Half-lap misadventure at the US Cyclocross Nationals

For the first time this year I trained for a specific race.

This race. The 40+ non-championship race at the US Cyclocross Nationals. The preparation consisted of six weeks of high intensity interval and road sessions several times a week and a full race schedule that included the tail end of the Cross Crusade series, the State Champs, Psycho Cross and USGP.

The training was paying off with a pair of season-best 13th place finishes in Mens C at the USGP races a few days before. I was locked and loaded. 

My race was the third one of the opening day of the 5-day event. I learned at the registration desk that the icy weather had caused a 1 hr delay in starting the first race. Wha’ the effin-eff? This meant that there was no time between the subsequent races to pre-ride the course as the organizers scrambled to get back on schedule.

I was going to have to ride the course blind. Yikes.

But, like Darwin’s finches, one had to adapt or die. At the risk of sounding dramatic, of all the cycling disciplines, cyclocross racing is all about adapting to change. The course, the weather, equipment can change at a moment’s notice before and sometimes during a race. Only the fittest, smartest, most adaptable flourish.

A 30 min trainer warm-up was perfect. Then came the announcement that we were back on schedule and my race would start on time after all.

Unlike the fancy-schmancy ‘championship’ races, we were not required to complete a seeding time trial and call-ups were random. They picked out a bib number randomly and then filled the chutes sequentially from that number.

Number 264 was pinned to my jersey and shoulders. The first number called was 246. Bonza !!!!!!...... I was going to be called up 18th.

Sweety-teeeeety-marghareety !

A second row with about 100 racers behind. Bloody brilliant. I was grinning like the punter that won the meat tray in the chook raffle at the footy club Christmas party. My dream of not being lapped was within reach.

I convinced myself that a quick start and competent navigation of the first LHer at the end of the strait would assure me of a good finish even if passed by a flange of blokes.

Moments later we were orrrrrrfff.

 

A fast clip-in is essential for a good start. Relief-fully, I clipped in immediately and, with head down and arse up, sprinted enthusiastically down the long strait. Got there in about 10th place and safely made it around. The course was very slippery and at this early stage there was quite a bit of passing and being passed.

On the third or fourth LH turn I slipped hard down onto my left knee and elbow. I knew that it was going to look ugly because the pain could be felt through the neuro-protective adrenalin curtain.

Almost immediately I had trouble controlling the bike. USGP was almost completely dry and easy to navigate, but here the slop had me all over the place. The back part of the course was an exercise in staying upright and fighting to hold places. Then, following a short steep run-up, we were pointed back towards the center of the course. Now in about 20th place, ML and I had gapped the field behind. A couple of turns later we found ourselves atop a small plateau and, following a 90 degree  RH turn, came a sharp drop off which gave the option of two lines.

Unfortunately for my head, neck, back, helmet and ego I chose the wrong line – the bumpier right-hand one with the lip and short drop-off into a hole.

 

Crapola!

I likely squeezed the brakes too hard and did not have my considerable weight back far enough. Inevitably, the front wheel lodged in the hole and over I went.  The bike got left behind as my head and left shoulder were crunched into the ground.

I believe I bounced. 



Returning to feet groggily, I swayed a bit and surveyed the damage doing nothing except existing in a tiny world of confusion.  

A large flock of cyclists may have swished past.

My race was over.

(photos courtesy of Jon Graef)

After about 5 mins of standing there breathing heavily assuring bystanders that I was OK, I quietly shuffled away with my bike.

Perhaps in response to the half lap of race exertion and the altitude, my breathing had morphed into an alarming sprinters hack. As I returned to the start chute to retrieve my warm-up jumper I was overcome with an urge to vommie. I did so in the nearby porta-loo – the large wheelchair-access one.

Nice way to end the season - frozen, coughing, vomiting, knee, neck and back pain – staring at someone else’s floater in a portable toilet.

I was about as happy as a bastard on Fathers Day.

The Wombat had failed to adapt and had suffered the consequences – evolutionFAIL !

Wombat kept going

The singular most memorable event that happened during our two days in Eugene racing Psycho Cross involved my bike being skyward and me being underwater.

Unlike the Cross Crusade races where the Clydes and Men’s C are run together, at Psycho Cross they are run separately, one 45 min race after the other. In the week leading up to the races I debated whether to just compete in one or do both races. As one who relishes a challenge, I opted for both races on both days.

The course itself was quite technical with a steep hill of about 30 feet that terminated in a series of deep puddles that had settled between grassy hummocks (a bit like Minnesota), a stretch of single-track that demanded full concentration, several shortish pavement sections for the roadies, a couple of decent run-ups and a devilish sand volleyball court.

The Saturday weather was cold (high 30s) but dry. The Men’s C on Saturday boasted a field of 7 brave souls and they let us off with the Beginners and masters 35+C’s.  Following the start whistle it was business as usual for me  – a slow start, then passing a few as the race went on. A bit of slip and slop here and there but no major dramas and consistent, just-below LT effort. 4th place finish. Sweet.

Then it was time to line up with the Clydes who raced with master B’s and 50+ers. I was one of just three Clydes in the race and a realistic chance of a top 3 finish :). In an otherwise uneventful race the Clydes were dispatched early on and I managed to go deep into the men’s B field, well........in any case, I passed Eric Anderson who is a pretty decent racer and one of my nemesi. The highlight was racing for a time with Paul Mautner and Ron Strasser. It was a three-way tussle with PM pulling away on the straights and RS and I catching up on the more technical sections. It was an honor to ride with those guys. Brad looked good in his Masters C35+ and SS races.

Sunday brought rain to go with the low 40s temperatures. I only had finger-less gloves for the day but was able to apply embrocation to each little finger to keep them toasty warm. Similar sized Men’s C to the previous day. The rain was light but constant and the course changed slightly to include an additional run-up to make the total 4, including a set of stairs.

By lap two I was mid-field and had put a gap of about 20 seconds on a chasing mob of four or so. This time I decided not to be timid with the downhill/puddle section and hit it pretty fast. This was fine and my cunning plan would have worked except that the extra speed kept me to the deeper right hand puddle, nay pond. By now the ponds were axle deep and getting deeper with all the traffic. Well, you can guess what happened..... The front wheel said "nooooooooo.........", took a deep sigh and stopped then as the laws of physics demand, Wombat.kept.going. I was airborne and the bike was even more airborne. At about 270 degrees around the somersault as I was parallel to the pond and face up came the vibrant and unforgettable image of bike famed against the heavens. Then in an instant I was underwater and blowing bubbles. After resurfacing, stock was taken and the bike located – several yards ahead mocking me with its dryness. The first thought was that 'wow, no-one has passed me' and I hopped back on the bike and scanned quickly for damage to the bike. Nada. I was pretty shaken and more than a bit dazed and it took the entire single-track section to get back up to speed. One ear was mud-plugged and for the next while, snotty-teary-bog juice worked its way languidly down my face. Two of the trailing mob passed me on the straight. I was never to catch them and finished 6th.

Then it was time to saddle up for the Clydes race. Just me and a 6ft 6in giant. Bit like a LOTR rotund dwarf going up against a very tall lithe Elf. My start-line appearance, which resembled a bad 50s B-grade movie monster, clearly alarmed a few of the old codgers. What I lacked in beauty I made up for in HTFU-ness and, in my mind, a couple of admiring nods were thown my way. I had the quicker start but the Elf took me halfway into lap one and looked to be pulling away. This made me mad as hell and I wasn’t going to take it anymore, and gave chase. He was passed in the next lap as he stumbled in the bog section. Next time I dared to glance Elf was way back. It stayed that way until the last half lap when he closed the gap but a clean run through the sand box gave me enough breathing space to coast across the line. Take that Elf-man!

So……… 4 races and 4 very different experiences – way cool!




Should I update my Tetanus immunization?
(photo: B. Foster)

 

As happy as a Clyde in mud - Hillsboro race report

The heavy rain the night before promised a wet course. Arriving at Hillsboro, the sun was out and it was a balmy 50-something degrees. It was sunnies all round – glad to have had the foresight to bring mine. All up, excellent racing weather.

After receiving a good shellacking last week at Astoria I decided to return to the cocoon that is the Clydesdales. They are like family really,……….a large family. The start lottery placed me in the third last group, that is….about 70% of the way back once the call-ups and other groups were loaded into the chute. It was going to be a crowded race. Not having pre-rode the course was not an issue because, let’s face it, we all knew what lie ahead. For those not familiar with the Washington County Fairgrounds there was going to be 1.9 mile laps that included some combination of:

1) a bit of gravel road here and there
2) a brace of muddy turns
3) a couple of muddy puddle hammerfests
4) some shed ak-shon
5) and that narrow slippery off-camber stretch that ends with that nasty RH rise

This is a course that suited my Neanderthal racing brain – slip and slide round the turns, hammer the straits. Repeat.

