Thursday Hate: Alderman Mell

Yesterday, Alderman Mell of Chicago's 33rd Ward spoke up during CDOT commish Gabe Klein's address to the city council about his upcoming cycling initiatives - including the new protected bikelanes and bike share program - to ask Klein if the city could license bicycles.

Licensing bicycles is not the solution to stopping reckless cycling. There are myriad reasons for the conflict between motorists and cyclists, but the biggest of all is that the streets are simply not designed for anyone but someone driving a car.

This then leads to the misconception that cyclists are somehow scofflaws and freeloaders who don't pay for the infrastructure. Not true. Most people riding bicycles are also car owners and they're ALL taxpayers. User fees and gas taxes pay for a very small percentage of local road maintenance.

How will a licensing scheme address what is fundamentally an infrastructure and education issue? What will an unenforceable regulation for a non-problem (hanging license plates that are big enough to read from a distance as a cyclist flees from one of the handful of non-injurious hit-and-runs a year?) do besides turning an entire mode of transportation into criminals (because no one will follow it) and adding another level of useless bureaucracy? Meanwhile 32 pedestrians were killed in Chicago car-crashes last year.

It should be clear, then, that calls for licensing cyclists are nothing but reactionary support for the status quo intended to prevent more people from being cyclists while ignoring the fact that car-culture is carnage culture.

Why impede the very mode of transportation that makes our streets safer and city more livable?

Considering the state of traffic safety and congestion in Mell's ward - home to some of the most dangerous and dysfunctional intersections in the city - his failure to recognize that Gabe Klein's proposals are the solution to cyclists riding outside the law makes Mell part of the problem.

To be fair to the Alderman, he did suggest alternatively that public service ads be produced.

Good for you Richard! Advocacy groups like Active Trans and Transportation Alternatives have been shouting their education message for years, but without the needed funding - which the private sector will never provide without the necessary prodding - their voices are lost in the din of traffic noise and automobile marketing.

Perhaps Alderman Mell could lead a charge in forging a public-private partnership, such as the Downtown Seattle Association and their successful brand Commute Seattle, and work to support CDOT's efforts to make Chicago a safer and better place to live, work, and play.

Assholes of the Week: General Motors

President Obama bailed them out so they could spend our tax dollars on this?

The League of American Bicyclists calls it, "one of the more remarkably ill-conceived car ad campaigns of all time:"

If you are a student looking to add tens of thousands of dollars of long term debt, care little about the environment, and want to lump two tons of steel around campus while paying through the nose for insurance, gas, and parking…General Motors has got a perfect deal for you. Bonus: it’ll make you fat and unhealthy! All you have to do is give up that dorky bicycle that’s easy to use, practically free, gets you some exercise and is actually fun to ride.

Considering that 95% of all advertising is sexual innuendo, this is about as literal as you can get:

Copenhagenize.com points out the hysterical contradiction between GM's stated environmental values and their actions in the face of "...stiff and growing competition from bicycle traffic."

Except GM gets it wrong. There certainly is a correlation between sexual performance and the car you drive, or don't drive, rather. The woman in the ad, her eyes directed...(ahem) lower...is actually just fed up with her driver's erectile dysfunction.

No wonder Cav is so happy and Tony is such a grump:

That's where my laughter stops, because the fight is just beginning: in 2008 bicycles outsold cars for the first time since before World War II. While GM has now pulled these ads preying on the financial insecurities of broke college students, they serve to remind us that the stakes couldn't be higher in the battle for making our streets safer while building a sustainable economy.

Thursday Hate: "Welfare Queens"

Finally, someone has done the real math for the ever vigilant battle on busting the myth that commuter cyclists don't pay their way for road maintenance and construction.

The call to tax cyclists (and license them, or mandate helmet-use) is the kind of reactionary bullshit that is always proffered by those who simply wish prevent new cyclists from taking to the roads, which - as demonstrated here - is completely idiotic and against their self-interest. Why "conservatives" can't seem to get this kind of math in their heads when they're the ones who are supposed to be fiscally-minded...

Oh, well - soon it will no longer be a lifestyle "choice" but rather a lifestyle necessity and everyone can get over all the liberal vs. conservative, nonconformist conformist v conformist nonconformist, hipster douche v. jarhead douche crap and find something else to fight over. Like who to bet on in the Hunger Games.

Anyways...

According to Elly Blue, Grist.com's "Bikonomics" Professor: user gas taxes and fees only pay .07 cents per vehicle-mile-driven, not even coming close to offsetting a total of 5.6 cents/vehicle-mile cost. Add in external costs per mile driven for free parking, crashes, congestion, and land use, and the total now is nearly 34 cents a mile! That's deficit of almost 100% being paid for by state and local taxes!

Meanwhile, smaller, lighter, and cleaner cyclists pay almost the same in taxes while causing just 1 cent/mile traveled in damage costs.

Guess what that adds up to? The drivers - who harangue you constantly to "get the fuck on the sidewalk!" and to "pay your own way, freeloader!" - or just try to kill you - are the ones sucking at the government tit - to the tune of $3,000 a year, each, on average. You bikers? Yep, you're subsidizing these fucking welfare queens with a profit to the local government of about $260 each.

In fact, to run the average city road system at break even, there needs to be 12 bike commuters for every driver. Put that in your tea cup (in your H3's cup holder, of course) and drink it.

See you in the bike lane, Eric Cantor, you fucking communist.

Going the distance for bike theft

Remember this scene from “The Big Lewbowski”? The Dude sits in his recovered and now trashed car and the police officer laughs at him when asked if they had any leads:



The River Forest Police Department certainly didn’t let a lack of perceived property value get in the way of bringing bike thief Jose Bautista to justice.

Authorities were able to track down Bautista, a convicted DUI offender, with DNA analysis of the blood left on some broken glass at the crime scene. It took ten months to get the results back due to higher-priority violent crime cases, but it’s good to see that even bike thieves are not considered below the reach of such useful technology.

Anyone who’s ever had a bike stolen hardly considers it petty theft.

Mettle to the Pedal

May is National Bike Month.

I can think of no better way to celebrate in Chicago than becoming a Team Leader for the Bike Commuter Challenge. Put your knowledge of practical and safe cycling towards growing the ranks of the healthiest, happiest, and most productive travelers around.

Signing up is easy, free, and fun. Anyone at your office - you, for instance - can do it. All anyone else at the office has to do is pledge to bike all or part of the way to work at least once during Chicago's Bike to Work Week, June 11-17.

