Redlands

After a nice 10-day break to rest up after the Merco/TOC Recon trip, I was headed back to California for the third time this year to race the Redlands Classic. We were taking a great squad to win the race, with both strength and experience.  This would be my first time doing the race, but I had a couple of teammates that have done this race more times than they can count on their fingers.

The prologue time-trial was only a few miles long, and predominately uphill.  The suffering would only last 9-ish minutes, and I during my preride the day before I had decided on how I wanted to pace the effort.  I had forgotten my ipod at the house, and spent most of my warmup mourning its absence:

The prologue was a mixed-bag for me: I successfully paced the course exactly as I wanted to, and timed my final push for the line perfectly.  The downside was that my legs didn't deliver me as quickly as I'd wished, and I rode to a 15th place finish.  On the upside, I'd taken another 'win' in the season-long duel between me and Zirbel.... Jesse was our best-placed rider in 8th, and most of the team was in the top-30, so at least we had plenty of cards to play in the upcoming stages.

That night, I and the 3 others staying at our host house each spent some quality time with the toilet.  The next morning, we decided that our ailment must have been the work of some bad chicken we'd had at dinner; it was the only food that all of us had eaten.

The first stage was a 120-mile road race, with a tough climb towards the end of each lap.  With the size of the field, we held our cards close until many of the amateurs tired in the first 80 miles, then we lit the fuse on the climb to see if the field would split.  Each lap, there were breaks in the field over the top of the climb, but everything kept coming back together.  The lead group continued to dwindle in size, but all of the key players were still present.

As I would learn after the race, I was not the only one fighting cramps and feeling a bit sub-par late in the race; my housemates were also suffering, presumably from dehydration as a result of our bad chicken.

By the end of the race, our and others' attacks had shrunk the field to about 60 riders, and we still had everyone there. Zirbel was taken out in a stupid crash just a couple of kilometers from the finish--thankfully, he would get the same time as our group.  We failed to organize our leadout, and Bissell's Bevin took the stage win, but our team had continued its march up the GC ladder.

Post-race cleanup and discussion

The crit was a technical 9-corner, 1 mile loop that usually did a good job of wearing racers out.  With 150 racers, it was key for us to start in the front and stay there the whole race.  This would help us avoid the accordion in every corner, and keep us away from crashes.  We were biding our time for the 30-minutes-to-go mark, when we would take control of the front and begin our leadout.  It was a long way out, but was the only sure-fire way to keep us safe.

The finishing straight was the only place on the course for 8 guys to swarm the front together, and it was a bit chaotic but we succeeded in taking the front just before the first turn.  I was again in the front rotation, just keeping the pace high until the real leadout would start later.

We continued averaging 30 mph lap after lap, but made a mistake with 6 laps to go.... We didn't realize that the Bissell team had managed to organize behind us, and we failed to shut down the outside lane early enough on the finishing straight.  They pulled off a perfectly-executed blow-by and brought with them the swarm that disorganized our train.  They certainly weren't going to let us do to them as they'd done to us, and our train could never re-establish control.  It would once again be up to the sprint squad to deliver a result.  I managed to dodge a couple of crashes in the finishing laps and rode it in for a pack finish as Cando snagged the first podium of the race with 2nd.

Like Joe Martin and Nature Valley Grand Prix, the GC is far from set in stone at the beginning of the last stage.  In fact, the Sunset Loop at Redlands is the most significant factor when it comes to final GC placing.  To make what is already the most difficult stage of the race even more interesting, the race was forecast to have high winds and torrential rain--something that apparently has never happened before at this race.

The race is a lollipop course, where we race out of town and then do 12 laps of a circuit through a neighborhood on a hillside before racing back into town to finish on the crit course.  The loop was uphill on one side and a technical and fast descent on the other.

The first few times up the climb, everyone was fresh so the gaps that formed at the bottom weren't too critical, as the climb flattened after the KOM halfway up and we could chase back on.  We stayed aggressive early until Creed made the break and rode up there for a few laps.

When descending by myself or leading a group, I'm what others call a risk-taker.  I don't see it that way, though, when I have a clear line-of-sight and can take my own lines.  Descending in a group, though, can freak me out sometimes.  Especially on a sketchy descent like this one.  I was finally getting comfortable on the descent a few laps in when I felt it.  Just a couple of drops at first, but then a couple of turns later it started dumping.

The next time down, I was even more freaked out, letting gaps open and then having to chase them back over and over again. You may remember that the last time I raced in the wet, it didn't go so well. I love descending in the dry, but wet pavement puts a real damper on things....

The next lap, at the top of the climb, it was time to put our team's plan into action.  Nerves must be placed aside--I had a job to do.  We were going to take control across the top of the climb as a team and blitz the descent to see if we could disorganize Kenda's team and split the field.  I ended up second wheel, behind Friedman the Cannonball, as he blasted down the hill.  This was the first time we were truly testing our Challenge tires and HED wheels in the wet, and we were going all out.

I shut my mind off, and just focused on staying with Friedman.  If his tires could hold through the turns, and if his brakes could slow him down, so could mine, right?  When we finally reached the bottom, we were 15 seconds ahead of the field.  I was high on adrenaline.