The race itself was pretty uneventful. The corners were navigated just fine and major falls that separated rider from bike were avoided. The more I race, the more I understand my racing. For cyclocross, I need a tentative first lap to warm up and get comfortable with the course, then it’s all systems go once a rhythm is established. True to form, after a slowish start I started to reel in the Clyde and Mens C stragglers. There were a couple of decent straightaways that allowed passing, especially if one stayed on the grassy edges and away from the heavier more medial muddy sections. I heard The Neighbor several times shouting encouragement near the mud pools, and Jeff and Hugh from the tent. By the third lap, I was passing guys known to be in the top 20 Clydes. On the final lap I passed a rider who had bested me at Alpenrose and managed to hold him off until the end. Sweet! Finished around 10th.

                                                    Graceful cornering (photo: R. Rosko)

Overall, quite pleased with the race. The relatively non-technical course made it very Wombat-friendly. I felt strong and made up a lot of ground from the rear of the field and could have done with an additional lap. There were no costly falls and no injuries (yay).

Most importantly of all, the mud is good for my skin.

Hillsboro race report - Rock Opera version

Color me crazy, but for me the drama of a cyclocross race is akin to theater, musical theater perhaps.

Above all it is a journey. Like all good journeys, there is a beginning (Act I) where the protagonist, ‘The boy’ loves his bike and loves racing his bike – life is wonderful. They start the journey together. Then comes the trying middle part (Act II) that is fraught with extreme physical challenge. The boy questions his committment to his bike (boys loses bike). Then comes the conclusion of his journey (Act III), with acceptance of his situation (finish place), and a reunion with his bike (boy gets bike back ). Life CAN be wonderful again.

Here is my take on the Hillsboro race with Bohemian Rhapsody laid over the top. Apologies to those under 30 who may not be familiar with this epic (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=irp8CNj9qBI).


Act I
A mellow start

Scene: The start chute and lap 1.

“I’m just a poor boy……….” - The boy nervously awaits the start

“….look up to the sky and see….” - He checks the weather

“anyway the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me” – He is blasé about the conditions - he's here to RACE

“caught in a landslide……no escape from reality” - Start whistle and 50 lumbering Clydes take off

“……little high...... little low” - Some bad cornering on lap 1


Act II
Pace and rhythm

Scene: Laps 2 and 3

“momma just killed a man” - Candi pulls a rider from the race for accepting a bacon hand-up

“Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth” - The boy ups the pace and determinedly gives chase

“I don’t want to die……..” - (whispered to bike) The boy goes out too hard and redlines

“sometimes wish I’d never been born at all “ - In the face of physical distress, The boy questions relationship with bike and now regrets entering the race

“I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me” - The boy is now at his lowest point. The bike then slaps him around a bit and tells him to snap out of his mid-race self-pitying funk


Act III
Journey’s end

Scene: Lap 4 and finish line

“ I see a LITTLE silloetto of a man….” - He spots a Clyde ahead and gives chase (sung ironically)

“Gallilleo....Gallileo....Gallilleo........Figaro” – sung in falsetto as he passes classically-named Clyde twins

“we will not let you go……..let me go” - He passes several Clydes on the gravel section. They respond negatively. In response The boy expresses his desire to drop them

“so you think that you can stop me and spit in my eye” - The boy defiantly passes a couple more riders and casts a derisive eye over them

“ just got to get out……….. just got to get right out of here” – he hammers through the huge mud puddles. Nothing can stop them now - The boy and bike rediscovering their love for one another (and mud)

“ooooh yeah…….oh yeah” - Together they triumphantly nail the final half lap

“nothing really matters to me……….” – They cross the finish line as One and The boy realizes that his love for bike is eternal and nothing else is important

The boy and bike take their bow

Post-race posing (photo: R. Rosko)

First year anniversary - Alpenrose Dairy Clydesdale race

Decided to race after pre-walking the course Sat evening and feeling a child-like excitement about riding it the next day. Also, it would be the anniversary of my first race as a Hammer Velo rider. My account of that race (and inaugural race report) is here. Yep, 80 races later, I’m still thereabouts.

Taking my injured calf into account I decided to race the Clydes instead of the C’s. Our combined Clyde/men’s C field was 190 strong. Yes folks, that’s 34,000 lbs of rippled man-flesh riding, falling, sliding, running and jumping, cursing and otherwise tearing up the course. Since most of you rode the course or were there to spectate, except for KW who double flatted on the way and didn’t make it, I do not need to describe the layout. All I’ll say is that it was a better, more technical course than last year. It is worth noting that there were 1506 racers out there yesterday making it the biggest cyclocross event in the world we are told.

Mine was the third set of numbers to be called up. The C’s were let off two minutes ahead of us. Then we were off. Disaster nearly struck at the first claustrophobic bend when the guy ahead of me locked his brakes, skidded and nearly went down – I did the same and only just saved it. With all the traffic, the first lap was slow and I found myself behind Mr Smith who amused us all by bellowing out witty and sarcastic commentary from time to time.

Wombat sporting the OMG expression (photo: Julie Carter)

By lap two I had settled into a good rhythm and started reeling in some of the other Clydes and the slower C’s. I passed a few familiar faces in the C’s including AL and Danny K. After about 3 laps I was feeling pretty good but had settled into a kind of equilibrium where I was not gaining on the rider in front, Joe, sporting a Beavers jersey, and not totally dropping Mountain View’s Andrew Hayes. Towards the end I was passed by two riders who slipped in between me and Joe. In a final balls-out sprint in the velodrome I caught one of those riders in a sprint by the width of a Belgian frite to secure 8th place.

Problem area: The off camber grass above turn 3 of the velodrome. There was always traffic and could never get a good run at it.

No problem area: Winding up the sprint in the Velodrome straight.

Play of the day: A graceful endo at the base of the run-up.

All-in-all a fun day on and off the bike.

What is the first-year anniversary gift for a cycling team and racer marriage? blinky light, spoke, bar tape, wheel trueing nipple tightening thingy..........?

Grass, gravel, forest and playground

We skipped out of an 8am soccer game early to make the David Douglas Cyclocross race. Although feeling guilty about this, as the coach I could not do much about the 0-8 scoreline. So P and I leapt into the Falcon and sped to the race. Just enough time to register pay and pay again ($5) to buy another number because one had already been issued to me. This pissed me ORFF! No time to pre-ride, just a few minutes to stretch the still-recovering calves – Betty and Draper (because they look good but are utterly dysfunctional).

Annywaaaaaay, back to the race. At around 10, the Mens Cat C field was surprisingly small. Oh well, all I need to do was hang with these guys and hopefully score an effortless top 10. They all looked like a bunch of lean fit racers and I was probably the oldest by about 10 years. My strategy was to keep pace with the group and reconnoiter the course on that first lap getting in a good warm-up in the process, and then strike on lap two.

The 2 mile course was challenging but incredible fun. After an extended speedy section on grass and pavement, the path turned to a fast single track descent into a forested canyon. The surface was pretty smooth and slick in only a couple of spots. Then there was the ‘short’ run-up. It was quite long but not ultra steep and definitely rideable. Unfortunately, at the top was a log that forced everyone who had ridden up to dismount – no reward for staying on the bike. Then it was through the soft bark of first playground, a barrier before another descent into the canyon – this time steeper and faster than before. Then it was the quad-busting, lung-tearing, calf-ripping ‘long’ run-up. Next was a bit more pffaffing about on the grass, another playground romp and the start/finish.

Ok, to the race. In keeping with my hastily constructed plan, contact was maintained with the leaders on the first lap. After a little bit of to-and-fro'ing I settled into fourth place, with third in my sights and a couple of riders about 100 feet behind me. Through the race fog that dims awareness to a pin-prick, I recognized Chris Miller on the sidelines cheering me on. I was also amused by Luciano talking-up my battle for third place at each lap at the start/finish line. However, it was not much of a battle and he steadily pulled away. I focused instead on protecting 4th. Like a delicate and nimble forest fawn I would accelerate on the faster, flatter sections and my ‘followers’ would recover all that ground in the forest.

