Equipment - Nokons

Nokons...

They make aluminum cable housing kits for bikes.

It seems the main goal on a bike is to replace steel with lighter material - carbon fiber, titanium, aluminum, even ceramics. One overlooked steel thing is your cable housing, and although I pooh-poohed the Nokons at first, I'm now a convert.

I like Nokons for a few reasons.

One, they are lighter.

Two, ONCE used them when they were riding the lightest bikes around. Well, I thought they were the lightest bikes around. Plus their bikes just looked sooo cool.

Three, the derailleur housing simply cannot explode like normal housing. When I put my bike in the car, I need to turn the bars all the way to one side. Normal housing doesn't like this and protests by exploding after about two months. I tried my first Nokons after my 3rd normal housing blew up. Nokons last, well, they last until I take them off.

The disadvantage is that the shifting takes more time to dial in. Not a problem unless you fiddle with the bike the day before the race.

A minor one is that electrical tape takes the finish off right away (when you peel the tape off). Then they corrode and get that white powdery coating on them.

The cables are thinner than the Campy ones so use the Nokon supplied ones (or similar diameter ones). I decided to mix and match some silver pieces into the black ones to make things more interesting - I have a total of 3 sets of silver (I bought 2, so did another guy, and he didn't like the way things shifted with them so he gave the derailleur pieces to me). I have one brake+derailleur set on my old primary bike. When I took apart my backup for the bars and stem, I also stole the Nokons from the backup as well.

My front derailleur cable's housing was wearing through. With the shifting starting to deteriorate (I had to kick the front derailleur a few times to get it to shift), I decided it'd be too risky to use at the next race.

Tomorrow.

I had my ace mechanics work on the bike. They spotted something unusual and took great care to make sure my bike wouldn't be affected by it.

Tiger and Lilly (left and right), both intent on something.

It must have moved. Nokon box is in front of them, the Nokon cables in front of Lilly.

I slaved over the cables, housing, and tape for probably two hours. It didn't help that all my extra parts were downstairs, my bike toolbox started in the car, and my normal toolbox remained downstairs the whole time.

Ultimately I got it almost all the way done. As I mentioned before, one of the things I had to skip was doing the handlebar tape - with all my electrical tape in the van, 2 hours away, I left the housing dangling that evening.

The rear, where I went a bit nuts with the silver and black.

I used all black up front. The front derailleur is all aluminum, right up to the shift lever.

The rear derailleur has the cheater steel housing in use, the one supplied by Nokon. They save themselves about 6 inches of the more expensive aluminum pieces by using the cheater piece under the tape. My small bike lets me use almost the full set of aluminum bits. If you have a taller bike, you'll have to use both cheater pieces or buy the extender set.

A better view of the rear. It's obvious which gears I used when I trained today.

Nokons require more than normal cable tension to set up the derailleur. My standard trick is to put it on the second cog (12T, next to the 11T, for me), pull the cable "taut", and tighten the anchor bolt. The cable will stretch enough to let it drop down into the first cog. If it doesn't, just yank on the cable under the downtube like you're trying to play Bill the Cat's tongue. Works on violins to fine tune cable tension, works on bikes too.

After that I fiddle with the barrel adjuster to get it nice.

I didn't check it with the race wheels, which I now know are just a bit off. But things worked out okay in the end. My front derailleur shifted perfectly. Actually, I shifted it into the big ring before the race and left it there, so it worked perfectly before and after my race. And the rear derailleur was manageable, not hindering me in the least.

So, if you constantly have to turn your bars way to one side to fit it inside a car/vehicle, Nokons are great. They lose a bit of weight too but I didn't feel like weighing anything so I don't know exactly what effect they had.

Probably a lot less than the tasty dinner I had tonight.

Bethel Spring Series - Criterium de Bethel Recap

Some of you might have noticed that I didn't do a "Pre-Criterium de Bethel" bit. This is because, as it sometimes happens, getting ready for Sunday became a somewhat disorganized and behind-schedule affair.

In California I'd noticed that my derailleur cable housing was rubbing through where it hit the front brake, and earlier this week it started shifting a bit weird. Worried about the possibility of the cable going, I decided to break out a set of Nokons and install them.

This would also let me replace the tape on the bars, portions of which were starting to wear through. Very unprofessional, this bar tape wearing through, so it had to be changed. Bike washed too, drivetrain wasn't gleaming at all and the sticky sugary drink stuff on the frame wasn't looking too pro either.

In addition there were a bunch of normal things to do for a Bethel - charge the radios, wash the jerseys (stuck myself pretty deep with an open pin on one of the jerseys), cook food, gather my bike gear, ride a bit (30 minutes at 130 watts... pitiful I know), and pack the car. Then I got to my dad's place near Bethel, unpacked the car into the van, and went to sleep. No blog nothing.

In all this hustle and bustle a few things happened. First I realized my good electrical tape was in the van. At my dad's. And my bike was with me. At the apartment. So I did everything but wrap the bars - that would have to wait until race day.

On race day I went to get my knickers. It was about that time that I realized I had forgotten my "50 degree weather" bag which contained my knickers, favorite base layer, and some other "mid-chill" stuff.

The promotion aspect of the race went smoothly this week. We had an extra official - a third pair of eyes and ears is a good thing. We had two extra full time marshals, saving me the headache of finding people from race to race. And, since there was no major sweeping to be done, I sat at the registration table for a bit. It made it feel more like I was helping promote a race, not doing infrastructure maintenance for the town of Bethel.

I guess all this helped because I had a decent race. I rolled to the line without a warm up (but with handlebar tape nicely wrapped, a clean frame, and a gleaming drivetrain lubed with some ceramic lube that gets black as midnight in about 3 seconds), one of my friends asking me, "Did you get to warm up at all?" I had to shake my head no in response. I finally learned, after a quarter century of racing, that if I get my heart rate up to about my exploding point (160 bpm or so) in my warm up, I just bought myself about 90 minutes of "I feel good" riding. Since I was at 105 or something this didn't happen. Therefore I needed to ease into things.

The team went in with a more easy going attitude, no real strategy, but with no one but me gunning for a place, the strong guys were trying to help me out. The plan was pretty straight forward. Keep things together. Keep things fast at the end. And let me do what I need to do. If I need a hand in the last lap or two, have someone there "just in case".

Another racer, a friendly rival at Bethel but a strong ally in any other race, approached me and told me that his team didn't want moves to get away, and that they would ride to keep things together.

Good friends are hard to find, you know?

Early in the race, as usual, a number of guys tried to launch a race winning "the pack forgot about us" move. I went to move up to maybe see if I could launch a chase. Since I was virtually at the back of the field, I planned on moving up for a lap, figuring out from where to launch, and then launching. In order to move up I went up the hill using a bit more power than usual. A little too much.

My short effort moved me right past the front of the field.

Since it's kind of dumb to use energy like that without something to show for it, I kept going. I figured someone would chase, maybe even a few people, and if the field let us meander up the road, hey, great.

I'm on the hoods. This means I'm not serious. I'm looking for others to see if anyone else wants to make it serious.


Okay, now I'm serious, even if no one's around. Peering around Turn One to catch a glimpse of my quarry.

Wattage and speed tells a different story. I almost doubled my normal effort on the second half of the hill and I went about 5-7 mph faster. I did a nice, steady effort down the first stretch, realized I wasn't going to make it, and with about 50 feet separating me from the two man break, I started debating with myself. Should I go? Or should I sit up?

Since it was the fifth lap of the race, I sat up, tried to catch my breath, and had two chances to sit on - the first when a small group went by me, the second when the field caught me. Luckily I was okay and I managed to recover.

The overall leader is a powerful rider. After taking the lead in the second week (he won), the other teams made him chase everything down in the third week of racing. That backfired as he rode away from the field while doing a big pull - and he won again.

Yesterday, once again, the other teams (mine included) let him pull back some breaks. I was afraid he'd ride away from the field again but some other racers beat him to the punch. With less than 10 laps to go, two riders dangled just out of sight, off the front. They'd steadily built a decent lead, grabbing 5 seconds here, 2 seconds there, and going from a "We can bring it back" 15 seconds to a "Now what?" 30 seconds.

