Pink Women's Power Skinsuit Racing

BB#2

2007-03-13T12:38:00.000-07:00

On Sunday I did Banana Belt #2 to try and get in some serious basemiles. We did the first 600 meters at a real relaxed pace, keeping it zone one and all. Later, there was a spell where CMG was shutting it down when they had a break they liked. It lasted about 1.2 miles. So, that’s nearly 2 basemiles. I should be good for the year.

The other 62 miles were a blast. Attacks and bridges and counters and elbows and grit and all sorts of things that make this game so very, very sweet. I know I should be taking it easy, but, well… I feel so sorry for the parallel universe Markwelders that decided to skip these early races (I try not to even think about the poor bastards that didn’t buy that old Colnago in Santa Cruz six years ago and try cycling--they’re probably all dead by now, anyways.). Speaking of dead, I crossed wheels going like 27 (totally my fault) and still can’t believe my recovery. I won’t even go into it, but I will say that I stand by my choice of wheels. I can’t believe humans can make something strong enough to have not shattered right then.

As far as the race played out… we did 6 laps, 64 miles at 24.5 mph. We drilled the climb after the dam every time but the second. We didn’t get to have hotspots because we let three people go. There was a split up the climb this one time, and fearing a repeat of last week, I gave all over the top (but of course took a breath to whoop “Playman!” on our way past her group—it turned out to be a brilliant team tactic—she totally won), bridged a bit and I actually made the split. And then the severed peloton healed and all that pain was for naught. I guess any split I can hang with is probably going nowhere. There was a late second group of three that I had to (I was there alone) sit, watch and hope the other teams brought back. It was looking dubious, and then Tonkin pulled through. Break over. In the sprint, I tried to follow the right guys, went late, got bumped pretty hard, cramped in both quads and still got pretty near the front by the line. That felt good. When it was all said and done my finish was called “a 6th”. Eff yeah. I know it’s road racing, and if you didn’t win then you lost, but still… I was done for the day before a lot of really fast guys. I was smilin’. Heck, I still am… even though it’s 2 am, I work tomorrow and I just ate a whole thing of Soy Dream (and some candy beans) while typing this steaming pile.

Billseye pix:

This season: Alone, surrounded by green-tinted hamburglars.
FYI: How it’s done.

Oh, yeah! Blog! Um, so far...

2007-03-09T23:07:00.000-08:00

So, three weeks ago, my season didn’t really kick off. The first race was rolling into some faraway Oregon town, I had just begun my base miles and the last race of my coming season was still about, oh, one year away. But, summummabitch, though; racing is where the party’s at. You know that, c'mon. I mean, I could stay home and ride by myself while my new team roadtripped it to the race, or I could get in the van and go and… um, ride by myself.

We strapped it on, lined up and started off down the road at a medium pace. I was shivering at about mile 2 when it started to rain (in February? in Oregon? WTF, right?) and I drifted off the back a little to pull on my new Bellwether Screamin’ Meenie. Right then the first attack jumped and my last contact with the pack had already come and gone. Pop! I hammered for a while with one arm in my jacket and my right half finally started to get warm, but they were long gone. 48 miles by myself. Hilarious. I guess some guy won and a bunch more people tried to race him and they did okay but didn’t win or something. I dunno.

Last week was the first Banana Belt and again I couldn’t resist the call of the dialed. Sheeet, I even bought a series pass. Hell yeah. Base miles? Going slow all day? What the hell kinda bull is that? If you wanna go fast, practice going fast, right? So, this time I hit the trainer for about 10 minutes before the race. Still didn’t get it right, but it was a move in the right direction. It gave me the legs to cover or get into a couple weak ass break attempts early in the race. Then the good one happened and I was too tapped to do anything. A bunch of fast ass dudes (the CMG team was most of them) headed up the road and ended the race for the rest of us. I floundered around all day trying to get into anything that might go after them (yeah right!) and then did a little practice sprint at the end. The good news was that I wasn’t too soft to at least ride with other people this time. The better news was that I had a great time. Got to roll smooth on my fresh tubies on my fresh wheels on my fresh bike, got to hit my legs a couple (tens of) times and, on a few occasions, got to get a taste of (Momma! I'm...) going fast. The weather was perfect and after the race the parking lot was live. I ate some Hawaiian bento, picked a couple of brains for some scraps of racing wisdom, partied with EP for a spell while she marshaled the afternoon course and then hit the road for some, yes, base miles. And, yes, yes, yes… a couple of city limit signs.

Here's my well-fed self in my new gang's colors.

2006 Season

2006-12-01T20:09:00.000-08:00

My goals for the year, as stated in January:
-Get upgraded to a Cat 2 on the road
-Try track racing
-Try racing cyclocross A’s

Um, yep.

Check, check and check. I kind of plowed right through these goals like my brakes weren’t working. I don’t know how it happened. My two previous seasons of racing have tapered off and disintegrated in May when school has gotten out and I’ve found myself without friends to race and train with. It had me thinking that spring racing was all my body could handle. But, this year I kind of just kept going. That 2 upgrade happened pretty fast… and then my season started.

In pretty much my first races as a Cat 2, I got 6th overall in the Tabor Series in the Pro/1/2’s. That was carazy. Meanwhile, out at Alpenrose, I got upgraded from a Cat 5 to a Cat 2 in like 6 days of racing over the course of 6 weeks, en route to an eventual 6th place in the State Champs points race to end the track season. It’s just wild. Then, in my sophomore year of cyclocross, I got a couple podiums at the smaller races while tying for 11th overall in the Crusade. Geez. Didn’t see that one coming. This isn’t boasting: I’m as surprised as you are.

So, the real question is: what’m I gonna do next season? Yikes. Can you say “Expectations”? T’hell with it. I’ma go fast. As well as this season may have gone, there’s still plenty of room for improvement, and a lot of local racers on top of me. Hopefully a couple of my teammates will get upgraded to 2’s as fast as I bet they will; and we’ll have a team for me to work for on the road. Then track’ll start and I’m gonna try to be a little more like the points racers that this year I just plain couldn’t touch (Taylor, Molly, Mikkel, Daniel, etc…). Then ‘cross will roll around and whatever’s gonna happen will just happen. Then I’ll write a “2007 Season” blog entry. Maybe I’ll even reflect on this one.

Thanks to everyone who helped me train, get to races and gave me shoulder pats. Special thanks to Molly who kept me on working gear, and moreover, gave me a great reason to keep chomping the bit through summer and fall (now go kill it in Belgium!). I’m out. Up Velo!

Non-Crusade Crusade Race 11/19

2006-11-27T08:12:00.000-08:00

So, this was an unusual event, because the big national series was in town and sort of took over our sweet little thing we’ve got going here in PDX--the Cross Crusade. I could have raced for a couple minutes with the best in the nation (one minute at the beginning and another when they lap me) if I’d wanted to shell out $150 bucks for an international racing license… nuff said.

Instead, I raced the single speed category. My sweet-ass CCX bike became, overnight, a sweet-ass singlespeed CCX bike when Bene lent me his eccentric hub… yeah, weird bike stuff… forget I mentioned it. It suffices to say that it’s sweet. And, the race was a breath of wet air: I finally got to race with teammates that have basically been playing a different sport all season. Of particular note is VS’s singlespeed top gun, Tommy, who, (yes, yes, yes!) had trouble keeping up with me (but not much). That felt real nice, not because I’m dying to beat my friend, but because homeboy can ride, and it meant that I had to be doing well. But that was about all that felt nice this fine day. Singlespeed is brutal. You can’t go fast on the smooth stuff and you can’t even ride the rough stuff. Major technique is the game. The course was a bog and I barely rode that sweet-ass bike at all. I ran every sharp corner, incline and obstacle. Converse to my usual “geared” practice: it was the time spent running that felt like a break. Crazy. I hate running. I’ve never kept that fact a secret. But it was all fun and games. For real. It was super fun.

The real event was to just watch the USGP races (and the hot tub). Epic. They rode so fast and so smooth for so long. I’ve got much work to do next season if I want a piece of that action.

Coming soon: season wrap-up. It's done. It's over.

Crusade #6 (I guess I’ll skip #5)

2006-11-12T21:54:00.000-08:00

Wow I’m blogging the night of a race. Damn, I must be in a good mood. Yeah, I am. Today not only went well (7th place) but also, it was super fun. I was just really enjoying racing my bike.

Okay, needs mentioning: Veloshop has lost its freaking mind. We’re huge, we’re pink and oh shit we’re loud. It’s crazy to be out there racing by you freaks. At Horning’s Hideout, Anderson yells at me “Don’t spoil Christmas, Mark!” and has me slowing to look back and ask “Wha?” At Barton Park, Tommy screams “Blackwelder I want to have your children!” and cracks my shit up. Giving that guy coffee is like adding sugar to syrup. Today I have Robin and a pack of maniacs running all around me down the course prodding me to go faster, faster, faster. And that’s just isolated incidents. The whole team is amazing. You people blow my mind. You’re the air in my tires.

Yeah, things were sweet. I got called up for my 13th place series standing and it put me in a good mood right away. I just eat up stuff like that. Oh, and check this crap out! (click on Next Issue) Wow! How’d that happen???? And do I always make that face? I just wish it showed me on my Lapierre. I hadn't heard about it and got to the race and everyone was calling me Poster Child and Rockstar and stuff. I thought they were putting me on.

I can’t believe I woke up in Vegas this morning. Cab to the airport, plane ride, cab to SE, grab my stuff and get to the race. Seemed like a recipe for disaster… but nope. I love it when a plan comes together.

Crusades #3 and #4 October

2006-11-01T22:01:00.000-08:00

Time is a problem. So is motivation. So blogging is on the back burner, left on all night, only to be discovered in the hungover morning all burnt up and subsequently soaked in dish soap all day. But here’s the blackened pot:

Cross season is tough. Saturday night I had to pimp my Franch Bicycle, just like every Saturday, but, in addition, had to last-minute my Spock costume so I wouldn’t be some Boo-Humbugger not dressed up for Flying M Ranch Halloween Cross (damn straight I’m calling you out, Cameron. Yeah, you beat Decker and everyone but Skerry; but dressing up like Molly Cameron doesn’t cut it when you’re lucky enough to actually be Molly Cameron). So I wrecked my apartment major whilst gluing, painting and papier mache’ing all my shit; got some scant shut-eye and got to the race (thanks, Bene).

Got there and started stressing just like I did last week. Made a conscious decision to say “F*ck It” (personal mantra) and to just have fun. I downed sumberse and watched the B’s and SS’s w/ Duncan (who’s just that pleasant kind of crazy… you know, doesn’t make you feel weird or in danger or anything- he’s just a little insane… and it’s nice) and took some terrible photos. Then, I wasted some precious race-watching time warming up for my own race. Missed the women’s race, which I regret deeply, only to get into my race to find that points were just plain out of reach with a climb like that thrown into the course. Every time I ascended it, 2 dudes would rocket past me never to be seen again. I just can’t do that sh!@t right now. No legs. I was really happy to see, however, that, as long as I was going backwards, one of the racers passing my fat ass was our own Shunter, who straight stripped that climb out its Underoos and got his best result of the cx season (until next week). I’ve been waiting for that sh!t all season. It’s November and Shunter’s in the hizzy. I’s got a new team leader. Pink and black, yo. Um, I mean pink and, um, white.

Oh yeah, last week… whahappened? Um, nothing, except I sacked up the short, steep climb enough times in a row to roll in and get 10th. I got all my crashes out of the way in my pre-rides. Not crashes like, dabbing, mild crashes, either. All three were I’mgoingfastandwherethehellismybikewhenIneedit full-impact crashes. There’s nothing else like that for your pre-race confidence. But then the race went down and I stayed upright (on my pit wheels), and rode pretty strong, so it’s all-good in the hood. I was in the points and was feeling fine about being MB.

Cross Crusade #2 10/15/06

2006-10-15T16:43:00.000-07:00

Though my effort at Crusade #1 could hardly be described as some kind of masterpiece, I'll still go ahead and call my race today "my first really bad ride of the season". I have a cold, my head wasn't in the game and my equipment was poorly prepared.