It was going to be tough, but with 10 mins to go I started to believe that I could stay away. Then with one and a half laps to go disaster struck (there is ALWAYS a disaster, right?). The first, shorter run-up comes at you pretty fast and I did not handle the slowing and turning so well. Down I went. Bollocks. However, like an over-caffeinated squirrel I sprung up pretty quickly and began to navigate the run-up. The clinking of metal-on-metal told me that the chain had dropped. Annoyed by this development my right calf (Betty) complained, went pop and promptly took a cigarette break. As I remounted the chain the first rider passed. Double bollocks.

After this point, the barriers and run-ups were slow and painful. At one point, after a particularly clumsy remount, a second racer overtook. I tried to respond and kept him close for a while but I lost too much ground on the last two run-ups and soon he was beyond reach. Then it was a matter of simply finishing – which I did with the next racer a long way behind.

Overall, the course was hugely enjoyable – the fast open spaces suited my game. The single-track descents provided a technical challenge and the playground excursions were a novel twist that I had not seen before. In truth, the run-ups were not all that bad because they followed a descent that allowed for some recovery time. It was just a shame to aggravate the calf injury.

Can’t complain about 6th place in an open, if small, Men’s C field

Rad Racing GP, Seattle

I was placed in the third row of four with about 30 other riders in the Masters 45+ Cat 4 field. Looking around, facial hair dominated with quite a few magnificent moustaches in view. No familiar faces but a couple of lean-looking racers looked the ones to beat.

The course was completely flat but quite technical with a lot of grassy turns, a single set of barriers, a long stretch of tarmac that suited the sprinter and two stretches of beach – yes, I said beach. Each coastal region was about 40 yards in length with ankle-deep sand. Much too soft to traverse on the bike – the furthest I made was about 5 yards. Overall, a really fun course and one that suited me.

OK, to the start. I managed to sprint past a few riders from start chute and settled into about 15th place. The first half of the course was windy and technical through tight turns ‘round trees and most of the turns were off camber. There was some jostling for position but few real opportunities to pass in this early stage of the race. Then we hit the two sand ‘traps’. There was a chorus of beefy grunts as bikes were hoisted, wheels akimbo. As you can imagine, there were a few ‘face-on-tread’ incidents, but I escaped without drama and even managed to pass a few blokes. Then it was into another grassy section. We started to catch the slower racers from the group that started 30 secs ahead. I settled into a group of about five and we traded attacks for a couple of laps but no one could seem to pull away. The barriers were no problem and my remounts are improving each race. I focused on taking an inside line on the grassy/muddy off-camber turns and picked off a few with this strategy. Due to all the turns, there were very few opportunities to approach lactate threshold. This meant that I could really open up on the 150m start/finish straight. Passed a couple more each lap doing this. By lap 3, the group that I had been exchanging attacks with had dropped off– probably a consequence of my long road season and, ahem, good level of fitness (and no climbing in the race).

Disaster nearly struck in front of the scorers on lap 3. Let me explain. There was a small speed bump in the straight, about the height of a large dingo donger. I had bunny hopped this donger-bump twice at speed. On the third go at this the pedals locked. I looked down to see the chain hoisted on the crank arm. Alarmed at this development, I took stock for a second and decided to gently back-pedal hoping that the chain would drop off the crank and be pulled back into line with the chainring. Thankfully, this is exactly what happened and I continued.

The other comical event happened on lap 3 on the beach. As I was striding purposefully through the sand with shouldered bike, the right calf muscle complained loudly and went ping. Crapola! Every step was now an adventure in pain and I took to ‘running’ with foot angled out to minimize the discomfort. Then, on the third lap in the same place the other calf went out in sympathy. Pushing down and forward in the soft sand had extended both calves past breaking point. There were now as useful to me as a chocolate kettle.
Three ways to navigate the beach: riding, pushing, carrying. Post-injury, I made like a duck and waddled.
(photo courtesy of Tim Schallberger)

So for the final laps I was mostly riding along, reeling in the occasional not-my-Category moustaches. Then when I hit the beach, I hobbled and waddled gamely in agony with the peculiar sensation that my rebellious calves had rolled up sitting behind my knees having a good laugh. My calves really need to HTFU or I will be posting to OBRA chat for a new pair VERY soon.

The front of my race was a long way off but I was the strongest of the next group of riders. We left before the results were posted but I am guessing around a 10-12th place [actually, nabbed 4th place - woo hoo]. Aside from calf issues, which I suspect will be an ongoing issue throughout cross season, I was very happy with my race. No falls, good handling of the technical sections and strong sprinting when required.

Ouchy time - Pain and Suffer'n race report

Not wishing to sound like a whinny, cardigan-wearing, sissy but this race really (really) hurt. The course was a significant challenge – lots of climbing, 4 sets of barriers, deep, slippery gravel, and a long, long run-up. Combined, this layout pushed the boundaries of decent racing and collapsed everything down to a primeval battle for survival, at least it did for me. By about half way through I had ceased meaningful racing and was just hanging on for dear life.

After competing as a Clydesdale in cyclocross all last season, I decided to enter the Men’s C race and started alongside 24 other journeymen. After the whistle I was able to keep up with the lead group - for about a lap. Was feeling quite pleased about this. However, before I could reach around and pat myself on the back, the physiological debt demanded its first payment - angrily too. I had gone out too hard. From then on it was a battle to maximize recovery on the short downhill sections while trying to somehow overcome the uphill segments. By now some kind of racing survival instinct had kicked in – I had to do whatever it took to finish.
(photo courtesy of R. Rosko)

By the second lap I had lost contact with the lead group and was riding solo. I passed one racer the entire race - a poor chap who had obviously gone out waaaaaay too hard. He was done. Whimpering sounds could be heard as I passed. Later I was overtaken by someone who continued to steadily pull away. No response from me - I didn’t care. You KNOW that it is a complete and utter sufferfest when you don’t give one whit when someone passes you – it’s just a minor event in your tiny world of pain. Most tortuous was the gentle uphill section that followed the run-up. It was a couple of hundred meters of 2-4% of climbing. “That’s not so steep” you may snort. True, but it was bumpy and very difficult to maintain any sort of momentum and I was reduced to turgidly spinning the pedals in lowest gear, willing myself to the top. This lung scorching, quad-tastic battle for preservation continued for two more laps. The bell made me grin like a fool because it meant that the end was near. Spirits were lifted and extra energy was found to propel me through that last lap. Thankfully, no sprinting was required at the end and had the luxury of pedaling languidly across the line, quads all aquiver.
(photo courtesy of R. Rosko)

True to its name the event had extracted maximum pain and suffer’n. I suspect that a lot of other racers were similarly humbled. For me, it was akin to an episode of Man vs wild. Dropped into the Bald Peak wilderness with only one way out – and I had made it. The only thing missing was the chopper to whisk me back to civilization when survival was assured.

Elkhorn - its business time

Several excellent accounts of the 2010 Elkhorn stage race have been written. Instead of rehashing some of those details, this account will serve to briefly describe a couple of race highlights for me and another couple of incidents that amused me and taught me three valuable lessons. As usual, all that follows was filtered through the Wombo-scope and only fleetingly touches on reality.

OK, so I finished in 38th place overall in 10 hrs 13 mins with about the same time of all the HV finishers except for Gilligan who posted a time about 30 mins ahead of me. Best finish for me was 18th in the crit. The two road stages of 76mi and 100mi included about 10,000ft of climbing, including a brutal 8mi finish to stage 4 that averaged 6%.

‘Climbing insanity’
Overall, I was very pleased with my climbing. This may seem an odd thing to say because I was dropped on all the significant climbs but in each case the damage and time losses were minimized. Learning from past mistakes (see Cannon Dale et al, Journal of Crap Cycling (2010), v700, p1227) I made sure to start each climb in the front 2/3rd of the pack. Instead of red-lining just to keep up, like an ageing porno star, I maintained a good rhythm and paced myself according to HR so as not to blow early. This allowed me to stay with the main group for, typically, ¾ of each climb, and to reach the top in pretty good shape. The challenge now is to find the means to stay with them the entire way up in these races either by increasing power:weight ratio or perhaps by juicing up. The pack was usually not too far ahead and a couple of times we caught them post-climb. It turns out too that I am the fastest descender of the larger blokes (Orca pod).

The final climb of the 100mi stage was a highlight. I was part of a group which had been dropped on the second climb and included about seven Orcas and one skinny dude. We were many minutes down from the front of the race. These were the guys who had dropped me on the final 8 mi climb of stage 1 leaving me 30 secs back. Beating them to the top would advance me in the standings. So, I got to the front behind the lone skinny dude and began to grind away. After a few minutes I looked back to see skinny dude and I riding away from the others. All I had to do was maintain and extend this gap for another 7mi. And you know what – I DID. Skinny dude inched away from me but I finished 2-7 mins ahead of the others, and consequently leap-frogged several of the Orcas in the standings.