Friedman and me pulling away on the descent

While the cold rain continued to pour, the race was hotting up. Friedman and I were caught behind a split in the field the next time up, and as the descent started we were 20 seconds behind the lead group of 15. Our task was now to blast the descent so fast that we could regain contact with the leaders.  With my newfound confidence, I was going wildly fast through the twisting neighborhood; Mike was going even faster.  He was slowly getting away from me, but he couldn't spare the time to wait for me.  He joined up with the leaders just before the climb started again.  When the road pitched up once more, I was just a few seconds off the back of the group, but I couldn't finish it off.

As I climbed at my own pace, I realized that I had just determined my race strategy for the final few laps: I would get my jollies and my adrenaline rush blasting downhill in the pelting rain at 50mph, buying myself some time over my group and getting to sag the first part of the climb at a more comfortable pace.

I pushed the pace extra hard the final time down the descent, as the GC time for our group would be taken at the edge of the crit course (the lead group would be the only one allowed to do the finishing crit laps). I had gained a 15-second advantage as we began to re-enter town, and was pulling away from the group with the help of Christian Helmig from Elbowz Racing.  Then everything fell apart.

I'm still not sure what happened--I think the course marshalls at the final turn to get back to the crit course had packed it up for the day.  The lead group had already made it to the crit and everyone behind us had been pulled and given a pro-rated time, so we were the last ones out there.  Either way, we missed our turn.  We knew something was wrong when there was cross-traffic at intersections.  We were now racing in traffic.

I didn't know where to go, so I was forced to nullify my attack and fall back to the group.  As luck would have it, a commissaire car was behind us, and they told us how to get back to the crit.  The message was sometimes slow to get around the group, and at one point there were guys going the wrong way on a divided road--in traffic.  It was a total mess, but we finally made it to the crit course (at the wrong place) and the comm got our numbers and would later give us a finishing time.

All that mess aside, Cando and Friedman had awesome days.  Cando rode into 3rd on GC to finish the race off well for us.  With that done, we wrung our soggy, cold clothes out and thoroughly enjoyed our hot showers.

As everyone else flew home, Zirbel, Amanda, Bob, and I stayed behind and began preparing for our next adventure: the Vuelta Ciclista del Uruguay.

Merco Classic

I suppose I've put it off for long enough; I have a post coming up with an actual deadline, so I need to get these done!

My first race of the year with the team was the Merco Classic, in Merced, CA.  It was also one of my first races of the year outright--very bizarre for me to not already have a dozen races under my belt by the start of March, but such is my new life as a Coloradoan, I guess.

Merced isn't a very large town, and there weren't a lot of options as far as hotels go.  We bunked up at the--not kidding here--Vagabond Inn.

I was well-rested coming into the race because we had some big plans afterward, which meant that stage 1 was also serving the purpose of my openers for the weekend.  I felt fine at the moderate intensities, but as soon as we would go hard, my heartrate shot through the roof.  The legs were good, though, and ready for some racing.

Stage 1 was only 80 miles or so--6 laps of the course that was flat to rolling, with one tough 5-minute climb early on.  With a field of 150 racers and only a few dozen pro's, the first few laps were aggressive but mostly just served to weed out the amateurs that couldn't hang.  For the final few laps, the Bissell and Optum teams lit it up on the climb to see if a break could get established over the top.  We came close a few times but everything eventually came back.

On the last lap after the climb, it became obvious that we would be executing our leadout plan; Bissell was thinking along the same lines.  With 5k to go, our train was fully organized and we took over from the Bissell train.  I was in the lead 3 riders, rotating at a hard pace but not burning out yet. With 4k to go, Bissell sent up a couple of riders to help keep the pace high.

3k to go marked the burnout phase of our 9-man train.  Bajadali, then Jesse, then I each ramped the pace up further until we could go no more, then swung off.  I finished shortly before the 2k mark, and left it up to the likes of Creed, Friedman, Zwizanski, Zirbel, and Candelario to deliver Hanson to the line.  The most difficult part was getting back into the field and hanging on after burning out, because we didn't want a disadvantage going into the time trial.

Even with the perfect execution, we simply didn't have the speed necessary at this early-season race to finish it off, and Hanson got swarmed just as he was opening his sprint.  Live to fight another day--the next day was the TT.

My age not-withstanding, I'm holding myself to a very high standard in time trials this year.  I'm racing to win and want to establish myself as a time trial specialist among the likes of Zirbel, Zwizanski, and Friedman.  I had one of the best 30-second men in the race in the form of Ben Jacques-Maynes.  I was chasing that carrot all day, but could only pull him to within 15 seconds.

I snagged 4th, 25 seconds from the win and a measly 0.2 seconds slower than Zirbel.  The whole team rode well, and going into the crit the next day, we had 6 riders in the top-11.

In the crit, we just wanted to stay safe until we initiated the leadout with 12 laps to go.  With the tight, turn-laden course covered in box-dots, it was not an especially fast race, but it was difficult to move around.  Taking control of the front first was key, because it would be difficult to get organized once it began. Unfortunately, Bissell had the same thought and pulled the trigger one lap before we were to amass at the front.  With control taken, our train could never get organized in the swarm. We decided to let the sprint squad fight it out as the rest of us focused on getting to the finish in the lead group.