And once you're registered, the Active Transportation Alliance will send you all the tools you need to recruit a winning team: a poster, flyers, maps, how-to manuals, email support, plus access to all the discounts Active Trans members get, and much more. You can even get a free onsite bike safety seminar at your office! Send Active Trans your numbers the week after and they'll recognize the winners plus every organization that participates.

You know that bicycling in Chicago runs much deeper than just the Lakefront Trail or Bike the Drive. That with a little vigilance and alertness, our bike lanes and streets are safe places to ride. You have a favorite route to most anywhere in the city. You can pack a suit (wrinkle-free) in 5 minutes before riding to a morning meeting. You know that a five mile ride at a moderate pace doesn't require a shower, only a few baby wipes.

You know that a small amount of extra effort doesn't mean a loss of convenience, yet can save thousands of dollars a year. You know that if you could just get the chance to convince a few friends and coworkers, with others like you around the country, millions, perhaps billions of dollars could be saved in fuel costs, productivity, and the public health impacts of air pollution and sedentary lifestyles.

Don't just be a bike commuter. Be a Leader.

Into the woodshed

I don't think I've ever experienced such a battle in the final lap of any race as I did Sunday in Carpentersville, number 5 in the Chicago Cross Cup series.

After the typical first lap disaster on probably the most technical of courses yet this season, in which I went into the tape twice and endoed once, not to mention getting passed at each barrier remount, I found myself in a knife fight for a top 15 placing among three other riders, Sasha Reschechtko (Tati), Justin Merkey (Rhythm Racing), and Tyler Avery (Pegasus). We constantly stole and gave up lines to each other turn after turn, or tried to drop each other in the pitted and rutted straightaways.


(Bill Draper)

As we raged into the final sweeping arc before the last u-turn to the line, it was Justin, me, and Tyler. I shifted to the big ring and tried to pull away but immediately we were elbow to elbow. I stupidly was still trying to move up on right, but that would've sent me into the tape and a tree on the final right u-turn - or would've crashed all three of us out, so by time I dropped back to reposition myself, it was far too late. Tyler broke free at the same time, and I crossed the line 3rd out of that group for 16th place.

I was pretty pissed at myself for misplaying the end, but once the High Life was cracked open and I was watching the 4Bs negotiate the pump section, all was again right with the world.

Overall the best day yet spent racing this fall. I had my best placing yet in the 30+ (22nd) - even while washing out on the first lap heading into the pumpers and face-planting in a turn - and the long-awaited Chubby Spud found its way into my hand once again:



Incredibly, I've moved up two places in the overall standings to eighth - wait, are we rewarding mediocrity here? I'm gonna have to start red-baiting this obviously socialist series?!? Don't worry, my much-harder-working call-up mates; I'm traveling the next two weekends in a pumpkin-carving, cider-drinking, corn-maze-claustrophobia-panicked fury, so that current placing will drop with the November temperatures. While Bryan Lee is getting his call-up dressed as Lady Gaga in a raw-meat skinsuit, I'll drinking all of my dad's beer while handing out Halloween candy on his porch wearing a wrestling mask.

Falling in love

This is the best time of year to be a commuting cyclist in Chicago.

The vivid colors of turning leaves on my neighborhood streets stir almost instinctual feelings of change.

Post marathon, the throngs of runners are gone. The weather is cooling off. The wannabes have put their bikes away and are driving again. The path is once again ours.

That cool north wind pushes you and the dry fall air keeps you almost sweat-free.

Fall.

Graceland

Thank you BBVP, Team Pegasus, and Chicago Cross Cup, for another stellar race in the 2010 series. Last year, Dan Ryan Woods was a vicious kick to the baby-maker, and renaming it Elvis Cross changed nothing. Well, almost nothing:


(Bill Draper)

It was hard to get out of bed, harder to get to the office today, and hardest to even stay awake once there:



30+

My placing in this category has trended downward since opening at 23rd in Jackson Park. The races have gotten more technical and hillier (or obstaclier, in DeKalb) and the competitive top half is getting stronger each time out. I started mid-pack, but then moved back quite a few places while trying to ride up the left-side singletrack: the first time I got caught behind teammate Paolo who had just taken a rear wheel on the chin, upending him; next time I lost traction all by myself, then locked up the front and endoed, finally getting back on once out in the sunlight only to start spinning my cranks madly, not going anywhere. Through the depths of my tunnel vision and frantic gasping, the cacophonous clanging of cowbells, I hear off to my left, oh so casually, “chain’s off.”

Thanks, guy.

Passed a bunch of dudes, ran up the hill on laps 3 and 4, and they all passed me again. Then I passed them again, and I said, “screw it” and decided to try one more time up the singletrack. FAIL w/endo again.

The race was still tons of fun however, mostly because a Team Tati rider in an old U of C kit wouldn’t let me pass him the last time of the second hill, cutting off my line and then opening a gap. I couldn’t quite close it through the final switchbacks, but didn’t let it get any wider by time we were hitting the last barrier. He phoned in the last 200m and I sprinted past him at the line for 33rd. It's the little battles that count for crossers like me.

After some recovery, I staked out some turf by the first 180 turn for the start of the Cat 3s, and nearly became the first off-the-bike relegation in racing history. Mr. Knauf approached to let me know it was Elvis Cross, not Dice Clay Cross. Sorry if I offended anybody.

I promise, later on I had some very clever, PG heckles.

4A

I got a call up for 9th overall, and was 5th wheel into the first turn, but I took it really wide, found the crowd coming up inside, and then after the chaos of the mud (WTF, is this the triathlete division?!) it jammed up terribly and I went through the 180 nearly at a trackstand. I was 8th or 9th coming up on the hill behind a little bit of a gap, when teammate Nick Venice came past like I was waiting to put my bike on the 147.


(Bill Draper)

And that was the only thing interesting about that race. Dropped my chain again. It’s funny how you can hear certain voices amid all the heckling, cowbell, and moments of singular pressure. Kirby’s voice cut through my brain like a knife.

I always lost places on the hill. There was one high point I’ll concede, when a VCS passed and tried to drop me on the second hill the second lap, but I wasn’t having any of it, and stayed right on his wheel. He was slower in the turns and that was the last I saw of him. Oh, and the Elvis sighting after coming down the hill, he passed me fast, with a, “on yah raght, brother! A-huh-huh!”

