It seems that I mentally and physically peak for Bethel each year. Part of it is intentional - I don't go to California to get sick, although it seems like that sometimes. Part of it is definitely not intentional - the absolute exhaustion I feel after the Series ends typically keeps me off my bike for more than a few days. This year it took me 5 days to get back on the bike, and the bike itself has been neglected for the last six week.
The reality is that doing well at Bethel has been sort of a self-expectation.
I want to win it one more time.
A friend and I had a conversation about this topic in a round about way. He lamented his now-missing "killer instinct", the one that lets you hold your ground, that momentarily lets you let go of any fear or doubt in your mind, the thing that lets you pull moves that, frankly, scare you if you watched someone else do the same thing. He felt like he had it before, 10 or 15 years ago, but in the ensuing time off, somehow this instinct became diluted.
Talking to him, I realized something right away.
I don't have that killer instinct.
Okay, some of you may disagree, when I try and get through a little gap with 200 meters to go. Or if you watch my face contort in pain as I try and hang on for dear life at the back of the field.
But to me that's simply "trying". It's nothing special, it's how I've been brought up to approach whatever I do (although honestly, it's how I approach things that I want to do). It's what I do when I want to do a good job, or if I feel that things need to get done. I try hard when I help sweep the course, when I put together the registration stuff, even when I'm doing something as simple as putting away an Echo ProSweep gizmo (trying hard in the last case means putting it away so it doesn't fall over when the van goes around a corner, and so that the fuel doesn't leak out all over the place).
After I work hard at something, it feels good. A long time ago, in the Miami Vice slash Studio 54 days, I asked a friend of mine how cocaine made you feel. He thought about it for a moment, then looked at me.
"You know that feeling when you've just handed in a semester long paper? One that's like 20 pages long and you've slaved over it for the last week or two just to get done?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's what it feels like. You feel like you've just handed in that paper, that you're on top of the world. No more stress, no more tension. You just feel good."
"Oh."
Then he looked at me closely.
"I don't think you should try it. I think you'd have problems if you did."
I thought about it, and besides the fact that it costed a lot of money that I didn't have, I decided that I'd take his advice, simply because I knew that if I could get that feeling without having done any work, well, I'd probably have problems.
Anyway, when I race, I try hard. Sometimes, I have to confess, I give up pretty quickly, but it's not for a lack of trying. I'm a realist; I don't live in some la-la fantasy land. If I get dropped three laps into a thirty lap race, breathing so hard my lungs are trying to escape through my throat, I'm not going to time trial around the course behind the field, thinking that I'll get back in through some miracle consisting of worm holes and some other weird galactic phenomena.
I understand some of (most of?) my limitations on the bike, and I've been in places where such limitations (at least those that I've defined to be my limitations) ceased to exist. Since I never quite understood myself at that elevated level, attained when I lived and breathed bike racing, I don't really know quite how good I'd have gotten.
However, I do know that even at that heightened level, I never set the world on fire. At best I rode as a consistent Cat 3, perhaps as a severely modest, middling Cat 2. My successes were measured in whether or not I could see wind in a race, or if I had to hide from it until 150 meters to go.
This year I felt motivation the likes I haven't felt in a few years. I know I'm motivated when I feel scared in a race. Scared of not performing well. Scared of getting dropped. Scared of not following up on my friends' and teammates' hard work. I know that I want to do well because I ride scared - near the front, nervously tailing moves, peering ahead at any breakaway escaping down the road.
Fear manifests itself in different ways. A paralyzing, unproductive fear would put me five feet away from any rider in the field, destined to work harder than necessary, probably ending my race prematurely.
A good fear gets better results. I had three races this year where I raced scared, but in a good way. Once my fear of getting left behind translated to a field sprint win, a sprint that happened to win the race. In another, my "racing scared" race resulted in me getting second in the field sprint, third in the race, and, for all intents and purposes, tumbling down the overall. And my final "fear" race saw me patrol the front of a minuscule field until I exploded and went off the back - three laps into the race.
Normally I don't ride like that, scared of not performing. Normally I ride to satisfy my tactical logic, and there are two paths to my logic - racing for myself or racing for others.
If I'm racing for myself, I have certain goals. I know that, at this point, I can't follow breaks. Therefore I have to sit in, relying on others to keep the field together (intentionally or not). I try and do a good sprint, and I judge myself on how I raced versus what I thought was (or would have been) possible.
If I'm riding for someone else, I have other tactical priorities. It's much more important to help my designated leader (sometimes they don't even know that I'm working for them until I do something overt), whether it be sheltering him from the wind a bit, barking out some advice (usually along the lines of, "Get out of the wind!"), or even giving him a route to the front of the field.
Back in the day my motivation for racing, or at least for training, was to go as fast as I could, on descents and in sprints. Sure it was fun winning a sprint at SUNY Purchase, but sprinting really, really fast gave me more satisfaction.
I remember many SUNYs where I sprinted against a Cyclosport rider from NJ. He and I would duke it out, side by side, jumping away from our respective leadout men. As we coasted down to a normal speed, we'd be grinning and talking after the inevitable too-close-to-call, crazy-wild-bike-throw sprint.
"I think you won that one."
"No, I'm pretty sure you got me by a couple inches."
I'd ask him his max speed.
"46"
"Dag, me too."
I'd reveal a not-so-secret.
"I have to admit that I run an 12T."
"Me too!"
I'd then confess to my real secret.
"I also run a 54."
"What?!"
"Yeah."
"I do too!"
"No way!"
"We need 55s!"
"No, 56s!"
We'd laugh and go at it again the next lap.
Was it about winning the sprint? No, it wasn't. Yeah, it was nice, but that wasn't the point. The point was to do a good sprint. I'll repeat that because it's important to me.
It was about doing a good sprint.
About finding that magical rhythm that let you turn over the pedals in an enormous gear, fast enough to break speed limits in pretty much any part of the town where I grew up.
That Cyclosport racer and I raced against ourselves as much as we raced against each other. I don't remember ever beating that guy in a real race, but out there, in a pure sprint environment, we could ply our trade with no distractions. No breaks, no blocking, just riding the field and then jumping away from it.
I typically criticize running because it's so dependent on fitness, and since I'm usually not fit, I run pretty poorly. Therefore it's kind of frustrating for me. Therefore I criticize it.
Cycling is gloriously different. With wind resistance a main factor in flatter races (virtually only factor), tactics becomes critical. Field positioning, decisions on when to move up or not, on which side to overlap wheels, everything counts tactically in a bike race.
And tactics, man, I love tactics. It can be chess or Go or CounterStrike or Total War: Rome or even karts; whatever the medium, the tactics fascinate me. Naturally, I try hard when I play in a tactical sandbox.
This, then, gives me a crucially different motivation in, say, bike racing, because winning doesn't drive me (if it did, I'd have quit a long time ago). My motivation comes not from wanting to win, but from wanting to ride a good race, from making the most of my somewhat limited riding strengths, from using tactics as best as possible to do as well as I can in a race.
I didn't realize this when I talked with my friend. I just knew that when he lamented his lack of the killer instinct, I knew that I lacked it too. That made me wonder what exactly drives me to race hard. It's a hard enough sport, so obviously I have to have some powerful motivation to have done it so long.
And other than cognitive dissonance, I couldn't think of any other reason why I race so hard. I just try to do my best, using my fascination with tactics and the whole "challenge oneself" thing to push when it gets hard.
Hopefully it isn't cognitive dissonance.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Monday, April 06, 2009
Bethel Spring Series 2009 - Circuit de Francis J Clarke
"Sit up! Sit up! Sit up!"
This is how my 2009 Series ended.
Weird.
I've never been in such a situation as I found myself in at that moment, and I surprised myself with how I reacted.
It all started a couple weeks ago when the Jonathan Adler team basically kicked everyone's butts in the Cat 3-4 race. The team guys and I talked after the race, both at the venue and at Sycamore's down the street. They admitted to me that they can't sprint but they can time trial. I admitted to them that I can't ride fast for any period of time, but obviously I can sprint.
Duly noted, we lined up the following week, in wet, cold conditions. They drilled it from the gun, time trialed like crazy, and I got shelled like a proverbial peanut.
Again, both sides took notes.
Therefore, on Sunday, the two teams' strategies were clear. Adler's boys would be going hard to shell the Peanut, the Peanut would be hanging on for dear life. Other teams would have their say too - like maybe the team of the actual leader of the Series, Bethel Cycle. In all this "divvying up" of the Series, we were taking for granted that Stephen Gray would actually show some weakness.
With a team not quite as strong as, say, Adler, I was getting a bit worried. I'd been in touch with basically one guy, Mike, but he was away for a few weeks on vacation during the Series. This would be his second week back.
I had another helpful teammate, Andreas, a former arch rival (but one that was so strong he probably never considered me a threat). After toning down his training he's at a more real world level, and he looked after me for a few of the races so far. He essentially tailguns the field and makes sure I don't get shelled. On Sunday he offered his leadout services too.
I also got the help of SOC. With his team focusing on Plainville, he was free to experiment at Bethel. He practiced different strategies, tried different things, and he was learning how the 3s and 4s race at Bethel. His role Sunday?
Domestique.
Finally, the Teutonic Ringer, aka Guido. Although it's a stereotypical Italian name, Guido is actually German (pronouced "Gee do", not "Gwee do"). He is a rider in the Adler mold, an extremely strong time trialer with an insane aerobic engine. Unattached, he had no affiliations, no obligations, and since he's a friendly guy, he signed up onto the SDC Domestique squad.
I had a couple other teammates, but I honestly didn't expect very much from them. Yeah, John got an overall in the 4s, but he rode hard and had to be pretty tired. Ditto some of the other guys.
The hours coming up to the race were full of good karma kind of things. I brought spares of everything (causing me immense logistical headaches as I tried to jam two bikes, a podium, all the pre-reg bins, and some other stuff in my tiny 93 Civic on Saturday evening). I had two complete bikes, a third front wheel, three helmets (cold, cool, and warm weather), and all sorts of various gloves, head gear, and every piece of team kit I owned.
In the 4s a guy came up to the tent in a panic - he'd forgotten his helmet at home. I understand - I've done that too - so I gave him what I thought would be the best helmet for the current conditions - my primary "cool" weather helmet. I don't know how he did (I never got his name), but he came back in one piece.
Chalk up one for Karma.
Then one of the CRCA/Radical Media women came up to me. Apparently a teammate had a problem with her bike - her fork was broken. Would I have a bike that she could borrow, or was there someone around that might have one? A 54?
I thought about it for about 30 seconds. I mean, yeah, I had my back up bike, my former primary Giant TCR. It had mainly Record and Chorus gear on it, rolled on the Reynolds DV46 clinchers, and was set up nicely, perfect for me for an easy trainer ride. I told her that her teammate could use that bike if she liked.
A short pow wow later, she came back with her teammate. Not only was she a teammate, she was the current overall leader (!).
She took the bike, slammed the seat back (her thighs are longer than mine, or so I'm guessing), raised it up a bunch (she's taller than me too), and swapped out my pedals.
In the meantime, I overheard a slightly desperate cell phone conversation in the registration tent. Apparently the third overall racer, one who takes the train from NYC, flatted on the way to the station. She needed a front wheel.
Some time later, she appeared at the tent.
"Aki, I have a question."
"You need a front wheel?"
"Yes! How did you know?"
Well, I didn't, but I was just guessing. It still impressed her.
I didn't want to mention that I wasn't racing the wheel because I felt it wasn't quite right, but I told her I needed to touch a few spokes before she raced it. I grabbed a spoke wrench, touched a few spokes, and the wheel seemed good. I bade her good luck and she went and warmed up.
Suffice it to say that my equipment did really, really well. Maggie, on the bike, won the race and won the overall. Her team, aided with her high point tally, won the team trophy. Ann Marie, on my "touched" front wheel, got third in the race and second overall.
I felt very proud of how the two women did on equipment I lent them, but a friendly rival David dampened my elation just a bit when I told him the story.
