I’m a couple of weeks into rebooting and it has been pretty manageable. I think the biggest trick to rebuilding fitness is knowing exactly what I’m supposed to do. Its pretty easy to get in shape: You do a bunch of months of longer slower rides, then you pile on a month or two of harder efforts, and then volia, you’re fast.

But how is it exactly that you “get slow” on purpose? It’s hard. I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing it at least 50% wrong. I’ve stopped racing, which is good. I’ve opted out of a few Meridian rides, which are pretty intense, and I’ve limited my own hard efforts on my solo rides. Mileage is down a bit as well. My Garmin is dead, so I don’t have HR or power data to pay attention to anymore either. That pretty much sums up my shoot from the hips approach to get-slow training. I should probably go read a book or talk to a coach about dialing it in even more but I’m not a pro and I’m not that concerned with nailing it, so I think I’ll continue on this course for a while unless it doesn’t seem to be working.

The good thing about mellowing out is that it is allowing me to enjoy riding a bit more. As I suspected, I really enjoy just soaking up the rides as a simple cyclist, not a racer who is out training. There is a certain zen that comes with relaxing, looking down, watching your knees bob up and down, and not experiencing any pain.

I’m looking at the horizon and starting to feel the itch to do a MTB race, so I thought it time to break out my vintage mountain bike: The Yeti AS-R. I bought the bike used in 2004, but I think it might be a 2002 or 2003 model. That would make it almost 10 years old. Ever since I was in junior high school I had always wanted a Yeti. Watching Myles Rockwell and Missy Giove shred on those beautiful green bikes burned the brand into my memory, so as soon as I had enough cash to buy one I did. I don’t ride my MTB much these days but I started cycling on a mountain bike not a road bike, and it is fun to return to my first love.

The Yeti shredding in Bend, OR. Circa '08

Whenever I show up to a mountain bike ride with the Yeti nowadays, I always get the same reaction: “Whoa, that thing is vintage!”. The same was true yesterday as I headed out to Mayhem Gulch and Centennial cone with my buddy Chris. We had a nice mellow paced ride in perfect weather conditions. I always pick up a bit of skill from Chris, who is a much more seasoned bike handler than I. Just by watching his lines and mimicking, I can improve my descending speeds pretty significantly. I also reduce my chances of crashing in the same manner. I’ve always held that riding MTB will improve one’s road riding abilities because it tests the reflexes and hones instincts in a way that road riding simply can’t. I’m pretty sure that MTB instincts have saved me from more than a few road bike crashes, including one spectacular crash at San Dimas Stage Race where, in an act of pure MTB instinct, I fully bunny-hopped a rider who went down in front of me. I told Chris yesterday that I rarely experience fear on my road bike unless a car is doing something dumb, but on a MTB I experience sheer terror quite frequently. A little fear is healthy!

In a direct manifestation of the benefits of slowing down, yesterday I was able to stop at the top of Centennial Cone and grab this panorama of the very things that first drew me to this state about a year ago: The Colorado Rocky Mountains.

This year though the Koppenberg came at the end of what has already been a successful month of racing and all of that angst and struggle for personal validation that I usually channel into a race in order try to do well was all used up. Truth be told, I’m at peace with my cycling season already, and there isn’t much fire in my belly.

It was with with this in mind that I found myself asking myself “what are my goals for this race?”. Luckily I had four other RMRC team mates in the mix on Saturday, and I decided to race the Koppenberg in hopes of helping one of them do really well. I resigned myself to chasing down breakaways and trying to set up a lead out at the end.

My teammate Chris looked strong all day. He always had great position going into the hill.

The course itself was perfect. The infamous wall was tame. The hardest part of the race was consistently the gravel road at the top of the course where the guys with higher goals then my own pinned it every lap in an attempt to shed as many hangers on as possible. Because of this the race was no walk in the park. It was tough going!

Here I am gasping for air on the afore-mentioned gravel section.

Compounding the problem of my own lack of motivation was the fact that I’ve achieved some sort of “marked man” status in the peloton. Often times when I’d move to the front of the group to stay out of trouble or just get a clean line, someone would shout “don’t let him go!”. I guess on some level this new found notoriety makes me smile a little, but really I just wanted to say “guys, I’m no threat today”. So even if I’d come intending to throw down on Saturday, I think it may have been difficult or impossible to do anything with out a bunch of guys chasing me down.

In the end, the Koppenberg was a tremendously fun race and my team rode well. We lined up for the sprint, got a little boxed in, but managed to slot Ryan Eggen into 13th on the day. The rest of us were somewhere around the top 20. I tried to do a little lead-out, but ended up sitting up in the final 50 meters when I saw that two of my guys were safely off in front of me.

At this point, I’m feeling tired. It’s only April but I’ve been on the bike pretty consistently since January 1st. I’m not totally sure, but I might need to heed the call to rest soon. As fun as April was, May looks equally boring. I don’t see very many awesome races on the horizon. Morgul Bismark is a great race, but the price tag might be over the top for my budget. I’m thinking May will entail more long slow mountain rides to refocus and rest. I’ll pop into the occasional crit, and I think I’m going to try some MTB races to mix up the scenery a bit. The season is still young, but a brief dip will be for the best.

