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.
Showing posts with label Superweek. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Superweek. Show all posts
1.8.10
28.7.08
Superweek: Downer Avenue
The Great Downer Avenue Bike Race. For 40 years, they’ve been racing this course on the northeast side of Milwaukee, and it’s rated as on of the top three ProAm races in the country. This year was the first time they would be opening it up to the lower categories and I certainly couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this one.
The party was already well underway as Katy and I arrived, even though they were still setting up the course for the first race of the day. It was a hot, sunny late morning, and there were beer vendors up and down the street as nearly every bar and restaurant were trying to get in on the action. People crowded the barriers in anticipation.
The course was unique and somewhat technical, with a 100+ degree turn and a fairly potholed surface. Once again, the headwind was coming down the finishing stretch and it looked to be an omen for a hard-fought sprint. The 4/5s race broke up immediately, into several groups, and with less than 10 to go, an Illinois Tech rider, Ryan Friend, broke off and continually increased his lead to over a minute as the field resigned itself to a fight for 2nd place with about 3 laps to go.
As I got my numbers at registration I noticed several XXX names on the starting list, but as we lined up more than an hour late, the field itself was no more than 30 riders for the Category 4s and I was still alone. Chris Padfield just laughed and said, “welcome to my world!” I laughed along with him, knowing this race was probably going to be no different that any of his other 5 plus (I think) solo wins this year. I knew that in order to crack the podium in this race I’d need to go with him, or bring him with me on a preemptive attack myself.
It was a surprisingly smooth race after the chaos of Kenosha the day before, and I recognized several riders from that race. But with the smaller field, there were no swarms, and the accordion effect was only mildly present. I sat in on the back and flat-out enjoyed myself until about 7 laps to go when the attacks started. Until then I stayed out of the bullshit on the front with several riders swerving to get out of the wind and just stayed glued to my wheel.
Towards go time however, it started to string out single file with some attacks and I knew I needed to move up right then. Coming up on five to go, I was moving up hard on the left side, and it was good I already had a full head of steam because that was when Chris went off.
I just kept going, taking it up to 110% past my screaming girlfriend and family members banging on the barricades as I desperately tried to reach what I knew was the winning move. I dangled behind Chris by about 10 meters after Turn 1 until a third rider came past and bridged us up. We were off with 4 and half laps to go.
But immediately I was hurting badly, and it was obvious I was the weakest link. We’d slow on my pulls just a bit, and coming past Turn 2 after seeing three to go I lost the wheel. My breathing was out of control, my ass was about to seize up in protest and I was pedaling boxes. I heard Chris yell at me to “get that wheel!” but I had nothing. It just kept going further ahead.
Chris was still behind me as I looked back to see the pack sucking us in. Just as I cracked, Chris joined the spearhead of it and off he went. I just got spit out the back like shit through a goose. Pretty much what I was feeling like at that point.
I had visual contact with the group all the way until the end, and I finished the race. At least the team got some decent mic time as I heard my name mentioned several times over my ignominious end.
Chris Padfield attacked again, and held the field off for yet another win.
Some guys do. Others just watch.
The party was already well underway as Katy and I arrived, even though they were still setting up the course for the first race of the day. It was a hot, sunny late morning, and there were beer vendors up and down the street as nearly every bar and restaurant were trying to get in on the action. People crowded the barriers in anticipation.
The course was unique and somewhat technical, with a 100+ degree turn and a fairly potholed surface. Once again, the headwind was coming down the finishing stretch and it looked to be an omen for a hard-fought sprint. The 4/5s race broke up immediately, into several groups, and with less than 10 to go, an Illinois Tech rider, Ryan Friend, broke off and continually increased his lead to over a minute as the field resigned itself to a fight for 2nd place with about 3 laps to go.
As I got my numbers at registration I noticed several XXX names on the starting list, but as we lined up more than an hour late, the field itself was no more than 30 riders for the Category 4s and I was still alone. Chris Padfield just laughed and said, “welcome to my world!” I laughed along with him, knowing this race was probably going to be no different that any of his other 5 plus (I think) solo wins this year. I knew that in order to crack the podium in this race I’d need to go with him, or bring him with me on a preemptive attack myself.
It was a surprisingly smooth race after the chaos of Kenosha the day before, and I recognized several riders from that race. But with the smaller field, there were no swarms, and the accordion effect was only mildly present. I sat in on the back and flat-out enjoyed myself until about 7 laps to go when the attacks started. Until then I stayed out of the bullshit on the front with several riders swerving to get out of the wind and just stayed glued to my wheel.
Towards go time however, it started to string out single file with some attacks and I knew I needed to move up right then. Coming up on five to go, I was moving up hard on the left side, and it was good I already had a full head of steam because that was when Chris went off.
I just kept going, taking it up to 110% past my screaming girlfriend and family members banging on the barricades as I desperately tried to reach what I knew was the winning move. I dangled behind Chris by about 10 meters after Turn 1 until a third rider came past and bridged us up. We were off with 4 and half laps to go.
But immediately I was hurting badly, and it was obvious I was the weakest link. We’d slow on my pulls just a bit, and coming past Turn 2 after seeing three to go I lost the wheel. My breathing was out of control, my ass was about to seize up in protest and I was pedaling boxes. I heard Chris yell at me to “get that wheel!” but I had nothing. It just kept going further ahead.
Chris was still behind me as I looked back to see the pack sucking us in. Just as I cracked, Chris joined the spearhead of it and off he went. I just got spit out the back like shit through a goose. Pretty much what I was feeling like at that point.
I had visual contact with the group all the way until the end, and I finished the race. At least the team got some decent mic time as I heard my name mentioned several times over my ignominious end.
Chris Padfield attacked again, and held the field off for yet another win.
Some guys do. Others just watch.
Superweek: Kenosha Criterium
After my chagrined disappointment at Whitnall Park on Wednesday, William, Katy, and I headed back across the border for 2 more days of racing in Wisconsin. Up first was the long-running Kenosha “Folks and Spokes” Criterium, set in Library Park down by the harbor.
It was a simple .6 mile course with four corners and we were scheduled to do 50 laps around the Kenosha Library and YMCA, along 8th and 7th streets. While a fairly standard distance for a Superweek race, the format made for what seemed like an extraordinarily long race, although it was simply all the extra laps needed for the short course. A big party was set up on the lawn, and there were plenty of spectators enjoying the day.
There were 4 of us in the race, and with those numbers we ought to have been able to put some teamwork together. Unfortunately with the quick succession of corners, the competitive, squirrelly field, and numerous crashes, they weren’t really able to get up to the front through the swarming and bunching, and for much of the race I was on my own.
I did too much work chasing down almost every attack that seemed dangerous, although nothing stuck, including my own. A bright spot was to see William finally take a monster flyer and actually get off the front for about 5 laps with another rider. The first 25 laps seemed to take forever, but the 2nd half really went by quick. At one point I swore they were shaving laps on us, but my odometer confirmed our distance was legit afterwards. From then on it was alternately strung out and bunched as constant attacks went off and the tiring group chased them down.
With about 3 to go a textbook Ben’s Cycle leadout train, 5-deep, came together at the front. On the back of 2 to go, and unattached rider and I horned in on it and I got into pretty position. Which I of course screwed up.
The swarm came up on turns 1 and 2, and after nearly getting pinched on the back chicane of the bell lap, I found myself out of the top 10 wheels, once again before turn 3…and that’s pretty much how it stayed. I finished 17th behind an unattached rider in a Bianchi kit, and got a check that didn’t even cover my race fee.
The overcast skies cleared right after and it soon turned into a beautiful sunny afternoon. We ate some barbeque and watched a really competitive 3s race. Peter and JT got into a very promising break, but the field was moving so fast with 15 or so to go that only two of them really didn’t stand a chance.
It was so competitive, in fact, that on the final turn they came around nearly 8 wide and I saw one of the worst crashes I’ve ever witnessed. Not sure who it was but the rider at the far left either got bumped or was wrenching his bars so much that he lost his wheel and went down. Immediately there were bodies spinning out of control into and over the barriers like stock cars – a nightmarish physics lesson.
It was bad. Some were getting up, but there was at least one still lying there, and another crowd of people were clustering behind a barrier that had been knocked out of position. I didn’t see any black at first and though we at least made it through. But no one came around in the cool down lap, and it gave me a sinking feeling as I ran over to the scene. It got lower as I saw Peter, then Jacques standing there, and it bottomed out as the pair of feet I saw peeking around the barrier gave way to sweaty legs and then scraped, bloody XXX shorts. It was JT.
Katy soon joined me after I didn't come back to the bleachers with good news. Yet, JT seemed to be OK, but it was definitely scary to see them place the brace around his neck and lift him onto the board and into the back of the ambulance. He was lucky, he’d gone over the barrier. He had a chipped elbow, along with some cuts and rash. Another rider had hit it with his shoulder as though a linebacker would tackle a fullback. His collarbone was badly broken, or so we heard from another rider at the emergency room at the hospital that was literally next door to the course.
Our initial plan was to transfer our gear to Kirby’s car and head up to Milwaukee that night, but Kirby changed his mind and would be headed back to Chicago that night. He graciously loaned me his car so Katy and I could still make the Downer Avenue race the next day and spend the night with my cousin.
It was a comfortable, quiet end to a hard and noisy day, spent chatting over a Friday Fish Fry and a couple of beers.
It was a simple .6 mile course with four corners and we were scheduled to do 50 laps around the Kenosha Library and YMCA, along 8th and 7th streets. While a fairly standard distance for a Superweek race, the format made for what seemed like an extraordinarily long race, although it was simply all the extra laps needed for the short course. A big party was set up on the lawn, and there were plenty of spectators enjoying the day.
