Benicia Criteriums

Benicia Criteriums

12 June 2011

Masters 45+ 1-2-3 and Masters 35+ 1-2-3 races

Though Ian at West County did a fine job of replacing my bottom bracket bearings, saving me enough wattage to surely keep a few tortillas warm, and for once my cleats were all tightened nicely. But the party at my house the night before might not have been the best preparation come the morning. And who knew that the West County Rev cyclists would fall far short of the task of finishing off a small keg? I've got to remember that unlike in my 20s, multiple beers in an attempt to drain the keg the night prior can no longer be construed as carbo loading. There may have been a few conversations that I don't fully remember, so apologies if I behaved poorly. Or more poorly than usual.

So it took few ibuprofens, some strong espresso and the excellent solo at the end of Bowie's "Moonage Daydream" to finally get all the cobwebs out of the skull that were going to come out. 

Benicia is a small and pretty town on the east bay. And the course was a excellent one, rolling as it did through the downtown corridor, up through a tidy neighborhood and then plunging down a crappy and rutted road lined by 60's era apartment blocks. Eight turns per lap, a couple of them challenging enough to bring out an ambulance before the day was out.

The summer sun was making an excellent showing finally and a steady breeze was blowing when our 40-strong group of old guys took to the course. Once again the large teams present (Safeway, San Jose, Morgan Stanley) were calling the shots. Before the race even began I made it a point to mark favorites Chris Wire (SJ) and Bettonte (Safeway), that if any break with those two were going up the road that I would have to be in it.

Early on the great hulking mass of Bettonte did get himself off the front and was sustaining an attack for a lap, then two, his lead growing to about 15 seconds, frankly an unlikely move from a guy with such a bankable sprint. I was being attentive at the front, and maybe too attentive as I was pulling the race along after Bettonte when Wire rockets past me, up the road to catch him. Unable to make the bridge nearly as crisply as Wire, I could only watch as events were unspooling, my personal doomsday prophecy revealing itself before my eyes. there go the two biggest threats in the race and me unable to make it up to them. How did this happen again?

Wire meets up with Bettonte and the two take off. Faithful San Jose and Safeway riders predictably massed to the front to attempt to gum up any significant chase. 

Fortunately however, a ragtag alliance of Morgan Stanley and several other strong riders heard the alarm and kept the dangerous pair in sight, and then slowly brought them back to the fold, the incessant bay wind sapping duo's energies.

Safeway immediately responds in kind with an attack of a solo rider who kept it out there for several laps. Finally when he got to within about eight seconds I managed to jump across to him, thinking, hoping that the field might lose interest and we could slip back away. But no such luck as we were caught right at four laps to go.

It looked as though this race would come down to a sprint. So the remainder of my race was spent trying to recover while not losing too many places. Follow Wire. Follow Bettonte, I kept telling myself. Not so easily done as these two great bike handlers were slipping up to the front. Each of them with their separate retinues of riders wanting give their boys an armchair ride to the last turn.

Down the last treacherous corner I got a little scrappy and took some risks, passing guys on the outside as the road makes a fair hump right at the apex of the turn. Being on the outside kept me awfully close to the curb but out of the crosswind, and I was able to pick my way over the crumbly road and past a few more riders. Bettonte had marshalled his guys well at this point, with 500 meters and two turns remaining, but they were on the other side of the road. The second to last turn I kept wide and went around some slower traffic with the hopes of finding the Safeway train. Uphill and one turn to go. The sprint is engaged, and I'm fairly well positioned. Only problems are the effort to get here has pretty much gassed me. That plus I really don't have much of a sprint. On the uphill run in to the line I let my momentum carry me to pass one or two guys, but there are still more in front and one is coming up on my right. 

This guy on my right and I are absolutely tied, both thrashing our way to the finish line, which seems to take forever to get to us. I turn it up to eleven. So does he. I've got a couple inches on him, then it looks like he's taken his foot off the gas. Exhausted myself, with 50 meters I ease off a little. Then he punches it again and gets me right on the line, by maybe 5cm! That crafty bastard.

It turns out this guy is Mark Caldwell, a Morgan Stanley rider who I used to race with back in 1984, when we both rode for Ten Speed Drive and both made it to the Olympic Trials. Turns out he was racing the 55+ category, which was picked separately. No other 55+ riders in front of him, he won his race. As for me, five other riders finished ahead. So 6th place as it turns out wins a little cash, some Guayaki Yerba Mate. Also won a couple beers at a local brewpub. Just what I need, more beer! Not!

Masters 35+ 1-2-3

I was pretty blasted from the last race, but with just one hour separating me from my next race, recovery was needed. So I made it to the little girl selling lemonade on the backside of the course, buying up a bottle's worth. I asked, and she said she'd cheer for me. Then on the other side of the course hit the Cytomax tent for a fillup. I talked them into cheering for me here too. I in turn promised to yell out "Cytomax"  when I would come by every lap. I figured with no family, friends or teammates at the race, any encouragement would be helpful.

And it turns out the help was needed. The 35+ field was stacked with great riders. State champions, pro riders, those kind of guys. And I was still knackered from the previous race. No amount of Yerba Mate was going to help.

I switched out wheels for this one, taking off the deep dish Stinger 9s in favor of the more traditional Ardennes. The Ardennes aren't very aero but they afford extreme cornering precision. With them you can split a pair of Botts Dots reliably, in an off-camber turn, at speed, in a crosswind. With the stingers, it's more like  putting in a general request to your front wheel to change direction.

And sure enough, at the call up, and as if on queue, the wind started blowing harder.

Every lap the Cytomax boys would shout "Rick!" and I would shout "Cytomax" (when I could) in response. After a while it seemed like the whole street had joined in. Too bad they weren't cheering for someone who had a chance in the race!  

The race for me was SufferFest2011. I spent my time scrambling for the wheel of the biggest, smoothest riders in the peloton, trying to find the eddy currents to hide out of the wind. Once or twice a dalliance off the front, but my legs were complaining bitterly. I looked down after a particularly difficult surge in the field to see my max HR of 178 showing on my snool-encrusted bike computer. My average HR for the whole race was 93% of max HR. Ow.

The field fractured under the pressure of a spirited chase of a break that was caught in the finishing straight. I finished with the remainder of the lead group in something like 12th place I think, with former Republic of Anaerobia teammate Mike Charleton having a brilliant and gutsy ride to finish 4th.

So if you want a $10 gift card to a swanky brewpub in Benicia, Let me know. Happy to send it to you.