24 May 2011Tuesday Night Criterium #6Elite Race
Ah, Youth
Cooler temps prevailed on Tuesday as a great competitive group descended on the Fairgrounds to contest this twilight criterium. Notables on the start were a bunch of young elite kids, nervous and twitchy while Frank Ammirata made his abbreviated announcements: Two Firefighter's cycling U-23 espoirs (Goessling and one other kid), Livestrong's Ryan Eastman, and a Cal Giant rider showed up to join our competitive crew of Red Pelotonistas, Pistacchio, Boba and Echelon riders.
Once again (and I'm starting to expect this now) the pace exploded from the start, with the kids just killing it for the first couple laps. Like it was some kind of Olympic Sprint. I was afraid to look behind for fear of being the last guy as the pace was super high.
Finally a lull in the baggare by the cycling youth brigade and immediately Sterling hits the gas at the front to try to snap the rubber band which is what is left of the peloton. At this point I think each of us remaining were busy dialing the combinations of our hurt lockers.
I think bicycle racing is a unique sport as so many things have to work pretty well all at the same time to get a good result: Tactics, mechanics, preparation, psychology. A little luck. Personally for me it seems like as soon as I have one thing nailed down some other floorboard warps up to screw things up. This is why I employ the "three excuses deep" philosophy. It's a great insulator against poor performance. Here, follow along with me, it's easy:
1. Overcaffeinated! I had just repaired my misbehaving espresso machine the night before. So of course Tuesday then would be a day dedicated to espresso-celebration, of course! A couple double cappuccini in the morning. Then right before leaving, ah why not have one more. A fourth doppio in the afternoon pretty much sealed my doom. I was a twitching, nervous human spasm throughout the race. Only today am I getting back to my "normal" level of nervousness.
2. Mechanical Idiocy! Although I'm pretty proud that I didn't screw up la macchina the night before, I did install some new Time cleats on Monday and forgot to grease the threads and torque on them really really well. As such the cleats held nicely during easy commuting, but come race night both sides loosened up nicely and whenever I needed to really punch it first the right shoe then both shoes slipped forward then backward under load. Now I'm not in software marketing and as such can't turn this bug into a feature. It honestly really screwed up my whole race.
3. Who needs a third excuse when your first two excuses are so damned solid?
Sometime in the center of the race I did find myself off the front with a firefighter and big John of Echelon fame and the break felt pretty good, but only a lap of freedom was allowed us on the windy course. We came back quickly.
Late in the race I think the Cal Giant rider and the remarkably-improving Alex Brookhouse (Echelon) went on a late raid and all it took was a half-lap of the best riders looking for the others to commit to pull them back, and that was all the freedom they needed. I think Sterling won the sprint for third. I tried sprinting with my new Vario-Dynamic™ Fore-Aft Randomizing™ Cleat System® but was unable to make much of a dent in what was left of the field and placed ninth or thereabouts.
Notes: A bunch of us "noodled" over to the Riviera where racers and fans get 50% off their pasta dishes on Tuesday nights. Enough montepulciano won as primes helped lubricate the evening (Thanks, Andy!). Also a Levi and Odessa sighting in what Matt Everson calls Sonoma County's cycling batcave. The night over, I tightened down my cleats and swerved home, Wes Montgomery, Eduardo Falú and Iva Bittova led the way past feral cats and rabbits.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Tuesday Night Twilights #6: Ah, Youth
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Cat's Hill Classic
I'm Blaming the Boulders
This past Saturday was the Cats Hill Classic, held just off downtown in the toney hamlet of Los Gatos. It's a tough, classic course, ironically set in a very well-heeled neighborhood. It's a race contested on bumpy, cracked concrete roads and features a block-long climb at a calf-sapping 22% gradient on a tight ~1km course. The race also has history; they've been running it for 34 years. Lemond raced it as a junior. Who knows? Maybe even Major Taylor too. But recently there has been a residential protest to cancel the race, which strikes me as odd because in my mind this event is one ot the most redeeming and genuine things about Los Gatos.
Laurel Green - of Earlybird women's team fame - and I carpooled down together, she finding a parking spot and expertly manouvering her small car to fit in a space so tight that she could have trapped a bagel between the bumpers in front of and behind her. With manual transmission, too. We considered this to be an excellent omen for the racing day.
The fancy towns that gird the valley have their own collective vibe - the leafy old-money neighborhoods. The solemn procession of predominantly German cars slinking along the congested downtown corridors. The 40-something babes cultivating the deliberately casual look with uniforms of fancy jeans, earth-toned form-fitting t-shirts, high-end makeup, glossy pedicures and small dogs. Its as close as we get to Dallas in Northern California I suppose.
Warming up on Laurel's rollers on a narrow sidewalk I was able to watch a lot of the aforementioned Los Gatos gentry squeeze past me. Then an entire marching band brushed past, bass drum, baritone, the works. While I, legs spinning, sweating profusely, going nowhere of course, feeling trapped in my own metaphor yet again. Just one mime short of being in a Fellini film.
Under threatening skies, our full field exploded out of the start, a large aggressive blob rapidly elongating. Hey weren't we supposed to be the old guys? Masters' 35 and 45 racing has long since abandoned the courtly gentlemen scene one would associate with a fellas golden years.
I had trouble getting my foot in the pedal so lost several places at the beginning and was stuck about halfway in the field. The first time up the climb was a rude shock indeed, the whole road wide with guys trying to figure out how best to make it up the steep pitch. Chains snapping on cogs, poor idiots trying to shift from the big ring to the small mid-hill, some thinking the big ring at 40 rpm is the way to go. It's sort of darwinian when you think about it; the best approaches get rewarded.
For my part I had my hands full on the climb, just staying mid-pack. Later, I started moving up place by place, and was negotiating the rough descent when quite close to me I heard a loud bang. Some poor sap just got a flat on the first lap, I thought. Then I felt my front tyre go immediatly soft. Oh shit that was me!
So in the pit they lash on my training front wheel, and when the race comes around again the chief ref throws me in a little too late. I'm trying desperately to accellerate in time to catch the tail end of the race coming past me at twice my speed. I had to go flat out just to catch the splintering tail of my race ... And this was just lap two. Oy.
So now I'm back in the race trying to find a way to be relevant. I can't sugar coat this though -- my back was killing me up the climb each lap. I had been making a rock wall most mornings this past week and I guess the lifting caught up with me. Should have stretched. Damnit that's my excuse and I'm sticking with it. So for every several riders that I could outmanouver on the rest of the course, I would be passed by about that same number on the climb. The climb-and by extension, my back-was my impediment to moving up in the race.
A group of three got off the front meanwhile battling it out for top honors, Kevin Metcalf (Specialized) taking the win again. I saw but had no response to the last lap detonations of Chris Wire (SJBC) and Larry Nolan (Specialized) who both placed highly. I rolled in mid-field for a mediocre 15th in my category. I had definite intentions of doing better. But, as they say, that's bike racing.
Laurel and I kept each other company on the ride home with tales of doing worse than expected. The great parking job was the highlight of the day, as it turned out.
Postscript: I tried a "Five-Hour Energy" shot prior to the race. Well I gotta say you do get five hours of energy, they just don't tell you which five hours you get. For me, my five hours started at 2 am. Ugh.
This past Saturday was the Cats Hill Classic, held just off downtown in the toney hamlet of Los Gatos. It's a tough, classic course, ironically set in a very well-heeled neighborhood. It's a race contested on bumpy, cracked concrete roads and features a block-long climb at a calf-sapping 22% gradient on a tight ~1km course. The race also has history; they've been running it for 34 years. Lemond raced it as a junior. Who knows? Maybe even Major Taylor too. But recently there has been a residential protest to cancel the race, which strikes me as odd because in my mind this event is one ot the most redeeming and genuine things about Los Gatos.
Laurel Green - of Earlybird women's team fame - and I carpooled down together, she finding a parking spot and expertly manouvering her small car to fit in a space so tight that she could have trapped a bagel between the bumpers in front of and behind her. With manual transmission, too. We considered this to be an excellent omen for the racing day.
The fancy towns that gird the valley have their own collective vibe - the leafy old-money neighborhoods. The solemn procession of predominantly German cars slinking along the congested downtown corridors. The 40-something babes cultivating the deliberately casual look with uniforms of fancy jeans, earth-toned form-fitting t-shirts, high-end makeup, glossy pedicures and small dogs. Its as close as we get to Dallas in Northern California I suppose.
Warming up on Laurel's rollers on a narrow sidewalk I was able to watch a lot of the aforementioned Los Gatos gentry squeeze past me. Then an entire marching band brushed past, bass drum, baritone, the works. While I, legs spinning, sweating profusely, going nowhere of course, feeling trapped in my own metaphor yet again. Just one mime short of being in a Fellini film.
Under threatening skies, our full field exploded out of the start, a large aggressive blob rapidly elongating. Hey weren't we supposed to be the old guys? Masters' 35 and 45 racing has long since abandoned the courtly gentlemen scene one would associate with a fellas golden years.
I had trouble getting my foot in the pedal so lost several places at the beginning and was stuck about halfway in the field. The first time up the climb was a rude shock indeed, the whole road wide with guys trying to figure out how best to make it up the steep pitch. Chains snapping on cogs, poor idiots trying to shift from the big ring to the small mid-hill, some thinking the big ring at 40 rpm is the way to go. It's sort of darwinian when you think about it; the best approaches get rewarded.
For my part I had my hands full on the climb, just staying mid-pack. Later, I started moving up place by place, and was negotiating the rough descent when quite close to me I heard a loud bang. Some poor sap just got a flat on the first lap, I thought. Then I felt my front tyre go immediatly soft. Oh shit that was me!
So in the pit they lash on my training front wheel, and when the race comes around again the chief ref throws me in a little too late. I'm trying desperately to accellerate in time to catch the tail end of the race coming past me at twice my speed. I had to go flat out just to catch the splintering tail of my race ... And this was just lap two. Oy.
So now I'm back in the race trying to find a way to be relevant. I can't sugar coat this though -- my back was killing me up the climb each lap. I had been making a rock wall most mornings this past week and I guess the lifting caught up with me. Should have stretched. Damnit that's my excuse and I'm sticking with it. So for every several riders that I could outmanouver on the rest of the course, I would be passed by about that same number on the climb. The climb-and by extension, my back-was my impediment to moving up in the race.
