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.

Mt Hamilton Road Race: SlimFast is Back on the Menu

29 May 2011

Mt. Hamilton RR

Masters 45+, 1-2-3

Mt. Hamilton Road Race is another monument of bicycle racing in Northern California, the race having been held for several decades running. All categories are obliged to ride the same point to point parcours, beginning just outside of San Jose and ending just outside of Livermore, by way of 4196 ft. high Mt Hamilton, home of Lick observatory and the tallest point in the bay area. The main obstacle comes right at the start, a solid 20 miles of climbing straight away. From there a scintillating descent and then several smaller climbs before the the final 20 miles of undulating and serpentine downhill drag to the finish. Over 6000' of total climbing. A climber's race for sure.

Arriving a little later than I wanted I had to make a choice: either wait 15 minutes in line to use the Jr. High restroom or spend that time actually warming up. Actually there really was no choice in the matter. I needed that bathroom. Note to self: Get thee to the race with enough time to do everything.

Looking at the number of starters on the line that the race might not be that competitive. only about 23 riders managed to show up. But look again: All of them on the line, on a breezy and cold morning, waiting to take the start, looking like a pack of shivering, hungry whippets. All the skinny VO2 Max guys were there. Probably collectively there was a tablespoon of fat among them. I was feeling a bit apprehensive. Note to self: Stop eating entirely to prepare for these kinds of races.

After only one mile or so, some emaciated waif jacked up the pace to near right my limit. We were lined out on the road, 6-8% grades, fighting for wheels. Guys were already delaminating off the back of the already-small field. Great. Only 19 more miles of climbing. We eased. Then someone else hit the gas. This happened over and over. More guys coming off. I heard a grunting and puffing and chuffing behind me as I endured yet one more body blow well above my AT. Another acceleration shook me loose from the now ~12-rider strong field. The chuffing sound from behind was big Larry Nolan as he holds to the field while I'm cut loose. Note to self: Should have chosen parents with higher lactate thresholds.

So now I'm climbing tempo as what remains of the field is curve by curve gaining time on me. One rider, all in black, dropped earlier, catches me and says let's work together, pushing me. Okay, okay but quit pushing me! I'm already feeling like I'm in the Jenny Craig waiting room. Let's limit our losses and hope that the field rests a little, maybe we can get back.

We're caught by a couple other riders and as a foursome are trying to get a rhythm going. Coming up from behind us is the beefy Dirk Himley, with his noisy bike protesting it's load with each turn of the pedals. His coming up dropped the other guys. So Dirk, myself and Pushy McBlacky (he had an irish accent) are still in pursuit. A bit more work and we've caught Nolan, dumped unceremoniously from the group in front.

Somewhere in here my back starts aching pretty good. I guess 15 miles of near-solid climbing will start to expose one's limitations. Note to self: Give building the rock wall a rest the day before the epic road race, huh?

Our quartet is unstable though, Dirk's power is waxing while mine is waning. I blow out the back of this group toward the top. Himley, Nolan and McBlacky press on, hoping to bomb the descent and make contact. I wish I could join you fellas, but I have a date with my back at Il Pain Grotto.

The top of Mt Hamilton was so cold! I was looking for snow but didn't find any. the officials and timers at the top looked like survivors from the Shackleton expedition.

At the bottom of the descent my former chase-mates were long gone and with no one behind me it looked like a 38 mile solo ride in a cold headwind to look forward to. All With a bum back.

Just then a Montgomery Security bloke comes past on one of the long risers. He gets about 25 meters ahead of me and, at the top of the climb looks back to judge the gap, and then just takes off. Didn't want to ride with me. Giving me up for dead. You bastard.

Another few miles and Alex Osborne, a great NorCal rider from the 80s, come up with one other rider. He seems to think the field must be right around the corner, just up the road. I know otherwise, but if he's got a head full of ambition, who am I to tell him otherwise?

I fall in with this duo and we are riding steady hard into the headwind, me grateful for the company and the shelter. Alex and the other guy are working pretty hard with me trying to pull through if only for the sake of decency.

As the miles tick by, we do some ups and downs, we pass a lot of riders, none from our category though. Then something good finally turns: I'm starting to feel good. My pulls at the front are fresh and strong. I can pull hard for a minute at a time. I can get my nose in the wind and crush it, recover on the wheels, then do it again. Even though I'm a pathetic, dropped old man, it's almost enjoyable out here, in the cold and in the wind.

Only five miles to go: We're rolling like bandits now. The road is falling away beneath our wheels, a slow serpentine descent without centerline (and a motorcycle rally coming from the opposite direction, to spice things up a bit). Up ahead now is the Montgomery Security rider, the one who left me for dead. I make sure to absolutely kill it as our train blasts by him. That'll show you to leave me, you bastard! Note to self: Petty rivalries can keep your head in the game.

It's only another couple miles until we see McBlacky, pedaling in squares. The twin oxen of Himley and Nolan must have finally been too much. Again with the freight train. That'll show you for your condescending pushing me on the climb!

I'm feeling so good now I lead out the uphill, headwind sprint and win the sprint ... for something like 15th. A pretty weak result I know but an outstanding workout still. The race was won by the skeleton of John Cavanaugh, who was a pro for Plymouth Reebok and who I raced against some in the '80s. The KOM was won by a POW-esque Cale Reeder, the current Masters National Champion. I should hope to see these riders soon under different circumstances. Until then I'm going to eat something so I can feel better about myself.

Tuesday Night Twilights #6: Ah, Youth

24 May 2011

Tuesday Night Criterium #6

Elite 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.

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.

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

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.

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.