Nature Valley Stages 1-3

Going to bike races is all about getting pampered. I’m being taken care of the right way here at the Faulkner residence. CJ is a bike racer himself so he knows the rules. If I have a bag that needs carrying he’s there at the snap of my fingers. If my wheel needs truing at the bike shop every day he’s there to drive me to and from. I need groceries? From which store? he asks. I need to be driven to packet pick-up during rush hour after he’s been laying bricks since 5am and done intervals afterwards? He’s on it. I desire a car to drive around for leisure? He asks which one I’d prefer to take. Yep, I can pretty point my good results directly at being spoiled rotten by CJ and his wife Jen.

That and a shit load of intervals.

I’m here guest riding with Full Circle. My teammates for the week include Marcel DeLisser, Chad Adair, and Brad Tuhi.

Day one (Wednesday) was really spread out over what I think may have been 73 hours. It was a really long day. Time definitely slowed to some extent, maybe even stopped completely for a while. An observer of my life would have witnessed me come to a complete halt as time, for me alone, appeared to stop as if I were approaching a black hole. It definitely felt like I was at a halt during the morning’s 7.7-mile time trial.

Stage 1

I woke to rain and dark thunderclouds. The ride to the course and the health of my knees were saved by a bright metallic blue pair of warmers I had to borrow from Jen. I tried to remember the last real time I spent riding in the rain. Two years ago. Colorado ‘rain’ doesn’t count. I did my warm up near the course under increasing precipitation and increasingly soggy shoes. Thunder and lightning shook and flashed awake the black sky. The rain turned into a downpour. Potholes and gravel strewn about the crappy road surface were covered in thigh-deep puddles. Small poodles would have drown if they’d been taken for a walk. The only reason I wrote that last line was because the word puddle triggered my mind to think of the word poodle. I should have used them in the same sentence. Small poodles would have drown in the deepening puddles.

My hope for smashing out a top 20 was high since this was an Eddy Merckx style TT: no time trial equipment. I have to admit, I did enjoy the effort. Who wouldn’t? It was pouring rain with thunder and lighting! Aside from the pain and terrible time I put in, it was fun. I finished 40th. I was shivering within minutes of finishing but of course CJ was there to drive me home.

Stage 2

The Wednesday evening crit in Saint Paul was much more pleasant. After spending six hours in bed watching TubePlus and scouring facebook I rode downtown for the 75-minute crash fest–or what I assumed would be a crash fest. It turned out to be pretty safe, at least for me and the guys directly in front of me. The course was technical and fast but all the mayhem seemed to occur directly behind me. Causation or correlation? It was safe up front. I finished 27th and ended the day with a 33rd on GC. I got home at 9:45 and had the lights out by 2AM.

Photo by Mathew Pastick

Stage 3

And now onto the main event–for this blog post anyways. The 93-mile Cannon Falls road race on Thursday went better than I expected. I assumed it would be a straightforward race: a small break gets away and Jelly Belly sets tempo until Jamis takes over for the leadout sprint, resulting in a boring group ride for three hours and a fast, lined-out 15 minutes at the end where I come in 38th.

Ten miles into the race, a strong group of 20 just up and split off the front at the top of the second KOM. It was hardly even a hill, but it was enough for some weak-assed punk to let the wheel go. I was too far back to respond. I’d been up near the front for the first KOM and had been following wheels and attacking in between the two climbs but was caught with my dick in my hands leading into that second KOM. No really, I think I might have been peeing.

The next two plus hours were spent chasing and attacking as teams and riders tried to bring back the large group, which contained many of the overall contenders.