Well wouldn't you know it, amateur hour claimed me with 3 laps to go in the final corner.  Guys resfusing to accept the fact that, 40-riders back, their race was over because they would never see the front again on that course with so few laps remaining kept fighting for position and banging around.  Their needless zeal for mediocrity caused a pileup that I almost got around, but was knocked into.  I went up and over the top, finally hitting pavement on the other side.  My left leg was tangled in my bike with guys laying on top of it, but my main concern was my GC time, and my left wrist which I had obviously just re-sprained. With no free laps remaining, my GC place would depend on what time the officials gave me.

I was in a mood to crack some skulls, I can tell you that much.  I'd lost 30-something seconds on GC time because of the crash, dropping from 4th to 9th in GC, and my wrist was going to make the final stage (120 miles) miserable.

The last stage was on a course that was dead flat with the exception of a couple small rollers a few miles from the end of the lap.  I had taped my wrist to give it a little extra support, but I quickly learned that the hoods were only comfortable when out of the saddle.  The rest of the time would be spent in the drops.  Unexpected bumps in the road sent shocks of pain up my arm.  If I could see them coming, I could at least grip extra tight and my wrist wouldn't be jarred.

The race was very fast and aggressive, as both Exergy and Optum wanted to unseat Bissell from the GC lead.  We finally got Zwiz and Friedman in the 4-man break, but they were doing most of the work.  The lead quickly ballooned to 5 minutes--putting them well into the virtual lead--as the Bissell team set up shop on the front.  For a couple of laps, the gap simply was not coming down to Bissell's frustration, but eventually the break tired too much.

Me trying to give my wrist a rest

With the impending capture of the break, our team started launching bombs with two laps to go.  The excitement of racing again helped me forget about the pain in my wrist on one particular road that was probably last paved around the time I was born.

The nature of the course and the size of the field meant that it was very difficult for anything to get away.  The 120 mile race was finished in 4:15, with Hanson second on the stage and Zirbel finishing 3rd in GC.

With the race completed, the squad relocated to San Jose for 3 days of Tour of California recon rides, making for a tough 7-day block of racing/training.  They were some pretty fantastic courses that I hope I get the opportunity to race next month....

Ketchup

Today is a special day, everybody—today is the first day in a month that I have had both the motivation and the ability to type away on the ol’ blogger. More on that later.

First, you may have noticed my new banner at the top of the page.  I'm pretty proud of that, so if you could just take a moment and think to yourself, "Wow, Chad really worked hard on that a couple weeks ago and then didn't type squat to accompany it," I'd appreciate it.

I'd like to say that I've been super busy and just haven't had the time to type, but that would be lying.  I've had tons of time, but had a serious case of writer's block.

After our team presentation in Minneapolis, I was back in the cold and windy Fort Collins for about 10 days (or exactly the amount of time for me to stop noticing the thinner air) before I was off to Oxnard, CA for team camp.

The men's team was staying in a big beach house with lots of bunk beds, so we'd certainly get to know each other over the course of the 10-day camp.  After staying at multiple host-houses for races last year, I know what the kitchen situation can become with a bunch of racers.  So when I learned the housing situation for camp, my first thought was 16 guys....how many refrigerators? Just the one, it turns out.  Keep in mind, it's not just 16 guys and one kitchen and refrigerator, it's 16 bike racers that need to take in 5, 6, 7, sometimes 8 thousand calories a day just to maintain weight. We tried to limit our food purchases that had to be kept cold, and the rest of the house became the pantry.  Food was tucked into every nook and cranny of that house.  The fridge exploded every time it was opened. In fact, I'm amazed anything stayed cold because the fridge door certainly didn't close once during camp.

The rest of camp is a blur.  I got into a rhythm of waking up at 6:30 to beat the kitchen rush, stuffing my face for 2 hours before climbing on the bike, riding, more eating, massage every couple of days from our amazing soigneur Amanda, more eating, watch a rented movie with the team, go to bed.  As camp went on, I found myself crawling into bed earlier and earlier.

Waiting for everyone to be ready for departure

Cranking out the miles

The riding was awesome, with tons of climbing.  I was upset to not have a power meter, because I knew I was setting power records even despite getting dropped towards the top of climbs by our better climbers. Climbing means descending, though, and I was loving every chance to hone my descending skills.  You may remember my string of bad luck last fall, so I was still learning to trust tires again.  By the end of camp, I was back to my old self on descents.

Going up...

...coming down.

One of the high-speed wide-open descents

In 9 days, we logged something like 30 hours of riding--600 miles--and tens of thousands of feet of climbing.

All we had left was the VIP ride and then our team drag-race up Gibraltar mountain.  On the VIP ride, we had the whole men's team, the whole women's team, and a dozen or so others from the cycling industry/sponsors and team staff.  We had about 15 minutes left in the ride when it happened.