There were 4 of us in the race, and with those numbers we ought to have been able to put some teamwork together. Unfortunately with the quick succession of corners, the competitive, squirrelly field, and numerous crashes, they weren’t really able to get up to the front through the swarming and bunching, and for much of the race I was on my own.
I did too much work chasing down almost every attack that seemed dangerous, although nothing stuck, including my own. A bright spot was to see William finally take a monster flyer and actually get off the front for about 5 laps with another rider. The first 25 laps seemed to take forever, but the 2nd half really went by quick. At one point I swore they were shaving laps on us, but my odometer confirmed our distance was legit afterwards. From then on it was alternately strung out and bunched as constant attacks went off and the tiring group chased them down.
With about 3 to go a textbook Ben’s Cycle leadout train, 5-deep, came together at the front. On the back of 2 to go, and unattached rider and I horned in on it and I got into pretty position. Which I of course screwed up.
The swarm came up on turns 1 and 2, and after nearly getting pinched on the back chicane of the bell lap, I found myself out of the top 10 wheels, once again before turn 3…and that’s pretty much how it stayed. I finished 17th behind an unattached rider in a Bianchi kit, and got a check that didn’t even cover my race fee.
The overcast skies cleared right after and it soon turned into a beautiful sunny afternoon. We ate some barbeque and watched a really competitive 3s race. Peter and JT got into a very promising break, but the field was moving so fast with 15 or so to go that only two of them really didn’t stand a chance.
It was so competitive, in fact, that on the final turn they came around nearly 8 wide and I saw one of the worst crashes I’ve ever witnessed. Not sure who it was but the rider at the far left either got bumped or was wrenching his bars so much that he lost his wheel and went down. Immediately there were bodies spinning out of control into and over the barriers like stock cars – a nightmarish physics lesson.
It was bad. Some were getting up, but there was at least one still lying there, and another crowd of people were clustering behind a barrier that had been knocked out of position. I didn’t see any black at first and though we at least made it through. But no one came around in the cool down lap, and it gave me a sinking feeling as I ran over to the scene. It got lower as I saw Peter, then Jacques standing there, and it bottomed out as the pair of feet I saw peeking around the barrier gave way to sweaty legs and then scraped, bloody XXX shorts. It was JT.
Katy soon joined me after I didn't come back to the bleachers with good news. Yet, JT seemed to be OK, but it was definitely scary to see them place the brace around his neck and lift him onto the board and into the back of the ambulance. He was lucky, he’d gone over the barrier. He had a chipped elbow, along with some cuts and rash. Another rider had hit it with his shoulder as though a linebacker would tackle a fullback. His collarbone was badly broken, or so we heard from another rider at the emergency room at the hospital that was literally next door to the course.
Our initial plan was to transfer our gear to Kirby’s car and head up to Milwaukee that night, but Kirby changed his mind and would be headed back to Chicago that night. He graciously loaned me his car so Katy and I could still make the Downer Avenue race the next day and spend the night with my cousin.
It was a comfortable, quiet end to a hard and noisy day, spent chatting over a Friday Fish Fry and a couple of beers.
23.7.08
Google Image Search Race Report
at the
I had to
for
(ok, I didn't get this one from Google Images.)
It wasn't just bad
It was
preparation.
And that's all I've got to say about that.
22.7.08
It's now or never
OK, then at least now or next year.
It's PTO for the rest of the week. Spending the night near Whitnall Park for tomorrow's road race there.
I love this course. Smooth and wide, it's only enclosed road race I've ever done, although it's actually more of a circuit race, with the races doing at least 13 laps on the 2.7 mile course. Its' got 3 nice rollers, including the final sharp turn and uphill sprint.
(photo by Luke Seemann)
Man, I need this race. We'll be short a few registered teammates due to crashes and work conflicts, but there will at least two or three guys with whom I work very well racing with me. It's going to be tough, with the younger crowd, and probably faster than last year's master's category I raced, and got 15th place. But that's good, and hopefully we can contribute just as much to keeping it that way, as well. All the better to move up and get the best positioning for the last few laps and that final sharp turn and climb. This could be my best opportunity for a big points grab during all of Superweek.
I'd told myself I wanted to average 2 points a race, over my 7 races, going in to Superweek. I had just 3 points, from the 7th place in the Tour de West Lafayette Road Race. Blue Island was a wash, Olympia Fields was fruitful (and a huge missed opportunity for more), and Bensonville was just heartbreaking, but inspiring as well, showing me that I do indeed have the piss and vinegar in me to succeed in this sport. Evanston, of course, I sat out. Not wanting to aggravate my shoulder - injured at Bensonville - and jeopardize these upcoming races.
Next up, after Whitnall Park, is Kenosha, a homecoming of sorts - my parents grew up there, and was where I spent many a summer vacation visiting my grandparents and other relatives. That race is one to look out for: a half-mile course on which we're scheduled to do 50 laps. A 1/2 hour of quick-succession left-turns. Easy to get bored into carelessness. But, a good course for a break away, not unlike Monsters of the Midway.
But, I am really looking forward to the Great Downer Avenue Bike Race...the granddaddy of Superweek races. Up on the North Side of Milwaukee, near the UWM campus, this one draws huge crowds of partiers and spectators. And there's beer tents. The odds of High Life on tap are extremely likely. Also, if I feel hoity-toity, the Lake Front Brewery is close by, as well. And Katy will be there to enjoy it all with me, as well, cheering us on. It really makes a difference that she'll be there.
Milwaukee is a simpler place, sensible and without pretension. Yes, there's a lot of grunting, obese people wearing "Favre" jerseys, but they do know their beer and their encased meats. There's a summer long party on the lakefront, from Italianfest to PolishFest and virtually every nationality in between. The best part about these fests, to a Chicagoan, is that everything is cash - meaning, you don't have to wait in line in additional lines for those stupid tickets that they have at our festivals. And that makes the homogeneousness of all it that much more tolerable.
From the Friday Night Fish Fry at Turner Hall to the three martini night-cap at the At Random down in Bayview, Milwaukee is my place to be.
I can't think of a better way to cement this year's Superweek to memory than placing well in these three races. The field sizes will be bigger, the stakes higher. If I can average 3 points a race, it'll put me within spitting distance of my upgrade. And with at least four more big opportunities before the end of the road season, I should make it, before some huge life-events possibly happen and take over my focus for a good while...
Jump, boy! JUMP!!!
It's PTO for the rest of the week. Spending the night near Whitnall Park for tomorrow's road race there.
I love this course. Smooth and wide, it's only enclosed road race I've ever done, although it's actually more of a circuit race, with the races doing at least 13 laps on the 2.7 mile course. Its' got 3 nice rollers, including the final sharp turn and uphill sprint.
(photo by Luke Seemann)
Man, I need this race. We'll be short a few registered teammates due to crashes and work conflicts, but there will at least two or three guys with whom I work very well racing with me. It's going to be tough, with the younger crowd, and probably faster than last year's master's category I raced, and got 15th place. But that's good, and hopefully we can contribute just as much to keeping it that way, as well. All the better to move up and get the best positioning for the last few laps and that final sharp turn and climb. This could be my best opportunity for a big points grab during all of Superweek.
I'd told myself I wanted to average 2 points a race, over my 7 races, going in to Superweek. I had just 3 points, from the 7th place in the Tour de West Lafayette Road Race. Blue Island was a wash, Olympia Fields was fruitful (and a huge missed opportunity for more), and Bensonville was just heartbreaking, but inspiring as well, showing me that I do indeed have the piss and vinegar in me to succeed in this sport. Evanston, of course, I sat out. Not wanting to aggravate my shoulder - injured at Bensonville - and jeopardize these upcoming races.
Next up, after Whitnall Park, is Kenosha, a homecoming of sorts - my parents grew up there, and was where I spent many a summer vacation visiting my grandparents and other relatives. That race is one to look out for: a half-mile course on which we're scheduled to do 50 laps. A 1/2 hour of quick-succession left-turns. Easy to get bored into carelessness. But, a good course for a break away, not unlike Monsters of the Midway.
But, I am really looking forward to the Great Downer Avenue Bike Race...the granddaddy of Superweek races. Up on the North Side of Milwaukee, near the UWM campus, this one draws huge crowds of partiers and spectators. And there's beer tents. The odds of High Life on tap are extremely likely. Also, if I feel hoity-toity, the Lake Front Brewery is close by, as well. And Katy will be there to enjoy it all with me, as well, cheering us on. It really makes a difference that she'll be there.
Milwaukee is a simpler place, sensible and without pretension. Yes, there's a lot of grunting, obese people wearing "Favre" jerseys, but they do know their beer and their encased meats. There's a summer long party on the lakefront, from Italianfest to PolishFest and virtually every nationality in between. The best part about these fests, to a Chicagoan, is that everything is cash - meaning, you don't have to wait in line in additional lines for those stupid tickets that they have at our festivals. And that makes the homogeneousness of all it that much more tolerable.
From the Friday Night Fish Fry at Turner Hall to the three martini night-cap at the At Random down in Bayview, Milwaukee is my place to be.
I can't think of a better way to cement this year's Superweek to memory than placing well in these three races. The field sizes will be bigger, the stakes higher. If I can average 3 points a race, it'll put me within spitting distance of my upgrade. And with at least four more big opportunities before the end of the road season, I should make it, before some huge life-events possibly happen and take over my focus for a good while...
Jump, boy! JUMP!!!
21.7.08
Wisco Weekend...
Oh, and I'm trying to arrange a ride for me and Katy this weekend from Kenosha's race to Milwaukee on Friday for the Great Downer Avenue Race the next day.
If you have extra space in your backseat and on your bike rack (just my bike) I'd sure appreciate it. In it for you is gas $$$, a place to stay at my cousin's house in Milwaukee, and the Friday Fish Fry dinner at Turner Hall downtown.
