May 26, 2015 CCAP Tuesday Night Race

"So what's the plan tonight?"

"Well, the first week I just sat at the back. I didn't know how hard it'd be so I just saved as much as I could. I think I can be more active though. I don't want to just sit at the back, I want to be involved a bit more. Maybe be up near the front more and stuff like that."

Yeah, yeah.

Start. Most of the field, it was a small race tonight.

I dislike small fields. It's depressing, as a promoter, and it's difficult, as a racer. Less shelter, less room for error (meaning if I go too hard somewhere there are fewer people to pass me before I get shelled), and overall it exposes my weakness (lack of FTP) and doesn't allow me to maximize my strengths (hiding from the wind).

So when only a couple dozen riders lined up I felt a bit dejected. A few more riders rolled up late but still, it wasn't a big group. I counted the local pro (just one of them), the guy that won Raritan P12 and Somerville Cat 2s in the last two days, a former M35 Canadian Cross champ (okay, he's my teammate), a couple Cat 1s, a bunch of Cat 2s… yeah.

The antagonists getting ready at the front.

Of course those that could got to the front, looking to put down the pain early. I thought about what the Missus asked me on the way to the race, and I thought about my answer. I decided that I'd go with whatever big moves, no matter what it took, and try to hang on.

Two to the left attacking hard.

I saw the pro and a Cat 1 go for it. A few others followed, but I couldn't see them because I was a bit far back. But I knew that the pro would go, the Cat 1 was good for a break, and there were enough guys going up the road that this was the move.

The front group is going away - it's the race and I know it.

I knew that at least two teams would be blocking. I didn't realize it but one of my teammates followed the move. Had I known that I'd have sat in, but I didn't see him and the move was going away so fast I had to go as soon as I could find room to move.

The view as I launched.

After Turn 3 (the break went at Turn 2), I launched hard. I launched so hard I hit numbers I haven't seen all year. 1266w jump. 1100w for 10 seconds. 750w for 30 seconds.

Going past two guys, on the way to the front group.

About 15 seconds in, maybe 20 seconds, I haven't checked, I rolled by two guys that weren't quite on. I was starting to realize that I'd gone way too hard but at this point I wasn't going to slam on my brakes so I kept going.

Effort.

Arg.

About to bridge at Turn One.

It took me until just after Turn 1 to bridge. I got some satisfaction when I looked back. The break had a solid 1/3 lap lead on the field and this was only the 3rd lap of the race.

I knew I'd gone too deep and the only thing that would save me is if they went sort of steady for, I dunno, the next 30 minutes.

The break goes hard out of Turn Three and I'm done.

Yeah, right. About 30 seconds later the front guys punched it out of Turn 3 and I was ejected like there was no tomorrow.

Waving to Junior and the Missus.

I couldn't get back into the field, nothing. I was absolutely and totally cooked. I spent a number of laps waving to Junior, who looked very worried the first time I saw him. I must have been making faces and stuff, plus I wasn't going "bike racers very fast" like I normally do.

More waving, this time he was clapping.

I felt better when I saw him clapping. That was better than looking at me all worried and stuff.

Cooked and unable to do much of anything.

My numbers were pretty pathetic. I had nothing.

Lance, good guy and former teammate, rolled by.

Lance, who helped immensely at the Bethel Spring Series as well as the Aetna Nutmeg Spring Series, lapped me a few times, like everyone else. Of course the first thing he said when he lapped me was to get on his wheel so he could pull me along.

I asked him if he was off the front. He was, and in fact I think he was 4th on the road. So I tried to repay him for all the laps he rode at the front for me, all the hours he marshaled, all the hours he swept and brushed and plowed at Bethel, for the help in troubleshooting some of the small engine problems we had on various Sweep Days.

Pulling for Lance.

I couldn't pull him much, just 3/4 of a lap, but I tried to make it count by pulling into the wind, hard, and sitting as high up as I could so I could give him shelter. Seems a bit sad that that's all I could do for him, but there will be other races, other opportunities to try to give something back.

Lance on my wheel.

The long shadows make me look tall but Lance towers over me.

All I can do.

I couldn't pull more than that and I had to tell him to go after a much-too-short pull.

The Missus asked me what I was doing, circling at 10 or 12 mph. It's a sign of how slowly I was riding when a spectator can ask me a detailed question and I could give a detailed answer. I told her I'd do a sprint and stop. I wanted to do a sprint with a clear course. Then the break lapped me (they had lapped the field twice I think so it was a different set of people) so I decided to do my sprint that lap and make it a bridge as much as a sprint.

Before I jumped, that's the break ahead of me.

This is exiting Turn 3 so just the straight plus the curve and then the finish line. I wanted to bridge by the finish line. The break was maybe 2/5 of the way to the line.

Mid effort.

I did what I could on the jump. It wasn't great but it was okay.

Bridge at the finish line, sort of.