Finally someone decided enough was enough. He went to the front and did a monster pull, and I mean monster. It came close to detonating the field. Actually, it did detonate the field. But when the debris landed back on the road, it was all together again.

I had been closer to the back of the field than the front when it happened. I thought that this was it, someone went for the whole enchilada. The first 15 or so racers huddled together like a comet streaking away, and the rest of the field resembled its broken up tail. I saw three distinct gaps in the 15 spots ahead of me, and when the guy in front of me hesitated as the rider in front detonated, I screamed, "GO!"

Hesitation gone, the guy closed the 10 foot gap, then the guys in front of him closed their gaps, and so on and so forth until half a lap later, we were technically in contact with the front of the field again.

I looked to see if the Leader had flown the coop - no, he was sitting near the front (at the front?), doing a steady pull.

Suddenly Mike appeared at my side, face red, looking a little winded.

"I think I brought them back. I said F it, I'm not letting them go so I went as hard as I could. I think they're coming back now."

Oh.

So that's Mike when he pedals in anger. No wonder he rode me off his wheel, accidental like, when he was trying to lead me out. My SRM data shows he did a monster 32 mph pull for most of the lap.

Anyway, the two guys were still dangling up there. And then suddenly the field slowed so much it was like we'd stopped. We didn't go much faster than 12 mph up the hill and averaged less than 24 mph for a couple laps.

I, of course, like this, so I rested and recovered, getting ready for the big effort. Nothing like getting psyched up for the sprint. The only thing was that such a slow down could have been the field giving up on the two man break. But mine was not to worry about them, it was simply to sprint the sprint.

Mike went towards the front again, to keep things kinda strung out, and I steadily rode through the field to get into about 25-30 places back at the bell. I saw another blogger SOC move up the side a bit and I realized from his line and his pedaling that he meant to move up a bit more. Obligingly I moved onto his wheel.

He pulled into the shelter of the field about 15 guys back, I moved past him to slot in perhaps 10 back from the front.

The guys at the front were moving left more than right, perhaps trying to prevent too many racers from sitting in on the left side, but more realistically they were just trying to pull off and everyone just followed them.

Mike made his final appearance here, doing a pull to string things out, and then I lost sight of him. The speed started ramping up and the head of the race went single file. Some guy blew and came backwards - I went curbside to pass him and used that effort to move up a bit at the same time. When I slotted back in I found myself about 5 spots back from the Leader. Guys had moved up on the left side too, so I'm not sure if I was in the top 10 at that point.

We went past my jump point, well past it, and then people started sprinting, cutting left towards the apex of the left bend. I thought it'd bottleneck there so I went right, slicing through the line of racers to find some clear, open road. I went as hard as I could, my legs slowly turning a too-big gear. I could see it now - I lead out the sprint and get swarmed at the line.

I saw the eventual second place rider fade. Suddenly I felt a glimmer of hope.

Where. Is. The. Line.

I tried to find the finish line, my head poking up so I could focus on the white line. I really should get my glasses tightened up.

The "my glasses need tightening" look.

Then, my legs exhausted, my senses telling me no one was to my immediate right or left, I threw the bike early, reaching for the line.

Early bike throw due to tired legs.

Then, so I could breathe, I hauled my body back onto the bike so I could get around the corner without falling over.

It looks like I sprinted through the line but I'm just trying to get my butt back onto the saddle.

I rolled around, guys congratulating me on my win. Field sprint win, I thought, and I said so. A father/son pair disagreed - they were quite certain it was for the win win though, and I checked.

Mike had brought the break back.

I'd won the race.

Booyah!

(A million thanks to Bob Griffith for taking the above shots)

Bethel Spring Series - Criterium de Bethel Results

Results posted as they are available...

Sorry I copy/pasted the wrong M40, 3-4, and P123 initially. Corrected now.

Cat 5, Race 1, 13 laps, 28 racers
1 Brian Amen Unattached
2 Brendan Delamere Unattached
3 Frank O'Reilly Unattached
4 Frank DeLio Unattached
5 Thomas Thornton Target Training
6 John Ercolani Cycle Fitness Cycling Club
7 Andrew Lawson Laurel
8 Carlos Fonseca Unattached
9 Gregory McCoy Unattached
10 Marc Gagliano Unattached
11 Justin Tyberg Bethel Cycle
12 Vinnie DeFrancesco CVC/Subaru of New England
13 Michael Colabella Connecticut Coast Cycling
14 Jim Reid Bethel Cycle
15 Nicholas Bartow Unattached
16 John Meyer Cycle Fitness Cycling Club
17 Frank Navoae Unattached
18 peter Muckell Unattached
19 Anthony Petrillo Unattached
20 Vincent Longo Unattached

Cat 5, Race 2, 13 laps, 27 racers
1 Jonathan Nash Pawling Cycle & Sport
2 Denis Adiletti Bethel Cycle
3 Andrew Nasca Unattached
4 Hernan Tola Unattached
5 Perkins Miller Unattached
6 Esteban Sequera Unattached
7 Michael Buchanan DC Racing/Danny's Cycles
8 Hank Osborn Unattached
9 Edward Novak Yorktown Cycles
10 Alex Salazar Unattached
11 Gregory Henry Unattached
12 Guido Wollmann Unattached
13 michael dimson Yorktown Cycles
14 Ron Schildge Cyclonauts Racers
15 David Corr Berkeley Bicycle Club
16 Geert Mol Unattached
17 Alec Bernard Staples Bike Club
18 Showky Kaldawy Unattached
19 Logan Piepmeier Wesleyan University - Cardinal Velo
20 Mark Sullivan Unattached

Cat 4, 22 laps, 44:54 (solo break), 44:57 (field), 49? racers
1 Christopher Thomas Cycle Center Racing 249
2 Zachary Staszak Pawling Cycle & Sport 244
3 Rick Magee Bethel Cycle 210
4 Pedro Sanchez DC Racing / Danny's Cycles 232
5 Chuck Litty Bethel Cycle Sport Club 228
6 Brian Kelley Pawling Cycle & Sport 230
7 Justin Kane CCC/Keltic Construction/Zanes 214
8 Anthony Troiano Unattached 209
9 John Romano Bethel Cycle Sport Club 246
10 eugene doherty Team DC Racing 204
11 Douglas Allen Signature Cycles/DKNY 222
12 Jay Vincent Cycle Center Racing 213
13 #N/A #N/A #N/A ?
14 Roger Billharz HVVC 247
15 Steven Suto Bethel Cyle Sport 250
16 James Mernin CRCA 227
17 Eduardo Atehortua Cafeteros Cycling Club 201
18 Donald Hard HVVC 223
19 Adam Ritter Stage 1 234
20 LYLE BARON PEDDELARS PARADISE CYCLING TEAM 202

Womens, 22 laps, 49:40, 27 racers
1 Ann Marie Miller CRCA Sanchez Metro
2 Maria Quiroga CRCA/Radical Media
3 Stacey Jensen Kissena
4 Haley Beann Rocky Mounts
5 Dale Malkames USI
6 Andrea Meyers Team Kenda Tire
7 Elena Leznik CRCA/Radical Media
8 Amanda Braverman Cycle Center
9 Mimi Boyle Unattached
10 Nancy Ford USI
11 Cheryl Wolf Bethel Cycle Sport
12 Caitlin McNarish Connecticut Coast
13 Audrey Friedrichsen Scott Unattached
14 Kathryn Douglas CCNS / Pedal Power
15 Rebecca Koh CRCA / Comedy Central
16 Maria Dumoulin Unattached
17 Ann Marie Donovan CRCA/Razorfish
18 Lisa Force CRCA / Comedy Central
19 Stephanie Busloff CRCA / Avenue A | Razorfish Cycling
20 Kristin Lotito Unattached
20 Lauren Zucker CRCA / Avenue A | Razorfish Cycling