The whole group was riding 2x2 along the shoulder of the Pacific Coast Highway, zipping along down a hill.  We were all having a good time socializing and the rock just didn't get pointed out quickly enough.  I was standing up about halfway back in the group, looking ahead for any debris or holes that could cause trouble.  Suddenly I was bucked into the air, and my hands lost the handlebars.  I came down and managed to tuck my shoulder before impact.  I tumbled a few times before coming to rest in a sitting position, watching my bike continue flipping a couple more times, trying to figure out what happened.

The offending rock and its aftermath

I looked at my left hand, covered in blood from the large chunk of skin I'd just removed.  My arms, knees, and ankles were scraped.  I looked at my left shoulder and saw that there was nothing left of my jersey.  Mike Creed came up to me and said, "let's check that collarbone."  I shrugged my shoulders and raised my arms--test passed--sigh of relief.  I took my helmet off, as I remembered hitting my head, and saw that the back was crushed and cracked.  It did its job!

I was helped to my feet and walked back to the team car, where I climbed in for the ride home.  I saw behind the car a big rock.  Well, that explains it.  The next couple of hours involved a lot of chewing on my armwarmer while Amanda scrubbed my wounds and peeled my jersey off.  Then I had to take a shower.  All of the wounds hurt, but my back and shoulder were basically a low-grade burn, and that was especially excruciating.

Because scars aren't souvenir enough, I took pictures

It only made me a little dizzy--maybe I'm improving?

After we got the wounds dressed, I was off to the hospital to have my wrist x-rayed. A couple hours later, I was relieved to hear the technician report an "unremarkable left wrist".  All I had to endure after that was the oozing of my wounds through bandages onto my clothes as I waited for them to heal.

To end this post on a positive note, I've saved the highlight of the camp for last.  Day 8 was time-trial day.  The directors had picked out a 10k out-and-back course on rolling terrain.  Dino from HED was out to watch us from the car while we raced to see what position we're in when we're hurting.  I had one goal: win.  Nevermind that we have Zirbel and Zwizanski on the team, I was jonesin' for that W.

We only had two sets of race wheels and a few helmets, so we were supposed to climb off our bikes as soon as we finished so that the wheels and helmet could be passed on to the next set of riders to start.  I finished my time trial, feeling as you should when you've finished a time trial, and immediately got off the bike.  Well, on day 8 of camp, my legs were not happy with the sudden change in activity and began to tighten quickly.  I just needed a bike to spin around on.  Jelly, our mechanic, was putting another set of wheels on my bike so I could ride, but my helmet was back in the van.

As I set off in my post-time-trial stupor for my helmet, I heard the results called out to me: "Chad, you beat Zirbel by 17 seconds." I had set the fastest time of the day.  So to add to my post-race haze, I was now on cloud nine.  I opened the van door, grabbed my helmet, and shared the news of underdog triumph with Zirbel, who was sitting inside, "Hey Zirbel, I gotcha!" Ha, ha.

Two hours later, Tom Soladay said, "Dude, what you said in the van was hilarious, we were laughing for half an hour!" 

"Uh, what?" I didn't recall making any jokes.  I was horrified to find out what I'd actually done.

I suppose I should tell you here that it was rainy and cold that day.  When we weren't doing our time trial, we were warming up and staying dry in the van.  Remember my story of underdog triumph?  Well, here's what I actually did: I opened the door to the van containing all of my teammates, looked Zirbel square in the face and said, "Hey Zirbel, looks like I beat you." Then I shut the door and walked off.

Bajadali offered me an Arrogant Bastard Ale that night, but I was too busy still trying to pull both feet out of my mouth.

Next up: Merco Cycling Classic. If you don't see it in the next couple days, call me out!

Perspective

I spent last weekend in chilly Minneapolis for 3 days of meeting new teammates and sponsors.  Since I signed on  last summer, I knew most of the men's team already so it wasn't too difficult to match faces and names among the new riders.  The two major news items regarding the team are the title sponsor change and subsequent renaming of the team to Optum Pro Cycling presented by Kelly Benefit Strategies, and the addition of a women's team.  It's great to see women's teams get as much support as men's teams in cycling, and with the roster that the management has put together it promises to be a great year for both teams!

One of the meetings we had during our stay was 'media training', in which we learn how to be prepared for interviews and make the media work for us.  Part of that is to know your 'story' in a quick paragraph form so that they can get your background and thus relate you more to the audience.  The questions to be answered in this background include name, hometown, how you got to this point in your career, and whether you love what you do.  All are simple questions, and the last one just seems to be a softball lobbed up there so you can jokingly scoff and say, "are you kidding, I love my job!"

And I wouldn't be lying to answer the question like that.  During some downtime, though, I took a step back to gain some perspective and answer exactly why it is that I love racing my bike for a living.

I thought about the life I could have right now if I weren't racing. I graduated Magna Cum Laude from Texas A&M (whoop!) with a B.S. in Mechanical Engineering.  If I'd simply signed on the dotted line and taken the job I had waiting for me, and even doubled my expenses from last year (saving the rest), I'd have ~$40,000 in my bank account right now.  But I don't care.

I like to joke that cycling is my job.  While at home this last month, I'd sigh as I walked out the door in my kit and tell my dad, "well, I've got to go to work...." In truth, it is my job.  But a paycheck doesn't make me any more competitive, any more driven than I already was.  If I had a desk job--and I've been there before--I'd spend every spare moment thinking about racing and training and sharpening my tanlines.  But now, I get to do that every day.