That last climb was tough however, and I played mind games with myself to pass the time. The mind games were hard to devise because it is well known that human IQ drops to that of a marine invertebrate the morning after a particularly good New Years Eve shrimp cocktail party. The 3km sign was as welcome as 10 beers at a dysmorphology (ugly person) convention. Further, the 1km was as welcome as finding a gorgeous woman after those 10 beers at the dysmorphology convention. The 200M sign was akin to the joy of making out with formerly dysmorphic, but now stunning, woman. In my mind the seductive clincher was “lets MO tonight”, borrowed from Cosmo magazine. Then I was done and I started making out with cookies, bananas, apples and other potato chips. AA thrust a beer into my hands at the finish line and uncharacteristically, I declined – too shagged from racing 100mi, 6000-odd ft and MOing imaginary stunners.

Takehome message #1 – Climbing with urgency results in temporary insanity.

‘Code brown narrowly averted’
I had three pretty good stages and one absolute shocker. This plummeted me from 36th to 38th overall, goddamnit. I am referring to stage 2, the TT. As you may recall screwing up TT’s is a particular favorite of mine. The trouble started at home when I completely forgot to pack the TT bars. I would have to make do with hands in the drops. The morning of the event I had a light brekky of a banana washed down with Ginger Socks’ Turkish coffee. An exotic delight fo sho. Strong and full flavored. In a move that would have dramatic and unfortunate consequences I WENT BACK FOR SECONDS.

Out on the back deck sipping that second cup, I felt like I was in a grandiose ad for coffee: Here he was, a ruggedly good-looking, broad shouldered bike rider on the back deck surrounded by dramatic snow-tipped mountains. He cups a streaming cup of coffee between two calloused hands and brings it slowly to his movie-star lips. A slight smile escapes as he takes in the aroma of ‘Elkhorn’ coffee (‘Grind your opponents’). He nods contemplatively, lost in the moment thinking, perhaps, of bad habits and nuns. Suddenly, he throws his head back, spreads his arms and spins around……

“The hills are alive…”

Now that I have betrayed my love of musicals, that was the last good thing I have to say about that coffee. John G and I decide to ride the 10 miles to the course. It was a good warm up except for the flat tire suffered crossing the train tracks. We had plenty of time and had the tire changed in a few minutes. Thankfully, I had packed the spare and CO2. It at about this time that the first tummy rumbles began and, like and old man trying to send back soup in a deli, they were persistent. Confident that the porta-loo at the start line would solve my problems, I was not too worried. By the time we reached the start and met up with Brad, diligently doing his warm-up the cramps had set in. OK, not to worry, still plenty of time for the bog.

“I hear the train a coming and its rolling round the bend…….” (Cash)

Unfortunately, there was no sign of a porta-crapper at the start line. Oh.dear.me ! 10 mins ‘til my start and a major crisis was looming. The thought of going ‘Code Brown’ flipped the plastic lid on the big red panic button. Gas station - GOT to find one. A quick stop to ask someone elicted a vague point towards town. I set off riding frantically and, due to occasional cramping, quite erratically. Then there she was, Shell beautiful Shell. I have never been so relieved (ahem) to see a gas station. Time was running out and if I didn’t get to the toilet in the next 30 secs Shell was going to have a cleanup operation of its own to rival BP’s. Asked a leather-clad biker to hold my bike while I dashed in and completed the operation efficiently and with flair. OK, back to the race. Took about 30 secs to return the half mile to the start. It was +10m 45s, my start was 9m 00s. What did that mean? Did I miss my start. FUUUUUUCK. OK, foot down then off. My 15 sec (!) guy was just ahead. Flustered and trying to comprehend what had just happened I got up to speed and tried to get into a rhythm. Got a decent pace and rhythm going but couldn’t see HRM, it was set too far back on the stem and I couldn’t see the figures – bollocks! Seat was set too far forwards as well and felt hunched up – less than ideal. Caught to within maybe 10 yards of 15 sec guy. Then the turnaround and the headwind. Well, the combination of no TT bars, hunched position and inability to see HR and headwind did me in. I lost a lot of ground to rider ahead. The best part was sweeping into downtown out of the wind flying past the storefronts. Ave speed 23.0 mph, elapsed time 29m, recorded time 31 mins.

Takehome #2 - Stay away from pre-race Turkish coffee.

‘Taking the piss’
The concept of mass stopping to piss mid-race was new to me. Always read about it but not witnessed or participated in it. Now I can understand the need to piss eleventeen times during a masters race. After all, that’s a lot of blokes with enlarged prostates pushing on that piss bag. But in a non-master race? Incredibly, the first stop came after about 15 miles. Come on people – take you and your Wal-Mart bladders elsewhere. We want to race. The soft tinkle of falling liquid reminded me of a June-uary day in Portland. This was amusing and made me feel like a real racer but the more remarkable story came from Gilligan later in the Stage 4 race. As told to me, there was this squirrelly rider who rode with a very high cadence. This made him dart all over the place left, right, fore, and aft. There’s always one. Anyway, instead of waiting for the next sanctioned pee break, this joker decides to pee whilst still on the bike. Now, while the PROs may be able to do this without impacting the race in any way – there is a small margin for error. As you can guess, his efforts at directing the stream of salty excreta downwards was only partially successful. Poor Gilligan lamented that sure enough, at one point he tasted salty goodness on his lips. Now, this was not salty taste of fresh sea air (300 mi to the west), nor the much talked about pickle juice but ANOTHER MAN’S PISS.

“Islands in the stream, that is what we are….” (Parton)

Now, while there are many, many thing to experience and experiment within the rich tapestry of life, I would argue that gagging on a fellow riders liquid waste is not one of them.

Takehome #3 – ‘Taking the piss’ means something different in a bike race.

At Elkhorn I learned that doing ones business is part of racing.

Wrapping up PIR for May

Went into the final Masters 4/5 race for May in 5th place overall, just off the podium. Winning the series was in all likelihood out of reach but a strong ride might get me to the podium. The fact that it was Memorial Day had not discernable effect on the field size which, at 36, was its usual dry day size. Daughter came along to watch Dad ride and did her own ‘warm-up’ on her scooter brought along for the occasion.

While chatting with KB during the warm up I spotted Cristina near the tents and diverted over to say hello. To my embarrassment and the hilarity of a great many riders I actually fell off my bike when stopping before her. In my mind I ‘fell with style’ (to borrow from Toy Story) and sustained only some minor elbow damage. Actually it was a blessing because the mechanic in the tent nearby noticed that my front wheel was soft. I had repaired a puncture a couple of days before (instead of replacing the tube itself) and, as a back-up, brought a second front wheel ready to go in case my ‘patch‘ failed. Grinning like a fool at my brilliant foresight, I waddled as best as one could in bib-tastic lycra and bike shoes back to the car to retrieve the spare wheel. All who had spotted my graceless tumble made sure to tell me about it later.

We would be racing clockwise for 14 laps with three sprint primes. The usual suspects; BE, KB, EA and CS and a gaggle of other Team Oregon riders were in the field. As for the race itself, the pace was quite high and the attacks came at regular intervals. I contested only one prime but left the sprint a little too late and managed a POINTLESS 4th (geddit - it was ‘pointless’ because the points only go to third in the primes and therefore 'pointless' because it was all for nothing). I know, I know - hilarious!

OK, now to the final sprint, which without teammates, was going to be tricky. Whom to stalk? This particular decision was not mine to make because coming ‘round the final bend I was stuck on the inside and the dangerous sprinters were on the outside. Crap. I was locked in behind several ‘chicken-legged-cardigan-wearing-nancy-boys’. Now in biggest gear I continued up the inside passing several, all the while yelling ‘on yer inside ya bastad’ in my best Sean Connery (why? because it sounded commanding).

Then in an instant I was clear of the man-sweat and lube-scented masses with the line in sight. TOTALLY on top of the gear and SO out of the saddle I powered onwards. Mr Smith’s booming voice took me back for a brief second to Cherry Pie which reminded me that he was irritating and motivating at the same time. Further energized, I continued stomping enthusiastically.

To my surprise, I cleared the line in second place. Equal best finish at PIR and enough to secure second place for the series. Apparently, a prize awaits. Here’s hoping it’s the new Cadel Evans biography, ‘Angry Mosquito‘. Word is that it is a devastating blow-by-blow account of racing in Italy.

Two-up tuesday

Race #1
Tuesday night PIR, Cat 4/5 race.