"Yo, my bike won the women's race. She borrowed my bike and she won it! Isn't that incredible?"
David, who was napping on the ground, looked over at me from under his hand.
"Well, now you know your equipment works fine."
Implying that if I'm not winning a race it's not the bike.
Doh!
But I knew that, so it was okay. And I was lucky that all my spare equipment got a test race in - my brand new front tire was flat. I had to use one of my two spares - the "good" clincher (I raced it the prior week) or the "touched" tubular.
I chose the tubular. Ann Marie was so happy with it that she proclaimed that it felt the same as her 404s. I figured if it was good enough for her, it'd be good enough for me.
Properly equipped, I did a non-warm up (i.e. I rode about 100 yards on the bike), a tactic that seems to work better than warming up. As a bonus, as Herman (one of the guys helpering out) pointed out, I do better when the missus is around, and she got free of her tax stuff long enough to pay a visit to the race.
With all this good karma, I figured that I had a fighting chance at the overall.
We started out, and immediately (like within 200 meters) I knew I was on a good day. I didn't feel any of that horrible lingering fatigue like I did pretty much every prior race, the bike zinged under me, and I wasn't feeling too cold or hot.
It's a good thing I felt that way because Adler just totally drilled it from the gun, launching attack after attack after attack. Stephen, in the leader's jersey, knew my weaknesses too, and he alternately attacked or bridged, sending the whole field into a tizzy.
Mike and Guido were chasing like mad, and after about five laps of totally strung out action, Guido came back a bit. Mike was sitting there, having just done a monster pull too, and Guido yelled at him to get to the front. Mike could barely reply, but it was obvious that he was suffering, and he made that clear to Guido as well.
Guido drifted back further, maybe another 10 spots, to me.
"Get your team to the front! Just Mike and me, it's impossible!"
"I don't have anyone else that can ride!"
I felt helpless. Guido looked at me, punched the pedals, and went back to the front. I felt bad that I couldn't offer more help.
I did see SOC up there, pounding away at the front, stringing out the field, trying to reconnect to whatever Alder + Stephen break off the front at that moment. Again, countless attacks peppered the front, and there were guys desperately chasing at the front. As I faded a bit I started to lose sight of the front. I kept looking up, expecting to see a group detach, but somehow the field stayed together.
Then a long time friendly rival Bryan, one that I'ved watch race since he wasn't even of driving age, came up to me.
"You have a teammate that looks like a linebacker?"
"Yeah, he's John."
"Well, let me tell you, he's doing good by you. He's taking some monster pulls."
John?! Coming from Bryan, this was about as good a compliment as it gets. I looked up and peered at the front of the angry field. Sure enough, there he was, actually splitting the field with an immensely powerful pull. An Adler guy closed it. I had to smile a bit, inside of course.
I couldn't smile outside because, frankly, I was suffering. My legs were starting to cramp. If I can make it to the end of a race with any reserves in my legs, the only thing that can ruin my race is cramps. And my legs were getting worse and worse. I tried to stretch them, altered my rhythm going up the hill, and tried using bigger or lower gears, but to no avail. My calves threatened to seize at any second. I hoped that, maybe, if I got into the action more, I'd forget about my crampy calves.
I missed a few lap cards, but I was convinced we were pretty far into the race, maybe 15 laps, maybe 18. As we crested the hill I glanced over.
17 to go.
Only 13 down.
And I was already thinking of preserving for the finish.
Andreas, riding protectively just behind me, read my body language properly, and drifted over to me, murmuring words of encouragement, giving me a nudge when he thought I needed it. Mentally I could feel all the support pouring towards me. Every time I looked up I saw someone up there, working for me, working for me because they wanted to work for me. It's hard to believe how hard these guys were going, with no thought of themselves, of their race. All of them, John or Mike or Guido or SOC, even other guys that were friendly to me during the Series. They were killing themselves at the front, thinking only of shutting things down, of preserving the field's integrity so that yours truly could kick its butt in the sprint.
With all this in mind I seemed to have forgotten about the cramps, and suddenly it was 11 to go. A few laps later I heard Bryan behind me.
"It looks like it's turning out perfect for you. All your main rivals have burned more than a few matches."
I had to nod, watching Stephen chase down yet another Alder rider. Indeed, at this pace, I'd be okay at the finish, and I could do a good finishing sprint. I had to win the sprint to win the Series, but if fortune smiled my way, I had an outside chance at winning the Series even if I took a second place.
I started thinking of the sprint.
As the laps wound down, I started winding up. I could feel the adrenaline starting to surge, my legs were getting antsy, and I started moving up steadily on the hill each lap. I watched the laps count down, and at 3 to go I started pushing away any thoughts of winning the Series. Those thoughts are fatal, when I start daydreaming in the field.
The frenzied yelling at the start/finish put me back on track. I had to focus on the sprint.
At 2 to go it started getting hectic in the field, and the spectators were going nuts. This was it, al these races, it was coming down to this. I knew the importance of maintaining position while saving my legs, so I made some measured efforts here and there to maintain position and even improve it.
At the bell the tension was such that I could barely stand it. People were screaming, guys were yelling, and the field suddenly squeezed an extra few inches tighter between each racer.
Three guys were clear - an Adler, solo, about 15 seconds in front of the field, and two Target Training guys about 50 meters clear, maybe 4 or 5 seconds.
I needed the points, and even if the field didn't get the Adler guy, I desperately needed the Target Training guys brought back. I had no idea if anyone would chase - the guys helping me must have been cooked by then. We turned the corner, and like he had read my mind, Mike was at the front, flying, a string of racers on his wheel, hoping for the massive leadout. The front of the field stretched out, reaching out and touching the Target Training duo. Mike peeled off, totally spent.
Guido took over, driving the pace, guys behind probably wondering why he was working so hard to lead out the field. I sat perhaps 20 or 25 guys back, far enough that I had protection going into the 400 meter to go mark, where I felt the wind blew strongest that day.
Andreas came flying around me by Turn 2, yelling at me to get on his wheel. But I knew that if I'd gone then, into the wind, I'd have no sprint. I croaked out "Too early!" and watched him try to salvage some assistance for me from his effort. A few hundred meters later he peeled off, unable to deal with the ferocious wind on the back stretch. I smiled grimly, thankful that I'd had the patience to know that going out there would have been fatal. Andreas, after the race, sheepishly admited it had been too early too.
The field barreled along down the back straight, on the right curb, angling out left (the wind came from the right), and although I wasn't too close too the front, I somehow knew things would be okay.
I saw a few gaps, went through them, and found myself maybe 10 back with about 300 meters to go. I had perfect positioning in the field, in such a good position that it was, probably, realistically, the first position in the field actually protected from the wind. I felt so confident I actually puffed out a few breaths and re-situated my hands on the bars (harking back to my Pavlov sprint training), psyching myself up for the sprint.
Because of the wind I knew I had to jump late, and as the guys started to wind things up, I patiently waited for a gap to open. I saw Stephen, the leader, and he was sprinting like he'd just done a very, very hard race after doing a very, very hard Masters race. He looked vulnerable to someone that was, say, sitting in for the whole race. I was less sure about taking the guy who'd just jumped away from them because he had some scamper in his legs, but I thought it was doable.
I was pedaling between three guys and waited for them to open up a bit, to give me room to get by them. I briefly thought about asking one of them to move right just a bit (he was one of those "friends of the promoter"), but I figured he had had a hard Series and really wanted a good finish. I nixed that idea and waited maybe two more pedal strokes.
Then it was time. I jumped on the pedals, accelerated past the guys in front of me, and started closing in hard on a guy in dark blue. I felt almost spun out and debated shifting up (and jumping again) but I had no idea how my legs would react, so I kept sprinting in the smaller gear. I regretted it on each downstroke, but I was afraid to shift up.
As I pulled up to the rider in blue, I realized three things. One, the Adler guy was winning the race. Two, I wasn't going to beat the rider in blue. And three, the guy in blue was Bryan.
I knew that second place could probably win me the Series. If Slokar (from Adler) was up the road, I'd lose, but Mike and Guido knew this, and I trusted their efforts such that I knew it couldn't be Slokar up the road. Therefore I had a fighting chance to win the Series with a second.
But I wasn't going to get second, because Bryan was beating me to it.
So I did the only thing I could do (the other possible option - crashing out Bryan - didn't occur to me until just now, but that is not an option for me).
I yelled at Bryan.
"Sit up! Sit up! Sit up!"
He looked at me quizzically, unable to comprehend my absurd request in a bike race with about 5 meters to go. And instinctively threw his bike to the line.
I threw my bike too but he was too far ahead. I slammed the bars in frustration. Frustration in myself, in not sprinting better, in not shifting up, in not jumping 2 pedal strokes early, in not being able to follow up on all of the insane work that my friends and teammates had done for me, with nothing motivating them but the thought of trying to help me win the Series.
I hit the bars so hard my hand still hurts, but I feel it's somehow appropriate. My gesture wasn't appropriate, and every time someone shook my hand (enthusiastically), I had to fight not to wince. With podiums, good byes, and even a relative at my dad's visiting from Japan, there were a lot of handshakes that day. But that pain reminded me that one ought to live their life with dignity. And slamming your bars in frustration is not really dignified.
I also felt bad for putting Bryan in that position, because when I tallied the points, it was ever so close.
Although I failed in my task, I'd done the best I could, exceeding everyone's expectations (mine included). Stephen, after the race, simply couldn't believe that I had made it to the end of the race in the field. He believed I'd fallen victim to the high pace in the field. He had raced the sprint convinced that I was watching from the sidelines, and was astounded when I sprinted past him just before the line.
Basically, it comes down to this. I desperately want to win the Series, to win a Leader's Jersey. I want to earn it. I'll ask for other's help but I won't ask for gifts at the finishline/s. And when I win the Jersey, I'll stop trying to win it again.
See you there next year.
This is how my 2009 Series ended.
Weird.
I've never been in such a situation as I found myself in at that moment, and I surprised myself with how I reacted.
It all started a couple weeks ago when the Jonathan Adler team basically kicked everyone's butts in the Cat 3-4 race. The team guys and I talked after the race, both at the venue and at Sycamore's down the street. They admitted to me that they can't sprint but they can time trial. I admitted to them that I can't ride fast for any period of time, but obviously I can sprint.
Duly noted, we lined up the following week, in wet, cold conditions. They drilled it from the gun, time trialed like crazy, and I got shelled like a proverbial peanut.
Again, both sides took notes.
Therefore, on Sunday, the two teams' strategies were clear. Adler's boys would be going hard to shell the Peanut, the Peanut would be hanging on for dear life. Other teams would have their say too - like maybe the team of the actual leader of the Series, Bethel Cycle. In all this "divvying up" of the Series, we were taking for granted that Stephen Gray would actually show some weakness.
With a team not quite as strong as, say, Adler, I was getting a bit worried. I'd been in touch with basically one guy, Mike, but he was away for a few weeks on vacation during the Series. This would be his second week back.
I had another helpful teammate, Andreas, a former arch rival (but one that was so strong he probably never considered me a threat). After toning down his training he's at a more real world level, and he looked after me for a few of the races so far. He essentially tailguns the field and makes sure I don't get shelled. On Sunday he offered his leadout services too.
I also got the help of SOC. With his team focusing on Plainville, he was free to experiment at Bethel. He practiced different strategies, tried different things, and he was learning how the 3s and 4s race at Bethel. His role Sunday?
Domestique.
Finally, the Teutonic Ringer, aka Guido. Although it's a stereotypical Italian name, Guido is actually German (pronouced "Gee do", not "Gwee do"). He is a rider in the Adler mold, an extremely strong time trialer with an insane aerobic engine. Unattached, he had no affiliations, no obligations, and since he's a friendly guy, he signed up onto the SDC Domestique squad.
I had a couple other teammates, but I honestly didn't expect very much from them. Yeah, John got an overall in the 4s, but he rode hard and had to be pretty tired. Ditto some of the other guys.