It's hard to fully appreciate health until you've lost it, or seen someone else fight to regain theirs. Every time I talk to my parents, I get the latest news from my dad about his latest test results, how his back is doing, whether he's coughing much, how he's feeling in general.  I look forward to the day that he's once again healthy enough that we can go on a bike ride like we used to--me telling him to hurry up, him telling me to hold my horses.

Whenever I start to feel stressed about training and racing, I just have to take a step back and realize how fortunate I am to be in this position and how ridiculous it is to be stressed out, and be reminded that I just need to have fun with it and never take anything for granted.

So, then, do I love my job?

You'd better believe I do.

Excruciation Exam

I've known about the Excruciation Exam for a few years now, but didn't expect to do it.  Then, a few months ago Devin told me I should give it a go because he and a few of my other AMCT friends would be out there.

Nothing more came of it until a few weeks ago, when Devin told me he thought I could break the course record.  Oh, Devin, you certainly know how to push my buttons....  He enlisted the help of Patty B in a coordinated G-Chat assault of coercion, and I conceded to ask my coach about it.

I thought it would take more convincing to get the go-ahead for an endurance mountain bike race in the middle of my base training period.  Here is our conversation on the topic:

me: a couple of my college friends are pushing me to race the excruciation exam on the 7th
David: do it!


With that settled, I just needed a bike that would work.  I had serious doubts about the ability of my ghetto mountain bike to withstand a 5 hour race, and I feared destroying my hands and my chances of winning by trying to do the race on my 'cross bike.  Patty B came through, offering up his full-suspension 26'er.  The size was close enough.


I arrived at the race site at 6am after an hour+ in foggy conditions, having awoken in College Station just a couple hours earlier.  I was force-feeding myself the breakfast burritos I had made the night before, trying to get as many calories in the bank as I could.  I don't normally have breakfast for another 2 hours, and didn't get as much down as I would have liked.


I registered, got my number, and began preparing my food and bottles for the race.  The race was set to start at 7:30, it was now 6:45, and I had yet to see the bike I would be racing.  Finally I set about trying to find Patty in the pre-dawn darkness, and was relieved to hear him shout my name.  He pointed me in the general direction of his car, and I set off to meet my partner for the next several hours.


The bike was a Kona Hei-Hei set up as well as anyone could have asked.  He had put brand new disc brakes on just days before, which were as yet untested.  I measured out the saddle height and setback with a rudimentary string with dots marked on it, and called it good enough for government work.


I returned from my morning visit to the loo, put on my kit, and stuffed my pockets with food.  It was now 5 minutes until the pre-race meeting.  I checked the tire pressure.  The tires had pressure, so I called it good.  I got on the bike, rode it a quarter mile to the staging area, and put it down.


The race director told us the rules of the race and how the checkpoints would work, during which time Devin, Patrick, and Matt made fun of my socks and pasty legs.


The start would be a Le Mans start, which means that every racer starts on foot and runs a couple hundred yards to their bike.  I made sure to put mine right at the edge of the road, ready for a quick getaway.  They ushered us to the start line.  You've gotta play the game to win, so I slowly sauntered over to ensure I was one of the last to arrive, ensuring my front row start.


The race is unlike anything I've done before.  After the run to the bikes, we would do a lap of Bluff Creek Ranch in Warda, then race 30 miles over roads of varying condition to Rocky Hill Ranch, where we would race a full lap before racing back to Warda for one final mile of singletrack.


The gun sounded, and I ran as quickly as I could while trying to hold the bottle and food in my pockets.  I just had to make sure to get on the bike quickly.  With a field this big, the holeshot heading for the singletrack is one of the most decisive ever.


I was about the 5th person to the bikes, and quickly got going.  There were just a few ahead of me, and the singletrack would be starting in a short half-mile.  So, for the first time in 2012, I turned the engine room to Full Steam Ahead.  All cylinders were banging and it. felt. awesome.


I slotted into second wheel.  I had started without my sunglasses on because of the heavy fog.  Now I was getting mud and cowpies slung onto my face and couldn't see, so I put the sunglasses on.  They were promptly covered in dirt and fog and I could see even less, and while I took them off again I was passed by a couple riders just getting into the trail.


Now would be a good time to say that--aside from the short two-hour ride at my home trail two weeks earlier--I have not been mountain biking since December 2010.  And I had just dived into singletrack following a handful of professional mountain bikers.  I would be making a large withdrawal from the good ol' talent account in this race.


A lead group of 6 was slowly pulling away from the rest of the field.  As we popped out into open field, another group of 6 started to catch us, at which point Payson McElveen moved to the front to string it back out again.  If there was going to be a split in our lead group, I was determined to be the one to cause it, so I moved into third wheel.


As I dove down Gas Pass at full speed in pursuit of Payson, on a borrowed bike, I imagine my face looked like this:





We finished our lap of Warda in about half an hour and popped out onto the road with a group of 6: Payson, Rick Wetherald, Scott Henry, Nathan Winkleman, David Hanes, and me.  Out of sight, out of mind always applies to breakaways, so we floored it for a few miles to establish a solid lead, then settled in for the hour's ride over to Rocky Hill.