Before the race even started, my rear derailleur wasn't moving like it should, and I just sort of let it go, like, even if I fixed it then, it would jam again, so why bother? Nice attitude, eh? The only thing that went right on the day was my good start: after half a lap I was near the front and going fast. I was on Cameron's wheel and feeling like I could have a good race. Then I rolled my front tire off. This immediately caused the really disasterous mechanical on the day: broken heart. I went from gung-ho to so-low in zero seconds flat. I ran it for a moment, then remembered that I could put it back on. I put it back on and pitted. Got back out on my front spare, it was flat and it was rolling off every other corner. Pitted again. Stole Bene's front wheel (I think) (thanks Mike) and got back in... basically in training ride mode. Started to feel better about at least trying to finish the race fast, even if it's for last place; and then I rolled off my rear tubular. Sigh. Put it back on, pitted for the third time in 3 laps, got my rear clincher and just rode the course until they told me to stop. Oh, and the whole time I was in single-speed mode since my derailleur wouldn't move. Shite. Worst race ever. 'Thanks' and 'sorry to disappoint you' to everone that was cheering me on. Man, I was just not myself today. Sorry. Even just trying to talk to people afterwards, I would make error after error. I'll try to snap out of it by next weekend. Anyone know a cheap sports psychologist? Anybody have time to give me a swift kick in the ass?

Lapierre X-Lite FDJ Cyclocross

2006-10-15T02:07:00.000-07:00

It is so choice.

If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.

oh... not to mention The Playmanator

2006-10-09T01:35:00.000-07:00

Damn, Veloshop had a good day. I could write about this all night. Here's Erin Playman making a pass on the remount (mad skills!) after the start-line barriers. She got 3rd in the Elite Women. Damn... pink and black, yo. We had pink scattered all up in everybody's mix. Y'heard me? I said PINK AND BLACK!

oh, yeah... Tommy

2006-10-09T01:11:00.000-07:00

...and here's my ridiculous-speed teammate (he's gone plaid!) Tommy Tuite slaughtering the single-speed category. I learn from this guy every chance I get. Note the effortlessness of his barrier crossing...

Battle at Barlow 10 08 06

2006-10-08T23:50:00.000-07:00

yo. so, i've been given crap for never blogging my starcrossed and crusade #1 races. yeah, deal with it. the short story: starcrossed was f'ing awesome. i couldn't hang with the Jacques-Mayne, Decker, Kabush group (but Molly could... props), but i still did way good for me: 18th (look under 'elite men'). The next day I was way tired and i cracked hard and got 13th in the first of the Crusades. i was in the points, nonetheless. it was a weekend so tiring that i couldn't even type about it on this here internet thingy.

today, however, was a day for glory. it wasn't a Crusade, so i wasn't seriously, like, sweating it, but, still, the cats were away (in Glouchester), and us mice were meant to play. i had a good start with plenty, maybe too much (?) elbows (Cameron is teaching me 'cross, mind you), and i was in the mean-ass-killing-it group right away. then Brandt rode away. then i chased him solo for like, ever. then Zach, who had been in a cooperative group of four that were chasing me, rode up to me, rode through me, rode away from me, crashed, got back up on his bike way behind me and then rode through me and away from me again, the schmuck. too damn strong. (there needs to be a neat-o internet emaily smiley face thing for a squinty-sharp-eyed look of diabolical scheming... if there were one, i would put it here...) anyways, those guys beat me fair and square. i'm just glad i didn't go headfirst into the barriers on the run-down (who's idea was that??). my teamate Tiah took just the best pictures and i'm trying to figure out how to share them... but for now, here's one of me on the run-down i'm talking about. for my unknowing fam back in Cali, IA and AZ: this is cyclocross.

Hood River CCX 9/24/6

2006-09-25T20:03:00.000-07:00

O
M
G
!

So, I… I just don’t know... Oh, yeah. Here’s where I should start this story: Jess and Sophie. J and S, I’m sorry for what I’m sure was depressingly shameful behavior at your wedding reception. I was mingling and drinking shampagnya (like it was water); then I realized I was feeling maybe a bit more drunk than even, yes, I wanted to be. I stopped imbibing. Nevertheless, by a magical act of ancient French chemistry, I continued to get drunker and drunker and drunker and drunker as the sparkling poison crept from my GI tract into my bloodstream. I suddenly quantum leapt into the future and found myself laying in another person's puke on a Portland sidewalk. I hadn’t even eaten dinner. I knew my race would be just absolutely stellar.

I had been looking forward to this race. The course suits me and I figured some of the local talent wouldn’t care about or wouldn’t attend this race. I wasn’t going to miss it, so I had to try to prepare myself. Much Emergen-C, Aleve, and an hour on the trainer trying to sweat out the poison... that was my recipe.

I lined up early, sprinted hard and went through the bottleneck gate 4th wheel. I was pleased with myself. Then I was especially pleased with myself when what sounded like 6th wheel ploughed into the gate and all hell broke loose behind me. As it turned out, 4th would be my worst position on the day. One of the three in front of me immediately couldn’t handle the pace. Then Slaven pulled out of his pedal bunnyhopping the barriers at the end of the first lap and biffed it pretty hard. Second place. I pulled through and rode two laps on the front. The man I now know to be “Zach Winter” (good ride, you had me beat) pulled through and successfully attacked me on what he’d surely observed to be my weakest stretch of the course (which I, of course, won’t disclose publicly). Second wheel. Then there was Tonkin. He just suddenly decided to race us and became unstoppable. He came out of nowhere, rolled up on me, said “nice riding”, then rolled by me, and then rolled away from me (for those of you who haven’t experienced it yet… that’s what racing Tonkin is like). Third place. Zach flatted, pitted and got back in right behind me. I knew I had to defend to the death and I rode the last lap faster than any prior lap… and stayed ahead of him for second.

That’s what really happened. What happened in my head was: friends running beside me spouting water bottles on me. Other friends endlessly dumbfounded to see me still that close to the front of the race shouting seemingly heartfelt “Yeah Mark!”s and “Markwelder!!!”s into my ear. Friends’ children casually greeting me as I, flirting with a race-ruining crack, labored on by. And me hamming it up major as I cruised into my second place finish, pumping my fist Kirk-Gibson-World-Series-Homer style and being irrepressibly, audaciously ecstatic having smoothly finished my best cross race ever.

Go figure.

Veloce PIR Handicap 9/12/6

2006-09-17T22:25:00.000-07:00

Mmmmmmmmmmduhropped.

State Champs Points Race 9/9/6

2006-09-09T21:19:00.000-07:00

Medals were on the line. A win was practically impossible, but you never know, so I was there to see what would happen and, moreover, not crash. Really, I was there to race for MC, but she cancelled last minute because of work responsibilities (I was sad). I almost didn’t race then, but I jumped in (and I was glad).

So Mikkel won the gold with more than twice as many points than me. Well, I guess some dude for somewhere else actually won the race, but that don’t matter. Maybe if he were eligible for the medal we would have bothered to battle him. Actually, I’m only about 66.6% serious: Daniel Harm, you got game, homie. But it was Mikkel on top of the podium after the race, 2nd place or not.

Actually, I’m kind of PO’d. I was racing like I was there alone, just looking out for Number One, but had I thought about it at all… (don’t you hate it when you just DON’T THINK? Maybe that never happens to you…) So, some dude from Washington came down and won our State Champs race. Makes us look bad. And besides, I wasn’t gonna win anyways. And Mikkel’s a really nice-guy class-act type. Some dudes crashed our party. As long as Mikkel was the clear Oregonian favorite, maybe we shoulda been looking at it like we were defending against an invasion. I shoulda been busting my ass doing anything I could to help him beat that insurgent… even rallying the others in my boat to the cause. We coulda sent that guy packing. Oh well.

So, for me, the guy looking out for himself, it was a respectable performance. Worked real hard and got some points and a lap. Some really strong riders finished behind me or didn’t finish. It was a long race. The best news (far better news than having found out that I just plain can’t hold Jimmy Lingwood’s wheel when he goes….props, brutha) was that I was getting relatively stronger as the race pounded and pounded on. I gots me an hour’s endurance at high intensity… can you say “cyclocross”? One track mind, I swear. What the hell are we racing track for? It’s cyclocross season. But, I digress. I got 6th place overall out of 20 riders, 4th best Oregonian. Dumortier beat me by 2 points, 55 to 53. A bronze was that close… but if his name means, as I suspect it does, “of the dead”, then he deserves it.

Okay, so what else happened today? I saw my teammate Matt race the 4’s points race. The story: He was doing fine but was looking bad on his last 10 laps, hanging 30 meters off the back, trying to keep that last nail from being hammered into his coffin (lose a lap and lose 20 points, fyi). He dug super deep and caught back up (his face was a portrait of death), and right as I started to yell at him waytogo type stuff, mofo rides through the group and goes solo for some first place points and then gets caught for I think a second place in the last sprint. Then he wandered into the infield and puked on it. Seriously folks, you wanna know what I dig? I dig somebody that can say f*k it and burn those last 30 calories, you know, those ones your body can’t afford to burn, because of having to keep living and sh!t? Serious A+ for effort.

Some Weak-Ass “Cross” Race 9/4/6

2006-09-04T22:31:00.000-07:00

What was ‘cross’ about this, besides the bikes? Not much. No rain. No barriers. No real runnup (just some sandy incline that I, personally, lacked the skill to ride… but others had that skill… kudos). No shivering in a bush with a cup of lukewarm coffee one minute and then sprinting off the start line and into the mud the next. But am I glad I raced it? Hell yeah. My splits may have been going up, but each time I went around (6 total), I screwed up less often, until, by the end, I was pretending I could actually ride 5-inch-deep-in-dust singletrack (I can’t). I’m still learning this crap, and today was a great lesson, especially if what ‘they’ say is true: that deep dust is harder to handle than mud. Is that why I was pissed that it wasn’t mud…? No, it’s probably because mud that the guy in front of you rides through doesn’t vaporize and end up in your lungs. Hack.

Alright, I got practice in the morning, so I’m out. But, I was thinking while, wait... excuse me... Hack.

HACK!

umm… I was thinking about it while racing today… are these the most perfect ‘cross anthem lyrics or what? Put this in your pipe and race it:
"
I been patiently waiting for a track to explode on
You get stunned if you want and yo ass'll get rolled on
A fuse like my flows been hot for so long
If you thinking I'ma fuckin’ fall off you so wrong
"
you SO WRONG.

mistakes abound 8/22

2006-08-22T11:24:00.000-07:00

Twilight Crit continued

2006-08-14T13:29:00.000-07:00

Thanks to John D. for the sweet photo. Only Molly, who actually finished the race, had the nerve to point, laugh and shake her head at my mistake… and the kindness to open Veloshop at 10pm and get me on a loaner wheel. Thanks to everyone who turned out to watch us, too. Especially AP who helped me with my one injury, a big billiard-ball-looking knot on the inside of my ankle. She mnemonically prescribed W.R.I.C.E.: Whiskey, Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation... but after step one I kind of forgot the rest.

Bike Racing 8/11/6

2006-08-12T15:01:00.000-07:00

Yeah. So I haven’t been blogging much. Because I haven’t been racing much. And... my two races since my last blog both deserved only short, short stories: Raced an Alpenrose Thursday and lost, but should have at least been helping Molly to a win whilst losing myself; but no, she lost, too. After that I was suddenly hurting (my right hip… sciatica?) but nevertheless was racing that Sunday’s Vancouver Courthouse Criterium (and losing again). So now we’re up to date, mkay?

Tonight was the Health Net Criterium. Really, I had no business racing this race. It’s too damn fast, or so I hear. Also, I’ve been tired and racing like doodoo and peepee. Q: But how often do I get to race around downtown Portland with that many people watching? A: never, ‘sept for tonight. So I paid the $25 and jumped in.