Just email me from the blogs profile page.
--------
UPDATE: problem solved. Join us for fish, chips, and beer at Turner Hall Friday night. We're the dorks wearing the funny hats.
If you have extra space in your backseat and on your bike rack (just my bike) I'd sure appreciate it. In it for you is gas $$$, a place to stay at my cousin's house in Milwaukee, and the Friday Fish Fry dinner at Turner Hall downtown.
Just email me from the blogs profile page.
--------
UPDATE: problem solved. Join us for fish, chips, and beer at Turner Hall Friday night. We're the dorks wearing the funny hats.
Evanston
Still recovering from Tuesday's roadrash and jacked left shoulder suffered in Bensonville, folding up my numbers and putting them in my back pocket was the closest I came to racing at Sunday's Grand Prix of Crashing...er...Cycling in Evanston.
I've got too much at stake in Whitnall Park for the road race there on Wednesday, as well as a stellar upcoming weekend trifecta in Kenosha, Milwaukee, and finally back home for the Chicago Criterium. After weathering the mayhem at last year's outing in Evanston, I knew crashing would be on my mind the entire race, when it should've been on just going fast.
Just glad everyone is OK and not more seriously injured.
I hope the organizers of this race recognize that some changes are in order. I'm all for a challenging and technical course, but Evanston is beyond that. The dynamics of these corners, combined with large, inexperienced fields has led to chaos each year. And not just in the number of crashes, but the severity of them. Nearly every single race was suspended for riders down and then abbreviated. One rider down was nearly hit by the pace car because a marshal had to abandon his flag post, and then took down the lead rider coming up behind. The 4/5s and 4s fields raced less then 10 laps each respectively, and the interruptions caused confusion with the race official as to who was actually leading in the final laps.
I don't think I'm ever going to do this race again, let alone after catting-up, until serious revisions are made to the course. I can't stomach racing at red line through hairpin turns while at the same time anticipating a bloody pile-up at every corner. At the least, I would call racing just 9 laps in sheer terror a complete waste of a Sunday...and at worst, several of my teammates and friends are going to be on the sidelines for the rest of Superweek. Some, maybe beyond that.
Call me a pussy, call me thin skinned. I don't give a fuck. I'll admit, there's not exactly ice-water flowing in these veins. But I believe bike racing should be about big balls as it relates to effort and strategy, and not just about saying a prayer on every turn and hoping you make it to the line in one piece.
Some people enjoy that sort of thing, and I say more power to them. They can have this race.
I've got too much at stake in Whitnall Park for the road race there on Wednesday, as well as a stellar upcoming weekend trifecta in Kenosha, Milwaukee, and finally back home for the Chicago Criterium. After weathering the mayhem at last year's outing in Evanston, I knew crashing would be on my mind the entire race, when it should've been on just going fast.
Just glad everyone is OK and not more seriously injured.
I hope the organizers of this race recognize that some changes are in order. I'm all for a challenging and technical course, but Evanston is beyond that. The dynamics of these corners, combined with large, inexperienced fields has led to chaos each year. And not just in the number of crashes, but the severity of them. Nearly every single race was suspended for riders down and then abbreviated. One rider down was nearly hit by the pace car because a marshal had to abandon his flag post, and then took down the lead rider coming up behind. The 4/5s and 4s fields raced less then 10 laps each respectively, and the interruptions caused confusion with the race official as to who was actually leading in the final laps.
I don't think I'm ever going to do this race again, let alone after catting-up, until serious revisions are made to the course. I can't stomach racing at red line through hairpin turns while at the same time anticipating a bloody pile-up at every corner. At the least, I would call racing just 9 laps in sheer terror a complete waste of a Sunday...and at worst, several of my teammates and friends are going to be on the sidelines for the rest of Superweek. Some, maybe beyond that.
Call me a pussy, call me thin skinned. I don't give a fuck. I'll admit, there's not exactly ice-water flowing in these veins. But I believe bike racing should be about big balls as it relates to effort and strategy, and not just about saying a prayer on every turn and hoping you make it to the line in one piece.
Some people enjoy that sort of thing, and I say more power to them. They can have this race.
17.7.08
Thursday Hate
All the porta-potty usage during Superweek has gotten me thinking about a vile form of behavior that I have noticed lately and led to some rage-ahol on some related issues as well.
All that “stuff” in there needs to be dumped at a treatment facility upon being turned around for reuse. Trash is incompatible with the process at the treatment facility.
So why am I constantly seeing trash (soda cans, bottles, food containers) dropped into the shit receptacle? All you are doing with your selfish behavior is ensuring someone else is going to have to don a hazmat suit and filter it out, thus adding a whole step to the process of cleaning these fucking things – which drives up the cost of operation and overhead, and then increasing the rental charge, and finally, your race fee, tickets, etc.
Even worse, the people who put there trash in the urinal part. Where at the very least it clogs up of the drain, and at worst, someone is going to have to pick it out of there at the end of the day.
Please stop dumping your trash in the porta-potties, you selfish assholes.
This leads me, however, to an even grosser, even more selfish act.
There is no lower form of life on the planet than the person who spits their gum into urinals. The gum, of course, will not fit through the drain, and again, you are doing nothing except ensuring that someone else, who more than likely makes a lot less money that you, is going to have to reach into the receptacle that hundreds of people piss into day and day out and remove your fucking piece of gum that you couldn’t be bothered to spit into the trash can that is probably less than five feet away from where you are standing, pissing, as you hum the melody to “I Kissed a Girl.”
That gum doesn’t just disappear once you stop seeing it. This goes for assholes who put their gum under desks, on subways seats, and on the weight machines at the gym.
Please think of somebody besides yourself for change.
13.7.08
Superweek Begins....
"Hey kid, this is bike racing – it's all fair. It's a sport where treachery is revered. Grow up."
—Mark Swartzendruber
It certainly is amazing the difference in perspective the other side of a podium finish makes. I wasn't planning on even mentioning my 15th place at yesterday's opener in Blue Island, but now that I am experiencing the joy of a top 3 finish at today's race in Olympia Fields after sticking a 20 lap, 3-man breakaway with a teammate, it's a lesson worth sharing.
Yet even with my first podium finish, I am sure that for those of you around me just seconds after the finish, however, joy is probably not the word you would be expecting in this race report. I admit I had some choice words for the third rider in our break for sprinting past me after sucking our wheels the entire time. And for that, I apologize, both to the rider and everyone who witnessed it. Not one of my finer moments. I learned a hard lesson in tactics this afternoon, and that I am entitled to nothing until I cross that line.
There was more than enough time for cat and mouse at the end of the race. Coming through the line with 1 to go, we were about to lap the field, and I don't know why I didn't think to position myself better. I was incredibly gassed, just glad for it be over, and introspective about about finally breaking my podium cherry. Never thinking about the here and now. Always the Poet Laureate of Logan Square. Always the lover, and never the killer.
Yet Jonathan took the victory, and with Newt in 5th, and Jeff in 6th - blocking all the way, overall we placed 4 riders in the top 10. It could've been 5 if William hadn't crashed out.
Not much more to say. Jonathan and I worked very well together. I leaned on him during some tough spots, but we were fairly equitable in our pulls, generally around three-quarters of a lap apiece, each trying to take a pull up the hill into that vicious wind. Rightly so, the 2CC rider sat in, pointing we had the advantage, we had the blockers. The whole time, my first time in this situation - even though I'd imagined and practiced over over and over - I simply thought he'd better take his third place and be happy with it.
I'd attacked to simply get out of the nerve-wracking tight quarters of the half-mile course, and the 90-plus degree turn after the downwind downhill backstretch. Ironically, just a half a lap before I was ready to just abandon the race. A nasty crash happened just behind me after I forced my way onto Jeff Holland's wheel lining up for the turn maybe four or five laps in. I felt someone bump elbows with me, I took the wheel, then heard a "what tha- HEY!" I hoped as I rode on that I hadn't caused that crash...but really I hadn't. There was no doubt as to my intention. Stealing wheels is racing, and so is rubbing wheels. You can really only be responsible for the wheel directly in front of you.
So right then I told myself I was not going through that turn in the pack again. I thought about dropping, but Katy was watching, and we'd driven all that way...there, off the front...a rider dangling. The pack was chasing, close to bringing him in. Just the distraction I had been telling myself to look for, I finally quashed my trademark indecision and took a flyer.
I caught the rider off the front and kept going. I kicked 15 times, counting in my head, then looked behind. It was chaos, really strung out. As if I were trying to pull a piece off of a chunk of taffy. I came out the hard turn, looked again, saw riders coming up, and small gap, and hammered up the hill. Then a most welcome sight: Jonathan Dugas pulling though. He led our team time-trial squad last year in Utica, and I'd rather have had almost no other rider with me in a break. I've been in some nascent attempts with Jonathan before, and his commitment to suffering is nothing if not pure inspiration.
(At one point, as I was pulling through on the hill, I forgot we were on a prime lap - for a free pizza - and I had to pull up a bit so Jonathan could take home the prize...with his new baby on the way, I figure even a pizza is better than Government Cheese.)
And this time it was enough to get us to the finish and a victory for the team. Thanks to my teammates in the pack, working just as hard to chase down every single bridge attempt, we gained on every lap, and as we crossed the line, the end of the main group was still just going around Turn 1.
A quick word on Blue Island, as promised:
Actually quite an easy race, until the last lap. The speed wasn't very fast, and there were only two really committed breaks - a very strong one by Voytek of WTD until three to go, included. With two to go I was casually chatting with the 4's winner Nate of Spidermonkey, and suddenly, with one to go, I was at the front with 5 teammates behind me and a 2CC rider attacking off the front.