A group of three got off the front meanwhile battling it out for top honors, Kevin Metcalf (Specialized) taking the win again. I saw but had no response to the last lap detonations of Chris Wire (SJBC) and Larry Nolan (Specialized) who both placed highly. I rolled in mid-field for a mediocre 15th in my category. I had definite intentions of doing better. But, as they say, that's bike racing.
Laurel and I kept each other company on the ride home with tales of doing worse than expected. The great parking job was the highlight of the day, as it turned out.
Postscript: I tried a "Five-Hour Energy" shot prior to the race. Well I gotta say you do get five hours of energy, they just don't tell you which five hours you get. For me, my five hours started at 2 am. Ugh.
Tuesday Night Twilights #5
Twilight Criterium #5
10 May 2011
Elite race
A windless morning prompted me to strap on the 90mm deep wheels for this twilight race. Throughout the day though it got windier and windier still, and by race time it was blowing pretty hard. Riding a deep rim on a really windy course makes riding a straight line difficult, and hard cornering an exercise in faith and interventional deities.
But if you have really aggressive wheels it feels strange to see them languish in the garage for months at a time (though it is my fervent hope that the boys at NORAD don't have similar feelings about their nuclear arsenal). And for whatever reason was feeling reasonably strong, so why not give 'em a try?
A good group of tough guys shows up on this cool and blustery evening, including Andy Gosseling (Firefighters U23), three Pistachio pros, two Norcal riders including the fabulous Dr. Todd, a flock of Red Peloton riders, and a couple Echeloninans, Bobas and Colavita riders each.
For some reason I was feeling fantastic. I think the wheels were helping in the straightaways but would require intense concentration when cornering. Taking a hard turn with a super deep front wheel feels like your headset is overtightened, and steering is more like wrestling.
Midway through the race I found myself in a breakaway with Patrick Zahn (Red Peloton), Jason (Colavita) and Alex Brookhouse (Echelon). Our group was working pretty smoothly for a lap but it didn't feel to me that we had the horsepower to keep it out there. Going through the S/F they ring the bell for a prime. Immediately Patrick announces that we are to keep it together and not contest the sprint for the prime (for the good of our group). But I had a dissenting opinion, which was that we were already doomed as a breakaway, to be caught in short order and cooperation over said prime would be futile. So as Sting sings ... "When the world is running down, make the best of what's still around ..." instead of taking the pull I jumped away up the home straight to collect the prime. Now I can see how my breakmates might be pissed, but after all, it is a bike race, not an exercise in diplomacy.
Sure enough the break blows apart and we we're caught in dribs and drabs on the backside of the course. Attacks fly around but nothing sticks until the other Echelon guy (sorry I didn't catch his name), the big strong dude, goes flying past solo and sticks it out there for a lap or two. As I know the Echelon guy is super strong, I had recovered sufficiently to try counterattacking to bridge up to him. Andy Gosseling (U23 Firefighters) had the exact same idea and the two of us rocketed on up the road after him, joining up to him in a half lap.
We're a good trio of riders, me boxing above my weight as they say, and with a better chance of holding off the hungry pack, but I'm still noticing there is no Pistachio or Red Peloton presence. The combined power of those two teams could bring us back pretty quickly, so I'm not so sure we're going to stay away.
And what do you know? They ring another bell for a prime lap. I time my pull pretty well so I can be second or third wheel at the bottom of the course and then jump away again up the home straight to pick up prime number two. Now, yes, this breakaway blew up, but right when I came across the line I turned to see the field right on us anyway so once again I think I made the best of another doomed situation.
Gruppo Compatto a couple laps later when they ring the bell for the last prime of the night. I'm toward the front of the field and the pack is hesitating, and for some reason I'm still feeling good. It took just a moment for me to get it in my head that maybe I otta press my luck and try and go for the third prime. Is that possible? Echelon rider jumps and I get on him, punch it and get around him on the long drag up to the S/F. At this point I'm going flat out, feeling like some kind of ungainly thrashing animal that happens to be strapped to a bike. Can I actually hold all these guys off? The finish line appears to be receding, like it's on a peoplemover and I'm standing still. With meters to go 'till the line my mind is shutting down and my hearing is going. At the line I'm caught by Taylor (Pistachio), who later told me he had a mechanical the previous lap and had just gotten back in. We also got lap cards for three to go. Well, being pipped on the line by a pro who was rather rested for my third prime. I guess I can live with that.
I had given it absolutely everything in that sprint and was completely gassed. I was a feeble, drooling idiot (well, more than usual) for the final three laps as I struggled to stay with what was left of the group that was ramping up the speed in anticipation for the finale. I limped in around 12th but was content for winning the two primes, which turned out to be a bottle of wine each.
In the failing light of a Sonoma County day in May, I made it home, bottles clinking in my backpack, still without a top three placing but with more purloined bottles weighing my slow ride home. John Coltrane, Don Giovanni and Bebel Gilberto helped set the mood on the way back.
-Rick
10 May 2011
Elite race
A windless morning prompted me to strap on the 90mm deep wheels for this twilight race. Throughout the day though it got windier and windier still, and by race time it was blowing pretty hard. Riding a deep rim on a really windy course makes riding a straight line difficult, and hard cornering an exercise in faith and interventional deities.
But if you have really aggressive wheels it feels strange to see them languish in the garage for months at a time (though it is my fervent hope that the boys at NORAD don't have similar feelings about their nuclear arsenal). And for whatever reason was feeling reasonably strong, so why not give 'em a try?
A good group of tough guys shows up on this cool and blustery evening, including Andy Gosseling (Firefighters U23), three Pistachio pros, two Norcal riders including the fabulous Dr. Todd, a flock of Red Peloton riders, and a couple Echeloninans, Bobas and Colavita riders each.
For some reason I was feeling fantastic. I think the wheels were helping in the straightaways but would require intense concentration when cornering. Taking a hard turn with a super deep front wheel feels like your headset is overtightened, and steering is more like wrestling.
Midway through the race I found myself in a breakaway with Patrick Zahn (Red Peloton), Jason (Colavita) and Alex Brookhouse (Echelon). Our group was working pretty smoothly for a lap but it didn't feel to me that we had the horsepower to keep it out there. Going through the S/F they ring the bell for a prime. Immediately Patrick announces that we are to keep it together and not contest the sprint for the prime (for the good of our group). But I had a dissenting opinion, which was that we were already doomed as a breakaway, to be caught in short order and cooperation over said prime would be futile. So as Sting sings ... "When the world is running down, make the best of what's still around ..." instead of taking the pull I jumped away up the home straight to collect the prime. Now I can see how my breakmates might be pissed, but after all, it is a bike race, not an exercise in diplomacy.
Sure enough the break blows apart and we we're caught in dribs and drabs on the backside of the course. Attacks fly around but nothing sticks until the other Echelon guy (sorry I didn't catch his name), the big strong dude, goes flying past solo and sticks it out there for a lap or two. As I know the Echelon guy is super strong, I had recovered sufficiently to try counterattacking to bridge up to him. Andy Gosseling (U23 Firefighters) had the exact same idea and the two of us rocketed on up the road after him, joining up to him in a half lap.
We're a good trio of riders, me boxing above my weight as they say, and with a better chance of holding off the hungry pack, but I'm still noticing there is no Pistachio or Red Peloton presence. The combined power of those two teams could bring us back pretty quickly, so I'm not so sure we're going to stay away.
And what do you know? They ring another bell for a prime lap. I time my pull pretty well so I can be second or third wheel at the bottom of the course and then jump away again up the home straight to pick up prime number two. Now, yes, this breakaway blew up, but right when I came across the line I turned to see the field right on us anyway so once again I think I made the best of another doomed situation.
Gruppo Compatto a couple laps later when they ring the bell for the last prime of the night. I'm toward the front of the field and the pack is hesitating, and for some reason I'm still feeling good. It took just a moment for me to get it in my head that maybe I otta press my luck and try and go for the third prime. Is that possible? Echelon rider jumps and I get on him, punch it and get around him on the long drag up to the S/F. At this point I'm going flat out, feeling like some kind of ungainly thrashing animal that happens to be strapped to a bike. Can I actually hold all these guys off? The finish line appears to be receding, like it's on a peoplemover and I'm standing still. With meters to go 'till the line my mind is shutting down and my hearing is going. At the line I'm caught by Taylor (Pistachio), who later told me he had a mechanical the previous lap and had just gotten back in. We also got lap cards for three to go. Well, being pipped on the line by a pro who was rather rested for my third prime. I guess I can live with that.
I had given it absolutely everything in that sprint and was completely gassed. I was a feeble, drooling idiot (well, more than usual) for the final three laps as I struggled to stay with what was left of the group that was ramping up the speed in anticipation for the finale. I limped in around 12th but was content for winning the two primes, which turned out to be a bottle of wine each.
In the failing light of a Sonoma County day in May, I made it home, bottles clinking in my backpack, still without a top three placing but with more purloined bottles weighing my slow ride home. John Coltrane, Don Giovanni and Bebel Gilberto helped set the mood on the way back.
-Rick
Grasshopper #4: Pine Flat
Race Ride: Grasshopper #4, Pine Flat
Mileage: 65
Climbing: I still can't bear to look
Place: 16th
This grasshopper was attended by 80-100 riders. Those who showed up were all strong. The course in a nutshell was HSBG -> Cloverdale -> The Geysers -> Pine Flat and finish at the top of Pine Flat. For anyone unfamiliar with Pine flat at the top it's just ... heinous, with extended segments of 22% gradients after you've been climbing solid for about an hour. And of course before Pine Flat is the brute of the climb of The Geysers. Ivan Basso's Liquigas teammate Ben King showed up and set the race ride alight, and several others had outstanding rides. For my part, I performed somewhat worse than expected. Was in 7th and moving up on the Geysers which was great, but then the masquerade of the paucity of my mileage was revealed to all as I began unspooling on the final climb, though may I say most riders also suffered mightily and many others also had issues with cramping.
For those interested in a real report, may I direct you to http://www.grasshopperadventureseries.com/
The final ascent is documented in a sort of timeline below (and sincerest apologies to those in Fukushima prefecture):
Mile 53:
- An 11.5 mile climb, the most substantial ever ridden in Sonoma County, is attempted just before 2:00 pm local time (-800 GMT), triggering a massive anaerobic effort.
- The power supply and cooling systems of Rick Pepper are damaged.