Masters 40+ Name Team
1 Robert Lattanzi CRCA Sids Cannondale
2 Aaron Wolfe CRCA
3 John Funk Cycle Fitness
4 Mike Allaire Target Training
5 Morgan Stebbins CRCA/Sids-Cannondale
6 Scott Bodin Target Training
7 Horacio Ahumada cafeteros cycling club
8 Rich Foley CCC/Keltic Const/Zanes cycles
9 John Morgan Clinton Cycling Club
10 Maximino Veiga Fastar
11 Christopher DiMattio Bethel Cycle Sport
12 Brian Wolf Bethel Cycle Sport
13 Rick Spear Target Training
14 Rogelio Frutos Zephyr
15 Jay Vincent Cycle Center Racing
16 Miguel Torres Jr Laurel Bicycle Club
17 Jim Escobar Honeywell
18 John Romano Bethel Cycle Sport Club
19 Mario Smith Unattached
20 Steven Suto Bethel Cyle Sport

Cat 3/4 Name Team
1 Akira Sato Connecticut Coast
2 Filip Capala Capala Brothers
3 vinicius tavares Century Road Club Association
4 colin prensky CRCA/Sanchez-Metro
5 David Freifelder Westwood Velo
6 John Morales cafeteros cycling club
7 Christopher DiMattio Bethel Cycle Sport
8 Sam Dodge Stage One Cycling
9 Aaron Wolfe CRCA
10 Glenn Babikian Signature Cycles/ DKNY
11 Connor Sallee CRCA
12 Graham Lang CRCA
13 Maison Chen Unattached
14 Salvatore Abbruzzese Blue Ribbon
15 Johan Koserius Fiordifrutta
16 Don Catlin Tokeneke
17 Jeffery Ferraro Greater Hartford Cycling Club
18 Peter Bertolini CCC/Keltic Const./Zanes Cycles
19 Christopher Adams Cheshire Cycle Racing
20 Jim Escobar Honeywell


Pro/1/2/3 Name Team
1 Anthony Alessio Stage One Cycling
2 Stephan Badger TARGETRAINING
3 John - Paul Kaminski Connecticut Coast
4 Christopher Fisher Unattached
5 Jacob Hacker Unattached
6 Salvatore DiVetta Sommerville Sports
7 Brent Arthurs Evolution Cycling Club
8 Monte Frank Zepher Cycling
9 David Freifelder Westwood Velo
10 Kyle Foley Cuevas/ACT
11 Chris Crowell Stage One Cycling
12 Rich Foley CCC/Keltic Const/Zanes cycles
13 Bryan Zieroff Stage One Cycling
14 Scott Bodin Target Training
15 peter petrillo CVC/Subaru of New England
16 Hunter Pronovost CCNS / Pedal Power
17 Craig Luekens Fastar
18 eric merrill ccc/keltic const./zanes cycles
19 Ron Fantano Sommerville Sports
20 Aliaksandr Bialiauski CCB

Hey I Own a Specialized... err a Chevy?

http://www.bikebiz.com/news/29459/GM-takes-Specialized-back-into-all-American-ownership

I had to share.

Bethel Spring Series - Bethel CDP Gold Race

This was the first Bethel this year without the missus. I woke up at a somewhat normal time, 5 AM, and started the day off by finishing off all the food I was supposed to bring to Bethel. In my delirious state, I didn't realize that this meant I would have no food at Bethel.

The day was surprisingly calm with virtually no wind. This means winds were 5-10 mph at Bethel I think. It was so calm that we didn't tie the tents down and I didn't have to chase down windblown waivers around the registration tent.

I knew we'd be short handed and had to plan on all sorts of stuff - 3 hours of extra driving Saturday to pick up one or two of our helpers, another 2 more hours to drop them off on Sunday, things like that. But an old friend did the driving and volunteered to work the day (minus the one race he wanted to do).

It was the three of them (old friend, two helpers) who helped me clean the mess up at the bottom of the hill. Then, since we were in such a groove, I had everyone go around the whole course. We spent so much time sweeping that one of the helpers, designated to help with the camera, arrived at the line too late to record the Cat 5 finish. The officials, as we've learned over the years, are excellent at picking out literally 20 riders in a (loose) field sprint, and they managed to come through for us in this one.

My fatigue threw off my time frame and I thought I was racing in 30 minutes when in fact I had a couple hours. With the course swept, no tent to hold down (i.e. not windy), and two extra full time helpers, I managed to get my friend to drive me to Dunkin Donuts for some fuel for the upcoming races.

The sun rapidly warmed the area so that the low 20s that greeted us in the morning had transformed into low 40s by the time I took to warming up. Knickers, warm gloves, booties, and just a vest over an LS jersey (instead of a full blown jacket), and I was fine. The 3-4 race was aggressive, with the overall leader forced to chase every time something went away.

I thought he'd destroy himself with all the work he did, and I think the others thought so too. Ultimately the tactic failed because he made it up to a small group that stayed away. A second group formed behind it, and I thought this was the perfect scenario to launch the first group up the road - the second group would splinter as the stronger ones panicked and attacked it, causing it to disintegrate and drop back to the field. The lead group, strengthened by the best of the second group, would be amply motivated to drill it for a bit and - presto! - race over.

I did a minor launch to see if I couldn't be part of the bridging move from the second group to the first one, but by the time I got to the second group, it'd already disintegrated. Faced with crossing a 100-150 meter gap on my own after doing 1/2 a lap under extreme pressure, I backed way off and waited for the field.

Instead a small group caught me, I think the second group reconstituted. I couldn't do more than follow them half way up the hill and then I had to back off. I was totally on the edge. The field caught me at the top of the hill. After a few minutes of doubt, I anchored my position in the field.

With the break gone, the field eased, and the rest of the race was almost boring. It got exciting when a bunch of riders went to the front to keep from getting lapped. 5 or 6 laps of this and we managed to stay alive long enough to have a field sprint.

Like last time I was too far back when I jumped. But, with a lot of guys going backwards on the hill, I managed to snake my way through up to the guy who won the field sprint. "To", not "Past". No points though. Bummer.

I dressed down for the P123s after someone nearby said he couldn't believe it was 54 degrees. I looked down at what I was wearing and decided I should discard some of it. No vest, short finger gloves. I ate a couple Munchkins, drank some soda, sipped some water, and lined up for the main event.

The pace, sitting in, was manageable, and I found myself moving up at times (esp on the hill), and back at other times (like when people attacked).

I forgot how nice short finger gloves are when racing. I figure they're worth at least 200 watts. They allow me to stay on the drops indefinitely because they're more grippy and I don't feel like I'm going to slide off my trimmed down bars. They let me climb better because I don't slip on the hoods like I do with my cold weather gloves. And they just feel more tactile, kind of like how riding without gloves really lets you feel everything, not like the muted "gloves on" feel.

I hammered along in the P123 field, mainly on the drops, and felt pretty good. I started thinking that maybe I'd finish, wondering how many laps we had. I checked the lap cards the next time around.

Big mistake.

I figured I'd see 15, maybe 14. Instead I saw 21, and suddenly I started to hurt. I told myself to get to 20. Roger. Suddenly the pace slowed. Things seemed manageable. Now 15 to go. Roger. I thought that maybe the pace would stay easy for a bit more, and then I'd dig deep to drive to the finish.

A friend of mine (not Roger) came up to me and told me he'd lead me out when the time came. I started thinking I'd be around for such a leadout. But my riding had become a bit sketchy, my fluency escaping gobs at a time.

Then some racers decided they really wanted to be in some break and started launching attack after attack.

One such attack left a gap in front of the racer in front of me. I looked back and briefly saw a strung out line of racers who would be very unhappy if I moved to one side and made the gap another 5 feet longer. I looked up and saw a yawning gap, small in most riders' eyes, a Grand Canyon in mine.

Grand Canyon = 30 feet in this case.

If I closed the gap, I'd be cooked. But my riding was ragged, probably not good for the field, and so after hesitating for maybe a second, I hunched down a bit, firmly grasped the drops with the nice short fingered gloves, and firmly closed the gap.

My legs exploded soon after and I sat up, pulled off, and sat down.

I lay down on the warm pavement, soaking up sun, when the pre-reg girl, sitting about 30 feet away, said something about a crash.

"Someone crashed?"
"Yeah, it's pretty bad, Gene ran down there, Mike ran down there."

I got up in a hurry, almost blacking out when I stood up. An ambulance drove onto the course, headed down the hill.

Ends up one guy had a possible concussion, the other a broken something (I'd later learn it was a collarbone).