The hours coming up to the race were full of good karma kind of things. I brought spares of everything (causing me immense logistical headaches as I tried to jam two bikes, a podium, all the pre-reg bins, and some other stuff in my tiny 93 Civic on Saturday evening). I had two complete bikes, a third front wheel, three helmets (cold, cool, and warm weather), and all sorts of various gloves, head gear, and every piece of team kit I owned.
In the 4s a guy came up to the tent in a panic - he'd forgotten his helmet at home. I understand - I've done that too - so I gave him what I thought would be the best helmet for the current conditions - my primary "cool" weather helmet. I don't know how he did (I never got his name), but he came back in one piece.
Chalk up one for Karma.
Then one of the CRCA/Radical Media women came up to me. Apparently a teammate had a problem with her bike - her fork was broken. Would I have a bike that she could borrow, or was there someone around that might have one? A 54?
I thought about it for about 30 seconds. I mean, yeah, I had my back up bike, my former primary Giant TCR. It had mainly Record and Chorus gear on it, rolled on the Reynolds DV46 clinchers, and was set up nicely, perfect for me for an easy trainer ride. I told her that her teammate could use that bike if she liked.
A short pow wow later, she came back with her teammate. Not only was she a teammate, she was the current overall leader (!).
She took the bike, slammed the seat back (her thighs are longer than mine, or so I'm guessing), raised it up a bunch (she's taller than me too), and swapped out my pedals.
In the meantime, I overheard a slightly desperate cell phone conversation in the registration tent. Apparently the third overall racer, one who takes the train from NYC, flatted on the way to the station. She needed a front wheel.
Some time later, she appeared at the tent.
"Aki, I have a question."
"You need a front wheel?"
"Yes! How did you know?"
Well, I didn't, but I was just guessing. It still impressed her.
I didn't want to mention that I wasn't racing the wheel because I felt it wasn't quite right, but I told her I needed to touch a few spokes before she raced it. I grabbed a spoke wrench, touched a few spokes, and the wheel seemed good. I bade her good luck and she went and warmed up.
Suffice it to say that my equipment did really, really well. Maggie, on the bike, won the race and won the overall. Her team, aided with her high point tally, won the team trophy. Ann Marie, on my "touched" front wheel, got third in the race and second overall.
I felt very proud of how the two women did on equipment I lent them, but a friendly rival David dampened my elation just a bit when I told him the story.
"Yo, my bike won the women's race. She borrowed my bike and she won it! Isn't that incredible?"
David, who was napping on the ground, looked over at me from under his hand.
"Well, now you know your equipment works fine."
Implying that if I'm not winning a race it's not the bike.
Doh!
But I knew that, so it was okay. And I was lucky that all my spare equipment got a test race in - my brand new front tire was flat. I had to use one of my two spares - the "good" clincher (I raced it the prior week) or the "touched" tubular.
I chose the tubular. Ann Marie was so happy with it that she proclaimed that it felt the same as her 404s. I figured if it was good enough for her, it'd be good enough for me.
Properly equipped, I did a non-warm up (i.e. I rode about 100 yards on the bike), a tactic that seems to work better than warming up. As a bonus, as Herman (one of the guys helpering out) pointed out, I do better when the missus is around, and she got free of her tax stuff long enough to pay a visit to the race.
With all this good karma, I figured that I had a fighting chance at the overall.
We started out, and immediately (like within 200 meters) I knew I was on a good day. I didn't feel any of that horrible lingering fatigue like I did pretty much every prior race, the bike zinged under me, and I wasn't feeling too cold or hot.
It's a good thing I felt that way because Adler just totally drilled it from the gun, launching attack after attack after attack. Stephen, in the leader's jersey, knew my weaknesses too, and he alternately attacked or bridged, sending the whole field into a tizzy.
Mike and Guido were chasing like mad, and after about five laps of totally strung out action, Guido came back a bit. Mike was sitting there, having just done a monster pull too, and Guido yelled at him to get to the front. Mike could barely reply, but it was obvious that he was suffering, and he made that clear to Guido as well.
Guido drifted back further, maybe another 10 spots, to me.
"Get your team to the front! Just Mike and me, it's impossible!"
"I don't have anyone else that can ride!"
I felt helpless. Guido looked at me, punched the pedals, and went back to the front. I felt bad that I couldn't offer more help.
I did see SOC up there, pounding away at the front, stringing out the field, trying to reconnect to whatever Alder + Stephen break off the front at that moment. Again, countless attacks peppered the front, and there were guys desperately chasing at the front. As I faded a bit I started to lose sight of the front. I kept looking up, expecting to see a group detach, but somehow the field stayed together.
Then a long time friendly rival Bryan, one that I'ved watch race since he wasn't even of driving age, came up to me.
"You have a teammate that looks like a linebacker?"
"Yeah, he's John."
"Well, let me tell you, he's doing good by you. He's taking some monster pulls."
John?! Coming from Bryan, this was about as good a compliment as it gets. I looked up and peered at the front of the angry field. Sure enough, there he was, actually splitting the field with an immensely powerful pull. An Adler guy closed it. I had to smile a bit, inside of course.
I couldn't smile outside because, frankly, I was suffering. My legs were starting to cramp. If I can make it to the end of a race with any reserves in my legs, the only thing that can ruin my race is cramps. And my legs were getting worse and worse. I tried to stretch them, altered my rhythm going up the hill, and tried using bigger or lower gears, but to no avail. My calves threatened to seize at any second. I hoped that, maybe, if I got into the action more, I'd forget about my crampy calves.
I missed a few lap cards, but I was convinced we were pretty far into the race, maybe 15 laps, maybe 18. As we crested the hill I glanced over.
17 to go.
Only 13 down.
And I was already thinking of preserving for the finish.
Andreas, riding protectively just behind me, read my body language properly, and drifted over to me, murmuring words of encouragement, giving me a nudge when he thought I needed it. Mentally I could feel all the support pouring towards me. Every time I looked up I saw someone up there, working for me, working for me because they wanted to work for me. It's hard to believe how hard these guys were going, with no thought of themselves, of their race. All of them, John or Mike or Guido or SOC, even other guys that were friendly to me during the Series. They were killing themselves at the front, thinking only of shutting things down, of preserving the field's integrity so that yours truly could kick its butt in the sprint.
With all this in mind I seemed to have forgotten about the cramps, and suddenly it was 11 to go. A few laps later I heard Bryan behind me.
"It looks like it's turning out perfect for you. All your main rivals have burned more than a few matches."
I had to nod, watching Stephen chase down yet another Alder rider. Indeed, at this pace, I'd be okay at the finish, and I could do a good finishing sprint. I had to win the sprint to win the Series, but if fortune smiled my way, I had an outside chance at winning the Series even if I took a second place.
I started thinking of the sprint.
As the laps wound down, I started winding up. I could feel the adrenaline starting to surge, my legs were getting antsy, and I started moving up steadily on the hill each lap. I watched the laps count down, and at 3 to go I started pushing away any thoughts of winning the Series. Those thoughts are fatal, when I start daydreaming in the field.
The frenzied yelling at the start/finish put me back on track. I had to focus on the sprint.
At 2 to go it started getting hectic in the field, and the spectators were going nuts. This was it, al these races, it was coming down to this. I knew the importance of maintaining position while saving my legs, so I made some measured efforts here and there to maintain position and even improve it.
At the bell the tension was such that I could barely stand it. People were screaming, guys were yelling, and the field suddenly squeezed an extra few inches tighter between each racer.
Three guys were clear - an Adler, solo, about 15 seconds in front of the field, and two Target Training guys about 50 meters clear, maybe 4 or 5 seconds.
I needed the points, and even if the field didn't get the Adler guy, I desperately needed the Target Training guys brought back. I had no idea if anyone would chase - the guys helping me must have been cooked by then. We turned the corner, and like he had read my mind, Mike was at the front, flying, a string of racers on his wheel, hoping for the massive leadout. The front of the field stretched out, reaching out and touching the Target Training duo. Mike peeled off, totally spent.
Guido took over, driving the pace, guys behind probably wondering why he was working so hard to lead out the field. I sat perhaps 20 or 25 guys back, far enough that I had protection going into the 400 meter to go mark, where I felt the wind blew strongest that day.
Andreas came flying around me by Turn 2, yelling at me to get on his wheel. But I knew that if I'd gone then, into the wind, I'd have no sprint. I croaked out "Too early!" and watched him try to salvage some assistance for me from his effort. A few hundred meters later he peeled off, unable to deal with the ferocious wind on the back stretch. I smiled grimly, thankful that I'd had the patience to know that going out there would have been fatal. Andreas, after the race, sheepishly admited it had been too early too.
The field barreled along down the back straight, on the right curb, angling out left (the wind came from the right), and although I wasn't too close too the front, I somehow knew things would be okay.
I saw a few gaps, went through them, and found myself maybe 10 back with about 300 meters to go. I had perfect positioning in the field, in such a good position that it was, probably, realistically, the first position in the field actually protected from the wind. I felt so confident I actually puffed out a few breaths and re-situated my hands on the bars (harking back to my Pavlov sprint training), psyching myself up for the sprint.
Because of the wind I knew I had to jump late, and as the guys started to wind things up, I patiently waited for a gap to open. I saw Stephen, the leader, and he was sprinting like he'd just done a very, very hard race after doing a very, very hard Masters race. He looked vulnerable to someone that was, say, sitting in for the whole race. I was less sure about taking the guy who'd just jumped away from them because he had some scamper in his legs, but I thought it was doable.
I was pedaling between three guys and waited for them to open up a bit, to give me room to get by them. I briefly thought about asking one of them to move right just a bit (he was one of those "friends of the promoter"), but I figured he had had a hard Series and really wanted a good finish. I nixed that idea and waited maybe two more pedal strokes.
Then it was time. I jumped on the pedals, accelerated past the guys in front of me, and started closing in hard on a guy in dark blue. I felt almost spun out and debated shifting up (and jumping again) but I had no idea how my legs would react, so I kept sprinting in the smaller gear. I regretted it on each downstroke, but I was afraid to shift up.
As I pulled up to the rider in blue, I realized three things. One, the Adler guy was winning the race. Two, I wasn't going to beat the rider in blue. And three, the guy in blue was Bryan.
I knew that second place could probably win me the Series. If Slokar (from Adler) was up the road, I'd lose, but Mike and Guido knew this, and I trusted their efforts such that I knew it couldn't be Slokar up the road. Therefore I had a fighting chance to win the Series with a second.
But I wasn't going to get second, because Bryan was beating me to it.
So I did the only thing I could do (the other possible option - crashing out Bryan - didn't occur to me until just now, but that is not an option for me).
I yelled at Bryan.
"Sit up! Sit up! Sit up!"
He looked at me quizzically, unable to comprehend my absurd request in a bike race with about 5 meters to go. And instinctively threw his bike to the line.
I threw my bike too but he was too far ahead. I slammed the bars in frustration. Frustration in myself, in not sprinting better, in not shifting up, in not jumping 2 pedal strokes early, in not being able to follow up on all of the insane work that my friends and teammates had done for me, with nothing motivating them but the thought of trying to help me win the Series.
I hit the bars so hard my hand still hurts, but I feel it's somehow appropriate. My gesture wasn't appropriate, and every time someone shook my hand (enthusiastically), I had to fight not to wince. With podiums, good byes, and even a relative at my dad's visiting from Japan, there were a lot of handshakes that day. But that pain reminded me that one ought to live their life with dignity. And slamming your bars in frustration is not really dignified.
I also felt bad for putting Bryan in that position, because when I tallied the points, it was ever so close.
Stephen, dying a thousand deaths, earned 2 points to total 16.
The Adler guy earned 10 points for the win to total 15.
I earned 5 points to total 15.
Because I earned less points than the Adler guy, the Adler guy took second overall, I got third.
If I had managed to pass Bryan in the sprint, I'd have earned 16 points. And because I'd have earned 7 points to Stephen's 2, I'd have won the Series. And I told myself that morning that if I win the Series one more time, I won't try to win it anymore. I'll race it for other riders, to help others as others have helped me.
