Wetwork

At the beginning of the race, the target you had identified to me was having trouble moving up in the 70+ rider field (he confided in me earlier that it was his first race all year). I took notice of this as I was able to make it to the front but knew the pace was so hard that no breaks could survive. 

Satisfied thusly, I set about my cruel task: I drifted back to where he was and noted that he was consistently taking turn 3, a hard right hander in a place with no spectators, pretty wide every time. When we were at about 10 laps to go I drifted back to just in front of him and as we approached turn 3, made sure to pin him against my left hip. At the beginning of the turn I began wide, then went steadily wider until I was barely grazing the barricades myself, with his front wheel pinned between my rear wheel and the metal. It didn't take long before I heard the familiar sounds of cracking carbon, the scrape of body parts on the road and snap of a bone or two. A couple bystanding racers were unfortunately involved, one of them running off the course and plowing into a hedge, the other a mass of road rash (sorry about that, guys).

Feigning concern, I swung back around to inspect the damage. He was down alright, whimpering and wedged as he was with what was left of his bike between pavement and barricade, other parts scattered about as if he had been dropped from five stories. A slack-jawed five-year old boy was my only witness as I shifted into the small chainring, exposing the big ring.

I got back up to speed and was careening straight at him when our eyes met. It was at that moment he realized who I was and why I was here. He yelled "Not the legs! Please not the legs! She sent you to do it, didn't she?" as I rode over him with the exposed, hungry big chainring, churning away as his screams echoed off the buildings.

Before the racers came round again I sprayed off as much blood off the bottom of my bike as I could with my water bottle, let some air out of the front wheel and rolled around to the pit, feigning a puncture. 

No one was the wiser, and thank you for promptly sending the second half payment by the usual method.

Boba TTT (four-rider format)

Boba 4-Rider Team Time Trial

05 July 2011

Just like in the Tour the local boys organize a TTT for us to get out the weird looking aero gear and throw it down on a course that takes us from Helen Putnam Park down Chileno Valley and back toward Petaluma. This time the format was for just four riders (instead of the usual nine) and the finish was earlier, before the Albanian simuation crap roads of Spring Hill Rd. Time is taken on the finish of the third rider, so only one rider is expendable.

Lately for these team time trials I have to show up and try to get on a team that has an open spot. Sometimes I'm snubbed. It reminds me of the formative experience of asking girls out for prom in HS and getting repeatedly rejected.

Well because I've been riding well relative to previous years, this time I could savor being courted by three different teams. So as it turns out, the race before the race is to figure out who you are racing with.

Big boy Jonathan Teeter (Echelon) contacted me with only hours to go, asking me if I wanted in. Sure, I tell him. I know him to be amazingly strong. He said he also had some guy named Glen on our team. I didn't know a Glen but if Jonathan would vouch for him then I would be happy with that. We agreed to look around and try to pick up a fourth at the race.

Jonathan has been so damned strong in the Tues night races I was a little intimidated. So when I show up to the TTT, I find Jonathan with his funky acid green TT rig and ask him what Glen looks like so I can find him. "He'll be in team Bissell kit." Oh shit you mean Glen Mitchell? Former 2x Olympian and Bissell Pro? I was starting to get a little nervous.

Then we couldn't find a fourth guy for our team. This means no one was expendable. So our team consisted of a current raging bull, a former pro/olympian, and me. And I can't get dropped. That's a scary proposition.

All of us TTT freaks swarmed in the parking lot. We must have looked like a casting call for a cheap sci-fi movie where aliens land outside some jerkwater town. They let us go in one minute intervals. They start us and I'm too nervous to get my pedal in. Eventually, we're all doing even turns. The gusty crosswind making playthings of our front wheels. This can get problematic when one is steering with one's elbows and within centimeters of the rider in front.