Lowdown: 6 laps, clockwise
Teammates: The Neighbor and Driveby

The Neighbor put out the call for help to win the Tuesday night Cat 4/5 series. Driveby and I were on hand to support him. The plan was to protect Neighbor and restrict the early work to helping out chasing down some of the breaks. I attacked on one occasion but was not allowed to get away. Brad also pulled for a while, although it was a half lap effort and perhaps a little too long. We set ourselves up at the start of the last lap with Driveby in front, me first wheel and Neighbor second wheel. About a third of the way into the last lap after the dangerous RHer, Brad was pulling strongly and found himself at the front in perfect position. He put in a heroic effort down the back straight although at one point pulled off to the side thinking that we were trading 30 sec pull. I yelled ‘forcefully’ at him to get back onto the front and keep going. Driveby took this instruction well and dropped back onto the front and continued.

He pulled us round as a strong steady pace until the start of the last loping corner when he began to fade. I ‘requested’ that he get out of the way - the Wombat-Neighbor train was coming through! I found a high gear, stepped on the gas, and stomped away on the pedals. The Neighbor pulled out from behind at about the bridge and stormed towards the line. KB from BBC was thereabouts as well. Rich nearly got the win and was caught just before the line to finish third. I kept my pace up but faded close to line to finish just out of the points in 11th.

The team had worked well together and executed the plan as we had hoped. Driveby in particular, did exactly what was asked of him and was the one that really set Neighbor up for his podium. I love it when a plan comes together. Now that we have practiced the leadout basics a few times, perhaps it is time to enact some more sophisticated moves. For example, as German pointed out – I could have stayed with Neighbor and blocked those chasing him. We will work on those. Small steps, but we are getting the hang of this racing business.


Race#2
Tuesday PIR Cat 3/4 race

Lowdown: 13 laps (for those coming from the Cat 4/5 race), clockwise, 3 primes
Teammates: The Neighbor and The Kid

After the 4/5 race KB, The Neighbor and I soft pedaled around until the 3/4 field, which included The Kid, caught up with us. Coming round the start/finish line there were 13 laps to go and we jumped on. As with the 4/5 race the weather had kept the field small.

It was my first time racing with Cat 3’s and I expected a challenge. In my mind the pace would be faster and the sprints harder. Actually, this was not the case. The pace and sprints might have been marginally faster but only barely so. Sure, there were plenty of attacks but not much stuck except for the second prime when, notably, KB and another rider broke away in the back straight on a prime lap and no one could be arsed chasing them down. We (and they) assumed that they would be chased down (as I was the previous day). They fought out the points 100M ahead of the rest of the field. This goes to show that the tactic of attacking hard CAN work from time to time.

I got myself into a good position for the final prime. A team Oregon rider went off the front a long way out and, although he faded badly before the line, got the 3 points. I timed my jump well and nearly caught him – taking the 2 points by a gnat’s dick. My prime sprint chase down was encouraging and a sign that, even though the field was smaller than usual, I could be competitive in this mixed category.

Rich agreed to help me out with the final sprint and he did a great job pulling me around. I am starting to get the sprint dialed in. The basic sequence that seems to work for the clockwise races is:

-get embedded in a leadout train with 1 lap to go
-come around the final bend within the top 5 or so
-start changing up into bigger and bigger gears while keeping up with the leadout.
-jump at about the bridge
-stomp it all the way to the line out of the saddle. Prefer to go relatively early and make them chase me, rather than being the one doing the chasing.

Now need to add elements to these basic steps to have more flexibility to deal with other scenarios that may arise during the sprint.

Scored 5th or 6th across the line to finish in (I think) 4th place overall with the prime points. The Kid just behind and The Neighbor a few places back. Good, fun night of racing.

A dry night at PIR

Monday PIR, Masters Cat 4/5

Lowdown:14 laps, counterclockwise, 2 primes.
Teammates: Quiet Achiever and Curtis.

No rain for a change and field was larger than usual. One could sense that those that had stayed away during the rainy race days were eager to make up for lost ground. This was clear at the first prime sprint when I was left well behind and beaten to the line by many racers bent on getting those 3,2,1 points.

The pace of the race seemed high and full of aggression with attack after attack coming throughout the race. Feeling good and rested I got out of the saddle and attacked one and a half laps before the second prime. Three came with or bridged the gap. Soon we were perhaps 100M off the front. Our group quickly became organized and we traded pulls and kept the pace high – one rider couldn’t or wouldn’t maintain the pace and dropped back. We were still well ahead with half a lap to the sprint as I took the lead, resigned to pulling all the way to the line. We were caught by 4 or 5 about 30M before the line. Bollocks !!- we had nearly made it. The pack had timed their chase well and it took an all out, balls out sprint to catch us. Although disappointed about not taking the prime points, I was delighted to have made them work hard to chase inflicting suffering in the process. Bwahhaahahaha.

Once the pack regrouped the attacks continued but were efficiently chased down. Then it was the final lap. I was situated on Curtis’ wheel about 5 wheels back with QA around to my right also close to the front. By the time I was in the final straight I had lost Curtis’s wheel and found myself behind KB from BBC. He is a good sprinter and usually a good leadout but I found myself fighting for his wheel. Quite embarrassingly, I yelled to the guy to my left that “I have KB’s wheel”. Startled, he backed off and opened up a gap to the left. I took the opportunity to sprint past KB. The sprint was timed a bit early and I faded towards the line but squeaked into 9th place. I was reasonably pleased with this result because it was a strong field and didn’t have the best leadout. Best part for me was initiating, organizing and holding a decent break. This was a new experience. The QA had an excellent race and grabbed second place without much fanfare. That is why he is the Quiet Achiever!

The Mexican Wombat Quinella

Third-person Synopsis: The crafty Mexican completely misdirected the field to notch up a magnificent win in the Masters 4/5 at PIR. He lead out the Wombat twice to prime victories and when all attention was on the lumbering marsupial, he steamed down the far-left to take the flag. No-one noticed until it was too late. Brilliant.

Long-winded First-person Detail: It was wild night weather-wise. I rode from Raleigh Hills and got caught by a front of water at the Waterfront downtown. It came down in sheets and I was instantly 10 lbs heavier because of the water-drenched gloved, shoes and socks. Not cold, just very wet. The rest of the ride out was an exercise in avoiding flash flooding and unseen potholes. Note that the disused bridge is now closed to bike traffic.

Huddled under the sponsor’s tent were El Luch and the Quiet Achiever – two of the canniest riders on the team. Looked like about 22 riders had signed up but several names had been crossed out, no doubt frightened away by the tropical monsoon conditions. Four words printed on our team jersey sprang to mind.

The pace was high from the start – we averaged of 24.5 mph or so for the race. 13 clockwise laps were to be done with two primes. Have to admit to nervousness about the corners with just slicks on the back and made sure to push back a la ‘doggy-style’ on the sharper turns to increase weight on the rear wheel.

Soon the first prime lap was upon us. I was directly behind El Luch sitting four wheels back. He kept the pace high and I started to click up through the gears in anticipation of the balls out sprint that lay 30 seconds ahead. After the last turn into the straight and underneath the bridge I pulled out into the wind and accelerated past Mr Other rider #1 and Mr Other rider #2. I stayed out of the saddle the entire way to the line and secured the prime. The nearest was half a bike length back. The sprint felt very good - perhaps the three days at the track last week had changed something? A bit more sprint endurance (oxymoron, I know)?. Are we onto something here? Could we possibly do this again?

A few laps later the bell rang for the second prime. I was behind El Luch again but with just one rider ahead of us. He soon pulled off. Cripes !, what are we going to do now? – there is still an entire lap to go. Can El Luch pull me around for a lap?

HELL YES.

El Luch is a strong rider – he pulled the group for ages on the 'Reach The Beach' century ride Saturday on the long windy stretch before Amity. So he pulled me around the track for 2 miles and I again sprinted for the line out of the saddle from under the bridge. The same riders challenged but I was able somehow to hold on and we took the second prime.

With two laps to go El Luch decided to have some fun. He got a jump on the field and I bridged the gap to join him. The field must have been crapping their spandex because here was a well known strong finisher AND the race leader (at least on paper) out ahead of the pack. We traded pulls and kind-of gave the impression that we were working together to put the race out of reach. The reality was that we were not that serious about getting away and expected to get caught but just wanted to mess with them. We did get caught but with no lasting damage to either of us - good times.

