So apparently I'm more dense than I thought.
Meaning, I'm heavier than I thought. What did you think I meant?
I've been pretty happy, my perceived weight dropping to below 170 lbs more than once or twice in the past few months (for reference sake, I'm 5'7", so on the BMI scale that would mean a 26 or so, just a tad into the "Overweight" category. For the past 5 years, this is how I saw my weight.
2003: Peak of 193+ lbs. This means the needle didn't quite get to 194 lbs, but eating a, say, Twinkie would have done it. BMI = Obese. Yep, obese.
2004: "Rapidly" dropping weight by doing my first set of winter training camps, one in Florida, one in California, getting into the low 180s by Bethel. I managed 4 minutes in the first race before getting shelled, but I won a field sprint by the end of the Series. BMI = Overweight.
2005: Due to a repeat of the winter training camps, peak fitness and motivation by March, culminating in a Bethel Spring Series overall win. Weight at the time, about 165. BMI = the cusp of Overweight.
2006: 175 or so, with some 180s. Well into Overweight, obviously.
2007: 180s, with some 170s.
2008: 170-180, even with a lot of training.
2009: Thanks to being sick, not lifting for the first time in many years, and some regular riding last fall, down to 170 for the Bethel Spring Series. I even saw 167 on the scale once. BMI = almost into Normal.
This is when someone opened the curtains and revealed the imposter. The missus bought a scale, one that, when I think about it, jibes with the "inaccurate" doctor's scales. See, the one I have is, shall we say, optimistic. Not just a little optimistic, a lot optimistic.
Let's try TEN POUNDS optimistic.
Holy Fatmobile, Batman!
This means that, at my peak (weight, not fitness), I was in the 205 pound range (!!). Try lugging that up some hills. BMI = Obese. I stretched out a size Large jacket. Jacket!
And even at my optimal fitness, I hovered at 175-180 lbs. Much of my racing occurred at a chunky 185-190 lbs range.
I guess it makes sense. My 10 hours a month training just isn't enough. It's pretension I suppose, an illusion, like the Wizard or the Emperor's Clothes.
I thought how it felt to train hard back in the day. I felt an inkling of what I used to feel after the track stuff on Wednesday night, when I piled into the car, legs totally wasted, and started the long drive home.
Back then I used to walk around in a constant fatigued zombie state. I'd get on the bike, my legs stiff and a bit achy, and start pedaling. Thirty minutes later my muscles would start to loosen up, and an hour later I'd feel somewhat normal.
Then, if doing a hard ride, I would ask my legs to do just one more effort. Just one more, for the Gipper. One more, to that mailbox. One more jump, to get that truck. One more lap of my Downtown Sprints. One more lap at SUNY Purchase. One more lap at whatever race I was in. One more, one more.
My legs responded every time.
For hours.
I remember the first (and last) double metric century the team did, in the early 90s. We did two laps of the Bloomin' Metric, 124 miles. The first loop went by pretty quickly, a full complement of team riders with another 15 or 20 random riders contributing to the flying paceline.
The second loop seemed a bit tougher. A bunch of guys dropped off to head to something as unfathomable as "work". Everyone felt a bit tired - we'd done the first lap in just about three hours, stopping at every stop to refuel. I had no idea what to expect on that second lap, none at all. I contemplated giving in to my aching, sore legs a break, but when our illustrious leader Mike gave me that grin and cajoled me to keep going, I knew I'd have to do that second lap.
I knew that I couldn't climb as well as the others. I'd been struggling on that first lap as it was, and I'd been hiding a lot, trying to save some juice for the second one. With some relatively fresh legs, concern about the climbs, I decided I'd have to act to keep from getting shelled: I'd lead into the climbs to buy myself some "drift back" room.
Each hill I'd guess at how hard I could go up. Big ring on many of them, small one for the toughies. I rolled into them, stood, rocked the bike, and prayed my legs would hold together. And they did. Hill after hill after hill.
Problem was that I went fast enough that others didn't want to come around. I found myself pulling over climb after climb, descending at the front, then trying to help out on the faster bits. Unbelievable. Big gears, little gears, I could turn them over at will.
I drank frantically, worried about cramps, worried about bonking. I couldn't eat very much, but I ate what I could, anything to avoid running out of gas.
I had one trouble spot, a false flat that absolutely killed me, but the next rest stop popped up just over the crest.
Saved.
Regrouped, we soldiered on, until, with maybe a mile left, I popped a spoke in my rear wheel. We'd been attacking each other pretty consistently for the last five or ten minutes, and when I went to counter what ended up being the "winning" move (our leader, of course), it went. The other guys asked if I'd be okay (of course I would) and then they set off after the solo break. I shredded a tubular getting to the parking lot (I rode my race wheels - it was a do or die day) but it was worth it.
Could I do that now?
No. Not at that pace. Not with those efforts, that speed. Nowadays things are a bit different.
I don't want to feel zombie-like. I don't train outside when it's raining. I have other things in my life, things other than training 30 or 40 miles each night, or venturing out to do some night time sprints at 11 o'clock at night.
But...
I still want to be under 170. For real. 165 if possible. For real. I want to remain relatively fit this year, and have a good base to build on for next year.
And, contrary to my beliefs just a day ago, I am positively not at 170. I'm at 180.
So what's that mean?
Training density must go up for my body density to go down.
Okay, that's not technically accurate, but you get the gist, right?
Yeah, you got it. I gotta go ride.
See you out there tomorrow at Nutmeg.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Racing - Boston Velodrome
Folks are trying to get a velodrome in Boston. To put in your two cents worth go here and fill out their survey.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Dateline: 22:27, 10 June 2009
Once again, I found myself doing my normal "pull into a rest stop to lower my average speed thing". This time, though, there was a bit of a difference - just before I got here, a State Trooper blew by me like I was standing still.
And let's just say that I wasn't standing still.
I think the night went well, based on my somewhat hyper-euphoric mood I've been in since I've gotten into the car. As usual I called the missus to let her know that I was on my way back. Then, for a few minutes, I left the phone in a dash cubby. I have a decent hands-free system, and the auto-answer picks up for me, so it's usually not a problem.
Tonight, problem. It's that hyper-euphoric bit, which meant cranking the tunes and, well, being hyper-euphoric. Loud.
So I moved the phone onto the steering column so that if it woke up (i.e. someone called it), I'd see it light up. I could turn down the tunes before the phone answered.
Apparently I didn't do it in time. When I clambered out of the car here, I checked the phone. Sure enough, the missus had called. The phone picked up. And she got some earful of hyper-euphoria.
I wonder what she heard.
Hopefully I wasn't singing too loud.
So hyper-euphoric means that things went reasonably well. Reasonable for me anyway.
The day didn't start too well - I had some unfamiliar stomach issues, worrying me to the point that I wondered if I could eat anything. Ultimately it all went away (literally) and I could get some chow down.
The kitties demanded a lot of attention, so, of course, I gave it to them.
Then I decided to finish my track wheels. I wanted to trim down the long axles (155 mm? why? I had to cut it down to 140 mm), install them (meaning overhaul the hubs, sort of), and see if my freshly glued, thanks-to-Gabe, 17mm CyclePro (ne Panaracer) tubular was okay.
I started with the simple stuff, and the tire, well, the basetape is rolling a bit. I think I have to re-glue the basetape and re-glue the tire. But it looks cool. I decided to bring it anyway.
Then the axles. I tried to saw them, dulling a hacksaw blade by the time I got through half of one side. I brilliantly got my Dremel (it has these very thin, very cool cutting wheels) and started cutting the axle bits off. After disintegrating a bunch of cutting wheels, I got the thicker one out. The thicker One, i.e. I only had one. Somehow I got both axles trimmed without breaking it, although it was glowing red for much of the process.
I had a tingly feeling at some point. Unsure what caused it, I looked around. Apparently I put my hand on the cut-off end, and it was really, really hot.
Note to self: when using Dremel, wear gloves, eye protection, and long sleeves. Not bare-handed, with a t-shirt on, and regular glasses as "eye protection".
I got the hubs done, the easy wheel being a clincher TriSpoke with some old clincher on it (I want to glue up a tire on the tubular TriSpoke for the future, but when I tried to find one to glue, I didn't know which ones held air and which ones didn't). The Dura Ace M17 wheel was tougher because it has loose bearings (and three got away temporarily during the process), but when I realized the cones were already worn, I didn't care about how well I adjusted it. Now it feels like, well, a gritty 105 hub. Yay for me.
Then I loaded up the car, got the cooler with cool drinks, gear bag, helmet cam stuff. Almost forgot shoes, remembered them, and finally, 45 minutes late, I left for the track.
When some misty rain started hitting the windshield, I realized I hadn't checked the site to see if the races had been canceled. In a bit of a worry I called the missus, who called the track folks, and the races, she reported, were on.
I got there in some reasonable amount of time, with what appeared to be all of 3 or 4 racers there. Right, cloudy weather, almost spitting, not much fun. But lo and behold, as I got ready, cars rolled in one after another. We had pretty much no As, just this insanely fast CycleLoft pro (I'll get to him in a bit) and one or two other guys. All our races would be Bs, with the As there for whatever.
With the grey weather, I canned the helmet cam. I'll wait for a brighter day.
I decided last time I came here that if I was going to drive all the way up here, I was going to do some sprints, even if I had to do them on my own. So, just before the warm-up period ended, I blasted out an effort. Tons of mistakes - I didn't dive down to the 200m mark, I never got totally on top of the gear, but I was out of breath and feeling like I'd just done a sprint.
Then we stood for the National Anthem.