In rotation, after I come off, Teeter would drill it every time. The hardest part of the TTT is dosing your effort so you give almost everything while you are pulling, but leaving just that little bit to hop back on when you get to the back. Teeter was not making this part any easier. Try going flat out for 40 seconds then sprinting for 15, settling back down to only 90% of your max, and then doing it again. And again.

Coming over and down the first big hill I got it to what I thought was back up to speed and then Teeter comes by me, way, way faster. Glen and I are spinning the eleven trying to stay with this guy. In just four minutes we catch the team that started a minute ahead of us.

The course turns right to follow Chileno. Teeter (in some sort of zone we can only speculate) goes straight. Glen and I yell at him as we turn right, on the course. But these damned sci-fi aero helmets are so loud no one can hear anything. Well Glen and I have a laugh over this, imagining Jonathan figuring out his mistake some 20km later, at the town of Marshall.

The team we passed earlier pass Glen and I back.

A couple sips of hummingbird food later and a check back yields an acid green shape coming up to us at warp speed. Oh shit, game back on!

Glen and I spend the rest of our TTT basically groveling behind the raging fuselage of Jonathan Teeter. I pulled maybe once or twice more. Not sure if Glen pulled any more at all.

During Jonathan's big effort we passed five to seven more teams. it was a big blur. My own condition ranged between "fairly exhausted" to "black out gone." Getting dropped was not an option. Though riding behind Glen I could consistently stay in the aero bars, my front wheel within 10 cm of his rear wheel. A real smooth and experienced rider like Glen allows you to ride closer, taking advantage of the increased aerodynamics.

We ended up in second place, only 40 seconds behind a four-man composite of espoirs/neo-pros. (Swift, Firemen, Cal-Giant). In my estimation Jonathan's wrong-way move cost us about a minute.

I figured Glen and I together, pulled for about only 15% of the time, Jonathan Teeter the balance. The boy is amazing! A freak of nature! Hopefully Glen will pick up this guy on the Bissell team for next year. I guess I was the unwitting bystander to his audition.

I felt a little sheepish and unworthy stepping up to claim the prize for second, as my job was essentially only to not get dropped. So the beer went to Jonathan, I was happy taking home equal measures of pride and humility.

Davis Fourth of July Criterium

Davis Criterium

04 July 2011

Masters 45+ 1-2-3

The Davis Criterium is another perennial race on the Northern California circuit, and is considered another classic downtown criterium. Owing to its location and place on the calendar, you can make some assumptions about how hot it is going to be. This year was no exception. Hot as blazes! I decided to go with unzipped skinsuit ('the Tom Jones look'), that plus two bottles of cold diluted cytomax, (basically hummingbird food), and I was good.

The race is a big "L" shape right thought the heard of the cycling Nirvana that is Davis California. Personally, I have an unfortunate history with this race: In '84, I watched my teammate Norm Gall crash halfway in the race, get back in, and crash again on the final lap. In 1992 I thought I had the suds to mix it up with the big boys, race day in Davis was 107° and I was cut loose from the remainder of the field, a molten mess of mitochondria, suffering from the intense heat (living in the outer Richmond was not adequate preparation, with it's three months of summer drizzle). Three years ago I did the 35+ race and had an outside shot at a place when two guys conducted a bit of argy-bargy ahead of me, dropping to the deck under my front wheel in turn 2 and I ended up somersaulting onto some ladies' lawn, surprisingly unscathed. Friends of mine have gone down on different parts of the course, breaking a wrist here, getting a badly infected road rash there. Though the course doesn't feel scary, it has a legacy.

In the race right before mine, Michael Boehme (Colavita) went down, all scrapes and torn skinsuit, busted rear wheel. He told me the circumstances of his mishap but I zoned out, knowing that the course is cruel and vindictive in general. Even though half of the course had been repaved, the bad juju still lurked.

Seventy guys rolled up to the start. As luck would have it I was at the back. Lots of aero wheels, 'spensive bikes, shaved legs, intensity on the line. This senior circuit does not give up much in competitiveness, let me tell you.