The primes are a bit of a lark but the finish is serious. You have to understand that not everyone is interested in contesting the primes, but EVERYONE is interested in contesting the finish. At the start of the final lap a rider attacked and got about 30m ahead. The Quiet Achiever jumped and gave chase and I dropped in behind him. The pace was very high and we were slowly reeling him in. In the back straight QA indicated that he was knackered. But in an epic display of sacrifice kept the pace steady and kept protecting me. It was a magnificent pull and came from deep within.

Cornering that final bend I could sense the marauders approaching and jumped from QA’s wheel into the tiring rider who had attacked earlier in the lap. By this stage he couldn’t blow the froth off a glass of beer. I took my balls out for a third time and made a bid for the line but a little earlier than in the previous sprints. It was head down, arse up time again. I was ahead and within about 100m of the line when I heard a sound to my extreme left. It was Speedy Gonzales shooting past everyone, solo. I was stunned. First, at the effortless acceleration, and second, by the fact that no one had bothered to mark him. They were chasing me instead. I was caught by two others on the line to finish 4th past the post. It was a brilliant move by El Luch. They all forgot about him – the most dangerous OBRA cyclist Norte de la Columbia.

It was a Hammer Velo quinella - first and second. El Luch got the overall win and I managed 2nd with the prime points. I would not have gotten such a good final standing if not for the protection by El Luch and the Quiet Achiever in the lead-in for the three sprints - it was a great team effort and one that was executed perfectly.

There is only one equation in this race report

My shortest race was a 200M track sprint. It took all of 13 secs and, to add some technical difficulty, included exactly 1 left hand turn. The experience was super intense – head down, ears pressed flat, legs spinning as fast as humanly possible, blood roaring through ears, completely spent then recovery. My longest race was the Cherry Blossom Stage race (CBSR) just completed. This four-stage race took 5 hrs to complete spread over 4 days but strangely, included all the experiences of the track sprint……and a few more…although significantly more corners.

The Columbia Hills Road race (stage 1) consisted of 2 laps of an 18 mile circuit with about 2000ft of climbing just north of The Dalles. More than 70 Cat 4 riders started including several other Cat 4 HVers: Mexican, Neighbor, Kid, Quiet Achiever, Ryan and McDreamy.

The part of the course that could be my undoing if it wasn’t ‘managed’ appropriately was a 1.5 mile stretch that averaged 5% grade. This promised to be a challenge for the stouter riders – not so much the grade, but its length – just a bit too long to power over. The field would surely break apart during this climb.

I made sure to be near the front at the roll-out and settled in behind the Mexican on the right side of the road so as not to worry about drifting over the centerline. Initially, the pace was moderate with the occasional acceleration. The group stayed together until the climb about 9 miles into the lap. One of the benefits of riding in a large field is that unless you are stone motherless last there is always someone behind you. I made sure reach the start of the hill in the first third of the pack and from there kept an even tempo concentrating on not red-lining. This seemed to work and although I had drifted back through the pack, I had LOTS of company. I settled in behind fellow Clyde, AH and we summitted the hill together. The descent looked glorious as it stretched off into the green Oregon distance. The benefit of being in fairly good riding shape is that recovery time after extended efforts is fairly short. It was only a few seconds before we ramped up the cadence and bolted down the road ‘doggy-style’– heads down, butts up, like two dogs at an arse-sniffing convention.

We soon came across the now infamous Cat 4 Cherry Blossom crash of ‘10 – the only major bingle of the entire race. According to Quiet Achiever’s computer they were doing 35 mph at the time and some must have fallen hard. We arrived about a minute after it happened. It was like a war-zone, there were bikes, bodies and fragments of carbon strewn across the entire width of the road and even a couple down the embankments off the road to the left. Several race cars had pulled up behind and a race official indicated for us to stop. We came to a halt but were waved through the mess almost immediately. A quick scan failed to spot any HV teammates - somehow they had all escaped the carnage. We learned later that a busted rib and punctured lung was the worst of it.

AH is an excellent time trialist and we quickly made up ground sweeping up riders as we descended. Soon we had a roiling, boiling paceline posse of 10 or so of the heftier blokes in the field. It was a smorgasbord of muscle and fat hurtling down the road at >40 mph resisted only by the wind and the friction of rubber on road. It was a hugely enjoyable display of physics in its purest form. F=M*A indeed.

We caught a large group that included McDreamy, Quiet Achiever and Ryan about 10 miles down the road. Our pack, which now numbered about 25, represented the first chase group. We could see the lead group up the road from time-to-time. They were at least 2 minutes ahead. We started to chase in earnest but, frustratingly, it was a haphazard effort with some putting in the work and others content to not work. This resulted in a strange yo-yo action as we sped up and then slowed down as the chasers rested. Then it was the extended climb for the second time. By the time we reached the top our group split into two with me in the second group and McDreamy and Quiet Achiever in the first. Ryan and The Neighbor had been dropped by now.

Assuming our most aerodynamic positions, once again we settled into a downhill chase. Imagine this for a second……a ragtag collection of 15 tall, wide (or both) 1.5+ Contador-unit racers trying to get aero. It must have been quite a sight ………think…… the cast of ‘Free Willy IV - Return of the Pod’ on bikes. No wonder OregonCycling-frickin-Action NEVER takes any pictures of us. However, despite the visual comedy we were fast. The cool mountain air didn’t know what hit it as it was pushed aside quicker than a bride’s nighty on her wedding night by the pod of spandex-clad Orcas.

Nearly at the end now and running out of road. Our mini-peleton was close enough to see the group ahead. If we, the second chase group, could catch the first chase group we would record the same times. Well, we chased hard, made up a lot of ground and got pretty close but we didn’t quite catch them – we needed another 200 yards. In the end I was 6 seconds down on the chase group and nearly 4 minutes down on the lead pack.

It had been a drama-filled day of racing for the Cat 4’s with moderate climbing, blisteringly fast downhill chasing, a crash, more organized chasing, and a mad sprint to the finish. I was pleased to have been in a position to work with others to fight for the race. Also, it was nice to finish strongly in front of the family.

We ended the day at Double Mountain with pizza and an IPA. Heaven.

Highly skewed accounts of Stages 2, 3 and 4 to come……

When you know that you are mad for cycling when:

1. briskly walking past broken glass you put your left hand down and wave it a little to warn the pedestrians behind.
2. driving down Barbur boulevard you absentmindedly speed up to draft off the car in front.
3. calling ‘on your left’ when passing a slow label-reader in the supermarket with your trolley
4. you consider bringing a bottle filled with Perpetuum on a long dissecting day in the lab for fear of bonking before the end of the day.
5. you debate endlessly before work trips about whether to bring your bike or instead rent once you get there.

The ‘El Luchador delivery device’

For the first time, the team tactics and their execution played a major role in the outcome of the race. We were 5 strong including the Neighbor, El Luchador, Ryan, and Andrew. At over 50 riders, the field was large. The only other team with a presence was BBC with large contingent of juniors and a few adult riders.

The course ran clockwise with a brisk headwind waiting for us in the final straight. The race was pretty quiet really with some attacks that were quickly reeled in. All the Hammer Velo boys had a go off the front at some point but nothing stuck. Soon we were into our final lap. I followed Ryan out of the finish straight taking the inside lane and close to the front. The Neighbor was nearby and El Luch. hovering thereabouts. With half a lap to go with some strong riding, Ryan found himself at the front of the pack directly ahead of the Neighbor, myself and El Luch in a paceline – HV was leading the charge like a big ugly hair sticking out of a mole. Ryan kept on going and passed the lone rider off the front. Then Neighbor took over and with a few words of encouragement really stepped on the gas. The pack, off El Luch’s left shoulder, was under a lot of pressure and no other riders could join us. As we rounded the final bend, the Neighbor pulled out of the way, gassed. I then took off, legs a pasty blur, and I think was in the lead for a short while. Exact details are lost in an oxygen-deprived fog. Then El Luch rounded me and took off with about 200ft to go only to be beaten on the line by another rider.

We had timed the ‘El Luchador delivery device’ to perfection and had got him in good shape to contest the finish. In my opinion, the Neighbor’s long, strong pull was the decisive one and took us a long way towards securing second place. I was beaten into 5th place by a BBC rider. Although delighted by such a high finish, my giddiness was tempered by the realization that the BBC rider was 12 years old! I had been ‘tweened’.

It was a good day on the track for us – everyone did their part. It was the best example of teamwork I have experienced so far with this team.

The King's Valley disaster – how, why and what!

WARNING, WARNING – unusually high number of scientific jokes contained in this report. Do not read if you have liver damage, are a serious cyclist, or may become a serious cyclist. Your doctor can conduct a simple test if you are at risk.