I hate it when people crash at Bethel. It just sucks. And the broken collarbone guy, I like him. He's a good guy, nice, treats the missus friendly-like (she thinks he's a good guy too), and I've had some short but very, very good talks with him.

The rest of the day (that sort of killed what we'd done so far) passed by in a somewhat somber mood. It felt like the life got sucked out of me. Guys were telling me to give their prize money to their teammates so they could go to the hospital. Someone said he'd take one bike to its rider's house. All the things you never think about start getting thought about.

Getting hurt somewhere far away from home is not a comfortable situation. I once landed on my head at an EMT's feet during a crit in New Jersey. Despite my protestations, he insisted that the fact that I cradled my head with my hands (until he moved them) indicated to him that I had hit my head. He made me lay still, pinched my fingers and toes, and made lay down on a stretcher.

We drove to a nearby hospital - 5 minutes away in an ambulance that doesn't stop for lights, 15 minutes if you're a worried teammate driving to the hospital in a civilian car.

I sat in the hospital, wondering what happened to my bike (the EMT left it where I crashed). My shoes, gloves, helmet (ditto). How I'd get home (2+ hours away). How I would pay for it (credit card).

My worried teammate showed up a while later. He'd found my bike and stuff at the start/finish announcer stand, asked "Where is the rider that belongs to this bike?", and followed directions to the hospital ("Go down that road and follow the H signs"). Properly reunited with my gear, we headed home.

Later a friend of mine asked me why the side of my head was purple. I checked and sure enough, the whole side of my head was one big bruise. I guess I did hit my head, and later, inspecting my helmet, I realized the whole side was caved in.

Crashing in a race sucks. Getting hurt sucks too. But to injure yourself so you can't ride tomorrow or the day after or whatever, that sucks the most.

So, Mike, here's to getting better quickly.

Bethel Spring Series - Bethel CDP Gold Race Prelim Results

Sorry, didn't update the P123s until a week later...

Cat 5 Race 1 Name Team
1 Alwx Salazar Unattached
2 Andrew Nasca Unattached
3 John Nash Pawlig Cycle
4 Adam Ritter Unattached
5 Denis Adiletti Bethel Cycle
6 Brian Amen Unattached
7 Bart McDonough Target Training
8 Thomas Thornton Target Training
9 ESTEBAN SEQUERA Unattached
10 Edward Novak Yorktown Cycles
11 Michael Buchanan DC Racing/Danny's Cycle
12 Will Hardy Target Training
13 Marc Gagliano Unattached
14 Guido Wollmann Unattached
15 Jim Reid Bethel Cycle
16 Brendan Mansfield Fastar/Target Training
17 Peter Wietfeldt Unattached
18 Carlos Fonseca Unattached
19 Donald Salvino Connecticut Coast Cycling
20 Frank O'Reilly Unattached

Cat 4 Name Team
1 Zachary Staszak Pawlijng Cycle Sport
2 Anthony Santomassimo Stage 1
3 Douglas Allen Signature Cycles/DKNY
4 Pedro Sanchez DC Racing / Danny's Cycling
5 James Rothwell Unattached
6 Charles Litty Bethel Cycle
7 eugene doherty Team DC Racing
8 Rick Magee Bethel Cycle
9 Gabriel Dunn Unattached
10 Dave Hoechster Westwood Velo
11 Eduardo Atehortua Cafeteros Cycling Club
12 Roger Billharz HVVC
13 Steven Suto Bethel Cycle
14 Daniel Sullivan Signature Cycles/DKNY
15 Sam Dodge Stage 1
16 David Bailey Unattached
17 Mario Smith Unattached
18 Patrick Littlefield CRCA/Avenue A-Razorfish
19 stephen paige peddalers paradise cycling team
20 Jay Vincent Cycle Center Racing

Juniors Name Team
1 Kyle Foley Cuevas/ACT
2 Seamus Powell Windam Mountain Outfitters
3 #N/A #N/A #N/A
4 #N/A #N/A #N/A
5 #N/A #N/A #N/A
6 #N/A #N/A #N/A

Women Name Team
1 Anne Marie Miller CRCA/Sanchez Metro
2 Andrea Myers Team Kenda Tire
3 Haley Beann Rocky Mounts
4 Dale Malkames USI
5 Maria Murphy GS Retro
6 Amanda Braverman Block Island Sport Shop
7 Nancy Ford USI
8 Elena Leznik CRCA/Radical Media
9 Cheryl Wolf Bethel Cycle Sport
10 Rebecca Hussey Bethel Cycle Sport Club
11 Karen Franzen CVC/Subaru of New England
12 Jacqueline Paull Watchung Wheelman
13 Peta Takai CRCA / Avenue A | Razorfish Cycling
14 Mimi Boyle Target Training
15 Audrey Friedrichsen Scott Unattached
16 ELIZABETH WEEMHOFF Unattached
17 Maria Dumoulin Unattached
18 Katherine Papillon-Rodrigue CVC/Subaru of New England
19 Donna Davis Capital Velo Club
20 Carmen Calton CVC/Subaru of New England

Masters 40+ Name Team
1 Morgan Stebbins CRCA/Sids-Cannondale
2 Stephen Gray Bethel Cycle Sport
3 John Funk Cycle Fitness
4 Fernando Ferreira CRCA
5 Ron Lattanzi CRCA
6 Scott Bodin Target Training
7 Rich Foley CCC/Keltic Const/Zanes cycles
8 Brian Wolf Bethel Cycle Sport
9 Douglas Thompson Clinton Cycling Club
10 Christopher DiMattio Bethel Cycle Sport
11 Jim Escobar ECFA/Honeywell
12 David Nazaroff CRCA
13 #N/A #N/A #N/A
14 0 0 0
15 #N/A #N/A #N/A
16 Rogelio Frutos Zephyr Cycling
17 John Romano Bethel Cycle Sport Club
18 Greg Pelican Bethel Cycle Sport
19 Roger Billharz HVVC
20 Douglas Allen Signature Cycles/DKNY

Cat 3/4 Name Team
1 David Freifelder Westwood Velo
2 Salvatore Abbruzzese CRCA
3 Graham Lang CRCA
4 Peter Hurst Connecticut Coast Cycling
5 Joe Straub Signature Cycles/ DKNY
6 Joe Kubisek Epic Velo
7 Akira Sato Connecticut Coast
8 Chad Dalles Bethel Cycle Sport
9 Vinicius Tavares CRCA
10 Joshua Jamner Targetraining/Colby College
11 Nick Pignatello III Exodus Road Racing
12 Will Fallar Danny's Cycle
13 eric merrill ccc/keltic const./zanes cycles
14 Jeffery Ferraro Greater Hartford Cycling Club
15 #N/A #N/A #N/A
16 Don Catlin Tokeneke
17 #N/A #N/A #N/A
18 Michael Chapleau Stage 1
19 Stephen Lindholm CRCA/Sanchez-Metro
20 Gabrielle Gentile Cafeteros Cycling Club

1 Matthew Baldwin Fastar
2 Julio Lujambio Stage 1
3 Chad Butts Champion Systems
4 Ron Fantano Sommerville Sports
5 Robert Wing Sommerville Sports
6 John-Paul Kaminski Connecticut Coast Cycling
7 Ron Lattanzi CRCA
8 Bryan Borgia CRCA
9 Salvatore Abbruzzese CRCA
10 Stephen Gray Bethel Cycle Sport
11 Bryan Haas Zephyr Cycling
12 Eneas Freyre TARGETRAINING
13 Justin Lindine TARGETRAINING / U25 Elite
14 Brett Cleaver Sommerville Sports
15 Anthony Alessio Stage 1
16 Vinicius Tavares CRCA
17 Connor Sallee CRCA JrDev/Orbea
18 Patrick Bonis Cycle Fitness
19 Monte Frank Zephyr Cycling
20 Scott Bodin Target Training

Equipment - SRM

A short time ago my SRM went blank, its battery dying an unexpected death. A couple emails exchanged with SRM confirmed that this was the case. With a dead SRM PowerControl (that's the computer end of things - the PowerMeter is the crank end) it pretty much can't do anything other than sit there and pretend it's asleep.