Cycling is a fairly selfish endeavor, at least when it comes to my family. They are my biggest supporters, but they also endure a lot in order to let me participate in a sport where more time spent training = better results. I think balance is possible to achieve, and I need not neglect the DS and the kids in order to meet my goals. But without watchful diligence, I think neglect is exactly the tendency. It is easy to get carried away with training and racing. Getting in one more ride so I can break 200 miles in a week is often something I’m tempted to do. Racing four weekends in a row then grasping to race that fifth week even though everyone else wants to go on a road trip is easy to try to rationalize. In the excellent Manual For Speed blog Tad Hamilton is quoted on the topic and he said it better than I can. He is talking about pros, which I never aspire to be, but the same applies to amateur racers:

No one gets to be a pro bike racer without hard, hard training, but for many people who do make the grade, training is easy. The daily routine of eat, train, sleep provides comfort and order. However, when it comes time to rest and allow the hard work to metastasize, they cannot do it. Rest and recovery is equally important to training, and the obsessive behavior that drives many athletes will not allow the down time.

We see the fallout…racers abandoning all of their gear in a hotel room in Timbuktu and leaving for home. The shooting star who makes it from Cat 5 to Cat 1 in one year, then is out of the sport a year later. Cycling will take as much as you give it. It will devour your time, your money, your family, and your body. Taking time to rest and refresh is the only way to survive. —Tad Hamilton, Director Sportif, Team Exergy

I think slowing down in May is going to be tough to do. I’ll go on some slower group rides, but I’ll have to resist the urge to sprint the sprints and run with the big dogs. Somewhere deep inside I know that resting and slowing down can be equally rewarding to going fast. Getting to sit up and chat with buddies while spinning up Deer Creek is uniquely enjoyable. Taking in the scenery, noticing things I’ve passed 100 times but never seen is another reward for saying no to hard efforts.

At the end of the rest period, feeling properly reloaded and ready to rip again will be truly exciting. I love having something to look forward to on the horizon.

Bonus: Check out this cool video by Psimet/Zilla of the 2nd wave race:

Full gallery here:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/monovich/sets/72157629933629411/

A few fun shots. Click the pic to enlarge:

I dig the vintage steel! Bigtime style points.

Angry face of the day award

Orange and green go well together

Never forget to have fun!

My buddy Jason repping for Cycleton

The Kopp was pretty kind this year, but not to everyone.

This guy was rocking an 11-23. Track Stand Award for sure.

The SM3 ladies crushed this climb.

Leading into the wall

PHP heading around Cherry Creek Res. Photo by Reid Neureiter

I’m going to make an effort to catalogue the rides that I like here in Denver, and the PHP Tuesday Friday ride is the first of that effort.

First things first, to hit the PHP Tue/Fri ride, you gotta get up pretty early. The ride starts up in spring and lasts until late September, but the start/end time changes depending on daylight. The best bet for catching the ride is to check the site and/or sign up for the mailing list that contains the exact schedule and is mailed weekly.

Generally speaking, the ride starts around/before 6am in Park Hill. It rolls from Cake Crumbs bakery first, then heads south and picks up a southern contingent at Cherry Creek Trail and S Holly St before turning onto the Cherry Creek trail, heading down south to the Cherry Creek Res., and returning back north along surface streets or the bike path. See sample map below from today’s ride (4-27). Note that I start from Washington Park and meet the ride at CC/Holly, not at Cake Crumbs:

Depending on where you live or start from, the ride will probably range between 25 and 30 miles.

Pace: This is a very varied group. On some rides the pace is quite mellow and contains cyclists of many abilities from intermediate to advanced. The pace on those days might average 19 or 20mph. On other days some pretty strong active racers show up and can drive the pace up to pretty high levels. Whatever the day or the pace, I always tell people that their odds of getting dropped are very low. There is almost always at least one person who will hang back with a slower rider, and often there are many. Occasionally some riders will peel off for a second lap around the res, and more mileage can be had.

The ride surges and regroups at regular spots every time it heads out. It does go fast sometimes, but people are cool with waiting. There are 2-3 small hills on the ride where there are sprints for bragging rights. Sometimes as few as 4-6 people show up for the ride, other times it can be more than 20 people. When the group gets large it usually splits into a faster crew and slower crew to keep the size more manageable, especially in light of the fact that part of the ride heads down the Cherry Creek Trail.

Hey wait, is that Cadel joining in on the ride? Photo by Reid Neureiter

Culture: As far as ride culture goes, this ride is one of my favorites. The mix of abilities and personalities means you can duke it out with your fast buddies if you want, or you can hang back and chat all day long with the riders who are just looking for a nice friendly spin. The ride is mostly made up of men, but I’ve noticed that in the warmer months it is not uncommon to see two or three women in the mix. Everyone is respectful of the ladies when they show up.

Conclusion: If you are checking out Denver group rides and are looking for a challenge that you can dial in to your ability, this is probably a good first ride to hit. Its a bit tough prying one’s self out of bed at 5:30 am, but being done with your ride by 7:30ish has its bonuses for guys like me with jobs and families. In the hot Denver summer months, getting the ride in before the heat of the day also has it’s advantages.

Come on out and join. Photo by Reid Neureiter

Hope to see you out there.

Looks pretty intense, especially the sand worms.

So it was with great relief that I heard that they had changed the course this year to take out some of the worst gravel and sand sections. This year the course was a 50/50 split of pavement and freshly graded gravel.

It looked pretty reasonable on paper

Coming off of the surprise win last week, and having ridden an especially brutal Meridian on Tuesday, I was pretty confident that I was in good shape for the race. My goal was to be active, try some breaks, and generally not suck wheels the whole time. I was looking forward to the gravel sections of the course because I thought they suited my added heft a bit more than the lighter riders. My teammates Chris Lundberg and Randy Fuller were also out for the race, and I knew both of them were riding really well. Having them there took a lot of personal pressure off: You only need one teammate to have a good result in order to feel like the race went well.