So, as for the too damn fast… I still don’t know. I had only just begun when I found myself on the wrong side of a gap that looked to become a split, so I was trying to work my way up and across, but then found my stupid ass in the wrong place at the wrong time on the hardest, tightest turn in the race (the left at the bottom of the hill with the grate and the bumps) and had to make a quick emergency adjustment as the rider in front of me unexpectedly tightened up his turn. This adjustment, combined with the evil white bump, turned into a sideways 30mph hop, which turned into a two-wheel skid, which turned into a rear-tire blowout, which turned into an uncontrolled slide, which turned into an impact with the outside curb, which turned into (and I have no idea how) me running down the sidewalk in my Speedplay-cleated carbon-soled road shoes… with my presumably mangled Lapierre discarded behind me. I am told “nice save!” by a spectator who (among others) I’ve somehow avoided killing. I then go about realizing that my bike is okay, save for the demolished back wheel. I run. I run, bike on shoulder, to the pit, which is only 30 yards downstream. I get a neutral wheel. I wait… whilst being held by my new wrench (ahem, technician), and whilst being totally prepared to DO THIS… for the pack to come ‘round again. They come. I ride. The wheel feels weird. I get back on. I come full-circle back to my new favorite corner to find that my rear brake is not getting along very well with my new rear rim. I freak and brake myself back off the back. I hit the pit again. The mechanic diagnoses the problem: it’s fine, the brake is just missing the braking surface and grabbing the rim instead. Okay, I’ll deal. I get back in, this time without another free lap, and start chasing back on. I again hit the bottom of the hill once, twice, three times a maybe. As in “maybe I’ll die if I keep trying to ride this course at this speed without a functional rear brake.” I quit.

So, what about the crash? Well, crash-ish thing, anyways. I’m not at all disappointed that my incident can only be dubiously described as a ‘crash’. Did I crash? Dunno. All I know is that for a moment I thought I was a dead man, but then somehow found myself trying (in vain) to jump back into the race like I was still a bike racer or sumthin. My wheel is done. It would take only a quick sideways glance in a darkened alleyway to see that much. The rest is all a pleasant surprise. My bike is fine. And I’m here, in my flat, with Steve (my cat) on my lap, typing this bullsh!t as if nothing life-threatening even happened…

… and I’ll take it! Really, this “result” is a gift (Did Not Finish But Can Still Walk). Really, I f**ked up BAD and deserve far worse. And I can’t believe I didn’t take anybody out with me on my way down. I’s got a guardian angel or somefin’. The worst part, which I for some reason never worried about when worrying about crashing: it’s embarrassing. I’ve never crashed before (on the road) with it being completely my fault. I feel like a hack. Oh well, I’m just glad I didn’t take anybody out.

Alpenrose Thurs. Madison 7/20/6

2006-07-21T01:02:00.000-07:00

Steven Beardsley offered to teach me how to madison and I accepted. I just always thought Molly would be my first. I thought it was in the stars. But Steveo’s been spending a lot of time with me lately. And he is just so nice. And he asked and asked and I just couldn’t say no anymore. We met early before almost anybody had showed up. We rolled out, I went ahead, I heard him say “hand” and I put my hand behind my hip. Then he had it in his, he came by me for a second, and then I went from 10 mph to 25 mph in about a quarter of a second. I involuntarily let out a falsetto “whahhh!” in surprise and exhilaration. After about 40 minutes of getting used to this, I reminded him, “You know you’re my first, right?” and the tenured track class teacher smirked behind his mirrored sunglasses, probably thinking of the countless times he’s heard that from countless bright-eyed track newbies. Now, I’m drinking a Busch Light, wondering where Molly Cameron is, what she’s doing, who she’s with, what she’s thinking about, whether or not she’s thinking of me and if she’s ever coming back.

So anyways, we raced the madison, and it’s hard. And, then, umm, I suck at throwing my partner in, because… umm, I have no upper body… umm…. strength. And then, umm, well, we, umm, won and then HOLY CRAP how am I supposed to think about anything but Floyd Landis???? We ride bikes, right? That’s, like, what we do: we go on rides. Today we saw The. Ride. It was THE bike ride to redefine what a bike ride could be. That was the single most perfect and beautiful symbiosis between a human and a bicycle in the history of the technology. He and his BMC climbed, they roared across the flats and they floated down the most treacherous descents like nothing bad could ever even possibly happen. And all the while, every last rider with a hope and a team was chasing him as hard as they could. I was telling Molly last night how bad I felt that I wasn’t sad that Floyd cracked. I should like the guy. He’s paid his dues, he’s shown he deserves the world, and, moreover, he doesn’t seem like an asshole, Lance. But when he cracked, I was intrigued, not disappointed. I was entertained, not mortified. He just rides so boring. He forces everyone else’s hand without showing his. I didn’t care. I was even pointing at the TV and joking that he had no idea what to do yesterday since there is no chapter in Lance’s playbook that says what to do if you crack and drop from 1st to 11th. But today he started his own book, and it clearly states in bold type: you get pissed. You get absolutely enraged that anybody in the world thinks they’re winning this… no, not “this”… YOUR Tour. You wake up and say, “I’m brutally murdering EVERYBODY and there’s no stopping me”. You throw Lance’s book to the fans that are gathered at the start line and then you get on your bike and then you straight up ride it faster than anybody else can ride theirs. Floyd Landis is the greatest cyclist alive, in the purest sense of the word.

Mid-Summer Crit #1 7/19/6

2006-07-20T00:52:00.000-07:00

So fun. Molly made me do it. I was all lame, talking 'bout the $15 entry fee and the crash danger being all for nothing. Turns out that I had been forgetting that racing bikes is fun. She clarified this for my stupid ass, I snapped out of it, and we were off.

This crit is a super fun course, with a roundabout-style corner, two U turns, a full spectrum of pavement surfaces, and a finish comprised of super-smooth pavement and a slight uphill. Molly and I both got into / instigated early breaks that didn’t work. Seth CMG went solo and totally got away (I bet it feels good to be that strong). Three Veloce riders (including Jesse), Molly and I worked for a long ass time to try and get him back, 5 riders against 1, but the course’s tight turns really favored the break. Funny note: Steven B had forgotten his Rubicon kit, borrowed some CMG spandor, and was now cheekily playing the I-have-a-“teammate”-in-the-break card. So funny. With two laps to go, I conceded and stopped pulling through... and started thinking about the sprint for 2nd place.

Steveo tried to go halfway through the last lap and I was with him. I pulled through, but seeing that the pack wasn’t having it, I glass-cranked it to the final U-turn. I went through first, hesitated, then made like I was attacking hard, but intentionally didn’t go anywhere. Casey Deck came around me and started drilling it, either early for himself or right on time to set up Steve. I took his wheel, a quick breather, and then the sprint. SteveO almost got me on the line, but no cigar.

The coolest thing for me here is that I didn’t sit in all day, just saving my legs for that second place. I broke away, I worked hard to (fail to) pull a break back, and then, when none of that worked, still featured in the sprint... and made a quick buck or two for 2nd place. And, for the first time got to feel, through the tubes and joints of my lovely Lapierre, a full-power high-speed sprint on flawless pavement. Holy crap this thing’s a rocket. It is sssso choice. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up (at Veloshop, that's 9th and Burnside, ask for Molly). Anyways, I’m not worthy... literally: I can't finish paying it off!

Oh, and BTW, the results for the Tabor Series were finally posted and I didn't slip nearly as badly as I had thought. I got 6th overall, which (BEWARE: the following description lacks humility) is friggin' awesome. To use one of Chris' catchphrases... BOOYA!

Portland Short Track #2 7/17/6

2006-07-18T15:52:00.000-07:00

Now for something completely different… a short mountain bike course that runs through the PIR motocross venue.

Boy, do I suck eggs at this. I’m doing it to try to learn how to ride my ‘cross bike by the time CX season opens. So far, so bad.

I rode the sport category, which is like 4’s on the road. I knew I needed to sprint for position to start the race, but I had no idea… I started quick and then pulled out of my Eggbeater and ended up starting the singletrack in like 15th position. Then I was caught in traffic for the rest of the race. Passing was really hard. And fruitless, since whenever I’d pass somebody, I’d just biff it immediately and they’d go by me again. I fell so much. And “dabbed” too many times to count. One time I spun my seat a quarter of the way around. Another, I hit a tree and bruised a rib and now can’t sleep on that side. The craziest thing about this, though, was that I got so royally beat and never even started to tire/ breath hard/ burn legs… nothing. This event is all technique… other than the opening dash, which of course also has a generous helping of technical issues. Anyways, I have no technique. Except for having managed to survive this one mistake on the last lap where I hit this motocross jump too fast and couldn’t keep it on the ground and sailed all the way to the flat for a not-so-comfortable landing on my scandium ‘cross bike. Kablamm. So, I’ll try again next week. I need work.

Mt Tabor Series #6 7/12/6

2006-07-17T02:10:00.000-07:00

What not to do…

Again, I’m blogging like a week after the fact. Just not in a typy mood, I guess. Anyways, on with the story of the Tabor Finale:

I had a great series standing. I was fifth overall. I wanted very badly to protect that placing. I had Russell, Chris, Andy and Molly ready-and-willing to work for me. I had a five thousand dollar steed underneath me and a pink skinsuit stretched around me. I had jotted on my stem the numbers of five of the riders that were threatening me in the standings. And, get this--I felt great.

So, we’re going around and around, and it’s all fine and dandy. Cameron has a mechanical and drops a lap. Too bad, for sure, but now she’s only working for me for absolutely sure, which is admittedly good for me, not that’s it’s the way I’d want it. My all-star crew kills the last few laps, preventing any late attacks and expending an ungodly effort in doing it. On the last lap, Russell’s my last guy and kicks out the jams across the dam, like unbelievable-fast. I start to go around him and then notice that he looks like he might be giving more, so, I stick back on, and then he pulls off. Already this long sprint is going poorly. So I hammer up the hill and get overtaken near the top by four riders. So, I got fifth. Pretty good, right? As I cross the line, I look up at who’s beaten me and every number is on my list. I had effectively led out the very guys I needed to beat. Pretty sweet.

They still haven’t posted the final results, but I’m pretty sure I took a catastrophic slide down the list. Whatever. Next year, I won’t miss any of the races in the series. I did pretty gosh darn good for only having 4 real results (when they count 5)… and pretty gosh darn good for being an idiot.

AVC 7/7-9/6

2006-07-12T16:20:00.000-07:00

Sorry it took so long to post. I’ll keep it short, as it’s now a distant memory. Anyways, right now I’m preoccupied with getting nervous for tonight’s Mt. Tabor finale.

In the qualifier, in which the 2’s and 3’s duke out leftover spots in the later 1’s race, I did really well. I don’t remember much about it. I pretty much took an early sprint on a long attack, and looked to see that the pack was giving me a lot of room, and that the strong Recycled guy was bridging to me, so I went. We took the lap and a couple of sprints along the way. I got back in, dying, and eventually recovered enough to start nipping points again. The race was crazy hard the whole way. Somehow I held on to second. I don’t know how. I finished in front of at least four riders that are just plain faster than me. It was a good, good day.

In the real points race, I had a teammate in Molly, who’s a Cat 1 and, as such, didn’t do the qualifier. I was super nervous before the race, to the extent that it was hurting more than helping. I was just pacing around, heart racing, burning calories. I wasn’t hydrated very well and it was damn hot. It started and I took some early points, but was realizing right away that I had no legs at all. I relaxed a little and just started working for Molly, who went off the front, leaving me to block. And block I did. Once she was back in, I scrapped for points anytime I had an easy setup, but, for the most part, just hung on. I got 8th, which was no disaster; but more importantly, Molly got 3rd. I’d call it a success if Curry hadn’t inched Molly out for the 2nd that should have been all hers. Next year. Next year, look out.

Oh, and for anybody that missed it… Oh. My. Gawd. Steveo B’s kilo was amazing.

Mt. Tabor #5 7/5/6

2006-07-06T18:29:00.000-07:00

I prepared so poorly for this race. I didn’t ride at all the day before, drank a bunch of beer, played Trivial Pursuit and under-ate at a BBQ… then slept poorly with bad dreams and a high BAC. I moped around all day, ate too little and too early for an 8pm race, then showed up at Tabor sluggish and detached. Then I got 2nd. The ribbing I got from the Pink and Black crew may, indeed, have some truth to it: when I show up and say I feel like crap—look out!