First ego trip of the day: while we were waiting for everyone to get to the start area, Dick Ring announced that I was there. He said that I "bring... some excitement to the track." Note that he didn't say anything about how I'm looking really fit or anything, which is how he compliments the others. But, hey, a mention is a good thing.
We started off with the Scratch Race, 15 laps in this case, the couple As mixed in with the Bs. I played a tactical game, trying to save some juice. I've had a lot of practice with this - I recently downloaded the ProCycling Manager 2008 demo, and you can race track. What's really interesting about that is how quickly your poor rider blows up. Hit a bit of wind, sprint just a touch early, and ka-pow! your rider gets totally wasted. Sit in more, work the gaps, and he wins by a proverbial mile.
(Since that's my reality, I think everyone should play the game. Then they'll understand why I hide from the wind all race.)
Anyhoo, with this "experience" in mind, I sat out of the wind. I reluctantly did a half lap pull early on, and that almost sawed me off the back.
No more pulling.
I did notice that when the first surge went, following an attack by a woman racer I hadn't seen before, the CycleLoft pro let everyone gap him off the back. I figured he was handicapping himself, kind of like how my dad would handicap himself when we played Go. The crazy thing is how many stones I'd put down before we started, and my dad would still beat me if he tried (he let me win regularly too, so I wouldn't feel too bad about it). So anyway the CycleLoft guy is pretty good if I start thinking of him as handicapping himself.
With about 5 to go I sat maybe 5th, and with 3 to go one of the Oranges went to the front, me sitting on his wheel. When he wiggled his elbow I declined the pull, and an A guy went to the front. He started going from 1 1/2 laps out, rode the Orange off his wheel, and although I tried to even up the terms going into the last turn, I couldn't. I sat up, pulled up, and watched someone pass me for third or something.
The CycleLoft pro won the race. He made it look so easy too. Imagine riding down the road at 12 mph on your road bike. That's what he looked like, except he was annihilating everyone in the sprint.
Next up, Chariot races. That's a one lap, standing start race. The first ones I did were pretty poor - I couldn't get my 90" gear going well. Most other guys run 88" gears, or even 86"... the CycleLoft guy runs something even smaller than that. Crazy.
Back on topic - the last time I did a Chariot race I actually managed to stay with the other guys, so this time I decided to give it a good shot.
Plus it would be a good full out effort, and I wanted to get some of those in while I was here.
I heard Dick mention the woman's name during warm up or something - Brooke something. It rang a bell, so when we were waiting for the Chariot stuff to start, I asked if she'd raced for a shop down in Connecticut. She had, and over the years she'd also asked me about Gimbles and Bethel (she lives far away, like in Colorado or something). Back then I asked what Cat she was because I didn't want to send a newbie to Gimbles, and when she replied Cat 1 or 2 (I forget which), it was a bit embarassing.
Anyway, she wasn't afraid to launch attacks and all that so that was good.
And when I lined up for the Chariot race, someone held my bike so well it felt like it was in a bike stand. I didn't know who it was, so I mentioned that, "Whoever holding me is a pro at it."
Of course it was Brooke.
They count down, 3, 2, 1, and then say Go! On 'Go!' you go, standing start, 90" gear for me, and try and beat everyone over one lap.
The CycleLoft guy started next to me, did like a quarter downstroke, gained a foot on me, and suddenly eased. I shot into the lead, someone else unclipped at the line and almost fell, and in the ensuing chaos no one really got a chance to go after me. I sprinted over the line first.
Yay!
That was the first heat though. And it killed me. I felt weird pain type sensations I haven't felt since, well, Tuesday Night Sprints at SUNY Purchase. I could barely pedal, my muscles felt bathed in acid, and I really didn't want to race anymore.
The top three from that heat met the top three from the other heat, and we had another race. Brooke held my bike again, but this time I didn't follow through. I don't think I launched quite as hard (my weird leg sensations probably had something to do with that), and I eased just before the line. I think I couldn't even manage 4th out of 6.
Next up was a Miss & Out, and, frankly, I didn't feel like even starting. A lap or two of gentle, slow pedaling made my legs feel a bit better, and I convinced myself I could start the race. The three neutral laps killed me, and when they started pulling riders, I drifted off the back and let myself get pulled first.
The CycleLoft guy won that too I think. He's just so fast it's unbelievable. A different world. He was a human derny in the Miss & Out, sitting at the front lap after lap after lap after lap. I was disappointed the motorcycle guy didn't show up this week, but the CycleLoft guy demonstrated that you don't need a motorcycle to get that even-Steven pace for 5 or 8 laps.
The big race for the night was the Madison, a 30 lap race in this case. Since we were all Bs (except for the couple guys), we did some practice, then we'd do a practice race. This meant we'd sprint for points, we'd practice hand offs, and the CycleLoft guy would make sure that a few of us stayed together to make it interesting.
First we did some practice. I teamed up with a guy Brian, who happens to be Asian, much more fit than me, and a relatively new racer. He wore a Frosted Flakes jersey so he couldn't be all that bad.
Plus, one of the first things he said to me was, "Hey, I read your blog!"
Point in his favor, that's for sure.
We did like two exhanges (hand offs), then just pedaled and talked about racing and stuff. After 5 minutes of gabbing, Dick Ring coached us via PA to do some more exchanges because, frankly, we weren't do anything constructive.
I felt like I'd been a naughty school boy, and now the teacher was making me write my homework down in front of him.
Brian and I did a few exchanges, did a reasonable job, and I'm glad that Dick made us do them because it really helped during the practice race.
When the CycleLoft guy was pointing out the teams for the race, he referred to the various jerseys (for those on the same team). Scotty and his teammate were Orange. Scotty and I paired up last time but we got lapped a lot of times... as Scott said, "I ran out of fingers to count how many times we got lapped."
We naturally had a lot of non-teammate pairs. So for the two tall guys, the pro said that the two tall guys were a team. The two Masters who were less tall, they were the less tall team.
Finally he came to us.
"Um, and Brian and Aki, well..."
I said what everyone was thinking.
"The two Asians!"
Everyone chuckled. Sometimes you gotta say what you gotta say.
With that we lined up and went. I started first, no plans on sprinting, no plans on anything. I even told Brian that after a few laps we'd be off the back and we could practice the slinging bit on our own.
I also told Brian that I can't go 2 laps on my own so I needed to exchange every 1.5 laps. I must have said it a few times because he took it to heart. That meant that as soon as Brian slung me into the race, he'd have to slow enough that he'd only go 1/2 lap before I lapped him. It sounds simple but in practice you have to almost stop to avoid overshooting the straight.
Or train more I guess, so I can go 2 laps at a time.
I started out first, I exchanged with Brian pretty quickly, and we got into a decent rhythm, exchanging every lap and a half (I returned the short-stint favor). We each missed one exchange, but nothing major, so that was good.
The CycleLoft pro kept things even for us newbies, and the race resembled a slightly higher-than comfortable group ride. With hand slings and such.
I didn't realize how decently we were doing our exchanges until it was just our team, the Orange guys (Scott and a teammate), and the CycleLoft pair. I really had no idea when we were "sprinting" until Brian slung me into the race and half a lap later Dick announced I won that sprint.
I did?
I ran into difficulty though. After one lap I was toast, and that half lap to get to Brian was unending torture. I left gaps every time, and the CycleLoft pro once encouraged me, "Get on that wheel!"
Then he looked at me, looked at my face, realized that wasn't about to happen, and closed the gap himself.
Somehow we never came off that front group. Or, more accurately, the human derny wouldn't let us get dropped. So Brian and I ultimately got third. We weren't the strongest riders but we managed to do our exchanges without losing too much ground to the human derny. So that was good.
Our final race was an Australian Pursuit. This is where you line up all around the track, evenly spaced, and you chase each other around. When you get passed, you're out.
By now my legs were numb with lactic acid, I was tired, and I half-heartedly attacked the race. One of the good riders started in front of me, and I gave up after a lap or so. I decided to keep riding so I could help whoever caught me. When I got caught I pulled for maybe half a lap but my legs were fading hard.
Brian flew by me. Surprising because I didn't know he caught me. I wish I'd pulled harder for him, but it was too late.
Ultimately he got into the top three, so my weak pull didn't affect him that much, and they did a match sprint. CycleLoft pro, the kid that started in front of me (an A rider), and Brian. Brian came close to taking second, but, again, the CycleLoft guy entertained us with his playful tactics and immense speed.
During the evening Dick Ring asked me about my team, complimented my kit, and said something else about me, I forget what. It's not usual to hear my name on the PA, and it's even more unusual to hear it pronounced correctly, so it was really significant to me.
Because of that, of seeing some familiar faces (Mike P, Scotty and Greta, the tall Jamis guy whose name I forget, the guy who sat out the Miss & Out - last name like Robin or Robic or something, with the heavy light blue bike), new ones (Brian - with a PowerTap no less), and a new-old one (Brooke), I had a great time.
Hence the hyper-euphoria. And the loud surprise the missus got when she called me.
Now to get back in the car and get back home to her and the kitties.
Addendum: Seems the missus was really sick and went to bed early. Her "call" was actually my call to her. I was just delirious.
And let's just say that I wasn't standing still.
I think the night went well, based on my somewhat hyper-euphoric mood I've been in since I've gotten into the car. As usual I called the missus to let her know that I was on my way back. Then, for a few minutes, I left the phone in a dash cubby. I have a decent hands-free system, and the auto-answer picks up for me, so it's usually not a problem.
Tonight, problem. It's that hyper-euphoric bit, which meant cranking the tunes and, well, being hyper-euphoric. Loud.
So I moved the phone onto the steering column so that if it woke up (i.e. someone called it), I'd see it light up. I could turn down the tunes before the phone answered.