I think I’ll skip ahead a little here. The race started like every race, and was like every race until we hit the first stretch of gravel. It was then that everyone in the peloton had a major reality check: This was not Boulder Roubaix gravel! Boulder Roubaix “gravel” consisted of mostly smooth hardpack road surface. It was dirt/gravel in name only on most of the course, but was actually pretty easy to ride. This Mead Roubaix gravel was real gravel, and it was deep! Not five feet into the first gravel section I felt the 2″-3″ deep gravel grab my wheel and start yanking my bike around. Whoa! I immediately adjusted my attitude from confident to cautious. Others appeared less affected by the gravel, and someone hit the gas pretty hard at the front. For that first 2.5 mile gravel section I was totally pegged while both trying to keep my bike on the road and at the same time pedal hard enough to not get dropped.

We exited the gravel and my first thought was “Wow, that was sobering”. Luckily the next stretch of course was nice paved downhill rollers heading North. Everyone rested, probably each contemplating riding that section three more times.

However bad that first section of gravel was, the second section was way worse. We took a hard right off the pavement and dove back into the suffering. The gravel on the second section was deeper and more unpredictable. Men wrestled with their bikes and their bikes wrestled back in surreal battles playing out mere inches in front of me. Each and every rider struggled to hold on. Keeping your bike on the road was a real achievement. Just to pile on the savagery, the deep gravel was interspersed with mind numbing washboard. The washboard was so intense it was hard for me to focus my eyes at times. Water bottles were unceremoniously ejected in spades. Not only were bottles ejected, but the shaking was violent enough to snap the plastic mounting tabs on my Garmin. It flew off my bike and shattered, only later to be collected and returned by a kind spectator.

We had three good years together. RIP little buddy.

When we exited the second gravel section and returned to the gloriously smooth pavement, some attacks went off the front and got a good gap. I was sandwiched in the group and couldn’t really chase. I felt some panic. I really didn’t want to miss a break in this race. Thankfully the peloton wasn’t having any of it and the group was reeled in.

Laps two and three were similar to lap one. We rode tempo on the pavement and drilled the gravel section. Each time we hit the gravel I spent major matches hanging on. I could feel attrition setting in. Riders were dropped one by one. Flats finished off riders who would otherwise have been strong enough to hang. Mead Roubaix was a cruel race and we still had over a lap to go.

I’m always learning how mental racing is, and how my own mind copes with the stress and discomfort of cycling. Since I’ve been riding, I’ve learned that I usually start races fresh on the lap one, hit very low points in the second half of the race, and often rebound for the last lap if I’ve fueled well. So while I was very nervous about being dropped, and indeed almost got dropped on the gravel rollers on lap 3, I told myself to hang tough because everyone was suffering. History showed that in races like this I could sometimes get my legs back for the final push and I tried to remember that first and foremost.

As we exited the gravel for the third time our group had about 20 guys left. I noticed that two guys appeared to have broken away in the gravel and were maybe a kilometer up the road. There was one lap to go, and this was a big problem. My team, RMRC had three guys in the race and no guys in the breakaway. Someone had to do something. The break looked pretty far off, but I needed to try and bridge up. If I blew up and failed, Randy or Chris would still be able to pick up the pieces, and I could fade to the back. Best case scenario would be that someone would break with me and we could bridge up together. Worst case scenario would be that the peloton wouldn’t let me go and also wouldn’t close the gap, and we’d all be racing for third.

I initiated my bridging attack with my only signature move: The passive aggressive surge. I’ve noticed a lot in the past that the more flamboyant the attack, the more likely the peloton is to panic and chase it down. So sometimes when I attack I don’t sprint like a madman, I just stay seated and accelerate off the front as smoothly as possible. Quite often this works. To the group this looks somewhat noncommittal, and if I go alone it looks like a doomed solo effort. Unfortunately if it looks doomed people are less likely to join in, and after about 15 seconds of pushing I looked back and saw that nobody had joined my fool’s errand.

All by myself in no man's land.

So there I was attacking all by myself. Not very smart. I set my mind on the two riders up the road. I was gaining on them. I was also in pain. The race fatigue was constant. Only 30 seconds into the effort I wondered what I was doing. I had halved the distance to the break but there was the other half to go and now I was tired. Maybe I should fade back and save any chances that I had for the finish?

I passed the start/finish line and the bell rang for the last lap. The DS, my kids, my mom, and my sister in law were all in attendance, and it was really fun hearing their cheers and knowing that at least I was putting on a fun show for them. Even if you do poorly, family always likes to see you at the front of a race once or twice.

I exited the town of Mead and settled into a slower pace I knew I could maintain. My Garmin was gone so I couldn’t evaluate heart rate or watts. It felt like I was doing about 250, which wasn’t impressive. I looked back and the peloton wasn’t chasing me down. They knew the odds: solo efforts don’t survive.

The two guys up the road had let off their pace a bit, and I knew I was going to close the gap all the way by the time we turned north on the pavement outside town. As I drew up to them I flashed three fingers. “Three?” I said. “Masters”, they replied.

*%@#$%@!!!! WHAT!!!!!?

The “breakaway” wasn’t even guys in my race, it was guys dropped off of the masters race! My heart plunged. What a massive tactical error. What a rookie mistake. I should have asked my group if they were 3s before I had gone and wasted all that energy.