I certainly wasn't going to pass the initial responsibility off, and shortly after Turn 2 we'd caught him. I wasn't gassed by any stretch, but not wanting to pull off too drastically with the entire, twitchy peleton behind me. But just as I indecisively contemplating my jump, up came a very decisive South Chicago Wheelmen train steaming past. Instead of trying to force onto a wheel, or just jumping ahead right then and there, I indecisively, of course, waited for an opening that never came, and then found myself looking at the back end of Turn 3, now about 6 riders wide. My race was over.
I was just going to let it go. It was gone, today was another race. The irony today is thicker than than the steak I had for dinner tonight. With the nasty corner, I was nervous about even starting today. But, my poor finish yesterday was what got me turning the pedals. And now, my finish today is letting me tell the entire story here tonight.
There's a lot of racing left. Tuesday is a new day.
But, still, I want to build.
—Mark Swartzendruber
It certainly is amazing the difference in perspective the other side of a podium finish makes. I wasn't planning on even mentioning my 15th place at yesterday's opener in Blue Island, but now that I am experiencing the joy of a top 3 finish at today's race in Olympia Fields after sticking a 20 lap, 3-man breakaway with a teammate, it's a lesson worth sharing.
Yet even with my first podium finish, I am sure that for those of you around me just seconds after the finish, however, joy is probably not the word you would be expecting in this race report. I admit I had some choice words for the third rider in our break for sprinting past me after sucking our wheels the entire time. And for that, I apologize, both to the rider and everyone who witnessed it. Not one of my finer moments. I learned a hard lesson in tactics this afternoon, and that I am entitled to nothing until I cross that line.
There was more than enough time for cat and mouse at the end of the race. Coming through the line with 1 to go, we were about to lap the field, and I don't know why I didn't think to position myself better. I was incredibly gassed, just glad for it be over, and introspective about about finally breaking my podium cherry. Never thinking about the here and now. Always the Poet Laureate of Logan Square. Always the lover, and never the killer.
Yet Jonathan took the victory, and with Newt in 5th, and Jeff in 6th - blocking all the way, overall we placed 4 riders in the top 10. It could've been 5 if William hadn't crashed out.
Not much more to say. Jonathan and I worked very well together. I leaned on him during some tough spots, but we were fairly equitable in our pulls, generally around three-quarters of a lap apiece, each trying to take a pull up the hill into that vicious wind. Rightly so, the 2CC rider sat in, pointing we had the advantage, we had the blockers. The whole time, my first time in this situation - even though I'd imagined and practiced over over and over - I simply thought he'd better take his third place and be happy with it.
I'd attacked to simply get out of the nerve-wracking tight quarters of the half-mile course, and the 90-plus degree turn after the downwind downhill backstretch. Ironically, just a half a lap before I was ready to just abandon the race. A nasty crash happened just behind me after I forced my way onto Jeff Holland's wheel lining up for the turn maybe four or five laps in. I felt someone bump elbows with me, I took the wheel, then heard a "what tha- HEY!" I hoped as I rode on that I hadn't caused that crash...but really I hadn't. There was no doubt as to my intention. Stealing wheels is racing, and so is rubbing wheels. You can really only be responsible for the wheel directly in front of you.
So right then I told myself I was not going through that turn in the pack again. I thought about dropping, but Katy was watching, and we'd driven all that way...there, off the front...a rider dangling. The pack was chasing, close to bringing him in. Just the distraction I had been telling myself to look for, I finally quashed my trademark indecision and took a flyer.
I caught the rider off the front and kept going. I kicked 15 times, counting in my head, then looked behind. It was chaos, really strung out. As if I were trying to pull a piece off of a chunk of taffy. I came out the hard turn, looked again, saw riders coming up, and small gap, and hammered up the hill. Then a most welcome sight: Jonathan Dugas pulling though. He led our team time-trial squad last year in Utica, and I'd rather have had almost no other rider with me in a break. I've been in some nascent attempts with Jonathan before, and his commitment to suffering is nothing if not pure inspiration.
(At one point, as I was pulling through on the hill, I forgot we were on a prime lap - for a free pizza - and I had to pull up a bit so Jonathan could take home the prize...with his new baby on the way, I figure even a pizza is better than Government Cheese.)
And this time it was enough to get us to the finish and a victory for the team. Thanks to my teammates in the pack, working just as hard to chase down every single bridge attempt, we gained on every lap, and as we crossed the line, the end of the main group was still just going around Turn 1.
A quick word on Blue Island, as promised:
Actually quite an easy race, until the last lap. The speed wasn't very fast, and there were only two really committed breaks - a very strong one by Voytek of WTD until three to go, included. With two to go I was casually chatting with the 4's winner Nate of Spidermonkey, and suddenly, with one to go, I was at the front with 5 teammates behind me and a 2CC rider attacking off the front.
I certainly wasn't going to pass the initial responsibility off, and shortly after Turn 2 we'd caught him. I wasn't gassed by any stretch, but not wanting to pull off too drastically with the entire, twitchy peleton behind me. But just as I indecisively contemplating my jump, up came a very decisive South Chicago Wheelmen train steaming past. Instead of trying to force onto a wheel, or just jumping ahead right then and there, I indecisively, of course, waited for an opening that never came, and then found myself looking at the back end of Turn 3, now about 6 riders wide. My race was over.
I was just going to let it go. It was gone, today was another race. The irony today is thicker than than the steak I had for dinner tonight. With the nasty corner, I was nervous about even starting today. But, my poor finish yesterday was what got me turning the pedals. And now, my finish today is letting me tell the entire story here tonight.
There's a lot of racing left. Tuesday is a new day.
But, still, I want to build.
22.7.07
Superweak (The Death of a Target Race)
DNF.
Not the letters I was expecting to be writing the day after my race in Evanston as I sit here eating cold fried rice for lunch.
It was supposed to be "My Race." And I was gonna race it "My Way." But right now, "My Way" is just sore and purple and grazed with a bit of angry red rash, (my knee has this great jiggly feeling as I walk) and those accusing, stark letters are now stamped over it. It was my 3rd crash in five weeks. And frankly, I am getting a bit sick of it.
At the line:
But only A Bit Sick of It. Perspective is everything, and when I add it to the mix, I can't help but feel better. I'm not the one with the broken collarbone, or destroyed bike, or ruined uniform. I rode home in a car, not an ambulance. And once there, napped on the couch, then rode back up to watch the pros race with some teammates, and then enjoy a wonderful Nepalese dinner at Mt. Everest with some bandmates. Eventually back home, I fell asleep on the couch to Family Guy reruns, Tour highlights, and about one and half pages of For Whom The Bell Tolls - chapter 3.
But still. I wanted so badly to be in this race. To be at the front, feeling the pain, gritting my teeth, taking my pulls, feeling the satisfaction as I flicked my right elbow and the line came past. But after an interminable wait to begin, I felt it slipping through my fingers as soon as we were rolling. Several riders had trouble clipping in, as teammate Donovan noted (for once it was not me!) and already we trying to bridge up from the start. Just we caught on after the 3rd turn, the first crash split the field at turn 5, and us at the back were scrambling again.
If you look closely, I am waaaay at the back:
I just couldn't get comfortable at all. Getting gapped so early on had me feeling panicked and alone - even though there were others behind me. It was a total regression mentally from last weeks racing. Sunday was much faster than I was prepared for, and nobody was holding a line. The turns weren't actually dangerous, but the race's speed was affecting the inexperienced field, obvious from all the crashes at turn 5. I dodged another one at that same spot about 5 laps later, much closer to me this time, and actually used it to my advantage. So many riders went down, I found myself near the front the only time in the entire race.
It finally got a bit more settled, mentally and physically. I found a strong wheel to suck on, and I was able to accelerate with the pack, instead of after it, and found myself gliding through the turns without worry for once. But it didn't last long.
Barely hanging on:
It happened too fast to describe it other than a Mack rider fell right in front of me at the now infamous Turn 5, and the next thing I know I was somersaulting towards the curb. Afterwards, I was pretty proud of myself for tucking, it probably saved me the broken collarbone (funny, since I was mentally out of sorts for so much more of the race, and such a severe moment I have the sudden clarity). I stood up, realized I was OK, check over my shoulder to make sure nobody was coming, and ran to get my bike, tossed about 20 feet past my landing spot in the middle of the course. Nobody was screaming at me to get out of the way yet, so I grabbed it, and hustled to the curb.
Turn 5, through the eyes of xXx teammate Luke Seemann:
The wheel was a twisted mess, so I carried it along the barricades, running as fast as I could toward the wheelpit, looking for an opening in the barricades, cleats clicking on the concrete. After what seemed an eternity (in reality, the pack only made one pass) I got past all the staring eyes and spectators lazily getting out my frantic path. I received my SRAM wheel and had my headset straightened, and jumped back into the pack for the 2nd time of my Superweek. Actually I got onto a group off the back trying to bridge up, Alberto at back, yelling for me to get his wheel, get his wheel.
But it was futile. I kept hearing a worrisome clicking noise (coming from my fork?!?), was unable to concentrate fully, and I fell farther behind on each turn, working harder to erase each gap that materialized. It was just too fast. Two laps after jumping back in, I got gapped for good, and as they disappeared behind the next turn, I pulled off, alone, with 8 laps to go.
I walked over to Fountain Square and found several teammates and friends commiserating and Luke taking pictures. I hadn't even thought about it yet, but he circled me and informed me that my brand new kit was still in good shape. Ironically, as healthy as I came out of the crash, that would've been the most distressing part of the day, had that been ruined. Or so I can say now. We watched the finish together, and celebrated 3 teammates in the Top Ten. No to mention all the others that finished. Quite a feat when you consider only 41 out of a field of 75 even finished.