Once again no teammates, flying solo. It's intimidating starting at the very back of a race like this. Moving up implies to yourself and others that you are frankly a better bike rider than those you are passing. So then you just have to swallow the lie and believe you are one of the best blokes out there.

The first few laps were conducted pretty quickly, and I advanced positions as I could find them. Taking the inside of the curve allows you to control the curve, but may not be the fastest line. So it's a game of control and speed with a measure of daring. The straightaway affords a more simple proposition for advancement, but then many guys are thinking the same thing. My technique is to advance when it's easy to do so, and consolidate your gains when the racing gets hard.

Within four laps I had made it to more or less the front, and I had a chance to look around and see what teams were in play. The Gregg Bettonte (Safeway) retinue was present, as were two Specialized riders, Craig Roemer and big Larry Nolan. Patrick Briggs in his Yahoo! pro team kit was looking strong as well as a goodly amount of other solo adventurers like myself (Gregarius, Max [something] and Andy Nevitt (San Jose). 

The bulky Nolan got off the front with one other strong guy but had only a little bit of rope when the course marshals flagged us and began shouting that the race was neutralized. The bunch of us at the front let off on the gas, but noticed Larry and breakmate were still drilling it. It took two laps for word to get to the homestretch (ref and announcer) that the race had been neutralized, to get a FD truck on the course.

Five laps under the caution flag and the race was re-started, with Nolan and other guy back in the fold. The race was lacking aggression but felt quick. It just needed to get crushingly fast for me to have a chance against a full field sprint. I tried working some efforts off the front but nothing was jelling.

Once again the backstretch boys neutralized the race (for what I have no idea), and for another four or five laps the race was under the caution flag. This was starting to feel like a stock car race. I knew that they would be restarting when we hit the S/F so on the last corner I opportunistically jumped pretty hard and got a gap but the ref was having none of it and did not re-start us because of me (I got a deserved earful upon my return to the field).

Now onto the proper restart, Big Bubba Melcher (Clover) with all his silver bracelet ornamentation goes up the road, followed in short order by a rather strong Safeway rider. I took off after those two and we all made contact about   5 sec. off the front. Bubba was tired, as was the Safeway rider. I was freshest so pulled through pretty hard. In breakaways you have to make these sorts of investments. Well sometimes investments go belly up, and such was the case as my breakmates remained to be inspired and we were re-absorbed right as the announcer announced four laps to go. 

Four to go? We haven't barely even been racing properly long enough. No one is tired. A surge right as we were caught put me 30 places back, mired in 45+ anonymity. Everyone became twitchy, bitchy and anxious. Like Walmart on black Friday anxious. Moving up now was going to be a different beast.

It took three laps to haul my body past the other equally deserving fellas into a position of contention. Big bejeweled Bubba had re-taken flight earlier but was being caught right on the line at bell lap. The catch slowed the field enough for me to pick past a bunch of guys and turns 1 and 2 way on the inside, risking some but advancing to 7th or thereabouts, having recovered well and ready for a good sprint. I had even passed Larry Nolan on the inside.

The speed was high at turn 3, a 90° left hander. I chose a more outside line, thinking speed. At this moment (and it's a bit fuzzy for me but this is the best reconstruction I can muster), some streak comes in from the left and ahead of me (Nolan), sliding, and making contact with out the rider in front of me (Nevitt), knocking him over the high side of his bike (think of Beloki's famous crash in the tour). at 30+ mph, the two bodies are sliding in front of me, leaving me nowhere to go. I was able to straighten up the bike, jam on the brakes (may I put in a plug for VeloFlex tyres here?) and stop before I reached the curb, all the while absolutely frightened of being plowed from behind by some Starbuck-double-shotted jacked-up cabrón. But luckily that didn't happen.