Apparently I didn't do it in time. When I clambered out of the car here, I checked the phone. Sure enough, the missus had called. The phone picked up. And she got some earful of hyper-euphoria.
I wonder what she heard.
Hopefully I wasn't singing too loud.
So hyper-euphoric means that things went reasonably well. Reasonable for me anyway.
The day didn't start too well - I had some unfamiliar stomach issues, worrying me to the point that I wondered if I could eat anything. Ultimately it all went away (literally) and I could get some chow down.
The kitties demanded a lot of attention, so, of course, I gave it to them.
Then I decided to finish my track wheels. I wanted to trim down the long axles (155 mm? why? I had to cut it down to 140 mm), install them (meaning overhaul the hubs, sort of), and see if my freshly glued, thanks-to-Gabe, 17mm CyclePro (ne Panaracer) tubular was okay.
I started with the simple stuff, and the tire, well, the basetape is rolling a bit. I think I have to re-glue the basetape and re-glue the tire. But it looks cool. I decided to bring it anyway.
Then the axles. I tried to saw them, dulling a hacksaw blade by the time I got through half of one side. I brilliantly got my Dremel (it has these very thin, very cool cutting wheels) and started cutting the axle bits off. After disintegrating a bunch of cutting wheels, I got the thicker one out. The thicker One, i.e. I only had one. Somehow I got both axles trimmed without breaking it, although it was glowing red for much of the process.
I had a tingly feeling at some point. Unsure what caused it, I looked around. Apparently I put my hand on the cut-off end, and it was really, really hot.
Note to self: when using Dremel, wear gloves, eye protection, and long sleeves. Not bare-handed, with a t-shirt on, and regular glasses as "eye protection".
I got the hubs done, the easy wheel being a clincher TriSpoke with some old clincher on it (I want to glue up a tire on the tubular TriSpoke for the future, but when I tried to find one to glue, I didn't know which ones held air and which ones didn't). The Dura Ace M17 wheel was tougher because it has loose bearings (and three got away temporarily during the process), but when I realized the cones were already worn, I didn't care about how well I adjusted it. Now it feels like, well, a gritty 105 hub. Yay for me.
Then I loaded up the car, got the cooler with cool drinks, gear bag, helmet cam stuff. Almost forgot shoes, remembered them, and finally, 45 minutes late, I left for the track.
When some misty rain started hitting the windshield, I realized I hadn't checked the site to see if the races had been canceled. In a bit of a worry I called the missus, who called the track folks, and the races, she reported, were on.
I got there in some reasonable amount of time, with what appeared to be all of 3 or 4 racers there. Right, cloudy weather, almost spitting, not much fun. But lo and behold, as I got ready, cars rolled in one after another. We had pretty much no As, just this insanely fast CycleLoft pro (I'll get to him in a bit) and one or two other guys. All our races would be Bs, with the As there for whatever.
With the grey weather, I canned the helmet cam. I'll wait for a brighter day.
I decided last time I came here that if I was going to drive all the way up here, I was going to do some sprints, even if I had to do them on my own. So, just before the warm-up period ended, I blasted out an effort. Tons of mistakes - I didn't dive down to the 200m mark, I never got totally on top of the gear, but I was out of breath and feeling like I'd just done a sprint.
Then we stood for the National Anthem.
First ego trip of the day: while we were waiting for everyone to get to the start area, Dick Ring announced that I was there. He said that I "bring... some excitement to the track." Note that he didn't say anything about how I'm looking really fit or anything, which is how he compliments the others. But, hey, a mention is a good thing.
We started off with the Scratch Race, 15 laps in this case, the couple As mixed in with the Bs. I played a tactical game, trying to save some juice. I've had a lot of practice with this - I recently downloaded the ProCycling Manager 2008 demo, and you can race track. What's really interesting about that is how quickly your poor rider blows up. Hit a bit of wind, sprint just a touch early, and ka-pow! your rider gets totally wasted. Sit in more, work the gaps, and he wins by a proverbial mile.
(Since that's my reality, I think everyone should play the game. Then they'll understand why I hide from the wind all race.)
Anyhoo, with this "experience" in mind, I sat out of the wind. I reluctantly did a half lap pull early on, and that almost sawed me off the back.
No more pulling.
I did notice that when the first surge went, following an attack by a woman racer I hadn't seen before, the CycleLoft pro let everyone gap him off the back. I figured he was handicapping himself, kind of like how my dad would handicap himself when we played Go. The crazy thing is how many stones I'd put down before we started, and my dad would still beat me if he tried (he let me win regularly too, so I wouldn't feel too bad about it). So anyway the CycleLoft guy is pretty good if I start thinking of him as handicapping himself.
With about 5 to go I sat maybe 5th, and with 3 to go one of the Oranges went to the front, me sitting on his wheel. When he wiggled his elbow I declined the pull, and an A guy went to the front. He started going from 1 1/2 laps out, rode the Orange off his wheel, and although I tried to even up the terms going into the last turn, I couldn't. I sat up, pulled up, and watched someone pass me for third or something.
The CycleLoft pro won the race. He made it look so easy too. Imagine riding down the road at 12 mph on your road bike. That's what he looked like, except he was annihilating everyone in the sprint.
Next up, Chariot races. That's a one lap, standing start race. The first ones I did were pretty poor - I couldn't get my 90" gear going well. Most other guys run 88" gears, or even 86"... the CycleLoft guy runs something even smaller than that. Crazy.
Back on topic - the last time I did a Chariot race I actually managed to stay with the other guys, so this time I decided to give it a good shot.
Plus it would be a good full out effort, and I wanted to get some of those in while I was here.
I heard Dick mention the woman's name during warm up or something - Brooke something. It rang a bell, so when we were waiting for the Chariot stuff to start, I asked if she'd raced for a shop down in Connecticut. She had, and over the years she'd also asked me about Gimbles and Bethel (she lives far away, like in Colorado or something). Back then I asked what Cat she was because I didn't want to send a newbie to Gimbles, and when she replied Cat 1 or 2 (I forget which), it was a bit embarassing.
Anyway, she wasn't afraid to launch attacks and all that so that was good.
And when I lined up for the Chariot race, someone held my bike so well it felt like it was in a bike stand. I didn't know who it was, so I mentioned that, "Whoever holding me is a pro at it."
Of course it was Brooke.
They count down, 3, 2, 1, and then say Go! On 'Go!' you go, standing start, 90" gear for me, and try and beat everyone over one lap.
The CycleLoft guy started next to me, did like a quarter downstroke, gained a foot on me, and suddenly eased. I shot into the lead, someone else unclipped at the line and almost fell, and in the ensuing chaos no one really got a chance to go after me. I sprinted over the line first.
Yay!
That was the first heat though. And it killed me. I felt weird pain type sensations I haven't felt since, well, Tuesday Night Sprints at SUNY Purchase. I could barely pedal, my muscles felt bathed in acid, and I really didn't want to race anymore.
The top three from that heat met the top three from the other heat, and we had another race. Brooke held my bike again, but this time I didn't follow through. I don't think I launched quite as hard (my weird leg sensations probably had something to do with that), and I eased just before the line. I think I couldn't even manage 4th out of 6.
Next up was a Miss & Out, and, frankly, I didn't feel like even starting. A lap or two of gentle, slow pedaling made my legs feel a bit better, and I convinced myself I could start the race. The three neutral laps killed me, and when they started pulling riders, I drifted off the back and let myself get pulled first.
The CycleLoft guy won that too I think. He's just so fast it's unbelievable. A different world. He was a human derny in the Miss & Out, sitting at the front lap after lap after lap after lap. I was disappointed the motorcycle guy didn't show up this week, but the CycleLoft guy demonstrated that you don't need a motorcycle to get that even-Steven pace for 5 or 8 laps.
The big race for the night was the Madison, a 30 lap race in this case. Since we were all Bs (except for the couple guys), we did some practice, then we'd do a practice race. This meant we'd sprint for points, we'd practice hand offs, and the CycleLoft guy would make sure that a few of us stayed together to make it interesting.
First we did some practice. I teamed up with a guy Brian, who happens to be Asian, much more fit than me, and a relatively new racer. He wore a Frosted Flakes jersey so he couldn't be all that bad.
Plus, one of the first things he said to me was, "Hey, I read your blog!"
Point in his favor, that's for sure.
We did like two exhanges (hand offs), then just pedaled and talked about racing and stuff. After 5 minutes of gabbing, Dick Ring coached us via PA to do some more exchanges because, frankly, we weren't do anything constructive.
I felt like I'd been a naughty school boy, and now the teacher was making me write my homework down in front of him.
Brian and I did a few exchanges, did a reasonable job, and I'm glad that Dick made us do them because it really helped during the practice race.
When the CycleLoft guy was pointing out the teams for the race, he referred to the various jerseys (for those on the same team). Scotty and his teammate were Orange. Scotty and I paired up last time but we got lapped a lot of times... as Scott said, "I ran out of fingers to count how many times we got lapped."
We naturally had a lot of non-teammate pairs. So for the two tall guys, the pro said that the two tall guys were a team. The two Masters who were less tall, they were the less tall team.
Finally he came to us.
"Um, and Brian and Aki, well..."
I said what everyone was thinking.
"The two Asians!"
Everyone chuckled. Sometimes you gotta say what you gotta say.
With that we lined up and went. I started first, no plans on sprinting, no plans on anything. I even told Brian that after a few laps we'd be off the back and we could practice the slinging bit on our own.
I also told Brian that I can't go 2 laps on my own so I needed to exchange every 1.5 laps. I must have said it a few times because he took it to heart. That meant that as soon as Brian slung me into the race, he'd have to slow enough that he'd only go 1/2 lap before I lapped him. It sounds simple but in practice you have to almost stop to avoid overshooting the straight.
