very, very unhappy. (Note: turns out it was Stephen Wahl's broken spoke, luckily he got back on.)

Jason Meidhof is asking who I am? That's either really good, or really bad.

Oh, we met at Jen's housewarming. Nevermind. "I'm the other hairy guy, I just shave more than you and Neiters."

Who are all these people? I don't know anyone.

Oh, I know him. And him. And him. Cat 1, Cat 1, and Cat 1, respectively. Oh, and that Cat 2 that only races road once a year.

Yeah, you, Taylor. Thanks for calling me out on the saddle bag. You got me.

Since we're waiting at the line (contrary to Ruth's instructions), let's toss that bag to the side of the road. And if half the Haymarket guys are gonna take a piss, I guess I should too.

Thanks for holding my bike, Bodge. I got a nice 2-pound upgrade there on the side of the road, since I tossed the saddle bag and peed.

Oh crap we're going now? Did they even blow a whistle or say go?

Find your guy, shadow your guy. Do your job. Wheelsurf up. Holy crap this is quick and there are way too many guys moving around.

My head hurts. Maybe the cap under the helmet was a bad idea. Brim up. Brim down. Loosen helmet. Brim up.

Two laps in now, holy crap, I'm sweating like a dog and I've already chugged an entire bottle. I definitely overdressed. Maybe I didn't need to wear tights and a thermal base layer under my thermal jersey. And wool gloves under my windproof gloves. And wool socks under thermal booties.

Feed zone, dump the empty bottle. Switch one from my borrowed wind vest (thanks Karan!!) to the bike. Ahhh, I'm lighter and nimble now, without a chunk of liquid whacking my butt when I'm out of the saddle.

No sweat here, pretty easy to keep positioning. Shadow my teammate, and fight the surges. This is fast and it hurts, but it hurts so good.

I can feel the hair on my chest growing every time I go down this descent spinning out my gears.

Stick the the middle-left, you know where the holes are here. Stick it. No brakes, don't need 'em!

Really, you don't need the brakes.

Two bottles for 50 more miles, hopefully that's enough.

This section is just super fun - downhill left to right 180. At 37 mph.

- CRACK - What the...?

F@*#!!!! My bottle popped out. BOTTLE!!!!

Congratulations, Siggy, you are so that guy.

Crap that wasn't even a pot hole, just a dip in the pavement! In two years riding in WV and over Poolesville dirt, I've never lost a bottle with these cages. Why did it have to start here?

Can I make it 50 more miles with 3/4 of a small bottle of sports drink?

Greg asked me if I've been eating. Kinda, if you consider chewing my tongue and gritting my teeth sustenance, then yes.

Snacktime.

Why don't they make Michelin Pro2Race tires anymore? These things are bomber and they're a lot more durable than the Pro3s.

Hmm, maybe I can snag a feed. Greg said we have feeders.

Just passed three laps! Yay! Why do we always go so fast through the start/finish stretch? Is it just to impress the spectators?

Ahhh and the young Justin Mauch saves the day. Thank you very-much for a textbook feed. (Thank God I didn't botch that and send another bottle flying.)

I needed that. Brain can settle down now. Let's waste energy thinking about the legs.

Rain, rain, go away...

My feet are officially soggy. Ensue misery, part one.

Halfway through the race, I made it halfway. Downhill from here.

Well, not really. I still have to climb this crap again.

I think I've been riding blind for about ten minutes now. Glasses on or off? What's everyone else doing?

Hmmm, no consensus. Let's lower the fogged-up glasses for now.

Rob: How you doing, Bert?
Me: I can't see sh*t.
Rob: You're not supposed to say that out loud...

Apparently I've got a lot to learn, but hey, I'm hangin'.

Faber is a machine today. That guy won't let a break go without a gay man's presence. Tough as nails, Greg.

Screw the glasses, they're coming off.

I CANNOT SEE $H!T DOWN THIS HILL HOLY CRAP WHERE AM I.

Glasses back on, definitely. A grey tint is not half as bad as descending at 40 mph like frikken' Popeye.