Mile 56:
- Rick Pepper orders the evacuation of all riders who are close to him at the time, where an explosion occurs in a leg housing one of his calf muscles.
Mile 57:
- Estimates of five riders have been evacuated from the vicinity of now the disabled Rick Pepper.
- Grasshopper Prime Minister Miguel Crawford says Rick Pepper is facing its worst crisis since attempting to climb Joy Road on February 19. Millions of muscle cells are without any power or water.
Mile 59:
- A second explosion occurs at the stricken right leg.
Mile 60:
- Two more explosions and a severe cramp rock all online quadriceps and lactic levels around the facility reach dangerous levels, prompting Rick to advise riders up to 30 kilometres (20 miles) from his legs to stay indoors.
Mile 61:
- Managers from other teams urge their riders to leave Pine Flat Road and the Grasshopper Adventure Series organization authorises the voluntary departure of Grasshopper family members.
Mile 61:
- The core of the left quadricep is damaged.
- Rick's muscular safety agency raises the Pine Flat crisis level from four to five on the international scale of gravity for cramping and failure, which goes up to seven.
Mile 62:
- Abnormal levels of Lactic Acid are detected in the general atmosphere of the stricken rider and traces of lactic acid are reportedly found in his sweat.
- Todd Weizenberg arrives at the summit, the first local rider to arrive since the disaster. He Places 3rd.
Mile 63:
- Rick Pepper, the operator of the now-disabled legs, apologises for the "anxiety and nuisance" caused to other riders forced to flee the dangerous zone around him and to the county as a whole.
Mile 62:
- Three other riders are exposed to high levels of lactic acid at Pine Flat, with two hospitalized after stepping in a puddle of some fluid that appears to be leaking from the stricken Rick Pepper. They are discharged on 01 May with no sign of serious injuries.
Mile 64:
- "Maximum alert" warning is issued after Rick Pepper is observed now smoldering going up the final 22% grade.
- At least 15 people are exposed to high levels of lactic acid in this area, however, all have summited safely before the stricken Rick Pepper
Mile 65:
- Fatigue and general sense of failure detected in local groundwater reaches a new high of 10,000 times the legal limit.
- Concentrations of abject disillusion 4,385 times higher than normal are recorded in the surrounding atmosphere extending as a plume to the south-east.
- Pepper does not expand the evacuation zone, as recommended by regulatory watchdog agencies USCF and SCBC.
-Pepper finally summits Pine Flat.
Mileage: 65
Climbing: I still can't bear to look
Place: 16th
This grasshopper was attended by 80-100 riders. Those who showed up were all strong. The course in a nutshell was HSBG -> Cloverdale -> The Geysers -> Pine Flat and finish at the top of Pine Flat. For anyone unfamiliar with Pine flat at the top it's just ... heinous, with extended segments of 22% gradients after you've been climbing solid for about an hour. And of course before Pine Flat is the brute of the climb of The Geysers. Ivan Basso's Liquigas teammate Ben King showed up and set the race ride alight, and several others had outstanding rides. For my part, I performed somewhat worse than expected. Was in 7th and moving up on the Geysers which was great, but then the masquerade of the paucity of my mileage was revealed to all as I began unspooling on the final climb, though may I say most riders also suffered mightily and many others also had issues with cramping.
For those interested in a real report, may I direct you to http://www.grasshopperadventureseries.com/
The final ascent is documented in a sort of timeline below (and sincerest apologies to those in Fukushima prefecture):
Mile 53:
- An 11.5 mile climb, the most substantial ever ridden in Sonoma County, is attempted just before 2:00 pm local time (-800 GMT), triggering a massive anaerobic effort.
- The power supply and cooling systems of Rick Pepper are damaged.
Mile 56:
- Rick Pepper orders the evacuation of all riders who are close to him at the time, where an explosion occurs in a leg housing one of his calf muscles.
Mile 57:
- Estimates of five riders have been evacuated from the vicinity of now the disabled Rick Pepper.
- Grasshopper Prime Minister Miguel Crawford says Rick Pepper is facing its worst crisis since attempting to climb Joy Road on February 19. Millions of muscle cells are without any power or water.
Mile 59:
- A second explosion occurs at the stricken right leg.
Mile 60:
- Two more explosions and a severe cramp rock all online quadriceps and lactic levels around the facility reach dangerous levels, prompting Rick to advise riders up to 30 kilometres (20 miles) from his legs to stay indoors.
Mile 61:
- Managers from other teams urge their riders to leave Pine Flat Road and the Grasshopper Adventure Series organization authorises the voluntary departure of Grasshopper family members.
Mile 61:
- The core of the left quadricep is damaged.
- Rick's muscular safety agency raises the Pine Flat crisis level from four to five on the international scale of gravity for cramping and failure, which goes up to seven.
Mile 62:
- Abnormal levels of Lactic Acid are detected in the general atmosphere of the stricken rider and traces of lactic acid are reportedly found in his sweat.
- Todd Weizenberg arrives at the summit, the first local rider to arrive since the disaster. He Places 3rd.
Mile 63:
- Rick Pepper, the operator of the now-disabled legs, apologises for the "anxiety and nuisance" caused to other riders forced to flee the dangerous zone around him and to the county as a whole.
Mile 62:
- Three other riders are exposed to high levels of lactic acid at Pine Flat, with two hospitalized after stepping in a puddle of some fluid that appears to be leaking from the stricken Rick Pepper. They are discharged on 01 May with no sign of serious injuries.
Mile 64:
- "Maximum alert" warning is issued after Rick Pepper is observed now smoldering going up the final 22% grade.
- At least 15 people are exposed to high levels of lactic acid in this area, however, all have summited safely before the stricken Rick Pepper
Mile 65:
- Fatigue and general sense of failure detected in local groundwater reaches a new high of 10,000 times the legal limit.
- Concentrations of abject disillusion 4,385 times higher than normal are recorded in the surrounding atmosphere extending as a plume to the south-east.
- Pepper does not expand the evacuation zone, as recommended by regulatory watchdog agencies USCF and SCBC.
-Pepper finally summits Pine Flat.
Pittsburg Criterium
Pittsburg Criterium
Masters 45+
07 May 2011
On Saturday the Racing on offer was in Pittsburg. Racing in a downtown corridor is always more exciting than doing battle within the ghost town of an industrial park on the weekend ... I had never been to Pittsburg before, a small east bay working class town, which is why they were having the event, to draw attention to place, well into the process of revitalization. The reg was expensive and the prizelist sort of middling, but the S/F was right downtown with VIP seating, a beer garden, cafes along the course, and an expo center. And as the city is positioned somewhere between the bay and the delta, they get wind.
O boy do they get wind in Pittsburg!
With a gusty 25-30 mph wind from the NW,this was not the race to bring out my 90 mm front wheel. After fixing it to my front forks, one little loop in the parking lot which almost crashed me right there was enough to indicate that that baby was going back in the car.
Although the field was small, seemingly all the silverback males in the 45+ criterium scene were in attendance, with many Safeway riders present especially their DH, Gregg Bettonte (Safeway), while Specialized had three excellent rouleurs in attendance, notably the mesomorphic Larry Nolan (Specialized). Also in attendance were locals Michael Boehme (Colavita) and Paul Diaz (ex-Colavita)
After registration, I made it back to the car to change. And after checking and re-checking my bag like someone with a very bad case of OCD, I was forced to come to the conclusion that I had forgotten my cycling shorts. OK. But it did appear that I managed to bring everything else. Stuck in Pittsburg, (expensive) race number on the jersey, was I really going to be forced to take the start wearing my plaid walking shorts? Could I summon the nerve to ask a fellow racer if I could borrow their cycling shorts? Of all the things to forget! I was starting to work the angles: Maybe I could just do the race in my black boxer briefs? Maybe no one would notice. I mean they're black, right?
(This was starting to play out like one of those bad recurring dreams where I find myself in some social setting, realizing that I'm only in my underwear ...)
Well as luck would have it, right at the S/F there was a bike shop that was having its grand opening that day. And they sold shorts. In my size. I felt like the king in Monty Python and the Holy Grail when at precisely his most desperate moment, requiring a gardener, he chances to meet Roger the Shrubber.
So with a new pair of Pearl Izumi shorts, I lined up with 23 fellow racers to do battle on a very windy, circuitous downtown course. A race with a small field is a different beast as there are fewer riders to set the pace or keep the field together. But a small field is advantageous if you have a team as it's easier to control the race. As I have no teammates, the small field was actually not working in my favor.
The race started and instead of a barrage of early attacks it was more of a waiting game. Since riding thoughtfully with humility worked well for me last Tuesday, I also took the conservative approach this time, Keeping an eye on rivals Bettonte and Nolan. As Lyle Lovett puts it, "this was my first mistake."
An early move goes with Chris Wire (SJBC), Craig Roemer (Specialized Masters) and one other bloke. I could easily have gone with that move when it left, it just didn't play into my tactical plan, so I watched it go.
Why I also watched Kevin Metcalf (Specialized) bridge up two laps later without doing anything, I'm still beating myself up over that.
So I'm in the field but still Nolan and Bettonte are with me. Nolan does not have to do a lick of work as he has two mates in the break. Later I charge off with a Safeway rider in an attempt to bridge but the wind makes a plaything of us and keeps us at :10 for lap after lap. At some point Bettonte joins us but our hapless trio is still mired, gaining on the break only ever so slightly. That plus what's left of the field is being driven by Nolan to catch me and the two Safeway riders with me.
We're caught by the field and we sit up but the break is tantalizingly close at this point, It's just that no one is left to chase, so the break begins to fatten up its lead. I'm trying to keep the field relevant and once I pull through hard on the tailwind backstretch only to have the field let me go. I'm off for a couple laps and they ring a bell for a prime for the field, which I won (big jars of cytomax). The field catches me right as they ring the bell again this time for $40 and there's this moment when everyone left is trying to figure out if it's worth going for ... I'm drifting back looking for Nolan and Bettonte and find Bettonte and at that moment Nolan jumps hard, goes solo, scooping up the prime. I think "oh, Bettonte will rally his Safeway mates to catch him." Uh, this was my second mistake. Instead, Bettonte realizes he's been bested by the Specialized Juggernaught and just retires from the race!
This leaves me in not a very good place, with five riders now up the road, three of them Specialized and no one left really to work hard to catch anyone.