I bridged shortly after the finish, coasting up on them as I closed the last few meters. I went straight at Turn 1 when they went left - I knew I was done and made a U-turn and found the Missus and Junior playing in the field.

Junior jumping up and down.

With Junior so happy to see me it was hard to be upset about my race. I felt disappointed, of course, but I took away the one positive - I could read the race perfectly. I knew the move to follow, I just couldn't follow it.

So I played with Junior, caught up with friends, and then packed up and headed home.

Helmet Cam - Aug 12, 2014 CCAP Tuesday Night Race, Bs

Action moment from the race

This is the last in the trio of the CCAP Tuesday Night Race clips I've worked on. I don't think there are any compelling stories in the other weeks of racing but if someone thinks there might be then let me know.

The full race report is here but the basic bit is that the team, and by "the team" I mean Heavy D, decided that it would be my night on August 12th. He set things up for me and handed me a field sprint on a platter.

However, due to the miserable forecast, I thought that the race would be canceled. Therefore when I dropped off a car for service I made a number of really hard efforts, thinking that this ride back home might be my ride for the day.

Of course the race didn't get canceled, even if we got rained on just a touch.

Enjoy!

Helmet Cam - July 29, 2014, CCAP Tuesday Night Race Bs

This is the second in a series of three helmet cam clips I've made from the 2014 CCAP Tuesday Night Races. The original race took place July 29, 2014 with my report here.

Another example of tactics and teamwork. I try to offer some advice to others as well.

Enjoy!

Racing - June 23, 2013 Keith Berger Crit Cat 3s

The Keith Berger Crit. This is a standard crit for me now. It has some significance to me at different levels. I met and raced against Keith Berger at Bethel. Back then he was "the guy in purple" because he wore a generic purple jersey. It didn't matter what he wore - he demolished the field, winning from breaks and winning field sprints. He quickly moved out of the 3s and therefore disappeared from my week to week race interactions. I might have seen him line up in a P123 race but I'd be at the back and he'd be at the front. I wouldn't call what I did "racing" and his Cat 2 status put him in different races or at different ends of the field if we were in the same race.

Another significant thing is that in 2011 the Missus was pregnant when we came to the race. We didn't know it at the time but Junior was already a tiny ball of cells. Although the race wasn't a resounding success for me (I sat up in the last lap of the P123 race) it wasn't bad either. The bonus was a short time later when we found out that Junior was on his way.

Nowadays the Keith Berger Crit is much closer to home. It makes it a home race, if you will, just like any race at New Britain and all the races at the Rent (@TuesdayTheRent). It's a quick jaunt down the highway and presto, we're at the race.

Today was supposed to be okay in the morning, like mid 70s, and warming up to the mid-80s by the midafternoon.

Right.

When we got there it was already in the 80s, and by the time my race finished it was 93 degrees (95 degrees after we got going).

Unfortunately I played it pretty close to the edge in terms of ice water and such. I was so confident in the 80 degree max forecast that I gave a precious bottle of ice water to a teammate (who, it turned out, suffered from heat exhaustion, so I'm glad he had some ice water). I even skipped installing the second bottle cage on my bike.

So Mister Unprepared started the race with one half full bottle of ice water in his pocket and one full bottle of ice water in the single bottle cage mounted to the frame. Not a lot for a 30 lap race (which was another thing - I didn't bother checking the race distance).

30 laps, 1 1/2 bottles, really hot... not good.

On the plus side we had a very solid team. Two of us had some legs - Mike and Jeff - and three of us had our life excuses - Chris, Rick, and myself. We all started out with the plan of no-plan: "Let's see how it goes". My thoughts ran along the lines of seeing if I could help Mike or Jeff. I held outside hopes on Chris and Rick, both of whom tend to understate their fitness and who try to make the most of a good situation.

Lining up for the start.

As I told the guys before the start, I've been good for 20-30 minutes in each of the races I'd done for the last few weeks. I feel great at the start, fantastic. At White Plains I started plotting how to approach the last lap just two laps into the race.

The problem is that this feeling of "good legs" goes flying out the window at about minute 20. From there it's a death march until I either get shelled or, infrequently, roll across the finish in the middle of the field.

My plan then was to go hard in the first 20 minutes or so, look for a prime or two, and then see how long I could last. This meant that when I saw a move go early in the race I tried to go with it.

Watching a move develop on the right side.

A guy in green and orange dieseled his way off the front. A CLR guy (they've been riding super strong recently) jumped across to him. A few more riders seemed to dwaddle off the front of the field so I went by to try to catch the train before it left the station.

Move is coalescing - I go.

The guy in green and orange just pulled like a locomotive, but we didn't have the speed to get that initial gap which is so important. Also the CLR guy on his wheel didn't want to pull and, honestly, I was rapidly running out of gas. I looked back a few turns later and the field was strung out on my wheel.

The counter after the field caught the move.

A slew of counter moves spelled the end of our little escapade and most of us sank into the field. I actually passed the green guy as he drifted back a bit more than me. The CLR guy... there were enough of them that I couldn't keep them straight.