Afterwards, with Rick:
Stacy and the wheel:
Later that evening, the pros were carving lines like an artist etches glass:
As I said, perspective puts everything in place. I don't want to say I could've had lower expectations, and I was still justified in making this my target race, but I should have realized this race was going to be a bit more than I was going to be able to swallow. This is Superweek, after all. The biggest event on the Midwest racing calendar. And a lot of riders, who have been racing a lot longer than me were targeting it, too. This race especially. It was an inaugural event, the course was tight, technical, and exciting. The best of each category were there.
This is my first season, and I haven't begun to put in the needed training to race at this level. I joined the team in April, after a winter of performing with two bands, traveling to Europe and training for one 8K race. My only off-season base miles were Bike Winter commuting, and I had never pushed myself to the level on the bike that I am doing regularly now.
So I am not looking back on this disappointing finish with, forgive me, disappointment, but rather, anticipation. To finish my last race of the season. To take a couple months off to play music (The Midnight Shows got a Cleveland House of Blue gig in October!) and reflect on what I've accomplished this summer, Sunday notwithstanding. The anticipation of starting at -building a foundation- for the first time, where everyone else who finished the race Sunday began their season.
In the short term, I have one more Superweek race, this Friday in Kenosha. I'm not giving up to try and finish in the money. I could've put a bit more intensity in my training these last two weeks, but with races on Saturday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I didn't know where I could put it. I have time this week, for physical training and mental. Meditation and visualization is going to be a bigger part of my training. It always is with my music performances. Mentally I could've prepped a lot more for the pace, the communication, paceline work, and just the realization that it was just as hard for everybody else.
I am getting sick of the crashing, however. My left shoulder hasn't been right since the car hit 5 weeks ago, and yesterday's endo did nothing for it. Just when I am able to begin sleeping on my right side again, I can't roll over onto my left side. I am considering completely withdrawing from the Elk Grove race (and it's even tighter turns and homogeneous Cat 5 field) to avoid the possibility of another crash and concentrate on getting one good, 4 week training phase and a rest week in (and maybe a Matteson race) for Sherman Park. I will upgrade for that day's Cat 3/4 race and I want to be strong, healthy and do the best I can.
Tonight, however I'm just gonna rehearse, then get a lot more Hemingway in, over a nip of whiskey and ice cream.
Not the letters I was expecting to be writing the day after my race in Evanston as I sit here eating cold fried rice for lunch.
It was supposed to be "My Race." And I was gonna race it "My Way." But right now, "My Way" is just sore and purple and grazed with a bit of angry red rash, (my knee has this great jiggly feeling as I walk) and those accusing, stark letters are now stamped over it. It was my 3rd crash in five weeks. And frankly, I am getting a bit sick of it.
At the line:
But only A Bit Sick of It. Perspective is everything, and when I add it to the mix, I can't help but feel better. I'm not the one with the broken collarbone, or destroyed bike, or ruined uniform. I rode home in a car, not an ambulance. And once there, napped on the couch, then rode back up to watch the pros race with some teammates, and then enjoy a wonderful Nepalese dinner at Mt. Everest with some bandmates. Eventually back home, I fell asleep on the couch to Family Guy reruns, Tour highlights, and about one and half pages of For Whom The Bell Tolls - chapter 3.
But still. I wanted so badly to be in this race. To be at the front, feeling the pain, gritting my teeth, taking my pulls, feeling the satisfaction as I flicked my right elbow and the line came past. But after an interminable wait to begin, I felt it slipping through my fingers as soon as we were rolling. Several riders had trouble clipping in, as teammate Donovan noted (for once it was not me!) and already we trying to bridge up from the start. Just we caught on after the 3rd turn, the first crash split the field at turn 5, and us at the back were scrambling again.
If you look closely, I am waaaay at the back:
I just couldn't get comfortable at all. Getting gapped so early on had me feeling panicked and alone - even though there were others behind me. It was a total regression mentally from last weeks racing. Sunday was much faster than I was prepared for, and nobody was holding a line. The turns weren't actually dangerous, but the race's speed was affecting the inexperienced field, obvious from all the crashes at turn 5. I dodged another one at that same spot about 5 laps later, much closer to me this time, and actually used it to my advantage. So many riders went down, I found myself near the front the only time in the entire race.
It finally got a bit more settled, mentally and physically. I found a strong wheel to suck on, and I was able to accelerate with the pack, instead of after it, and found myself gliding through the turns without worry for once. But it didn't last long.
Barely hanging on:
It happened too fast to describe it other than a Mack rider fell right in front of me at the now infamous Turn 5, and the next thing I know I was somersaulting towards the curb. Afterwards, I was pretty proud of myself for tucking, it probably saved me the broken collarbone (funny, since I was mentally out of sorts for so much more of the race, and such a severe moment I have the sudden clarity). I stood up, realized I was OK, check over my shoulder to make sure nobody was coming, and ran to get my bike, tossed about 20 feet past my landing spot in the middle of the course. Nobody was screaming at me to get out of the way yet, so I grabbed it, and hustled to the curb.
Turn 5, through the eyes of xXx teammate Luke Seemann:
The wheel was a twisted mess, so I carried it along the barricades, running as fast as I could toward the wheelpit, looking for an opening in the barricades, cleats clicking on the concrete. After what seemed an eternity (in reality, the pack only made one pass) I got past all the staring eyes and spectators lazily getting out my frantic path. I received my SRAM wheel and had my headset straightened, and jumped back into the pack for the 2nd time of my Superweek. Actually I got onto a group off the back trying to bridge up, Alberto at back, yelling for me to get his wheel, get his wheel.
But it was futile. I kept hearing a worrisome clicking noise (coming from my fork?!?), was unable to concentrate fully, and I fell farther behind on each turn, working harder to erase each gap that materialized. It was just too fast. Two laps after jumping back in, I got gapped for good, and as they disappeared behind the next turn, I pulled off, alone, with 8 laps to go.
I walked over to Fountain Square and found several teammates and friends commiserating and Luke taking pictures. I hadn't even thought about it yet, but he circled me and informed me that my brand new kit was still in good shape. Ironically, as healthy as I came out of the crash, that would've been the most distressing part of the day, had that been ruined. Or so I can say now. We watched the finish together, and celebrated 3 teammates in the Top Ten. No to mention all the others that finished. Quite a feat when you consider only 41 out of a field of 75 even finished.
Afterwards, with Rick:
Stacy and the wheel:
Later that evening, the pros were carving lines like an artist etches glass:
As I said, perspective puts everything in place. I don't want to say I could've had lower expectations, and I was still justified in making this my target race, but I should have realized this race was going to be a bit more than I was going to be able to swallow. This is Superweek, after all. The biggest event on the Midwest racing calendar. And a lot of riders, who have been racing a lot longer than me were targeting it, too. This race especially. It was an inaugural event, the course was tight, technical, and exciting. The best of each category were there.
This is my first season, and I haven't begun to put in the needed training to race at this level. I joined the team in April, after a winter of performing with two bands, traveling to Europe and training for one 8K race. My only off-season base miles were Bike Winter commuting, and I had never pushed myself to the level on the bike that I am doing regularly now.
So I am not looking back on this disappointing finish with, forgive me, disappointment, but rather, anticipation. To finish my last race of the season. To take a couple months off to play music (The Midnight Shows got a Cleveland House of Blue gig in October!) and reflect on what I've accomplished this summer, Sunday notwithstanding. The anticipation of starting at -building a foundation- for the first time, where everyone else who finished the race Sunday began their season.
In the short term, I have one more Superweek race, this Friday in Kenosha. I'm not giving up to try and finish in the money. I could've put a bit more intensity in my training these last two weeks, but with races on Saturday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, I didn't know where I could put it. I have time this week, for physical training and mental. Meditation and visualization is going to be a bigger part of my training. It always is with my music performances. Mentally I could've prepped a lot more for the pace, the communication, paceline work, and just the realization that it was just as hard for everybody else.
I am getting sick of the crashing, however. My left shoulder hasn't been right since the car hit 5 weeks ago, and yesterday's endo did nothing for it. Just when I am able to begin sleeping on my right side again, I can't roll over onto my left side. I am considering completely withdrawing from the Elk Grove race (and it's even tighter turns and homogeneous Cat 5 field) to avoid the possibility of another crash and concentrate on getting one good, 4 week training phase and a rest week in (and maybe a Matteson race) for Sherman Park. I will upgrade for that day's Cat 3/4 race and I want to be strong, healthy and do the best I can.
Tonight, however I'm just gonna rehearse, then get a lot more Hemingway in, over a nip of whiskey and ice cream.
18.7.07
Superweek continues...
Superweek: Chapters 2 and 3. Assignment completed. C+, no extra credit.
First up, a return to Whitnall Park, the site of my xXx initiation and racing depantsing, back in late April of this year. Located in Hale's Corners, Wisconsin, the races there are held in the botanical gardens and the park grounds. A very green and peaceful place with rolling hills and lush trees and ponds, the roads are closed for traffic the entire day, and belie a pretty challenging race course. This time around the course was over a mile longer, and technically classified as a road race, even though it was really more of a circuit at only 2 miles long. Definitely not a criterium as there was only one really sharp turn, and about 3 hills. All big-ring rollers. The final stretch came after a 110 degree turn and was long climb to the start/finish line.
My main goal for Superweek is to finish at least once in the money. Although after finishing at Whitnall (17th out of 48) I knew I'd have to wait on that one, I had a more modest mark in mind as well: get off at least one flyer off the front. Attacking is one thing at the Matteson Training Races, doing it in a real race is another. Especially for me, when even staying at the front is a crap shoot. It took a few races to even get up there, and lately I've been so concerned with protecting my wheel, my instinct is to move back rather hang out and wait for whoever is crowding me to clip my front wheel.