I was eating on the ride over, making sure I wouldn't run out of energy later.  As it turns out, I should have been stuffing my face--but more on that later.


The first checkpoint went without incident--the volunteers put a colored ziptie on your handlbars, with a different color for each checkpoint.


We hurried through the checkpoint entering Rocky Hill, and everyone took off on their own.  David stopped to fix his slow leak in his back tire.  I was second out of the checkpoint, a few seconds behind Scott Henry.  I was soon passed by Wink, and was quickly in a sandwich between Wink and Payson.  This is great,  I thought,  just stay with these guys and you'll be able to follow great lines all day long.  You'll be fine.


 Not thirty seconds later, on the roller-coaster downhill right at the start of the trail, I was thrown off balance from the changes in the trail since I last rode it in the fall of 2010.  Payson complemented my nice save.  But I could only do it once.  The next turn, I ran out of talent, ended up too far outside and was met by a sizeable log in the ditch that stopped me too quickly.  I tumbled hard, just hoping that I and the bike would come out fine, and that Payson wouldn't run over the both of us.  As I was rolling, I began looking for the bike and--no joke--reached up and grabbed the frame by the downtube just before it came crashing into my head.  I set the bike down as Payson skirted by and inquired of my health.  Reassured that I was fine, he went on.


I put my bottles back in the cages as quickly as I could and began chasing Rick, who had just passed me.  I passed Rick in an effort to catch the group of 3 just 30 seconds ahead.  I settled into the fastest pace I could manage and set to work.


An hour and a half later, we finished the 17 miles at Rock Hill.  Rick and I had caught Wink and were only 1.5 minutes behind Payson and Scott as we began the final segment of the race.  I was running through tactical situations in my mind over how I could win, but was worried about how soon the bonk might be coming.  I had been able to keep up with the pros in the trail, but it had taken its toll.  I wasn't as smooth as them, so I was burning more energy to go the same speed.  Every faculty was focused on taking the best and fastest line, and in those 1.5 hours I had only managed to suck down a bottle of gatorade and a couple of goos.  My careful eating plan had been thrown off by the trail, and now I was in a hole that would be tough to dig out of. My stomach was upset from all the sugar without any solid food, but only sugar would hit fast enough to get me back on track.  So I was stuck.


The three of us began slowly closing the gap to Payson and Scott.  With less than 10 miles left, we were about a minute behind as we hit the final checkpoint.  I was fading fast.  Rather than stopping for the zipties, we grabbed them on the run.  These zipties were the smallest yet, and my clumsy gloved hands carefully tied it around the bar.  Sure that it was fine, I let go--and to my horror, it flipped open and dropped in slow motion to the ground.


NOOOOOOOOOOOO!  I had no choice, I had to turn around for it.  I quickly picked it up, but now had to close a 20 second gap to Rick and Wink.  I did it, but that was the final match in my book.


Just a few miles later, Rick surged up a hill and neither I nor Wink had anything left.  We trudged along for the final few miles together.  As we entered the final segment of trail, he took the lead from me, which is what I wanted.  I had just enough left for one final kick.  As we popped out into the field, Wink began to prepare for the sprint. He kicked as we got onto the road heading towards the barn, with only 200 meters left in the race.  I punched it and forced my way up the inside, just barely managing to keep him from shutting the door on me as we came flying through the barn.  We came out of the barn side by side, but of the two of us only I could hold it the last 50 meters for the hard-earned 4th place.


Scott had outsprinted Payson for first, Rick came in solo about a minute behind for third, and Wink and I were a minute behind him.  The five of us had blitzed the course record by a solid 15 minutes as I understand it, finishing in 4.5 hours.  We were 16 minutes ahead of 6th place.


It's always frustrating to lose a race that you know you could have won--especially when all I needed was some more food--but that's what keeps us coming back for more.  The others simply did better than me that day, and all I can do is look forward to next year's edition and take another crack at it.

Time flies when you're not in school

This was my first off-season that didn't involve catching up with school.  It was weird.

To pass the time, I've been involving myself with other things:

I posted a while back about our garden.  We had a pretty good harvest this year, and went out to pull everything in that we could before the first frost hit us.  I realize that not all of these pictures are necessary, I'm just trying to make Stephanie jealous because she has yet to mail me any of the sweets she bakes, or even blog about that time I met her and Devin in Longmont for an afternoon of entertainment.

our mountain of swiss chard

eggplant, tomatoes, broccoli

potatoes, jalapenos, anaheim chiles

zucchini log, normal zucchini, etc.

more punkins.  Did you know they're green before they're orange?  I learned that this year...

I'd include a pic of our fantastic corn, but we never got any because of the blasted squirrels.  Don't get me started on squirrels.  Gizmo hates 'em, too. Speaking of, today Gizmo got one treed up a telephone pole.  He kept the squirrel up there while I heaved snowballs at it for 15 minutes.  Despite hitting it twice, the furry monster wouldn't come down!