A short time later a BANG and that familiar but sickening sound of metal on the ground.

A lap later the guy that pulled for that first move blew a tire.

The green orange guy had most of his tire off the rim, tube hanging out. He obviously had a massive tire failure. Unfortunately the guy that took the brunt of the hurt was a CLR rider, an unwitting accessory to the incident. I think I know who it was but I don't want to say because I don't know for sure. Whatever, I think he's a regular at Bethel and it was unpleasant seeing him on the ground.

The field neutralized itself on its own, racing just a lap until we all passed by the crash scene and the rider was still down. At that point racing become secondary to the fate of the rider on the deck. CLR went to the front to set a steady tempo, even when the bell rang for a prime. No one sprinted and the officials neutralized the prime.

Until the officials neutralized the race the CLR guys neutralized it.

I felt pleasantly surprised to see the solidarity among the racers. The guy on the ground was getting proper attention so we just eased. It wasn't easy for me, mind you, but it was definitely a step down in terms of throttle.

Red flagged race.

The officials neutralized the race, making official what we had collectively already done. We all stopped on the shade side of the road, a couple guys topped off their bottles (me included, when a teammate David came by with ice water), and we waited. The officials didn't seem super absorbed in damage control so I felt the rider's injuries were "normal", if you will.

We got started with two alleged neutral laps before the racing started showing 20 to go. After one neutral lap they rang the bell. There was a schedule to try and keep so we got down to racing quickly. The neutral lap was good though - everyone could sort of get back into it, no racing from the gun on legs that got a bit cold.

CLR's Nutmeg State Champ

The race winning break went, although we didn't know it at the time. At some point I'd said to Mike and Chris that I was working for Jeff. They nodded their agreement and so it was. Rick had suffered heat exhaustion at this point and had dropped out of the race. Some ice water, some hanging out in the shade with his wife and very young son, and he seemed to be okay.

Jeff launching, trying to get across to the break.

Jeff didn't know that we'd all decided to work for him and at some point, with Mike driving the field trying to keep the break within shouting distance, Jeff launched. He attracted one other rider and together they tried to ride away from the field. Unfortunately after a lap they hadn't gotten the gap and the two slid back into the field.

Crash. Riders at all sorts of lean angles.

If the crash split the race into two parts (and created the first defining moment) then the second defining moment was the crash in Turn Two. The field was all together, riding at a reasonable pace (not insanely fast, not stupid slow), and suddenly sliding metal and carbon fiber.

Riders went around the crash in both directions. As I rolled by I couldn't help but notice a bare carbon rim on the back of one of the two bikes.

Culprit: rolled tire off that back wheel.

A rolled tire.

It doesn't matter how the tire rolled, it's just a bad thing. In fact it's against the rules. Luckily only one other rider went down and it wasn't really bad because we weren't going that fast. I mean, okay, I'm sure it wasn't pleasant for the unfortunate victim (the tire roller doesn't count) but still, no ambulance call and such.

After the crash there were huge gaps in the field. Huge. Like Grand Canyon huge.

Gaps after the rolled tire crash. I'm about to pull through.

Note position in the lane. Zipcar guy holds basically a straight line.

I followed two guys, a Zipcar and another guy. The Zipcar guy was fading so the other guy went right. He wasn't going that fast so I went left and started yet another diesel pull. I'd been doing this to close gaps here and there because my legs lacked the snap to go fast whenever.

I drew up to and past the Zipcar guy, trying to hold station in the middle of the lane, when suddenly the Zipcar guy started hollering.

"Watch your line!"

His hollering turned to gibberish as he tried to retain control of his bike. The guy to his right was now to my right - he'd just slammed the door shut on the hapless Zipcar guy.

Pulling through.

The guy to my right moved over a few feet, squeezing the guy between us.

Note I'm almost on the yellow line now. I've moved over a few feet even after clearing the Zipcar guy.

I told him to pull when he pulled through. I suppose I should have said something about holding your line. Whatever, I moved over to the left to give the guy room, in case he wanted to come over more. He got on my wheel and I set about closing the gap to the CLR guy ahead of us.

Ironically Mike was pulling the CLR guy. I didn't realize he was there until they went through a turn - that's when I realized there was an Expo in front of the CLR guy. If I hadn't pulled so hard I think a bunch of riders would have been out of contention. As it was I inadvertently brought a bunch of competitors back to Mike.

Many of the riders sat up - the announcer said that half the field had given up. I'm wondering now if there was a crash back there. A friend in the race said there were four crashes and I only saw two. If there was one when the guy came across the Zipcar guy's wheel then that would make sense.

I found myself in trouble, desperate trouble. I worked super hard to bridge the gap after the crash, watched others fly past me, and hung on for dear life. Then I was done, dead legs, mid field.

I'm exploded and gapped.

I felt totally wasted, unable to move. Of course my body was automatically trying to recover so while I was busy letting people pass me my heart rate was dropping, my legs recovering, and when I looked up I realized that, okay, I'm not totally blown.