April 12th, 2010

Dear Editor of ‘Crap Cycling’,

Please accept our paper on the analysis of Sprint Wombat's King's Valley Road race. We feel that our findings will be of interest to the wider cycling community and our hope is that with publication in ‘Crap Cycling’ others will learn from his mistakes. In accordance with the international nature of the Journal we have used SI units throughout.

We look forward to hearing from you.

Dr. Cannon Dale, Dr. Van Iller and Sir Velo.
Lactic Threshold Laboratory
Institute of Advanced Cycology
Bonktown, OR


Title: The King's Valley disaster – how, why and what!

Study Aim: To dissect the 2010 Kings Valley (KV) road race of Sprint Wombat (‘the subject’). His self-proclaimed goal was to support more talented Hammer Velo team mates; Driveby, El Luchador, The Kid, Mr Smith, The Neighbor, The Quiet Achiever, and Ryan (no known alias), and finish as high as possible with a minimum of errors. This paper is based on observation, satellite imagery, mental telepathy and interviews with the subject and race officials. It analyzes the known knowns (but not the unknown unknowns - we know what they are) and attempts to understand what went wrong.

Method: The subject (aka ‘The Wombat’) rode his bike around rural Polk County (Oregon, USA) for 93 km (56 miles) under OBRA race conditions. The subject rode a 2010 Cannondale CAAD 9 (54 cm) modified with fancy titanium time trial seat-post and saddle. 50/34 x 11/23.

Results: 47th out of >60 (actually number of finishers will never be known because of mass quitting and at least one rider who took a wrong turn and nearly ended up on 99W).

Discussion: With input from a well meaning, non-cycling State Champion, a well-crafted team plan was formulated. The ‘body mass index (BMI)-challenged’ were to stay close to the front of the pack to control the pace. The plan was for these BMI-challenged individuals to work later on in the race protect the 4th percentile BMIers (light fourckers) for the final sprint. The subject totally ignored this plan for no good reason and settled mid pack for the first half lap. This turned out to be a grave error because of the narrow road, large pack and large quanta of inexperienced riders who braked at every opportunity. There was little room to pass. The wind on the back half of the course was formidable but not an issue for the ‘mid-pack’ plodders.

The 25 km (15 mile) point marked the hill that what would become the finish line. At a mean grade of 6.02 (+/- 0.56)% the hill was of modest steepness and about 1 km in length. The subject was in 41st position at this point. Due to his high BMI, the subject slowly drifted back through the pack at -2 m/sec. This backward motion is described in the ‘regression analysis’ plot shown in Figure 1. Within seconds, the subject was ‘off-the-back’ and losing ground at a rate of -5 m/sec. The subject was observed to repeatedly shout at his legs “shut the f*** up, legs”.

As the subject breached the hill he placed his arms in the ‘drops’ and proceeded to increase cadence to 95 rpm. With the tailwind and downward gradient, the subject increased velocity to 43.4 kph in an attempt to rejoin the pack. Within 3 km the subject caught a strong rider from Portobello. Together, they worked to bridge the gap with the pack, passing riders at regular intervals. They gained ground on the pack on the flats at a rate of 10 m/min but lost ground on the climbs and in the wind at a rate of 5 m/min. After working together for 16.84 km they ceased the chase and ‘sat up’. Mr Smith, who had been chasing the subject for a time then caught up and they rode together discussing their options still with 40.09 km to complete the race. The long-range microphone picked up the subject uttering the phrase “mate,……. I’m buggered if I’m going to get another DN-friggin-F”. Mr Smith then replied “although my ass really, really hurts I’m with you all the way, Jay-me”. At this point it turned into a training ride and the subject and Mr Smith rode the rest of the way, taking turns to ‘pull’ each other. Although the final kms (miles) were traversed with 20% lower intensity than something faster, they appeared to be pleased to finish in the top 50. At the end of the race the subject was overheard to remark that his mouth was “as dry as a dead dingos’ donger” and sought rehydration assistance.

In summary, the subject rode poorly and was positioned too far back in the pack to cope with the finish line hill on lap 1. Consequently, the subject was dropped and failed to influence the race in any way at all. We hypothesize that with a more advanced position at the start of the hill, the subject would have been safely cocooned in the pack-womb sucking his thumb. We predict that he would have survived to deeper into the race.

Conclusion: STAY AT THE FRONT 95 (+/- 7.0)% OF THE TIME

PIR, oooh LaLa

The pressure was on for me at PIR after failing to finish three out of my last four races (dropped, bonked and crashed :)). As I was riding down to PIR it was clear that last weekend’s crash had damaged my brakes and it looked like the rear brake cable had been stretched. The brake lever was sticky causing the brakes to say on. I would have to deal with this later. Met Brad along the way and chatted about what to expect since it was his first Big-Boy race (triathlons DO NOT count). We were well warmed up for the start. Joined by four other HV 4/5s for the race; RM, AL, KL, RR. Looking around at the start line – it looked like the local crèche has fielded a team…with many young BBC racers. Reckon there were probably a few 14yr olds in the mix as well. Also, the race was going to be very short at 6 laps – I was used to the 14-16 lap masters fields on Monday nights. Not sure how I would go in the final sprint against a bunch of youngsters and 20-somethings in a short race.

In the first lap Brad, RM and I were at the front of the race exchanging pulls. This lasted only a short while before other riders took over, perhaps not comfortable at our controlling the pace. The race was mostly without incident - I tried to get away at one point but was unsuccessful. The main worry was a couple of the younger riders using their brakes too much and driving erratically – they had to be avoided or watched carefully if ahead.

At the start of the last lap, four of us set up a train that took the inside line. The goal was to deliver the fourth rider to the front with about 100m to the line. But for now, it was important to stay within striking distance of the front and conserve energy for the upcoming lactic slapfest. I was sitting third behind the Mexican and Brad with Rich immediately behind me. AL was trapped a couple of riders wide and KL was lurking somewhere no doubt gathering himself for the sprint. The pace quickened as we approached the final bend. A Pacific Blue rider went very early then, as I recall, RM went all out as BF and I struggled to keep up, I passed BF and (fairly quickly) RR passed me on the inside. Hah…….we had delivered RR about 300m before the line (sorry about that, Rich!). AL and KL were ahead of us at this point as well. I had nothing in my legs for the sprint and sat up a long way out and everyone besides Brad and myself finished very high. I cannot honestly say that our HV train was entirely successful. Looking back, I was the weak link and the one not able to provide much of a lead out for Rich. The positive, however, is that we DID get organized – something to build upon for future PIR races.

And I did finish the race…….

Another glorious fail

Since Tom's baseball game was rained out I decided last minute to go down to Salem for the Willamette University Criterium. Not sure whether other HV folk would be there. Turns out that Andrew, Kolben and Jamie B had similar thoughts. Squeezed in a 15 min warm-up on the trainer then it was off to the course. The 0.7 mile rectangle-shaped circuit was rough in places particularly the first LH turn after the start. The road was rough enough for the wheels to skip out on occasion - must remember to be careful on this turn. Also there was a zebra crossing after turn 2, which could be tricky when accelerating out of the turn. About 45 Cat 4/5s started the race. Lots of familiar faces : Kyle and Tyler from CCX Clydes, Eric from masters 4 and a couple of others.

The race was to be 35 mins in length and three sprint Primes were on offer as well on designated laps. The race got underway. Kolben and I stayed pretty close to the front for the first few laps. The pace was not that high and a couple of breakway attempts were made. I bided my time and decided not to invest too much energy in working at the front. The conditions were atrocious - cold (around 40oF) and wet, wet rain. Everyone was soaked within minutes and cold to the bone. As 'well-insulated' as I am - I too was feeling the cold and regretted the decision to wear only bib-shorts and not to cover my legs. The field slowly warmed up as the race went on.

Then after about 8 laps Jamie B went off the front. I was a great effort and lasted for about 2 laps. I had been lurking in about 15th place but in light of the 'blocking' discussion stimulated by the Cat 4 POC race last week, I decided to 'suck it and see' and powered around the field and settled on the front. I tried to reduce speed slighly while at the same time give the impression of pedaling hard. This was difficult to do. After about another half a lap I was overtaken on both sides by, what seemed to be, a swarm of angry mozzies. Jamie B was slowing and had been joined by another rider. Then the bell sounded for the sprint lap. I was feeling pretty strong and on the back stretch decided to 'make a bid' for the Prime and surged to the front with a blinding burst of acceleration. I was clear and kept on going - legs ablur. 'Round two more corners and then the long straitaway to the finish line. I was able to hold off an approaching rider and, to my astonishment, claim the sprint Prime. Spent, I waited for the field to catch up. Looking back I think that Jamie B's move off the front softened the field enough for me to stay away on my sprint. We should use this as a deliberate strategy in other similar situations.