It was a good feeling to know that my 8th time up that hill was the last. 13th place. I'm still 10th overall and in line for a call up next race, but I won't be spending the entire weekend driving out to the suburbs, so I'll just be racing Carpentersville on Sunday. I can only hope and wait through Saturday's race in Waukonda.

Note the ethereal mood of this picture:


(Sue Wellinghoff)

Heaven will always be post-race. The endorphins will freshly flowing, the cooler will always have one more cold beer inside, and a new field of 4Bs will be just about to start. Oh, there's a cupcake...

Donzo:


(Sue Wellinghoff)

Thursday Hate

Fly-by-night Halloween costume superstores.

I hate these places that are filled to the ceiling with Chinese plastic stuffed inside Chinese plastic bags. But, do you ever see anyone at Halloween parties wearing this stuff? No, because they’d look like the unoriginal tools the models are, on the packaging of these costumes. Dracula? Are you kidding me? Bride of Frankenstein? Ooo-o-o-o-o-o! Nobody – and I mean nobody – wears a costume straight out of the bag except for den mothers, Junior High principals, and these people.

So why are there 10,000 of them in these stores every October and where the fuck do they go?

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The people at Cracked must’ve taken a header before writing this one. I was alerted to this article by Chris of I Go With Fergus, and it is actually spot-on until #3, specifically, with this gem:

“…there are multiple studies showing that bicycle helmets, in the long run, don't actually reduce the number of injuries.”

No shit…you mean a full-body energy field doesn’t emanate from the helmet, letting me bounce of the pavement and car bumpers, right back onto my bike?

A helmet is a crash-mediator, not a crash-preventer. Statistics such as cited in this article do not distinguish between head injuries and non-head injuries. A more accurate picture would be told by correlating head injuries to crashes with regards to helmet-use. I've had three crashes that did not involve vehicles which cracked my helmet instead of my skull; once I was probably going only 13 mph.

However, the article cites an interesting study that found drivers drive less safely around cyclists when they are wearing helmets. I’d buy that. Further, there is no helmet-law in Illinois due to large efforts by Active Trans and other advocacy groups. Studies show that helmet laws discourage cycling, and fewer cyclists make for a less safe and bike-friendly environment.

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Finally, I want to say something about the Tennessee firefighters who let a house burn to the ground over $75. I had a discussion over Google Buzz on this yesterday, and the opinions expressed ranged from cold analysis of economics and civic policy to much deeper philosophical outrage. My own take on it was summed up as follows:

I wonder if it was less "grasping the golden rule" and more lazy and mean-spirited enough when presented with choices A and B to let somebody's house burn to the ground because they owed $75.

Again this all goes back to the issue of taxes that pay for essential services. Since when is it the Fire Department's job to collect and enforce a fucking service fee? Apparently, when the entire town has become so self-interested that local politicians are afraid to raise taxes to pay for the fucking service.

Maybe that has something to do with people living in homes they can't afford in suburban sprawl where they need cars they can't afford to drive to places to buy shit they need that they can't afford.

Choices and free will. All of it. Fuck 'em. I'm with Jeff. Let it burn.

Flyover Country

It was a 7am departure on Sunday morning with teammate Evan to Dekalb - far west farm country - for the second race in the Chicago Cross Cup series competition, Hopkins Park.

That's a long way to drive just to ride your bike and drink beer, and I skipped this race last year. Two things convinced me to go this time. First, I'm a bit more dedicated to the discipline now, looking to stay active and have a lot of fun, if not experience great results. I've got a cyclocross bike now, so I might as well use it. With the four races, plus practice I've already been able to get in, I'm seeing better technique, new fitness, and getting to know and hang out with a lot of cool racers.


(Carborocket)

Second, was this:




And by that, I meant this:


(photo by Luke Seemann)

Yes, an honest-to-God flyover. I love cyclocross.

Masters 30-plus

We arrived with enough time to watch the Men's 40 plus field finish up their race and even then I heard it was a somewhat rough transition from the ramp to the grass. So by time I was at the line getting the pre-race instructions from Dave Fowkes, "have one foot in and be off the saddle" the ramp was already in my head. I have a hard time getting in my clips and I was imagining my feet being jarred off the pedals and being castrated before the first lap was finished.



And sure enough, each time up, there were people laughing and heckling me and screaming at me to "just go!!!", still other racers behind me - shoving to get past or jeering. It was about as embarrassing as any number of personal events involving puberty and hygiene in front of the classroom from 6th through 9th grade.

There is new entry to the Heckle Hall of Fame: "Next race I hold your bike for you!" by Michael Kirby (xXx Racing). Thanks, Kirby.


(Upper-left, by Larry Stoegbauer)

I passed riders, the same ones, multiple times, because they would come flying fearless past me again at the top of the ramp, while I flailed to get my foot in the clip before rolling. As well, even the straight sections of the course were riddled with hidden dips and potholes in the grass, preventing me from really attacking to close all the gaps I was giving up. No big-ringing it like at Jackson Park.

Thankfully I wasn't so slow to get pulled and I was able to get the full 45 minutes of pain and suffering in. 6 laps in all. I was somewhat disappointed with my effort, all the same, as I didn't have that same queasy feeling and retching from that last Masters race, two weeks ago, probably from six dead-stops at the top of the flyover, helping me to recover.


(Larry Stoegbauer)


4A

While waiting for the Men's Cat 1/2/3 race to start, I took about five or six practices of the flyover and down the other side, enough to where I felt comfortable jumping back on and rolling immediately. It was good to get that out of the way, and let natural ineptitude in the hole-shot sprint fuck things up, per usual.

I actually had a decent line coming out of turn 2 onto the bike path pavement before trying to make up ground on the left dirt shoulder, and then losing five or six spots coming back up over the pavement lip. Even worse, in mid-hurdle over the subsequent barriers, I smacked my head into a tree-branch, knocking me off-balance and catching myself in a Twister-like pose over my bike before righting myself, losing another three or four places. Then, I settled down, and into my usual cyclocross routine of playing catch-up and holding off those trying to do the same to me, and getting back into that top ten.



The flyover obstacle was much more fun this time around; I took it two and three steps at a time, and comfortably hopped back on and roared down, back up to speed with no issues, save for a few late clip-ins that prevented me from hammering right away.


(Sue Wellinghoff)

I was really deep in it this race, hacking and grunting, out of the saddle and in the drops, just trying to catch Tony (Beverly Vee Pak), Jonathon (Courage) and John (Main Street Bicycles). I really had no idea where I was, but catching them, and then seeing teammate Nick Venice in my sights (in 6th overall) I knew it was close to the front.