Mercifully the windy race is coming to a close. With five up the road, three paying places are still up for grabs in my group. I'm second wheel coming around the last turn on the course, the one that takes you from 30mph tailwind to 30mph cross-headwind. Two guys jump early with two on their wheel and I get behind them, certain they will all wither in the wind (this would be my third mistake). But none of them fade. Like at all. As the course approaches the S/F it's in a wind shadow from a row of taller buildings. So I finish behind them for a measly 10th. I realize I almost couldn't have played that whole race any worse. I needed a beer.
Fortunately on the back of the race number there was a coupon for a $1 beer. I changed and got back to the race and found the beer garden to redeem, only to be told that I had to go to the restaurant three blocks away to get my $1 microbrew. Is it worth it? Damn straight it is! I'm going to get that beer! So after a bit I find the place. Order up my beer and a plate of onion rings. I've got to admit it took a little sting out of my bad mood. A fantastic amber ale, especially if it was only a buck. Then I started figuring: entry fee, $48. Shorts with tax, $82. Gas to get here and back, $31. Beer, $1. Total: $162. That's an expensive $1 beer. About ten dollars an ounce as it happens.
Masters 45+
07 May 2011
On Saturday the Racing on offer was in Pittsburg. Racing in a downtown corridor is always more exciting than doing battle within the ghost town of an industrial park on the weekend ... I had never been to Pittsburg before, a small east bay working class town, which is why they were having the event, to draw attention to place, well into the process of revitalization. The reg was expensive and the prizelist sort of middling, but the S/F was right downtown with VIP seating, a beer garden, cafes along the course, and an expo center. And as the city is positioned somewhere between the bay and the delta, they get wind.
O boy do they get wind in Pittsburg!
With a gusty 25-30 mph wind from the NW,this was not the race to bring out my 90 mm front wheel. After fixing it to my front forks, one little loop in the parking lot which almost crashed me right there was enough to indicate that that baby was going back in the car.
Although the field was small, seemingly all the silverback males in the 45+ criterium scene were in attendance, with many Safeway riders present especially their DH, Gregg Bettonte (Safeway), while Specialized had three excellent rouleurs in attendance, notably the mesomorphic Larry Nolan (Specialized). Also in attendance were locals Michael Boehme (Colavita) and Paul Diaz (ex-Colavita)
After registration, I made it back to the car to change. And after checking and re-checking my bag like someone with a very bad case of OCD, I was forced to come to the conclusion that I had forgotten my cycling shorts. OK. But it did appear that I managed to bring everything else. Stuck in Pittsburg, (expensive) race number on the jersey, was I really going to be forced to take the start wearing my plaid walking shorts? Could I summon the nerve to ask a fellow racer if I could borrow their cycling shorts? Of all the things to forget! I was starting to work the angles: Maybe I could just do the race in my black boxer briefs? Maybe no one would notice. I mean they're black, right?
(This was starting to play out like one of those bad recurring dreams where I find myself in some social setting, realizing that I'm only in my underwear ...)
Well as luck would have it, right at the S/F there was a bike shop that was having its grand opening that day. And they sold shorts. In my size. I felt like the king in Monty Python and the Holy Grail when at precisely his most desperate moment, requiring a gardener, he chances to meet Roger the Shrubber.
So with a new pair of Pearl Izumi shorts, I lined up with 23 fellow racers to do battle on a very windy, circuitous downtown course. A race with a small field is a different beast as there are fewer riders to set the pace or keep the field together. But a small field is advantageous if you have a team as it's easier to control the race. As I have no teammates, the small field was actually not working in my favor.
The race started and instead of a barrage of early attacks it was more of a waiting game. Since riding thoughtfully with humility worked well for me last Tuesday, I also took the conservative approach this time, Keeping an eye on rivals Bettonte and Nolan. As Lyle Lovett puts it, "this was my first mistake."
An early move goes with Chris Wire (SJBC), Craig Roemer (Specialized Masters) and one other bloke. I could easily have gone with that move when it left, it just didn't play into my tactical plan, so I watched it go.
Why I also watched Kevin Metcalf (Specialized) bridge up two laps later without doing anything, I'm still beating myself up over that.
So I'm in the field but still Nolan and Bettonte are with me. Nolan does not have to do a lick of work as he has two mates in the break. Later I charge off with a Safeway rider in an attempt to bridge but the wind makes a plaything of us and keeps us at :10 for lap after lap. At some point Bettonte joins us but our hapless trio is still mired, gaining on the break only ever so slightly. That plus what's left of the field is being driven by Nolan to catch me and the two Safeway riders with me.
We're caught by the field and we sit up but the break is tantalizingly close at this point, It's just that no one is left to chase, so the break begins to fatten up its lead. I'm trying to keep the field relevant and once I pull through hard on the tailwind backstretch only to have the field let me go. I'm off for a couple laps and they ring a bell for a prime for the field, which I won (big jars of cytomax). The field catches me right as they ring the bell again this time for $40 and there's this moment when everyone left is trying to figure out if it's worth going for ... I'm drifting back looking for Nolan and Bettonte and find Bettonte and at that moment Nolan jumps hard, goes solo, scooping up the prime. I think "oh, Bettonte will rally his Safeway mates to catch him." Uh, this was my second mistake. Instead, Bettonte realizes he's been bested by the Specialized Juggernaught and just retires from the race!
This leaves me in not a very good place, with five riders now up the road, three of them Specialized and no one left really to work hard to catch anyone.
Mercifully the windy race is coming to a close. With five up the road, three paying places are still up for grabs in my group. I'm second wheel coming around the last turn on the course, the one that takes you from 30mph tailwind to 30mph cross-headwind. Two guys jump early with two on their wheel and I get behind them, certain they will all wither in the wind (this would be my third mistake). But none of them fade. Like at all. As the course approaches the S/F it's in a wind shadow from a row of taller buildings. So I finish behind them for a measly 10th. I realize I almost couldn't have played that whole race any worse. I needed a beer.
Fortunately on the back of the race number there was a coupon for a $1 beer. I changed and got back to the race and found the beer garden to redeem, only to be told that I had to go to the restaurant three blocks away to get my $1 microbrew. Is it worth it? Damn straight it is! I'm going to get that beer! So after a bit I find the place. Order up my beer and a plate of onion rings. I've got to admit it took a little sting out of my bad mood. A fantastic amber ale, especially if it was only a buck. Then I started figuring: entry fee, $48. Shorts with tax, $82. Gas to get here and back, $31. Beer, $1. Total: $162. That's an expensive $1 beer. About ten dollars an ounce as it happens.
Tuesday Night Twilights #4
A beautiful, near windless night greeted for at the 7:10 start. A 30-40-ish strong, really stellar field of racers was present, including:
Pistachio pros - 3
Norcal Bike Factory Team guys - 3
Echelon - 2
Cal Giant - 1
Whole Athlete - 2
Colavita - 2
Bobas - 4 or so
Red Peloton riders - seemingly millions
Once again, the race took off agonizingly fast. But chastened by the last two couple of twilights, I refrained from trying to force a selection early for fear that my effort would only serve as a springboard to the real move. This exercise in humility was helpful as I was able to watch early moves come and go, and pick which ones looked best. The Cal Giant rider was going with freaking everything! Ah, youth: It's like he had a full matchbook and was not afraid to toss a few lighted sticks around. For my part, my matchbook had made it through the wash with only two or three soggy matches remaining and as such was husbanding them carefully.
The peloton, unspoken, collectively feared the Pistachio team and waited for them to take the race by the scruff of the neck. Surprisingly this never happened. The only rider of theirs who appeared to have any game at all last night was the big man, Sterling Magnell. One of their riders apparently abandoned mid-race for whatever reason.
Toward the middle of the race that big Echelon rider, the same high-wattage freak from last week, forced the issue several times and once got away with the Cal Giant rider. You would think this would be a break that would work: two big, capable young strong bulls taking even pulls. However they never got more than ten seconds away from a very watchful pack. We kept them out there to fade on their own. Cycling can be a cruel sport that way.
I followed wheels and attacked crisply once and formed a small group that had talented riders but lacked cohesion. I would tell you who I was with but my memory of this moment was zapped by the intensely anaerobic effort required to bridge up to them. Nevertheless, we were hauled back and nothing came of it.
It wasn't too long before the big Echelon guy gets off the front with an equally large (and tatted up) Norcal rider who is strong and whom I've not seen before. Maybe a MTB racer? They come through the S/F and the bell is rung for a prime lap. The pack is behind now by several seconds and it seems like the prime would be contested between these two. I sit tight a few riders in as we navigate the serpentine backside of the course. Exiting the bottom turn the duo had a healthy lead and the two were jockeying and positioning themselves for the sprint.
Luckily, intuition served me well last night: I sensed an opportunity and jumped really hard at the exit to the bottom turn and got away cleanly from the field and put in what is for me a huge effort. Up the straightaway I started hauling the two riders in. Up front their sprint was engaged, but I had a clean run at them and was going half again faster. I overhauled the Norcal rider who had gotten the better of the Echelon guy, right on the line to beat him for a bottle of Pinot. I've got to say, it is a well-known fact that wine plundered always tastes much better than wine purchased.
Immediately the Cal Giant rider swings past me putting in a hell of an attack. This is followed by Sterling, Glenn Fant (ex-pro, NorCal), Gianpaolo Pesce (boba) and a whole athlete rider. It took me a half lap to claw my way back up to this move, the field behind ripped apart. It seemed to have a good makeup of very strong riders. The only problem was there was no Red Peloton presence. We were drilling it for two or three laps but were caught, presumably by a strond Red Peloton chase. You would think that Red Peloton would have countered at this point but you would be wrong. Don't ask me why, ask them.
Now Frank A. is showing lap cards. The race is entering a quiet, tactical mode. I hate it when races go like this. If this keeps up the sprinters will get organized and I'll be without a chance.
The Red Peloton is massing hundreds (okay, five) of their riders at the front. That they think they can get Sterling in the sprint is worth a chuckle, even with the mighty yet unassuming Mike Charleton (IMO they should have been sending riders flying off for us to chase down constantly). The pace is slow as we get cards 3 and then 2 to go. Why no one is going for it is beyond me. Not even the boys with gobs of matches.
Finally I can't stand it anymore and attacked at what I thought was the best possible time, at the bottom of the course, right before the combination of right left and then hairpin turn. I blast pass Jonathan Lee at the front right at the entry to this section, about 7-10 mph faster than him, on the understanding that cornering hard and responding to an attack are difficult things to do simultaneously. I crush the bottom part of the course and hope someone comes with me, preferably someone I who I have a hope of beating in the sprint, but past the straightaway I look back and there's no one with me and I've got about an eight second gap to the field.