The race itself was nothing special, except that all the breakaways (including the couple that I got in) just couldn’t get away… totally un-Tabor-like. Sampson, Cameron, Ollerenshaw and Tonkin all instigated breaks that didn’t even last a lap. The pack just wouldn’t be left behind. So, it stayed together, and the sprint would be for 1st instead of the usual 4th. On the last lap, I crested the hill almost last, drilled it down the hill, coasted through most of the pack across the dam, and then started a flat-out sprint at the gate. Just in case I had started to forget who I was and what I was doing there, Molly (on her way to a 7th… Up Velo!) shouted, “Go, Mark, GO!”, and I thought it sounded like a good idea. When I glanced up, I could see that Ollerenshaw had already gapped us all and wouldn’t be caught, no way, no how. So, I decided that the best strategy was to try to get him anyways, and at least I’d be going my fastest. With my imaginary Leia looking over my shoulder, I pulled the cheesy little lever to find that Artoo had miraculously repaired the hyperdrive just in the nick of time. The engine didn’t make the wha-whum-whummm sound… the stars turned to radial white streaks and I was gone. But of course Doug was out of reach. 2nd place.

The oxygen deficit that I was in was simply unreal. I got to the grass to try to avoid fainting and crashing my Lapierre, fell down and wasn’t quite right in the head for at least 30 minutes after the race. I felt like I had a concussion. So weird. It wasn’t like other experiences after long-ass races that had just drained me completely (like WVC stage 4 or the UCB road race). This was different. I was fine at the bottom of the hill, and completely wrecked at the top.

The unfailing support that I had been receiving from my teams all night (both Veloshop and Claremont Colleges were in the house) continued through my post-sprint daze and perhaps kept me conscious. The benefits of a cheering section cannot be overstated. It’s such a pick-up to hear your name shouted every time you toil by! Thank you. And yes, Savoie, you are the loudest.

Mt. Tabor Series #4 6/28/6

2006-06-29T22:37:00.002-07:00

I just had my spirits boosted enough by track tonight to type about road last night… so here it is:

Last night sucked. I almost didn’t race because I just had a bad feeling and didn’t feel like shelling out the $15 to jump into a race about which I had a bad feeling. (BTW: has anybody else ever realized what a rip this race is? If you get third in the Pro/1/2’s, not that I could, you don’t even break even. If you win the series, as in top-step-on-the-podium-for-all-to-see-that-everyone-in-Portland-is-weak-compared-to-you, you get a ribbon. Gee, thanks! Is this donation to RCB tax deductible?)

So, I get in there, sit in for 5 laps and then puncture my brand new Schwalbe tubie: out $75 and down a lap. I borrow a wheel from the very generous Mike Hilbrandt, and get back in just to try and help Molly any way I can.

What that came down to was trying to lead her out for the sprint for 3rd (a strong break was long gone). Then, on the bell lap, I drill it at the top of the hill to pull ‘er around the reservoir, and look to see she’s not on my wheel. Turns out I was giving her the lead out that I had wanted from her a week prior, and what she wanted out of me was the lead out that she had given me then. We’re two different sprinters. I’m learning… Anyways, the effort was completely futile.

And then I go to return the wheel to the very generous Mike Hilbrandt, and the mf’s flat: a Vittoria EVO CX tubie. Down another $80, and for nothing at all. Goddamn this is an expensive sport! Okay, okay, let’s see the positive… there’s got to be a positive side to all this…

Oh yeah, here you go: in my time alone as I got back into the race on a new wheel, I won an unofficial prime at the crest of the hill, where a renegade group of pink crazies, who will remain anonymous, were providing prizes out of their own stash of goodies. This was not the type of prime you go and collect later--they handed it up to me as I went by: the December 1986 Playboy. Well worn, too. I had to carry it around, but at least I had some reading material while waiting for Molly’s group to catch me.

Alpenrose Thurs. 6/29/6

2006-06-29T22:37:00.001-07:00

Again, I didn’t feel like racing… what’s wrong with me? I got it together to ride to the track and just see how I felt. I got there and Candi says, “There’s already 20 something 3’s. You want to race with the 1/2’s?” Me: “If I can hang with them, can I be a 2?” Her: “Okay.” Me: “Yesssss.” Now my day had a purpose…

Miss and Out: I’m not sure I like this race. Jockeying for position is not a matter of asking. It’s insisting. It’s kind of gnarly. Anyways, I rode, I think, a smart race, expending a lot of energy to not get clipped; and choosing breaking a lot of wind over risking a miss. It worked, because I lasted until it was me, Steve and Taylor. I knew that was all I could ask for. And when they went… yikes.

Tempo: I got out there, attacked early in the 4th lap, aiming as I often do to simply avoid the shutout, took the points and then I realized that they had given me enough room that I could take some more. I dug deep and stayed out for a few more laps. When I came back in, don’t tell anybody, but I almost couldn’t stay with the group. That elastic was straining bigtime. Whoops. But I held that wheel (digging way deep) and I recovered to take a few more points later en route to another 3rd.

Points race: raced pretty smart, I think, for a relatively uneventful 3rd.

So, what happens when you get 3rd three times in a row behind the same two thoroughbreds? You get 3rd. Nice. And in this case, you go home a Cat 2.

Oh, and by the way, I raced Tabor in my short sleeves last night and, well, you know the story. I am now racing either in my skinsuit or not at all... and I'm changing my blog's name to honor my lucky kit.

State Games of Oregon Track 5/25/6

2006-06-25T18:10:00.000-07:00

First, let me say that this race isn't as big a deal as its name makes it sound. There were six Cat 3 men in my field. I was here for some upgrade points and I got 'em.

Coker messed up and I won. That's the story. In the first race, an unknown distance, I set up right where I wanted to be: on his wheel. No tactical mistake, here. He went, I went with him and he straight up beat me to the line. I didn't have the legs to come around him. I figured that's how the rest of my day would go.

In the second race, a miss and out, he and I were near the back at the beginning. I even jokingly threatened to box him in and get him caught in back. On the second elimination (I didn't do it--I was way up track), it happened for real. I still haven't decided whether it was unsportsman-like or not, but when I heard "Aaron Coker" from the announcer, I "yippee!"'d quite audibly. I was excited. He wasn't pissed, except at himself. He blew it and he knew it. I went on to win the event.

In the third race, a progressive points race, everybody had apparently decided that I was out of reach, because I jumped out front and took the third sprint just to get on the board (objective #1 was to not get shut out, or else I could be overtaken in the overall), and they let me go. I cruised around the track and got enough points to clinch the victory. And then I got my ass of the way to let them duke out 2nd place. Aaron got it.

So, I got some upgrade points, a gift certificate and a medal.

It turned out to be a good thing, I think, that they didn't combine the fields today. Before the race, while it was still a possibility, Beardsley strolled by and said, with a friendly smile, something along the lines of "lotta orange here today, Mark." Molly? When’re you racing track again?

Alpenrose Thurs. Series 6/22/6

2006-06-23T00:36:00.000-07:00

I felt just like a crap sandwich this morning. Worse than usual. Sulked around and drank coffee. Almost didn’t race. I got it together to just ride out with Molly and Tony. We got there and I decided to race. After an hour of sitting in the grass and sun with a Diet Pepsi, just looking at all the beautiful people and all the beautiful bikes, I was suddenly ready to rock. The best part: they combined the 3’s (me) with the Senior category, so it was on. I’m always eager to race against the fastest people the officials will allow me to.

So: 80-lap points race. I played it cowardly at the back for a while and then Molly and Steve flew. That was my motivation for getting involved. I shot up to the front to oversee the pace, not that those two needed any help getting around us. Once they finished lapping us, I flirted with going myself for a while and then had an opportunity to go and probably have Zac come with me. And then we were gone. We made up the first half lap in no time and then started hovering. He was hurting. I started taking longer pulls. I cracked the whip verbally a couple times, but he was dying. So I left him to the wolves. It’s like that joke about the bear chasing the hikers. (Tho he didn’t get around, Zac ate up so many points while in exile that he still got 4th). I got back on and had gotten some good points while away, too. Molly and I started trying to eat points. I kept trying to stay ahead of Steve in sprints, and had occasional success. I may have been wearing him out a bit, too, in retrospect. All the while, James was unflinchingly attacking and eating points. You know what you get to do when your teammates attack? You get to rest. Yes. So, I was waiting for a new break to get involved with, when none other than the Mighty Molly Cameron went. I got on. I thought it was stupid, cause we’re teammates currently placed 2-3 and I thought nobody would stand for it, but I did it anyways. And then, they let us go. Hmm. Rather than catch the group and let Steve beat us in the last sprint (double points), we hovered behind, eating up points. Molly wanted me to win so I could upgrade, but we sadly couldn’t afford it. Even though she gave me all the remaining sprints, she still won, with me taking second. Still damn good. Damn good. Yes. YES. Molly rejoiced later over having outnumbered the opposition for maybe her first time ever. Up Velo.

Mt. Tabor Series #3 6/21/6

2006-06-22T23:35:00.000-07:00

Holy crap it wasn’t a fluke? I got 6th again. It’s not like I’m winning, but against these guys 6th kind of feels like it.

So, compared to going up that damn hill 15 times at 22 mph, I feel like the wind is practically a non-issue in this race. So, I’m not shy about spending time up front, trying to be proactive about how my race plays out instead of just being a passenger on the bus. But when the three strongest guys in the race go up the road… um, what can be done? When that happens, my proactivity starts looking a lot like this “waste of energy” that Molly’s always scolding me for. But, what? Now do we just let them lap us? I have a lot to learn. I’m clearly missing some point somewhere.

A bright spot in this shindig: this bridge I did. I haven’t done that in forever. Molly was up front, and the single-file pack kicked into this big acceleration starting the descent, so I let a little gap open in front of me, nobody came around, and suddenly the front half of the pack was just gone. A lap later, I was getting the feeling that nobody still with me was ever going to do anything about it, so when we crested the hill next, I peaced those guys out and took off. It was super fun to attack and go that fast for half a lap, just absolutely flying. I love bikes. When your approach to that bend at the bottom is best described as ‘diving into the turn’, you know yer freaking movin’. I think that gap turned out to be permanent, too.

Masters PIR 2/19/6

2006-06-19T23:01:00.000-07:00

22 laps of a 2 mile flat course with the 1/2/3’s that are 30 or older.

Super boring. And not good, either. I rode near the front and filled gaps just to try to keep it together, thinking I know how to sprint. Then I set up poorly for the first prime and lost it. With a subsequent break off the front, I wasn’t taking pulls very generously and a guy from HFV (Saul) gave me some grief, so I pulled through a couple times like a good sport and then noticed that he wasn’t pulling through. So I went back to him, asked him where he was and glued myself to his wheel for about half an hour. It was kind of childish, but kind of funny. One time he let a gap form in front of him, and I swear it was for my sake, so I sprinted around him and bridged, leaving him to fill it for himself. Ah, fun. Afterwards, we had a handshake and a smile about it. It’s all fun and games. A threesome went at 3 laps to go, and I was too stubborn to fill yet another gap. So was everyone else. So they won. We all lost. I did shitty in the sprint for 4th, too. (FYI: when there’s a headwind in the sprint at PIR, setting up 3rd wheel is no good… be like 8th or 9th. Now you know.) All in all, a forgettable day. Bene was right behind me. Without the legs to win, there wasn’t much we could do for each other, I think. We both hung in and got decent pack finishes. Bo. Ring. But it was 1:33 at 180 bpm average with countless jumps. Good workout.

PS yeah, this was my first Masters race. Old.

Side note

2006-06-18T18:31:00.001-07:00

I go thinking nobody reads this tripe, and then I talk to people and they've read it. Why doesn't anyone ever comment? Cat got yer tongue? I'm not looking for textual back-pats here... my favorite comment so far is still "Mark is slow." Anyways...

BTW, Veloshop's own Jess Graden got up Larch Mountain third fastest in the 3's yesterday. Finally, a great result (in the midst of a disappointing season) for one of the fastest climbers I know.