(Carborocket)

After coming down the barrier the last time with Tony right behind me, I suddenly heard the crowd roar in surprise: "Oooooooooh!" and looked back to see my pursuer off his bike. I found out later his carbon seat post snapped at the jarring transition back to the grass.

I am practically under contractual agreement to only say that you all know how I feel about carbon fiber components and a five-figure salary. Moving on.

The thing about the catch is it teases you forever. The rider ahead of you barely seems to be getting any closer for minute after interminable minute, and then suddenly, you are on top of him and passing quickly. Nick was still way out in front of me with only six turns to go, but then with with just three, he was behind me.

Based on some shouts from the crowd to a rider behind maybe a lap earlier, I was positive I'd just moved into 7th place. The last turn was a treacherous 180 around a tree, right in front of the crowd, over jarring, exposed roots. It was very easy to take it too narrowly and find yourself through the tape, or lose your traction and slide-out. Thankfully, I took it perfectly and sprinted as hard as I could, keeping the gap open behind me.

That effort was much harder than the 30 plus in the morning. That is what motivation will do for you. That kind of pressure in front and behind you will have you dry heaving in grass, struggling to catch just one more gasp of air, all with a smile on your face, because by yourself, it just isn't possible. We race because it's impossible to push yourself that hard any other way.

I had 11th place. Exactly the same as two weeks prior in Jackson Park. Hey, consistency is a good thing. The other top 10 placings were quite different this time around, and as such, with a couple of earlier upgrades to the 3s by others, I'll be getting a call-up this coming Sunday at Elvis Cross, Dan Ryan Woods, for 10th 9th place. (upgrades -woot!)

Giddyap.


(Carborocket)

Thursday Hate: More Bikes = More Hate

It was said some months back that in order to get more bikes on the road as a mainstream commuting option, we simply needed more women on bikes. Meaning when women feel comfortable and safe enough to begin biking, that is when the numbers on the streets will truly grow, society will accept bike-commuters with open arms, and our traffic infrastructure will reflect this.

Today, the NY Times gave evidence that a growing number of women are indeed gaining the confidence to take the lane, and they're looking good while doing it.

And as long as women are being liberated, there will be men, especially from the south, speaking out against it:

Not everyone is thrilled. Ross Autry, a blogger in Birmingham, Ala., noted in an e-mail that multitasking bicyclists are too self-consciously hip for his taste and, what’s worse, may pose a hazard. “Fixing your makeup or sending a text message could have catastrophic results,” he said.

Certainly, Ross. All of us men know that women are the only distracted drivers. And if distracted cyclists would be catastrophic, what does that make our current situation with all of them behind the wheel of a two ton Escalade? And the current infestation of brakeless hipsters marauding through intersections, preening in a storefront window at 23 miles an hour, giving more thought to their color-coordinated chain, aerospoke, and top-tube pad than the poor fuck on foot they're about to run over is far more dangerous than a stylish piece of eye-candy who doesn't want to sweat through her Tory Burch top.

God knows my regularly-commuting girlfriend practically has a restrictor-plate and never goes any faster than most people jog. In fact, I witnessed the greatest multitasking-cyclist of all time on my first-ever bike commute to work, back in 2004. A dude, no less, riding no handed through the Oak Street chicane of the Lake Front Trail - before it was repaved - talking on a mobile with one hand and holding a cigarette and a coffee in the other.

"TEACH ME!" I yelled as I rode by.

I imagine Ross is probably enjoying a table for one at TGI Friday's right now, before heading to home to masturbate on the internet and throw a beer can at his dog.

However, ladies, the hate goes both ways.

Just because I place function over form doesn't make me some jarhead or as George Bliss says, "an infantry solider with a helmet,” who has “alienated every pedestrian.” Yes, a lot of people bike unsafely in crowded places, but most of them aren't wearing helmets or lycra. Many others pass safely and we announce our presence, so don't project your inadequacies and bullshit on me.

Speaking of tight clothes, I wear lycra on most commutes because it doesn't bunch up painfully between my balls and my thigh. Because when I commuted 15 miles each way to my last job no one would make that ride in jeans. Because sometimes I wanna ride fast, or get in an extra 30 miles before work at my current job downtown.

And I've cracked a helmet in each of my three bad crashes that didn't involve a car. A crack that otherwise would've been my skull. I think waiting until you arrive at your destination to finally look your best is a preferable alternative to looking your best and drooling on yourself while your mother argues with the doctor to keep the feeding tube in.

Oh, and I hope Topaz Page-Green (if that is her real name) carries personal liability coverage on her condo policy, because she's gonna need it when she takes out a four year old while riding illegally on the sidewalk.

Thursday hate

I gotta lot of problems with you people.

First, why the fuck do you draft on complete strangers riding the Lake Front Trail? Is it not immediately obvious to you what a gross invasion of personal space this is? It's the equivalent of reading over someone's shoulder on the train or at a coffee shop. Unless you ask, or introduce yourself...get the fuck off of my wheel.

Next up: riding in the dark, with sunglasses and without lights, weaving through ped and bike traffic at reckless speeds while wearing headphones, without so much as even giving back an, "on your left." I hope to god you only take yourself out with a tree branch or a pothole before injuring anyone else.

Finally, some guest hate. My dad was hit by a car this morning. Same dude who nearly hit him last week while backing out of his driveway, yakking on the phone. Shit caught up with him today:

The guy who hit me was totally freaked out. While I was clawing at his roof, trying to stay on, I could hear him inside on his cell phone, which of course he was on when he pulled out in front of me, "Oh my god I just hit a guy on a bike." I'm yelling back at him how I am going to rip his balls off and stuff them down his throat, etc. Then I slide off the roof still attached to the pedals, fall on my side and lay there yelling for his head. He gets out trying to call 911, he gets them, and I yell they better hurry cuz there is going to be somebody dead here and it won't be me.

I got up realized I was OK, but that the fork was now reversed. But the fucking wheel is true. Go figure huh?

Shop ordered a replacement fork that they think and hope will work but it will be at least Wed. of next week.

When you see this neighborhood you will understand how dangerous it is to back out of driveways. Everybody knows this and most back IN, then pull out forward, but still. It could have been the prego woman who walks her dog, then where would this knot-shit be?

Jurassic Park

(pix by the amazing Steven Vance)

No, not quite. Although I had a startling realization as I was filling out my waiver on Friday night for Coach Randy's Jackson Park race-eve skills clinic, that my cyclocross racing age is actually 39...so next year that won't be too far from the truth.