I put my head down and ground the big gear back up to speed. Curiously I found that my legs weren't cramping at all today. I pushed big gears, could keep pushing, and somehow my bike kept going. I just couldn't go fast, that was the limiter.

I persevere and claw my way back on (this is before I'm "on").

I had much higher speed going into the turn, and combined with the fact that I didn't have to take others into consideration it meant that I could corner at full speed. This got me back on the back of the group.

Unfortunately the guy in front of me started to disintegrate just as I got on his wheel. I knew it was inevitable but for whatever reason I waited until he sat up a bit before I moved over. He was waving his hand in the "pass me, I'm done" fashion as I rode past.

Of course 100 meters later I need to close another gap.

This gap hurt me but it felt much smaller than the prior gap. I pushed hard again, big gear, just rolling it, and managed to get back on.

With that clawing back on move I realized that, okay, I may make it to the finish. I had no sprint left in my legs, no jump, not even now, but I knew I could make one more diesel type grinding effort.

(As a sprinter you learn real quick your ration of jumps and sprints, and, as you lose your sprint, you start getting a ration of the slower, longer burning "diesel" moves.)

I decided I'd do a 100% effort on the last lap. I figured Jeff would get into reasonable position - he is really good at doing that - but I could get him into great position. If nothing else I could ride next to him and give him some shelter, or I could get on his wheel and force others to pass one more rider before they could pass Jeff.

I rallied on the backstretch - I knew I had just one shot. Luckily the pace wasn't insane so I could move from pretty far back of the field.

Last lap, back stretch, Jeff in the red, as I cleared the Lump.

I got around the "Lump" that forms just behind the head of the field and immediately spotted Jeff about 7th wheel. I figured I might be able to get past the front of the field before the 3rd turn so I ground my way past a couple more guys, eased in a bit, and hollered a very curt, "Jeff!"

He saw, I checked to see that someone moved, and someone did, I hoped Jeff was there, and then I tried to drive it home. 

Unfortunately in my decrepit state I had no speed. I only managed to pass the leadout guy after he blew up so I was third going into the third turn (where, apparently, the leadout guy went straight, taking someone with him). The guy on my wheel, a seemingly less experienced racer, couldn't stay on my wheel (I couldn't see back there but he'd been cornering a bit wobbly before so I figure that trend continued) and so we had a slight gap going into the second last stretch. I had stopped pedaling, waiting for the wave of riders to engulf me, but when no wave hit me I had to try and close the gap.

Last lap, just before last turn.

We went into the last turn, my legs like wood. I had no sprint for sure, no jump, and now I had no diesel. I had absolutely nothing left. I pedaled squares and triangles for a few seconds and then a bunch of guys flew by me.

Jeff was one of the first ones. I don't know how he did in the sprint (we never really bothered figuring that out) but he was second I think, maybe third. That was good enough for me.

Overall the race went well. I went in thinking I'd race for 20 minutes in 75 degree temperatures. Instead I raced for over an hour in 80-93 degree temperatures, used everything I had in my legs, and helped a teammate even when I was at the end of my tether.

As a bonus a young rider I know did just his second race in the Juniors. He approached me, with his parents, at Bethel this year, with a few questions, and things grew from there. I've been trying to help him with a solid approach to racing, trying to give him some guidance to see him through the very tough times that most young Juniors face. He's shown a sense of humor about the whole thing, like when he wryly reported that he got lapped "about 15 times" in his first race (it was way fewer than that). In today's Keith Berger race he did well, working with a chase group, behind the "older" racers, and finished with a good sprint.

Although it's good when I can do okay in a race, it's a bit more rewarding to accomplish something as a team. It's fun to work together with other riders, even if it's not for a race winning thing. If, by working together, we can elevate one rider above their solo potential, then we've accomplished something. If I hadn't closed a gap, if Mike hadn't closed a gap, if Chris hadn't closed a gap, would the field have had the same sprint it did? It's hard to say, but the fact remains that we all worked hard so that one of us, Jeff in this case, could try and optimize his performance.

Even more interesting is to try and guide someone on their own foray into racing. It's tough because I can't do anything for them once they start the race. I'm sort of helpless watching from the sidelines, hollering something here and there but otherwise unable to do much. I have to let them try it on their own, let them experience the disappointment and ecstasy that come with racing.

It's tough because I know that as a new father this is something that I will be experiencing for the rest of my life, with a huge emphasis in the next 5 or 10 or 15 years. It'll be interesting, that's for sure.

(Note: I don't identify most people fully for privacy reasons, except pros and such. I won't identify kids - it's why I call Junior Junior - for the same reason. I have a feeling I'll be writing about the young rider more but since I already christened RTC as Young Rider I need to think of a different name.)

Racing - Aug 21, 2012 @TuesdayTheRent

The last TuesdayTheRent means a few things to me. First, it's basically the end of the season. Second, it's almost the beginning of the off season. And third, based on some rumblings from the week before, it would be Retro Jersey Night.