But with the situation at 5 meters to go, where I knew that I couldn't beat Bryan fairly, my final third place is proper and correct and totally appropriate. Because that's the place I earned, with all of my friends and teammates' hard work. No matter what I wanted to have happen, I simply didn't come up with the goods at the finish.
The Adler guy earned 10 points for the win to total 15.
I earned 5 points to total 15.
Because I earned less points than the Adler guy, the Adler guy took second overall, I got third.
If I had managed to pass Bryan in the sprint, I'd have earned 16 points. And because I'd have earned 7 points to Stephen's 2, I'd have won the Series. And I told myself that morning that if I win the Series one more time, I won't try to win it anymore. I'll race it for other riders, to help others as others have helped me.
But with the situation at 5 meters to go, where I knew that I couldn't beat Bryan fairly, my final third place is proper and correct and totally appropriate. Because that's the place I earned, with all of my friends and teammates' hard work. No matter what I wanted to have happen, I simply didn't come up with the goods at the finish.
Although I failed in my task, I'd done the best I could, exceeding everyone's expectations (mine included). Stephen, after the race, simply couldn't believe that I had made it to the end of the race in the field. He believed I'd fallen victim to the high pace in the field. He had raced the sprint convinced that I was watching from the sidelines, and was astounded when I sprinted past him just before the line.
Basically, it comes down to this. I desperately want to win the Series, to win a Leader's Jersey. I want to earn it. I'll ask for other's help but I won't ask for gifts at the finishline/s. And when I win the Jersey, I'll stop trying to win it again.
See you there next year.
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Saturday, April 04, 2009
Bethel Spring Series 2009 - Pre Circuit Francis J Clarke
One more race to go in the Bethel Spring Series for 2009. Seems like it went by quickly. No break for Easter and one skipped race meant 5 weeks of racing in a row.
For me it has meant 3 weeks of pre-reg (Gene did the other two, or three really since there was that first canceled race), and 5 (or 6) weeks of just getting ready for the race. Part of that means driving - not only have I driven down for the race each week, I've also made the drive down there a few extra times; once to do Sweep, once to fix the van, and the last one to pick up the trophies and pre-load the van with stuff (that was last Wednesday - too much stuff to carry in one car for the last race).
Overall it's been an exciting Series. Typically we'll see an outright leader in a few categories long before the last race of the Series, but this year it's not quite so clear. There is the Masters 40+ race, ably led by Stephen Gray (Bethel Cycle), holding an 8 point lead. Margaret Shirley (CRCA/Radical Media) holds a 6 point lead, also quite significant for the finale.
But the other races are closer.
In the Cat 5s it's a total free for all, with 11 riders holding numeric chances for a win. Realistically there are four serious contenders, with another four just behind. Any of the riders could easily win, and with the field stacked for the final race, guys won't be able to snag any "easy" points.
The Cat 4 overall turned out to be a two man race. Brian Kelley (Pawling Cycle & Sport) and Guido Wollman (Unattached, but known as "The German") are neck and neck, separated by two points. The battle for the Verge Leader's Jersey will be tight, but so will the fight for the last spot on the podium. Two guys are fighting for that, but technically four more guys have a fighting chance at gaining that podium spot (albeit with a win).
The Juniors race has been sadly lacking, but the consistent attendance by the powerful Jordan Strober (racing with his dad no less) has guaranteed him a Jersey. Although he's been using the Junior race as a warm up, he looks more like a powerhouse Cat 2 Senior.
The 3-4 race was tight, and is pretty much an open race. Stephen Gray, he of the M40 race, leads here by 4 points. However, with 10 points on the line for the win, literally anyone can step as high as the second podium spot for the final. Realistically the contenders would include the five riders behind Gray, with the next six riders holding an outside shot at a podium finish.
The P123 race has played out like the 3-4 race, just at a much higher pace. Although Target Training's Eneas Freyre holds the lead with 13 points, there are eleven (!) riders who could win the Series if Freyre finishes out of the points on Sunday. With a reality check in place, I'd limit the serious contenders to perhaps the three riders just behind him, with a further four riders a threat (especially since two of those four have won races this year).
For me the race means a bit more than my performance on the bike. The weather finally cooperated with the race for the first time in maybe 4 years, and it's hard to believe that it's only the first week of April. When we started the Series, our first race was in April. Now we're finishing just as the month begins.
This year marks a big change in how we ran the race too. For the first time in many years we relied less on volunteers and more on folks that committed to helping out each week. This meant a less stressful event for me because I could count on a number of people to help me during the day.
It also marks the first year where I have an actual clue about how the race does financially. Although I sank a lot of my own money into the race over the winter, the race should finish up in the black, or so I hope. Once we get all the final bills and such we'll know, but it looks promising so far. The big payout will be this weekend - not only will we pay our standard prize money, we'll also be giving out $1500 in overall prize money as well. It's all good though - it's what made the race what it is now.
At the same time I don't forsee me buying my dream "registration in a trailer" trailer any time soon. Maybe in a couple years.
So, for now, today, I'll get ready to drive down to my dad's. My last tasks will be to get my bike ready, stuff envelopes with prize money for overall, and pack up the car.
And maybe ride a bit.
After all, there's a race to race tomorrow.
For me it has meant 3 weeks of pre-reg (Gene did the other two, or three really since there was that first canceled race), and 5 (or 6) weeks of just getting ready for the race. Part of that means driving - not only have I driven down for the race each week, I've also made the drive down there a few extra times; once to do Sweep, once to fix the van, and the last one to pick up the trophies and pre-load the van with stuff (that was last Wednesday - too much stuff to carry in one car for the last race).
Overall it's been an exciting Series. Typically we'll see an outright leader in a few categories long before the last race of the Series, but this year it's not quite so clear. There is the Masters 40+ race, ably led by Stephen Gray (Bethel Cycle), holding an 8 point lead. Margaret Shirley (CRCA/Radical Media) holds a 6 point lead, also quite significant for the finale.
But the other races are closer.
In the Cat 5s it's a total free for all, with 11 riders holding numeric chances for a win. Realistically there are four serious contenders, with another four just behind. Any of the riders could easily win, and with the field stacked for the final race, guys won't be able to snag any "easy" points.
The Cat 4 overall turned out to be a two man race. Brian Kelley (Pawling Cycle & Sport) and Guido Wollman (Unattached, but known as "The German") are neck and neck, separated by two points. The battle for the Verge Leader's Jersey will be tight, but so will the fight for the last spot on the podium. Two guys are fighting for that, but technically four more guys have a fighting chance at gaining that podium spot (albeit with a win).
The Juniors race has been sadly lacking, but the consistent attendance by the powerful Jordan Strober (racing with his dad no less) has guaranteed him a Jersey. Although he's been using the Junior race as a warm up, he looks more like a powerhouse Cat 2 Senior.
The 3-4 race was tight, and is pretty much an open race. Stephen Gray, he of the M40 race, leads here by 4 points. However, with 10 points on the line for the win, literally anyone can step as high as the second podium spot for the final. Realistically the contenders would include the five riders behind Gray, with the next six riders holding an outside shot at a podium finish.
The P123 race has played out like the 3-4 race, just at a much higher pace. Although Target Training's Eneas Freyre holds the lead with 13 points, there are eleven (!) riders who could win the Series if Freyre finishes out of the points on Sunday. With a reality check in place, I'd limit the serious contenders to perhaps the three riders just behind him, with a further four riders a threat (especially since two of those four have won races this year).
For me the race means a bit more than my performance on the bike. The weather finally cooperated with the race for the first time in maybe 4 years, and it's hard to believe that it's only the first week of April. When we started the Series, our first race was in April. Now we're finishing just as the month begins.
This year marks a big change in how we ran the race too. For the first time in many years we relied less on volunteers and more on folks that committed to helping out each week. This meant a less stressful event for me because I could count on a number of people to help me during the day.
It also marks the first year where I have an actual clue about how the race does financially. Although I sank a lot of my own money into the race over the winter, the race should finish up in the black, or so I hope. Once we get all the final bills and such we'll know, but it looks promising so far. The big payout will be this weekend - not only will we pay our standard prize money, we'll also be giving out $1500 in overall prize money as well. It's all good though - it's what made the race what it is now.
At the same time I don't forsee me buying my dream "registration in a trailer" trailer any time soon. Maybe in a couple years.
So, for now, today, I'll get ready to drive down to my dad's. My last tasks will be to get my bike ready, stuff envelopes with prize money for overall, and pack up the car.
And maybe ride a bit.
After all, there's a race to race tomorrow.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Bethel Spring Series 2009 - Criterium de Bethel Report
It's hard to enthusiastically do a post when, well, things basically sucked on race day.
First off, the weather didn't cooperate. But that's not really the point. The point is that the weather was supposed to be really bad, but instead it was just kind of miserable. Sort of like expecting a knock-you-out cold and getting just the sniffles.
Translation? I came prepared for a Nor'easter, not a piddly 45 minute sprinkle. But all we got was the piddly sprinkle, and that happened, naturally, during the Cat 5 race. "Naturally" because, as new racers, the 5s are supposed to suffer and pay their dues. Cat 5 racing is like bike racing hazing, where new racers pay some excruciating dues before moving up into the more plentiful 4s. Their racing, naturally, lacks a bit compared to the other categories. No money, smaller fields, the least desirable start times.
So it's natural that it also rains during a Cat 5 race.
As soon as they stopped, the raid did too. But, unlike, say, Southern California morning fog, the sun never burned through the heavy overcast skies, and we spent the rest of the day in cold, wet conditions.
I had a lot of fun typing stuff up in the results page, posting all but the last few races "live", but the reality was that we were slow at the tent. We had 1/3 the normal turnout, and it actually made me a bit anxious because this is the first year I have a vested interest in the race (i.e. I sank my own money into it, and I took a gamble and spent more before we even had our permits).
The underlying thoughts going through my head went something like, "Well, am I paying $2000 to watch people race today, or am I spending a little less money than that?"
Honestly, I didn't know, and I still don't know. I should know a little more when I go to the bank tomorrow. I have to actually withdraw money because we basically ran out of money at the end of Sunday. Next week is a big fiscal day for the race - we'll be giving out about $3000 in prize money. I think. Plus merchandise. Primes. And any "larger than minimum" prize list increase (we step up the money with larger than minimum fields).
Whatever. With these thoughts running through my head, and the small (under 30 rider?) Cat 3-4 field, I wasn't looking forward to the race. I know my strengths, I know my weaknesses, and riding in a small field peels away all my strengths and lays bare my weaknesses.
Nevertheless I kitted up in the Leader's Jersey. I declined this the previous week for some reason. Part of it is being shy or something, part of it is the dread that I wouldn't ride up to the Jersey's standards.
I put it on, commenting sort of to no one in particular, "If I'm going to lose it, I'm going to lose it like a man." A guy registering asked if I was serious, and I told him I was. He seemed to be a bit skeptical, like this was one of my tactics to disarm the competition.
I even did a couple laps, peeled off a heavy layer (it was wet but not necessarily really cold), and suited up with my new rain jacket (I still haven't found my old one). I did all my rain-racing tricks, plus one new one, and felt reasonably warm and comfy.
The problem wasn't in being warm. It was in being fast.
And boy, when the field set out, they set out hard. I found out later one of the guys had his highest 5 and 10 second power outputs in the first five laps of the race. Figures, because on the second lap I was already coming off the back.
Now, although I made a big deal about all the guys from the City coming up as a team, the reality is that there's this kind of "Aki Mafia" at Bethel. In field sprints there are those that have their good sprints and those that don't. Since many of those that race at Bethel really are getting in some training miles (unlike me, because I'm allegedly peaking by March), they choose not to partake in the sprints.
They get bored in the race, and, like many generous and friendly racers, try to help out those who put a bit more emphasis on the Series.
One of those guys would be me.