What to do now? I looked back for my group and they weren’t in sight. The Masters guys dropped back. I suddenly felt very very alone. “Well”, I thought, “May as well keep pedaling”. I was ruined but I could just keep going and see how far I get before getting caught. The longer I could stay away the better the disaster story would be when I retold it later. “I got 15th but I spent a QUARTER of the last lap off the front by myself!”. I could live with that.

I hit the first gravel section alone. Peloton still not in sight behind me. It was refreshing to ride this part without the fear of being taken out by another rider. Instinctively I pushed a bit harder on the gravel because there is a visceral childlike thrill that comes with riding a bike on the dirt. I was in pain, but I was having fun.

(not my race, but what a cool picture by arschenk on flickr!)

I exited the first gravel stretch very tired. I had probably gone too hard, but it didn’t matter really. The catch was inevitable. I looked back and to my surprise I still couldn’t see my group. “Wow. They must be letting me dangle!” I thought. “Ok, lets try to make it to the second gravel stretch”. That way I could say I soloed for HALF a lap. Whoop de doo! I pedaled hard then tucked and coasted as much as possible on the pavement. There were a few 30′ rollers that hurt like hell to go up and over, and I knew I was cooked. I looked back and saw the peloton way off in the distance behind me. They were clearly gaining.

They were gaining but they didn’t catch me by the second gravel stretch, and upon hitting it I once again I felt the urge to mash pedals a bit. Again it was a huge relief hitting the gravel alone. I could pick my line at will, and I was moving pretty fast A thought crossed my mind: “I wonder if I could win this”. That was ridiculous. Nobody can ride fifteen miles by them self. The peloton had an insurmountable horsepower advantage. I was probably down to 230 watts maxed out, and they could do 250-350 all day long just by pulling through and rotating. I was going to get caught, but I didn’t have to give up either. Nobody says you have to stop pedaling and give up just because you know you are going to get caught, so I didn’t give up. I just kept pedaling as fast as my body would allow.

I made it up over the difficult gravel rollers out of the saddle, in the granny, and seemingly at a snails pace. I looked back and the gap was much smaller now. I rested briefly on a downhill before one final short steep hill. If I could get up that at least there wouldn’t be any real hills between me and the finish. Up and over I went, still full of doubt, still exhausted, still in pain. I had stopped eating and drinking. Did it matter anymore? The race was almost over. I was so thirsty! PEDAL PEDAL PEDAL!

A mile in the distance I could see a line of trees that defined the upcoming return to pavement, which was the final turn south and the final two miles to the finish. I looked back. They hadn’t really gained on me much. The dust made it difficult to even make out how many guys were left. I felt a bit of hope mixed in with all my doubt.

DON’T HOPE! YOU ARE DOOMED! My mind scolded me for hoping. I was still alone, still exhausted, and a bunch of angry dudes who were less tired than me were chasing hard now because the end was near. Still, I could at least keep pedaling right?

PEDAL PEDAL PEDAL. JUST PEDAL.

I made it to the pavement. I had about 600 feet of gap still. I sprinted briefly up to speed then settled in for the slog to the finish. It was so close but agonizingly far away. I knew what was going to happen now; I was going to get tantalizingly close to a once in a lifetime win, and they were going to swarm past me at 200 meters. Maybe they would say “nice ride!” as they blew by? Everything hurt SO bad, I really just wanted to be done, laying in the green grass at the park in Mead.

I looked back, they really weren’t closing me down very quickly. I felt a little more hope. I pedaled just a little faster. Maybe this could actually happen? I should try. Head down. Burning lungs. 1k sign. Look back. Still had a gap. This was happening! More speed. Desperation. 200m. “I AM GOING TO WIN”. Do I sit up? Yes I think so!

@$%@! I’m winning!

Hands up this time!

I won!

“How? I don’t know. Winning like that doesn’t seem possible. Will people think I’m a doper? How did that just happen? Where are the kids? Where is the DS? There they are! I’m so tired.”

Exhaustion and relief

I’m not exactly sure why my suicide breakaway worked, but I’ve tried over the last 24 hours to deconstruct it and here is what I’ve come up with: The break was just a perfect storm of almost unrelated events.

1. I only went because I made a mistake
2. I was let go because the attack was so dumb. I later learned that some in the peloton laughed out loud as I rode away. They didn’t take me seriously.
3. I later learned that at least half of the peloton didn’t even know I was gone. My wife took a picture of the 2nd place finisher celebrating as if he’d won. People weren’t paying attention and I slipped away.
4. The confusion in the gravel made it difficult to keep track of what was going on in the race, which discouraged any chase.
5. The group was tired and nobody wanted to spend their individual matches chasing me down for the benefit of the group. Many people were suffering just as much as I was, only 800 feet behind me.
6. A few really strong guys flatted while trying to reel me in at the end. Bad luck for them, good luck for me.

In the end though I guess I won for an even simpler reason: Even though I was doomed, I never fully gave up and the peloton did. I just pedaled my bike as best I could in the face of my own constant doubt. The odds of any one person winning a bike race are ridiculously low, so why do any of us race in the first place? We don’t expect to win, but I think at the end of the day we all want to have put in a respectable effort. I wouldn’t have been able to respect myself if I had given up even with such stupid odds. I’ve trained really really hard this year, harder than ever before. I put in my base miles and I wheezed my way through Meridian every week while learning to suffer in new ways. When off the front by myself I thought back about all of that and really wanted all of it to add up to something. Giving up adds up to nothing.

Once again I don’t expect anything like this to ever happen again, but I take deep deep satisfaction that I foolishly soloed off the front and won on one of the most challenging courses I’ve ever raced on. What a great day!