Hands soaked. Ensue misery, part 2.

Look, if I clench my fists I can water the grass!

At least we're taking the turns like we're racing big wheels.

Except for the fact that I can't slow down enough BEFORE the turn... holy crap that was frighteningly close to a massive charlie foxtrot. I'm not sure if I just peed in my pants a bit, or if I'm just SOAKING WET.

Get. Over. The. Hill. Keepin' it in the big ring, feeling okay.

Can I really hang on 20-some more miles?

Grrrr this hill is a lot longer than it used to be. Can I actually get up this puppy two more times?

Apparently nobody wants to crest the hill quickly. Perfect. Let's sneak on up...

Hey it's Tom from Coppi. He's been riding like Superman with his vest flailing like a cape for the better half of the race.

"How's it going, Tom?"
- "I'm so cold I can't feel my hands." -

Well that's probably why he hasn't zipped up his vest for the past five laps...

Overdressing for a race has never paid off so much.

Hmmm, obviously guys aren't making it a prerogative to go up this swerving, down-to-up kicker (after turn 2) very quick. Let's move up.

That was easy, every lap I gain like 10 spots. Sometimes it's nice being the little guy.

Holy crap they're flooding me on the outside now. Fatties. Well, as fat as really skinny, tall Cat 1/2s can be...

These guys in white and purple are all like 6-3. Nice to draft off of, but they need to work on their fashion.

Don't ride too close to the gutter, that's probably how you flatted last year.

Speaking of which... I've ridden 10 times the distance at Jeff Cup this year than I did last year. (Darn glass.)

**Only** 20 miles to go! YEAH. I could actually do this.

OH CRAP HERE THEY GO up the start/finish stretch again. I guess they have to impress their girlfriends. You know, because they're having so much fun watching us suffer in a downpour.

Hmmm, this pack has shrunk. How'd I end up near the back? I was doing okay...

Move way up before the hill JUST. IN. CASE. I never thought I'd have to use fatboy tactics before a hill.

Oh crap, gotta go up in the little ring this time. I'm sinking. At least I'm not the only straggler.

Did that lady just yell 40 seconds to the break? Or am I in a way-back chase group?

Made it, safe, now where's my guy? Move up, move up.

Purpose and [small] responsibilities to the team: without them, I don't know if I would still be pedaling right now.

Team helmets are a God-sent gift for finding your teammates.

As are shaggy haircuts. Ahhh, now I get it.

My back hurts. My fingers are frigid. I still can't see anything.

...but I hear a bell!!!

Gotta move up again for that last hill. It's getting too tough for me. Move up, move up.

This must be the calm before the storm. Too easy to move up.

NOT CALM up this hill. Little ring again. Hug the gutter, don't lose this wheel.

Okay, don't lose that wheel.

Nessie is smiling at me? Up the hill? Okay, now you really can't lose his wheel.

Big ring again, do it because it hurts. Move up over the false flat and get down this crap-shoot descent one more time. Rubber-side-down.

Find your guy, get to the front now. Hang.

Holy crap, I'm hanging in the front of the 1/2/3 race. Do I have any legs left? No. Is my back about to snap? Yes. Are my fingers and toes still attached? Not quite sure. But this peloton is much smaller than it used to be.

Wheelsurf up. Constantly. That's Dickey up the road, just hang in here up front.

Dickey is just toyin' with us.

Even Chuck Hutch isn't smiling in this craptastic weather. No token grin today, boys.

Fight for the wheels, NOBODY is nudging me aside. Move up with an NCVC guy or two in tow.

Who are these tall fatties? Just because I'm small doesn't mean I'm scared of your fat hips. That's my wheel and those are my teammates in front and behind me. Stay the heck over there, in the gutter, jerk.

Move up before the final turn, perfect positioning now in the front third. Chuck's two wheels up behind another Harley guy, you know he'll go for it. All my boys are nearby a few wheels up, too. Hang tough.

Hold speed through the turn... trust your tires...