So, although they may race on different teams, and in the summer they may do their best to break my legs in a crit, at Bethel things are a bit kinder, a bit gentler. I see friendly wheels suddenly, guys hesitating just a bit before moving up, glances back to see if I'm there. It's a bit easier to move up when, for example, someone coaxes me onto their wheel and then rides through about 70 guys and drops me off 20 back from the front.
That's all to help me. Not them.
So, in the very sparse, maybe 20-odd rider field, I probably had 10 guys who knew me well enough, or respected what I was trying to do, or whatever, that they would expend significant amounts of energy to help me.
I mention this because it makes my pitiful race even more pitiful.
I started seeing gaps in front of me by the second lap. Some guys jumped across, others took their time, giving me some protection as they closed the gap.
But I still came off.
My teammate Mike was religiously following around the guy I perceived as the biggest threat, and also the guy that Mike could probably beat if Mike just followed him around. In turn I was just trying to stay near the front because if I drifted back any I'd be at the back.
Then I started drifting back. My legs started hating the bike. And I got dropped. Guys behind tried to help, actively and passively, and I got back into the field.
Then I got dropped again.
And again, guys behind me helped me. I got back into the field.
It was the third of thirty laps of racing.
I came off again.
But this time, I'd run out of helpers. The whole field rode in front of me, and I came off. Cooked. Toasted. Done.
I couldn't really see, my glasses were all messy from the wet, gritty roads, but I could see people's body language.
"What's he doing out of the race??"
My teammate Mike, doing his best to try and earn points (so that others couldn't earn any), marked so many moves I couldn't believe he could still pedal. He found the legs to go with what ended up being the chase of the day. He looked to be in serious trouble though, riding beyond his limits. Within a few laps he'd come off too, a colosal effort come to naught.
In the end I lost the jersey to Stephen Gray, a powerful rider with Bethel Cycle. He earned it though, for sure. It was a tough day of racing, and it let the cream rise to the top.
And in the meantime I want to actually train. I've done maybe 10 hours since Febrary 26th, and that includes the four races I've done (well, three races plus three laps). I hope to do some riding this week, to get some rhythm back in my legs.
Next week the Series ends. No more pre-reg, no more packing up the van every Saturday, no more zombie-like Mondays. And next week we'll crown a new set of champions, and we'll aware a new set of Leader's Jerseys.
We'll see what happens. I'm praying for a bigger field, some luck, and legs for a good sprint.
First off, the weather didn't cooperate. But that's not really the point. The point is that the weather was supposed to be really bad, but instead it was just kind of miserable. Sort of like expecting a knock-you-out cold and getting just the sniffles.
Translation? I came prepared for a Nor'easter, not a piddly 45 minute sprinkle. But all we got was the piddly sprinkle, and that happened, naturally, during the Cat 5 race. "Naturally" because, as new racers, the 5s are supposed to suffer and pay their dues. Cat 5 racing is like bike racing hazing, where new racers pay some excruciating dues before moving up into the more plentiful 4s. Their racing, naturally, lacks a bit compared to the other categories. No money, smaller fields, the least desirable start times.
So it's natural that it also rains during a Cat 5 race.
As soon as they stopped, the raid did too. But, unlike, say, Southern California morning fog, the sun never burned through the heavy overcast skies, and we spent the rest of the day in cold, wet conditions.
I had a lot of fun typing stuff up in the results page, posting all but the last few races "live", but the reality was that we were slow at the tent. We had 1/3 the normal turnout, and it actually made me a bit anxious because this is the first year I have a vested interest in the race (i.e. I sank my own money into it, and I took a gamble and spent more before we even had our permits).
The underlying thoughts going through my head went something like, "Well, am I paying $2000 to watch people race today, or am I spending a little less money than that?"
Honestly, I didn't know, and I still don't know. I should know a little more when I go to the bank tomorrow. I have to actually withdraw money because we basically ran out of money at the end of Sunday. Next week is a big fiscal day for the race - we'll be giving out about $3000 in prize money. I think. Plus merchandise. Primes. And any "larger than minimum" prize list increase (we step up the money with larger than minimum fields).
Whatever. With these thoughts running through my head, and the small (under 30 rider?) Cat 3-4 field, I wasn't looking forward to the race. I know my strengths, I know my weaknesses, and riding in a small field peels away all my strengths and lays bare my weaknesses.
Nevertheless I kitted up in the Leader's Jersey. I declined this the previous week for some reason. Part of it is being shy or something, part of it is the dread that I wouldn't ride up to the Jersey's standards.
I put it on, commenting sort of to no one in particular, "If I'm going to lose it, I'm going to lose it like a man." A guy registering asked if I was serious, and I told him I was. He seemed to be a bit skeptical, like this was one of my tactics to disarm the competition.
I even did a couple laps, peeled off a heavy layer (it was wet but not necessarily really cold), and suited up with my new rain jacket (I still haven't found my old one). I did all my rain-racing tricks, plus one new one, and felt reasonably warm and comfy.
The problem wasn't in being warm. It was in being fast.
And boy, when the field set out, they set out hard. I found out later one of the guys had his highest 5 and 10 second power outputs in the first five laps of the race. Figures, because on the second lap I was already coming off the back.
Now, although I made a big deal about all the guys from the City coming up as a team, the reality is that there's this kind of "Aki Mafia" at Bethel. In field sprints there are those that have their good sprints and those that don't. Since many of those that race at Bethel really are getting in some training miles (unlike me, because I'm allegedly peaking by March), they choose not to partake in the sprints.
They get bored in the race, and, like many generous and friendly racers, try to help out those who put a bit more emphasis on the Series.
One of those guys would be me.
So, although they may race on different teams, and in the summer they may do their best to break my legs in a crit, at Bethel things are a bit kinder, a bit gentler. I see friendly wheels suddenly, guys hesitating just a bit before moving up, glances back to see if I'm there. It's a bit easier to move up when, for example, someone coaxes me onto their wheel and then rides through about 70 guys and drops me off 20 back from the front.
That's all to help me. Not them.
So, in the very sparse, maybe 20-odd rider field, I probably had 10 guys who knew me well enough, or respected what I was trying to do, or whatever, that they would expend significant amounts of energy to help me.
I mention this because it makes my pitiful race even more pitiful.
I started seeing gaps in front of me by the second lap. Some guys jumped across, others took their time, giving me some protection as they closed the gap.
But I still came off.
My teammate Mike was religiously following around the guy I perceived as the biggest threat, and also the guy that Mike could probably beat if Mike just followed him around. In turn I was just trying to stay near the front because if I drifted back any I'd be at the back.
Then I started drifting back. My legs started hating the bike. And I got dropped. Guys behind tried to help, actively and passively, and I got back into the field.
Then I got dropped again.
And again, guys behind me helped me. I got back into the field.
It was the third of thirty laps of racing.
I came off again.
But this time, I'd run out of helpers. The whole field rode in front of me, and I came off. Cooked. Toasted. Done.
I couldn't really see, my glasses were all messy from the wet, gritty roads, but I could see people's body language.
"What's he doing out of the race??"
My teammate Mike, doing his best to try and earn points (so that others couldn't earn any), marked so many moves I couldn't believe he could still pedal. He found the legs to go with what ended up being the chase of the day. He looked to be in serious trouble though, riding beyond his limits. Within a few laps he'd come off too, a colosal effort come to naught.
In the end I lost the jersey to Stephen Gray, a powerful rider with Bethel Cycle. He earned it though, for sure. It was a tough day of racing, and it let the cream rise to the top.
And in the meantime I want to actually train. I've done maybe 10 hours since Febrary 26th, and that includes the four races I've done (well, three races plus three laps). I hope to do some riding this week, to get some rhythm back in my legs.
Next week the Series ends. No more pre-reg, no more packing up the van every Saturday, no more zombie-like Mondays. And next week we'll crown a new set of champions, and we'll aware a new set of Leader's Jerseys.
We'll see what happens. I'm praying for a bigger field, some luck, and legs for a good sprint.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Bethel Spring Series 2009 - Criterium de Bethel Results
Results are here.
It would have been a perfectly fine day for racing (minus the rain in the Cat 5s) - misty, overcast, but no real rain. With tiny fields reminiscent of 1993 (although back then we would have been happy), the races ended up unpredictable. Working on getting the overall up but there were some doozies today.
It would have been a perfectly fine day for racing (minus the rain in the Cat 5s) - misty, overcast, but no real rain. With tiny fields reminiscent of 1993 (although back then we would have been happy), the races ended up unpredictable. Working on getting the overall up but there were some doozies today.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
How To Promote Races - The PreReg Dredge
So, it's the Friday after the Thursday that registration closes for Sunday's race. For most of you it means "Phew, I got my registration in", or "OMG why did I register when it's supposed to rain with thundershowers on Sunday?!" Whatever your thoughts, your only responsibility is to be prepared for Sunday; you have cast your die.
What's that mean for someone that, well, does stuff after registration ends?
More than I thought.
In the past, before BikeReg, I have no idea what I did. I never wrote down my steps (or if I did, the paper is gone), never took notes that I can remember, and in fact, I don't even know if I had anything to do with pre-reg at all. Like maybe someone else did it. Joe or Allan or Kevin or Rich would be able to tell me, since they were in the pre-BikeReg generation of co-promoters.
With my last co-promoter Gene, we got on the computer bandwagon - spreadsheets, laptop, the whole bit. We also started using BikeReg. It was a new thing, scary, and we had no idea what to expect. I actually never dealt with BikeReg except when I registered for my own races - Gene did all that.
He always raved about how nice the guys were at BikeReg, how they always helped, worked with him, and all sorts of other things. I finally got to interact with them this year and they've been nothing but helpful (and so has USAC, for that matter). There's a reason why we use BikeReg every year, even when we got all messed up when we fell behind in paperwork and both of us got super busy with non-Bethel life.
Anyway, now I know the "after pre-reg closes" drill. Here is part of it.
First, we download the pre-reg release forms. Since we have folks registered for the whole series as well as ones registered just for the day, I download from two dates on BikeReg - March 1 (for whole series registrations) and from the next race, March 29 in this case.
I sort by last name then first name. This results in a pdf that has all the releases sorted by last name, which we then put into a binder with tabs for letters A-Z. When racers show up at the race, they just sign their release, show their license, and take their number.
Then I download the next raceday's (March 29 in this case) registration data, in csv format. Now I have everyone's data to populate our spreadsheet. I do the following:
1. Sort by last name, first name.
2. Check for double entries in the same race, and make a note that perhaps someone paid too much.
3. Check for two+ race entries for one rider. Bold the line that has info for the race that takes place later in the day.
4. Sort by Category Entered, last name, first name
5. Copy paste into spreadsheet.
6. Every line that is not bold paid the normal one day fee ($14). I fill that in.
7. Every line that is bold paid the normal second race fee ($11). I fill that in. I also put "Yes" in a column that counts racers who are in their second or third race of the day.
8. I also paste in the Masters ages, which unfortunately is in a different column from our spreadsheet, so I want to fix that for next year. (I also want to include category and sex so that it's easier to fill in the 7 column results format USAC likes).
9. I save the document as both a Backup and Primary, and email it to myself.
Printing the pre-reg releases (on 3 hole paper so we can put them in a binder) and regular releases (on regular paper for clipboards). Our wedding book has become a heavy, stable base for the printer. We have a second printer as a backup, but this one is a nice, compact, quiet one (HP 1006).
Recently fixed Bella making sure the day-of releases are in good shape. The binders holding the pre-reg are below the clipboards. Apparently they passed inspection as Bella didn't find anything.
Recently fixed Riley checking the box of extra numbers and pins. We started the year with something like 15-20k pins. Don't waste them, I'm just saying that we try and be prepared. Riley was disappointed when I hid the rest of the rubber bands.
Typical pre-reg printout (in the back) with the assigned numbers clipped to the printout. The rest of the numbers are in the foreground. Yes, this means we only have 22 racers pre-reg. It's supposed to be raining with thunderstorms, so it'll be an epic day (for both staff and racers).