Icing on the cake: My kids on the podium with me

The race in question is was the Federal Center circuit race put on by the fine fellows at Colorado Bike Law. Going into the weekend the race was only partially on my radar. I had mentioned it to the DS, but possible bad weather and a certain kite festival were also in the weekend forecast, so racing could not be guaranteed. Such is the life of a perpetual three dad racer: My fate is not my own. The stars however, did align, the weather held off. Fair winds blew at the kite festival and I made it to registration with about 10 minutes to spare. Huzzah.

With my attendance at the race in question, I never really set up any goals for my self, “don’t be a puss” not withstanding. When I got there I observed a mighty fine wind blowing out of the north, so that set the wheels in my head turning. What also set my wheels turning was the layout of the course: A a 4 mile, 18 turn masterpiece that was so convoluted that while racing I often had no idea which direction we would go next. I give you exhibit A, labeled “Fed Center Course”:

Go ahead and try to figure this one out...

The course had so many turns, and it was so windy, I thought that it might be suitable to attempt that rarest of Cat 3 tactics; a successful breakaway. Cat 3 breakaway attempts themselves are not rare. Guys fling themselves off the front of the race all the time, but most attempts are the butt of their own joke and return themselves to the peloton about 30 seconds after takeoff. I thought the odds might be good in this race because the wind might discourage the chase, and if you could sneak around a certain number of turns and get out of sight the chase could give up completely.

On the gun I decided to start to test the odds and initiated some attacks. The expected result was returned. Every single time I went everyone would watch me go, let me dangle, and reel me back in. I wasn’t the only one trying to attack. A half dozen others did it as well, and we all, like idiots, tried it pretty much alone. The brutal wind made solo attempts futile and we were all too dumb to try to work together in a viable effort. Luckily I had many fine teammates that took turns at the front of the race, so while I recovered I didn’t feel concern that a break would sneak away without at least one of us trying to get into it.

Cut to 50 minutes later. 2 laps to go. My teammate Chris launched a nice solo attempt of his own down the finishing straight, and I sat in. I noticed a certain blue team all started congregating at the front and discussing tactics. “This is it” I thought. “Its about to get ugly”. The final bell lap rang and the pace became pretty intense. I made my way to the front, but the front is never static and the peloton kept coming up over the top of itself as everyone tried to position for the sprint.

The final sprint was different than many crit sprints. The final corner of the course was .3 mile from the finish line. It was wide and perfectly straight. There was also a significant tailwind blowing down the straightaway ensuring that sprint speeds would be higher than average. As I thought about this I remembered the words a friend of mine Sam Johnson told me about windy races. He said that if you could manage a gap with a tailwind, you had a much better chance keeping your gap going because the collective strength of the peloton didn’t really have the aero/hp advantage that it otherwise would when trying to reel you in.

This advice, combined with a serious feeling of panic that the blue team was about to mob the race had me thinking that I needed to attempt a long bomb sprint all the way to the final corner if I wanted to do well in the race. I wasn’t thinking of winning because I’ve never really come close to winning here in Colorado, but I did want a good result and I never have any success in 200m sprints.

So, as we rounded that final corner and I saw the finish line way down the road, I looked to see that nobody was yet sprinting and decided that I would launch first. After that everything went blank for a while. I hunched over the drops, dropped into the 11, and off I went. After I had cleared about half of the straightaway, nobody had yet passed me so I snuck a glance backwards. I had a gap! I had a gap! Not only that I had a gap, a tailwind, and I was going about 40mph! This was the moment when I thought something special might happen. I put my head down and kept on going. I halved the distance to the finish line and looked back again. Gap smaller, but still significant! I had this. Head back down, more sprinting. Here comes the line. Should I put my arms up? No way, I might crash, just race through the line…

I don’t want to make this moment bigger than it really was. I know I’m a cat 3 weekend racer racing against other guys who are trying to fit cycling into their busy lives. For many recreational racers, even spouses and kids might not call themselves fans. That said, for me this was a really big deal, and when I somehow crossed the finish line before anybody else I felt a wave of pent of frustration being released that I didn’t even know was there. I even managed some sort of scream/yell thing that I am sorta embarrassed to recall. Oh well.

Winning a race made me realize that moving to Colorado, getting dropped a lot, getting pulled from crits, and generally sucking wind over the last year all added up to a bunch of angst that had hidden below my own radar. That angst went ahead and let itself out. Sometimes you just want to feel like you are good at something.

I think winning a race let me admit to myself how demoralizing it is to get your ass kicked all the time, and for once, just once, I got a reprieve from that feeling.

The icing on the cake was that I didn’t have to celebrate this victory alone. I had five teammates who had rode well the whole race, so as a team we got to celebrate together. Even though the wind was blowing hard and snow was in the forecast, the DS had parked our car by the finish with the kids and she had gotten to see me win for once. She puts up with so much when it comes to me and bikes, and I’m glad she got to share a moment of victory with me. I won a hundred bucks as well, and I immediately turned that over to her and told her to treat herself to something that she wouldn’t otherwise let herself buy. She went out and bought a bunch of new running gear.

Now that I’ve won a race I don’t really know what comes next. I know I wasn’t the fastest or fittest racer out there on Saturday, I just had the element of surprise and a healthy tailwind that nudged me from average to first. That is the beauty of bike racing. It isn’t just about watts. You can be clever or get lucky too. I don’t expect the win to repeat itself this season. It could, but I don’t need it to. Just having one win in an entire year will be enough for me to find some irrevocable satisfaction in the endeavor of racing bikes.