Alpenrose Thursday Series 6/15/6

2006-06-18T18:31:00.000-07:00

When a team goes 2-3 in a race, you’d think, “good result”, right? Like, “2nd place is good… and 3rd place is pretty good, too… and we got both! Yippee!”

NO!

Especially in a 3-mass-start-event omnium at the track with plenty of time to strategize before each race, against a guy without any teammates, this is actually somewhat shameful. Granted, not as shameful as going second-to-last/last as a team, but when somebody finishes 1st in front of a 2-3, it couldn’t have been a close race. The teammates must’ve agreed that 1st place was simply out of reach… or they messed up. That’s where I come in. I messed up. Luckily, it was a pretty low-profile race in the middle of a busy month and nobody really cares. And Molly and I still respectively won $20 and $10. Yippee!

Mt. Tabor Series #2 6/15/06

2006-06-15T00:26:00.000-07:00

I’m starting with #2 because I missed #1 due to a missed connection at the Portland airport… anyways:

11 laps of a 1.3-mile course that goes up, then down. In the Pro/1/2 combined field. Short, hard and fast.

Tonight, a good result: 6th out of like 40 starters. Not too shabby. Especially when the race was all about not getting dropped: ride near the front, hammer up the hill, hitting my max pulse halfway up it each time, recover on the descent, repeat… and always, always jockey for position. Breaks went, breaks came back; I went with one break and then dropped my chain and “bridged” back to the peloton with my hand in my chainwheels, cursing at myself (my mechanic). On the last lap I was in what I thought was good position, but then we slowed at the bottom of the descent and I just felt in my stomach the riders surging from behind. I got over to the side and accelerated as they attacked around the sides. I got like 7th wheel and we FLEW up the hill, and, here’s the difference between cat 3 and Pro/1/2 racers: I couldn’t hammer past most of the attackers for a podium spot. I only passed one guy up the ascent to the line and got a gasping, lightheaded 6th.

Now, this is not like other 6th’s where I’m like, shit, I could have done this and won…. These guys are stronger. I could have done a couple things different and maybe finished higher up, but really, shit, I’ll take the 6th. These are the big boys.

Good race, but it started at 8:10pm, and now it’s like 12:30 and I’m totally still rockin’ full gas. Sleep is nowhere nearby.

Mt. Hood Cycling Classic ‘06

2006-06-05T12:53:00.000-07:00

This was my last 3’s race, and I ironically didn’t have any shot whatsoever of competing in the GC. Every stage requires riders to climb and climb. I’ll keep it short. It was disappointing. I’ve done Hood now and will never have to do it again.

Stage 1: Circuit race.
We went down for 8 miles, then up for 8 miles… three times. I hoped to somehow keep contact with the group up these long, gradual climbs. Worst case, I wanted to make it to the last climb with the group and not lose too much time as they raced off to the top of it. Instead, I drifted up the first climb, and bridged back on the descent (now THAT I can do). Then I drifted off again up the second climb, but drifted too far and couldn’t catch back up by the bottom of the descent. Dropped. Lost 13 minutes.

Stage 2: Time trial
I was 13 minutes down, expected to lose another 30-40 minutes on the last day, and had the crit to race later this day. You think I gave a running, jumping, flying f*ck about the time trial?

Stage 3: Criterium
There were two reasons for me to go to Hood: 1) to, whenever I had the welcomed opportunity, help my teammates that were still fighting out the GC, and 2) win the crit. Seriously. It was a great course for my strengths and I was racing against a bunch of guys that could out-climb me. Second place would not suffice. I raced like a pirate. My position mattered, and nothing else. I bumped, I pushed, I cut off and I risked life and limb on countless occasions. And with one to go I had my whole plan of attack laid out, and was right where I needed to be in order to implement it. Then one of the guys in front of me pumped his fist in victory and sat up. The race was over. The counter had said 2 to go last time around, and only EVERYONE else around me had been able to hear the announcer say ‘one to go’. I discovered a new tactical weakness: my damaged hearing. I haven’t been that pissed since I was 14 years old. I almost went home and sold my bikes. Nights kept awake by my lingering rage: two and counting.

Stage 4: Road Race
I had a nice, mostly-solitary training ride on a beautiful 70-mile stretch of mountain road. Then I had some beers and the greasiest chicken breast I’ve ever made the poor decision of eating.

Mt. Hood Cycling Classic: never again.

Silverton RR 5/28/6

2006-05-28T19:59:00.000-07:00

55 miles of CONSTANTLY rolling terrain in intermittent rain.

Synopsis: I dropped myself. I’m hilarious.

The race started and I was sitting in the wheels, already impressed with the fast early pace of the race. I thought about how I do well in races: I sit in all day, do no work and then finish fast. I was thinking about how that’s lame. It’s cool when you need the points and then it works and you get the points. And, I should mention that there are risks involved, but still, it’s kind of lame. Since I was just doing this race to get a good workout and see how other 3’s are doing, I decided to be a different rider for the day.

Once my legs had been brutally warmed up by the first few fast rollers, I got to the front and became one of the 5 or 6 riders that, for whatever reason, were drilling it. I took pulls very eagerly and generously and, I hope, paid a little Cat 3 dues before becoming a 2. This went on for 25 miles. I was feeling good. With us going so fast, there were no even-momentarily-successful breakaway attempts. I would just stay at or near the front up the climbs, fill gaps quickly and then hammer down the descents (I’m a fatty so I’m good at that).

Then, halfway through the second lap, I pulled through, rotated out and then, well, I started to drift. Engineering couldn’t get me any more power to the helm. Nobody was attacking, just, all of a sudden I couldn’t hang with the pace that I was helping to set. Then they were gone. Just like that. Dropped.

The good news (sorry, Hilbrandt) is that we had destroyed so much of the field that I rode the last 25 miles of the race like a training ride and still got like 25th out of like 60 starters. Attrition, baby. My tactics today were like those of a guy that opens fire on a crowd and then turns the gun on himself when the cops come. All in all, a great workout.

Eric Kautzky addendum

2006-05-14T12:46:00.000-07:00

The official look of a "Battlefield Upgrade":

Men Cat 4/5
1 Deardorff, Chris bike/hincapie
2 Kovalcik, Zak
3 Weinstein, Jason Team Oregon/River City Bicycles
4 Blackwelder, Mark Veloshop
5 Valentin, Greg Wines of Washington
6 Logue, Troy BBC
7 Boquiren, Joseph Team Oregon/River City Bicycles

Men Cat 3
1 Coker, Aaron CMG/Alpine Mortgage
2 Blackwelder, Mark Veloshop
3 Bjesse, Per Bike Central
4 Dumortier, Jerome BBC
5 Gleaves, John BBC
6 Megale, Ian Fred Meyer
7 Hemminger, Stephen Team Oregon/River City Bicycles
8 Prior, Keith Los Ciclistas

BTW, just finished a 2 hour hammerfest with (versus?) Graden. He killed me. That man is the wind beneath my wings.

Eric Kautzky Memorial 5/13/06

2006-05-13T19:55:00.000-07:00

Alright! I’ve got a good one for you.

Went to the track today. The race was a three-event Omnium. We (the 4/5’s combined field… me being a Cat 5 trackie) did a paced points race, an unknown distance, and a scratch race. If you need a tutorial: this is fine.

In the points race there were four sprints (and “paced” means that lapping the field is disallowed). I took the first sprint, the second, the third and, to be a complete asshole, the fourth. I had everyone in the stands fighting not to fall asleep.

Between rounds, I talked to Candi (the officialest of all the officials): “I feel like a jerk. The guys in my field hate me.” “Well, would you want to scrap your progress and ride with the 3’s for the rest of the day just to see how it feels?” My face lights up: “I’d love to!” Having missed their first race, I’d basically be a sightseer, not a contender in the Omnium.

So, my first Cat 3 track event ever: an “unknown distance”. The racers start racing and an official discretely rolls 3 dice to see how many laps they’re doing. The pack doesn’t know it’s ending till the bell rings to signal one-lap-to-go. 5 laps in, Per Bjesse attacks and leaves us. I try to organize a chase. No go. Aaron Coker comes forward (side note: you’ve heard of Coker before in this blog as #519: the guy I was trying to follow into road sprints until he upgraded to 2’s. Bjesse is a dedicated trackie, so he’s new.). Coker and I can get him… but when? We trade off a couple of times and, by some miracle, the bell hasn’t yet rung after 13 laps (you do the math). Per is fading; a victim of fate. I’m pulling through, and right as Coker goes up track the damn bell rings. Oh mama. How lucky is that? By the time the steel ball thingy hits the inside of the bell a second time, I’m off the saddle and frigging drilling it. Coker’s misplaced, the rest of the field is nonexistent (= somewhere behind me… racing is funny that way) and Per’s backside is approaching quickly. I come around him up top in the final turn and take it by 2 lengths. Isn’t Lady Luck just something else? You couldn’ta beat that smile off my face with a brick. I was stoked, but it felt like a fluke.

Second race: Progressive points. Fifteen laps, each one worth it’s name in points. The pointiest guy wins the race. I ride the first 6 laps at second wheel, letting them go. Then it heats up. Aaron nearly kills me, but I squeeze out of it. Then he takes a lap. Then Per takes one. Then I take one … et cetera. It looks as though the final sprint (15 points) will be the race. BBC guy (sorry) comes out of nowhere and takes #14… and thinks he can get #15…but is actually just giving me the perfect leadout. Coker is behind me probably just marking Per. Per, on the other hand should have been more concerned with me, but he wasn’t there and I came over BBC to take the last lap and the race.

So, overall in the omnium: a DNS (Did Not Start), a first place and another first place was worth a 2nd place on the day. Coker, me, Bjesse. That’s the biggest I’ve smiled in a while. Got a trophy, a view from the podium, and some props. And for once Heather got to see me kick a little ass. Now THAT’S a good day of racing.

Fast Twitch Friday #1 5/5/6

2006-05-05T21:09:00.000-07:00

More track. Only this time, my 4/5 status hurt me. They (the Bike Central organizers) wouldn’t let me race with the big boys. It was, for us novices, a three-event omnium. I took all three uncontested. The other racers were peeved. I longingly watched the senior match sprints from the infield. Afterwards they said I could race senior next time. Boring story, huh?

My First Track Race: Alp. Thurs. Series Kilo 5/4/6

2006-05-05T12:33:00.000-07:00

Sweet. Now this is a time trial that I can get into. One kilometer as fast as you can, by yourself, from a held standing start.

My 1:17.93 was good enough for first in the Cat 4/5’s (I’m a 5! My sitch is that I’ve got the legs of a 3 but the experience of, well, no experience. I expect to upgrade quickly if I can avoid crashing.).

My time was also good enough for 3rd of the 8 riders in the Cat 3’s. Out of everybody I was 7th. Looking up, here’s the guys I gotta catch (“Sr” means, like, good… like “Don’t categorize me, I’m fast. Period.”):

1 Beardsley, Steven Team Rubicon Sr 01:12.32
2 Beardsley, Doug Fred Meyer Sr 01:14.35
3 Harrison, Rambo BBC Sr 01:15.75
4 Bjesse, Per BikeCentral Cat 3 01:15.95
5 Drake, Peter Fred Meyer Sr 01:17.16
6 Coker, Aaron CMG Racing/Alpine Mortgage Cat 3 01:17.27
7 Blackwelder,Mark Veloshop Cat 4/5 01:17.93

I see it as a good sign that I’m finally on leaderboards with guys named “Per”. Hecka Euro.

The best news: I know I’m capable of going faster. Hell yeah.

Mt. Hood Cycling Classic Registration

2006-05-03T12:19:00.000-07:00

“
I just don’t know. I need to decide right now what to do about Mt. Hood. I have my upgrade points for 3-2. Registration is almost full in both groups.

If I race Pro/1/2: I’ll get to race with Chris and Sam and a really fast field. For a moment. Then I’ll probably get time cut and go home early. Reg will cost me $155. I just feel like having Hood as one of my first Cat 2 races sounds like a bad idea. It’s like the Tour de France of Oregon, except that it’s all climbing stages. And I am a mediocre climber even among the Cat 3’s.