Sleeping SRMs don't show wattage or store training info so, after printing out the "work order" form sent me from a helpful SRM person, I sent it out to get the battery replaced.

12 days later I heard the screen door open and close. For a few seconds I waited for the "key in the lock" sounds. It wasn't the missus, no key sounds. It was around lunch time so I thought maybe she'd take a break but no dice.

So either it was a thief or....

Santa Claus!

Well, Santa Claus in March wears brown stuff that says UPS on it or mainly blue stuff that says FedEx on it.

In this case it was the UPS Santa Claus.

Lo and behold a little box. I realized that Blue Nile could probably ship things in that size box but they don't - I think there'd be a lot of mysteriously missing or damaged packages if they did. Instead they use pretty large boxes - you'd think they were shipping out carbon cranks, not carbon based shiny baubles.

This jewelry box held something a little different - my revived PowerControl.

I was expecting to pay a bunch of money for a battery ($50) and shipping ($20 or so). I'd already paid about $25 to ship the thing out west to begin with, so my reasonable expectation was a $100 repair bill.

I opened the box and saw my PowerControl, LCD numbers peering up at me the way the cat does when he realizes I'm looking at him. The invoice fell out so I opened it up. Lots of donuts. Or, as my high school math teacher said, lots of bagels.

Donuts are Circled Zeros.

A bagel is just a various of the Circled Zero.

And, yes, in high school, I managed to get a Circled Zero on a weekly exam.

Circled Zeros are terrible when they're on math exams. They are incredibly awesome when they're on invoices.

Just to be sure I checked my credit card to make sure they didn't charge me and zero things out on the paper invoice, but my card didn't show anything for a while.

I read the invoice more carefully and it looks like there was actually something wrong with it. They replaced said part and considered it a warranty.

Nice.

To check it out I put it on the bike and did a short test ride on the trainer. What worried me was that whatever I'd been doing before was off - like I didn't check the slope or didn't set the 3 digit number (forgot what it's called) each time I rode.

Very carefully I checked the slope. Default was 25 or so. My cranks are 22.9. And I did the 3 digit thing (wake up crank, wake up head, see what no resistance or still cranks read). 172-173, the default 750. I set it to 172 I think. Climbed on the bike. Started pedaling.

Nothing had changed. I was still a 100-150 watt easy rider. 210 watts made me start to breath. I had to turn the fan on. And finally I did a steady effort - 20 or 30 revolutions, probably more than 20 seconds, less than 30 seconds.

The SRM read a steady 850 watts.

My legs started complaining as did my aerobic systems (rapidly turning anaerobic due to an acute lack of oxygen) so I eased up.

I was back to being a monitored cyclist. I took up Murat's suggestion of inputting data manually and figuring out some average wattages based on average heart rates. Not ideal but it helped fill in the blanks (and, in the process, helped me realize about how many watts I do based on a given heart rate).

I filled in the WKO+ dates, realized it'd been three weeks since the PowerControl went blank (I delayed shipping things about a week), and set about figuring out my data. I'd get average heart rate, distance (calculating it using Google Maps if necessary), and average wattage (based on prior rides which took place between California and March 5th). Typed all this stuff in. And now WKO+ looks happier.

I wanted to do Plainville today so I could test things out, but I had an appointment at 9:45 AM so I couldn't do the 3-4 race. The appointment included some physical exercise, went on for over an hour, and left me mentally and physically exhausted. With less than an hour to the P123 race (and I still had to drive there), I decided I simply couldn't do it and mentally withdrew from the race. Next week I hope to collect some "flat race" data.

Tomorrow I'll do Bethel with the SRM, a perfect "short hill race" for data collecting. I'm tempted to tape over some of the parts of the dashboard and ride just on feel. Should be interesting. But I want to race with the SRM because knowing what kind of power and effort I'm putting down in the last five laps of the race is very, very telling. Measuring, storing, and analyzing that data adds a whole new dimension to cycling for me.

After all, that's why I got the SRM in the first place.

Bethel Spring Series - Pre-Bethel CDP Gold Race

With one canceled race and Easter Sunday, the Bethel Spring Series took two weeks off. I know I could use that time off and the missus did too. Hopefully everyone got some nice miles in, some nice racing, and are all ready to go back and do it again.

Of course, nothing is as easy as just taking two weeks off. I got a "Code Red" contact from the town last week - it seems that one tenant noticed a touch more sand on their lawn than they're used to seeing. I called the town and spoke with someone. Apparently one of the many tenants in Francis J Clarke Circle saw more sand than normal. They weren't mad but they wanted to point it out to the town.

When asked if it was "my group" who might have done the sand piling I responded afirmatively. I pointed out that even if it wasn't us, we're just too easy to blame. So I took all responsibility for the sand and I promised I'd get the outer 4 or 5 feet of lawn cleared of sand.

Two days later I drove down to Bethel, stopping to help out someone struggling with a bike fit thing on the way. I drove to my dad's house (an extra 30 min) to pick up some sand clearing tools and managed to make it to Bethel before dark. I drove around the course (habit now - I always do a loop before stopping), parked the car at one end of the lawn in question, and started my own little mini-sweep - a broom, a rake, and a small leaf blower.

I tend to get absorbed in my mission and lost myself in clearing the five feet of grass next to the street curb. I'd clear 30 feet with the rake, go back with the blower, blow the light/loose stuff into the road, and do the next 30 feet.

After a couple hundred feet I realized I was leaving sand packed in by the curb itself so I went back and dragged the leaf blower, point down into said sand, and walked along, tip dragging through the tightly packed sand, letting the blower explode the dirt out everywhere - road, air, my clothes, my hair. Then I went back and blew it all into the road.

Good thing is that the sprint lane will be clear on Sunday. Bad thing is there's more sweeping to do.

When I got to the last 50 feet of grass, I saw a horrible sight. A long patch of dirt, maybe four inches high, about two feet wide, and maybe eight feet long.

I needed a shovel, not a rake.

I gamely attacked it with my rake, alternating between loosening stuff up with that and blowing it onto the road with the blower.

This bit actually took longer to do than the rest of the area I'd already finished. I was surprised when some lights shone onto me - someone turning into the driveway at the bottom of the hill. Then it clicked.

Lights.

I looked around - it was pretty dark, and in fact I couldn't see my car. And that was parked, what, like 150 feet away. I guess the lights on the lawn made it light enough for me to sweep and rake and I just didn't notice it getting darker.

Car headlights used as a light source once I realized it was dark. Note cleared curb but dirty road. I pushed all that sand off of the lawn and onto the road. Goal here was to get the salty sand off the lawn.

Car headlights light up the road. Note piles of sand. The object in front of the curb-side headlight is a little hand held blower. A wheeled blower would have been much better but I couldn't move it on my own, not easily anyway.

I finished up what I could, blew stuff further into the road (so the cars would move it around), and packed up the car. With a final check - I stopped to pick up a dead bottle I'd blown into the road - I was off.

I spent the next hour and change in the car, focusing on driving, listening to music, and getting a bit giddy with fatigue.

I realized that at some level I felt like the toad in hot water. You know, where if you put a toad in hot water it'll jump out but if you put it in cool water and then heat up the water, it won't jump out? Apparently it's not true but the idea is that small changes may not be noticed, and even if the result is the same at the end, you may not react similarly.

So for me, that evening, the fact that it got darker and darker kind of got lost on me until it was so dark that some car headlights surprised me.

But, as I drove, I realized this hot water thing applied in a much broader context.

When the original promoter of the Bethel Series handed me his thin stack of papers and told me I had to put the race on, that was a small change. I literally took possession of maybe 50 pages of notes, rider lists, extra flyers, and some other inconsequential things.

But, back at the time, I didn't tell him, "Yes, if I need to sweep the course on March 27, 2008 until 8 PM, I will." And all the other things that I've done over the years. Early rises. Sacrificing all sorts of things to get to Bethel and hold the races. Suffering through many years of not wanting to do it. So on and so forth.

I'm not saying I want to jump out of it. But the Series demands so much that I have a hard time realizing it. It's been part of my life for most of my adult life. I just did whatever I needed to do to get it done. The water got warmer, yes, but it always seemed okay. Now it's a whole different creature than it was back in the early 90s, and that's not a bad thing.