72 and sunny in Louisville

2012 has been busy though. Due to circumstances beyond my control, I’ve been able to rack up more miles than I ever have previously at this point in the year. More miles = more base so I’m excited about the possibility of not burning out quite so quickly and not running out of matches quite so early in any given race.

CU City Park crit. First race of the year.

I’ve got a few goals for this road season, and they can be loosely summed up in the statement “don’t be a puss”. In crit racing this means don’t be afraid to actually show up and do a crit. I have to admit to being pretty scared of crits. The relentless efforts, the speed, the cornering, and the fighter jockey personalities psyche me out and find me intentially fading to the back of the pack. I’m more of a slow burning diesel truck than a sports car. Still, I need to HTFU. Colorado racing is just so fast, and after getting popped out the back of so many races last year I either need to adapt or take up gran fondos.

Louisville Crit. A great race and an excellent course.

In an effort to race myself into shape, I’ve been riding down south to a ride called “Meridian” held on a nice flowing hilly office park loop. I’d heard quite a few stories about how the ride is a crash fest and faster than hell, but I decided to try it anyway (getting back to that not being a pussy thing). What I found was that sometimes it is fast as hell, but the ride itself has been really smooth and safe. Its been an excellent tool to test myself, make mistakes, and learn about when/how to take risks. When people hype up a local ride as fast/crazy/dangerous/etc, its probably worth checking out at least once and making up your on mind. I’m finding that the amount of hype and hyperbole surrounding group rides is almost always over blown. Plus, are we trying to improve ourselves or not? If so, then sometimes that means getting out and doing a ride that scares and challenges.

Riding back from Meridian with my RMRC team mates.

One of my biggest goal races this year was Boulder Roubaix. Its a little late for a full race report, but if someone reads this in the future wondering if they should try the race, the answer is “yes”. Boulder Roubaix is everything that I enjoy in bike racing. Its held on 60/40 gravel pavement roads and features a number of rolling climbs, but you don’t have to be a real climber to do well. Some people don’t like dirt or gravel in road races, but the roads were in excellent condition and a bit of drama makes everything feel more epic. Plus, the race is a homage to the greatest single race in cycling, how could it possibly be held on smooth roads?

I didn’t manage to do anything huge or impressive at the race, but I managed a respectable 13th and my team mate Randy did even better at 8th. Being on a team and having team mates do well is just as good as doing well myself, it takes the personal pressure off a bit, and makes cycling less of a selfish soloist endeavor. My previous attempt at this race a few years back had me in 32nd place, so I’m happy with the improvement and look forward to taking another crack at it in the future.

Randy and I at Boulder Roubaix. A truly great day to be on a bike.

Besides racing, I’ve been enjoying the unseasonably warm and dry weather we’ve been having in Colorado. Having come from the very rainy and often cold Pacific Northwest, I am thankful for every single bluebird day we have. The Rockies offer unparalleled opportunities to explore, and the scenery is never ending motivation to saddle back up and hit the next training ride hard.

Looking down Grapevine road near Morrison

October 29-30th weekend: Another double header!. Last year I did exactly one double header weekend. This year I’ve done four in a row! One might think that the DS is getting sick of that, but she has been a great sport about it and MIGHT even be having a good time coming along. That may have something to do with Colorado being so beautiful and the venues being cool for spectating.
Day 1: Colorado Cross Cup. Great race at Boulder Res. It had been almost exactly a year since I first did this course when house shopping in 2010. There was some great mud, but the course felt very similar. Unfortunately a bunch of fast guys showed up and kicked my booty. I held on for 9th, but it was a slog. I didn’t feel like I had any stamina in this race, and I left this race wondering if my season had peaked. Still a great day on the bike though!

'round the muddy bend and up the runup!

c.c.c.craaaazy mud! ok maybe not but there were some slick sections.

Day 2: Boulder Cup. This race was held at the much vaunted Valmont Bike Park, which I had never visited. I can officially say after having visited that Valmont rocks! While this course continued to beat me into oblivion and handed me my worst result this year (outside the top 10). I had a fantastic duel with a gadiator named Ciro, and only his unfortunate intersection with a junior racer prevented him from vanquishing me. Valmont was a total roller coaster course through. The hills weren’t good for me, but that didn’t affect the fun factor of the twisty descents, awesome sand pits, and monster truck worthy mud bog. The 75 foot set of stairs probably contributed the most to my suffering on the day.

Finally some real mud!

Dueling with Ciro

Beautiful course, beautiful day!

More reports coming as time allows!

There is nothing like a tacky grassy high speed course! Het Meer delivered

It was with those three ingredients in mind that I packed up my trusty warpig and boarded a flight for a late October double header weekend in PDX. I can just go ahead and admit up front that I went with the goal of winning a Cross Crusade race. I’ve raced a bundle of Cross Crusades, and the closest I ever got to a “W” was around 5th place. I knew I was going faster this year, and I hoped it’d be enough to cross the Crusade off of the CX bucket list.

Pine State Biscuits provide possibly the most awesome pre-race meal ever.

The Crusade race I was going to hit was the Hillsboro Cross Crusade. I’d done this course a number of times previously, including its inaugural year when it included a couple of hundred feet of slogging through one foot deep mud and sh*t in a flooded outdoor horse pen. That was a particularly poignant memory. Before Hillsboro though, there was the Saturday race to contend with, which was a new race out at Vancouver Lake called Het Meer. Het Meer is a part of the new GPMC series which was partially formed to give people a respite from the massive crowds that show up for the Crusade series.

Het Meer had a LOT of sand. This picture shows about a third of it.

This race report is already a week “overdue”, so I’ll keep these short.