Well now.

If you want to talk Retro Jerseys, I can talk Retro Jerseys.

There are two ways to do Retro Jerseys - prior (and usually extinct) personal kits or prior (and usually extinct) pro kits.

I have gobs of the first, a reasonable number of the second.

I rummanged through my four bins of clothing. Well, it's kind of three, one has mainly winter gear in it. Four, though, accurately represents my bin collection count. This doesn't include my primary and secondary gear bags which hold my current kit, gloves, shoes, socks, Halos, stuff like that. The four bins are the stuff I don't use outside anymore. Two bins for the trainer, two bins for memories sake.

I pulled out about half a bin of clothing.

I had a few ideas. The AKI/Gipiemme jersey is an old favorite. I love the Mapei kits but the shorts are a bit disintegrated. A real Moldavian National Champion jersey from the Saeco days. A real German National Champion jersey from the Telekom days. Fake Belgian Tom Steels jersey (I bought it). A Vibram kit from my friend Greg. And a bunch of old team kits, including one that had my bike shop on it.

I tried on the AKI/Gipiemme jersey first. Let me tell you, I think I was about 135 lbs when I rode in it. I have two left - one has its sleeves intact, the other has the sleeves cut off. I trained like that when I was really fit; in other words I haven't trained like that in a long time.

Well, I got the jersey over my head, got most of my arms through to the sleeves... and I was stuck. The jersey resembled a BMX tire, an unforgiving ring around the top of my torso.

I wiggled my arms helplessly, signaling to the Missus that, yes, I need help.

After careful extrication (don't want to rip the thing), I tossed all the jerseys that size over to the "don't use" pile. I also decided to toss the Tri State Velo jersey - Carpe Diem sponsored them but it's kind of a current team.

This left me with the Carpe Diem jersey from 1997, the Evolution Bicycles / Vantage Motors jersey.

The Missus said I really ought to wear that one. The bike shop, Mike's garage, Carpe Diem, it's all there.

Okay, so be it.

A few of the Expo guys haven't been racing long enough to have Retro Jerseys, and the few that have didn't have stuff that fit or they tossed them out. I gathered some other jerseys, threw them all in the wash (they'd been stored for about 10-15 years), and called it a day.

The Missus asked what shorts I ought to wear. We never had team shorts for the 1997 Carpe Diem Racing team. I briefly thought about wearing some plain Verge shorts but then I realized, you know, when a pro wears a "special" jersey (like the Leader's Jersey, a national team jersey, or a championship jersey) they wear their normal team shorts. I decided that I'd wear the standard Expo shorts and shoe covers.

I decided to clean my drivetrain right before the race, so about 10 minutes (it's been a while, else it'd have taken 5 minutes) of scrubbing and I got most of the well-rooted grease off of the chain, chainrings, and the pulleys. The training clincher's cassette got clean too but I didn't bother with the race wheel's cassette.

We headed over to the venue a bit tight on time. In order to avoid my car-queasy tendencies I drove and the Missus pinned my number. I'd already filled out a release and written the check, I had my USAC license, so I'd be legal to race.

The Missus used a lot of pins at my request.

Once at the venue the normal bantering grew a bit. We all grinned and pointed at everyone's ancient kits, looking for the genuine pro stuff, trading stories on what this was or that was. I figure the best one was Wade's genuine Swedish National Team jersey for Worlds, complete with a patch sewn over the then-illegal sponsor's name on the side panels.

I lent teammate Joel the Moldavian Saeco jersey, MM the Tom Steels jersey, and that was that. SOC wore his Italian Saeco jersey (Commesso? Cipollini?). If I'd worn my plain (and not true pro, it was from a store) Saeco jersey we'd have had three Saeco "teammates". Nonetheless I felt the obligation to fly the Carpe Diem colors.

The larger-than-normal group lined up for the start. One rider that barely made it was my friend Kevin from Colorado. He'd accompanied me to Interbike in 2009-2011, and I got to train at altitude in 2010 with him. He flew in earlier in the afternoon (to Rhode Island, where he's actually going), came to the race, bought an annual license, paid his entry, and started the race.

As he put it it was the most expensive race he's ever done.

We got the full Retro Jersey presentation as guys lined up. I saw some good ones, some standard ones, and some that I didn't recognize until I examined the pictures and read the logos.

With that we were off. The pace went pretty high straight from the gun, but with almost no wind and a large field, the group stayed together. Breaks never got more than a quarter or half lap ahead, and the field always stayed strung out in pursuit.

I settled into a nice groove. The bike felt like it pedaled a bit easier, perhaps because of the sparkling drivetrain. The tires felt good - I haven't used the Stingers in a bit but with the rear tire fixed for last Sunday's race I got to use them here.

I'd also gotten into a rhythm with the cornering. Sunday's 7 turn course acted as a good warm up for the cornering at The Rent and so I felt really comfortable and fluent as soon as we got going.