So, with that in mind, I'll be heading down to the Bethel area once again, to prepare for promoting the race and to see if, after spending some time and energy looking after the race itself, I can actually race it too.

Hope to see you out there.

Story - First Mountain Bike Race

A long time ago I actually mountain biked on a mountain bike on mountain bike trails. Meaning now I ride my mountain bike on paved roads only. Back then I was exploring all types of racing and I wanted to give mountain biking a shot.

It helped that I knew someone who mountain biked extensively - heck, some of our most prolific placers on the team were strictly off road racers. So when they recommended a race up north - Vermont or New Hampshire, I couldn't tell you - I decided to go. It was the warm season and doing a mountain bike race, a novel thing for me, would beat doing Gimbles again. Plus I thought it might be a bit cooler up north. Closer to Canada, the Arctic, you know.

Right.

I started doing some math on speeds. Because I never had a cyclometer on a mountain bike, I had no idea what to expect. I never had one because I couldn't do single track very well and carried my bike everywhere - and if you're carrying the bike, a cyclometer wouldn't do much. I guess a Garmin would be cool, but back then GPS was still a novelty. Or military secret. Something like that. Anyway, I figured out that anything more than 8 mph was pretty fast, and since I could go pretty fast on the rideable parts of a trail, I thought things would be manageable.

That's when I learned that it was a one loop course. And the loop was 30 miles long.

This made me think a bit.

Okay, if I flat 15 miles out, and I'm out of tubes... that's 15 miles of walking. The idea of walking a bike with a flopping dead tire clinging to the rim didn't appeal to me then (and still doesn't now). I figured maybe I could pack hay in the thing (some pro did that at some race). I decided to carry three tubes, just in case.

Water... well, I'll carry two bottles. And since they eject all the time, if they do, I'll stop and pick them up. Can't finish if you can't finish.

Tools - I had enough to adjust or reinstall pretty much everything on the bike. If I broke something, that was a different story. Chain is vital so I packed an extra pin or two. Rest of it, I figured I could fake it if I had to. At that time you'd hear the occasional "I used two big rocks to fix my chain" and not think it was unusual. Truing your wheel against a big flat rock was also somewhat common, and in fact I was fortunate enough to get some practice doing this.

Properly prepared we trundled up to this face. It was so far away we went to a little motel kind of place (cabins really, in the middle of the woods) the night before.

Race day came and it was bright, sunny, and hot. So much for the "cooler north". We got ready, I drank a lot of water, and we got ready to go. I was the only one on my team to have signed up for my class (maybe Beginner, I don't remember, but it wasn't NORBA sanctioned) so I felt kind of lonely in the huge mass of riders.

Suddenly we were off.

I remember very little of the start. I'm sure I got going pretty well because I went flying into the single track just a few places behind the leader. For about 15 seconds I thought, "Wow, I might win this thing." That's when I slammed my foot into a rock as the trail went to single track and I bounced off line and fell. I looked back at the thundering herd of racers barreling down the single track and realized that I'd have to wait forever to get back in line.

Somehow I was back on the bike, in that line, probably amongst some cursing and stuff, and started going again. I had no idea where to go so I had to follow bikers, tracks, and some ribbon stuff strung between trees. Whenever the trail got narrow or went over a log, I had to dismount. Every time this happened another 10 or 15 riders would pass me - I couldn't believe how many riders were back there, it was like a circus clown car or something.

One flying forcible dismount (i.e. crash) twisted my cleat so much I thought it fell off the shoe - I couldn't clip in any more. I gamely soldiered on while pedaling without clipping in my right foot.

It was at a very rocky section (baby head rocks) that I found out, the hard way, that the cleat had not come off but that it had twisted on the shoe. I'd given up trying to clip in and was pedaling with the shoe on top of the pedal. At some point the bike bounced one way, I went the other, my foot was twisted about 40 degrees on the pedal, and I weighted the foot just as I was about to save myself.

Then the cleat clipped in.

I promptly fell over, my foot impossibly twisted on my pedal. My toe wouldn't even clear the frame.

I should point out that I had these absolutely worthless MKS clipless pedals. Might as well have been clipless since you couldn't clip out of them. I pounded on the shoe until I got out, swore I'd get SPDs like everyone else, and got going again, running over all the rocks, my bike bouncing off to the side (too tired to carry it).

After that, to avoid any replication of said accidental twist in, I ran all the single track.

The problem with not clipping in was that I lost a lot of power on the hills, and I really made up ground when the trail went uphill. I was flying past these out of shape guys who had blown by me on the single track, and I was doing it with only my left foot clipped in. I figured I could keep up my fast uphill riding and I'd gain back a hundred or so spots (I figured after the first single track I was probably in 150th place).

I wasn't sure when but at some point I thought I should stop and fix my cleat. So, after passing over two rocks separated by a 2 foot by 1 foot by 1 foot pile of rear derailleurs (Derailleur Graveyard?), I decided I'd break my rhythm, stop, and untwist my cleat.

I'll admit a driving force to this decision was the fact that I flatted a tire.

Nonetheless I stopped at some wider point in the trail, just before an uphill.

I watched a bit painfully as all the guys I worked so hard to pass went streaming up the hill. I, on the other hand, dug into my heavily loaded seat bag and pulled out a tube, freed up my pump, and found that I'd packed the cheapest ever folding allen wrench set I'd ever had. I never expected to use it so I didn't carry a nice one around.

The flat tire was easy. About 5 minutes of huffing and puffing and the tire had some reasonable amount of air in it. The shoe was next. I sat down, twisted my foot so I could see the cleat.

Great. Rocks in the allen bolt head. I felt like an archaeologist, chipping away at my precious soon to be fossilized cleat, trying to clear the head enough to get the wrench in. After a painful few minutes I finally loosened the first bolt.

And then I started working on the second bolt. Whatever happened to one bolt cleats?

Right, they loosened up too often.

At some point someone leaned over and asked what I was doing. Without looking up I told him my cleat loosened up. He asked if he could use the tool after. Sure, I told him. I figured I'd just give him the tool, it was a $2 tool anyway. I pointed out that since I'd be giving him the tool, I would need to tighten my other cleat extra tight. He nodded okay and sat down, waiting for me.

Another guy came over.

Jeepers, I thought, doesn't anyone carry allen wrenches anymore?

"What are you doing?", he asked me, rather impolitely.

I looked up. I mean his voice kind of demanded it, so I looked up. He had a purple shirt on that said "Course Marshal" on it.

I wondered if maybe I was sitting on some endangered flower or something.

"Um, my cleat's loose. I'm tightening it."
"Is that your tool?"
"Yeah."

He looked at the other guy. "What about you?"

"I'm waiting for him to finish with the tool."
"You can't take aid from another rider. If you take aid, you'll be disqualified. Your finish and your time won't be scored."

The two started to argue.

Hm. I read something about how mountain biking was like the old Tour de France. You know, get penalized for having a little boy pump the bellows of the fire while you reforge your fork. I thought about this as I played Kathleen Kenyon sitting in her Jericho excavation.

I thought of the derailleur pile I'd passed maybe 1/2 mile back.

"Wait!" I said. The two looked at me. I looked at the Course Marshal guy.

"I know it's illegal for me to give him my wrench, right?"
"Right."
"But say I broke a derailleur, like a pulley came off. There are like a thousand derailleurs back there jammed between two rocks. If I went back there and got a pulley and a bolt from one, would that be illegal?"
"No..."
"So what if, theoretically, someone was working on their bike, put their tool away, and the tool fell onto the ground. Would it be illegal for him to use that tool?"
"Well..."

At this point I think my new best friend lost himself the race. If he'd stayed quiet or discretely headed up the trail a bit, he'd have been fine. But no. He couldn't contain himself and started arguing for the "lost and found tool" theory. And the Marshal started getting a bit impatient. But I kept going.

"So what I'm saying is say I rode a bit and my allen wrench fell out of my bag. Anyone could pick it up, not just him, but anyone, right?"
"Um..."

Clearly this Marshal had not been at this point of such an argument. And although it was obvious that we were trying to work around the rules, we weren't racing for a place. This was just some 30 mile death march through the hot forests of wherever we were, struggling to get to the finish without having to walk the whole way.