Balls? Head? Oh, look, I'm still upright. Fear gone. Final 1.5 k.

Hang in there, don't let go of the wheel.

1k to go! I'm in the mix!

Uh oh.

Chooooo choooo... and the train is leaving the station.

C'mon legs! Shut up body and do what I tell you!

Darnit, okay, that wasn't to be - at least not today or not yet. Just set tempo back here with the other stragglers. In and out of the saddle. Don't crap out, legs.

Holy crap? That's the line? THANK THE LORD. Now let's pedal ten feet past it and turn right around IMMEDIATELY.

Joe D. won? How about that, a fellow Cat 3 won Jeff Cup. I guess I don't feel so bad about watching him ride away at Vint Hill. Or maybe that just means I really suck.

Thank God it's downhill to the parking lot.

My body is shaking, I can't control my bike. Must pedal harder.

Deadlegs. Frigid. Convulsing.

I wish it was uphill to the parking lot! Too cold!

OH MY GOD I MIGHT GET HYPOTHERMIC.

The unofficial race back to the parking lot: nobody wins and we all go to frigid hell and back just to get warm. No mercy, even after finishing a miserably wet and cold 70 miles.

FIND DRY CLOTHES.

Hmmm, this is a mysteriously large number of grown men stripping down in a public school...

Friday Ramblings: Tunnel Vision, etc.

2010-03-25T00:18:00.001-04:00

Tonight's sprints at Hains were pretty fun. The crosswind put an interesting spin on the group because you had to fight for the good positioning or you'd get stuck in the stragglers group of a disorganized echelon. At the same time, there was a substantial tailwind that made the tempo lively. Oh, and the cross-wind was so strong that you were constantly leaning into the gusts.

A bit of rain started sprinkling which sent most folks home, so a core group of Hains regulars kept at it. We basically took turns choosing who got stuck in the wind, and who got to be the gutter-man that was protected from the gusts until the sprint. Then we took a few chill laps.

Speaking of which, every time I ride with NCVC or GW novices, they lose the ability to take a "chill lap" as soon as they see the double yellow signs. I don't know why.

After a relaxed tempo with Tim B., Tom B., Greg A., Chris Chap and Michelle H. from CAWES (who hung tough and beat up on the guys all night) Dan and I took a few social laps with short kicks at the end.

Tailwinds are super fun.

- - - -

These past few weeks I've been able to take advantage of the nice weather a few nights and go for a ride after work. It's been refreshing, but it's also a reminder of how narrow the scope of my activities has become.

On one late night ride, I rode with a small group of my collegiate cycling pals from GW and Georgetown. For a pair of laps I rode next to Monika, a new member of NCVC and Georgetown's cycling team, too.

We talked about bikes and how we got into it. She joined NCVC to train for cycling, which is only a fraction of the repertoire of skills required for adventure racing - her real sport. I told her I got into cycling when I began my indefinite hiatus from rowing.

She asked if I had ever considered adventure racing. To her surprise, I answered, "Many times."

I told her that I used to backpack and hike a lot. Though my family's blood is warm from the Puerto Rican sun, I have decent abilities on both the snowboard and skis. I was once a whitewater canoeing/kayaking and rock climbing instructor for my former Boy Scout troop.

To my mom's dismay, I still have all the gear in my parents' basement. It's an understatement to say that I'm a member of REI, and you could go as far as saying that I used to be a man of the wilderness. Formerly, I spent my weekends in Gore-Tex boots or a life jacket instead of Sidis.

The time I enjoyed outdoors drove me to try rowing early in high school. Throughout college, a number of distractions kept me from playing in the woods too much. When I stopped rowing and bought a bike, it was not just for fitness, but for exploration. The bike was a vehicle to other places, anywhere but here, really.

Like many rowers-turned-cyclists, though, I eventually got stung by the race bug. It is too hard not to chase a finish line once you've been a racer of any kind.

Though my eyes now have tunnel vision for a duct-tape finish line, in my periphery is a lot more exploration than the average bike racer. I realize that I limit myself by avoiding strict training plans, but in many ways I'm not limited by the training itself. Lots of my rides are for riding's sake, and with no finish line in mind. I like it that way.