Het Meer started fast, and I stuck to my new strategy of trying to sit in and watch the leaders while my body got going. About 1/4 way into the first lap though, the leaders were making some mistakes picking lines and I would have had to hit the brakes in order to stay tucked into the pack. I moved around on an outside line through some barkdust (that I had seen a clever racer take earlier) and squeaked into the lead. I stuck to my strategy of conserving energy, but I put some heat on and started motoring. Het Meer was a course that couldn’t be any better suited for me. I.E. it was almost completely fast and flat. There were some really nice serpentine sections through some shady trees, and there was a massive 400m stretch of sand to contend with, but neither of those two obstacles were as challenging to me as a good old fashioned hill would be.

I just loved these loamy sections through the trees!

The sand proved to be quite fun and according to my buddy Jimmy, it is where I put most of my time into my competition, gaining five or ten seconds per lap. By the end of the race I had built up a solo lead of about a minute. The only thing I needed to do to win was not do anything careless or stupid. With that strategy in hand, I earned my first and only “W” of 2011. Het Meer was a fantastic race, probably one of the most beautiful and pure CX venues I’ve had the pleasure of racing. I wish them all the best in 2012!

Remounting after the un-rideable section of the sand.

Coming off of Saturday’s win, I felt a lot of confidence going into Sunday’s Crusade. I wasn’t dumb enough to think I was any sort of shoe-in for another win though. The Crusade brought out five times as many racers and a much tougher bunch of competitors. People bring their A game to every Crusade race. If you haven’t had the pleasure of attending one of these events, I’d advise you to skip USGP, Nats, or any of the other big UCI races and hit a Cross Crusade instead. Nothing I’ve ever raced has equaled the passion of the racers, sponsors, AND the fans. A crusade is a circus of cycling, and the energy has to be experienced to be believed.

Can you see all these people? This was just the MASTER B categories.

There were about 80 or 90 competitors in my race, and I drew a mid-pack starting position in the lottery. I knew in this size crowd that I needed to make a big effort to get to the front of the race ASAP lest the leaders simply ride away never to be seen again.

Look at all of 'em!

So, that is exactly what I did. On the gun I put on more gas than usual. I was surprised at the speed of all of the starters, even as far back as 45th where I was. It felt like being in a stampede. Because of the way the course zig-zagged back and forth on itself, I could see that the leaders had about 20-40 seconds on me on the first lap. My fears were confirmed in that they had clean racing on the front and I had a lot of traffic to fight through to try to catch up. Not only did I need to ride faster than them, I needed to do it while navigating through the congestion.

Hillsboro didn't have a sand pit, it had a sand HILL. It was the site of many wrecks.

It took about a lap to catch up to the top five and move within ten seconds of the leader. I was (stupidly) running very low PSI in my Vittorias, which hurt the grass and pavement cornering grip quite a bit. I felt the rear tire fold over repeatedly. But where the low pressure did help was the washboards on the back of the course.

Sketchy cornering on the rear tire: Not good.

Aided by my fluffy tire, I found that I could hammer through the washboards sections and let the tires suck up the bumps while others suffered more from the vibration. Using this section of the course to my advantage, I moved up to 2nd place within another lap. I decided to sit and watch the leader instead of trying to pass, but not long after I caught him he overshot a corner and I snuck by on the inside. Judging by his body language and the huffing sounds behind me, the guy didn’t have any intention of falling off my wheel like the other passed racers had.

Exiting the Horse Pit. Lucky it wasn't 1 foot deep mud this year.

At that point the race for the win became a race between him and I. He was a member of the Jens Voight Army team, so I’ll just call him JVA from now on. For the next three or so laps JVA and I duked and dueled. He was a much more aggressive in the corners and I easily made up any gaps he opened in the straights. He would slip by me from time to time on the inside, and I would slip back by him whenever he overshot a turn or washed out.

Straightwaways worked to my advantage. At least I think they did.

Going into the last lap he was in first and I wondered if I had any chance of winning if he didn’t mess up. At exactly that point he did mess up once again, and I found myself leading the last lap. I heard him on my wheel, and braced myself for his attack, but it never really came. About a minute from the finish line I though I might actually take the win again, because we had cleared most of the turns where I was having trouble. Then, in literally the last tiny s-turn, JVA gunned it and passed me on the outside. I jumped onto his wheel and we closed into the finish at an alarming pace. I didn’t have many options at this point. I knew I could out pedal him, but there were no more wide open parts of the course, only serpentine curves. My last chance was in the bumpy dirt horse pen. He was clearly animated and aggressive being in first and wanting to hold it, so I hoped against hope that he would bobble and give me a window of opportunity. Two times in the horse pen he almost washed out and went down, but he frantically recovered each time. At that point I knew he had it and there was nothing I could do. There was only one line through the pen and after that 50 feet of grass to the line. JVA fought a hard fight and used my weakness against me to much success. For his efforts he beat me to the line by two seconds. I passed him after the finish and shouted “nice ride!”.

Mr JVA prevailed with a super clever late race attack. Well played!

That was it, the weekend was over. Time to go home to the rarefied air of Colorado. I came back with a 1st and a 2nd, but I missed the ever-elusive Cross Crusade win. I’m not sure if I’ll get another chance. Technically I can earn one more top 3 before I need to upgrade to A, but I’m not sure if its worth staying in B just to chase that W. Maybe some things aren’t meant to be.