The Marshal wouldn't budge.

"You can't lend or give him your tool. And I'll be keeping my eye on you. I got both your numbers."

Dejected the other guy whispered to me.

"What should we do?"

Like it was my problem. If he'd just gone forward a bit (enough to get around the bend or something) then it'd be fine. But he insisted on guarding "the guy with the tool", kind of like the way our cat guards his play stick.

Finally finished with my shoe tightening, I straightened back up, got everything back into the seatbag (save the tool), and got back up. The Marshal was still there. Same with the poor guy guarding his potential tool.

"You can't give him your tool!" the Marshal cried out.
"I know, I know."

I threw a leg over the bike, got in with one foot, and started pedaling up the hill. My tool was under my hand, tight against my grip. I clipped in the other shoe - the right one, and it was pretty straight - and started going up the hill. The tool hurt my palm. I tossed it up over my shoulder.

"Oops, I dropped the tool," I said, just to make it clear.

I kept pedaling, never looking back.

The rest of the route was a complete disaster for me. I ran down pretty much every down hill marked with any kind of a danger sign, ran across every single track. Flew up the climbs. I started getting tired.

A couple hours in I got to the top of a longish descent (half mile, tops - to a Connecticut native that is a longish descent). Lots of rocks, some the size of baseballs, some the size of bowling balls, and others even larger than that. A couple logs here and there, but nothing blocking the trail. It looked like a trail back at home, and I knew I could go down such a trail.

So instead of dismounting I decided to try and ride it.

I started down kind of slow. Like riding one rock at a time. Just a little faster than walking pace. As my confidence went up, so did my speed. I'd let the brakes go for more than a tenth of a second at a time, letting the bike build up steam for 15 feet before slamming them on again. Then, balancing while barely moving, I'd ease off the brakes again.

At some point I saw some woman walking her bike down the path. This was not a big deal except a walking cyclist takes up half the room on the trail. I obligingly moved to the other side. Let the brakes go. Let the bike build up steam. And slowed again. Nice right?

Yeah, well right after I passed her, I let the bike go again, let it go maybe 30 feet, and augured into a rock the size of a grown man laying in the middle of the trail. The front tire just stopped and I started going over the bars.

Wham! My privates slammed the stem.

The bike started going over, my body following it in super slow motion. For a horrifying moment I hung in the air then slowly flipped over onto my back.

Wham! My body slammed into the rocks.

My eyes were closed. I opened them just in time to see my bike do a Super Fly Snuka on me.

Wham! My bike landed on top of me.

I felt like Wiley Coyote.

The world started turning with dizzying speed, pain spreading, the intense all numbing pain so familiar to any male out there. I curled up on the rocks, not feeling them at all - I could have been in bed for all I could feel on my side. My body was just trying to preserve its gene line and I couldn't do anything else.

"Are you okay?"

I looked up to the dainty voice. A girl smiled at me. Woman, who knows, it was hard to make out while in such agony. Female at any rate.

I was breathing hard, trying to control the pain. I remembered reading a ninja book where they said that a blow to the groin is usually a fight decider, and that if so struck, you should mount an immediate and desperate attack since it takes a couple seconds for the pain to hit.

In my pain riddled state of mind I mentally checked off that, yes, it takes a couple seconds to hit. And when it does, it's a doozy.

"Yeah, I'll be okay," I finally managed.

"See, that's why I was walking the bike. I saw someone else do that. Boy, that looked like it hurt a lot. I think you'll be okay though. Bye."

She could have been talking on the phone about shopping for all the intonation in her voice. You know, like, "So then I saw someone else buy it and I thought, boy, did that hurt. But you'll be okay. Bye."

And with that she walked daintily on her way.

I don't remember passing her afterwards so I must have been on the ground for quite a while. Luckily no one else rode by in that time.

I stood back up, my shoulders and sides and back suddenly aching from laying on the jagged rocks. I wondered what the heck I was doing in the middle of the woods in some forest that I've never seen in my life before. Not only that, I had to ride my bike out of there. I looked down the hill.

And walked to the bottom, dragging my poor beat up bike beside me.

I remounted the bike gingerly, and pedaled my way to the nearby finish.

I want to say I placed 12th because I think I placed 12th in virtually all the mountain bike races I did except the last one. But honestly I think I didn't. It was something okay, 30th or 50th or something, but not 12th.

I never did find out if the kid got disqualified for taking my tool. But I did see one DQ on the list when I checked results. Anyway, when I saw the DQ, I just hoped it wasn't the tool guarding rider.

Come to think of it, I think they mailed you a copy of the results.

Pre-internet, you know. How quaint.

Story - Drafting The Dump Truck

I am a big fan of drafting. In bicycle racing it allows someone like myself, with a relatively low level of sustainable power, to finish races and be competitive with others who are much more fit than myself.

In fact, drafting is the essence of road racing. Without drafting we'd just be doing time trials all over the place. In England, after mass start racing was made illegal, that's the only racing they could do for a long, long time - that's why they have not only a 25 mile TT but also a 50 mile, a 100 mile, and various other events, including a 24 hour TT.

The problem is that when I go training, I can't call up 50 or 70 guys to go ride so I can draft them.

So I use substitutes.

I incorporate slight downhills to help me build speed without killing myself. I do some small gear work (lower actual speeds means less air resistance). I do big gear work (going slow in a big gear lets me practice bike throws and sprinting technique, all at energy saving effort levels).

And I use substitute racers.

Cars. Trucks. Buses.

Cars are worth maybe 5 to 8 racers. Trucks, little ones, maybe 20. Big trucks and buses, 80-100 racers.

It's much, much easier to find a bus than to call 80-100 of your closest racing friends. So I go bus hunting, truck hunting, whatever I can find to act as a sub for a field of racers. Just yesterday, in the sleepy town of Simsbury, I managed to time trial up to a bus.

The problem was in the sleepy town of Simsbury they're really polite, so the bus driver slowed, moved left, and let me pass.

Arg.

I honored him by going as hard as I could until I blew, then made it obvious I blew - sat up, stretched legs, and waved as he drove by.

Anyway, as a big fan of drafting vehicles, there are a few tricks to pulling it off without ending up under someone's tire or face planted on some random mailbox or other road side obstacle.

1. Always check what you're about to draft. Someone claimed to have had a friend who tucked in behind a passing truck. Only thing was the truck was pulling a trailer, and the rider ended up getting run over by the trailer. Now I never heard of anyone getting taken out by a trailer like this in my verifiable life but checking the rear of the truck would prevent that from happening. I normally check where the next car is, since pulling out in front of a (much faster) car is never a good idea. I also wait for trailers and such, including the big jump I made the day before I got married (sprinting jump, not a more symbolic one).

2. When you draft a big vehicle, you can get a significant draft while still on the fringes of the "drafting area", i.e. you can be just behind and outside of the outer rear wheel and still get a huge draft. Since a dump truck (or similar) is so big, you'll find yourself either coasting or pulling out into the wind to slow down.

One rider's power chart had massive power spikes and valleys while they were drafting a truck for a few minutes - that seems to reflect this process of "sprint and coast". I do this "peeking out" to check for unknown or new road obstacles. However I've double flatted (twice) at 45 mph or so when I miscalculated where a known manhole cover or pothole was, partially because I didn't peek out (I was tiring quickly and gambled on remembering where things were). Both on clinchers, and both were a bit scary to bring under control (one was on a slight bend and I barely made it - in fact, I had to put my foot down on the curb since the flat clinchers didn't allow me to make even the small curve in the road).

I prefer tubulars when setting out on a drafting mission since they basically don't pinch flat and they also are lighter and wind up faster. It used to be that I drove to my drafting mission rides so I could make equipment choices before I leave.

3. To draft a smaller vehicle (car, a hatchback or wagon is better), you get close enough that you can see through the front window. Even little ole me is taller than a driver in a car so I can see through both the rear and front window and over the hood. I tried to draft a Lotus Espirit once but my body was over the roof of the car. It felt a bit odd and also offered no draft so I let it go.