Or train more I guess, so I can go 2 laps at a time.
I started out first, I exchanged with Brian pretty quickly, and we got into a decent rhythm, exchanging every lap and a half (I returned the short-stint favor). We each missed one exchange, but nothing major, so that was good.
The CycleLoft pro kept things even for us newbies, and the race resembled a slightly higher-than comfortable group ride. With hand slings and such.
I didn't realize how decently we were doing our exchanges until it was just our team, the Orange guys (Scott and a teammate), and the CycleLoft pair. I really had no idea when we were "sprinting" until Brian slung me into the race and half a lap later Dick announced I won that sprint.
I did?
I ran into difficulty though. After one lap I was toast, and that half lap to get to Brian was unending torture. I left gaps every time, and the CycleLoft pro once encouraged me, "Get on that wheel!"
Then he looked at me, looked at my face, realized that wasn't about to happen, and closed the gap himself.
Somehow we never came off that front group. Or, more accurately, the human derny wouldn't let us get dropped. So Brian and I ultimately got third. We weren't the strongest riders but we managed to do our exchanges without losing too much ground to the human derny. So that was good.
Our final race was an Australian Pursuit. This is where you line up all around the track, evenly spaced, and you chase each other around. When you get passed, you're out.
By now my legs were numb with lactic acid, I was tired, and I half-heartedly attacked the race. One of the good riders started in front of me, and I gave up after a lap or so. I decided to keep riding so I could help whoever caught me. When I got caught I pulled for maybe half a lap but my legs were fading hard.
Brian flew by me. Surprising because I didn't know he caught me. I wish I'd pulled harder for him, but it was too late.
Ultimately he got into the top three, so my weak pull didn't affect him that much, and they did a match sprint. CycleLoft pro, the kid that started in front of me (an A rider), and Brian. Brian came close to taking second, but, again, the CycleLoft guy entertained us with his playful tactics and immense speed.
During the evening Dick Ring asked me about my team, complimented my kit, and said something else about me, I forget what. It's not usual to hear my name on the PA, and it's even more unusual to hear it pronounced correctly, so it was really significant to me.
Because of that, of seeing some familiar faces (Mike P, Scotty and Greta, the tall Jamis guy whose name I forget, the guy who sat out the Miss & Out - last name like Robin or Robic or something, with the heavy light blue bike), new ones (Brian - with a PowerTap no less), and a new-old one (Brooke), I had a great time.
Hence the hyper-euphoria. And the loud surprise the missus got when she called me.
Now to get back in the car and get back home to her and the kitties.
Addendum: Seems the missus was really sick and went to bed early. Her "call" was actually my call to her. I was just delirious.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Racing - Connecticut Coast Criterium, Report
Ah. Bethel, again. But this time in totally different circumstances.
First off, it's warm. Warm like 80-something degrees, warm like it's summer, warm like it's not the Spring Series.
Second, it's not my race! Although I see a lot of familiar equipment, loaned out to the team, and even the best TiVO photofinish operator in SW Connecticut who goes by the handle "Jonathan", it's someone else's show. And with that it meant no pre-reg dredge, no gathering stuff in the van, none of that stuff.
JJ and his crew did all that.
This meant that when I entered the refuge known as "My Dad's", the house I lived in from the end of elementary school through college, I could relax. In fact, after learning about the new cars that my nephews recently acquired, I actually started nodding off. The missus herded me upstairs and I couldn't even re-read one of my childhood books (for some reason I re-read the Louis L'Amour books most) - I fell fast asleep almost immediately.
Of course, like usual, I woke up about 7.5 hours later, about 4 AM. But, in my refuge, whatever stresses temporarily sidelined, I simply fell back asleep again.
A few hours later we got up, thanked JJ for letting us off the hook for any early morning deployment, and went and got some breakfast. The missus treated (again) and told me half-jokingly that I'd have to win that money back at the race.
Suddenly I felt stressed.
Um... Okay, I didn't feel stressed.
Joking aside, I'd tried to prepare for this race a bit better than, say, Hartford, with the missus's support. She'd alternately cajoled me to ride or hustled me to bed early, depending on my exhaustion level. I'd eaten lots of carbs like pasta (and ham - I'm almost finished eating what amounts to about 6 pounds of spiral-cut ham) and rice, some iron-rich meat (burgers, steak), and drank lots of cramp-preventing electrolyte drink. I rested as much as possible, recovering from some admittedly exhausting days at work, and rode when I felt energized.
So when I finally rolled up to the course, I felt relatively prepared. I had a fresh tape for the helmet cam, I had two frozen bottles (one of Powerade, one of water, and the blanket actually had ice in it from condensation), some less cold bottles (Powerade, water), and my bike with my standard racing DV46 tubulars.
I set things up, leaving the helmetcam with the missus, and did a few warm-up laps. Although my legs didn't feel sore (usually cramping as badly as I did on Tuesday night leads to a few days of repercussions), as soon as I stood on the hill I could feel lactic acid building up.
I hadn't fueled enough.
I'm no dietician (just look at me), but to me "good legs" means I do a little effort and I feel fine. "Bad legs" is when I stand and immediately feel lactic acid, some fatigue deep inside the muscle. When I eat a lot of carbs and such in the 2 days before a race, I have good legs. When I don't, I don't.
Therefore I didn't eat enough.
(This may be simply a correlational relationship, but I've gotten to the point where I think of it as causual. Any dieticians feel free to pipe up.)
I thought that maybe I needed a lap or two and that lactic acid feeling would disappate but no such luck. It just lingered and lingered. I didn't have a Coke or anything sugary and caffeinated, so I just had coffee thoughts and hoped that would help. Which reminded me...
"There goes that $25 breakfast."
I kept doing laps, hoping for something to change, rolling around until 1:23 PM, just a bit of time before our 1:30 PM start. Of course the helmet cam took more time to set up than I expected, but the new expediant set-up meant I still had a moment or two to gather my thoughts before we set off on our adventure.
I honestly don't remember very much about the beginning of the race, except that Merto, a friend who works overseas but was in the area for a bit, put down some crackling pace, launching up the road to work out some of the time zone kinks from his legs.
My "front of the field" patrolling became, about 10 laps later, "tailgating the field". I drank my frozen Powerade first, figuring any sugar and electrolytes would come in handy. By the time I finished it, we hadn't hit the halfway point, and when I realized that I'd already delved into my frozen water, I started to worry a bit.
The heat (85 or so degrees) and lack of shade really cooked me, and I realized I'd consumed something like 3/4 gallon of fluid in the last 2 hours (2 quarts of Powerade, a bottle of Hint, and a bunch of water). Stopping to pee would be bad. Therefore I eased up on the "intake" and focused a bit more on "sprinkling".
Ice water on the face feels awesome, in case you didn't know. Shocking, yes, but awesome.
With some judicious ice water application (none near the helmet cam or its various electronic elements and connections), I felt a lot better.
Somehow, and I'd been looking for it, my legs never displayed that dismaying lactic acid concentration. Nor did they even hint at cramping. I guess a half gallon of Powerade will do that.
As the laps wound down, the field seemed overheated. More than once we'd slow down to 15 or 18 mph, only to surge on the hill. Everyone seemed lethargic, any motivation melting away in the heat. At my tailgunning position I had no idea what was happening in the race, but eventually one fact filtered into my heat-adled brain:
There Was No Break.
Oh.
Suddenly I got goosebumps, from the heat perhaps, but also from some adrenaline. Or maybe the ice water.
Whatever, I took it as a good sign, and started paying more attention to the lap cards. Before the race I'd been talking to someone about my last year's Hartford fiasco, where I sprinted a lap early, and I really didn't feel like making that same mistake here.
I managed to move up a bit by 4 or 5 to go, leaving plenty of riders in front of me, gambling on some finessing to move up in the last few laps.
I sort of saw 3 to go, then suddenly it was 2 to go, and I felt like I'd been caught napping. I sat too far back, going up the hill, and I needed to move up NOW.
Somehow that's what happened. I took opportunities when I could but really, by popping through a momentary gap going up the hill, I got into about 15th spot just before the bell.
A blue team had three guys in the first five, and I figured that was the leadout. If the team drilled it for the whole lap, it'd be tough. I'd have to jump from pretty far back, maybe 10 or 15 back, and that's just enough that I didn't feel comfortable about, well, making the breakfast money back.
However, if things bunched up, I could try and move up a bit, an odds-on bet for me at Bethel.
Then, on the first stretch, the string broke. The first Blue rider, pulling hard into the headwind, rode away with a Cambridge rider on his wheel. The next two Blue riders looked around, looking for people to go.
And no one went.
No one! I saw one teammate but I knew he was trying to get a good result because he was playing coy with the wind. So I didn't yell anything. Plus he was about 5 guys ahead of me, and I didn't feel like really yelling. I didn't think to look around, nor yell, but it was crazy. We were soft-pedaling and watching two riders just mosey on away from us.
I hoped for a quick catch of the renegade two man break, a temporary reprieve from the pace, and then I'd be good for the sprint.
But... nothing.
Granted, I'm sure those two guys up front had it totally pegged, but from a field sprinter waiting for the race to open up, well, we were just coasting along in first gear. Yes, I know I was just sitting in, but trust me, I've tried to go from further out and it just doesn't work. Serious.
I think a lot of the guys at the front were sprinters without teammates, and therefore we had no sacrificial riders to throw at the front of the field. Because of the tepid pace, the field actually bunched up going into the long Turn Two, and stayed that way on the back stretch.