I pre-rode the course with teammate Kevin Karkovsky we talked about where to expect attacks, or attack ourselves, and where were the good places for the winning jump. Flashforward to the second lap of the race, we came up the last hill towards the start/finish line and I decided right there I was going to have my bit of fun. I was sitting probably 10 wheels back, spinning in my saddle. I upshifted and let off, as Alberto has coined it, "The Girlfriend Flyer." Although I had no girlfriend present at the race, I knew I'd get a picture of it, thanks to Luke, and I'd also get to hear my name announced as I came past the line. But more importantly, I'd get to see what it felt like, see if anybody chased and when, and see how long I felt like keeping it up.
I separated from the pack pretty easily, and they waited until the first big downhill past the line to try catch me. Rather, as I flew down the hill, the pain in my legs from my uphill flyer told me that trying to maintain a solo breakaway for any amount of time on these rolling hills with 11 laps to go was pure stupidity. I looked under my arm at the pack behind me, already abandoning the effort, and I saw the bridge coming right at me: 2 riders, and they came by too quickly for me to change my mind and grab one of their wheels to continue on. It was a smart move, since they were caught after about 2 laps, and various other break attempts failed as well.
After my conversation with teammate Brian Boyle riding home from Saturday's race in Blue Island, I realized I need to do what comes naturally in the pack, all the while still realizing and reacting to the need to move up at the important time in the race. Another aspect of racing I've been making progress with is grabbing wheels and using them to move up. With two laps to go, I hopped on a Chromo wheel and I found myself at the front of the pack. I stayed on it for almost an entire lap, and it wasn't until just before the last turn I realized my mistake.
He was the one blocking for the winning leadout.
A more confident racer on the last lap would've made a move to leave the wheel, but I felt boxed in and helpless by the pavement to the left and the riders to my immediate right as the train moved on past just past them. As well, I knew the pack would bunch back up on the last turn and the base of the hill, and I would have a slim chance to make up the ground there. But as soon as I was out of the turn, the front was already accelerating and I'd lost my chance.
I still rode strong up the hill, but for some reason, even at the end of 13 laps, I was caught off guard at how quickly the line came up on me, thinking I had another 100 meters to go. I really never got out to sprint.
Final lesson of the day: we were pretty close at the end, those of us just off the lead pack sprint. A little better energy conservation and water consumption during the race, and little better "can do" attitude for a full sprint, no matter how "hopeless" it seems, could've made the difference in finishing in the money at Whitnall Park.
Today was another road race at the MGA Proving Grounds in Lyons, Wisconsin, just west of the family home of Kenosha. Not much to say about this race, except that it was fast and hard. My only goal was to finish with the pack, and stay on two wheels. It was hard to clear my mind of Beth Kobezska, especially on the many tight blind curves and blind hills on this narrow, open traffic road race.
It was still a fun race, however, on a very unique course. The Proving Grounds is a test track where the perform crash ratings, and test tires and the like. We started with a Neutral Rollout onto the test track and then the race went "live" as we turned right on to Warren Road. We did four laps up and down several big ring rollers and one small ring climb just after the start. On the last lap I made a pretty dumb rookie move of down shifting under full torque to try and increase my spin a bit and nearly crashed.
The race never really slowed down like a road contest normally does. I was trying to eat some clif Shot Blocks on the back stretch of the third lap as the tempo increased to catch a break away and I briefly wondered if I would have to pull to receive the Heimlich Maneuver from the guy riding shotgun in the sweeper car. The other xXx riders in this master's field were the picture of calm and economy, however. Kirby came past me several times to give me some encouragement and reminders to ease up and save energy. Once I asked him to "drop some Zen on me." The reply was basically, you are still here, not dropped and sitting in the Sprinter's Lounge. Relax man. You're in the field.
A train of us came together briefly on the last lap and though it didn't hold, it was a learning experience watching Kevin, Kirby, and Bob work their way up to where Chris and Mark had been sitting at the front for the entire race, chasing breakaways, and bridging up the pack. We came through the feed zone, and the pace revved back and forth, as though the cumulative effort of the pack was goosing the gas pedal, almost too excited for the sprint to begin, already thinking about the final decent back onto the proving grounds track.
And once we made those final turns, the pack strung out down along the connector road to the track, it came back together just when I thought I was dropped. And just as I caught back on again, they were off, up the final hill for the final decision. I passed several guys completely bailing out on the way up. Once again, a little more energy conversation, per Kirby and Kevin's advice, would've helped me out as I didn't have much left. I was a mess as I came up the hill, maintaining my speed but certainly not gaining any, and unable to stand up. I practically pushed against my handlebars for leverage against my pedals, and was again, like the day before, right on the wheel of former xXx-er Pat Kelly, but unable to catch him. I finished 26th, out of a field of 41 who finished, maybe 50 who started.
It was xXx's day, with 3 in the top ten: Mark Watkins got the win, Kevin Karkovsky came away with 5th, and Kirby 7th. However, this fantastic finish was marred, nay - ruined - by the careless actions of one careless rider who obviously spends much, much less thinking about other than he does himself. Note to any cyclists reading this blog: please keep going straight until you have slowed down from your sprint. Kevin Karkovsky had the extreme unluck to be right next to this thoughtless rider who decided, only seconds after his sprint, to cut right into the parking lot. On the way there he clipped Kevin's front wheel at about 30 miles an hour, sending Kevin immediately to pavement. It's one thing to break your collar bone on a hard fought sprint. It's quite another to have it happen needless like Kevin's season ended today.
Just because the race is over, doesn't mean you can immediately start making dick moves. At least you could've expressed one modicum of regret or remorse. Nothing from this rider past a casual apology, as Kevin sat bleeding on the pavement, cradling his shoulder and fighting off the shock. It was a goddamn shame.
Up next: the Inaugural Evanston Criterium on Sunday, and the Kenosha Folks and Spokes next Friday. I still have two chances to finish in the money, and in two weeks I will have gotten in more racing that I got in my first 3 months with the team. I am feeling stronger and smarter, and I only have one enemy.
Myself.
First up, a return to Whitnall Park, the site of my xXx initiation and racing depantsing, back in late April of this year. Located in Hale's Corners, Wisconsin, the races there are held in the botanical gardens and the park grounds. A very green and peaceful place with rolling hills and lush trees and ponds, the roads are closed for traffic the entire day, and belie a pretty challenging race course. This time around the course was over a mile longer, and technically classified as a road race, even though it was really more of a circuit at only 2 miles long. Definitely not a criterium as there was only one really sharp turn, and about 3 hills. All big-ring rollers. The final stretch came after a 110 degree turn and was long climb to the start/finish line.My main goal for Superweek is to finish at least once in the money. Although after finishing at Whitnall (17th out of 48) I knew I'd have to wait on that one, I had a more modest mark in mind as well: get off at least one flyer off the front. Attacking is one thing at the Matteson Training Races, doing it in a real race is another. Especially for me, when even staying at the front is a crap shoot. It took a few races to even get up there, and lately I've been so concerned with protecting my wheel, my instinct is to move back rather hang out and wait for whoever is crowding me to clip my front wheel.
I pre-rode the course with teammate Kevin Karkovsky we talked about where to expect attacks, or attack ourselves, and where were the good places for the winning jump. Flashforward to the second lap of the race, we came up the last hill towards the start/finish line and I decided right there I was going to have my bit of fun. I was sitting probably 10 wheels back, spinning in my saddle. I upshifted and let off, as Alberto has coined it, "The Girlfriend Flyer." Although I had no girlfriend present at the race, I knew I'd get a picture of it, thanks to Luke, and I'd also get to hear my name announced as I came past the line. But more importantly, I'd get to see what it felt like, see if anybody chased and when, and see how long I felt like keeping it up.
I separated from the pack pretty easily, and they waited until the first big downhill past the line to try catch me. Rather, as I flew down the hill, the pain in my legs from my uphill flyer told me that trying to maintain a solo breakaway for any amount of time on these rolling hills with 11 laps to go was pure stupidity. I looked under my arm at the pack behind me, already abandoning the effort, and I saw the bridge coming right at me: 2 riders, and they came by too quickly for me to change my mind and grab one of their wheels to continue on. It was a smart move, since they were caught after about 2 laps, and various other break attempts failed as well.
After my conversation with teammate Brian Boyle riding home from Saturday's race in Blue Island, I realized I need to do what comes naturally in the pack, all the while still realizing and reacting to the need to move up at the important time in the race. Another aspect of racing I've been making progress with is grabbing wheels and using them to move up. With two laps to go, I hopped on a Chromo wheel and I found myself at the front of the pack. I stayed on it for almost an entire lap, and it wasn't until just before the last turn I realized my mistake.
He was the one blocking for the winning leadout.
A more confident racer on the last lap would've made a move to leave the wheel, but I felt boxed in and helpless by the pavement to the left and the riders to my immediate right as the train moved on past just past them. As well, I knew the pack would bunch back up on the last turn and the base of the hill, and I would have a slim chance to make up the ground there. But as soon as I was out of the turn, the front was already accelerating and I'd lost my chance.
I still rode strong up the hill, but for some reason, even at the end of 13 laps, I was caught off guard at how quickly the line came up on me, thinking I had another 100 meters to go. I really never got out to sprint.
Final lesson of the day: we were pretty close at the end, those of us just off the lead pack sprint. A little better energy conservation and water consumption during the race, and little better "can do" attitude for a full sprint, no matter how "hopeless" it seems, could've made the difference in finishing in the money at Whitnall Park.
Today was another road race at the MGA Proving Grounds in Lyons, Wisconsin, just west of the family home of Kenosha. Not much to say about this race, except that it was fast and hard. My only goal was to finish with the pack, and stay on two wheels. It was hard to clear my mind of Beth Kobezska, especially on the many tight blind curves and blind hills on this narrow, open traffic road race.