The post-mortem? Patrick Briggs (Yahoo) hauls in Bettonte (Safeway) for the win. Meanwhile The Great Larry Nolan washes out on turn three, taking Andy Nevitt down, and me out of the running. soft pedal across for 35th, but Andy is unable to stand on his own. It turns out he broke the head of his right femur in three places, just like Beloki, which sucks.

This Davis is no course for old men!

Twilight Criterium #7

Tuesday Night Twilight Criterium
21 June 2011
Elite Race

If Machiavelli was around today and not involved in political consulting (and didn't mind shaving his legs from time to time), he would most certainly be a bicycle racer -- a sport where treachery is often, but not always, rewarded.

(again please forgive the lengthiness. I'm stuck on an airplane presently and have no real incentive for brevity)

We had a good, but smaller group take the start Tuesday night, including pro Sterling (Pistachio), a Kelly Benefits pro, a Bissell pro, a trio of Echelon riders, Dr Todd (Team NorCal), a couple strong kids from some team in a grey and red kit, four Red Peloton riders, an Organic Athlete, the usual Boba suspects and a smattering of others racing under a golden and delightfully lingering summer's sun.

I started the race agressive yet wary; noting that Dr. Todd rides for the attack, and anticipating some fireworks from the professionals among us. And the Kelly Benefits pro did not dissapoint! He leapt out early and often, both as a soloist and with other riders. He rode with aggression and abandon and I could only marvel at his ability to quickly recover and go again. Had I been on his program I would have detonated completely by the second or third lap. One dangerous move had this guy join forces with Dr. Todd and a rocketing Sterling (with new matching lime green shoes -- only Sterling can pull off such sartorial excess), and the three put their heads down and took off. Fortunately their raid was regarded quickly by all who could lend a hand in the chase and were remanded back to the vigilant peloton in rather short order.

I've been getting more comfortable wrestling this torturous course with my supa-deep pimped-out tubular wheels. The trick is to forget about it. So midrace I pounded the bottom of the course (the speedbump, metal coverings, hairpin turn and lumpy road junction) and got away by the fairground's mexican village with 400 meters to the line to grab a prime but noticed ace sprinter Mike Charleton (Red Peloton) right on my wheel. If I kept up my effort to the line a guy with his speed would cruise comfortably past me for the prize, leaving me with an armload of nothing, so I immediately swung wide and sat up, forcing him to sprint the whole way on his own, which he did without hesitation. Mike also picked up another prime earlier. He's riding really well.

Sterling then stabs hard, putting us all into difficulty but not getting the kill he wanted. He did succeed however in detaching a good handful of riders, and for the next several laps we would be rolling past all these shelled guys. Immediately came the riposte from that big Echelon kid (what, 19 yrs old?) as he jumps hard, going clear when we're all gasping from Sterling's earlier move. Dr. Todd, Mike Charleton, Alex Brookhouse and I get clear a few moments later in pursuit of the big kid.

Treachery! Alex won't work as his teammate is up the road. So Dr. Todd, Mike and I are killing it, working together well to both consolidate a bit of a gap and try and get up to that big kid, who is doing an amazing job of holding us off. At this point he has five seconds on us, and we have seven seconds on what is left of the regrouping field.

After a couple laps of this, Sterling, the Kelly Benefits pro and a couple other guys slowly make it up to us.

Big kid is still off, we're all tired from our break, and the riders who caught us are gassed from their effort. Like the bridge in a pop song, this part of the race is the fulcrum where the whole thing hinges and can spin off in any direciton. As a cyclist you want to be able to do two things -- identify this point in the race, and be in the position to do something about it.

Well Alex Brookhouse had it wired. We had been giving him an armchair ride for a few laps as we toiled to catch his teammate up the road, and when we were caught instead, Alex, relatively freshest among those of us at the sharp end of the race, attacks emphatically, just burying it. Fortunately I was in a position where I could respond, though not nearly as crisply. I found myself chasing Alex by two seconds and not making any headway on him but the two of us were catching the big kid rather quickly.