"Bunched" up, not "swarmed" into a big glob. The former is due to the front slowing and the rest of the field naturally flaring out and around. The latter is due to sheer panic and desperation driving all racers to move up as much as possible regardless of energy expenditure.
For me, at least for the sprint, the bunching was a good thing. Things mixed around a bit and I found a previously non-existant opening.
For the break, it was even better. The two riders had become one, with the Cambridge guy launching at some point because suddenly, on the back stretch, he was alone and out of reach.
Things in the field seemed perfectly normal. I had no idea what would happen. I sat 10 or so back from the front. I had some legs left (this is relatively unusual in a summer race), but no idea when I'd use it.
Then, ta-da!, someone threw me a bone. Or, in this case, a tall, fast, frustrated Bethel rider.
At maybe 500 meters to go he peeked over to the right, saw some real estate, and set about gobbling it up at a much faster rate than anyone around. My new best friend Kevin slid over neatly to claim the wheel, but I sort of met him in the middle.
We rode side by side for a second, both wanting this gift of a wheel.
A brief calculation, a glance, and I eased just a bit, relying on my ability to get on Kevin's wheel. I figured that two really tall guys would make for a better leadout than one really tall guy, and Kevin is a really tall guy.
I eased onto his wheel, got out of a lot of the wind, and we blew by the front of the field. I saw one guy look over and start accelerating to get on the train before it left town, but, man, we were flying.
The Bethel guy kept looking back and I thought he was good ole Hob, but things didn't seem right for it to be him. Nevertheless my new leadout man kept it pegged as we rounded the bottom of the hill.
I checked to see what was happening around me. Nothing. No one. Nada.
I felt awesome, great, absolutely fresh, like I'd just gotten on the bike. I thought, man, I am going to pulverize Kevin, just kill him when I jump, and I'll go right to the line and woot! get second behind that damn friken Cambridge guy.
I jumped as hard as I could, shifting up as I did.
Then I realized that I'd forgotten everything about sprinting.
I forgot to distribute my weight evenly, with a touch of front bias. Therefore my front wheel skittered across the yellow line, and suddenly I found myself almost hitting the curb.
I totally forgot about my optimal jump cadence. Like totally. Therefore I felt like I was pedaling in a barrel of molasses. My mind raced. "90-95 rpm, two gears lower, should have checked, should I shift down, I think I can make it, hell no one can pass me once I'm at the front"
I didn't shift down.
One foot. The other foot. Then the first foot. My legs started faltering. Somehow they didn't respond like I thought they would, my downstrokes getting weaker and weaker. My body sort of melted around my knees, trying to get them to push down harder on the pedals.
I've got to make it. Just around the sewer grate, unusually naked, then the endless stretch of pavement leading to the line, just have to...
Look over to the right.
Kevin, totally and completely killing me in the sprint.
Aw, crap.
The line came, I don't even know if I threw my bike.
I looked for Kevin on the cool down lap, cutting through about 5 guys to get over to him.
He had a big grin on his face.
I did too.
We shook hands, just a grip really.
"I can't believe you got me. I even let you on that guy's wheel because I was thinking, 'Oh, man, I am going to annihilate him in the sprint! Just crush him! And then you...'"
What could he say? He just laughed and smiled. He'd played his cards right, saw the opportunity, and most importantly...
He did the sprint right.
Ah well. Close but no cigar. Horseshoes and hand grenades and all that. All those "If only..." things. If only one guy took a pull to keep the break within reach. If only I'd not shifted into the
Biggest
Fricken
Gear
I had going up the stupid hill.
If only, perhaps, I'd shifted down.
If only I'd talked with some of the guys before the race.
But, well, it's all good.
I managed to win breakfast money back and then some.
First off, it's warm. Warm like 80-something degrees, warm like it's summer, warm like it's not the Spring Series.
Second, it's not my race! Although I see a lot of familiar equipment, loaned out to the team, and even the best TiVO photofinish operator in SW Connecticut who goes by the handle "Jonathan", it's someone else's show. And with that it meant no pre-reg dredge, no gathering stuff in the van, none of that stuff.
JJ and his crew did all that.
This meant that when I entered the refuge known as "My Dad's", the house I lived in from the end of elementary school through college, I could relax. In fact, after learning about the new cars that my nephews recently acquired, I actually started nodding off. The missus herded me upstairs and I couldn't even re-read one of my childhood books (for some reason I re-read the Louis L'Amour books most) - I fell fast asleep almost immediately.
Of course, like usual, I woke up about 7.5 hours later, about 4 AM. But, in my refuge, whatever stresses temporarily sidelined, I simply fell back asleep again.
A few hours later we got up, thanked JJ for letting us off the hook for any early morning deployment, and went and got some breakfast. The missus treated (again) and told me half-jokingly that I'd have to win that money back at the race.
Suddenly I felt stressed.
Um... Okay, I didn't feel stressed.
Joking aside, I'd tried to prepare for this race a bit better than, say, Hartford, with the missus's support. She'd alternately cajoled me to ride or hustled me to bed early, depending on my exhaustion level. I'd eaten lots of carbs like pasta (and ham - I'm almost finished eating what amounts to about 6 pounds of spiral-cut ham) and rice, some iron-rich meat (burgers, steak), and drank lots of cramp-preventing electrolyte drink. I rested as much as possible, recovering from some admittedly exhausting days at work, and rode when I felt energized.
So when I finally rolled up to the course, I felt relatively prepared. I had a fresh tape for the helmet cam, I had two frozen bottles (one of Powerade, one of water, and the blanket actually had ice in it from condensation), some less cold bottles (Powerade, water), and my bike with my standard racing DV46 tubulars.
I set things up, leaving the helmetcam with the missus, and did a few warm-up laps. Although my legs didn't feel sore (usually cramping as badly as I did on Tuesday night leads to a few days of repercussions), as soon as I stood on the hill I could feel lactic acid building up.
I hadn't fueled enough.
I'm no dietician (just look at me), but to me "good legs" means I do a little effort and I feel fine. "Bad legs" is when I stand and immediately feel lactic acid, some fatigue deep inside the muscle. When I eat a lot of carbs and such in the 2 days before a race, I have good legs. When I don't, I don't.
Therefore I didn't eat enough.
(This may be simply a correlational relationship, but I've gotten to the point where I think of it as causual. Any dieticians feel free to pipe up.)
I thought that maybe I needed a lap or two and that lactic acid feeling would disappate but no such luck. It just lingered and lingered. I didn't have a Coke or anything sugary and caffeinated, so I just had coffee thoughts and hoped that would help. Which reminded me...
"There goes that $25 breakfast."
I kept doing laps, hoping for something to change, rolling around until 1:23 PM, just a bit of time before our 1:30 PM start. Of course the helmet cam took more time to set up than I expected, but the new expediant set-up meant I still had a moment or two to gather my thoughts before we set off on our adventure.
I honestly don't remember very much about the beginning of the race, except that Merto, a friend who works overseas but was in the area for a bit, put down some crackling pace, launching up the road to work out some of the time zone kinks from his legs.
My "front of the field" patrolling became, about 10 laps later, "tailgating the field". I drank my frozen Powerade first, figuring any sugar and electrolytes would come in handy. By the time I finished it, we hadn't hit the halfway point, and when I realized that I'd already delved into my frozen water, I started to worry a bit.
The heat (85 or so degrees) and lack of shade really cooked me, and I realized I'd consumed something like 3/4 gallon of fluid in the last 2 hours (2 quarts of Powerade, a bottle of Hint, and a bunch of water). Stopping to pee would be bad. Therefore I eased up on the "intake" and focused a bit more on "sprinkling".
Ice water on the face feels awesome, in case you didn't know. Shocking, yes, but awesome.
With some judicious ice water application (none near the helmet cam or its various electronic elements and connections), I felt a lot better.
Somehow, and I'd been looking for it, my legs never displayed that dismaying lactic acid concentration. Nor did they even hint at cramping. I guess a half gallon of Powerade will do that.
As the laps wound down, the field seemed overheated. More than once we'd slow down to 15 or 18 mph, only to surge on the hill. Everyone seemed lethargic, any motivation melting away in the heat. At my tailgunning position I had no idea what was happening in the race, but eventually one fact filtered into my heat-adled brain:
There Was No Break.
Oh.
Suddenly I got goosebumps, from the heat perhaps, but also from some adrenaline. Or maybe the ice water.
Whatever, I took it as a good sign, and started paying more attention to the lap cards. Before the race I'd been talking to someone about my last year's Hartford fiasco, where I sprinted a lap early, and I really didn't feel like making that same mistake here.
I managed to move up a bit by 4 or 5 to go, leaving plenty of riders in front of me, gambling on some finessing to move up in the last few laps.
I sort of saw 3 to go, then suddenly it was 2 to go, and I felt like I'd been caught napping. I sat too far back, going up the hill, and I needed to move up NOW.
Somehow that's what happened. I took opportunities when I could but really, by popping through a momentary gap going up the hill, I got into about 15th spot just before the bell.
A blue team had three guys in the first five, and I figured that was the leadout. If the team drilled it for the whole lap, it'd be tough. I'd have to jump from pretty far back, maybe 10 or 15 back, and that's just enough that I didn't feel comfortable about, well, making the breakfast money back.
However, if things bunched up, I could try and move up a bit, an odds-on bet for me at Bethel.
Then, on the first stretch, the string broke. The first Blue rider, pulling hard into the headwind, rode away with a Cambridge rider on his wheel. The next two Blue riders looked around, looking for people to go.
And no one went.
No one! I saw one teammate but I knew he was trying to get a good result because he was playing coy with the wind. So I didn't yell anything. Plus he was about 5 guys ahead of me, and I didn't feel like really yelling. I didn't think to look around, nor yell, but it was crazy. We were soft-pedaling and watching two riders just mosey on away from us.