I bided my time, not doing any work or attacking whatsoever until half of the breakaway had come back to us. The eight leaders’ gap was down to 45 seconds when I tested the waters for the first time. No dice. Still too may people willing to chase every little move down. I continued waiting for another 20 minutes before I did my second attempt. It was inspired mainly because I felt like a big pileup was about to happen and I wanted to be up the road when it went down. We were in one of the many crosswind sections of the day with everyone crowded on the very left side of the road, trying to avoid the rumble strips while remaining in the draft. I’d had enough of the jostling around and rolled off to the right side of the road once we slowed down for a moment. I pretended I was just drinking water and looked over across to the left side of the road at the front of the peloton, taking extra long sips as if saying “Hey guys, I’m just really thirsty right now and for some reason I can’t drink within the peloton and I have to ride way out over here in the wind by myself to properly rehydrate.”

I slowly accelerated, still with the bottle up to my mouth, without making a sudden jump, ramping my speed up as un-threateningly as I could. I looked back and had a large gap already. The field was still sitting up and no one had responded to my move. Excellent. Wait. This is the opposite of excellent. I was headed for no-man’s land. The break was almost two minutes of the road. This would be impossible to bridge alone and just a huge, amateur, waste of energy.

Head down into the wind, I decided I must keep going. If I sat up immediately I would look weak. I’d rather blow myself up than look weak. A few minutes later I picked up one rider along the way. I’m not sure if he’d been dropped from the break or if he was a remnant of an attack 10 minutes prior, but I can tell you one thing: he was completely worthless in my pursuit of the leaders. I used more energy yelling at him to pull than I gained from sitting in his draft for the six seconds at a time that he did pull. The only real work he did was when the TV camera was on us for a few minutes. He complained that he was hurting bad, and I’m sure he was, but if you can talk you’re not hurting that much. Some people need to learn how to suffer.

The gap went down: 1:20, 1:10, 50 seconds, 25 seconds. The eight leaders were agonizingly close for the last six or seven minutes.

After 20 or 30 minutes since I got away, I finally made contact with the leaders. I’d thought about attacking the guy on my wheel and dropping him so that he didn’t get up there with me (because I was still mad at him), but decided to not make an enemy out of that team. We came up on the back of the break during a small rise, I took a bottle from the Optum car, and went straight to the front for double time pulls. If I alone could catch these guys, that meant that others behind could do it in half the time. Our gap to the peloton was three minutes, which was a good amount of time but easily catchable with 25 miles left to go. We needed more speed.

Within maybe eight minutes of catching the break, the moto came by and told us there was a group of 18 just 30 seconds behind us. Great. All that time in the wind and I could have just sat up and gotten a free ride. Oh well. At least I was in what would certainly be the winning move. I didn’t stop taking pulls though. My legs felt good and I thought that as long as I wasn’t pulling above 500 watts I’d remain pretty fresh. What an arrogant bastard I am!

Just seconds before the 18 guys caught us, and right before the final KOM climb, I launched another crafty attack and got away alone.

Photo from Velonews

I plugged away up the climb, looking back to check on my gap every twenty seconds to gauge my effort. No sense in going too hard. All I wanted was the KOM points. I began soft pedaling with 200 meters to go in order to let them catch me right after I crossed the KOM line. 15 seconds later Janier Acevedo (Jamis) blew by me on the left. A second after that an Optum rider, Jesse Anthony, came by in pursuit of Acevedo. I got on his wheel, wondering what was going on. Were they really attacking each other already? I thought the new group of 28 (18+10) would motor along together to at least the finishing circuits. Shows how much I know about bike racing.

A minute later, next to join us through the feed zone was Freddie Rodriguez (Jelly Belly) and Andres Diaz (Elbowz). Freddie immediately began pulling the hardest, and once we all began cooperating, which didn’t take more than a minute, our gap grew quickly. Soon we had 1:26 on the group behind. I became excited, thinking of the finish already. At the very worst I’d finish 5th and be 5th on GC, assuming we kept this gap or grew it. I pulled but took a break every few minutes, just to keep my legs from going acidic. I wanted to be able to respond immediately to any attacks and knew that it wasn’t even expected that I take a pull at all, since I’m obviously just a weak, worthless amateur.

I took us onto the 1-mile gravel section that lead into town, which was fun, even pleasant, in a small group as opposed the the chaos of a large peloton. Freddie and Janier took over soon afterwards.