So I put my head down and crush it for all I'm worth, which as it turns out is not much. I get the bell lap going solo with a nice lead. The only problem is smoke is pouring out of my engine compartment. I've bit off more than I could masticate so I'm caught on the backstretch and that's pretty much my race.
I wasn't any stronger than last week, just a bit smarter, and rode with a bit more humility. I got in two promising moves, stole a prime and made a dangerous threat at the end of the race that a 25 yr old Rick just might have been able to pull off. I can be happy with that.
Slack key guitar, Goldberg Variations and Dexter Gordon kept me company on the ride home.
Pistachio pros - 3
Norcal Bike Factory Team guys - 3
Echelon - 2
Cal Giant - 1
Whole Athlete - 2
Colavita - 2
Bobas - 4 or so
Red Peloton riders - seemingly millions
Once again, the race took off agonizingly fast. But chastened by the last two couple of twilights, I refrained from trying to force a selection early for fear that my effort would only serve as a springboard to the real move. This exercise in humility was helpful as I was able to watch early moves come and go, and pick which ones looked best. The Cal Giant rider was going with freaking everything! Ah, youth: It's like he had a full matchbook and was not afraid to toss a few lighted sticks around. For my part, my matchbook had made it through the wash with only two or three soggy matches remaining and as such was husbanding them carefully.
The peloton, unspoken, collectively feared the Pistachio team and waited for them to take the race by the scruff of the neck. Surprisingly this never happened. The only rider of theirs who appeared to have any game at all last night was the big man, Sterling Magnell. One of their riders apparently abandoned mid-race for whatever reason.
Toward the middle of the race that big Echelon rider, the same high-wattage freak from last week, forced the issue several times and once got away with the Cal Giant rider. You would think this would be a break that would work: two big, capable young strong bulls taking even pulls. However they never got more than ten seconds away from a very watchful pack. We kept them out there to fade on their own. Cycling can be a cruel sport that way.
I followed wheels and attacked crisply once and formed a small group that had talented riders but lacked cohesion. I would tell you who I was with but my memory of this moment was zapped by the intensely anaerobic effort required to bridge up to them. Nevertheless, we were hauled back and nothing came of it.
It wasn't too long before the big Echelon guy gets off the front with an equally large (and tatted up) Norcal rider who is strong and whom I've not seen before. Maybe a MTB racer? They come through the S/F and the bell is rung for a prime lap. The pack is behind now by several seconds and it seems like the prime would be contested between these two. I sit tight a few riders in as we navigate the serpentine backside of the course. Exiting the bottom turn the duo had a healthy lead and the two were jockeying and positioning themselves for the sprint.
Luckily, intuition served me well last night: I sensed an opportunity and jumped really hard at the exit to the bottom turn and got away cleanly from the field and put in what is for me a huge effort. Up the straightaway I started hauling the two riders in. Up front their sprint was engaged, but I had a clean run at them and was going half again faster. I overhauled the Norcal rider who had gotten the better of the Echelon guy, right on the line to beat him for a bottle of Pinot. I've got to say, it is a well-known fact that wine plundered always tastes much better than wine purchased.
Immediately the Cal Giant rider swings past me putting in a hell of an attack. This is followed by Sterling, Glenn Fant (ex-pro, NorCal), Gianpaolo Pesce (boba) and a whole athlete rider. It took me a half lap to claw my way back up to this move, the field behind ripped apart. It seemed to have a good makeup of very strong riders. The only problem was there was no Red Peloton presence. We were drilling it for two or three laps but were caught, presumably by a strond Red Peloton chase. You would think that Red Peloton would have countered at this point but you would be wrong. Don't ask me why, ask them.
Now Frank A. is showing lap cards. The race is entering a quiet, tactical mode. I hate it when races go like this. If this keeps up the sprinters will get organized and I'll be without a chance.
The Red Peloton is massing hundreds (okay, five) of their riders at the front. That they think they can get Sterling in the sprint is worth a chuckle, even with the mighty yet unassuming Mike Charleton (IMO they should have been sending riders flying off for us to chase down constantly). The pace is slow as we get cards 3 and then 2 to go. Why no one is going for it is beyond me. Not even the boys with gobs of matches.
Finally I can't stand it anymore and attacked at what I thought was the best possible time, at the bottom of the course, right before the combination of right left and then hairpin turn. I blast pass Jonathan Lee at the front right at the entry to this section, about 7-10 mph faster than him, on the understanding that cornering hard and responding to an attack are difficult things to do simultaneously. I crush the bottom part of the course and hope someone comes with me, preferably someone I who I have a hope of beating in the sprint, but past the straightaway I look back and there's no one with me and I've got about an eight second gap to the field.
So I put my head down and crush it for all I'm worth, which as it turns out is not much. I get the bell lap going solo with a nice lead. The only problem is smoke is pouring out of my engine compartment. I've bit off more than I could masticate so I'm caught on the backstretch and that's pretty much my race.
I wasn't any stronger than last week, just a bit smarter, and rode with a bit more humility. I got in two promising moves, stole a prime and made a dangerous threat at the end of the race that a 25 yr old Rick just might have been able to pull off. I can be happy with that.
Slack key guitar, Goldberg Variations and Dexter Gordon kept me company on the ride home.
Copperopolis Road Race
Copperopolis Road Race
Category: Master men 45+ 123
Distance: 65 miles
Placing: 6th
The Copperopolis road race has been going on for 31 consecutive years, and has achieved a classic status, or perhaps "cult classic" as the parcours largely comprises pavement sections that shames even our worst Sonoma County roads (Think 65 miles of Irving Rd between SR and Sebastopol and you'll be getting close). On the other hand, it offers the sort of bicycle racing that got me excited about racing bicycle in the first place; hard men competing against their equals and on a formidable course) And so it has been since 1980. I last raced this in 1984, when riding for a large well-funded team and I either got dropped or punctured (I forget now), but it has stayed with me that I failed to finish. But the siren song of Copperopolis finally got the better of me this year and I wanted to come back and square my account with her.
The Copperopolis monicker by the way is a bit of a red herring as the race does not pass the town; rather it starts and ends in Milton, which is a merely a scruffy collection of doublewides and ranchettes in rolling Sierra foothill pastureland a half hour east of Stockton. I'm certain Milton's residents have long inured themselves to the lycra-clad freakshow that visits them every spring. Each 22 mile lap features a tough bumpy climb, seemingly endless pockmarked rollers, and ends 2km after a long, punishingly rough drop back into a valley. Velo Promo, the promoter of this race and several others in NorCal, has a reputation of running their events on the cheap, often the prizelist being only t-shirts to only the top six racers in a given race. As such, the Velo Promo t-shirt is a coveted item. And one from this race in this race in particular has special psychic value.
My event, the category 45+ 1-2-3, turned out to have the largest field of the day, at 67 riders. It strikes me as odd sometimes, that we, as a bunch of old guys, essentially choose to celebrate our health and good fortune by pummeling one another into oblivion on weekends when we could be attending any number of far more pleasurable or productive events instead. I'm not sure what it says about us. Personally for my part it says I hate yardwork.
A quick glance at the start list told me that the best riders chose to do battle here as opposed to the flatter and smoother racing on offer in Menlo Park at the same time. The field featured (among other standouts) Larry Nolan, a multiple world champion, and a large Safeway team contingent including Greg Betonte, a sprinter who regularly beats even Larry.
The race started quickly. It was difficult managing the crappy road in a tight peloton; crowded with experienced racers. You have to ride in a tight group but you can't see ahead for all the riders, so you ride hard yet apprehensively, like the pothole with your name on it is just in front of you.
The first time up the big climb wasn't too bad, and the whole lap essentially uneventful. Though I was regretting my decision to throw 115 psi in the tires as the roads were far too rough for that kind of pressure, forcing me to stay seated on the climb so as not to lose traction. I lost a bottle while drinking it due to a big pothole, but luckily was packing a spare in my jersey.
The climb on the second lap hurt; it felt so different I wondered if this time up there was some sort of annex to the climb. What makes it even harder is there is no descent on the backside to speak of, so no rest is afforded the weary climber; find a wheel and try to become invisible was the game for me at the top.
Once on the rollers I pinked up a bit and went on an exploratory attack. As I'm unknown and not thought of as a threat, they just let me go. I stayed off for four miles or so, until the small climb that heralded the percussive descent.
On the third and final lap it got interesting -- Chris Wire (sjbc) got to the front on the climb and ratcheted up the pace that strung out the rapidly depleting field, and he did so early on the climb, so small gaps would be more pronounced. I had to dig deep to stay relevant in this race, unable to climb standing over the uneven gradients, and there were many riders cracking under the pressure in front of me which forced me to repeatedly change tempo to get around each to make the split.
At the top I crested in about 10th, pretty fried and there was almost no letup as the bagarre continued for another couple miles, me groveling for a wheel and trying to find where I misplaced my lungs. Eventually I recovered and took stock of my surroundings: I'm in a select group of 16 guys, only 10 miles left, and, um, where's Larry? Where's Greg? Both dropped on the climb it appears. Suddenly my prospects for a t-shirt were improving.
But after a few miles our group got our collective foot off the gas. The three Safeway riders I understand, as their designated sprinter was OTB, but the other teams seemed content to let the pace slacken. And for my part with no teammates it would have been simply an act of self-flaggelation to have drilled it at the front, though truth be told I did try to make our predicament known to the riders around me.
So slowly and predictably a small group of riders could be seen riding up from behind, and right before the final climb about eight made contact with us, the dreaded sprinter Betonte among them. At this point I was sure that if the race came down to a sprint then I'd be at marked disadvantage, as the difference in velocity between me sprinting and merely riding hard can only be determined using scientific instrumentation.
So right then some skinny rider attacked, and I thought in the confusion we might be able to sneak away, so I gave it a go with him.
The final climb started in earnest and we were shut down by the field quickly, but the group was well-lined out so I attacked again on my own, desperate to not let it finish in a bunch, but my move lacked conviction and they were all on me again.
As a group we're fracturing as we crest the hill. I have enough in the tank to go with a couple riders. The descent reminded me of jackhammering out the fireplace last December and the impulse is to hit the brakes but at the speed we're descending going 40 and going 32 is just as dangerous and tricky either way.