A dinosaur on a bike.

However, since this year I'm still the spring chicken in my 30s, I ponied up for the Masters 30 Plus and the 4As. You have to double up in my situation. The 4s races are too short, and when your team is hosting, you gotta be out there. Maybe next I'll do the hat trick with two masters races and the 3s.

You guys can yell sandbagger all you want, but I'm staying in the 4s this year until I'm either on the podium or forced to upgrade. I may have Cat 3 power, but I have Cat 5 handling skills, so I think the 4s is a safe average on which to net out.

Anyways, Jason Knauff hates my constant blogging and called me out on my call up...so Jason, here's to you.

I pre-rode the course - another A+ design by teammate Greg Heck - as the 40 plus men were staging and twitching to get the 2010 Chicago Cross Cup season underway. The course was long and fast - versatile, in fact - suited to both mad CX skills in the technical turns and off-camber twists; and to roadies, who could make up for their short-comings by hammering in the straightaways.



30+

I'll keep it short and sweet for a long and bitter race. Two and half laps in I was almost puking, after having started near the back and then turned myself inside out to work my way up to 25th or so in a sold-out field of 75. Coming past the wheel pit I tried to hawk one but it got stuck halfway, stretched out between my throat and dangling down my chin. Trying to then force it out almost made everything else come up as well.

Pushing hard past David of Roscoe Village and a very determined Martin of The Pony Shop, the last two laps I could only keep the pressure up and held on to a well-deserved 23rd place. It was my best placing by far in an open field, so I was pretty happy with my effort there.

4A

As I mentioned before, I got a call up in this race. Traditionally, and for the remainder of the season, call-ups to the line are given based on your overall placing. The starting line is ten wide, so a call-up is like gold in a racers quest for the hole-shot. But since there were no results to go on, the call-ups at Jackson Park were awarded on a lottery basis, rather than last year's placing as had been done in the past. And with 10 names out of a pool of 75, the odds weren't that bad.

And truthfully, in my second race, I wasn't too surprised to hear my name called with Sister Sprocket's third dip into the paper bag filled with names. And then to hear Erik's name right after I rolled up.



The starting sprint was madness, with two big crashes in the opening turns. My technical skills were a real liability in this race and soon the podium gone. Patty, with Jack, and her sister Rose and niece Kaila watched from the mid section where they could scream and heckle multiple times as we doubled and tripled back.



I did cling to the Top 10 for most of my blazing three laps, until the very end when I was passed in a turn (where else) by Lew of Rhythm Racing. The gap closed little by little in the closing meters, but ultimately it was too late - 11th place - and I won't be getting a call-up on October 3rd in Dekalb, the next race in the series.



The 4B started right where it left off last year, with every level of fitness and skill represented in their three laps, and more heckling than a heathcare townhall meeting in Tyler, Texas.

Huge thanks to Illlinois Cycling, Chicago Cross Cup, all the officials, the sponsors, and of course, all the teams that showed up and made Sunday such a spectacular opening to the 2010 cyclocross season.

Hump Day: happiness calling

Today, it was made officially official; I signed the offer letter for my new job.

I don't normally mix work and writing but I'm so excited I just have to give a little bit away.

September 1st I go to work for a group that I have been more and more connected to since I began volunteering for them in 2006. I feel like Superman right now, and I've been able to think of nothing else.

I will be working to get us - Chicago - out of our cars and onto our bikes, our trains, (yes our taxes and fares pay for them), and our sidewalks, paths, and parks. To make Chicago a better, friendlier, more enjoyable and happier place to live.

To give a much-needed push to the boulder that stands on the precipice of the tipping point in turning back a cancerous car-culture with a powerful and resounding, "No!"

And I get to develop lots of cool ways to do it, like top-down consulting and recruitment, grass-roots organizing, and web and mobile platforms to bring it all together. All the while riding, walking, and transiting to network with the people who will make it a reality.

I wasn't sure if I'd ever get here, but I think I've found my calling...is there a phone booth around here?

July

Before my most recent post, I last left you with a slight rant on Elston Avenue bike commuting. Thankfully, that post, written on Thursday July 1st, covered the last time I was to commute home down that harrowing stretch of Third World, Mad Max-inspired road, replete to the last with cabs darting into the bike lane and left-turning SUVs jerking back and forth in the intersection like a meth-addict trying to act normal as it strangles the cat.

For that night upon arriving in Independence Park, I gathered some things, and left for Edgewater to help Patty move her things down the street and spend my first night at our new apartment.

Patty's move was a quick and easy one, for she was only 2 blocks east on the same street. We had the help of several friends plus a late 90s Mazda, and we were eating pizza and drinking ice-cold Old Styles by 8:30.

I had purged all of my own furniture - every last bit of it, not even a folding chair remained - to the alley and to friends, so I had only boxes, and of course, the bikes. The next night, Friday, Patty and I took the Damen bus (it's northern turn-around is just a few blocks from us) to Irving, where we met some of my now-former neighbors for some heavy German food and refreshing summer Kolsch at Resi's Bierstube. The next two days were to be completely bike-free, and BBQ free, July 4th though it was.

But we got it all done, in hot-as-balls weather, sun beating down on us. We crammed it all in, and even though we'd gotten rid of half of what we owned, for the life of me I thought we'd never find a place for it all.

We did just in time for my parents to see it, less than a week later. I've come quite a long way since my mom used to arrive at my college apartment with a look of horror on her face and started scrubbing the place from floor to ceiling. We were even able to sit and drink coffee and watch the finish of Stage 8 on my laptop.

After an evening in which the waitress at my favorite local joint, The Edgewater Lounge, berated my stepfather for tipping 15% - and I then complained to the manager - we were off to Michigan for my cousin Paul's wedding.

A beautiful outdoor affair, amidst simple white trimming on the grass overlooking the bluff - I saw the sun set over Lake Michigan for the first time in my life.

We toured the S.S. Keewatin, a steam ship that ferried Canadian National Railroad passengers, in two and half days, from the western side of Superior to the eastern shore of Huron.

The following weekend my sister Maggie arrived from North Carolina to volunteer and have free evening access to the Pitchfork Music Festival. It worked out quite well for us. Me especially. I'd been worrying about a bit of contraband in my bag making it past the security checkpoint, but volunteers just walked right in through their own entrance. We were set. Security told us they needed wristband jockeys for the beer tents and people to watch the fences for jumpers.