If I race Cat 3: I’ll race again with my team that went to WVC. I’ll have a remote shot at doing okay, maybe even winning a stage (very remote). The course is so unsuited to me that I’ll probably have trouble being competitive even among the 3’s. Reg will cost me $110. I will feel like an asshole and a coward for racing “down”.

If I don’t race: I’ll save the reg fees. I’ll burn out less, but I won’t get any stronger. I still won’t have ever raced Mt. Hood. Maybe I’ll just start focusing on track and missing Hood will help with that.
“

That’s what I wrote yesterday (to myself) right before deciding not to race Mt. Hood this year. I sent a note to my teammates saying I wasn’t going. Nobody tried to talk me out of it (though I was called a "monger"....hmm). I felt relieved.

Then I woke up today. I feel kind of better like my cold mostly went away, and last night while I was trying to go to sleep, my legs were yelling at me that they were ready for some bike racing (you know the feeling, right?). Then I started thinking about how I’m gonna feel sitting around the house knowing all my friends are racing. I’m hilarious. I was opening my mail, having coffee with Heather. I said, “Wait… It’s not sandbagging if you don’t have a shot in hell at winning!” She shook her head at me, “That’s what I said yesterday.” I got up, went to the computer and registered in the Cat 3’s. Yeehaw. It’s me, Duncan, Jess and Bene. We’re gonna go kick some spandex-clad ass.

Willamette Valley Classic Stage Race 4/21,22,23/2006

2006-04-24T12:02:00.000-07:00

Four stages in three days, this SR is a great warm up for the later NRC event, The Mt. Hood Cycling Classic, which is longer and steeper. It was yesterday that Veloshop traveled back from Eugene with this bad-boy notched in our collective belt. Here’s how the race went for me:

Willamette Valley Classic #1

53-miles of dead flat country road, done in three laps, in sunny 60 degree weather with an assy wind.

I get ready and lightly warmed up, have some coffee, feel great. So this is where my WVC goes wrong. Pretty early to be saying that, huh? Yeah, it sucked. I line up, not at all late, but still mid pack with other VS’ers. We go. The pack surges and swerves comically through the neutral start through the staging area. This is not good. These guys suck. We get on to the road and start racing upwind. The guys in front aren’t going anywhere, and I really don’t think even wanted to be near the front. The guys in back are trying desperately to move forward. The lane is narrow, with no shoulder, and there’s just no way to reshuffle. This goes on and on. Mile 7: Duncan “these accelerations (are lame)”. Me: “We’re way too far back.” Mile 9: going down a mild descent, the pack in front of us comes to a complete skidding halt. My foot’s on the ground, I’m standing there frustrated. Somebody goes down two riders up from me. I’m standing there fuming, when a push comes from the back and my own wing man, Duncan, is pushed down on the back of my bike, forcing it to the ground from between my legs. As quickly as the incident started, it’s over, and everyone goes racing off down the hill, except me and some bloody dumbshit who surely caused the incident. My wheel won’t spin. I move quickly to move the brake, which has surely been pushed over, but no, it’s fine. It’s my AmClassic 350 that’s the problem. It’s suddenly 4 inches out of true. I shout for a wheel and get one, some 36 spoke tank with a cassette that doesn’t work with my sh!t. They hadn’t allowed me to check in my spare race wheels. I jam it in and do a running remount.

Here begins the pain. This is, to date, the hardest effort I’ve ever put in in a road race. It begins with an ITT that I guesstimate will be no more than 10 minutes, so I quickly get up to about 190 bpm. The wind is unreal. I try to mimic my TT position on my road bike. 11 miles later, the pack is still in sight but not regained. Several riders have come through me and refused all encouragement to get on me and hopefully take just one pull before losing contact with me as they had the field. Then, a glimmer of hope: Steve from Veloce (a strong rider) is finishing a mechanical and getting back on the road in front of me. I pull hard up to him. He’s happy to see me, too. The two of us set a crazy TTT pace to regain. 2 miles later, he says, “We’ve got ‘em.” Me: “We don’t got ‘em till we got ‘em.” I was sorry to be right. They surged just out of our reach on the same descent on which I lost contact. 14 miles later, he tells me he can’t hold me anymore. I force him into taking shorter pulls and trying one last swan song. We grind through the unrelenting wind and see the field just in time to see them stringing out for the last prime. We’re done. Jess is now one of the popped riders coming through us, and joins our now relaxed pace. We’ve failed. We’re out of the GC. We’ll ride the last 10 miles like a training ride and be 10 minutes down by the end of the day. It was a bad, bad day to have to chase.

The good side: I impressed myself by refusing to die and killing myself in my least favorite kind of effort (TT) trying to save my weekend. The bad side: not only had I lost so badly, I was now in a two-way tie for the honor of most-tired-man in the peloton. Me and Steve were absolutely toasted.

Willamette Valley Classic #2

A 17-mile ITT over rolling terrain on an out-and-back course in cold dry weather

Now begins the fun. What’s great about not being in the GC running? Not caring about your time trial. I double-checked with officials that there was no time cut, and then went back to the car to part out my TT gear to my teammates. They did their trainers, their nervousness and their grief, and I had a bagel. I rolled up to the start line 5 seconds before my time, incidentally (I hadn’t bothered with checking the clock), refused the standing start, and went off on a beautiful ride. 3 miles in, I noticed I felt a bit tight from yesterday. So, I pulled off the road, sat in the grass and stretched for a bit. It was a beautiful ride. I really made the most of it, setting a new course record of 48:30, and coming in dead last.

This sounds really quite lazy, but I was just playing the hand I was dealt. The only thing I could earn by turning in a good time was dead legs for the afternoon circuit race. And I wasn’t the only one doing it. Since we started in reverse GC order, I was surrounded by guys doing the same thing; and it wasn’t until I stopped to stretch that I got passed by anybody actually racing. It’s tactics.

Willamette Valley Classic #3

38 miles of rolling, curvy country roads, done in 5 mile laps, with a slight rise in the finishing stretch, taking place 5 hours after the morning time trial

Now, I’m racing again.

This rolled out into another clusterf*k traffic jam. The roads there are just so narrow. This time, however, I survived until the first prime set the race in motion, after which we were moving… maybe even too fast, as 3 of my 4 teammates fell victim to the pace and weren’t seen again. I stayed out of the primes. My shot at the points jersey was long gone. My job was to get a pink and black stage win. I sat in, hoping for and receiving a fast race. By the 7th and final lap, I had the run-in memorized and put myself near the front. A rider had gone off with 5 miles to go, and I couldn’t be the one to pull him back. When a Veloce rider and a Webcor rider attacked with 3 miles to go, I recognized it as the only response to the soloist that I could logically partake in. I bridged surprisingly quickly to them… uh oh, too surprisingly quickly. They weren’t going anywhere. I drifted back to the pack and forced 4th wheel. The last miles were disappointingly slow, and the GC-challenged soloist stayed off to win. I came into the last bend 6th wheel and the sprint went off the front. Only in this stupid race could 5 guys in front of you still be a traffic jam. I watched my race run away from me as I tried everything to get around the guys in front of me (who I should have guessed were up front to protect their GC but had no interest in duking out the finish, duh). But after a couple of elbows and with 200 meters to go, I was finally free, and torched my legs. They were too fresh for anybody, and even with my tactical error, I won the sprint pretty convincingly, making up about 20 meters on the Red Jersey in the final 150. It felt real, real good. At last, there was at least SOME evidence that I had even showed up at this stage race. And I got $35 for second place in a stage.

Willamette Valley Classic #4

This is a toughie. 70 miles, 1 lap, 1 sun, and 7500 feet of climbing

I had told Duncan, pointing to the top of the second and largest climb on the profile, “If I’m still in it right here, I’m proud.” Pointing to the top of the ultimate climb, “If I’m still in it right here, I’m f#cking everybody up.”

I was right on the first count, but wrong on the second. I’m still happy about the result.

Right out of bed, we went up hill. It hurt, but it hurt everybody. A lot of guys with dead legs went out the back right then and there. We then rolled flat for 10 miles and really warmed up. Then, the biggie: I sat and ground it out like Ulle, just doing my pace, and finding it very pleasing. Many went bye-bye, including my whole team (three of which caught back on, working a Veloshop TTT to do it…WTG). About 35 of the starting 90-something were together at the summit, and I made sure everyone noticed me so I didn’t get a reputation as a dangerous sprinter who can be beaten on any climb.

The race was pretty serene for a while, with one particularly notable section on a semi-paved one-lane logging “road”, littered with sticks, branches, bark and gravel. We did one of the larger climbs on this terrain and the subsequent descent. It was cool, and I was really glad I raced ‘cross last fall.

At mile 45, disaster struck. We were starting the other biggest climb, called “Wolf Creek”, and went through the feed zone. My big bottle of sugar magic was anticipated and needed. And I didn’t get it. I couldn’t stop, I was already flirting with losing contact with the group. But I should have. As it played out, I, regardless, got paged up this climb that had looked like nothing on the profile. It was epic, and it was totally exposed to the sun and to the mountain wind from which, when you go out the back, there is no shelter. Again I never said “die” and climbed that shi+ faster than I thought possible. Over the top, I was with two other riders and volunteered the first downhill pull. I sprinted over the top and into the first of many sharp turns. Out the other side, I glanced back. The two were 50 meters back. They wanted no part of that. I, on the other hand was willing to do whatever it took to maximize my chances of regaining the group. It was the most fun I’d had all weekend. Each subsequent corner, I dove faster and harder, as though I were researching the threshold of my tire’s grip on pavement. I was absolutely flying. So fun. It turned out not to matter, though, as I just missed contact with group at the bottom. I was starting up my TT engine when I noticed the two riders 500 meters behind me. I sat up and waited for them, we got a fourth from behind, and it was on. We regained easily.

So, I was back in and we had 15 miles of flat between us and the sharp uphill driveway to the finish. I was out of liquid and parched. It was too late to eat the MoJo bar in my jersey pocket, but I did scarf the PowerGel (without any water to chase it, yuk). Oh, did I mention I was tired, too? I just had to sit here, try to recover and wait for that driveway. I had surveyed it, and it was a bit long for my signature uphill 400-meter sprint/climb/kneegrind, but I was sure as hell going to try it. I wanted to win this “climber’s race” so freaking bad. So bad. It would be my finest achievement.

We hit the turn up to the winery that overlooks the valley we were in, and it was on. I was told that the first 200 meters of the driveway is 22%. Perfect. I wheelcrush’d my way through almost everybody. This is not a climber’s climb (I would guess that I was kicking 800 watts). But when I get up to the faux plat, I see 6 people in front of me and 300 meters to go, but there’s a problem. I’m out of gas, and I just burnt the fumes. I wasn’t “blowing up”, and I could still suck breath; I just had no fuel left anywhere in my body. I sat down and (surely burning muscle as fuel) turned about 50 rpm to the finish, during which time I actually caught one of the six riders. I came across the line in 6th place and in total glucose, oxygen and seratonin depletion. I coasted to the car. Nobody was there. I sat with my head in my hands and cried tears of helpless, overwhelming sorrow despite being thrilled with my result. I had broken my body and my brain was no longer working properly. I bummed.

One hour, three bottles of Endurox, one bottle of Muscle Milk, one muscle pill, three shots of tequila and one Diet 7-up later, I sat in the grass roadside with my team, basking in the glorious sun and singing the praises of road racing.

Eugene TT series #2

2006-04-19T20:28:00.000-07:00

15 mile flat loop with some steady wind; done as hard as I could; all by myself.

I hate ITTs. Everyone who's raced with me knows this. There were no BAR nor uprade points available in this race. It was 1.5 hours away by car. Why do it? Because there's a 17 mile ITT in the stage race I'm doing this weekend, and I don't want it to be my first one in 2 months.