I ride to try new things, to share experiences with friends (or get my butt kicked by them), and to see things a different way. When those collide, the experience is priceless.

I have turned a hobby into a lifestyle, but I'm confident it's for the better. Like paddling through rapids a bit out of my comfort zone, I have to fight bits of fear when I flow through a quickly fluid pack of bike racers. And I'm constantly left more breathless than any mountain I've peaked. For any of these sports, there's a relief for the accomplishment, and perhaps concurrent physical destruction.

When there's not a finish line, speed is as consequential as I want it to be. That's the antithesis of a bike race, where keeping up is the expectation and your limits are tested more by your competition than the terrain.

This sport is full of opportunity for me to push my physical and mental boundaries. This weekend, for example, I haven't been so excited to be in way over my head in a competition in a long time. I have ridden the Jeff Cup course dozens of times, but I am sure I've never seen it this way.

Race Report: Vint Hill Classic, Cat 3/4

2010-03-20T18:22:00.012-04:00

**Updated with Garmin file (speed and HR, not power).**

I can't think of a creative way to start out this post, oh well. It was a beautiful and unusually warm day for my first race of the year, the Vint Hill Classic. The race is a triangular criterium with a 1.2-mile loop around a recreational park. The pavement is perfect and aside from two sewer holes, the corners are cake. (Turn 2 is even banked a bit on the inside line, which is super fun.)

The start/finish line was immediately before the first turn, which the risk mitigation side of me had to question. Why didn't we just simply leave the finish where it was, but start immediately after the turn instead? Surely it wouldn't be a pretty site to see 102 crazies like myself attempting to clip-in to their pedals while sprinting through the first turn.

Luckily, the first turn wasn't an issue, and the race got up to speed immediately. I thought I'd fought for good positioning after that first corner but immediately got swarmed and thrown into the colorful mix of the group. There was large representation of 8-10 guys each from District Velocity, GamJams, and Bike Doctor. Everyone else was a bit lighter, including NCVC. We started only with James L., Schlomo (aka Dan S.), and yours truly.

The 20-lap race never quite "settled down" or fell into a pattern, unless chaos itself becomes a pattern. Within three laps, Joe Dombroski turned on his afterburners and simply rode away from the entire pack. His lead would never stop growing.

All attempts at chasing his solo break weren't just futile efforts, but weak and uncooperative ones. Another Haymarket rider perfectly set himself in second or third wheel for a pair of laps and nobody seemed to do anything about it. I fought my way up to the wind-fighting mix and took a good pull and that rider got behind me. I successfully pulled off to the wrong, downwind side of the road which safely cut him out of the lineup. That worked for a bit, but it didn't matter - Joe was gone.

Photo by Joe Mallis.

Dan and I both spent most of our time protecting our own positions (getting swarmed, then swarming back to the front), but we also each hit the wind pretty hard now and again.

At some point early in the race, I looked at my Garmin to see my heart rate in the mid- to high-180s after a good pull. We were speeding through the course upwards of 26-28 consistently. Instead of stressing about it, I committed to not look at my heart rate again. I prefer riding by feel and I felt winded but okay. There was no use in getting bad news from my HRM.-

Schlomo spent a pair of laps off-the-front with a GamJams rider and some other guy. On that second lap, I saw Dave K make a nasty kick to bridge up. That was a smart move.

I was very far up before turn 3, and I thought this would be a great move. I kicked hard to spread the guys out behind me, nearly crapped my pants by how quick I took that turn, and jammed it up the little hill. Over the crest, I flew past the break, which Dave was leading. I yelled to him, "let's go." We flew through the corner after the start/finish and rotated a bit, but to no avail.

GamJams, DVR, and Bike Doctor never got their trains organized to minimize the loss the pack took against Joe D. It was obvious we weren't catching him. Bike Doctor riders were pretty aggressive, sometimes stupidly. At least twice I saw them chase down their own teammates. Thanks guys!