I hoped for a quick catch of the renegade two man break, a temporary reprieve from the pace, and then I'd be good for the sprint.
But... nothing.
Granted, I'm sure those two guys up front had it totally pegged, but from a field sprinter waiting for the race to open up, well, we were just coasting along in first gear. Yes, I know I was just sitting in, but trust me, I've tried to go from further out and it just doesn't work. Serious.
I think a lot of the guys at the front were sprinters without teammates, and therefore we had no sacrificial riders to throw at the front of the field. Because of the tepid pace, the field actually bunched up going into the long Turn Two, and stayed that way on the back stretch.
"Bunched" up, not "swarmed" into a big glob. The former is due to the front slowing and the rest of the field naturally flaring out and around. The latter is due to sheer panic and desperation driving all racers to move up as much as possible regardless of energy expenditure.
For me, at least for the sprint, the bunching was a good thing. Things mixed around a bit and I found a previously non-existant opening.
For the break, it was even better. The two riders had become one, with the Cambridge guy launching at some point because suddenly, on the back stretch, he was alone and out of reach.
Things in the field seemed perfectly normal. I had no idea what would happen. I sat 10 or so back from the front. I had some legs left (this is relatively unusual in a summer race), but no idea when I'd use it.
Then, ta-da!, someone threw me a bone. Or, in this case, a tall, fast, frustrated Bethel rider.
At maybe 500 meters to go he peeked over to the right, saw some real estate, and set about gobbling it up at a much faster rate than anyone around. My new best friend Kevin slid over neatly to claim the wheel, but I sort of met him in the middle.
We rode side by side for a second, both wanting this gift of a wheel.
A brief calculation, a glance, and I eased just a bit, relying on my ability to get on Kevin's wheel. I figured that two really tall guys would make for a better leadout than one really tall guy, and Kevin is a really tall guy.
I eased onto his wheel, got out of a lot of the wind, and we blew by the front of the field. I saw one guy look over and start accelerating to get on the train before it left town, but, man, we were flying.
The Bethel guy kept looking back and I thought he was good ole Hob, but things didn't seem right for it to be him. Nevertheless my new leadout man kept it pegged as we rounded the bottom of the hill.
I checked to see what was happening around me. Nothing. No one. Nada.
I felt awesome, great, absolutely fresh, like I'd just gotten on the bike. I thought, man, I am going to pulverize Kevin, just kill him when I jump, and I'll go right to the line and woot! get second behind that damn friken Cambridge guy.
I jumped as hard as I could, shifting up as I did.
Then I realized that I'd forgotten everything about sprinting.
I forgot to distribute my weight evenly, with a touch of front bias. Therefore my front wheel skittered across the yellow line, and suddenly I found myself almost hitting the curb.
I totally forgot about my optimal jump cadence. Like totally. Therefore I felt like I was pedaling in a barrel of molasses. My mind raced. "90-95 rpm, two gears lower, should have checked, should I shift down, I think I can make it, hell no one can pass me once I'm at the front"
I didn't shift down.
One foot. The other foot. Then the first foot. My legs started faltering. Somehow they didn't respond like I thought they would, my downstrokes getting weaker and weaker. My body sort of melted around my knees, trying to get them to push down harder on the pedals.
I've got to make it. Just around the sewer grate, unusually naked, then the endless stretch of pavement leading to the line, just have to...
Look over to the right.
Kevin, totally and completely killing me in the sprint.
Aw, crap.
The line came, I don't even know if I threw my bike.
I looked for Kevin on the cool down lap, cutting through about 5 guys to get over to him.
He had a big grin on his face.
I did too.
We shook hands, just a grip really.
"I can't believe you got me. I even let you on that guy's wheel because I was thinking, 'Oh, man, I am going to annihilate him in the sprint! Just crush him! And then you...'"
What could he say? He just laughed and smiled. He'd played his cards right, saw the opportunity, and most importantly...
He did the sprint right.
Ah well. Close but no cigar. Horseshoes and hand grenades and all that. All those "If only..." things. If only one guy took a pull to keep the break within reach. If only I'd not shifted into the
Biggest
Fricken
Gear
I had going up the stupid hill.
If only, perhaps, I'd shifted down.
If only I'd talked with some of the guys before the race.
But, well, it's all good.
I managed to win breakfast money back and then some.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Racing - When Is Contact OK?
A while back someone on bikeforums mentioned something about contact in a race. A normal forum type pattern followed, with some suggesting pushing and shoving is normal. I feel the other extreme makes for good, long-term racing.
My rule is absolutely no intentional contact.
(Note: this applies to Cat 3s - 5s... in P123 races I've seen guys unclip and kick at other guys - meaning they are stomping at the side of the other rider's thigh with the cleat of their shoe - while the final leadout guys are winding it up, so they're crazy and don't count. Having said that, I've placed in such races without any contact so it's possible.)
Contact, in general, means you are in a weak position and are using force to try and mitigate the situation. If you are in good position, with good tactics, you won't need to contact another rider. Well, not unless they try to make up for their lack of tactical knowledge by reaching out to you.
An accidental nudge, that's fine, but if someone nudges me on purpose I won't let him in or by on principle alone. I'll let him by if it looks like I'll crash without taking him out - but if we'll both go down, then so be it. I've leaned super hard on a guy's bars at 35 mph inside the bell lap because they tried to push me aside. The move wasn't important (it wouldn't have made a difference in the race, illustrating that rider's lack of tactical sense) but I didn't let the guy go by just because he tried to make room when there was no room.
Note: it's hard to tell when someone is leaning on someone - the hard contact at 35 mph happened while I was wearing my helmet cam in the 2006 Nutmeg State Games and that part of the race is in the cam clip.
Also, I only crashed once (just as the sprint was getting wound up) with a guy who was being a jerk, it wasn't intentional but I was laughing when I got up. Definitely worth the crash to see him mad for taking himself out - he was in the weak position and tried to force the situation. He failed.
The key is moving up in such a way that there is no contact. You may come close to someone but you shouldn't contact them. Nothing wrong with that.
If you think that you may contact someone, don't do it. You are holding a weak card. Get better position and try again. You'll find an opening shortly if you're doing things right. If you're doing things wrong then you'll never see an opening - that's when you will figure out that you're doing something wrong, and hopefully figure out what it is exactly. Work on rectifying the problem and try again.
As a primer, watch my helmet cam clips (YouTube Sprinterdellacasa). You can see I can move up within the field if I want to (outside of the field doesn't count since that just takes strength and no finesse). I recall one contact when a guy to my inside forgot to turn for just a second. I initiate no contact, even when guys are piling up beside me or bunny hopping into the flowers or other random things. On some clips guys push me, sometimes hard, but it's hard to tell since those are out of camera sight.
Moving up within the field is a great skill and I practice it whenever I can. You can practice this skill on group rides and races (especially those less important to you).
Focus on a few things. For example, I almost always spend some time focusing on getting as close as possible to the rider in front of me. Don't zone out to the point that you don't see what's going on around you, but definitely focus on reducing the distance between your tires. Overlap to the side slightly if you must, but keep pushing that mental comfort level. You'll find yourself so close your hands may get intimate with the rider in front of you, and they'll be on your levers!
You can also work on lateral distance - side to side. Ride just a tad closer to the rider next to you, or discretely slide in between two guys (who aren't really interacting - interrupting a conversation would be rude). Understanding the rules of the sphere, know that your hands and bars are extremely vulnerable. So protect them by making sure that they are not the first thing to contact those next to you.
Taller and shorter riders require you adjust your position slightly - for example, a tall rider next to me will hit my tricep with his forearm, so I have to expect that. I'm about as short as a guy gets on a bike so I don't deal with shorter riders, but if you're next to someone substantially shorter than you, your arm will hit a shoulder or tricep. Tall riders have to be extra careful since the forearm is a much better lever than a shoulder or tricep, and therefore will more readily cause some bar wagging.
My rule is absolutely no intentional contact.
(Note: this applies to Cat 3s - 5s... in P123 races I've seen guys unclip and kick at other guys - meaning they are stomping at the side of the other rider's thigh with the cleat of their shoe - while the final leadout guys are winding it up, so they're crazy and don't count. Having said that, I've placed in such races without any contact so it's possible.)
Contact, in general, means you are in a weak position and are using force to try and mitigate the situation. If you are in good position, with good tactics, you won't need to contact another rider. Well, not unless they try to make up for their lack of tactical knowledge by reaching out to you.
An accidental nudge, that's fine, but if someone nudges me on purpose I won't let him in or by on principle alone. I'll let him by if it looks like I'll crash without taking him out - but if we'll both go down, then so be it. I've leaned super hard on a guy's bars at 35 mph inside the bell lap because they tried to push me aside. The move wasn't important (it wouldn't have made a difference in the race, illustrating that rider's lack of tactical sense) but I didn't let the guy go by just because he tried to make room when there was no room.
Note: it's hard to tell when someone is leaning on someone - the hard contact at 35 mph happened while I was wearing my helmet cam in the 2006 Nutmeg State Games and that part of the race is in the cam clip.
Also, I only crashed once (just as the sprint was getting wound up) with a guy who was being a jerk, it wasn't intentional but I was laughing when I got up. Definitely worth the crash to see him mad for taking himself out - he was in the weak position and tried to force the situation. He failed.
The key is moving up in such a way that there is no contact. You may come close to someone but you shouldn't contact them. Nothing wrong with that.