As we came upon the town and the final four, two-mile finishing circuits, I looked back to see that our gap had come down to just a handful of seconds. Doomed. The group that consumed us at the start/finish line was down to 14 riders (now 18 with us). I sat eight or 10 guys back, wondering what I should do. I was one of the only guys without a teammate in the group, so sitting in seemed like the best option.

I attacked a minute later but quickly sat up once I looked over my shoulder to see them just a few bike lengths back. Guys continued to attack on those first two laps. Freddie took a hard pull to bring back Joe Schmalz (Elbowz) and an Optum and a Cash Call rider. I thought about doing the counter attack since I was right on Freddie’s wheel but hesitated. Sean Mazich (Jelly Belly) took off on the left. I almost got out of the saddle to join him, but again hesitated. There seemed to be too much fire power in the group and I was certain it would come down to a sprint. It took all my will power to not go with Mazich as I saw his move out of the corner of my eye.

That hesitation, in this case, turned out to be the wrong decision. I thought I was being smart but he ended up staying away to win. I botched the finish sprint and came in 10th. I need more practice at this whole trying to win thing. I’ve got to get out of the survival mode to which I’ve grown accustomed over the past couple years on the NRC circuit.

I secretly hoped for the most aggressive rider’s jersey as a consolation but didn’t get it. Anthony was a good choice since he’d been up the road in the original move all day. I currently sit 13th on GC and hope to improve on that tomorrow, and of course the final day–Stillwater. My main goal remains to win that stage. After witnessing the mayhem yesterday, all my prior belief that a team can hold onto the lead by setting tempo on the front is gone–for tomorrow’s road race or Stillwater. Pure agression will win, and that’s what I like best anyways.

Heading to Minnesota

Last week was stressful. I got into work at noon on Monday and stayed late after a long morning of travel. My subconscious was transfixed on how I’d get a new bike frame within the end of the week for Nature Valley. I ended up calling in a favor from Hagens Berman and was sent a used Blue (Ian’s?) the very next morning. I stripped down my Specialized and equipped the Blue with my components on Friday and it was ready to race on Saturday morning—after an evening stop at Steven’s house to pick up a seat post and front derailleur clamp. Indubitably, things went wrong with the bike later but I got everything sorted out by the end of the weekend and it will be good for Nature Valley.

Other possessional and monetary turmoil included losing my ipod on the bus from the airport, realizing I lost my City Navigator card in my Garmin when I sent it in for a replacement Garmin, dealing with my Zipp rear that won’t stay true (Dan trued it on Friday…it was out of true by Saturday), and last but not least, I stressed about my ongoing ‘necessity’ of purchasing plane tickets and replacement bike parts that I can’t afford (in this case shifting cables and lube).

While sitting on the bus (I’m on the bus to the airport right now), stressing about bike parts I need from QBP, trying to remember who I need to call about the Garmin and ipod, I recognized that the more worrying you do in regards to menial tasks and physical objects, the less time and energy you have for free thought. Creativity, daydreaming, and wonder are more important than thinking about all that other crap, at least in the developed world where you don’t have to worry about malaria or starving to death.

Truly creative people are so absent-minded and forgetful because they’re occupied with actual thought. While most are stressing about the grocery list or remembering to change the oil in the car, creative people are wondering why it’s necessary that all the seats on the bus face the same direction or how a dragonfly’s wings work.

The world needs both: people who think about tangible things and people who wonder, but I believe we’d be better off by doing more of the later. I know I’m much happier when I spend time daydreaming than when I stress about details.

Moving on, I had a fairly good week of training and rest. I could have done with more rest. I did the Bus Stop ride on Tuesday, which was my biggest mistake. I pulled off with like 20 minutes to go but the damage was done. I should have rested after Philly on Sunday and the travel day on Monday. I went to the sauna on Monday and Tuesday to finish off my month membership at the rec center. Both times felt surprisingly easy and restful, unlike the normal suffering to which I grew accustomed.