No thanks, though, to the many riders in the field that think it's polite and courteous to bomb the inside line before the corners. It's dumb and unsafe when you then have to push back to the outside and slam the brakes.

That was just part of the sketchiness, but you had to be pretty darn fueled to protect your position. I hadn't been looking at the lap counter much (because it was hidden behind a huge tree), but with 8 laps to go I was nowhere near the front and making little progress.

Pointless attacks kept flying 20 yards up the road to be immediately caught and countered, which was fine with me. I managed to fight to the front on the third to last lap, and with two to go was pretty darn happy with my "sweet spot" positioning and did some scary maneuvering to stay there. Some guys were yelling for the group to get organized to catch Joe, but that was hopeless excitement.

With one lap to go, we flew very fast between turns 1 and 2, but there was a lag into the wind on the backside. That punched the sharp end of the race flat, which put me farther up going into the final turn. Perfect. I was sitting in the top 10, but we were 3-4 wide. I was in the 2nd or 3rd row. Nice.

Unfortunately, I had no clue where Dan was. We'd wanted to go into the last lap near each other. No dice.

By that time - with half a lap left - Joe had already basked in glory with the solo, time-trial like victory and was prepping for the 1/2/3 race. It would be a race for second.

My hometown pal Andrew Bridges, also from Haymarket, took off. I didn't realize who it was at the time, but it was a perfect move, though a bit early. I liked it.

I didn't like, however, the calm before the storm that I was sitting on the edge of. Too many guys were doing nothing up front, which meant guys were doing even more nothing behind us. I also knew that guys had been lagging up the no-very-tough hill, and it was one of the spots I could easily make up ground.

So I gunned it about halfway between turns 2 and 3. After all, I'm a flyer, not a sprinter.

It took just about all of the matches I had left in my matchbook to gap the field. I was out of the saddle for a heck of a long time, then sat down low and on the tip of the saddle into the turn. I was cookin' it so hot into that turn I actually scraped my pedal as I was yelling "outside" to the Haymarket rider so he wouldn't cut into me.

I just kept drilling it up the hill in hopes of gapping Andrew, but that didn't do much more than lead him out. When I looked back over the crest of the hill, we had at least 30-40 yards on the field. That was just enough.

I just kept low and hammering it, even with a guy on my wheel. Had I known it was Andrew - who packs a mean finish-line punch - I might have thought twice. Instead, I figured second or third would be better than a pack finish. I looked back again to make sure I'd make it.

Andrew jolted passed me pretty early and easily, and when I looked back for the last time I was able to sit up before the line in third place. We'd really taken off against the field, which was pretty darn neat.

After the line, Andrew shook my hand and tossed me some kudos. That's when I finally realized it was him. We met during a few races last year when we found out we grew up in the same neighborhood but went to different schools. Nobody likes to get beat to the line, but if there's a sprint I'll forgive myself about it will be against him.

So Joe wears the pants for the "GamJams Cat 3 cup" with an impressive win, although I doubt he'll be a Cat 3 much longer. Schlomo managed to finish 11th, which disappointed him but was still impressive for such a messy race.

--

Here's my garmin data. The beginning of it shows my warm up lap, which I took fairly hard to preview the corners at speed. You can also see my surge at the end which put me in the red for a good minute. If you look at the speed (in blue), the second to last sharp spike is where I attacked the field (at 35 mph) before the final curve, and that was actually faster than my sprint. I was cooked by then.

(Click the image for the full-size, non-blurry screen shot.)

-- That's that. --

I don't know what's in the water for Cat 3/4 races, but all three that I've raced in the past two seasons have had all-out scary, sketchy, and messy riding. For numerous reasons but mainly because of safety, I'll always prefer a straight Cat 3 or Cat 4 race. Is it just me?

Next weekend at Jeff Cup, however, I'd prefer a Cat 3/4 race. Once again, thanks to the organizers, that's not an option. Us non-masters Cat 3s will have to suffer through the 72-mile Pro/1/2/3 event. We get no love, and most Cat 3s give no love back to Jeff Cup. I understand it's an age-graded (read: old guy) party, but it discourages Cat 3s from racing a great event. Walkersville a few weeks later is in the same boat.