The pace seemed manageable with the larger group. I struggled hard out of Turn 3 every lap, easing only as we went by the start/finish area, but without any wind to hurt me elsewhere I could recover on the short bits between Turn 1-2 and Turn 2-3.

I usually start looking for lapcards way too early so I told myself to hold off. Wait for it, wait until I really need to see them, but don't look too early.

Round and round we went. I seemed to rotate to different positions within the 6 or 8 riders at the back. I  wasn't thinking moving up - my efforts after Turn 3 meant that I couldn't keep pushing else I'd be cooked for the next Turn 3.

I saved and waited and saved and waited.

One lap someone really put in a big move, a huge, huge move that totally strung out the field. I gritted my teeth and waited for the elastic to jerk me forward.

Wowsers. Really strung out.

I managed to hang on but now I needed the lap cards. The next time around I looked.

Lap cards to the right.

2 to go.

Oh.

With the pace so high, the first 15 guys in single file, and struggling at that, I realized that it'd take me a good 2-3 laps to move up. Since I had about 1.9 laps left when I figured out what that "2" stood for I started moving up hard, right away. I tried to go hard before Turn 3, knowing that out of Turn 3 is the hardest/fastest bit.

Unfortunately the gaps started opening up in front of me, my punishment for tailgunning. The front still screamed forward, single file, while the field disintegrated behind.

Turn 3, coming up on the bell.

I jumped to get across one gap, then another, and then it was one lap to go.

I still pushed hard, trying to get up there. I wasn't sure if I'd have sprint left but it was worth trying. The riders weren't too tight, some were sitting up, others were content to sit on the wheels.

I fought.

Last turn, last lap.

I guess I managed to get inside the front 15 spots before my legs started to go. Two of the four riders in front of me blew up exiting the turn, and that left a pretty big gap for me to close just to get into the sprint.

I pulled the ripcord, checked left and right, and moved to the side.

I felt good, all considering. My legs weren't cramping. I wasn't going cross-eyed from effort. I actually felt kind of good. I mean, okay, it helped that I didn't actually sprint, but the race seemed... manageable.

I did a cool down lap and rolled over to the Missus. We gathered our stuff, packed up the car (the lack of wind meant mosquitoes were out - I got bitten about six times in a few minutes), and headed out for a post-race social.

I really liked the Retro Jersey thing. It's a great balance of fun and seriousness, letting riders express themselves (and showing a bit of history) while still maintaining the "we're here to train by racing" mentality.

So another set of Rents done. I really like these races. Depending on my fitness level I can either hang on (or not) or, if I'm feeling a bit more frisky, I can make moves and try things that I'm not necessarily ready to try in a weekend race. If I attack or bridge or something and blow up, it's okay. I've had my share of 2 or 4 lap races but I've also had some races where I rode really hard and did some good work.

I've never won an A race and I've never gotten into a successful break. I guess those are two things to work for in 2013.

Until then, though, to all a good night.

Racing - Aug 18, 2012 NE Masters Crits

Anyone that's been following my posts or seen me at the races knows that this year my fitness is pretty low, even for me, and that I struggle simply to finish races. I had a few reasonable races in the spring, at Bethel, but that almost doesn't count - it's my home turf, so to speak, and the course is about as optimal for me as it can get.

Last week was about as bad as it gets. In less than 5 miles I warmed up, started the race, got shelled, let the group lap me twice, jumped back in, sat up, and rode to the car.

That's a lot of nothing in 5 miles.

It's only natural that I felt a bit leery about this Sunday's race, the New England Masters Criterium Championships. Granted I had a reasonable race here back in May or something, but that was May or something. It was also an M45 race, not an M40. Back then I was still okay on the bike. Now I'm worse than I was back then.

Nonetheless we headed out. The Missus has some good friends that come to the races, everyone likes Junior, and I'm okay with getting shelled if that's what I'm meant to do.

I drove to the race this time, skipping sitting in the back seat. I didn't want to spend a couple hours back there, get to the race really queasy, and not be able to race (I think that was a huge part of last Tuesday's debacle, along with incredible fatigue). A good night's rest on Friday, a pretty tame Saturday, and a good night's sleep on Saturday helped tilt the odds in my favor.

Of course I didn't ride at all since Tuesday so my legs would be very, very, very fresh.

That's how I describe it anyway.

 Before the race.

I brought a bike bag for Shovel so he could bring his bike to Nationals. He returned some loaner wheels. Normally I don't bring so many wheels.

I got to the race with plenty of time before the start of the M40+ race. I registered, making sure that the check was made for the right amount. The registration folks noted that there was a $10 day of race fee. I told them I prefer to register day of race so I can pay the promoter more money.

(It's also nice because the promoter can count on pre-reg and day-of becomes a bonus.)

I guess that surprised them. For most races this holds true. I'm lucky that my fields don't fill; I sometimes pre-reg to assure myself a spot in the field.