The two laptops, with one of the spreadsheets up. The stack of numbers to the left still need to be assigned to races. We buy a few thousand numbers a year, and we have an overflowing box of incomplete numbers (the box pictured with Riley is our second box of incomplete numbers). Note glass of OJ per advice of a bike mechanic (I'm still sick). High pulp, in case you're wondering.
Other tools of the trade. Chalk paint (from the officials, and I've tried to buy some for years and can't find any). They use chalk paint for the Tour finishline painting, then spray the stuff away after the stage ends. Umbrella (golf size, with anti-wind vents) for thundershowers. Extra video cable. Printer box (to transport printer in first picture). Box of pre-reg and day-of release forms.
Other stuff near my feet. Yellow numbers (now not legal for USAC). My gear bag (which reminds me, I have to go find my rain jacket). My laptop bag for the two laptops, SRM, mini camcorder, and cable/plugs for all of the above. The little black bag is my Carpe Diem Racing bag, has paperwork and stuff in it.
New numbers in front. 1000 of them right there. The overflow numbers in back with various pins, markers, etc. I leave the new numbers behind. I have about 1000 of them with the pre-reg stuff anyway. I have some Olbas stuff in there too.
All our categories. Each folder has a pre-reg list with numbers attached as well as the day-of numbers. When we do the races we put all the releases in the appropriate folders, or bunch them all up if it's too busy. Duct tape finish line for dry days, also to tape up results. Trash bags for garbage. Pens, clips, extra numbers, manuals for the generators heater etc, various other things piled in there.
Tiger (he's been fixed for a while) making sure all the radios are, in fact, radios, and not mice. They're all charging. The Motorolas are nicer, but they cost us 12 times as much as the cheapo black ones (albeit 10-15 years ago). The latter use 4 AAA batteries, and I've been moving over to rechargeable Duracells since the original rechargeable batteries are kind of iffy. My cell phone sits in front, as does a number from the end of 701-800 (I took out all of the last numbers this week for some reason). The Tumi is my clothing bag, but I may skip that this week and jam stuff in my gear bag.
I also set up the TiVO to call in to the TiVO mother planet and get the updated time and such. This enables us to record onto the TiVO on Sunday. As a backup we have DV tapes for the video camera and a cable to move tape from the camera to the backup laptop. We can then review the data this way if necessary.
During the week I managed to remember to fill two propane tanks, so we'll have two heaters in the tent on Sunday. Yay for heat!
On Saturday, today, I'll load most of what's pictured up top into the red car, along with my bike, food, clothing, various AV stuff (mini-camcorder etc).
Today, because of the expected rain on Sunday, I'll be working on the tent sides, punching out grommet holes (I never finished punching them all out, and that was 5 years ago), zipping the sides together, and preparing them to make it easy and straightforward to mount. If it works out we'll store them just like that.
Of course I have to get to the van to do that, and the van is 1.5 hours away. I also want to do it in the middle of a huge expanse of pavement (not the tick-ridden yard) and so I'll be driving to some quiet, large parking lot to work on organizing stuff for tomorrow. I figure a high school parking lot would work fine (they don't have Saturday school stuff, right?).
I also want to go find some ball-bungees, little loops of elastic bungee material hooked to balls. I'd like to get 100 of them because ours are getting a bit played. Or a lot of the actual bungee material, and I'll re-bungee them.
A bonus would be figuring out some way to set up all the electronic stuff so there is little risk of them getting wet. Printer, laptops, generators, microwave, they all need to stay dry. I don't want to zap myself or anyone else, and a smoking printer that doesn't print doesn't do anyone any good. We've gotten by in the past and I think we'll be okay for tomorrow, but it's another thing to think about.
Finally, I'll want to get a short spin in. Because if I don't, my legs will be stiff and slow tomorrow. I figure 15-30 minutes should do it, then I can worry about everything else.
You know, because, ultimately, it's all about the race.
See you out there, flahutes.
What's that mean for someone that, well, does stuff after registration ends?
More than I thought.
In the past, before BikeReg, I have no idea what I did. I never wrote down my steps (or if I did, the paper is gone), never took notes that I can remember, and in fact, I don't even know if I had anything to do with pre-reg at all. Like maybe someone else did it. Joe or Allan or Kevin or Rich would be able to tell me, since they were in the pre-BikeReg generation of co-promoters.
With my last co-promoter Gene, we got on the computer bandwagon - spreadsheets, laptop, the whole bit. We also started using BikeReg. It was a new thing, scary, and we had no idea what to expect. I actually never dealt with BikeReg except when I registered for my own races - Gene did all that.
He always raved about how nice the guys were at BikeReg, how they always helped, worked with him, and all sorts of other things. I finally got to interact with them this year and they've been nothing but helpful (and so has USAC, for that matter). There's a reason why we use BikeReg every year, even when we got all messed up when we fell behind in paperwork and both of us got super busy with non-Bethel life.
Anyway, now I know the "after pre-reg closes" drill. Here is part of it.
First, we download the pre-reg release forms. Since we have folks registered for the whole series as well as ones registered just for the day, I download from two dates on BikeReg - March 1 (for whole series registrations) and from the next race, March 29 in this case.
I sort by last name then first name. This results in a pdf that has all the releases sorted by last name, which we then put into a binder with tabs for letters A-Z. When racers show up at the race, they just sign their release, show their license, and take their number.
Then I download the next raceday's (March 29 in this case) registration data, in csv format. Now I have everyone's data to populate our spreadsheet. I do the following:
1. Sort by last name, first name.
2. Check for double entries in the same race, and make a note that perhaps someone paid too much.
3. Check for two+ race entries for one rider. Bold the line that has info for the race that takes place later in the day.
4. Sort by Category Entered, last name, first name
5. Copy paste into spreadsheet.
6. Every line that is not bold paid the normal one day fee ($14). I fill that in.
7. Every line that is bold paid the normal second race fee ($11). I fill that in. I also put "Yes" in a column that counts racers who are in their second or third race of the day.
8. I also paste in the Masters ages, which unfortunately is in a different column from our spreadsheet, so I want to fix that for next year. (I also want to include category and sex so that it's easier to fill in the 7 column results format USAC likes).
9. I save the document as both a Backup and Primary, and email it to myself.
Printing the pre-reg releases (on 3 hole paper so we can put them in a binder) and regular releases (on regular paper for clipboards). Our wedding book has become a heavy, stable base for the printer. We have a second printer as a backup, but this one is a nice, compact, quiet one (HP 1006).
Recently fixed Bella making sure the day-of releases are in good shape. The binders holding the pre-reg are below the clipboards. Apparently they passed inspection as Bella didn't find anything.
Recently fixed Riley checking the box of extra numbers and pins. We started the year with something like 15-20k pins. Don't waste them, I'm just saying that we try and be prepared. Riley was disappointed when I hid the rest of the rubber bands.
Typical pre-reg printout (in the back) with the assigned numbers clipped to the printout. The rest of the numbers are in the foreground. Yes, this means we only have 22 racers pre-reg. It's supposed to be raining with thunderstorms, so it'll be an epic day (for both staff and racers).
The two laptops, with one of the spreadsheets up. The stack of numbers to the left still need to be assigned to races. We buy a few thousand numbers a year, and we have an overflowing box of incomplete numbers (the box pictured with Riley is our second box of incomplete numbers). Note glass of OJ per advice of a bike mechanic (I'm still sick). High pulp, in case you're wondering.
Other tools of the trade. Chalk paint (from the officials, and I've tried to buy some for years and can't find any). They use chalk paint for the Tour finishline painting, then spray the stuff away after the stage ends. Umbrella (golf size, with anti-wind vents) for thundershowers. Extra video cable. Printer box (to transport printer in first picture). Box of pre-reg and day-of release forms.
Other stuff near my feet. Yellow numbers (now not legal for USAC). My gear bag (which reminds me, I have to go find my rain jacket). My laptop bag for the two laptops, SRM, mini camcorder, and cable/plugs for all of the above. The little black bag is my Carpe Diem Racing bag, has paperwork and stuff in it.
New numbers in front. 1000 of them right there. The overflow numbers in back with various pins, markers, etc. I leave the new numbers behind. I have about 1000 of them with the pre-reg stuff anyway. I have some Olbas stuff in there too.
All our categories. Each folder has a pre-reg list with numbers attached as well as the day-of numbers. When we do the races we put all the releases in the appropriate folders, or bunch them all up if it's too busy. Duct tape finish line for dry days, also to tape up results. Trash bags for garbage. Pens, clips, extra numbers, manuals for the generators heater etc, various other things piled in there.
Tiger (he's been fixed for a while) making sure all the radios are, in fact, radios, and not mice. They're all charging. The Motorolas are nicer, but they cost us 12 times as much as the cheapo black ones (albeit 10-15 years ago). The latter use 4 AAA batteries, and I've been moving over to rechargeable Duracells since the original rechargeable batteries are kind of iffy. My cell phone sits in front, as does a number from the end of 701-800 (I took out all of the last numbers this week for some reason). The Tumi is my clothing bag, but I may skip that this week and jam stuff in my gear bag.I also set up the TiVO to call in to the TiVO mother planet and get the updated time and such. This enables us to record onto the TiVO on Sunday. As a backup we have DV tapes for the video camera and a cable to move tape from the camera to the backup laptop. We can then review the data this way if necessary.
During the week I managed to remember to fill two propane tanks, so we'll have two heaters in the tent on Sunday. Yay for heat!
On Saturday, today, I'll load most of what's pictured up top into the red car, along with my bike, food, clothing, various AV stuff (mini-camcorder etc).
Today, because of the expected rain on Sunday, I'll be working on the tent sides, punching out grommet holes (I never finished punching them all out, and that was 5 years ago), zipping the sides together, and preparing them to make it easy and straightforward to mount. If it works out we'll store them just like that.
Of course I have to get to the van to do that, and the van is 1.5 hours away. I also want to do it in the middle of a huge expanse of pavement (not the tick-ridden yard) and so I'll be driving to some quiet, large parking lot to work on organizing stuff for tomorrow. I figure a high school parking lot would work fine (they don't have Saturday school stuff, right?).
I also want to go find some ball-bungees, little loops of elastic bungee material hooked to balls. I'd like to get 100 of them because ours are getting a bit played. Or a lot of the actual bungee material, and I'll re-bungee them.
A bonus would be figuring out some way to set up all the electronic stuff so there is little risk of them getting wet. Printer, laptops, generators, microwave, they all need to stay dry. I don't want to zap myself or anyone else, and a smoking printer that doesn't print doesn't do anyone any good. We've gotten by in the past and I think we'll be okay for tomorrow, but it's another thing to think about.
Finally, I'll want to get a short spin in. Because if I don't, my legs will be stiff and slow tomorrow. I figure 15-30 minutes should do it, then I can worry about everything else.
You know, because, ultimately, it's all about the race.
See you out there, flahutes.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Life - Sick
Yep. Yesterday and today. Didn't go to work. On either day. Coughing. Hacking. Stuffy head.
Please make it stop.
Please make it stop.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Bethel Spring Series 2009 - Bethel CDP Gold Race Report
Ah, Spring. Balmy sun, wavy grass, bursting blooms, green and warm and nice and all the things you love about riding bikes outdoors.
Not.
I wouldn't have called Sunday morning "bitterly cold", but I borrowed my brother's brown canvas and leather winter coat to do the race. I couldn't find my warm knit hat so dealt with my camo Echo cap (prompting comments like "yo, you goin' huntin?"). My ears were cold, my neck was cold, and I felt miserable.
A couple days before I didn't feel quite right, and Friday put me over the edge. Saturday I could feel the piercing stiletto at the back of my throat, and Sunday I was surreptitiously swigging Vicks cough medicine (the kind that you don't have to show your license to get) to keep my eyes from watering.
From a promoting point of view things went well. Relatively large fields, lots of prize money given, some new primes for women forgotten (don't worry, we'll increase by 1/3 the primes for the last two weeks).
With a full "novice" crew, i.e. no missus and no Gene, the transition to the new generation of tent folks went well, with pretty much no problems. I say "novice" in quotes because one of the guys has been doing so well with his tasks that at one point I had him doing the finish line camera, day of registration, and looking after the marshaling situations. I thought about having him do live updates but then realized that might be a bit much.