I was told to assist at the vendor check-in, where four hipsters had made a break for it the night before, three successfully. Living dangerously, they scoped out their chances and took a running start from the sidewalk. Security had since set up a fence behind the table and forced a chokepoint, which I was to menace accordingly, with my arms folded, so everyone showed ID. The hardest part of the job was deciding what free food I wanted from the Chicago Diner booth, and listening to Real Estate.

Jon Spencer Blues Explosion absolutely killed it, as did Wolf Parade, Panda Bear was sadly out of place, and LCD Soundsystem had us dancing our asses off, working up a final sweat in the residual heat left over from the since-departed sun.

Hard to believe I was finally able to race competitively after all that time off the bike last week, and by competitively I mean not get dropped. I certainly didn't sniff so much as a top 20, but I did race three times in Milwaukee, Kenosha, and Whitefish Bay to finish up Superweek. The first and the last races were in support of my teammate Mike Seguin who pulled off a huge 2nd place overall in the series.

All of the races were brutally hot, and Friday really got the best of me. It was a 30 mile criterium, so I didn't have the benefit of Matthew Stevenson handing up bottles of ice-water to us. In fact, I'm so used to packing just one bottle for a 45 minute race, that it didn't dawn on me that I'd need three for a 75 minute effort in 95 degree heat.

Needless to say, that last sip of water with 15 laps to go tasted like hot chicken broth. I finished at least.

And here I sit. My self-imposed facebook exile continues. I was encouraged and disheartened at the same time to read this article today (thanks Leah). It confirms that Facebook is the new AOL of the 2010's...entirely self-contained internet. Except it's not for those who are too scared to go out on the world wide web, it's for those who are too lazy.

I will probably have to go back on at some point, at least to get pictures back, or for some professional networking. But right now, I feel like an addict who's been set free. I've been without a television for a year now, so I suppose this is the next logical step. At least I'm writing for myself again. I don't know if this was even interesting to you, but it feels good to unload the brain again.

Thursday Hate: bike lanes

I prefer not to wear gloves when commuting. That way I can whistle better at the cab that's about to kill me.

My current ride to work is 15 miles each way. The last four miles are on Lake Avenue through Glenview, no bike lane and two lanes each way. Traffic clips along at 45mph plus.

What is the most stressful part of my ride, however? The Elston Bike lane between Foster and Montrose. Until we get dedicated bike roadways and buffered bike lanes, I'll always be a proponent of vehicularism, treating bikes as equal with all other traffic in the roadway.

Still, the narrow lanes of Lehigh south of Touhy are untenable for bikes as well, when the traffic approaching Devon backs up nearly a mile. Is a rider really going to wait patiently breathing exhaust? No, we'll either take to the sidewalk or shoal in the oncoming lane, as I did today - both are illegal.

And in the end, while the 45 mph traffic of Lake is statistically much safer to bike in, I feel like I have much more control of things in the Elston bike lane. You can see bad situations developing enough ahead to whistle at least.

Brian's Dairyland

It was quite a bit shorter than the full 11 stages that began last Thursday in Shorewood and ended today in Waukesha. I also didn't get any chocolate milk or a spotted cow jersey, but my own tour of Wisconsin included plenty of cheese, Spotted Cow beer, and lots of fun racing.

After transferring all my gear from the I-Go Honda to the O'Hare rental and kissing Patty goodbye, I was on my way to Greenbush, Wisc. for the stage 8 road race in the Tour of America's Dairyland. Light traffic and a 7am departure netted me a great parking spot on the grass two full hours before race time.

Randy and Luke arrived as I spun and sweated on the trainer, even in the less humid, lower temperatures. It was going to be a perfect day for racing, in lots of sunshine, and I was very excited to be in the same 35+ Masters field as these experienced and wily vets. The only snag of the morning was finding a definite hole in my racing tubulars after hemming and hawing about a slow leak the night before. Oh well, SRAM was present for neutral support, just one more PRO aspect of an apparently very well run series.

Our 50ish-sized field rolled out on time, just behind the Pro/1/2 field, and neither Luke or I were familiar with the course, beyond what people had told us about from last year. But, even then, the 10-mile lap was reversed this year, so we'd just have to ride out and experience the first couple of laps and hope nothing got away before then.

The course profile went something like this, if memory serves:

A short uphill followed by a steep drop, then another up and down roller. Here, you had to be careful of the hot tar strips, very hard to see on the new blacktop. Very squishy, and your rear end fish tailed at the high speeds going downhill over them. Then a left turn and a false flat, followed by a quick drop, another fast left turn, a couple rollers, then downhill to a right hand hairpin turn. Here it got interesting with a series of uphill stairsteps which led to a fun downhill series of banking turns through thick forest (watch out for those potholes). This shot out onto rough chip and seal pavement through farm fields, which brought back the wind, and then turned left into it. The downhill speed quickly slowed and the pack bunched as riders looked to move up for the final series of downhill, banking turns, back through the trees and then into town.

Immediately riders were attacking but couldn't get away. The pack could chase too easily on the downhill, and there wasn't enough support that early on through the headwind. Much of the time the pace was downright comfortable and it seemed everybody was taking it pretty easy, saving energy for the hills or attacks later in the final laps.

Out on the chip and seal on the 4th lap, I was moving up when I heard Randy call me over. "Luke's off the front!" he semi-whispered. This caught me completely by surprise as I still thought he was behind me, but you all know how much I pay attention in races. Sure enough, there also must've been IS Corp in the break because they were up blocking and a dedicated chase was forming as soon as I moved to the front to do our part.

I sandbagged on two hard chase efforts, but coming through to start the final two laps, the break had slipped out of view, and the field's speed came down to almost leisurely for much of the next time around.

The final lap was a bit more competitive, especially up the rollers, where I really had to fight to keep my position and not to cramp. Through the twisty downhill section and out in the crosswind, Randy came by tapping my hip and we moved up to the front before the pack bunched up, where we held a great position. However, he was on the outside, while I remained up against the yellow, which was my undoing amidst the final argy-bargy of the last two miles. A lot of sketchy moves came past my left, squeezing me further and further and back.

If those guys really wanted to pull that shit for a 6th place $50 check, they could have it. I still had to go to work on Monday. Randy managed to hold his position and finish 7th in the field sprint, for 11th overall. I came in at the back for 37th, and heard Luke on the sideline giving me an encouraging yell.