Then Jamie B came up alongside and told me to drop in behind him - 4 laps to go now. Kolben was nearby and Andrew was ahead, embedded in the first few places. The pace had quickened now. Jamie was doing a great job of protecting me and Kolben was either behind or alongside and Andrew still ahead. The pack was together now.

1 lap to go. Going into the first corner after the start/finish (the rough one, remember) one of the riders washed out and slid in slow motion into my path - I went wider and wider and eventually ran out of road. My bike connected with the fallen riders bike and the sidewalk at about the same time and I went down with about 5 others at about 25 kph. I made the mistake of NOT taking an inside line in the last few laps of a crit. I dusted myself off and inspected the damage. For my trouble I was painted with roadrash on R knee, elbow and hip. The wet conditions saved me from a more severe scraping.

With the fall not too far from the finish I was in a good position to see the riders sprint for the line. Kolben scored 6th and Andrew 8th with Jamie B further back. Great effort from the boys. I won $20 for the sprint Prime which lessened the disappointment of falling (on the last freakin' lap). Despite this is had a blast - it was fun trying to influence the race through team tactics.

So for HV - 6th, 8th and $20. Can't sneeze at that!

Best DNF ever

The Piece of Cake race was always going to be tough for me. Two weeks off the bike. In that time I had consumed about 30 buffalo wings, 50 beers or so, taken 11 rollercoaster rides (Simpsons ride at Universal is the goods), enough fried food to choke Gigantor and some one-on-one manatee time. Looking forward, the consequences of all this hedonism would probably be a less than glorious final sprint in Piece of Cake. With this in mind my strategy was to work up front for as long as possible to soften the field for one of the other HV guys to bring home the Cake. Our race was in the afternoon at 1.35. I was there for the morning races as well and witnessed the carnage in the Cat ½ field. The rain and cross winds devastated the field causing at least 20% to retire after the first one or two laps. It was going to be a long and uncomfortable day for all.

Besides myself, the Cat 4 posse included Kolben, James R, Ryan, Curtis, and Keith. The field included around 8 Team Oregon riders - these guys had a major role in how the race played out. I had purchased a 1500g wheelset from Singapore recently and fitted some nice Vittorio tyres (OK, OK…tires) on them. Contributing a wheel set for the pool made me feel like a grown-up racer.

After the neutral start there was a long lead-out to the 12 mile loop that we had to complete 4 times before being funneled back down the lead-out stretch and the finish line – 54 miles in all. The loop was to be completed in a counter-clockwise direction. The tailwind that pushed us for the initial 4-5 miles got us up to about 30mph. Then we turned left into the cross winds and the first real attack began. A group of 4 (I think) jumped off the front and were joined by another rider in the next few miles. Significantly, there was a Team Oregon rider amongst them. I was close to the front and could see this unfolding. Since it was early in the race there was not much enthusiasm about chasing. However, it soon became clear by the presence of 5 or 6 Team Oregon riders glued to the front of the chasing pack that they were shutting down the race. They were clever about it too because they made sure that was little room to pass (file under: tactic for blocking when you have lots of teammates). Like a 17yo virgin in a cathouse, I waited for an opening and went for it. Curtis and Ryan, who were lurking nearby, came with. Other non-Team Oregon riders burst through the dam and the chase was on. We traded pulls for a while until the team Oregon rides reasserted their control and the race slowed a bit. This herky-jerky racing continued for a while into the cross and head winds and I cannot say that we were totally effective in reeling in the breakaway but the race was still early stages and there was plenty of time left. At one point Kolben stormed ahead and I went with him and we swapped the lead dragging the pack with us. I would drift back a few paces and then be let back into the paceline by HV teammates. It was interesting to ride in the crosswind- headwind mix because the best place wasn’t ALWAYS on a wheel - instead the echelon formation often made sense. One lap down.

By half way through the second lap the group up the road were 1m50s ahead. This alarming news seemed to spark the pack into life. There were more non-team Oregon riders at the front now and we worked pretty well to keep the pace high. Of course the TO riders never pulled, or if they did then it was an anemic effort. Towards the end of the second lap there was a crash - I understand that someone wedged a wheel between the spokes and rear derailleur of the rider ahead. It was enough to send one rider just ahead of me to the ground. Another rider leaned into me in an evasive action and pushed me across onto the oncoming lane - I was able to ride around him and escape - it was a close call. We continued on.

After 2.5 laps the lead was down to 35 secs. This was very encouraging news, we had nearly reeled them in with still more than 20 miles to go. Up until that point I had felt very comfortable and has carefully measured my attacks and chases so as to keep the pace high but not to overdo it. Then I noticed that I was slowly drifting back through the pack - I could not find any power in the tree trunks. Holy crap !! I was BONKING. I knew the signs - no power, jelly legs, strange backward cycling motion. Soon I was out of pack-mates and all alone. I quickly downed a Hammer gel but it was too late, I was screwed. All the work at the front had drained the glycogen from my muscles. My legs were as useful as tits on a nun. I had lasted about 2.5 laps. I limped back with a group of masters 123 dropees after completing only 3 of the 4 laps, about 42 miles in all.

I glumly waited for the Cat 4 field to come in. It ended in a bunch sprint that included all the other HV guys. James R and Keith finished very well, around 5-7 with the others a little further back. The highest any Team Oregon rider finished was 10th. It was a great effort by the team and was more teamwork than I had seen in previous races which bodes well for futures races with this group.

My downfall was not the lack of condition but fueling. I should have had some Perpetuum on hand to sip on during the race of this length. I normally just use Perpetuum for the longer endurance rides. Clearly, I need to consider taking this with me on races longer than 30 miles. I was surprised to have bonked after such a long time off the bike when muscle glycogen would be expected to be maximum. Well there you go…….

I was pleased to have worked at the pointy end of the race for a long as I did and help reel in the breakaway. Despite the DNF, it was satisfying to work for the team in this way.

That's better

After the debacle of last week the pressure was on to lift my game. The Neighbor picked me up plenty early so we would arrive at the course with lots of time to spare. Mission accomplished. We got there a full hour before the first rider went off. JT and AC were already setting up and The Quiet Achiever was nearby. Jamie B was enroute (and lost…I think…).

First thing I did was get on the bike for a warm-up. 20 minutes or so to my personal ‘interval mix’ iPod playlist got the blood pumping, heart rate up and legs embrocated from the inside. Did I mention the cold – well it was cold. I would say 36-37oF- cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass wombat. My race was 10.30, about 20 mins after The Neighbor, and JT and AC on the tandem started. So I rode over to see them off.

Apparently the wind was blowing in the opposite direction from last week. WhatEVAH……Went back to the trainer for another 10mins of warm up just to be sure. Popped TWO hammer gels just to be sure. Then it was back to the start line. I was to be released 1 minute behind QA. The start line was pretty much the last time I saw QA. I was careful to pace myself a little better in the first few hundred yards in order to tackle the dreaded hill with some common sense. It felt good going up the hill not totally maxed out. Then it was a period of mostly down hill and I was reaping the benefit of the 11/23 which had replaced the 12/27 in the week. I was going so well in fact that I NEARLY missed the ‘hidden’ LHer that claimed me last week even though I KNEW it was there. A quick tweak of the brakes saved the day and I swept through the turn with the grace of an ice dancing hairy-nosed wombat.

The rollers ahead were powered over for the most part paying attention to turning the pedals in circles (as opposed to hammering) and staying down on the bars for as long as possible. About this time I passed a recreational rider on a MTB. He was probably wondering why be was being buzzed by a never-ending stream of uptight lycra-clad Cancellara wannabes. Near the turnaround I could see QA in the distance and we looked to be about a minute apart (still). Dang, he is a tough nut to crack. Unfortunately, he was too far ahead to lob rocks at and demoralizing mind games do not work at a distance of 300 yards. It was clearly going to be a tight race between the two of us.

The second half was uneventful with care once again paid to pacing and technique, and went quite quickly with the slight tail wind. The downhill sprint to the line was fun. With a time of 32m46 sec I took about 40 secs off last week’s time. QA came in at 32m45s. I was beaten but not disgraced, and actually quite delighted with taking so much time off last week’s time. Shows what can happen when care is taken with preparation, warm-up and technique. Jamie B had a great time at 31m something, Neighbor came in at 33m something. AC won her category and JT got second. These two blew the other team away in the tandem race.

The hills make this course hard to get right and I enjoyed the challenge of taking apart my first effort and seeing the improvements in the second.