We didn't carve the pumpkins up, so now we've just got a ton of pumpkin puree to cook with.  Pumpkin bread, pumpkin cake, pumpkin pancakes, and I made pumpkin scones.

Nevermind that they look like globs of orangish mud, they taste great.  I gave up on trying to make them pretty when I realized that the dough is clingier than Flick's tongue to a frozen flagpole (uh-oh, A Christmas Story analogy).

Ian made some pot-pie filling out of thanksgiving turkey leftovers, and this was my creation.

1.7 lbs of homemade bliss.  Suck it, Swanson.

To finish off what will be the last season of the Rio Grande Elite team, we got everyone together a week before Halloween for 9 holes at the local golf course.  Knowing that we'd be terrible, we all wanted to at least look the part.  So we all grew mustaches and hit the thrift stores.  When all you have is free time, it's easy to get carried away....  I even went to buy some used clubs, and where better to put them than a $5 genuine replica snakeskin golf bag with a pocketful of empties?

It's a good thing I can ride a bike fast, because I have no future in golf.  My score for 9 holes would have been decent for 18.  But I did look schnazzy in my used clothing and artificially-enhanced mustache.

Our mini-group of poseurs included Scott and Chris.  Isn't that a sweet golf bag?

Team Rio Grande 2011, in public, before Halloween.

I was able to go home for Thanksgiving, thanks to Ian and Gizmo.  All I had to do was keep Gizmo for the week with me at my parents' place.  As a bonus, the weather was supposed to be awesome--mid 60's and sunny.  Good thing, too, my legs are starting to look pretty pasty.

I was going to include a pic of my tanlines here, but then you'd see my legs and get jealous, and I don't want to seem like I'm bragging..

But wouldn't you know it, the weather psyched us out--Fort Collins suddenly became 60's and sunny for the length of our trip.  My first ride in McKinney was 47 degrees for 3.5 hours in fog with 200m visibility.  I got gypped. The remaining rides were also overcast and cold...so much for my tan-line tune-up.

I did, however, get to see my family.  My, what a difference a year makes.  A year ago, my dad was losing weight very quickly because the radiation to shrink his lung tumor had affected his ability to eat.  He had to take a pill 45 minutes before eating, to give him 30 minutes of slightly less painful time to eat.  This year he had no trouble stuffing his face like the rest of us.  Then we all sat around to watch the heartbraking loss of the Aggies to that team in Austin.

The day after that fateful game, Shane came back to McKinney and we got to work building up my new old mountain bike.  Anyone that knows Lee will recognize the frame....  Since my fancy schmancy Epic Marathon is busted, we transferred all the components over (but not without a healthy dose of Aggie engineering to make some stuff work right...).

To top it off, the only thing wrong with my position on the bike is that the reach is an inch or so too short--but that I can live with.

A while back, the mailman delivered this bike to me so that I can train on it through the winter and work towards my goal of being a time trial monster next season:

Between the TT, cross, and mtn bike additions to the stable, I've got bikes coming out the wazoo.  I'll be selling a couple this winter, because Shane certainly doesn't need a backup backup road bike or a ghetto backup TT bike....

Speaking of additions to stables, I got to name a horse.  It's not my horse, though.

Perhaps I should back up a bit.

Way back in 5th grade-ish, my family went to Disney World and on a Disney cruise.  There were moments where we had a lot of fun, but on the whole Shane and I were not overwhelmed by the magical place.  If you really want to get a rise from your parents, look up at them in the shadow of the Epcot Center and say two simple words: "I'm bored."

So then where could we possibly go for vacation? On the recommendation of our pastor at the time, we went to Wind River Ranch.  It's a Christian Family Ranch nestled at 9000 feet between Long's Peak and the Twin Sisters near Estes Park.  Every family gets their own cabin.  There's no internet, and no cell service. The only certain activities that are on the schedule are mealtimes and a nightly "fireside" sermon, as well as other events like the Hootenanny, square dancing, or grill-outs. Aside from that, every day was yours to do as you wish--whether that be trail riding on horses, rock climbing, hiking, etc.

The summer of the visors; my favorite shirt ever (which I'd still be wearing if my mom hadn't  retired it); our view from our cabin

Unlike the Disney kids club or whatever they called it, which sucked royally, the teen/pre-teen groups at WRR were fun, with fun people.  This was around the same time that Shane and I fought a lot at home, but at WRR we were first discovering just how awesome we were as a pair.  Over the multiple years that we went, I think Shane and I must have played 120--no, 173 rounds of disc golf (Shane, please tell me you got that reference).

Aside from all the fun we had, WRR is a truly amazing place.  It's hard not to be overwhelmed having Bible study around a campfire on a clear night looking across at Long's Peak.  If, for some reason, my cycling career is abruptly ended for whatever reason, I'm moving there and becoming a counselor/wrangler/cook/whatever.  Seriously.  I stopped by a couple of times on rides this summer, and both times was flooded with memories.

Well, WRR needed some new horses recently, and as much as WRR has given to our family, my parents wanted to help make that happen.  As a thank-you, we were given the naming rights of the horses.  One was named Haga, in honor of my dad's faithful battle against cancer.  My mom named one Angel in memory of our sweet dog.  Shane chose Honey[duke], and I named the last Tonto.  I got a pic of Tonto in an email last week, and my first thought (at 8am, still laying in bed) was, "Tonto is so cool!"