No love.

Daylight Riding Time

2010-03-18T23:28:00.005-04:00

Well that was fun, even though I was hacking up a lung and blowing snot all over the road.

Going early bird style at work today allowed me to escape early and ride. It's hard not to when it's 70 degress in march. It's even more tempting when it's the first Thursday after daylight savings time. You know what that means...

Hains. Sprints.

I rode a few laps chill while an actual group formed. Luckily, because I'd been tooling around the point with a few other NCVC and DVR guys, we became the group. Convenient.
Little Nicky was warming up with me, mainly because I chastised him via text message until he agreed. I'd told him that the Thursday sprints were great preparation for racing, so he was already curious. The conversation was something like this:

Me: Hains. It's Thursday.
Nick: Ooh, is this like the actual thing already?
Me: We make it the thing.

That's right. It's Thursday and we're riding at Hains point. It's like entering a boxing ring. You have to expect to get whacked and throw a few punches.

If Hains was the boxing ring, tonight was WrestleMania. Everyone was enjoying the good weather and the group grew to probably 50 riders. It was pretty neat, especially because there were tons of familiar faces - the regulars. We all know each other, and we all want to get home in one piece.

Also, the teams of tri-geeks weren't getting in the way yet. Plus.

I guess I had forgotten how much like a thirsty Thursday happy hour this is for me. The ride works into my schedule, so it's like walking into a bar after work for a few rounds. After one too many, though, the regulars you like to chat with get punch drunk and pummel each other. It's fun, especially when you stumble home feeling dizzy and satisfied.

Tonight was a bit friendlier, though no slower than you'd expect. On the first quick lap I half-wheeled Nick to pick up the pace on the backside. He looked back at the group and said, "I bet people are gonna sprint this lap."

Duh. That's why I'm picking up the pace!

We hovered near the front and that first lap was a gap-fest. I dodged a few crazy folks and bridged up about 5 wheels, then surged forward to one of my teammates way up the road. Turns out it was Chapel. We'd created a huge gap before the line, so I told him we should probably sit up before we hump the exhaust pipes of the cars in front of us. Pretty cool to lead my first sprint of the year with Chapel, whose wheel I probably held during my final Hains sprints last fall. This was also really the beginning of my harder workouts for the year.

After that, things were kinda redundantly blurry. Jeff from Georgetown attacked into the headwind on one lap, and nobody chased. I got bored, so I had to represent my alma mater and cross-town rival, GW. At first I figured I'd save Jeff the torture of hanging out to dry and catch him quickly, but then the wind hit me. I had to take my painful time but strung out the group and eventually caught him (good solo dig, Jeff). I pulled off behind him and patted him on the back as we sank to the heavier end of the peloton.

Near that end of the group I saw Rich. He'd been up front at one point or another, but I figured I'd help him spice it up a bit. I yelled at him during the bit of recovery and told him to get on my wheel.

He did, and no sooner was the group strung out - chasing Jeff again. I ferried us into a decent position as a later "breakaway" of five guys was getting reeled in. The boys that had dragged us up were getting lazy, so I knew we'd get swarmed. I didn't want to push it yet, but I didn't want to get stuck in the mess, either.

I shifted, gave rich a signal, and turned up the heat. Head down, ass on the tip of the saddle, and hands high on the hoods - that's my power position. I drilled it for a good long while and started looking down for shadows as I swerved through the wind. I counted two folks on my wheel, and I was sure the first one was Rich.

Riding and racing with good friends that are also your teammates is awesome. You can be totally selfless and satisfied. If I left any void in the Cat 4 ranks at NCVC, I'm filling it with my two good friends Rich and Nick, who I hope will be racing with me in 3s within a year. Mostly, I conned them both into joining NCVC mostly so I'd never have to race against them.