It helped, of course, that the missus helped me set up the paperwork on Friday night, but all that stuff went very well.
From a safety point of view it was medium successful. A clash of wheels in the 4 race led to an ambulance ride for one rider, and there was at least one tumble in the 3-4 race. So not great but not horrible either.
My teammate John had a great race in the 4s. Last week he managed to win the field sprint, with a huge leadout from teammate Todd, behind a charging Guido Wollmann. This week, early in the race, he went noodling off the front in search of a prime or something. Wollmann chased him, they linked up, and in one lap they had a 30 second gap.
Problem was this was something like 2 laps into the race, and the field was full of fresh legs ready to pummel those that try to get away. Wollmann, admittedly the stronger of the two riders, made sure the break stayed away, with John contributing a good amount too. The field dwaddled, never committing to the violent chase necessary to close gaps like this. At the end John wanted Wollmann to win, but Wollmann wanted John to win. After arguing while holding their hands up a la "Hinault-Lemond", Wollmann got his way and John got his first win, coasting, in his small ring. I suppose that if one guy does more work but wants you to win anyway, might ss well take it!
My race went was not one to write about. But I will anyway!
I actually got warmed up, which, it seems, hurts me more than it helps me. I managed to get cold, focus on how bad I felt, and started second guessing my clothing choice. I thought maybe I should get a jacket instead of a LS jersey and a vest, but then I'd have to repin my number, and that would mean taking off my gloves, and I'm already cold, and maybe I'd get the warm gloves, but then in the race they slip a little bit in the drops...
You get the idea.
A few guys came up to me and told me they were going to do my style of warm-up, i.e. change less than 5 minutes before the race and ride to the start line. I'm thinking that I may race better that way. (After the race one guy said it worked great for him, so I may have to revert to my normal way of warming up).
Whatever, after figuring out I felt really, really, really bad, I lined up for the race. Being an absolute chicken, I chose not to wear my yellow jersey. A different year's overall winner said that it was a good thing - wearing the jersey, unless you win every race, seems to curse the wearer. Since he is my main rival (I decided that on my own), I figured that's the way I'll approach it.
We started off briskly, and on the first lap I felt a twinge of goodness in my legs - I powered up that thing like it was flat as a pancake, my (still) properly positioned bars feeling particularly delicious as I climbed on the hoods. (That first week, when my bars moved, made me realize how much I like a properly fitted bike).
On maybe the second lap a Jonathan Adler guy rocketed up the hill. Okay, I may have felt good on the hill, but this guy, he really stuck it good. When we rounded the first turn, he had at least 100-120 meters on us, and when we hit the backstretch, he was gone.
This dude was flying.
Normally someone like that explodes before you get back to the hill, but he simply rode away from us. The guy who warned me about the big break last week rolled up to me.
"This guy's going to lap us. And now no one's gonna let anyone go."
I looked at him a bit dejectedly and nodded.
A few severe slowdowns in the headwind section and the Alder guy was gone. Then, a bit belatedly, the field started chasing, in fits and spurts. Just as predicted, the field wouldn't let anything go.
I didn't have too many teammates to speak of, and the ones there would have been hard pressed to do the 10 or 30 pulls at 28 mph to drag this guy back. I just hoped that a different team would be able to chase.
My rival, with a strong team, probably could have had his team shut down the break. But he thinks like a strong man, not like a sprinter - he figured that if he could bridge, then the race would be much easier to decide. So he started launching attack after attack, trying to get clear of the field.
At some point, in my addled mind, I thought that 7 guys were 30 seconds ahead. I looked up the road and saw 1st GC (tied with me) rocket away.
No. Couldn't be.
About 10 seconds later a well meaning rival rolled up to me.
"You know that Steve just rode up the road, right?"
Yeah I guess I did. I moved up a bit, waited for the group to come back, but they seemed to be holding their slight gap. I waited another lap, the gap still there, and I realized that with 17 guys up the road (7 at 30, plus 10 at about 5-8 seconds), and a very, very strong overall contender that can TT in there, they'd be gone if there was another slow down in the field.
Therefore, I countered.
Actually I tried to move up a bit to prepare for a big counter later that lap, but it turned into a counter. As I rode up through the group (on the hoods, hence not a serious move on my part), some of the gaps started to swing shut. I accelerated through one, lateraled to avoid another rider, and suddenly I was carrying way too much speed and realized I was going to pop through the front of the field.
I kept my effort going. I thought I heard someone saying "They're sitting up!", but I couldn't hear anything clearly so I kept going. I did the big gear around the first turn and almost rear ended the 10 riders.
They'd totally sat up.
I looked back - I hadn't broken the elastic so the field had just used me to bridge up as well.
The guys in the break looked pretty fresh, and two immediately jumped away, one of them the GC rival. I briefly considered going but I realized quickly that my concern should be not getting dropped, not "how do I bridge that gap?"
I blew through the field in full reverse, almost jettisoning off the back, but a worried Andreas, a former great rival and now a friendly teammate, managed to snag me (literally) and kept me from permanent ejection.
I dangled off the back for the next five or six laps, the field in full cry for some reason. I no longer knew what was going on, except that when I bridged to that second group of 10 (behind the 7 at 30 seconds behind the 2 that still hadn't lapped us), there was no 7 at 30, and the guy off the front was solo, not a duo. I'd actually bridged up to the group that contained second rider on the road.
#$*&(#!
So... now what?
I decided I better get up there in the finish, get some points. Motivation is key in races like this, where you suffer greatly but the desire to do well is there. If this was, say, some non-peak race (I only have two peak races a year, and this is one of them), I'd have simply sat back and not cared a bit about any breaks up the road. I'd just wait for the field sprint because field sprints are the most fun thing to do.
But with a leader's jersey (that I didn't wear) on the line, I started making efforts. Andreas carefully monitored my situation, drifting back on the hill to make sure I had a wheel when we crested, and he offered to bring me to the front "whenever you tell me to".
I rarely use such an offer because I am rarely capable of following such moves (I blow up before the guy can drag me to the front of the field). Sometimes they actually work, but right after a 100% bridging effort?
No.
I had faith in my own abilities to navigate the field though, especially in these conditions (headwind backstretch, tailwind hill). I knew that if the field slowed just a bit at the end of the backstretch I could move up on the hill with maybe 5 or 10 moderately hard pedal strokes.
I wasn't about to try and communicate this with him, but that was a moot point. We got split up since he was riding on the fringes of the field, trying to keep a clear line for me, while I was trying to find shelter in the middle of the field. Then, as I'd hoped, the field slowed on the backstretch, I did my penance pedal strokes on the hill, and I was sitting near the front as we crossed the start/finish line. I looked at the lap cards.
3 to go.
Oh.
Windy, the front is. Windy and cold and lots of guys riding in such a way that they try to take wheels from you. And you try to take wheels back.
I hate wind but I love the jockeying for position. So I jockeyed, tried to go with the flow, and crested the hill in good position for the last couple laps. At the bell I still had decent position, and my hopes started going up just a touch. By now someone had let us know that there were, in fact, three total riders up the road. This means we were sprinting for fourth. Since there are GC points to sixth, I had to get top three in the field.
On the backstretch it got strangely quiet, with a few guys noodling off the front, the field sort of bunched up. No opener like last week, and with the headwind at the bottom of the hill and absolutely no wind going up it (big tailwind), I knew that it was imperative to jump before the hill, to break the elastic, to accelerate super hard to gap the field before they hit the hill. Once on the hill, because of the unusual wind, it would be nigh impossible to close gaps on a good sprinter, even for another good sprinter. I also knew that if I went first, I'd blow up half way up the hill.
Then I realized that SOC was right there, to my outside, on the edge of the field.
"Chris. Go. Chris. Go."
I tried to subliminally make him go. If someone went right now, and I was on their wheel, I'd have a top three in the field.
He, properly, ignored the request. Maybe I should have identified myself, but I'm glad I didn't, because when the sprint finally, belatedly, got under way, I couldn't jump out of a bucket to save my life. I counted at least five riders in front of me, and pulling away, and all my motivation evaporated in a heartbeat.
One of SOC's teammates, sprinting furiously, yelled at me for sitting up. I've done the same when I've gotten blocked, so I understand. And in this case I had even taken the best line possible to try and get up to those guys in front of me. But with nothing propping up my legs, I was done. I glanced over at the teammate, because you tend to look at those that justifiably yell at you. My coldly calculating mind told me that if he shifted up a gear he'd have killed me long before in the sprint. Just another thing to file away in my head.
I felt disappointed. Frustrated. Sat in the tent and sulked a bit. Which, with all the friendly folks around, wasn't too bad. I re-elevated myself and started getting things done for the race.
Later a guy introduced himself to me. He thanked me for putting on the races, thanked me for the hard work I put into the Series. I asked him how his race went, and he started describing how he had raced really hard at Plainville the day before and was cooked, but he was still in contention in the sprint. Then some overly optimistic idiot (note: my words, not his) sat up in the middle of the sprint, everyone swarmed around him, and that was that. He asked me the same question, how was my race.
I told him that I'd been frustrated with all the conflicting information I got from various friends and spectators, but in the sprint I had to get top two (my addled brain said that there were only two points places available, not the actual three), and when I realized that I couldn't get them, I sat up in the sprint. Then some doofus on CVC yelled at me. For sitting up in the sprint.
Suddenly I realized something.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
"Um, what team do you ride for?" I asked.
"CVC", he replied.
CVC is SOC's team. Which means...
Big smiles.
"Oh, man. Of all the guys I had to yell at, I yelled at the promoter!" he said.
"You had every right!" I laughed.
Then, always trying to help, we started discussing the finer points of his sprint.
Later on I saw the guy tied with me on points at the start. He was in street clothes now, but the last time I saw him was when he went barreling up the hill in the sprint, in front of me, his distinctive style propelling him to the line. I just assumed he won the field sprint because he's that kind of rider, and that would knock me out of the overall. We got to talking and I asked him how he placed.
"Right near you."
???
He was being modest, as usual, but he hadn't earned any points. As soon as I looked down, he blew. Since I blew too, I didn't see him slowing - I was too far back.
Phew! I figured that would mean I'm tied with him, and whoever won would be, say, 2-3 points ahead (since he earned 7 points today, and probably had 3 or 4 more from before).
We put stuff away and I prepared for the long drive home. First the drive to drop off the van, swap cars, and load up my red car for the way home. I shoved everything inside, even had room to shift into 5th and reverse, and started on the way back.
Less than a mile later I was doing serious leg presses to push my seat two clicks back, but I managed to squeeze something out of the way behind me, although the front edge of it dug into my back. Whatever, I was on my way home.
My throat was bothering me so much I almost drove off the road when my eyes started watering, but a swig of Vicks (non-drowsy, not the NyQuil) chased the severe tickles away. I had to hit the bottle two more times, but finally I got my throat under control.
Once home I started working on the results, and I realized something when I looked at the points. I wanted to see how many points this Adler stud had going into today.
I looked again, not believing my eyes. He had to have scored points. I mean this guy rode so strong today. He had to have some points, right?
Wrong.
He said as much last week when we ran into each other at the local Sycamore (warning - music plays when you open site) burger joint. I saw his team jacket, remembered we had found a team vest, and returned it to him while I waited for our food. He told me that since they don't have a sprinter (anymore), they had to try for breaks.
Since they hadn't had any successful breaks... no points. And that means the overall lead stays the same.
Two more weeks.
Not.
I wouldn't have called Sunday morning "bitterly cold", but I borrowed my brother's brown canvas and leather winter coat to do the race. I couldn't find my warm knit hat so dealt with my camo Echo cap (prompting comments like "yo, you goin' huntin?"). My ears were cold, my neck was cold, and I felt miserable.
A couple days before I didn't feel quite right, and Friday put me over the edge. Saturday I could feel the piercing stiletto at the back of my throat, and Sunday I was surreptitiously swigging Vicks cough medicine (the kind that you don't have to show your license to get) to keep my eyes from watering.