So how'd it go? If this was a litmus test for my GC hopes at WVC, then I'm going for the points jersey. I flew blind, with no HR monitor, odometer or speedometer, but other than that, it was pretty similar to what I should expect Saturday. I went steady and was really burning by the end (read: as well as I could hope to do). I got 6th out of 11 Cat 3’s; 1:15 behind my team mate Duncan, who got 3rd. This discipline is still a weakness for me. This fact and the fact that I hate ITT’s are like chickens and eggs, but both are still facts. I'm working on it, but I just don't like races with no strategy.

Preview for the WVC: I want to do well, and I want to say that I will do well, but I know that the field will be made of a lot of racers that haven't been racing the small beans early season stuff that I've gotten used to. I don't know what to expect. What I plan to do is race the three RR's like they were one-day events, in addition to helping Veloshop wherever I can. If I can get a stage win, I'll be good. If I get the points jersey, I'll be stoked. We'll see.

Kings Valley addendum

2006-04-12T14:28:00.000-07:00

These photos just went up and there's one of my winning bike throw. That's me having decided it was more important to stay warm than to look good. My yellow rain jacket is on underneath my Veloshop arm warmers and vest... and tucked into my shorts... I rule:
http://www.photoreflect.com/scripts/prsm.dll?eventorder?photo=0H3C0001000103&start=0&album=0&adjust=-1&d=0&nphoto=0H3C0001000104

Looks even better here:
http://www.photoreflect.com/scripts/prsm.dll?eventorder?photo=0H3C0001000104&start=0&album=0&adjust=-1&d=0&pphoto=0H3C0001000103

PIR #1 4/11/06

2006-04-12T13:33:00.000-07:00

PIR: an ongoing Tuesday night series that races around the LeMans racetrack at Portland International Raceway. It’s basically a criterium without any corners. It’s dead flat, a bit windy, and it seems like you’re always turning one way or another. On this particular night we did 14 laps, which turned out to be 28 miles.

The race: Fields are combined to make the packs big. As a 3, I have two options. I can race in the 3/4 combined field, expect to win and probably lose, and get no upgrade points even if I do win. Or, I can race in the 1/2/3 combined field, get some great training in, race with the big shots, and, though I would never expect to get them, have upgrade points waiting for us at the finish line.

It’s a short race and the pace is high. We went 28.8 mph on average with my max speed hitting 37.7 (on flat ground, dammit). We were booking, I thought, but Molly says it was a slow day. With nothing to lose, I raced pretty aggressive, often striking a match or even two to bridge or fill gaps*. In the second prime, I was sitting pretty coming into the last 300m, like 4th wheel. So I leapt. And then they started coming by me. No, no, blowing by me. Lesson learned. My heart rate stayed, despite my gasping pleas, at 195 for the duration of the following 2 mile lap. Ouch.

So, I knew that in the finishing sprint I wouldn’t be overtaking any of these sprinters, so I should start first. I came into it 2nd wheel, and jumped early (like 300m) for a long, long sprint. The pistons kept firing for what seemed like an eternity and only 7 guys got around me (albeit pretty humiliatingly quickly). 8th place. I’ll take it, with a big ol' smile.

I think this is the beginning of the prime sprint that learn't me some humility; I'm jumping around the orange guy, and everybody else is about to rocket by me:
http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=PhotoFaction&gallery_id=360124&image_id=116

*Obscure lingo lesson for mom and dad: the hard efforts you can kick out in a race are like a book of matches. Stronger racers have more matches that burn brighter and longer, but everybody’s only got so many. In a final sprint, you take whatever’s left of your book and torch it.

Kings Valley Road Race 3/8/6

2006-04-08T17:12:00.000-07:00

56-miles over 3 laps of rolling terrain with intermittent rain and an uphill finish like if you rode up the bottom of GMR to the flashing traffic sign.

Victory is Mine!

I felt like ass all day. I just never felt like racing, and my legs didn’t either. I hung in reluctantly, even stretching the elastic a few times, and basically went through the motions of racing a bike. Up the climb to the finish, I started at like 20th wheel, and figured I’d stay there. I just did what I could up the ascent, trying not to blow up, but also trying to haul ass. When I crested the top, I saw that I was 5th. Three riders just ahead of me were together and seemingly not going anywhere. They must have broken themselves on the climb. They couldn’t accelerate over the top. I passed them like they were standing still. One last enemy was up there, and he wasn’t slowing down. I thought for one pathetic moment that second place is pretty good. Shut up, Mark. Then I got a whiff of something in the air: a win. I tasted blood in the water and it tasted good. I thought of all the times that I’d looked over my shoulder and settled for my place, coasted across the line, and then cursed myself all night for not at least seeing what would happen if I opened it up. But. To get him, though, I would have to ride my final 100 meters in less time than it would take him to ride his last 85. My fists around the drops felt like they might crush the tubing; my legs like they were engulfed in a blaze whose heat was somehow pulling that chain around that cog. “Wow, it’s gonna be clos…” NO. Don’t think—just pull. Harder. The line is upon us… thrown bikes… gasps and uncertainty. For the next hour, we had both won that race.

Cooled down, in clean clothes, with Duncan’s recovery potion in my gut, I finally get a glimpse of the results that are being handed out of the official’s car. Oh yeah.
As he handed me my fistful of dollars, the race organizer gave me props for “refusing to quit” and having won “by an inch”. What can I say? Today was a good day.

Thanks, Duncan, for being there till the end and for feeling worse than me. It made me get over myself a little bit. Thanks and apologies to the teams that reeled back all the breaks so that I could poach their finish (evil!). And thanks to the Pro/1/2 winners who, by merely walking past me and accepting their prize money, reminded me that I’m small fry. Even the guys that they dropped beat me today.

Complaining... don't read this..

2006-04-07T09:38:00.000-07:00

Been gone in PHX/ONT. Rode 424 miles in 13 days and still gained 4 pounds that I should have been losing. My tranny is still fucked up. Two times in Molly's workstand, one in Jon's at River City and countless times in mine and my $1300 DuraAce 10 still won't shift reliably. I think I have Farmer's Lung. I'm pretty sure my lungs are full of mold. I've had a worsening cough for 4 weeks. I haven't been to the gym in a month. I'm fucking up my whole season. As exciting as they were to watch, the Men's A's races I helped put on last weekend in SoCal reminded me of how weak I still am. Just saw Molly in short shorts and a t-shirt and it confirmed for me that I'm fat and weak. Shit. Probably still racing tomorrow. Well see.

Banana Belt #3 3/19

2006-03-19T17:35:00.000-08:00

Preview: 6 laps of a rolling 11-mile course, done on dry pavement with a few patches of ice, bathed in sunlight but still freezing cold. About 55ish starters.

Synopsis: feeling my worst, getting my best.

Pre-race: I couldn’t eat last night. Weirdest thing. Me, Mark, not wanting to eat. Well, anyways, I forced it down. Gotta eat fat to burn fat. Still, this morning, after my lamest sleeping performance in months, I had no appetite, and had this burpy acidic feeling in my gut that made just being awake nearly unbearable. I sacked up, ate a bagel and a Mojo bar, had like 4 pints of EmergenC and about 20 ounces of coffee while I drove alone out to the race. Nobody else from my team was there. Not a single other cat 3 or women’s cat 4 (the morning races). It was a lonely and miserable morning.

The race: the 3’s hauled ass today. Well, anyways, about 25 of us did. The others were out the back, pronto. At one point I thought I was riding near-ish the front, pointed to a pothole and yelled, “hole”, and then laughed with the guy next to me when we realized we were at the end of the line. It was a brisk pace. All day there were attacks, breakaways and catches. I helped for a while with the bridging of gaps, but stopped on the 4th lap when the word “dropped” started echoing in my head. I was hurting. I used the elastic today for the first time this year. It held, and I snapped back on. The stupidest thing: I was hungry. Feeling hungry in a 66 mile RR is a sure sign that your preparation sucked. I kept turning them over one stroke at a time and was glad to find myself still in it on the last lap. There weren’t many of us left.

10 miles to go, yet another group goes. Two, shortly joined by two more. They just hang there at 20 seconds. By 5 to go, it really looks like they’re toasted, but two U of O riders jump to join them. If the group were making any time at all, we would have been scared. A guy from Broadmark even commented to me sarcastically, “Great idea. Bridge to a fried breakaway.” For one of them, tho, it turned out to be a great idea. Two miles to go and they’re still right there, and it’s not because of any laziness on our part. We were cooking. But the sprint was coming (really cooking), and we knew we’d get ‘em. A mile to go, we’re on our way up the last climb. I am bewildered to find that I’ve got the legs to go from the back to the front of the chasing pack up the ascent. I guess everyone else was tired, too. At the top, I felt like I could reach out and touch the break. Down the descent, we paceline too fast for them and they’re caught. Ehhhksellent. I settle in to start defending possession of my spot right near the rotating front. I know that my best bet is to be the first one over the roller that crests 200 meters from the finish (stay out of traffic, Marko!). We hit the bridge, which was nice and dry this week, and I slingshot off my wheel and go. I’m pleased to see that I’m going the fastest. I am really, really disappointed to see, for the first time, the guy 50 meters off the front of my wheel: an escapee of the escape group. I hadn’t counted ‘em when we caught ‘em. I did not know he was there. Shitters. We were all sprinting for second. Oh well. I crested the top first (in the bunch) and saw the finish line. Right then a guy comes off my wheel and around me. My afterburners fire and I’m on his wheel. Another guy comes around on the other side. I’m losing. I fire again to try to get around. I’m geared out: in my 53-12 turning over a standing 100 rpm. Come on, legspeed! I can’t do it. It was everything I could muster and I only gained about half a bike length. The two guys beside me threw bikes for second and I sat up for fourth.

The silver lining: I am totally happy to have done that well whilst feeling so bad. Also, for once I don’t have a tactical mistake haunting me for the rest of the day, preventing me from falling asleep at night. That guy that won made a sweet move, and he deserves the win. I wish we had pulled him back, but I certainly don’t feel personally responsible for it (especially as the sole rep of my team). I gave everything I had. I wish it had been enough, of course, but it definitely sits better with me to feel weak than to feel stupid.

Banana Belt #2 3/12

2006-03-13T00:07:00.000-08:00

…5 laps of a rolling 11-mile course around Hagg Lake. Drizzly, surprisingly cold weather. Wet tarmac with slush and snow hugging the white line. About 60 starters.

The result: another mistake, another mediocre result.

The good news: I held in there. I’d worried that I’d get popped. I felt like crap. The one short climb on the course got harder each lap of course, but it was never even close to worrisome. Great. I am quite pleasantly surprised by all of that.

The bad part: I was so worried about my legs that I left my head in the car. With Coker (OBRA #519) out of my group via upgrade, I was lost in the run in. Which of these guys were going to haul ass up the finishing grade, and which were just up there protecting their top 30 finish? No idea. I played it safe, I thought, by staying on the center line (planning a left hand pass), at about 10th wheel. Bad idea. The sprint didn’t go. We rode finishing meters 700-300 at about 15mph. Trapped. It finally “goes” and everybody in front of me is friggin’ weak. Yeah, I said it. What were they doing up there? They sure as hell weren’t leading anybody out. Meanwhile, the real contestants go around on the right shoulder, as I should have (I had tried that in the prime and nearly got intimate with Candy at the line). By the time I “Grand Theft Auto” through the blockage, I’m probably 15th. I then--and this is the saddest part--just start swallowing everyone in front of me. Good fitness. Nobody I saw was going faster than I was, but 6 guys were nonetheless bound to get there sooner (which, they say, is what matters!).

In a similar race almost a year ago, there was one crucial difference for me: Darren. Instead of being forced to guess about where the traffic might be less backed up in a lazy, late, one-lane-wide, Red-Rover style “sprint”, I had him on the front kicking out the jams all the way in, so that by the time we jumped, only the fittest remained on the front to duke it out for the victory… and I was treated to a front row seat. Miss you, D. That’s how it’s done. ...just a little shout out for my long lost homie paying $1400 a month rent in SF.

For those of you that still don’t get this road racing thing that I'm doing; I promise, it’s a team sport. When poaching the sprint works, you look like a genius; but the rest of the time, your result is just what everyone would have expected. All that said, it was definitely still me that chose to be where I was, and I am cleary not a genius. Mistake.