For now, we were racing together at Hains. We had surged early, so I was getting drained though. I made it to about the double sewers before I had to click easier, and flicked my elbow. Rich came past with fastman DJ on his wheel. Whoops. DJ knows my tricks, and he's a savvy sprinter. Them two duked it out for the line (with a predictable ending).

After that, though, I patted Rich on the back. That's how you lead out a pal and shatter the field. It would have been nice to have had a third guy with us, but Nick had already left. Oh well.

After about five or six sprint laps, my sore throat got the better of me. The hard breathing was burning so I tried to soothe the pain with some Gu Chomps I recently picked up. I like Clif Bloks a lot so I figured I'd give them a try. They are marvelous, but it was a HUGE mistake to eat them with a dry, sore throat. I don't know why, but they stung like hell.

The legs and lungs felt good with adequate recovery, but the phlegm was really a barrier to enjoying the ride. The more my sinuses cleared up, the more I would cough and the more my nose would run. I turned off the adrenaline and took two laps with Greg A. (as he was doing spin-ups) and a few of the NCVC juniors. Cool way to cool down while chatting, and Cat tagged along.

On the last lap, two of our newer juniors, Harry and Solomon, duked it out for the line against a Fred. Instead of sprinting, I looked at Catherine and said, "Hey Catherine, smoke 'em!"

She did.

2 Muddy Rides + Old House + 2 Dogs + 1 Fireplace + Beer = Lots of Snot

2010-03-16T22:58:00.005-04:00

Went to WV this weekend to a teammate's remodeled, historic farmhouse, called Glennifer farms. The Chuckwagon described it best to me months ago as a manse. That was right on.

The trip was for a Cat 4/5 training camp that a few of us Cat 3s were invited to attend to promote synergy across the categories, give the newer guys a different perspective, and challenge the Cat 4s. Unfortunately, the weather didn't cooperate.

Glennifer farms is in a Valley by the Cacapon river (aka Lost River, but downstream from when it emerges from being "lost"). The abundance of water falling from the sky melted snow all over the Lost River Valley, which flooded the river. That meant that the road into and out of Glennifer Farms was flooded over on one side, and inches from flooding on the other side. Glen, the namesake of the farm and our generous teammate, warned us that we might be "flooded in" if we didn't leave.

Most people left.

Some of us rode anyways. Fifteen of us, actually. It was a great, soaking wet ride. My second in as many days because I rode the previous day with Jason H, a strong Cat 4 teammate that is breaking our hearts by moving to Alaska. Jason and I got soaked riding on Friday to and from a small mountain, which we rode up and down twice. Apparently we didn't get the point from the weather gods.

The not-quite-big group ride planned for Saturday was awesome, though cold, windy, and wet. I'd usually limit my rides to have only two of those obstacles. The mileage turned out to be about 45, and it would have been more if the road to an out-n-back climb we tried to get to wasn't flooded. It had been clear less than 24 hours before, and now there was over two feet of standing water on the road. Pretty crazy.

I tried to behave by never pushing the pace, but some of the other guys put some pressure when they took the lead. I'd follow. During one of the early climbs, our ride leader pushed the pace and a few guys jolted passed him up the climb. I followed, but most of them blew up within site of the crest. The climb was followed by a number miles of bumpy, curvy and gradual descents with flooding streams crossing over the road. I just set tempo with Karan, a Cat 4, following my wheel. We got happily soaked.

Glen lead and followed in his truck to provide a bit of safety in the messy conditions. He lead us down the hill and stopped before a crucial, hidden left turn. He sent us up a long hill before a stop, and told us to come back and ride it again to let the others catch up. I was happy to oblige.

On my way up the second time, a bunch of the other guys descended for a second fight against gravity too. Apparently they didn't get the memo that Glen was handicapping me. Some of them were under the impression is was an out-and-back climb. Haha. Whoops.

And no, I didn't go up a third time.

On another up-and-down stretch will a few consecutive steep hills, Jason pushed the pace. We were given the go-ahead to swing our own pace until the next stop, so I followed. I'd match his billy goat-like launch up the hills, then crest strong. Him and I traded some serious pulls for a few miles in breakaway mode, and nobody was able to catch up on the curvy kickers the few miles before the next town.