4th place for him, out of a final five-man break. What a stellar result in such a talented and stacked field as an open Masters race! The man is crafty as hell, and can be counted on to find the one place on the course to make the move that counts. In this case, on those stair-step hills, and then leverage the wind and the blocking behind to get out of sight.

After saying our goodbyes over the requisite post-race Culver's, I was on my way to overnight in Milwaukee at my cousin Rick's place on the northwest side of the city. Friday I'd be headed back to Fon Du Lac, but tonight was dinner, beers, and visiting.

Rick met me at his house and we went and got some pretty good Mexican food, fish tacos for me:



After which we each got a haircut at his regular place, where they offered us a glass of wine while we waited, and I also got some locally roasted organic coffee. The woman who cut my hair, Christinia, was a triathlete and we talked bikes the whole time.

The next morning after Rick left for work, I spent a few hours at Milwaukee's successful local coffee chain, Alterra, over some housemade granola and a pot of French-press:



Then I departed for Fon Du Lac, the site of the series' stage 9 criterium, and to meet former teammate and good friend Rick Dearworth for lunch before the race.

The Fon Du Lac Grand Prix has been around for many years in one series or another, and is famous for it's fast speeds, with the long home- and backstretches. Today's trip past the start-finish would be blazing as well, with the tailwind down Main Street.

I was the only XXX-er in the field, along with a few other solo riders, including a Wisc.-based Pegasus rider who'd had some success in the series, and the venerable Voytek Glinkowski, of WBD-Allvoi. Verizon and IS Corp had several riders each, so I'd be watching their moves in the headwind of the backstretch.

It was a very dynamic race. Attacks were constantly going off in the wind, and the field was either chasing, or giving out the hangman's rope, and then chasing. I managed to be in a couple of early attempts and bridges, but midway through the race I found myself at the back recovering when the real assaults came.

Rick and Jared Rogers (who'd raced earlier) screamed at me to move up, but the chase was committed and wicked fast between laps 15 to go though seven or eight to go. I could only hang on to the end and try for another chance when, and if, it slowed. The good thing was that it was completely single file the entire time, so there was no rubberband effect, even at the end.

No brakes, just breaks.


(photo by John Gray)

Coming up on six to go, the field slowed just enough with indecision that I was able to move up and hear the announcer say, "Field prime! Set of tires to the field, starting with Triple X rider number eight-sixty-nine!" I had no intention of contesting a prime while leading the start of the lap, and after turn two I got out of the saddle for a medium intense effort to keep the pace up for the chase. I was waiting for the jump, and when none came, I looked behind and saw a huge gap.

Talk about the right place at the right time. IS Corp was blocking, the field was tired, and I'd just ridden away. I took the prime with five to go and started thinking about my chances to bridge up. I could see them about a quarter lap up, and I couldn't let the pack catch me.


(photo by John Gray)

The break was shedding a few riders, which I then caught, worked with for a half-lap or so, and dropped in the head wind. Approaching one to go, I was with one final rider, who, from the depths of my pain cave I can't remember, either bridged to me or I caught him.

Either way, I pulled though turns 1 and 2, and into the wind, then shook him off my wheel and fought his gap effort to come though turn four in perfect position for a pounce. Which I of course botched. I waited too long, with me just behind him; we started sprinting at the same time, and that's how we ended up, 7th and 8th.

"Sorry for screwing you," he said. "That's racing, dude. Great sprint!" I replied. I was pretty happy, feeling the 100% effort and having salvaged a top ten in a bridge attempt after having missed the move, not to mention avoiding having to go shopping for tires for a while longer.

Rick and I enjoyed a Spotted Cow together and watched the Women's Pro race from the AC comfort of the corner bar along the course, and then said our goodbyes.

I was in the town my parents grew up in, Kenosha, two hours later, despite all the construction and Summerfest traffic, to greet my dad and stepmom, and my aunt and uncle at their house. We enjoyed a classic lakefront Friday fishfry and cocktails and spent the night catching up.

After a morning active recovery ride to the lakefront, checking out the Superweek criterium course and getting some espresso, the next day we attended the family picnic in Madison. This long-running reunion includes Baers, O'Keefes, and Scharches, in addition to the Morrisseys. It was my dad's first time attending in probably 40 years, and it's been going on for longer than that. It was complete with several rounds of bocci and one dude bringing a full martini set up. But since I was driving, I had to wait until I got home for that much needed beer to end a pretty long day.

It was a pricey weekend to be sure, but a chance like that to merge family and racing can't be missed. I probably won't be racing again until the very end of Superweek, in Kenosha at the end of July. The Tour of America's Dairyland was an excellent series for the small portion of it that I experienced, and I definitely will try to plan next year's visit around the family picnic again.

Talking heads, bikes and the city

Talk about your fortuitous Fridays.

If my early morning train to Northbrook hadn't been canceled, and I didn't need to be on an 8am conference call, I definitely would've been stuck waiting out the afternoon's epic storms on a late train or worse. And probably would've missed seeing David Byrne of the Talking Heads speak about the future of cities and bicycles, alongside Luann Hamilton (CDOT), Jacky Grimshaw (Center for Neighborhood Technology), and Randy Neufeld (SRAM, formerly Chicagoland Bicycle Federation).

So when faced with the choice to wait an hour for the next train and miss my call, or head home to take it, then"work" from home the rest of the day, instead of biking in later (actually I did put in two or three solid hours after), you would've done the same. Even on Bike to Work Day. And since I rode to the train and back, I could count my miles for the Commuter Challenge.

As I rode home and then sat inside, dying to get out and play in the nice weather, I couldn't imagine the forecast for storms later that afternoon would be accurate. After I was off the phone I took Jack for a nice walk to grab a coffee (and a McMuffin...I wasn't lovin' it, but I sure was cravin' it for some reason).

The nonsequitur of the day came shortly after placing my order, just behind two frumpy, middle-aged, female cops. They kept coming back up and asking for extra cups and spoons and shit. A few seconds later I felt a pleasant sensation that I only associate with Patty, namely her wrapping her arms around my waist. The freakout came when I realized it was one of the cops, fully enveloping me in a creepy hug while asking for another cup.

"Excuse me!" I spewed as I recoiled from her grasp.

The arms came off and she continued with the counter help, not even acknowledging me in the least, just a free grope at the MacDonald's.