It was still a fun race, however, on a very unique course. The Proving Grounds is a test track where the perform crash ratings, and test tires and the like. We started with a Neutral Rollout onto the test track and then the race went "live" as we turned right on to Warren Road. We did four laps up and down several big ring rollers and one small ring climb just after the start. On the last lap I made a pretty dumb rookie move of down shifting under full torque to try and increase my spin a bit and nearly crashed.
The race never really slowed down like a road contest normally does. I was trying to eat some clif Shot Blocks on the back stretch of the third lap as the tempo increased to catch a break away and I briefly wondered if I would have to pull to receive the Heimlich Maneuver from the guy riding shotgun in the sweeper car. The other xXx riders in this master's field were the picture of calm and economy, however. Kirby came past me several times to give me some encouragement and reminders to ease up and save energy. Once I asked him to "drop some Zen on me." The reply was basically, you are still here, not dropped and sitting in the Sprinter's Lounge. Relax man. You're in the field.
A train of us came together briefly on the last lap and though it didn't hold, it was a learning experience watching Kevin, Kirby, and Bob work their way up to where Chris and Mark had been sitting at the front for the entire race, chasing breakaways, and bridging up the pack. We came through the feed zone, and the pace revved back and forth, as though the cumulative effort of the pack was goosing the gas pedal, almost too excited for the sprint to begin, already thinking about the final decent back onto the proving grounds track.
And once we made those final turns, the pack strung out down along the connector road to the track, it came back together just when I thought I was dropped. And just as I caught back on again, they were off, up the final hill for the final decision. I passed several guys completely bailing out on the way up. Once again, a little more energy conversation, per Kirby and Kevin's advice, would've helped me out as I didn't have much left. I was a mess as I came up the hill, maintaining my speed but certainly not gaining any, and unable to stand up. I practically pushed against my handlebars for leverage against my pedals, and was again, like the day before, right on the wheel of former xXx-er Pat Kelly, but unable to catch him. I finished 26th, out of a field of 41 who finished, maybe 50 who started.
It was xXx's day, with 3 in the top ten: Mark Watkins got the win, Kevin Karkovsky came away with 5th, and Kirby 7th. However, this fantastic finish was marred, nay - ruined - by the careless actions of one careless rider who obviously spends much, much less thinking about other than he does himself. Note to any cyclists reading this blog: please keep going straight until you have slowed down from your sprint. Kevin Karkovsky had the extreme unluck to be right next to this thoughtless rider who decided, only seconds after his sprint, to cut right into the parking lot. On the way there he clipped Kevin's front wheel at about 30 miles an hour, sending Kevin immediately to pavement. It's one thing to break your collar bone on a hard fought sprint. It's quite another to have it happen needless like Kevin's season ended today.Just because the race is over, doesn't mean you can immediately start making dick moves. At least you could've expressed one modicum of regret or remorse. Nothing from this rider past a casual apology, as Kevin sat bleeding on the pavement, cradling his shoulder and fighting off the shock. It was a goddamn shame.
Up next: the Inaugural Evanston Criterium on Sunday, and the Kenosha Folks and Spokes next Friday. I still have two chances to finish in the money, and in two weeks I will have gotten in more racing that I got in my first 3 months with the team. I am feeling stronger and smarter, and I only have one enemy.
Myself.
15.7.07
Blew Island
One down. 4 to go.
Also down? About 20 other bikers.
Blue Island. Saturday, July 14th.
The crash happened with 6 go, thankfully, so I could at least finish. With less than 5 to race a mechanical problem takes you out for good. We came around turn 4 at high speed, the wind momentarily calmed, wheel to wheel, Chris Sheritpis in front of me. A crash first makes itself apparent, from your perspective at least, somewhat like a gopher, or Bugs Bunny, burrowing toward you. You hear shouts of, "Whoa!" and "Crash! Crash!" and then the wave comes at you, rippling through the riders. First they begin to weave, left and right, clipping wheels, coming out of pedals, ripping on their brakes, the metallic-plastic crackling and pinging coming closer and closer For a second you think you can avoid it, because you always have in the past, but then, an entire bicycle flies five feet up in the air, and a hand shoves you from behind as you jerk your cycle to the right when the wave finally hits the rider immediately in front you.
Luckily for me, unlucky for Chris and a South Chicago Wheelman, I fell right on top of them. It was my first crash. I looked at my bike. My wheel was ajar and my handlebars and stem were janked over to the left. I thought my day could be over. Luckily the SRAM wheel pit was right next to the crash, and I hustled over there with Chris and about 5 other riders caught up in the domino effect. I sat there patiently, appreciative of the free help that would help me get back in the race. My calf was cramping and a couple of fingers on my left hand were lightly sprained, but I was road rash free, thanks to Chris and the SCW rider being under me.
While I waited for a new wheel and my headset to be straightened out, the SCW rider was a bit more anxious, imploring the SRAM bike tech to hurry up. "Look over there," was his answer. He was pointing the nearly motionless rider lying in the street near the start/finish line.
"At least you're gonna get back in this race. Now let me do my job."
It was all I needed to see. I waited my turn. At some time while I received a new wheel and had my headset straightened, I was told he was dragged out of the middle of the course. The pack came around again, and they rolled us out so we could join onto the end of the pack. There were four laps to go.
I really couldn't get it together for the finish. For the first part of the race I had been getting gapped at the corners, and finally figured out I needed to begin pedaling at the apex of the turn, or even all the way through it. Once I did, I began having a much more fun race. However, the turns were sometimes seven riders wide, and not nearly everyone was carving exactly clean lines. I was at the front exactly twice. The first was the wheel of the green-jersey-zebra-shorts guy I also drafted on several times at Spring Prairie. He came by on the left, and for the first time this year I had the presence of mind to grab a wheel in an instant. Later on, shortly before the crash, I found myself next to Tim Hermanas, midway back. "Hey," I said, "how you feeling?" "Good, good. So what's the plan, man?" was his answer. I laughed and said, "Hey, you guys are the ones with the experience! If I can be a part of train, or help block, I'll all over it."
It was all Tim needed to hear apparently, and he ripped off a flyer up the left-hand side of the pack. I just hung onto his wheel all the way through turns 1 and 2, and for the majority of the back stretch of that lap, I was again at the front. My lack of confidence let me down once again, as the front slowed at the approach of turn 3, and I was swarmed riders on sides, and I fell back as rear wheel after rear wheel overlapped the front of my bike. After the crash I just didn't see how I could stay up there at that point and feel safe. At least, not be a danger to other riders.
With two to go, I was next to Rick Dearworth as he was helping to put together a leadout train of several of us, and then I heard him say to Bob Willams that they would be blocking. I guess it didn't work out to well. The highest finish we managed Saturday was 14th. It was a very fast race, the high wind being factored in, and there were a lot of crashes. One rider in a bright orange kit rode straight onto the curb at turn three into a wooden saw-horse barrier. The next time around, we saw an elderly woman being tended to by EMTs. Somebody later told me her head had hit the pavement pretty hard.
Rick Dearworth was riding very consistently, and dishing out advice, one-liners, and exasperated outbursts, at Triple X-ers and other teams alike. I mostly got it for looking down at the pavement as I hammered, and not sticking consistently with one wheel. I love riding with Uncle Rick. I always get choice, unfiltered instruction and learn from him every time he is in a race with me. When the race was finally over, I ran into him on the warm down. "Are you OK?" he asked. Confused, I said, "Yeah, I'm fine? Why?"
"Oh," he answered. "That was my hand that pushed you over on that crash!"
I laughed hard at that, and said, "Good! At least I helped out somebody!" He made it through the crash apparently and finished several places above me. It's OK, Uncle Rick. I would expect anyone to do that to their own grandmother in order to finish a race on two wheels.
Bleh.
Afterwards we watched the 3s, with Brian, Brandon, Matt, Niko, and Ed all riding for xXx. It was a good showing, and very nearly a victory for Matt. He let off a breakaway with about two to go and it nearly stuck, but another breakaway of several riders caught him on the sprint. Brian and everyone else finished with the pack. It was good to watch and see first hand how to take the turns, all of them pedaling all the way through, trusting their wheel, riding smoothly.
The 3s come by. Fast.
Afterward we headed to Nick's for a BBQ but not many of us showed. Alberto and I enjoyed a beer and watched the dogs play and Nick grill. Later we moved in to watch the conclusion of Stage 7 of the Tour, and then Brian Boyle showed up on his bike, fresh from his cool down after the race. We talked over watermelon, burgers, pasta salad, more beer, and bottled water, and gleaned as much advice form him as we could. We asked what he was thinking of when he attacked, bridged, pulled off, how he got back to the front. Was he nervous. Everything. He gave us very informed responses, honest opinions, and his sense of humor lends such a unique perspective to my whole xXx racing experience.
We continued our conversation on the way home. We talked about my first year with the team, what I could expect, his experiences along the way, and my race that day. My fears were fine, he said. You need to do what comes natural to you in the pack. If it doesn't feel safe, if you think you are a danger at the front, then hang back. Watch and learn. It dawned on me that the 10 per cent rule applies mentally, just as it does physically. Never add more than 10% volume or intensity to your workout a week, the rule goes. So for me, the same seems to apply to my mental game. Not so much per week, as I race less than that, but on a per races basis, it works. If I could get out to Matteson, the Judson, and the team ride every week, we would be talking, however.
For some it seems they get it immediately. I cannot imagine riding that aggressively yet, and I must apparently be a slow adapter. So I am not going to get frustrated, and I am going to do what comes naturally. I will, however, draw the line at wanting to naturally sleep in, watch Kubrick movies and drink beer all day instead of riding.
I will listen, follow the sound advice, spin, ride clean, and work harder each time I am on my bike. But I will first and foremost be myself.
--------------------------
Riding to Beverly to watch the first race of Superweek.