Wednesday I rested and Thursday I went hard and did VO2 intervals with Matt. Despite being tired, my overall average power for the intervals was the highest they’ve ever been at altitude. So I haven’t declined from a peak yet, which is good news.

Friday I rested, Saturday I raced…for five minutes during the Sunshine hill climb. I pulled out a mile in, realizing I was being stoopid and that if I wanted a result at Nature Valley I better stop before I did more damage. Instead of finishing the race I got a free massage at Boulder Center for Sports Medicine from Kate Dean, rode to Safeway for a huge sandwich, then went home and sat in bed while eating the sandwich and watching a movie. I slept for almost 12 hours that night. Matt won the hill climb and Nick took second.

I felt better on Sunday for the North Boulder Park crit but my mind wasn’t in it. It was a flat, technical course that I’d never done before and a dangerous break got away in the first 7 minutes. I took pulls and did some chasing but my lack of cornering prowess that day kept me from doing any real damage. Once it was apparent that the break was gone for good, I lost all motivation, which made me corner even worse. I spent half the race covering my own damn gaps after every corner. It was very frustrating. I felt like I was driving a tractor.

I pulled out with 15 minutes to go once my motivation to continue riding for 4^th place diminished completely. Usually I’ll race hard for 20^th, especially if there’ money, but today I just wasn’t feeling it. You only have so many motivated days a year for racing hard. It’s not necessarily wise to force one out when it isn’t crucial.

It never feels good to DNF, especially twice in a row, but the extra rest was needed. Assuming I remember how to steer my bike by Wednesday night and with the strength my legs have had the past couple weeks, Nature Valley should go pretty well.

2013 Philly Race Report–I went too soon.

I went a lap early. A gad damn lap early! I’ve never been especially good at math, though simple addition usually isn’t a problem. During the race, having lost count of the laps with a few to go, I fumbled through my computer screens to find out that we’d raced 87 miles. “So that means that we have two more laps,” I thought. “Because two times 12 (mile-laps) is 24. And 24 plus 87 is 122.” This is not correct. By the way.

The roar of the crowd yesterday was unlike anything I’ve heard before. I could feel the boom of screams and yells in my chest, and as I attacked to the finish line from the field on that penultimate lap, at first thinking “Wow I’m fast! No one is even close behind anymore!,” the crowd helped turn my legs over even quicker. Then, as I continued passing dropped guys from the break, I realized that up ahead the remaining breakaway wasn’t slowing down after the finish line. My heart sank. Okay, do or die now. I went even harder to latch on the back just at the top. I could have drifted back into the field and rested my legs for that last lap and still had enough to given anyone a run for their money at the podium, but the excitement and adrenaline had me do otherwise.

In hindsight I should have just sat up right then and there, but who knew what was going to happen? We could have stuck it had there not been quite the large number of guys left in the field to chase us down. If the group had split over the climb that second to last time up, maybe they wouldn’t have had the organization to bring us back.

I’ll start at the beginning. And the beginning always starts with breakfast. I woke first when Allen shook my leg, second when Joe yelled at me to get up, and then finally a third time when Joe coaxed me out of bed with the bribe of a free meal.

There was another buffet going on downstairs, this time in the conference room specifically for the racers. Well, for the pro teams actually. Us worthless amateurs had to pay…as if I was going to do that. Diego, Leo, and Victor were already down there and Leo had snuck in (sort of) and was eating food off of Diego’s plate. I was a bit more bold and walked in like I was supposed to be there. I piled a few plates with eggs, sausage, my own oats, peanut butter, and yogurt mixture that I’d prepared the night before, and a large omelet with all the omelet ingredients available. I ate just enough to not feel sick. Perfect.

We rode down to the course  at 11AM and were already drenched in sweat by the time we got to the top of the Manayunk Wall, from where the race started. It was hot and humid, though not quite as sweltering as the day before. There was even a chance of thunderstorms, which I hoped would hold off until the group of 200 was whittled down quite a bit. The descent would be sketchy if wet.