They offered pins. I declined. It's a small thing, promoters paying for pins. It's $15 for 1440 pins, but it's still $15. I try to bring my own (this year I've been really good about it). I figure I got pins from 3 races. They get rusty so I have to unpin right away. I toss any rusty pins because they ruin your jersey at the very least, give you strange diseases at worst.

Number in hand I returned to the car. The Missus knew I needed to actually warm up a bit. With no ride since Tuesday's paltry race I'd need to ease my legs back into racing efforts. A leisurely warmup would help me immensely.

She made me promise to actually warm up, not to talk too much with the inevitable friends and people I see. After pinning my number, getting my race wheels up to pressure, and my electronics all straightened out (Sportsiiiis on but no HR strap - missed it somewhere), I rolled out.

And of course started talking with random riders warming up or cooling down.

I managed about 30 minutes of easy spinning, one minor jump to test the legs (they felt very, very, very fresh to put it politely), and a minute or two with SOC who wanted to make sure his rear tire was okay (it was).

With that we lined up for a smallish field, maybe 40 riders or so. M40+ so kind of appropriate. Some riders had just finished the 50+ so there would be some tired legs, but like the Leg Breakers at the Rent, these guys weren't too put off with the prior race. Me, I'd be thinking about rolling to the car. They were just getting warmed up.

Everyone looking down. Clipping in.

I discretely motioned to SOC, straddling his bike to my left. I wanted to point out some danger riders.

"That guy there (I point to my right) just won solo."
"Oh."
"That guy up there is one of the brothers."
"Oh."
"That's K."
"Oh."

Our plan went from "let's see what happens" to if the move goes and he felt okay, he should go. If not then we'd focus on the field sprint for whatever place.

I already met my goal of riding more than 5 miles, even if it was while I chatted with others. More honestly I wanted to not get too embarrassed, make it at least for a bit. If I could finish the race that would be great.

Anything more would be a bonus.

We started off and the field immediately strung out. The wind, so prevalent at Ninigret (a seaside former airfield), felt almost absent. That meant a reasonable tailwind on the finish stretch but the cross vectors worked out so that there wasn't really a massive crosswind anywhere.

The field, single file. Literally.

A few times a break would get a bit up the road but the reaction would pull everyone elastic-like back together. Finally, about halfway into the race, the proverbial break seemed to have gone up the road. I saw some good riders up there.

The gap, though, held steady at about 20 or so seconds. If I could get up to SOC and launch him off the front, I might be able to close half the gap before he'd see the wind. If that was the case he might be able to bridge.

I looked for an ally too, hedging on our move. I went up to Shovel, a good 55+ racer. Unfortunately he'd just done a huge turn at the front and he seemed a bit out of sorts. He didn't hear me and I really didn't hear him.

I asked him, "Do you want to bridge?"
"Grubumpiorhispts."

Water from his bottle streamed out of his mouth, his face looked red from effort, and he wasn't looking very enthusiastic about making another huge effort.

I took that to mean "no" so I moved on.

After the race he asked me what I asked him. Apparently this is what he heard:

I roll up to him, turn my head to him.
"Grubumpiorhispts?" I ask.
"What did you say?" he replies.
By then I'd rolled away.

I got to the front two laps later than I should have, but my tactical wants and my legs' power didn't match each other. The tactics had to wait for two laps while I first gathered my breath to move up, then move up, and finally get near the front.

I saw SOC and called out his name. Apparently when I want to be discrete I'm yelling in my head but whispering out loud. I'm not sure he heard me because he basically ignored me.

I slapped my hip, the universal sign for "get on my wheel".

That he saw. He pulled out of the line of riders at the front and moved over to my wheel.

My view when SOC got on my wheel.

I gunned it.

Normally I don't like moving from very far back because I use half my attack just getting to the front. In this case it wasn't as critical - I wasn't going to be doing the actual bridging. More importantly the break had a couple more laps of freedom than I thought prudent - I knew the gap would be very hard to close.

The front is a bit splintered, with gaps here and there. This means it's a good time to go.

I went wide around the last turn because I didn't want to be too close to the others - I didn't want to bring everyone, just SOC and maybe one or two others.

Wade looks over as we go by. "Really?"

I looked back and saw that I'd gapped SOC just a bit; I eased just a touch.

Once we hit the straight I looked down and saw SOC's shadow directly behind me. I drilled it. I consciously moved my hands to the hoods, hoping this would give SOC a bit more draft.

I looked up to focus on our target.

Oh.

I circled the break in the picture. It feels about as close to us as Curiosity is to Earth.

I shifted up, went harder, went faster. I had to get SOC within 10 seconds of the break before I blew up, so maybe 120-130 meters. If I dropped him off too far he'd blow up before he bridged.

I only made it down the main straight before the booster rockets ran out. I guess that run up the side for the whole straight before ate up some of my very limited "boost". I swung left to let SOC go but he had moved left also. A little misstep in the dance but he got going.

SOC going. The break is just going off-picture to the left.