Rick Dearworth: The Black and White Cookie. He brings us together with his advice and his tanlines.
Also down? About 20 other bikers.
Blue Island. Saturday, July 14th.
The crash happened with 6 go, thankfully, so I could at least finish. With less than 5 to race a mechanical problem takes you out for good. We came around turn 4 at high speed, the wind momentarily calmed, wheel to wheel, Chris Sheritpis in front of me. A crash first makes itself apparent, from your perspective at least, somewhat like a gopher, or Bugs Bunny, burrowing toward you. You hear shouts of, "Whoa!" and "Crash! Crash!" and then the wave comes at you, rippling through the riders. First they begin to weave, left and right, clipping wheels, coming out of pedals, ripping on their brakes, the metallic-plastic crackling and pinging coming closer and closer For a second you think you can avoid it, because you always have in the past, but then, an entire bicycle flies five feet up in the air, and a hand shoves you from behind as you jerk your cycle to the right when the wave finally hits the rider immediately in front you.
Luckily for me, unlucky for Chris and a South Chicago Wheelman, I fell right on top of them. It was my first crash. I looked at my bike. My wheel was ajar and my handlebars and stem were janked over to the left. I thought my day could be over. Luckily the SRAM wheel pit was right next to the crash, and I hustled over there with Chris and about 5 other riders caught up in the domino effect. I sat there patiently, appreciative of the free help that would help me get back in the race. My calf was cramping and a couple of fingers on my left hand were lightly sprained, but I was road rash free, thanks to Chris and the SCW rider being under me.
While I waited for a new wheel and my headset to be straightened out, the SCW rider was a bit more anxious, imploring the SRAM bike tech to hurry up. "Look over there," was his answer. He was pointing the nearly motionless rider lying in the street near the start/finish line.
"At least you're gonna get back in this race. Now let me do my job."
It was all I needed to see. I waited my turn. At some time while I received a new wheel and had my headset straightened, I was told he was dragged out of the middle of the course. The pack came around again, and they rolled us out so we could join onto the end of the pack. There were four laps to go.
I really couldn't get it together for the finish. For the first part of the race I had been getting gapped at the corners, and finally figured out I needed to begin pedaling at the apex of the turn, or even all the way through it. Once I did, I began having a much more fun race. However, the turns were sometimes seven riders wide, and not nearly everyone was carving exactly clean lines. I was at the front exactly twice. The first was the wheel of the green-jersey-zebra-shorts guy I also drafted on several times at Spring Prairie. He came by on the left, and for the first time this year I had the presence of mind to grab a wheel in an instant. Later on, shortly before the crash, I found myself next to Tim Hermanas, midway back. "Hey," I said, "how you feeling?" "Good, good. So what's the plan, man?" was his answer. I laughed and said, "Hey, you guys are the ones with the experience! If I can be a part of train, or help block, I'll all over it."
It was all Tim needed to hear apparently, and he ripped off a flyer up the left-hand side of the pack. I just hung onto his wheel all the way through turns 1 and 2, and for the majority of the back stretch of that lap, I was again at the front. My lack of confidence let me down once again, as the front slowed at the approach of turn 3, and I was swarmed riders on sides, and I fell back as rear wheel after rear wheel overlapped the front of my bike. After the crash I just didn't see how I could stay up there at that point and feel safe. At least, not be a danger to other riders.
With two to go, I was next to Rick Dearworth as he was helping to put together a leadout train of several of us, and then I heard him say to Bob Willams that they would be blocking. I guess it didn't work out to well. The highest finish we managed Saturday was 14th. It was a very fast race, the high wind being factored in, and there were a lot of crashes. One rider in a bright orange kit rode straight onto the curb at turn three into a wooden saw-horse barrier. The next time around, we saw an elderly woman being tended to by EMTs. Somebody later told me her head had hit the pavement pretty hard.
Rick Dearworth was riding very consistently, and dishing out advice, one-liners, and exasperated outbursts, at Triple X-ers and other teams alike. I mostly got it for looking down at the pavement as I hammered, and not sticking consistently with one wheel. I love riding with Uncle Rick. I always get choice, unfiltered instruction and learn from him every time he is in a race with me. When the race was finally over, I ran into him on the warm down. "Are you OK?" he asked. Confused, I said, "Yeah, I'm fine? Why?"
"Oh," he answered. "That was my hand that pushed you over on that crash!"
I laughed hard at that, and said, "Good! At least I helped out somebody!" He made it through the crash apparently and finished several places above me. It's OK, Uncle Rick. I would expect anyone to do that to their own grandmother in order to finish a race on two wheels.
Bleh.
Afterwards we watched the 3s, with Brian, Brandon, Matt, Niko, and Ed all riding for xXx. It was a good showing, and very nearly a victory for Matt. He let off a breakaway with about two to go and it nearly stuck, but another breakaway of several riders caught him on the sprint. Brian and everyone else finished with the pack. It was good to watch and see first hand how to take the turns, all of them pedaling all the way through, trusting their wheel, riding smoothly.
The 3s come by. Fast.
Afterward we headed to Nick's for a BBQ but not many of us showed. Alberto and I enjoyed a beer and watched the dogs play and Nick grill. Later we moved in to watch the conclusion of Stage 7 of the Tour, and then Brian Boyle showed up on his bike, fresh from his cool down after the race. We talked over watermelon, burgers, pasta salad, more beer, and bottled water, and gleaned as much advice form him as we could. We asked what he was thinking of when he attacked, bridged, pulled off, how he got back to the front. Was he nervous. Everything. He gave us very informed responses, honest opinions, and his sense of humor lends such a unique perspective to my whole xXx racing experience.
We continued our conversation on the way home. We talked about my first year with the team, what I could expect, his experiences along the way, and my race that day. My fears were fine, he said. You need to do what comes natural to you in the pack. If it doesn't feel safe, if you think you are a danger at the front, then hang back. Watch and learn. It dawned on me that the 10 per cent rule applies mentally, just as it does physically. Never add more than 10% volume or intensity to your workout a week, the rule goes. So for me, the same seems to apply to my mental game. Not so much per week, as I race less than that, but on a per races basis, it works. If I could get out to Matteson, the Judson, and the team ride every week, we would be talking, however.
For some it seems they get it immediately. I cannot imagine riding that aggressively yet, and I must apparently be a slow adapter. So I am not going to get frustrated, and I am going to do what comes naturally. I will, however, draw the line at wanting to naturally sleep in, watch Kubrick movies and drink beer all day instead of riding.
I will listen, follow the sound advice, spin, ride clean, and work harder each time I am on my bike. But I will first and foremost be myself.
--------------------------
Riding to Beverly to watch the first race of Superweek.
Rick Dearworth: The Black and White Cookie. He brings us together with his advice and his tanlines.
13.7.07
Quick on my Crank
Superweek is here - two solid weeks of racing, my mid-point of the season.
The journey here has been a memorable one - and I can't wait to see where I come out on the other side, 2 weeks from tonight - five races later, sitting around a campfire somewhere west of Milwaukee, drinking a much deserved beer.
I would never have thought I would've come this far so fast, yet from my current vantage point I have much farther to go. These next five races will be fun, yet critical for me, as I attempt to put all I've learned since April into practice. Since the beginning I've had the physical tools. It's the mental ones I've had a hard time bringing to the fore.
The goal tomorrow in Blue Island is to bring them together - not let them stay separate. Mark my man, stay on my wheel, and be patient but aggressive, quick on my crank - and my legs will take me there. My goal is nothing less than at least one Top 5 finish.
A very weird bit of luck this morning:
I was only a 1/2 mile gone from my apartment when I realized I'd forgotten my jersey and shorts - and I had just read this - so I turned around to retrieve them. At that moment, I heard a "ping! dingdingdingdingdingding..." from my front wheel.
I'd just broken a spoke on my Mavic front wheel.
As I am catching a train this afternoon at 2:55 (the last one I can get my bike on before the rush hour ban starts) to Blue Island, I would've been screwed had this happened once I got to the office...and even more so had in happened during the race. I'd also just changed my cassette out on the back wheel last night, and had no to time to reswap it in order to have a matching set...plus the rear Mavic wheel is much lighter, but shit, I hope those spokes hold. This is gonna freak me out.
Let's hope the luck holds, and let's RALLY people! It's on like Donkey Kong! Superweek is here.
The journey here has been a memorable one - and I can't wait to see where I come out on the other side, 2 weeks from tonight - five races later, sitting around a campfire somewhere west of Milwaukee, drinking a much deserved beer.
I would never have thought I would've come this far so fast, yet from my current vantage point I have much farther to go. These next five races will be fun, yet critical for me, as I attempt to put all I've learned since April into practice. Since the beginning I've had the physical tools. It's the mental ones I've had a hard time bringing to the fore.
The goal tomorrow in Blue Island is to bring them together - not let them stay separate. Mark my man, stay on my wheel, and be patient but aggressive, quick on my crank - and my legs will take me there. My goal is nothing less than at least one Top 5 finish.
A very weird bit of luck this morning:
I was only a 1/2 mile gone from my apartment when I realized I'd forgotten my jersey and shorts - and I had just read this - so I turned around to retrieve them. At that moment, I heard a "ping! dingdingdingdingdingding..." from my front wheel.
I'd just broken a spoke on my Mavic front wheel.
As I am catching a train this afternoon at 2:55 (the last one I can get my bike on before the rush hour ban starts) to Blue Island, I would've been screwed had this happened once I got to the office...and even more so had in happened during the race. I'd also just changed my cassette out on the back wheel last night, and had no to time to reswap it in order to have a matching set...plus the rear Mavic wheel is much lighter, but shit, I hope those spokes hold. This is gonna freak me out.
Let's hope the luck holds, and let's RALLY people! It's on like Donkey Kong! Superweek is here.
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