Most cars are nice to draft because you can see the driver, any passengers, and make a judgement on how they'll drive. An ex-pro friend had a 93 Civic hatchback (I've since bought it from him and still have it). The rear bumper is gouged with tire burn marks from motorpacing workouts.

Note the grooves in the bumper, caused by a front tire hitting the bumper while at speed.

The Civic is nice because you can pop the glass up so it forms a little windscreen for the rider/s behind. The USCF in the 80s would use the Campy Buick wagon for similar workouts - they'd open the rear hatch and blast the heat on cold days so the riders would be training in a little pocket of heat.

4. I don't like drafting SUVs or minivans because they're too high to see through, too small to draft to one side (you really have to be behind them), and they tend to be driven by people who are least likely to know how to drive or are the most distracted. I can't even see into most of them so I have no idea what the driver is focusing on - kids, phone, looking for a store/street, etc. The same may be true for a car driver but at least I can see them being distracted.

5. To catch a truck, it has to be going slower than fast. Even in Breaking Away the truck starts out at 35 or 40 mph (since he holds out 4 fingers after a bit). I normally latch on when they pull away from a light or if they're in slower moving traffic (35 or slower). Someone with a good jump should be able to accelerate smartly to 35+ mph from a 15-25 mph cruising speed, and if the truck is going 30-35 mph, that's all you need. If it's at a light and you are there too, then you'll wait for the truck to make about 4-5 shifts before it gets going more than 18-20 mph, but then you hang on because they can accelerate at that pace for a while. I also run out of breath after about a minute or so.

Incidentally I run a 53x11, and I used to run a 54x11 - you need the big gears to go fast.

6. Finally, although I've drafted police cars (at night, on my favorite sprint loop in SW CT), some don't appreciate the drafting thing. Some will drive a steady pace and let me sit in. Others will move one lane over (it's a 3-4 lane street, one way) so that I have my own lane. This is the worst because I can't draft anything. Finally others will follow me (at night usually) so that I can see where I'm going (car headlights beat bike ones) and no one hits me. I appreciate the concern but this also prevents me from drafting anything. For the latter two types of super-nice cops, I just go as hard as I can until I blow up, then wave thanks to the helpful officer. Then hope the next lap goes a bit better.

One night two friends and I met up to do some sprints on the aforementioned loop. Since one guy was my actual leadout guy and another was his then girlfriend, it was really a training ride for me to get some sprints in. I'd lead out a bunch too, and so would the girlfriend.

As it got late - probably 10 or 11 PM - and both the traffic and our energy started dwindling, we started easing up and skipping sprints every now and then. One lap we approached the right turn onto the "sprint road" (the other roads were the "apres sprint road", the "backstretch", and the "before sprint road" which we were on at that point) and we heard the familiar nasal sound of a jake brake (like that of Mac sleeping from Cars) as a big dump truck slowed a bit for an intersection. With a green light he was good to go and started rowing through the gears to get back up to speed.

My ears perked up, my eyes lit up, and I tore off after the truck, leaving my two friends behind, chuckling I'm sure.

I rounded the slight turn onto the "sprint road" and accelerated hard. Everything seemed right - the cooler night temperatures, the big gear turning at the right rpm range, my legs, everything, and I rode up to the back of the truck.

Normally I look for things like wobbly wheels, missing mudflaps (I read someone a brick/stone caught between two rear tires of a truck and flung out the back is the worst thing that could happen to a motorcyclist behind a truck - and with my more fragile outfit, I'd imagine it'd be worse for a cyclist), broken or extremely dirty taillights (no warning of brakes), things like that. I can't remember anything being out of whack so I think the truck was in fine condition.

I found myself in the 11T all too soon. I had to slide to the tip of the seat (fastest position when seated) and I spun like mad to stay with the truck. When I got going a bit too fast I'd pull out slightly instead of touching the brakes, and pull up next to the rear-most wheel, and coast a touch. Once I slowed enough, I'd tuck back in.

My "speed adjustments" got more radical as I got tired. I'd sprint up to the back of the truck, pull out, coast as long as possible, and tuck in again, hoping I could sprint one more time. My sprints got ragged, out of the saddle efforts that rocked the bike until I felt like I'd scrape my knuckles on the ground. My whole life started revolving around the right rear pair of tires - I'd pull up next to them then tuck in and sprint back up to them.

At some point I became conscious of some flashing red and blue lights. As a driver I've been pulled over a couple times, and there's nothing quite like that sinking feeling when you first see the lights behind you.

But I was on a bike.

And I knew that we were going fast, probably 40-45+ mph.

And the speed limit on the road was 30 or 35 mph.

I figured, oh, man, I got the truck in trouble. You know, like Breaking Away.

I pulled left to let the police car pull the dump truck over (remember, 3-4 lanes, one way, so no oncoming traffic) and sat up.

The dump truck, to my disbelief, kept going.

The police car stayed behind me. I could hear his loudspeaker blaring something, maybe just the "whoop whoop" noises, but something.

You know that feeling I described before, the one you get when you see lights in the mirror? Well, let me tell you, at that moment I felt that sinking feeling. It's not the same as when you're driving a car, but having been pulled over before on a bike before, it too is a somewhat familiar and unpleasant feeling.

I stopped.

I read somewhere that cops that pull you over get really nervous if they can't see your hands. So I tried to keep them in view. I climbed off the bike, holding the seat and bars with my hands. Plain view.

An absolutely furious officer strode up to me.

"What were you trying to do, kill yourself?"

In the half second it took me to answer, I thought of some various answers.

"Well, actually, what I was doing was the safest way to draft a big truck. See, I could check out the upcoming road conditions by swinging out of the draft. I could also recover a bit so when I was in the draft I was less likely to make an oxygen deprived mistake. Plus, since it's night out, it's harder to pick out a cyclist. Drafting such a big vehicle makes it less likely that someone would hit me. So it was really the safest way to ride."

I didn't think that would fly.

I also nixed "It might have looked dangerous but I was in total control the whole time..." as well as "Did you ever see Breaking Away?"

Instead, like a good boy, I answered a quiet and subdued, "No, sir."

He ranted and raved about how stupid I was (well, technically, how stupidly I was behaving) and how immature it was and some other stuff. I mainly remember the stupid and immature.

And, yes, in hind sight it probably wasn't the smartest thing to do. But I'm not a risk taker and when I make decisions like that I've figured the odds. I never set one of my goals when I go out and ride to "come back in an ambulance" or worse. We'd done laps on the road for an hour or two already, there was no construction, no weird weather that might knock over a tree or three, and very little traffic. And although in the past I've misjudged where a manhole cover was (the 45 mph double flat on the slight bend took place on the "back stretch" road), by peeking out from behind the truck I could assess the road in front of me and make corrections to my slightly inaccurate mental map as necessary.

But I still had a furious police officer in front of me.

Finally he stopped yelling, I stopped answered his questions, and he told me to get going. At some point he told me I shouldn't do something like this ever again.

I climbed on my bike and rode down the road. I think I went backwards on the loop to catch my friends on the back stretch, and at some point we reconnected and started riding again. We passed the officer parked on the side of the road - I think he was checking to make sure that I didn't blow by him at 45 mph, glued to another dump truck's mudflap.

My friends told me they'd watched me scamper off after the truck, lost sight of me, then, one turn and three bends later, saw flashing lights.

"No, you don't think..."
"No, couldn't be."
"Wait I see some legs in front of that cruiser."

Legs in lycra, standing.

Standing is good (as opposed to sprawled on the pavement) so they rode by like they had no idea who I was. In fact, I didn't see them ride by and the officer probably didn't either.

We laughed, I told them how cool it was to follow that dump truck, they asked me what the cop said, blah blah blah.

We turned onto the very short "before sprint road".

And heard the familiar sound of a jake brake.

A dump truck, cruising down the hill, started to slow for the intersection. The light turned green for him and he started accelerating again, shifting through his gears.

I looked at the truck. Thought about where the officer had parked his car - at the end of the mile long sprint road.

I instantly put my hands in the drops, jumped as I shifted, chain slamming into gear as I sprinted after the truck.

"Don't...." I heard behind me.

I sprinted through the corner in the 14T and started accelerating and shifting, tagging the truck at 40 or so in my 11T.

Life was good.