In the steepest downhill section I get the crazy notion that I might be able to hit it hard, tuck, and outcoast the group. So I give it a try, but I overcook one of the bumpier turns and almost lose it, losing my confidence and worse, a whole head of steam. We had dropped a few in this melee but there were at least a dozen left in the front group.
At this point the muscular and talented Dirk Himley (yes, that is his real name) jumps away, panicking the remaining riders into a reaction. We make the catch at the 1 km sign and I think it prudent to immediately counterattack pretty hard. But it wasn't nearly hard enough. My punch lacked, well, punch. It was going to come to a sprint, like it or not.
So in the ensuing 700 meters I'm trying to recover in time for the line while holding a position near the front. The road here sprouts a center line, and with it, officials watching to make sure you don't cross it under penalty of disqualification, so I sneak far to the right, right as the dark blurs of Chris Wire and Greg Betonte come rocketing up on the left. A terrible sound of scraping aluminum and snapping of carbon bits next comes from behind me on the left, no doubt riders trying to shoehorn themselves onto the right half of the road. For my part I jump on the far right, but the afforded space was largely fractured pavement. I make it around one rider but the rear wheel shudders under load on the deteriorating edge and I lose my passing mojo as the finish line zooms up to us. I count the riders in front of me: five. That can mean only one thing. 6th, and a T-shirt. I'll be happy with that. Betonte comes back from the dead to win it, with Wire a very deserving second.
Notes:
1. Should you decide to ride this race next year I suggest running a high-performance 25c tyre with 5-10 psi lower pressure than normal, on medium duty wheels and hope for the best. Going for heavy duty stuff will only burden you when the climbing begins in earnest. Leave the carbon aero pimpified wheels at home.
2. It's also a good idea to recon the final 500 meters of the race per road conditions as personally this made a 1-2 place difference for me.
3. The Copperopolis RR T-shirt turned out to be pretty ugly. This however does little to diminish its value.
Category: Master men 45+ 123
Distance: 65 miles
Placing: 6th
The Copperopolis road race has been going on for 31 consecutive years, and has achieved a classic status, or perhaps "cult classic" as the parcours largely comprises pavement sections that shames even our worst Sonoma County roads (Think 65 miles of Irving Rd between SR and Sebastopol and you'll be getting close). On the other hand, it offers the sort of bicycle racing that got me excited about racing bicycle in the first place; hard men competing against their equals and on a formidable course) And so it has been since 1980. I last raced this in 1984, when riding for a large well-funded team and I either got dropped or punctured (I forget now), but it has stayed with me that I failed to finish. But the siren song of Copperopolis finally got the better of me this year and I wanted to come back and square my account with her.
The Copperopolis monicker by the way is a bit of a red herring as the race does not pass the town; rather it starts and ends in Milton, which is a merely a scruffy collection of doublewides and ranchettes in rolling Sierra foothill pastureland a half hour east of Stockton. I'm certain Milton's residents have long inured themselves to the lycra-clad freakshow that visits them every spring. Each 22 mile lap features a tough bumpy climb, seemingly endless pockmarked rollers, and ends 2km after a long, punishingly rough drop back into a valley. Velo Promo, the promoter of this race and several others in NorCal, has a reputation of running their events on the cheap, often the prizelist being only t-shirts to only the top six racers in a given race. As such, the Velo Promo t-shirt is a coveted item. And one from this race in this race in particular has special psychic value.
My event, the category 45+ 1-2-3, turned out to have the largest field of the day, at 67 riders. It strikes me as odd sometimes, that we, as a bunch of old guys, essentially choose to celebrate our health and good fortune by pummeling one another into oblivion on weekends when we could be attending any number of far more pleasurable or productive events instead. I'm not sure what it says about us. Personally for my part it says I hate yardwork.
A quick glance at the start list told me that the best riders chose to do battle here as opposed to the flatter and smoother racing on offer in Menlo Park at the same time. The field featured (among other standouts) Larry Nolan, a multiple world champion, and a large Safeway team contingent including Greg Betonte, a sprinter who regularly beats even Larry.
The race started quickly. It was difficult managing the crappy road in a tight peloton; crowded with experienced racers. You have to ride in a tight group but you can't see ahead for all the riders, so you ride hard yet apprehensively, like the pothole with your name on it is just in front of you.
The first time up the big climb wasn't too bad, and the whole lap essentially uneventful. Though I was regretting my decision to throw 115 psi in the tires as the roads were far too rough for that kind of pressure, forcing me to stay seated on the climb so as not to lose traction. I lost a bottle while drinking it due to a big pothole, but luckily was packing a spare in my jersey.
The climb on the second lap hurt; it felt so different I wondered if this time up there was some sort of annex to the climb. What makes it even harder is there is no descent on the backside to speak of, so no rest is afforded the weary climber; find a wheel and try to become invisible was the game for me at the top.
Once on the rollers I pinked up a bit and went on an exploratory attack. As I'm unknown and not thought of as a threat, they just let me go. I stayed off for four miles or so, until the small climb that heralded the percussive descent.
On the third and final lap it got interesting -- Chris Wire (sjbc) got to the front on the climb and ratcheted up the pace that strung out the rapidly depleting field, and he did so early on the climb, so small gaps would be more pronounced. I had to dig deep to stay relevant in this race, unable to climb standing over the uneven gradients, and there were many riders cracking under the pressure in front of me which forced me to repeatedly change tempo to get around each to make the split.
At the top I crested in about 10th, pretty fried and there was almost no letup as the bagarre continued for another couple miles, me groveling for a wheel and trying to find where I misplaced my lungs. Eventually I recovered and took stock of my surroundings: I'm in a select group of 16 guys, only 10 miles left, and, um, where's Larry? Where's Greg? Both dropped on the climb it appears. Suddenly my prospects for a t-shirt were improving.
But after a few miles our group got our collective foot off the gas. The three Safeway riders I understand, as their designated sprinter was OTB, but the other teams seemed content to let the pace slacken. And for my part with no teammates it would have been simply an act of self-flaggelation to have drilled it at the front, though truth be told I did try to make our predicament known to the riders around me.
So slowly and predictably a small group of riders could be seen riding up from behind, and right before the final climb about eight made contact with us, the dreaded sprinter Betonte among them. At this point I was sure that if the race came down to a sprint then I'd be at marked disadvantage, as the difference in velocity between me sprinting and merely riding hard can only be determined using scientific instrumentation.
So right then some skinny rider attacked, and I thought in the confusion we might be able to sneak away, so I gave it a go with him.
The final climb started in earnest and we were shut down by the field quickly, but the group was well-lined out so I attacked again on my own, desperate to not let it finish in a bunch, but my move lacked conviction and they were all on me again.
As a group we're fracturing as we crest the hill. I have enough in the tank to go with a couple riders. The descent reminded me of jackhammering out the fireplace last December and the impulse is to hit the brakes but at the speed we're descending going 40 and going 32 is just as dangerous and tricky either way.
In the steepest downhill section I get the crazy notion that I might be able to hit it hard, tuck, and outcoast the group. So I give it a try, but I overcook one of the bumpier turns and almost lose it, losing my confidence and worse, a whole head of steam. We had dropped a few in this melee but there were at least a dozen left in the front group.
At this point the muscular and talented Dirk Himley (yes, that is his real name) jumps away, panicking the remaining riders into a reaction. We make the catch at the 1 km sign and I think it prudent to immediately counterattack pretty hard. But it wasn't nearly hard enough. My punch lacked, well, punch. It was going to come to a sprint, like it or not.
So in the ensuing 700 meters I'm trying to recover in time for the line while holding a position near the front. The road here sprouts a center line, and with it, officials watching to make sure you don't cross it under penalty of disqualification, so I sneak far to the right, right as the dark blurs of Chris Wire and Greg Betonte come rocketing up on the left. A terrible sound of scraping aluminum and snapping of carbon bits next comes from behind me on the left, no doubt riders trying to shoehorn themselves onto the right half of the road. For my part I jump on the far right, but the afforded space was largely fractured pavement. I make it around one rider but the rear wheel shudders under load on the deteriorating edge and I lose my passing mojo as the finish line zooms up to us. I count the riders in front of me: five. That can mean only one thing. 6th, and a T-shirt. I'll be happy with that. Betonte comes back from the dead to win it, with Wire a very deserving second.
Notes:
1. Should you decide to ride this race next year I suggest running a high-performance 25c tyre with 5-10 psi lower pressure than normal, on medium duty wheels and hope for the best. Going for heavy duty stuff will only burden you when the climbing begins in earnest. Leave the carbon aero pimpified wheels at home.
2. It's also a good idea to recon the final 500 meters of the race per road conditions as personally this made a 1-2 place difference for me.
3. The Copperopolis RR T-shirt turned out to be pretty ugly. This however does little to diminish its value.
Tuesday Night Twilights #3
Last night was twilight #3. Cal Giant (nation's best amateur road squad) riders showed up as well as several other local strongmen, notably Sterling Magnell, Jonathan Lee, Todd Weitzenberg and that big kid from Echelon who can't corner to save his life but more than makes up for it with gobs of wattage. Teammates Cary, Renee, Jeff C., Becky, Peter and Susan showed up to watch (thanks guys! Hope you had fun!). My story in haiku verse below.
Tuesday night twilights
team rev friends here; spectators
nervous on the line
Race starts, throttle on
finding gaps, moving up, now:
the head of affairs
Thinking I've got game
this old guy thinks he can be
mixing with the pros
Head down, half-lap pull
then gapped by the winning break
ain't hubris a bitch?
Watch the break ride off
now remanded to chase group
rather frustrating
Attack on each lap
is my personal hair shirt
for missing the break
Sprinting in darkness
managing fourth in the bunch
and tenth overall
A pleasant ride home
rodota trail past sunset
headful of music
-Rick
Tuesday night twilights
team rev friends here; spectators
nervous on the line
Race starts, throttle on
finding gaps, moving up, now:
the head of affairs
Thinking I've got game
this old guy thinks he can be
mixing with the pros
Head down, half-lap pull
then gapped by the winning break
ain't hubris a bitch?
Watch the break ride off
now remanded to chase group
rather frustrating
Attack on each lap
is my personal hair shirt
for missing the break
Sprinting in darkness
managing fourth in the bunch
and tenth overall
A pleasant ride home
rodota trail past sunset
headful of music
-Rick
Tuesday Night Twilights #2
12 April 2011
Twilight Criterium #2
Expert race
Placing: 12th (more or less)
With neither fatigue nor back issues from a full plate of weekend racing and the absence of Pistachio pros, I was hoping for good result on this Tuesday. Instead what I got was a good workout. And after that, a little something else.