We're not 100m away, more like 200m.

I looked to see where the break was relative to us. We were much too far. SOC would have a good 14-15 second gap to close. I figure a rider is good to close a 10 second gap solo. 15 seconds starts to push it so this would be touch and go.

I tried to recover before the field caught me. A good sign of our gap was that after SOC went I still managed to get around two corners and basically reach the third one before the field came by me. Some riders launched some belated counterattacks but it was too late - the last train had left the station, and it had one passenger: SOC.

I almost dropped out of the race but I grimly hung in there, the Dark Place, hoping the suffering would ease. I went into a tunnel vision place, a place I hadn't visited in a long time. I could only see the bikes immediately in front of me, the back half of them at that. I couldn't see beyond that - I was in that position that if people started stacking it up in the front I'd be tumbling over them a few seconds later.

I'd just lectured a newer racer about the importance of looking up so I tried to follow my own advice. I looked up when I could, to be more aware of what was happening in front of me. At least three times, though, I looked up and realized that I had no clue what had just happened beyond a 5 foot radius around me.

Finally I returned to some kind of normal discomfort. I managed to actually look around. I looked up the road for SOC. He dangled precariously off the back of the break.

Riders started congratulating me on making a good move, a smooth launch. They assumed that SOC bridged immediately. I deferred, pointing out that SOC had to bridge and sort of recover before I could call it a successful move.

I kept looking as we rounded corner after corner. SOC got within 5 or so seconds of the break but faltered. They were too steady, too fast, and SOC dangled tantalizingly out of reach until his legs went. That extra straight in the wind, before we went by the front of the field, probably cost him the bridge. If I had ridden a bit smarter or, more accurately, had a bit more gas, I could have brought him another 4-5 seconds closer and he'd have bridged. But I didn't and he didn't.

A few laps later he rolled backwards into the field.

No one said anything.

After he came back from the Dark Place (he too almost got shelled when he got caught), we both went about trying to do some kind of a sprint at the end of the race.

I did manage to slam my pedal to the pavement at some point. I remember SOC quickly rolling past after, kind of like what you do when a teammate makes a mistake and you really don't want to be around him, so I asked him if I'd caused any problems with my pedal dig.

"No, it didn't faze you so it didn't faze anyone else."

Some more resin donated to Ninigret Park.

I didn't want to use any of my reserves moving up, choosing instead to sprint from pretty far back. Problem was that a bunch of guys, their teammate/s in the break, sat up with half a lap to go. Three of them happened to be in the center of the group. The front half of the group ride away from us. The back half... that's where I was sitting.

A couple riders rolled by, I tagged along, but we hadn't made contact by the time the sprint started.

That group ahead is just starting to sprint.

Yeah, oops.

I never really jumped per se (1140w max), I just rolled hard all the way to the line. It was a much longer effort than a normal sprint - I'd have waited until after the turn to sprint, instead of going 100-150m before that turn. Nonetheless it was okay.

End of sprint.

In the end I probably got 20th or so (that's my generic guess whenever I'm not in the top 6 or so but not dead last).

In the medium picture, compared to last Tuesday, this race went super well. I finished, I did one (exactly one) move, and I had a medium sprint. Without much on the line it wasn't a super intense one, and I even stopped pedaling about a second before the line, but hey, it's all good.

I rolled for half a lap cool down then returned to the Missus and Junior. SOC had some unexpected news when they announced his name. Apparently on the lap we went they rang the bell for a field prime. We joked afterwards - we had a bigger goal in mind so we'd launched like we meant business. We could just hear the conversation in the field behind us.

"Wow, those guys want it bad. Man, for $10? If they need it that bad we should let them have it."

Apparently as surprised as we were the guy that thought he won it was even more surprised. When he crossed the line, thinking he had the prime, SOC was already a good 15+ seconds ahead.

We camped out for the final race, the M30+. It had a feel of the Rent when Max and Tim jumped away to an early lead. At one point gaining 25 seconds, they got caught by four others and that break won the race. Just like a Rent.

I was distracted by Junior and had to take a few pictures of him. He's a bit over 5 months old now, and weighs probably more than any one of our cats (our biggest is about 15 lbs). Junior can't crawl, really doesn't like to roll back onto his back, but he readily rolls onto his stomach and then kicks away with his feet like one of those army guys.

Well not really, the army guys actually crawl forward. Junior just kicks. We need to get him a kick board, he'd probably get going on one of those.

 Kicking but not going anywhere. Yet.
Very intent look on his face.

With the races over I finally packed up the car and unpinned my number, tossing the pins in the door side pocket. For the next race.

The Pin Job. No Flapping Allowed.

We headed out for a well earned meal, some conversation, and relaxation. Junior started to melt down so we had to head home a bit early, but it was all good.

Good weather, good race, good company.

Good times.

*edit some Strava screen shots from that day:

Finish/sprint screen shot

Fast lap screen shot (launch the chase)

SOC's chase (3rd)

My overall Strava day