Well, the sky started to darken a bit, and soon it appeared that fat bastard Skilling had nailed it. I decided to race the rapidly approaching storms to Daley Plaza and the Bike to Work Day rally, to pick up my tickets for the David Byrne event. I thought I had more than enough time from the looks of the radar, but riding down Elston not even at Fullerton I started to get rained on. Little pockets of teasing moisture passed with intermittent sunshine, but looking west at the turmoil churning towards me, I started to wonder when I'd need to find shelter.

This was the sight before all hell broke loose (my shutter just missed a lightening flash by a second or two):


That's Milwaukee overlooking the I-90/94 Ohio St. entrance ramp. Just past Halsted and Grand, the wind really picked and started driving all the dust from filthy Kinzie Ave and the overpassing Metra tracks, nearly blinding me. I barely had time to get under the awing at the new Jewel on Des Plaines before it opened up.

And there I sat waiting it out, watching much braver souls than I trying to get where they needed to be, in much difficulty. It seemed like the end of the world, as trees bent sideways, the skyline disappeared in the gray doom, and thunder ripped apart the air almost on top of the seizure-inducing lighting flashes.

When I finally reached the site of the rally in a remarkably pleasant and soothing drizzle, the plaza looked as though a giant hand had come down and swept all the tents, umbrellas, and picnic tables into a huge twisted pile of metal stacked up against the windows of the courthouse:



I was told I could simply pick up my tickets at the event venue by a friendly leftover volunteer from the rally, so next I pedaled over to the Cultural Center. There I found the XRT kids (it was the station's event, big thanks to Richard Milne!) and then ran into Ethan, of Active Trans. We sat chatting for a bit and I actually saw the head Head himself enter. Then I split to go meet Patty at The Gage pub, a fantastic Michigan Avenue small plates bar, a bit pricey, but unique dishes, such as the house poutine, with elk ragout and Wisconsin cheese curds.

The forum was a couple hours later, as I mentioned an XRT event, featuring David Byrne as the celebrity guest, basically on a book tour for his "Bicycle Diaries," of a round table discussion entitled, "Cities, Bicycles, and the Future of Getting Around. " It was certainly a who's-who of Chicago cycling and alternative transportation advocates, for I recognized many, many faces from past similar events.



David Byrne took the stage to a huge round of applause, and started the presentation with his slide show. I've heard both good things and bad things about his book - haven't read it - and his presentation. I found that I enjoyed it. It would've been no different had I been in his living room seeing pictures from his most recent music tour. He was stream of thought, one leading to the next, basically taking the audience through modern city-planning's watershed wasted opportunites, the current sad state of affairs, and hopefully where we can go. Lots of slides of 1920's sketches and city plans, blighted parking lots and overgrown shopping malls, and beautiful trails and thoughtful examples of complete-streets planning.

Luann Hamilton of CDOT showed us a good amount more specifics, including some teasers on the Bloomingdale Trail, the Navy Pier Flyover, and a planned traffic diet of Lawrence Avenue between Ashland and Western. She gave us one amazing and joyous traffic figure: during rush hour, the current traffic make-up of Milwaukee Avenue can be as much as 20% bicycles.

Suck it, George F. Will.

Jacky Grimshaw of CNT gave a rundown on the engineering thought and theory that goes into planning liveable cities, such as how to build a 1 mile walk instead of a 3 mile drive from point A to point B.

Finally, the accomplished Randy Nuefeld, the former CBF director and now director of the SRAM Fund, gave the most direct-action presentation we'd seen yet. As he began, I realized there was no way David Byrne could've gone last. He could not have have followed this. I knew when finished, Randy would get the biggest applause by far, and we'd all leave, pulling at the harness to get to work and make things happen.

I'll let Steven Vance take you through Randy's presentation.

BTW, you know you've been commuting a long time when you recognize Andy Daley, in full Clif Bar kit, in one of Randy's presentation photos of the Milwaukee/Ogden/Chicago intersection.

D. Dowd Muska: Asshole of the week

Is your latest column, "Four Wheels Good, Two Wheels Bad," supposed to be some sort of joke?

I suppose not, and Dowd is short for "dowdy".

I didn't think it was possible to be a bigger jerk than some of the people I encounter on my daily ride to work, but I'd genuinely fear for my life if encountering you on the road.

I suppose it never occurred to you that most people begin bike commuting because of gas prices and relief from stress (although that can be difficult with people like you out there). I suggest you take a trip to either Belgium or the Netherlands (where up to 40% of the population commutes by bike), and see how many of those people think of their chosen mode of transportation as a children's toy.

Maybe you'd like to give a lecture to World Bike Relief about how that organization is just wasting time by providing thousands of "children's toys" to address Third World poverty, malnutrition, and AIDS prevention.

However, I'm gonna guess you've probably never been outside of this country, as your fear of anything outside of the status quo indicates extreme xenophobia.

You must be some sort of a US history buff, too, as indicated by your Original 13 Flag header on your site. Maybe you should double check on how popular bicycles used to be in this country before laziness, carelessness, and sloth allowed the automobile to cocoon us into our present mess of unlivable, unwalkable, unbikeable cities.

And while you're stereotyping cyclists, take a good look at your own raging, speeding, aggressive-driving, stop-sign-rolling, red-light-running, no-lane-change-signaling reflection in the mirror. The machine you're hogging the road with carries a helluva lot more risk and liability than those "children's toys" you're defaming, and are the number #1 killer of children in this country. What's the bigger danger here?

I sure hope your attitude changes over the next few years, because gas isn't getting any cheaper, and there's a lot more of us on the way. Actually, it would be pretty funny to see you petulantly stomping your feet at the gas station over the $8 a gallon price displayed, while happy person after happy person rides past you waving and ringing their little bike bells, glad to be moving and active than still stuck inside that fucking cage.

Please learn to share. There's enough road for everybody.

Hellbent for brick, corn, and chickenwire!

And we're off for Iowa tonight: Snake Alley tomorrow, Melon Cities on Sunday (speed bump and all), and then Quad Cities - The Cagematch turns 45 this year! - on Memorial Day. It will be a battle.




Holy shit, 15 laps in the belly of the beast with the Category 3s. Ready or not, this is gonna be painful test of the will.



Melon is going to be fun. That speedbump is some stupid shit, but it is my type of race, and I just need to summon the confidence to go 110% when it's time. I do and that hill is mine.

Quad Cities was my breakout race last year. Technical and fast, it's not gonna be the same as the Cat 4, and will be dicey in the corners unless it stays strung out and breaks up early. I'll probably register for the Master's as well just prior to the 3s, and complete half of that for a warm-up and race-pace course recon.