The weather was in the 40s as we shivered at the start under the milky light of an approaching cold front. Red Peloton and Bobas had about six riders each in the 30 +/- strong field. Immediately two riders - a lanky young-looking Echelon rider and someone else who I can't identify -- riders I was paying no attention to -- jumped off to form a small break. We were a little jumpy in the field, but the break was kept to heel as we negotiated the first of several blustery laps.
As there was neither Boba nor Red Peloton representation in this move I stayed toward the front, but kept the pressure on. As it turns out, too much. Right after a turn at the front with the Boba Gianpaolo (of Riviera restaurant fame), Jonathan Lee (red peloton) and another rider shake the grip of the field and motor their way up the 12 seconds to the early move. It's the move that I rue not having a response for.
Immediately, several of the Red Peloton riders stop pulling and start sitting on, allowing the now four-strong group to gain time up the road. I admit riding this way in a bike race is part of bike racing, but on a Tuesday evening (training races), always strikes me as rather weak tea. Surprisingly, there was little effort from the Bobas which had good strength and depth. For my part, I was left to thrash about at the front of affairs, sacrificing myself for the sins of the peloton.
Later on in the race I drilled the top two corners hard and brought up with me a Team Swift junior, a little guy with some impressive speed. He offered not much in terms of draft as his waist was as big around as my right calf. We were well away but at this point the break (which was reduced at this point to 3), was probably not catchable. At the bottom of the course when the junior was leading, he seemed to have problems taking a clean line through the wide 180° turn and associated speedbumps, curb ramps and other "road furniture" so I made it a point to be sure to lead through this part on the next lap.
Next lap comes and at the bottom of the course I'm leading, finding my accustomed smoother line, and at the exit find no junior on my wheel; he just lost me. Whoops.
A quick check back and the peloton is in full flight, about to gobble the junior. I'm next up, as the uphill drag offers up an entire RDA of headwind in just one serving. It turns out those red peloton guys can really pull hard when I'm off the front!
Late in the race now and I again delaminate from the front, this time with The Great Dan Boyle, Red Peloton's up-and-coming road sprinter, the winner in the previous race this evening. Going through the S/F they ring a prime lap for us. The only problem is that I'm off the front with the best sprinter in the race. So I try to meter out my pull so Dan is stuck leading through the lower part of the course. And sure enough that's where he was when I pre-emptively attack him on the 180°, gap him, and hold it like that to the line, scoring a bottle of Cycles Gladiator pinot from under the nose of the better sprinter. First prime in a while for sure! Our break now blown, we flutter back to the clutches of the field.
Two to go, I decided to go for the workout instead of the sprint for 4th. Once more at the front and a solid lap full-gas. If I can't win the sprint I can at least spread the field out a bit.
So I rolled in with the group for 12th or thereabouts.
--
After the race, That workout plus the declining temps did a number on my glycogen storage. On the 13 mile ride home after the race, in the dark, on the bike path, I bonked, fully and utterly. Like a drug! Add to this my bike light catching barn owls and bats diving before me, the sweetness of fruit trees in bloom and grooving on a collection of my most favorite tunes on the iPod (where Stevie Wonder, David Bowie, Miles Davis and Cecilia Bartoli etc. all cohabit rather well), and the whole experience getting home was rather transcendent.
-Rick
Twilight Criterium #2
Expert race
Placing: 12th (more or less)
With neither fatigue nor back issues from a full plate of weekend racing and the absence of Pistachio pros, I was hoping for good result on this Tuesday. Instead what I got was a good workout. And after that, a little something else.
The weather was in the 40s as we shivered at the start under the milky light of an approaching cold front. Red Peloton and Bobas had about six riders each in the 30 +/- strong field. Immediately two riders - a lanky young-looking Echelon rider and someone else who I can't identify -- riders I was paying no attention to -- jumped off to form a small break. We were a little jumpy in the field, but the break was kept to heel as we negotiated the first of several blustery laps.
As there was neither Boba nor Red Peloton representation in this move I stayed toward the front, but kept the pressure on. As it turns out, too much. Right after a turn at the front with the Boba Gianpaolo (of Riviera restaurant fame), Jonathan Lee (red peloton) and another rider shake the grip of the field and motor their way up the 12 seconds to the early move. It's the move that I rue not having a response for.
Immediately, several of the Red Peloton riders stop pulling and start sitting on, allowing the now four-strong group to gain time up the road. I admit riding this way in a bike race is part of bike racing, but on a Tuesday evening (training races), always strikes me as rather weak tea. Surprisingly, there was little effort from the Bobas which had good strength and depth. For my part, I was left to thrash about at the front of affairs, sacrificing myself for the sins of the peloton.
Later on in the race I drilled the top two corners hard and brought up with me a Team Swift junior, a little guy with some impressive speed. He offered not much in terms of draft as his waist was as big around as my right calf. We were well away but at this point the break (which was reduced at this point to 3), was probably not catchable. At the bottom of the course when the junior was leading, he seemed to have problems taking a clean line through the wide 180° turn and associated speedbumps, curb ramps and other "road furniture" so I made it a point to be sure to lead through this part on the next lap.
Next lap comes and at the bottom of the course I'm leading, finding my accustomed smoother line, and at the exit find no junior on my wheel; he just lost me. Whoops.
A quick check back and the peloton is in full flight, about to gobble the junior. I'm next up, as the uphill drag offers up an entire RDA of headwind in just one serving. It turns out those red peloton guys can really pull hard when I'm off the front!
Late in the race now and I again delaminate from the front, this time with The Great Dan Boyle, Red Peloton's up-and-coming road sprinter, the winner in the previous race this evening. Going through the S/F they ring a prime lap for us. The only problem is that I'm off the front with the best sprinter in the race. So I try to meter out my pull so Dan is stuck leading through the lower part of the course. And sure enough that's where he was when I pre-emptively attack him on the 180°, gap him, and hold it like that to the line, scoring a bottle of Cycles Gladiator pinot from under the nose of the better sprinter. First prime in a while for sure! Our break now blown, we flutter back to the clutches of the field.
Two to go, I decided to go for the workout instead of the sprint for 4th. Once more at the front and a solid lap full-gas. If I can't win the sprint I can at least spread the field out a bit.
So I rolled in with the group for 12th or thereabouts.
--
After the race, That workout plus the declining temps did a number on my glycogen storage. On the 13 mile ride home after the race, in the dark, on the bike path, I bonked, fully and utterly. Like a drug! Add to this my bike light catching barn owls and bats diving before me, the sweetness of fruit trees in bloom and grooving on a collection of my most favorite tunes on the iPod (where Stevie Wonder, David Bowie, Miles Davis and Cecilia Bartoli etc. all cohabit rather well), and the whole experience getting home was rather transcendent.
-Rick
Tuesday Night Twilights #1
Race report:
Tue Twilights race #1
05 April 2011
last race of the night (expert)
place: 8th
The first twlight crit of the season, at the fairgrounds, had fantastic weather. As we're still nowhere near the solstice yet, the last race of the evening saw the sun set completely on us and we were sprinting for the win in the gloaming (as they say).
Anticipating a big effort in the evening I went with the apple fritter from (sponsor) My Friend Joes in the morning. It was as big as my head! Turns out I would use every last calorie in that monster.
The pistachio pro mens team were out in force as well as a Cal Giant racer, the Bobas, the ever threatening Dr. Todd (NorCal) and a very strong Red Peloton presence. It all, maybe 40 starters?
I was kitted out in Poseur-Charlatan livery as my WCR kit was recently used on Sunday. Let's just say it was too icky and leave it at that.
I knew from reading cyclingnews that the pistachio boys had been recently shelled (sorry) at the Tour of Redlands and thought that back home at the local race they would take it out on us. I was partly right.
They took off right at the start, causing great panic in the peloton. Fortunately there was enough local horsepower to bring them back. Immediately attacks flew one after the other. I couldn't believe my luck; I felt good enough to respond in a measured manner to each surge and actually participated in a few raids off the front. The pace was high though (26.7 avg, fast for such a sinuous course) and nothing stuck. The most promising move was midway through the race when a couple pistachios, a couple red peloton riders and Dr. Todd plus a couple other riders and myself snaked away through the speedbump-and-technical section on the bottom of the course. I felt that there was good representation in this break that it would stay away. But it was not to be, as we were caught after a lap and half.
A couple more unsuccessful efforts brought us down to the lap cards in the failing light. I thought that the pro pistachios would effect a torrid leadout for big Sterling Magnell, a gifted and daring sprinter, but the speed did not ratchet up like I thought it might (too bad, as I had super glued myself to his rear wheel) I felt like the pistachio boys should have roasted all of us (sorry).
Red peloton started getting a train together but the wattage was frankly lacking. As it turns out I lost a few positions on the backstretch due to some aggressive argy-bargy midfield and tried to recover my position for the sprint. At the mexican plaza at the start of the straightaway I was stuck in like 13th place or so but had fair amount of momentum and punched it up the long windswept straight to the finish. I found Dr. Todd's wheel, we both passed several riders, and I was in the process of coming around the good doctor but ran out of race. I also failed to make a dent in the podium, but as I don't fancy myself a sprinter I felt it was a good showing.
-Rick
Tue Twilights race #1
05 April 2011
last race of the night (expert)
place: 8th
The first twlight crit of the season, at the fairgrounds, had fantastic weather. As we're still nowhere near the solstice yet, the last race of the evening saw the sun set completely on us and we were sprinting for the win in the gloaming (as they say).
Anticipating a big effort in the evening I went with the apple fritter from (sponsor) My Friend Joes in the morning. It was as big as my head! Turns out I would use every last calorie in that monster.
The pistachio pro mens team were out in force as well as a Cal Giant racer, the Bobas, the ever threatening Dr. Todd (NorCal) and a very strong Red Peloton presence. It all, maybe 40 starters?
I was kitted out in Poseur-Charlatan livery as my WCR kit was recently used on Sunday. Let's just say it was too icky and leave it at that.
I knew from reading cyclingnews that the pistachio boys had been recently shelled (sorry) at the Tour of Redlands and thought that back home at the local race they would take it out on us. I was partly right.