If I had my way, next August will play out like this:  My team rightfully gets into the USA Pro Cycling Challenge (let's be real, it's the Tour of Colorado), and I'm selected to race it.  I crush the final stage time trial in Denver on my birthday.  My parents and Shane are there to witness it.  During the recovery week that follows, they all stay in town and we go ride the horses at WRR.  Deal?  I thought so.

I tried 'cross. I wasn't very good.

After wrapping up the season in style at the Univest Grand Prix way back in mid-september, I flew back to Fort Collins and kicked off my first off-season as a non-student.  I went eleven days without touching a bike.  While most of my time was spent sleeping or eating, I did at least attempt to keep from getting fat.

With the fantastic weather, I took Gizmo hiking a couple of times.  By the end of the 3-hour hikes (which actually included a fair bit of trail running) I wanted to collapse and just lay there in the dirt contemplating my decision to be a pro in a low-impact sport.  My hips, knees, and ankles hated me and would hurt for days. I hurt as much from a hike as I did the day after US Pro Crit.... Gizmo seemed unaware of the agony I was in, as he ran even faster downhill.

I've also been running a bit.  Yeah, I'm even less excited about that than it seems.  Although, it turns out running is much more enjoyable less miserable when you have a running companion that is well heeled and running shoes that fit properly.  Who knew?  I can now run 3 miles without my joints complaining, so I guess that's good.

When it came time to start riding bikes again--just so I wouldn't forget how--I was in a pickle.  I certainly didn't want to ride on the road, because I'd just burn out.  My mountain-bike was broken and in Texas. The Colorado cyclocross season was in full swing, and here it's even bigger than road racing.  Only, I didn't have a bike for it.  Ah, sponsors.... Orbea and KBS-OH hooked me up with a bike that's better than I am.



For the uninformed, cyclocross is a special sport.  Basically, it's a road bike that's been modified for tire clearance and has a pair of knobby tires.  Then you race around in a field with various obstacles that force you to get off and run or to have some good bike skillz.  And as a bonus, half of the races are muddy slop-fests.

At least I'd be easing into this new sport, though, right?  Well, not really.  My first race would be the US Gran Prix in Fort Collins, an event that brings the top 'cross racers from the around the country and some international racers as well.  And because my road license says 'PRO', I get to race with the big boys.  So I needed some practice.  I built a set of barriers to work on my dismount and remount skills and it didn't go so hot.  Here are my tips if you ever find yourself in such a position (learned by yours truly in 15 minutes):

1)  Drive to the park where you will be practicing.  Although your homemade barriers may not seem that heavy now, they will be a mile down the road.

2) Don't rush the dismount when you are trying to pick up the pace through the barriers, or you might drive the pedal into the back of your right calf while running, giving you a nice bruise and launching the bike into the air out of your control.  Which brings me to 3).

3) Don't practice anywhere near the sidewalk, because when 2) happens, it might land on the sidewalk and bend your 5 minute old derailleur hanger.  Luckily it was minor and easily bent back later.

4) Finish the tubeless conversion on BOTH wheels first, because regardless how soft and fluffy the grass looks, there are evil thorns and you will flat the one without sealant.  Which brings me to 5).

5)  If you insist on practicing without sealant and did not do 1), make sure to have your cell with you to call your roommate so you don't have to walk a bike and 2 barriers all the way home in your cycling shoes when 4) happens.

Consider yourself learned.

Disclaimer:  To the photographers whose photos I've stolen, I apologize.  I don't have money to buy photos, so please accept my advertising on your behalf.  If this is not satisfactory, let me know and I'll remove them.

The races went about as expected.... I completed half the race before getting pulled in the nearly-freezing drizzly mud pit with the wrong tires.  I had fun, though, and even made a dollar!  And I only crashed twice!  The second one was an awesome crash, I hooked a fencepost and slid sideways for 30 feet down the hill in the mud.

Pausing to stuff my hard-earned dollar down my jersey

The aftermath

My skills slowly got better as I remembered my BMX and MTB heritage, but my legs had left me long ago for the season and I was intent on not training.  The good news is that Ian was in the same boat and we started every race together at the back, so every race became a battle between the two of us.  I ended up winning the series 3-2, so I'll proudly hang my hat on that one.

To sharpen my skills, I did a practice race here in Fort Collins.  The gracious host thought we could make use of his land, so a short series was held in his big back yard.  Shane, we're doing this someday when we have enough land between our neighboring houses to do it.  But ours will also include dirt jumps and such.

And here's video of us racing on it (I'm wearing Ian's helmet cam):

And here's a 20 minute video from another race. Again, I'm wearing the helmet cam, and Ian crashed in front of me twice.  Lotta fun!

http://contour.com/stories/mens-open-cyclocross-interlocken

And here's more random pics of me being a mediocre P/1/2 'cross racer:

incognito at an ACA race...muahahaha

those stairs sucked something aweful!

Who knows, maybe next year I'll actually have some fitness left over when 'cross season rolls around?