Like I just mentioned, the race started at the top of the Manayunk Wall, which is a 2 to 2.5-minute climb that has pitches of up to 16%. It’s lined with thousands of fans, some slightly less drunk than others, and all screaming at the tops of their lungs. I’ve never experienced that level of cheering/sheer madness before. Even the start was a rush as we rounded a corner and headed down hill. Most of the 12-mile course was lined with people. Lemmon hill was packed to the brim too.

I sat mid-pack for the first couple laps, not doing a very good job moving up for the Manayunk but usually getting up into the top 30 by the top. I missed a large split that went at the end of the second lap. It was pretty worrisome actually, because most of the favorites and just about every big team was had representatives in it. I feared the race was over. The 20 guys that got away at the top of the climb had 40 seconds on us, plus another 10 riders had broken away on the flat section before the split happened. So now there were 30 guys up the road.

Not to worry. Olheiser, Barry, and a handful of other guys got off the front a few kilometers before the Manayunk in attempts to bridge up there. I came across to them on the climb and after some work on the descent and flat section, we made it into the split’s caravan and into the group, just as another guy crashed in front of some cars. There were crashes everywhere today. The feed zone was mayham, guys were going down on the descent, the strung-out tailwind section, the climb…everywhere.

I looked around the group I was in and knew the large breakaway would come back. We had 30 guys and all of the contenders in the group. Unfortunately another 30 came back on later that lap. But now, half way into the race, positioning would be quite a bit easier leading into the climb.

The 10-man break split apart eventually and reshuffled with guys bridging up there at some point. I’m not sure when this happened, but a mostly new group of a dozen or so riders were up the road with somewhat fresher legs.

Side story in the race: I’d say one of my favorite moments of Sunday was when Cole House’s seat fell off. He’d crashed earlier, judging from all the road rash and torn shorts, and was standing up in front of me out of the saddle when his seat just fell off onto the ground to my left. I yelled at him that it fell off, and assumed he heard me because he kept standing up for what seemed like an unnecessary amount of time to stretch his legs. But he sat back down (hard) on the seatpost and let out a yelp. Race over. I laughed. Sorry Cole but how could I not? That’s cartoon material right there.

Laps five, six, seven, and eight were pretty chill in my books. I sat near or on the front on the climb with no difficulties at all. I managed to get enough water in the feed zone to feel too full, and my food stock was holding strong. With just under two laps to go (at the time I though we just had one) we began bearing down on the remaining eight or ten riders up the road. Half a lap later they had like 30 or 40 seconds at the base of the Manayunk. This was shortly before I attacked.

Going up the base of the climb, I wondered why we weren’t going all out yet. Was everyone really this timid about going too early? I’m usually not timid about going early, so I went “apeshit” according to Matt. But of course I realized my mistake and had to overcome quite the mental blow to find the strength to do that one true last lap. At the top of the climb I struggled to hold Elbowz rider Eric Marcotte’s wheel on the descent. I took a few corners too slow and had to do a couple keg-sapping sprints to catch the four riders left in the breakaway, which included Chad Beyer (Champion Systems) Scott Zwizanski (Optum) and Bruno Langlios (Garneau)–he was also the KOM winner and still riding like a beast unleashed.

We only had 12 more miles, but I was out of water and food, my legs were still acidic from the climb attack, and I was nearly void of mental stamina. I struggled to pull through and had to sit on a bit for longer than I wanted, but luckily the guys let me rest a bit and no one yelled at me to take pulls, which is more than I can say I did about 15 minutes later when one rider was too gassed to take continuous pulls.

But, for the most part the break worked very well together over those last 10 miles and our gap went back up to 30 seconds from 20 that we had at the top of the Manayunk. I knew we’d need at least 30 seconds at the base of the climb to hold off the guys in the peloton that final time up, and also knew that there would probably be a concerted chase effort if the group was as large as it was the previous lap. My only hope was that it had broken up that penultimate climb. It had not and there were still 40 guys left in the peloton.