They took off right at the start, causing great panic in the peloton. Fortunately there was enough local horsepower to bring them back. Immediately attacks flew one after the other. I couldn't believe my luck; I felt good enough to respond in a measured manner to each surge and actually participated in a few raids off the front. The pace was high though (26.7 avg, fast for such a sinuous course) and nothing stuck. The most promising move was midway through the race when a couple pistachios, a couple red peloton riders and Dr. Todd plus a couple other riders and myself snaked away through the speedbump-and-technical section on the bottom of the course. I felt that there was good representation in this break that it would stay away. But it was not to be, as we were caught after a lap and half.
A couple more unsuccessful efforts brought us down to the lap cards in the failing light. I thought that the pro pistachios would effect a torrid leadout for big Sterling Magnell, a gifted and daring sprinter, but the speed did not ratchet up like I thought it might (too bad, as I had super glued myself to his rear wheel) I felt like the pistachio boys should have roasted all of us (sorry).
Red peloton started getting a train together but the wattage was frankly lacking. As it turns out I lost a few positions on the backstretch due to some aggressive argy-bargy midfield and tried to recover my position for the sprint. At the mexican plaza at the start of the straightaway I was stuck in like 13th place or so but had fair amount of momentum and punched it up the long windswept straight to the finish. I found Dr. Todd's wheel, we both passed several riders, and I was in the process of coming around the good doctor but ran out of race. I also failed to make a dent in the podium, but as I don't fancy myself a sprinter I felt it was a good showing.
-Rick
Apple Pie Criteriums, 2011
Apple Pie criterium
Corporate Center
03 April 2011
After a very tiring Boggs' 8 hr race on Saturday I certainly did not put any pressure on myself for a great result at the Apple Pie criteriums on Sunday. I had signed up for two races, the 45+ category I-II-III and a few hours later the 35+ category I-II-III.
My back was f-ed up Sunday morning, hurt to pump up the tires, let alone get on the bike, let alone pedal the damned thing. Legs pretty beat from Boggs, that plus maybe a little too much recovery hopps and barley up at Boggs. Anyhoo, loaded up on ibuprofen, I decided to race anyway. I mean how many times can you do a bike race on the weekend a mere 8 miles from the house?
the 45 men's race: my plan was to hopefully ride myself into feeling good but that never happened. The group of favorites got away, telegraphing the move, they did it early and I watched them go knowing full well that was the move. I tried to jump across midway while the break was still a reasonable distance away and got halfway across the gap with a Monty Securities guy who wasn't helping too much (he had a mate up the road) and I didn't have the suds and fluttered back to the field. At which time the rest of the field just basically pussed out and sat up. What is it with these old guys? At least I had a couple excuses. My back would flip out just getting out of the saddle! I did finish the race anyway, calling it a semi-motor pacing session. avg 140 avg HR, 26 avg mph
A few hours until the 35+ and I hung out at the race, socializing etc. Nice day out. The lower back was starting to feel even worse though. But I spent a half hour stretching slowly and then deeply and when it was 10 min till the start it still hurt like hell but I talked myself into suiting up ('I can always quit at any time' I convinced myself). It took some effort to throw the leg over but once on the bike I actually felt good. In fact, once in the race my back problem just magically went away. Just one of those things. I think in some ways I might be more comfortable on the bike than off it.
So in the 35+ race, a couple guys got an early 20 sec lead, then there was a barrage of attacks that all came to naught. Right as everyone was looking at each other I just lit it up and bridged with one other rider right up to those chumps. We were 4 and then about three more came up. Some of us drilled it but were disorganized, some sitting on, some seemingly unsure about pulling through. It was amateur hour, and at this level we're supposed to be experienced racers. Eventually it settled into a pretty good rhythm though with everyone taking short hard pulls. Dig it.
A couple others make it up to our group. Uh oh, the group is getting too big. After about seven or eight in a crit, the break loses it's cohesion and begins to fight like like an extended appalachian family (but without the shotguns). I stop riding at the front (not wanting to be some sort of sap) and notice Bubba Melcher had just bridged up to us. This must have lit a grenade in what was left of the field as many guys were coming back up on us. However the pace was high and everyone was getting pretty fagged. My back didn't say a word as I went with a couple of attacks. As we got into the final five laps the fog of war descended upon the race as it was not playing out into a default script, and difficult to read how to play the end game. As the wind picked up it was mayhem, with riders coming unhinged, riders attacking, guys off the front blowing up in spectacular fashion and so on. On the last lap it was that sort of disarray that saw me jump past a fading group that was once leading, finding big Bubba's wheel and slotting in behind while he made his predictable move with about 700 meters to go, but then unpredictably blew skyward with 400 meters to go, leaving me with a whole snootful of wind between me and the finish line. I jumped around him, not knowing who was behind me, just wanted to catch a few guys just ahead me who were fading. I did that, but lacked the strength in this kilo-like effort to get out of the saddle at all and just tried to pursuit in. Turns out I had two guys on my wheel who managed to come around me and take 6th and 7th right at the line (ungrateful bastards). So I had a very strong ride I felt, received the grudging respect of my peers but came away with only 8th. That and four bucks and you can order a frappucino at any Starbucks (as they say). 161 avg HR, 26.7 miles, & substantially windier.
After that there wasn't much left in the tank at all. Changed, rolled over to the mexican BBQ place down the block, came back with some tacos and a giant Tecate and had a good time watching the P123 race with 120 riders crush the same course, won by that Cal Giant US Criterium Champ whose name escapes me at this moment.
Other notes: Our local Junior racer and Analy High student and Elevengear sponsored rider, Caitlin Scheder-Bischein, crushed all in the sprint in the women's 3-4 race!
Also: I noticed that every local team had great participation in either the racing or spectating ... except Team Rev. What gives? I know we've been having a lot of "stratgy sessions" lately, so maybe this is part of the team strategy? I gotta say it would have been nice to have seen some other teammates there, or even the racing curious. The Pro 1-2-3 race especially was an extremely fun, extremely cheap way to see an elite-level sporting event.
-Rick
Corporate Center
03 April 2011
After a very tiring Boggs' 8 hr race on Saturday I certainly did not put any pressure on myself for a great result at the Apple Pie criteriums on Sunday. I had signed up for two races, the 45+ category I-II-III and a few hours later the 35+ category I-II-III.
My back was f-ed up Sunday morning, hurt to pump up the tires, let alone get on the bike, let alone pedal the damned thing. Legs pretty beat from Boggs, that plus maybe a little too much recovery hopps and barley up at Boggs. Anyhoo, loaded up on ibuprofen, I decided to race anyway. I mean how many times can you do a bike race on the weekend a mere 8 miles from the house?
the 45 men's race: my plan was to hopefully ride myself into feeling good but that never happened. The group of favorites got away, telegraphing the move, they did it early and I watched them go knowing full well that was the move. I tried to jump across midway while the break was still a reasonable distance away and got halfway across the gap with a Monty Securities guy who wasn't helping too much (he had a mate up the road) and I didn't have the suds and fluttered back to the field. At which time the rest of the field just basically pussed out and sat up. What is it with these old guys? At least I had a couple excuses. My back would flip out just getting out of the saddle! I did finish the race anyway, calling it a semi-motor pacing session. avg 140 avg HR, 26 avg mph
A few hours until the 35+ and I hung out at the race, socializing etc. Nice day out. The lower back was starting to feel even worse though. But I spent a half hour stretching slowly and then deeply and when it was 10 min till the start it still hurt like hell but I talked myself into suiting up ('I can always quit at any time' I convinced myself). It took some effort to throw the leg over but once on the bike I actually felt good. In fact, once in the race my back problem just magically went away. Just one of those things. I think in some ways I might be more comfortable on the bike than off it.
So in the 35+ race, a couple guys got an early 20 sec lead, then there was a barrage of attacks that all came to naught. Right as everyone was looking at each other I just lit it up and bridged with one other rider right up to those chumps. We were 4 and then about three more came up. Some of us drilled it but were disorganized, some sitting on, some seemingly unsure about pulling through. It was amateur hour, and at this level we're supposed to be experienced racers. Eventually it settled into a pretty good rhythm though with everyone taking short hard pulls. Dig it.
A couple others make it up to our group. Uh oh, the group is getting too big. After about seven or eight in a crit, the break loses it's cohesion and begins to fight like like an extended appalachian family (but without the shotguns). I stop riding at the front (not wanting to be some sort of sap) and notice Bubba Melcher had just bridged up to us. This must have lit a grenade in what was left of the field as many guys were coming back up on us. However the pace was high and everyone was getting pretty fagged. My back didn't say a word as I went with a couple of attacks. As we got into the final five laps the fog of war descended upon the race as it was not playing out into a default script, and difficult to read how to play the end game. As the wind picked up it was mayhem, with riders coming unhinged, riders attacking, guys off the front blowing up in spectacular fashion and so on. On the last lap it was that sort of disarray that saw me jump past a fading group that was once leading, finding big Bubba's wheel and slotting in behind while he made his predictable move with about 700 meters to go, but then unpredictably blew skyward with 400 meters to go, leaving me with a whole snootful of wind between me and the finish line. I jumped around him, not knowing who was behind me, just wanted to catch a few guys just ahead me who were fading. I did that, but lacked the strength in this kilo-like effort to get out of the saddle at all and just tried to pursuit in. Turns out I had two guys on my wheel who managed to come around me and take 6th and 7th right at the line (ungrateful bastards). So I had a very strong ride I felt, received the grudging respect of my peers but came away with only 8th. That and four bucks and you can order a frappucino at any Starbucks (as they say). 161 avg HR, 26.7 miles, & substantially windier.
After that there wasn't much left in the tank at all. Changed, rolled over to the mexican BBQ place down the block, came back with some tacos and a giant Tecate and had a good time watching the P123 race with 120 riders crush the same course, won by that Cal Giant US Criterium Champ whose name escapes me at this moment.
Other notes: Our local Junior racer and Analy High student and Elevengear sponsored rider, Caitlin Scheder-Bischein, crushed all in the sprint in the women's 3-4 race!
Also: I noticed that every local team had great participation in either the racing or spectating ... except Team Rev. What gives? I know we've been having a lot of "stratgy sessions" lately, so maybe this is part of the team strategy? I gotta say it would have been nice to have seen some other teammates there, or even the racing curious. The Pro 1-2-3 race especially was an extremely fun, extremely cheap way to see an elite-level sporting event.
-Rick
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