Wish I had better news for y’all. I’ll try again next week. Wah, wah. Boo hoo. More aggressive, more aggressive... is "next week" becoming my catchy sign-off? Dubois, come up here and berate me until I start racing like I want to win.

That's me with the pink cap, frozen fingers, and, yes... glasses (thanks, Molly!):
http://www.printroom.com/ViewGalleryPhoto.asp?userid=PhotoFaction&gallery_id=341626&image_id=18

Banana Belt #2 Preview

2006-03-13T00:03:00.000-08:00

I’ve been sick for two weeks. I wake up every day with a sore throat, and when I get on the bike, I have no power. Nothing. Three scheduled road rides in a row I’d turned and gone home in frustration and shame. Friday I decided that I’m probably never going to beat this thing and that I’d better just get used to it. I rode with Mike and Jess despite feeling like shit. I got paged on every climb and was dropped pretty much every time they weren’t coasting. It was pathetic. But I (and they) suffered through it (thanks, guys). Saturday I felt almost better. I rode 2 hours with a mixed group and put in a solid effort, nothing mind-blowing: 307 W for 20 minutes. Last night Jess found us a ride to the race in the 11th hour. This morning I woke up 5 hours earlier than I have since last Sunday--with a sore throat, of course, drank a bunch of EmergenC, ate some peanut butter and got ready to race, having absolutely no idea what to expect.

Banana Belt Series, Race #1, 3/5

2006-03-05T13:55:00.000-08:00

This will be the last I speak or write about this race.

It was a mere 4 laps of a rolling 11-mile course on a rainy day. Next week it’ll be 5; 6 the next. They’re all short, but this was “the short one”. For me, it punctuated a crappy week. I’ve been fighting a sore throat and chronic gastrointestinal distress. I rode a whopping 9.4 hours this week. I thought, going into it, that the punctuation mark would be an ellipsis, but in the final kilos it looked to be an exclamation point. Maybe two or three. Anyways… (<- ellipsis)

I was never in ‘a bit of bother’; for the second time in the two road races so far. The hills were sharp but not long enough to be selective. I rode smart near the front and didn’t let anyone use me. I'm riding for me and me alone. (Yes, Jess popped again (what??? how???)) (Yes, nested parentheses)

The points sprint after two laps didn’t play out for me. I got to the front and cycled about in the paceline, hoping for an opportunity, but definitely not forcing anything--always thinking more about the finish. Too far up too early, I found that it was my turn to pull through with 700 m to go. Perfectly bad position. I took the pull like a good sport and watched the sprint from 10th wheel. FYI: if you’re not going to -for sure- take first or second in a “hot spot sprint”, don’t bother. I didn’t. (That is, unless there’s a prize messenger bag for the sprint, you're gonna win the GC anyways, and you really need a messenger bag)

So, fast-forward to the finish. I felt great. 2.5 k to go, we surmounted the last short climb. I was 8th wheel. 2 to go. I muscle my way, on the downhill at 35 mph, onto the wheel that I want: #519… the big guy on the red Cannondale that took the sprint ahead of me at Cherry Pie. I’m 10th wheel, behind the guy that my stomach knows will take 1st unless I outsprint him. A guy from the left tries to push me off--I shoulder him against the centerline. 1.5 to go. A guy tries to push me off from the right. I pull a couple strokes to get my right wrist ahead of his hoods and move right. My wheel. 1 to go. A bastard ass rock lands in my right eye. No problem… blink it out. No go. Rub it out. No go. Can’t see. Try to blink it out again. No go. We’re hitting the sharp right onto the narrow bridge with wet metal plates in it that is idiotically placed 700 m from the downhill finish. I can’t see. On 70% instinct and 30% blurry doublevision, I hold my line and don’t cause any fatalities. I can’t see. I’ve lost my wheel, I can see that much. The sprint goes. I decide that at this point, I’ll be lucky to get away with merely not becoming ‘the guy that caused the pile up’. I sprint just enough to hold position. I very, very narrowly get around this Guinness asshole that’s gone early and cracked and is coming through the center of the bunch kick 10 mph slower than the rest of us. I coast across the finish line and straight to the side of road where I plead with the back of the passing pack to give me some plain-old water. A really nice guy obliges me and is surprised to see me shoot his water bottle right into my eye. The pain sucks. Bad. It takes me 10 minutes to get the rock out. I still, right now, have blurry vision out of my right eye. Sigh. I really hope it goes away.

I know I should wear glasses. I do on dry days. But on rainy days, I can (almost) always blink the water and road grit out; but when that shit hits your glasses, you just can’t see… period. So, no glasses. I guess wearing them is a skill that one has to practice. I’ll work on it.

In my own defense: the guy that won wasn’t wearing them either. #519. Yeah, the guy I was fighting to follow into his sprint. Yep. I felt good, too. As I type this, I don’t feel like I’ve raced today. My toy computer tells me my pulse peaked at 183 in my “sprint”. No cool down necessary. Once again, the silver lining is that my fitness was there. I’m stronger than a lot of those guys. I guess that knowledge is nice, but in a way it also puts a lot of pressure on me. I can’t wait until there’s more than one race a week. If I were in collegiate, I’d be saying, “Well, shit, I’ll win the crit tomorrow.” No go. Sigh. Sorry Dubois, I'm no closer to being your Cat 2 domestique. So, until next week, yours truly.

Jack Frost Time Trial 2/26

2006-02-27T12:27:00.000-08:00

I suck at time trials. I want very badly to get better at them. They're boring and painful, but they are also a good indication of one's strength.

The grand prize at this event is a ribbon. If you win, you get 0 upgrade points. If you win, you won't even know it until later in the day when they tally up the times. Big motivation, huh? Still, they're good for training. With everyone watching the times, it's an opportunity to put in a good 30 minute interval at top pace. This for me was a $10 training ride. Jess and I rode out to the course, which was just west of Vancouver, WA. I had my pump, saddle bag, fender, rainwear, et cetera. We got there 15 and 18 minutes before our start times, raced, then rode straight home. It was a training ride.

This approach was a mistake. I forgot that no matter how little my result mattered, that I'd still be scrutinizing it later. Now, I sit wondering how much all of that mattered, and whether or not my disappointing time would have been much improved had I been decked out in my fastest gear. I feel like I put in a good effort. There're always ways you could have improved your run, but in this case none of those flaws were at all disastrous. My 30:28 ranked 18th out of 24 Cat 3's that raced. Duncan, pictured below, beat me by 1:26, Mike Bene by :55, JV by :25, Jess by :24. I list these teamates, not because they're the competition, but becuase I ride with them all the time and we use each other for fitness reference points. The point is, I was slowest. By a lot.

I'm trying to tell myself that it was a success: I, as planned, put in a really hard :30 interval in middle of a 3+ hr Sunday training ride. I got stronger. But my confidence took a pretty hard blow today. I didn't plan on that.

Thanks to Alex Johnson for again taking excellent photos of the event.
Here's me:
http://pacificsportsphotography.exposuremanager.com/p/part_3/psp_jftt_56426
http://pacificsportsphotography.exposuremanager.com/p/part_3/psp_jftt_5048
The similarly-equipped Jess Graden:
http://pacificsportsphotography.exposuremanager.com/p/part_3/psp_jftt_55731
The out-of-uniform JV:
http://pacificsportsphotography.exposuremanager.com/p/part_3/psp_jftt_58242
The grizzly Mike B:
http://pacificsportsphotography.exposuremanager.com/p/part_3/psp_jftt_42642
Our fastest rider on the day, Duncan :
http://pacificsportsphotography.exposuremanager.com/p/part_3/psp_jftt_57917

Cherry Pie Road Race 2/19

2006-02-20T12:05:00.000-08:00

Cherry Pie is the season opener for everyone. With it being all the way down in Harrisburg (~2 hrs driving), few people from my team chose to make the trip. Those of us that went were those that were eager to get our feet wet and scope out the competition before the upcoming local RR series- the Banana Belt series out near Forest Grove. In my category, Men's 3, it was only myself and climber Jess Graden who went.
As far as the rest of Oregon goes, tho, it's a popular race. There were probably 70-80 guys in my race; and with the rumored ubiquity of early season jitters, tons of new bikes (oh my there were some beauties) and lots of new off-season upgrades (such as, ahem, myself and Jess)... my number one plan was to be careful. I didn't need a first race crash. I was to get right to the front, never drift too far back, and if I didn't feel like I had a shot at top 6 going into the sprint, I planned to abandon and avoid the carnage. The lead in (last stretch before the finish) was fast and narrow, and there had already been a mid-pack crash in the earlier Cat 4 sprint.
I followed the plan to the letter, staying near the front, but only working whenever attackers would try to escape. I would pull the pack back to them and then get back in a draft. In a race like this one, you can't count on other teams to pull breakaways back, so it's best to not let them go to begin with. When one guy did escape, very early, nobody thought he could stay away, and we were all wrong. There were too many guys like myself in the pack. My only team mate had faded and dropped away the second time up the climb, and I was racing only for myself. To work to pull back a soloist would only tire me out and keep me from having a shot at sprinting for second place. So, of the many who tried it, the one that got away indeed did get away.
Upgrade points are distributed on a sliding scale down through six places, and racing for second sounded good to me.
By the third of three laps, many had faded and dropped away. With the wind as strong as it was, and with the pack so nervous, I'm sure the accordion was pretty bad in the back (slowing down and speeding back up over and over and over), and rear pack dwellers like Jess were ground down and ejected out the back. The last time over the hill, I was really really pleased to find myself (a notoriously mediocre climber) riding 6th wheel at the top, with all but about 20 of us panting out the back. We roared down the other side of the butte, rotating efficiently to keep the speed too high for anyone to battle back. We fought to keep some late attackers with us, and selectively let others go, only to shortly thereafter see them crack and come drifting back through us. We finally came into the finishing 2 mile stretch.
Time for my mistake.
At the 1 km sign, a pretty strong guy flew. I took a moment to think, and then decided that yes, it was too early for him to sprint, but if I could get his wheel, and if he lasted until at least 500 meters, then I could hold off the long sprint and maybe take it. I sprinted to him, taking no one with me, and looked down quickly to see my ticker was already doing 203 bpm (don't look down!). Now the problem: right as I get to him, he blows up and drops about 5 mph. No help whatsoever. Now I'm 30 m in front of an angry swarm of sprinters with like 600 m to go. Sigh. I decide to sit up (slow down) and try to get back and get a wheel as it starts to accelerate. If the sprint goes by with 50 m behind you to speed up, you have no. Chance. Whatsoever. I drift into the fray, accelerate to their speed and force possession of a wheel. I have time for one good, long breath, and then it goes. Sprinting twice is hard. I get the strongest wheel and we're off. I quickly lose him as he rides off into the sunset. I hold my line and try to get whatever is left of his draft 10 m behind him. I'm dying but almost there, almost there, and then, sigh, three more come around me on the line. Sprinting twice is hard.
So, that's it. 5th in the sprint for 6th in the race. No flats, no crashes, no injuries. Just the loss of a glove that I dropped. 6th got me on the board with upgrade points: I got 1. I need 25 to be a Cat 2. It also got me a ribbon and a tasty Cherry Pie. The namesake of the race, they're awarded down through 6th place.
What I really got from the race, though, is the knowledge that I'm fit enough to race this category. I was worried about it. Now I know that if things were to play out differently in a another race, I would have a shot at winning it. Stay tuned.

http://pacificsportsphotography.exposuremanager.com/p/menswomens_123/psp_cprr_3024

Hello and preview

2006-02-20T11:47:00.000-08:00

Howdy. Thanks for checking this out. Feel free to comment on anything. This is supposed to be fun, right? I'm such a small fry racer that only friends and family will be bothering to read this (if even that), so have at it.
Yesterday was this season's first road race. I've put a bunch of pressure on myself this year by letting myself go unemployed for the last month or so to try to train (and move residences). I upgraded to a more advanced racing category after my last race of last season, so I had to step up my preparation a bit; and had to cope all winter with not knowing what to expect from the competition when the season started. On Sunday I finally broke the ice.