There wasn't a town-line sign, but I stood up to sprint (while leading Jason) before the final intersection. When I looked back he was drafting with one hand in front of his face to block the spray from my wheel. That was fun and awesome stretch, and Jason is one hell of a rolleur. He's the type of racer that likes to spice things up, and the type of teammate that I would love to race with more.

The rest of the ride was pretty casual. We backtracked on the hilly stretch that Jason and I had broken away on, but this time we tried to keep things together. That worked until the big, steep hills. Sometimes, you're forced to slap it in the granny gear and go at your own pace. That we did, which spread the group thin again.

Jason made my day on one of those hills. One of the novices asked what gears I had on my bike, because I was spinning while everyone else was mashing. "50-34 with a 11-26," I told him.

"You can't win a bike race with a compact crankset," Jason teased the new guy since he knew it was a peave when people criticized the compact. "That's like seeing bigfoot."

On the final stretch, Andrew was leading the group by keeping things calm to get everyone back into town together. I stayed near the back trying to behave, shivering and wet. My reflexes got the better of me when James L attacked, with Jason on his wheel. Just a few miles from the final town (read: a store and gas station), called Yellow Springs.

James launched Jason and then fell off of his own ruthless tempo. Jason kept going, until we went down a huge hill that shot straight back up. He hit the wall about halfway up, and I considered bolting right there. Instead I just annoyed him by talking his ears off. He called me out on it, so we started working together.

Again, Jason missed the sprint because he couldn't see around the spray of my tires.

Only nine of us ended up staying at Glen's farmhouse that night, plus two dogs and a few cases of beer. We basically relaxed in front of the fireplace and ate all afternoon and evening. The combination of riding two consecutive days in the rain/dirt/mud while staying in a farmhouse with pups and drinking beer next to a fireplace definitely got the better of me.

On the drive home Sunday I felt an itch in my throat. Now it's a full-blown fever and head cold with sporadic sneezing and coughing. It sucks, especially on the first week with longer evenings. I really just wanna ride while the weather is nice out, but my body does not possess any semblance of life this week - one where I'm busy in at work as it is. A calm before a storm of races and fun workouts in the next two weeks will not hurt.

Vint Hill is this weekend, and I'm excited to be racing again. I'm in the Cat 3/4 event. It will be my first race of the season and apparently there's a target on my back. That's a nice compliment, especially to have my name included with some guys I'd consider Cat 3 hotshots, upcoming Cat 2s, and shoe-ins for a sandbagger-of-the-year awards. I'm a total newb in Cat 3 compared to most of them.

Before anyone makes assumptions, I won't use this tissue destroying snotty sickness as an excuse for laying low on Saturday. I hope to race smart, strong, and finish well, but I am confident I will not be the only NCVC racer making a big impact since some of them have already been sharpening their swords. I am, after all, a late-bloomer when it comes to racing throughout the season. I like June/July/August races because I do not start pedaling hard until the days get longer. Hopefully the flooding at Hains Point will dissipate soon.

I was looking forward to doubling up with the 1/2/3 race at Vint Hill but they'd be back-to-back events. My opinion is that it's a dumb schedule to make the Cat 5 and Cat 4/5 events back-to-back, as well as the Cat 3/4 and Cat 1/2/3 events. That will discourage Cat 3 and Cat 5 racers from doubling up because they'll get less recovery between events and will not have as much time to decide to register "last minute" because of a senseless cravings to get their ass kicked again.

Oh well, I guess some people like the back-to-back stuff so you don't have to spend all day at the races. I'm not a soccer dad (read: masters racer), so I have nothing better to do than chill with my cycling pals between events. Cycling is my Saturday.

If I'm not feeling better by the weekend, I'm definitely not pushing my lungs' luck by racing twice in a row anyway, though. I'll just lay it all out there during the Cat 3/4 events to see if my legs have any pop in March.