Colorado here I come

As a post script to the weekend. I finally unpacked my bike yesterday (Friday) to get it ready for this weekend’s races. I had deflated my tires for travel and upon inspecting them I was shocked to see that I had clearly rolled my rear Vittoria in three or four places. About 60% of the rim was completely un-glued, stuffed with dirt, and held in place only by air pressure. I easily grabbed the tire with one hand and completely yanked it from the rim. I realized immediately that the nasty handling in Hillsboro was verifiably due to my own mechanical negligence. I’d never inspected the tires to see what sort of shape the glue was in (after a season and a half of use). Don’t make the same mistake yourself! If you have tubulars, inspect them by deflating and gently pushing them with your thumb as you work around the wheel to make sure your glue is still holding. Live and learn!

Also motivating was the idea of correcting some of the mistakes I made at Xilinx, namely going out too hard and racing sloppy. I really wanted to test a new theory that I shouldn’t really be on the front alone but should instead try to work with a group during the race to conserve energy.

The DS raced on Sunday as well. Woot!

Monarch was very different from Xilinx. The course was almost 100% grass with countless hairpins and a few sections that resembled the layout of the large intestine. Turns double backed and folded over the top of one another in semi-ridiculous configurations. I actually heard other racers say “this is stupid” out loud, but I myself really like the tiny technical stuff because it causes separations in the group and gives me a chance to rest a bit. In the absence of mud or other adversity, convoluted sections of the course keep the race from becoming a high speed dirt (or grass) crit.

Tight and twisty was on tap. Photo by mountain moon photography.

At the starting line before the race I told the DS that I was going to try to race smarter; my goal wasn’t even to win this race, it was to learn how to use more tactics when racing. She said “good”, and told me she wanted to get 5th place. It may sound like a strange thing for her to have said, but I was glad she got me.

Thus, as the race started, I didn’t race for the front, I deliberately let others lead out on the large starting straightway. When we reached the first dip into the grass, I was probably riding around 10th or 12th position. I felt some primal instinct telling me to go faster, but I made a very deliberate decision to just sit tight and conserve. CONSERVE! It was the only thing that mattered. I wanted to race at 95% so that maybe in the latter laps I would have something left, unlike at Xilinx.

The first dip onto the grass.

As we hit the tight and twisties, mistakes were made by guys in front of me and every time it happened I capitalized on their misfortune by slipping by without the effort of accelerating. By the time we exited into the large grassy fields, there were about six guys left in front of me and a small gap had formed between us and the top 3 riders. Once again I felt the urge to bridge up, but once again I forced myself to stay put. It was very difficult to let them go, but I had to at least try to stick to my plan.

Through the paved section.

For the next two laps things went smoothly. I raced with my little group and we hovered at about 20 seconds behind the leaders. I rarely went to the front of the group. Others seemed intent on leading, and I was happy to let them do so. Going into lap 3 the lead group faded a bit or we sped up, because we caught them. This may have been where I made a critical mistake in the race. Instead of deciding to become a part of their group, I stayed passive and dangled off the back of the huddle. When they started pulling away again, I didn’t pursue. If I had it to do all over, I think maybe I would have tried to tag along with them. Instead I was left in no-man’s land between the A group and the B group. I wasn’t gaining on the A group and I wasn’t losing time to the B group.

Over the TRP runup

For another lap or so things continued this way. I rode alone. The result was that I began to wear down a bit. I was still riding below my meltdown threshold, but I was also solo in the wind. Group B started to make time on me. It was then that I decided that I had a better chance duking it out with group B then making it back to group A, so I let way up on the throttle until I was caught by them. Once again this was hard to do, its hard to fight the instinct to pedal as hard as you can in a 45 minute race! But, I’d seen this scenario before, and I wasn’t going to hand the B group a gift by riding my race solo while they enjoyed the benefits of a small pack.

Once caught by the Bs, I sat in. They clearly wanted to get around me anyway, so I obliged and tacked onto the back. While doing so I rested.

Up a punchy little rise

Going into the last lap it was the A group off scott free, then it was me and two others in the B group, after that there was a pretty large gap to everyone else. I sat on and sat in. Another B accelerated out on his own. I let him go, deciding instead to save it for the end. I thought we would catch him, and we did start reeling him in. Going into the very bumpy off-camber straight before the finish line hairpin there was the guy alone, then a five second gap, then me and the wheel I was sitting on. Deep inside I felt really confident about my tactics. I knew my conservative racing had left me with a nice reserve to sprint with. I was all but positive that I would easily out-sprint the wheel in front of me be cause he looked tired. At the very sandy hairpin into the final straight, I could feel the tension about the sprint. The turn though was very dangerous and many people had washed out on it. As we entered the turn I actually opened my mouth to warn my wheel to “be careful on the turn!”, but just as I did so, his front tire washed out and he went down. Damn! I didn’t want that to happen to me OR him. I wanted to end in a fair sprint for the line for both of us. I came to a stop but stayed upright as I tiptoed around him. I sprinted back up to speed into the finish and ended up with 5th on the day; exactly what the DS had requested. 4th place finished 5 seconds in front. It is possible that I might have caught him if the washout hadn’t happened, but I will never know. Perhaps there is a good lesson there too: Stay in front of the drama on the last lap!

The Monarch race left me feeling very content. I was happy with the 5th, but I was happier because I think I learned some things about pacing and racing that will help me a lot moving forward.

This coming weekend is an off weekend for the Cross Cup, so I’m taking the opportunity to go “home” to the Northwest and race in the beloved Cross Crusade series. I’m really looking forward to seeing old friends and racing in the conditions I cut my teeth in. It will also be interesting to see how I can stack up the the Cat B races there, where in the past I’ve never been able to place better than 5th…