From a promoting point of view things went well. Relatively large fields, lots of prize money given, some new primes for women forgotten (don't worry, we'll increase by 1/3 the primes for the last two weeks).
With a full "novice" crew, i.e. no missus and no Gene, the transition to the new generation of tent folks went well, with pretty much no problems. I say "novice" in quotes because one of the guys has been doing so well with his tasks that at one point I had him doing the finish line camera, day of registration, and looking after the marshaling situations. I thought about having him do live updates but then realized that might be a bit much.
It helped, of course, that the missus helped me set up the paperwork on Friday night, but all that stuff went very well.
From a safety point of view it was medium successful. A clash of wheels in the 4 race led to an ambulance ride for one rider, and there was at least one tumble in the 3-4 race. So not great but not horrible either.
My teammate John had a great race in the 4s. Last week he managed to win the field sprint, with a huge leadout from teammate Todd, behind a charging Guido Wollmann. This week, early in the race, he went noodling off the front in search of a prime or something. Wollmann chased him, they linked up, and in one lap they had a 30 second gap.
Problem was this was something like 2 laps into the race, and the field was full of fresh legs ready to pummel those that try to get away. Wollmann, admittedly the stronger of the two riders, made sure the break stayed away, with John contributing a good amount too. The field dwaddled, never committing to the violent chase necessary to close gaps like this. At the end John wanted Wollmann to win, but Wollmann wanted John to win. After arguing while holding their hands up a la "Hinault-Lemond", Wollmann got his way and John got his first win, coasting, in his small ring. I suppose that if one guy does more work but wants you to win anyway, might ss well take it!
My race went was not one to write about. But I will anyway!
I actually got warmed up, which, it seems, hurts me more than it helps me. I managed to get cold, focus on how bad I felt, and started second guessing my clothing choice. I thought maybe I should get a jacket instead of a LS jersey and a vest, but then I'd have to repin my number, and that would mean taking off my gloves, and I'm already cold, and maybe I'd get the warm gloves, but then in the race they slip a little bit in the drops...
You get the idea.
A few guys came up to me and told me they were going to do my style of warm-up, i.e. change less than 5 minutes before the race and ride to the start line. I'm thinking that I may race better that way. (After the race one guy said it worked great for him, so I may have to revert to my normal way of warming up).
Whatever, after figuring out I felt really, really, really bad, I lined up for the race. Being an absolute chicken, I chose not to wear my yellow jersey. A different year's overall winner said that it was a good thing - wearing the jersey, unless you win every race, seems to curse the wearer. Since he is my main rival (I decided that on my own), I figured that's the way I'll approach it.
We started off briskly, and on the first lap I felt a twinge of goodness in my legs - I powered up that thing like it was flat as a pancake, my (still) properly positioned bars feeling particularly delicious as I climbed on the hoods. (That first week, when my bars moved, made me realize how much I like a properly fitted bike).
On maybe the second lap a Jonathan Adler guy rocketed up the hill. Okay, I may have felt good on the hill, but this guy, he really stuck it good. When we rounded the first turn, he had at least 100-120 meters on us, and when we hit the backstretch, he was gone.
This dude was flying.
Normally someone like that explodes before you get back to the hill, but he simply rode away from us. The guy who warned me about the big break last week rolled up to me.
"This guy's going to lap us. And now no one's gonna let anyone go."
I looked at him a bit dejectedly and nodded.
A few severe slowdowns in the headwind section and the Alder guy was gone. Then, a bit belatedly, the field started chasing, in fits and spurts. Just as predicted, the field wouldn't let anything go.
I didn't have too many teammates to speak of, and the ones there would have been hard pressed to do the 10 or 30 pulls at 28 mph to drag this guy back. I just hoped that a different team would be able to chase.
My rival, with a strong team, probably could have had his team shut down the break. But he thinks like a strong man, not like a sprinter - he figured that if he could bridge, then the race would be much easier to decide. So he started launching attack after attack, trying to get clear of the field.
At some point, in my addled mind, I thought that 7 guys were 30 seconds ahead. I looked up the road and saw 1st GC (tied with me) rocket away.
No. Couldn't be.
About 10 seconds later a well meaning rival rolled up to me.
"You know that Steve just rode up the road, right?"
Yeah I guess I did. I moved up a bit, waited for the group to come back, but they seemed to be holding their slight gap. I waited another lap, the gap still there, and I realized that with 17 guys up the road (7 at 30, plus 10 at about 5-8 seconds), and a very, very strong overall contender that can TT in there, they'd be gone if there was another slow down in the field.
Therefore, I countered.
Actually I tried to move up a bit to prepare for a big counter later that lap, but it turned into a counter. As I rode up through the group (on the hoods, hence not a serious move on my part), some of the gaps started to swing shut. I accelerated through one, lateraled to avoid another rider, and suddenly I was carrying way too much speed and realized I was going to pop through the front of the field.
I kept my effort going. I thought I heard someone saying "They're sitting up!", but I couldn't hear anything clearly so I kept going. I did the big gear around the first turn and almost rear ended the 10 riders.
They'd totally sat up.
I looked back - I hadn't broken the elastic so the field had just used me to bridge up as well.
The guys in the break looked pretty fresh, and two immediately jumped away, one of them the GC rival. I briefly considered going but I realized quickly that my concern should be not getting dropped, not "how do I bridge that gap?"
I blew through the field in full reverse, almost jettisoning off the back, but a worried Andreas, a former great rival and now a friendly teammate, managed to snag me (literally) and kept me from permanent ejection.
I dangled off the back for the next five or six laps, the field in full cry for some reason. I no longer knew what was going on, except that when I bridged to that second group of 10 (behind the 7 at 30 seconds behind the 2 that still hadn't lapped us), there was no 7 at 30, and the guy off the front was solo, not a duo. I'd actually bridged up to the group that contained second rider on the road.
#$*&(#!
So... now what?
I decided I better get up there in the finish, get some points. Motivation is key in races like this, where you suffer greatly but the desire to do well is there. If this was, say, some non-peak race (I only have two peak races a year, and this is one of them), I'd have simply sat back and not cared a bit about any breaks up the road. I'd just wait for the field sprint because field sprints are the most fun thing to do.
But with a leader's jersey (that I didn't wear) on the line, I started making efforts. Andreas carefully monitored my situation, drifting back on the hill to make sure I had a wheel when we crested, and he offered to bring me to the front "whenever you tell me to".
I rarely use such an offer because I am rarely capable of following such moves (I blow up before the guy can drag me to the front of the field). Sometimes they actually work, but right after a 100% bridging effort?
No.
I had faith in my own abilities to navigate the field though, especially in these conditions (headwind backstretch, tailwind hill). I knew that if the field slowed just a bit at the end of the backstretch I could move up on the hill with maybe 5 or 10 moderately hard pedal strokes.
I wasn't about to try and communicate this with him, but that was a moot point. We got split up since he was riding on the fringes of the field, trying to keep a clear line for me, while I was trying to find shelter in the middle of the field. Then, as I'd hoped, the field slowed on the backstretch, I did my penance pedal strokes on the hill, and I was sitting near the front as we crossed the start/finish line. I looked at the lap cards.
3 to go.
Oh.
Windy, the front is. Windy and cold and lots of guys riding in such a way that they try to take wheels from you. And you try to take wheels back.
I hate wind but I love the jockeying for position. So I jockeyed, tried to go with the flow, and crested the hill in good position for the last couple laps. At the bell I still had decent position, and my hopes started going up just a touch. By now someone had let us know that there were, in fact, three total riders up the road. This means we were sprinting for fourth. Since there are GC points to sixth, I had to get top three in the field.
On the backstretch it got strangely quiet, with a few guys noodling off the front, the field sort of bunched up. No opener like last week, and with the headwind at the bottom of the hill and absolutely no wind going up it (big tailwind), I knew that it was imperative to jump before the hill, to break the elastic, to accelerate super hard to gap the field before they hit the hill. Once on the hill, because of the unusual wind, it would be nigh impossible to close gaps on a good sprinter, even for another good sprinter. I also knew that if I went first, I'd blow up half way up the hill.
Then I realized that SOC was right there, to my outside, on the edge of the field.
"Chris. Go. Chris. Go."
I tried to subliminally make him go. If someone went right now, and I was on their wheel, I'd have a top three in the field.
He, properly, ignored the request. Maybe I should have identified myself, but I'm glad I didn't, because when the sprint finally, belatedly, got under way, I couldn't jump out of a bucket to save my life. I counted at least five riders in front of me, and pulling away, and all my motivation evaporated in a heartbeat.
One of SOC's teammates, sprinting furiously, yelled at me for sitting up. I've done the same when I've gotten blocked, so I understand. And in this case I had even taken the best line possible to try and get up to those guys in front of me. But with nothing propping up my legs, I was done. I glanced over at the teammate, because you tend to look at those that justifiably yell at you. My coldly calculating mind told me that if he shifted up a gear he'd have killed me long before in the sprint. Just another thing to file away in my head.
I felt disappointed. Frustrated. Sat in the tent and sulked a bit. Which, with all the friendly folks around, wasn't too bad. I re-elevated myself and started getting things done for the race.
Later a guy introduced himself to me. He thanked me for putting on the races, thanked me for the hard work I put into the Series. I asked him how his race went, and he started describing how he had raced really hard at Plainville the day before and was cooked, but he was still in contention in the sprint. Then some overly optimistic idiot (note: my words, not his) sat up in the middle of the sprint, everyone swarmed around him, and that was that. He asked me the same question, how was my race.
I told him that I'd been frustrated with all the conflicting information I got from various friends and spectators, but in the sprint I had to get top two (my addled brain said that there were only two points places available, not the actual three), and when I realized that I couldn't get them, I sat up in the sprint. Then some doofus on CVC yelled at me. For sitting up in the sprint.
Suddenly I realized something.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
"Um, what team do you ride for?" I asked.
"CVC", he replied.
CVC is SOC's team. Which means...
Big smiles.
"Oh, man. Of all the guys I had to yell at, I yelled at the promoter!" he said.
"You had every right!" I laughed.
Then, always trying to help, we started discussing the finer points of his sprint.
Later on I saw the guy tied with me on points at the start. He was in street clothes now, but the last time I saw him was when he went barreling up the hill in the sprint, in front of me, his distinctive style propelling him to the line. I just assumed he won the field sprint because he's that kind of rider, and that would knock me out of the overall. We got to talking and I asked him how he placed.
"Right near you."
???
He was being modest, as usual, but he hadn't earned any points. As soon as I looked down, he blew. Since I blew too, I didn't see him slowing - I was too far back.
Phew! I figured that would mean I'm tied with him, and whoever won would be, say, 2-3 points ahead (since he earned 7 points today, and probably had 3 or 4 more from before).
We put stuff away and I prepared for the long drive home. First the drive to drop off the van, swap cars, and load up my red car for the way home. I shoved everything inside, even had room to shift into 5th and reverse, and started on the way back.
Less than a mile later I was doing serious leg presses to push my seat two clicks back, but I managed to squeeze something out of the way behind me, although the front edge of it dug into my back. Whatever, I was on my way home.
My throat was bothering me so much I almost drove off the road when my eyes started watering, but a swig of Vicks (non-drowsy, not the NyQuil) chased the severe tickles away. I had to hit the bottle two more times, but finally I got my throat under control.
Once home I started working on the results, and I realized something when I looked at the points. I wanted to see how many points this Adler stud had going into today.
I looked again, not believing my eyes. He had to have scored points. I mean this guy rode so strong today. He had to have some points, right?
Wrong.
He said as much last week when we ran into each other at the local Sycamore (warning - music plays when you open site) burger joint. I saw his team jacket, remembered we had found a team vest, and returned it to him while I waited for our food. He told me that since they don't have a sprinter (anymore), they had to try for breaks.
Since they hadn't had any successful breaks... no points. And that means the overall lead stays the same.
Two more weeks.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
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