Alex catches the big kid and their moment's hesitation allows me to do the same, letting me be the third, and outnumbered, member of this leading trio. Behind us, there is not much fight left in the peloton and we earn an immediate gap.

The always fashionable Frank Ammirata working the S/F rings the bell for another prime. I'm reasonably sure our break has a fighting chance, so was not planning on stabbing my breakmates in the back with an attack to win the prime. That plus if I was a keg, say, I would be getting pretty flat.

We cyclists remember not only our adversaries' strengths and weaknesses, but also our actions, our deeds and misdeeds, our slights and our favors. Alex remembers me busting up a break we were in a month or so ago for a prime. The big kid remembers me beating him for a different prime. And I need no memory at all to realize that hanging out off the front with these two is keeping me at my physical limit.

The three of us, with a couple shouted and grunted words decide not to contest the prime and as I happened to be pulling through across the line was declared the prime winner. But we were all focused on staying away.

When you are in a break with two riders of the same team, it's understood that the two riders will probably do to three things: 1. work a little harder than you will, as collectively they have a better shot at success than you, 2. complain bitterly that you are not working as hard as they, and 3. As you approach finish, work you over so they are assured the victory by one rider or the other.

"Come on, Pepper! We need you!" Brookhouse shouts at the top of the course when I sit out a rotation. Appealing to my sense of honor. This trick works. I'm back in, pulling almost even with these two.

The lap cards come out, three to go. I hazard a quick check back to find a lot of open road between our trio and the field. I sit out a pull.

Two laps to go. The big kid finishes a monster pull and Alex hits the front next. I wave the big kid to go in front of me. Frankly I'm a little gassed but also wanted to conserve a little; if they can't dispatch me before the end, If I'm a little fresh, I stand a fair chance of taking these two in the sprint and I think they know it.

The big kid sits up, putting me in a spot. I've got to either pull him back up to Alex or sit up myself, risking our position off the front, hoping the kid will do the pulling. I wasn't excited about the latter, so I hit the gas and bridged back up to Alex.

Final lap: Of course, right as I make contact with Alex the kid then attacks. Hard. Harder than I can respond to. I'm done. Though I'm flattered that they felt they feared me enough to beat up on me.

Meanwhile, 20 seconds behind me and the Echelon boys, Mike Charleton was not content to just languish in the field hoping for a 4th place finish (these races only pay 3-deep), he decides to kill himself on the front of the remnants of the peloton, just for the workout. He does so, pulling his group up the road to the cat and mouse games I'm forced to play with the Echelon boys. Ever the opportunist, big Sterling smelled the blood in the water and drilled it right after, dropping Mike and maybe a couple other guys immediately.

With just 3/4 laps remaining in the race, The big Echelon kid (man, I really otta know his name by now, he's so damned strong!) is off the front solo and going to win. Alex and I are blown but it looked like we were going to fight it out for 2nd, and the field well behind. But a check under the shoulder revealed an absolutely flying group behind me coming up at blue-shifted warp speed. Aw crap we're caught.

All my fast twitch fibers had caught the last bus out of town a couple laps ago and I attempted to sprint in with the group and managed fifth in what remained of the field to get 6th overall, right behind Dr. Todd and the Kelly pro. But as the saying goes, that and $4.75 will get you a venti hazelnut soy chai latte.

But the argy bargy of racing, the calculating out your opponents' weaknesses, timing your opportunities and taking the chance when it intuitively feels right, having the opportunity to play games at the front of the race, this is the stuff that keeps my hand still in the game. God help me I love it so.

I congratulated Alex on his riding. He returned the sentiment. I said "hey not bad for a 48 year old, huh?" He said "Not bad for anyone!" The grudging respect of my peers is prize enough. Well that, and the bottle of chianti that I won midrace, it was excellent, I shared it with my poker friends later that night.