If you think that you may contact someone, don't do it. You are holding a weak card. Get better position and try again. You'll find an opening shortly if you're doing things right. If you're doing things wrong then you'll never see an opening - that's when you will figure out that you're doing something wrong, and hopefully figure out what it is exactly. Work on rectifying the problem and try again.
As a primer, watch my helmet cam clips (YouTube Sprinterdellacasa). You can see I can move up within the field if I want to (outside of the field doesn't count since that just takes strength and no finesse). I recall one contact when a guy to my inside forgot to turn for just a second. I initiate no contact, even when guys are piling up beside me or bunny hopping into the flowers or other random things. On some clips guys push me, sometimes hard, but it's hard to tell since those are out of camera sight.
Moving up within the field is a great skill and I practice it whenever I can. You can practice this skill on group rides and races (especially those less important to you).
Focus on a few things. For example, I almost always spend some time focusing on getting as close as possible to the rider in front of me. Don't zone out to the point that you don't see what's going on around you, but definitely focus on reducing the distance between your tires. Overlap to the side slightly if you must, but keep pushing that mental comfort level. You'll find yourself so close your hands may get intimate with the rider in front of you, and they'll be on your levers!
You can also work on lateral distance - side to side. Ride just a tad closer to the rider next to you, or discretely slide in between two guys (who aren't really interacting - interrupting a conversation would be rude). Understanding the rules of the sphere, know that your hands and bars are extremely vulnerable. So protect them by making sure that they are not the first thing to contact those next to you.
Taller and shorter riders require you adjust your position slightly - for example, a tall rider next to me will hit my tricep with his forearm, so I have to expect that. I'm about as short as a guy gets on a bike so I don't deal with shorter riders, but if you're next to someone substantially shorter than you, your arm will hit a shoulder or tricep. Tall riders have to be extra careful since the forearm is a much better lever than a shoulder or tricep, and therefore will more readily cause some bar wagging.
You can also work on drafting closer to the rider in front. I mention this because being able to draft closer to the rider in front indicates your vulnerable sphere has shrunk. When your sphere comes down to a few inches in each direction, you'll be hard to fight off a wheel. Riders won't be able to slide over a few inches to intimidate you - they'll have to get into their sphere to force you to back off. I remember one race where a Junior literally cried out in frustration in the middle of the field, "Why can't I stay on a wheel!?"
The reason? He couldn't get closer than about three feet behind the next rider. Three feet is a huge gap in a Cat 3 crit, and other racers would readily fill it, squeezing the poor Junior back. He'd then ease up until he had his comfortable three feet in front of him, at which point another racer would notice the gap and fill it.
If this Junior worked on dealing with field/peloton situations as much as he trained, he'd have been much, much stronger in the race. I felt a bit fortunate he was unable to draft any closer because he was obviously very strong - even with this huge handicap he was able to hang in during the race. Just imagine how well he could race if his sphere extended only three inches, not three feet.
The reason? He couldn't get closer than about three feet behind the next rider. Three feet is a huge gap in a Cat 3 crit, and other racers would readily fill it, squeezing the poor Junior back. He'd then ease up until he had his comfortable three feet in front of him, at which point another racer would notice the gap and fill it.
If this Junior worked on dealing with field/peloton situations as much as he trained, he'd have been much, much stronger in the race. I felt a bit fortunate he was unable to draft any closer because he was obviously very strong - even with this huge handicap he was able to hang in during the race. Just imagine how well he could race if his sphere extended only three inches, not three feet.
Now, the folks that have raced with me for a while know that I've sometimes contacted others. All accidental, or at least a response to contact initiated by the other racer, as far as I can recall. Anyone who thinks differently can pipe up since I honestly can't remember initiating any contact on purpose.
There was this one incident...
A few years ago I did slam into one guy with about 200 meters to go in a race - we both went for the same gap in the frenzy just before the sprint, and we both passed the same guy to get there. I came around the guy's left, the other guy slid up the right side.
We never saw each other.
I collided with him so hard that I bounced off of him into the guy to my left. The other guy decided I wanted the spot badly (I did) and he backed off. Ultimately I didn't win the race, and on top of that, I felt really bad I slammed this guy (even if it was accidental). After the race I went looking for him so I could apologize to him. We started talking. Ends up the guy was a new-to-the-area Cat 4, looking for a team, and would you believe it?
A week later he was a teammate.
So, remember, no contact at all. But if you make contact, fess up to it and explain what happened. Who knows, you may be recruiting a new teammate based on your open and honest ways.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
No Track Tonight
With a relatively slight chance of rain and a bunch of "house" things I need to do, I've decided to call off the trip up to NH for tonight.
Although the site doesn't have a cancellation on it (as of 3 PM), I'm loathe to spend almost 3 hours driving up there only to get rained out or even have a shortened evening of racing. Plus it costs a toll, about $30 in gas money (at an optimistic 28-30 mpg), $10 in food (McDs both ways), and $20 entry (I typically donate $5 over the $15 fee). I didn't think of it that way, but my 20-30 (?) minutes of racing costs me about $65-70, depending on exactly what I get at McDs and the exact amount of the toll.
Maybe stage races aren't so expensive.
I am missing out on Match Sprints. Arg. I'll have to train some instead.
Anyway, I still want to get some other things done on the bike, so next week, watch out!
Although the site doesn't have a cancellation on it (as of 3 PM), I'm loathe to spend almost 3 hours driving up there only to get rained out or even have a shortened evening of racing. Plus it costs a toll, about $30 in gas money (at an optimistic 28-30 mpg), $10 in food (McDs both ways), and $20 entry (I typically donate $5 over the $15 fee). I didn't think of it that way, but my 20-30 (?) minutes of racing costs me about $65-70, depending on exactly what I get at McDs and the exact amount of the toll.
Maybe stage races aren't so expensive.
I am missing out on Match Sprints. Arg. I'll have to train some instead.
Anyway, I still want to get some other things done on the bike, so next week, watch out!
Racing - Cramps
Last night I moseyed on over to East Hartford for the weekly Tuesday Night World Championships. This week I remembered some racier wheels (DV46 clinchers), both helmets, and even my kit.
Okay, not my kit. I rode anonymously in Verge shorts and an Interbike jersey, with all my other kits in the wash or something like that.
I also brought... the Helmet Cam!
Yeah, so that meant that I had to play it safe, to play it square, and to do something during the race.
CVC and CCNS both had good representation. I don't know too many of the CVC guys, but I did see two strong CCNS boys, including one of the "C" brothers himself.
We started off and immediately two CCNS guys went rocketing off the front.
Um... after that it gets a bit blurry. I know I was on Aiden's wheel for a while. Also on NCC's Kevin Yarde. And that's about it. I hunkered down, trying not to get shelled, trying to save my legs, trying to get to the finish.
About 20 minutes in I started to cramp. Well, not cramp per se, just the twinges indicating a potential cramp. To signal my first feelings of impending doom, I waved my index finger a couple times in front of the Cam. This way I could see if my racing style, head motion, or something else changed when I started twinging.
To ride through twinges I do a couple things:
1. Pray for Powerade or some other such electrolyte replacement fluid.
2. Use big gears to lower my cadence.
I looked down at my bottles.
Powerade!
Okay, I admit I put the bottle there, even refrigerated it for a day before I came to the race. But still, it's nice to look down and see some blue artificial juice.
The big gear thing is less scientific. Over the years I cramped many times, so many that, unfortunately, I was known for cramping. On one group ride way back when, when "Weavin' Dan" was our illustrious leader, I had a massive cramp session towards the end of a long ride - both hamstrings, both calves, and both quads. I fell over, unable to control my rigid legs, screaming in pain.
Luckily we'd stopped for fluids at Weavin' Dan's place, so I fell over at 0 mph and had about 10 guys trying to sit me up. I had like 4 bananas, water, and, after sitting for a bit, kept going.
Gingerly.
Anyway, I've tried everything to get through the twinges, and it comes down to this:
When you twinge, you must balance electrolyte intake against pedal stroke power. Essentially you have a limited number of pedal stroke watts left in your legs, and you need to conserve them to the best of your ability. If you're doing a really, really long ride, you can consume so much electrolytes that the twinge cramps go away (or at least that's my perception).
This means pedal slowly when you must, coast when you can, and only when absolutely critical can you expend any kind of energy.
So, along with drinking my Powerade in a few laps, I started coasting a lot. Soft pedaling. Not accelerating as hard. Letting others close gaps. Seeking shelter from the wind.
Scratch the last one - I always do that so I won't count it as a "cramp-prevention tactic".
Nonetheless I started twinging a bit harder.
I started struggling. I actually stood coming out of the last turn so that I'd recruit different muscles, moving the emphasis from my hamstrings to my quads. I blew my nose, thinking that a bit more air in my nasal passages would help (it didn't).
Kevin did a monster pull at this point, bringing a four man break back a quarter lap worth, from half a lap up to a quarter lap up. Now, instead of a 30 second gap, it looked more like 15, or even less. You could see the group salivating at the thought of catching the break, the mental calculations as the racers gathered the courage to make the big effort.
I was not one of them.
I admit I was making those same mental calculations, but in a "can I hang on" reference, not "will I be able to attack after I bridge" one.
I got some serious twangs from my right leg, and, once again, in deference to the camera, I bookmarked that point, this time by waving two fingers in front of the Cam. I briefly thought of pulling out, but if this was a "big" race, I'd suffer and suffer and hope that things would turn around. I've done that before, successfully, but I've forgotten what that suffering felt like, what kind of mental effort it took to pull through those times.
I kept going. "One lap at a time", I told myself.
I did one lap. My legs started acting funny, doing things on their own regard. I slid way back on the saddle, trying to find some new set of yet-undiscovered muscles. Just in case I hadn't found them in the last quarter century of racing.
No luck. No miraculous muscle group popped up. It was always trading quads for hamstrings, pedal stroke for time.
Of course, at this time, the group started to splinter as the four man break seemed touchable. Riders had done their calculations, gathered their courage, and now blasted away at the front. We rocketed around the course, single file, no protection.
Two laps into my "One lap at a time" effort, my right leg almost seized.
I checked my 5 o'clock, saw it was clear, and raised my hand. Swung out. Coasted. Stretched my calves. Let my hamstrings take a break.
I looked over to see the field disintegrating, the front, more solid end reaching out to the break, the rear splintering as riders exploded one after another.
I got lapped twice in the lap I cooled down, and by the time I got off the course, a new group had formed itself at the front. Essentially a bunch of guys bridged to the break and the field ceased to exist.
We packed up and left.
The missus made an astute observation.
"You need to train more."
I'd been trying to balance work, home stuff, and riding, with riding taking a back seat 3-4 days a week. I committed to riding Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, with whatever miscellaneous races I could find on Sundays. But the last couple weeks, with rain canceling some of my planned Mon-Wed events, overwhelming fatigue canceling my training motivation, I'd been skipping even my committed days regularly.
We talked of this and other things on the way home. I turned the AC on so I'd cool off, and by the time we got home, I wasn't soaked in sweat anymore. By 8:20 PM we'd rolled into the driveway.
Of course, when I tried to get out of the car, my right hamstring locked up. I clutched my leg, screamed in pain, willed my calves and other hamstring not to follow suit, and I was instantly soaked in sweat again. A hyperventilating minute later and I lifted my leg out of the car, wary of any remote muscle flex which would lead to another painful spasm.
Ouch.
For all the time that we'd been together, I'd never cramped in front of the missus. She shrieked too because it looked like my leg got caught in the door. Picture seeing someone screaming in pain, their leg extended straight out, foot out of sight between the door and car. Yeah, it looked like I'd just amputated my foot or something.
I didn't think I was tired, just crampy (heh), but after a quick shower, I realized I didn't want to do anything but lay down. About 40 minutes after we got home, I lay down, intending to read a bit, but within minutes I'd put the book down, exhausted, and fell asleep.
Okay, not my kit. I rode anonymously in Verge shorts and an Interbike jersey, with all my other kits in the wash or something like that.
I also brought... the Helmet Cam!
Yeah, so that meant that I had to play it safe, to play it square, and to do something during the race.
CVC and CCNS both had good representation. I don't know too many of the CVC guys, but I did see two strong CCNS boys, including one of the "C" brothers himself.
We started off and immediately two CCNS guys went rocketing off the front.
Um... after that it gets a bit blurry. I know I was on Aiden's wheel for a while. Also on NCC's Kevin Yarde. And that's about it. I hunkered down, trying not to get shelled, trying to save my legs, trying to get to the finish.
About 20 minutes in I started to cramp. Well, not cramp per se, just the twinges indicating a potential cramp. To signal my first feelings of impending doom, I waved my index finger a couple times in front of the Cam. This way I could see if my racing style, head motion, or something else changed when I started twinging.
To ride through twinges I do a couple things:
1. Pray for Powerade or some other such electrolyte replacement fluid.
2. Use big gears to lower my cadence.
I looked down at my bottles.
Powerade!
Okay, I admit I put the bottle there, even refrigerated it for a day before I came to the race. But still, it's nice to look down and see some blue artificial juice.
The big gear thing is less scientific. Over the years I cramped many times, so many that, unfortunately, I was known for cramping. On one group ride way back when, when "Weavin' Dan" was our illustrious leader, I had a massive cramp session towards the end of a long ride - both hamstrings, both calves, and both quads. I fell over, unable to control my rigid legs, screaming in pain.
Luckily we'd stopped for fluids at Weavin' Dan's place, so I fell over at 0 mph and had about 10 guys trying to sit me up. I had like 4 bananas, water, and, after sitting for a bit, kept going.
Gingerly.
Anyway, I've tried everything to get through the twinges, and it comes down to this:
When you twinge, you must balance electrolyte intake against pedal stroke power. Essentially you have a limited number of pedal stroke watts left in your legs, and you need to conserve them to the best of your ability. If you're doing a really, really long ride, you can consume so much electrolytes that the twinge cramps go away (or at least that's my perception).
This means pedal slowly when you must, coast when you can, and only when absolutely critical can you expend any kind of energy.
So, along with drinking my Powerade in a few laps, I started coasting a lot. Soft pedaling. Not accelerating as hard. Letting others close gaps. Seeking shelter from the wind.
Scratch the last one - I always do that so I won't count it as a "cramp-prevention tactic".
Nonetheless I started twinging a bit harder.
I started struggling. I actually stood coming out of the last turn so that I'd recruit different muscles, moving the emphasis from my hamstrings to my quads. I blew my nose, thinking that a bit more air in my nasal passages would help (it didn't).
Kevin did a monster pull at this point, bringing a four man break back a quarter lap worth, from half a lap up to a quarter lap up. Now, instead of a 30 second gap, it looked more like 15, or even less. You could see the group salivating at the thought of catching the break, the mental calculations as the racers gathered the courage to make the big effort.
I was not one of them.
I admit I was making those same mental calculations, but in a "can I hang on" reference, not "will I be able to attack after I bridge" one.
I got some serious twangs from my right leg, and, once again, in deference to the camera, I bookmarked that point, this time by waving two fingers in front of the Cam. I briefly thought of pulling out, but if this was a "big" race, I'd suffer and suffer and hope that things would turn around. I've done that before, successfully, but I've forgotten what that suffering felt like, what kind of mental effort it took to pull through those times.
I kept going. "One lap at a time", I told myself.
I did one lap. My legs started acting funny, doing things on their own regard. I slid way back on the saddle, trying to find some new set of yet-undiscovered muscles. Just in case I hadn't found them in the last quarter century of racing.
No luck. No miraculous muscle group popped up. It was always trading quads for hamstrings, pedal stroke for time.
Of course, at this time, the group started to splinter as the four man break seemed touchable. Riders had done their calculations, gathered their courage, and now blasted away at the front. We rocketed around the course, single file, no protection.
Two laps into my "One lap at a time" effort, my right leg almost seized.
I checked my 5 o'clock, saw it was clear, and raised my hand. Swung out. Coasted. Stretched my calves. Let my hamstrings take a break.
I looked over to see the field disintegrating, the front, more solid end reaching out to the break, the rear splintering as riders exploded one after another.
I got lapped twice in the lap I cooled down, and by the time I got off the course, a new group had formed itself at the front. Essentially a bunch of guys bridged to the break and the field ceased to exist.
We packed up and left.
The missus made an astute observation.
"You need to train more."
I'd been trying to balance work, home stuff, and riding, with riding taking a back seat 3-4 days a week. I committed to riding Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, with whatever miscellaneous races I could find on Sundays. But the last couple weeks, with rain canceling some of my planned Mon-Wed events, overwhelming fatigue canceling my training motivation, I'd been skipping even my committed days regularly.
We talked of this and other things on the way home. I turned the AC on so I'd cool off, and by the time we got home, I wasn't soaked in sweat anymore. By 8:20 PM we'd rolled into the driveway.
Of course, when I tried to get out of the car, my right hamstring locked up. I clutched my leg, screamed in pain, willed my calves and other hamstring not to follow suit, and I was instantly soaked in sweat again. A hyperventilating minute later and I lifted my leg out of the car, wary of any remote muscle flex which would lead to another painful spasm.
Ouch.
For all the time that we'd been together, I'd never cramped in front of the missus. She shrieked too because it looked like my leg got caught in the door. Picture seeing someone screaming in pain, their leg extended straight out, foot out of sight between the door and car. Yeah, it looked like I'd just amputated my foot or something.
I didn't think I was tired, just crampy (heh), but after a quick shower, I realized I didn't want to do anything but lay down. About 40 minutes after we got home, I lay down, intending to read a bit, but within minutes I'd put the book down, exhausted, and fell asleep.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Racing - Back To The Future
I read about a track record falling recently and went to YouTube to see if I could find a clip of it. This then turned into finding match sprints, then team sprints (essentially a two man pursuit), then finally "real" team pursuits.
I found a real kicker - the 1996 Worlds, with the unstoppable Italians. They were on their uber-funny bikes, with small front wheels, some amoeba-like frame, and, the topper, these ginormous handlebar structures.
Holy handlebars!
What's 4x better than that? Four guys on bikes like that, in motion. Wow...
This was just before the UCI made that rule about everyone riding "regular" bikes - wheels the same size, aerobars limited to height and length, diamond frames, etc. Although it seems a bit overdone, you can just imagine how crazy some of the designs would be if they were unlimited in design requirements.
Although ultimately some interesting ideas could come out of it, what the UCI's rule does is allow designers to hone the current design of the bike.
But I don't feel like writing tonight. So, because it's just incredible, check out this save:
Okay, enough for today.
I found a real kicker - the 1996 Worlds, with the unstoppable Italians. They were on their uber-funny bikes, with small front wheels, some amoeba-like frame, and, the topper, these ginormous handlebar structures.
Holy handlebars!What's 4x better than that? Four guys on bikes like that, in motion. Wow...
This was just before the UCI made that rule about everyone riding "regular" bikes - wheels the same size, aerobars limited to height and length, diamond frames, etc. Although it seems a bit overdone, you can just imagine how crazy some of the designs would be if they were unlimited in design requirements.
Although ultimately some interesting ideas could come out of it, what the UCI's rule does is allow designers to hone the current design of the bike.
But I don't feel like writing tonight. So, because it's just incredible, check out this save:
Okay, enough for today.
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