Doomed with 3 or 4K to go. Zwizanski in orange, me on the right in yellow/black, Marcotte behind me, Beyer behind him, and Bruno tucked behind Zwizanski. UHC did the lions share of the work to bring us back, then Optum took over when it was obvious we were done for, in order to give their man Anthony a lead out to the base of Manayunk.

As we came into the town of Manayunk we could feel the peloton breathing down our necks. I attacked. Bruno attacked. I attacked a few more times and then it was over with less than 2K to go. I looked back and saw Optum lined out with Zirbel crushing the front in an all out kamikaze pull. They charged past on the left as we went up a slight rise. I didn’t even latch onto the back in time, because they were going balls deep, and I went from the very front of the race to the very back (of the guys still in contention. Only 67 finished).

My shot at glory was over but I wasn’t done yet. I went around the three 90-degree corners in Manayunk and headed up the climb for the last time, intent on catching at least a few guys that had just been hanging on all day. I grabbed a beer feed from the crowd and pounded about a quarter cup of warm beer, immediately feeling it burn in my chest, wondering if it was actually a strong mixed drink. The crowd didn’t care that I wasn’t in the lead and gave me a huge cheer the entire time as I continued to grind out a hard pace and pass by a few stragglers. I crossed the line 36^th, 1:11 down on the winner Kiel Reijnen of UHC.

I was pretty bummed at the finish, though I received quite a few congratulations on my effort and the good show I helped put on. If anyone knows where I can find the TV footage let me know!

While riding the break that last lap was certainly exciting, it wasn’t what I came to Philly for. I came to get a damn result. I know I could have been in the top five that last time up. And yes, maybe I’m being arrogant but I still think I had a shot at the win even though Keil was absolutely flying that day. What a race though. Hands down the most exciting race I’ve ever done. The crowd, the intense climb, and the huge prestige of the race just made it an absolute blast. I knew about this race even before I was a cyclist. To get a chance to race it was a big deal for me.

After the race I rode down to PennAC on Boathouse Row to check out my old rowing club. The guys there used to talk about the race and I remember discussing how cool it would be to do something like that (back in 2005 during my rowing days). The boathouse was closed though.

That night, we went over to eat a magnificent surf and turf dinner at a fire station.  Victor, Leo, and Olheiser spent the drive there and back farting on each other, during a heated debate Leo and Victor had about who was darker (they’re both Hispanic). We got a few crappy beers from the most ghetto liquor store any of us had been too and headed back to the hotel lobby to hang out with any fellow racers who’d be seen with us, where I saw Morgan was busy chatting up some girls. Not surprising at all.

I have to say, for a composite team, we had a phenomenal race. With five guys in the main group (Barry, Olheiser, Diego, Adam, and myself) we placed between 15^th and 36^th. This was better than quite a few of the pro teams. Andrew, Leo, and Victor did a terrific job getting bottles, which was no easy task since Joe drew the worst caravan spot possible (the last car at position 24). Joe did a good job keeping things in line the days before and the day of the race, while Allan worked tirelessly as well and organized a good crew out in the feed zone as well, including himself. The Nutela on bread was a great idea. We just needed a slower feed zone for it to work!

I’m hoping I can adjust back into the real world for a week before I head off to Nature Valley next Monday. I’ll be guest racing with Full Circle and gunning for that best amateur jersey, as well as the win on that final circuit race. The Stillwater crit is like a miniature Philly actually, except with zero flat. I think I’ve done everything needed to show I’ve got what it takes except for getting a big win. I can feel it coming though. It’s on the verge.

Philly–Getting Here

This is how my voyage to Philadelphia unraveled yesterday, going from the best to worst kind of transportation: bike–>bus–>airplane–>car…more car–>some more car–>holy shit storm more car.

FRIDAY

I woke early on the morn of May 31st, excited for the day of travel and hungry for the race. Actually I wasn’t hungry yet. I was still pretty full from the pad thai the night before. I’ve been fighting fantom sore throats and colds for the past couple days, almost scaring myself into sickness on more than one occasion. So Adelaide’s suggestion of pad thai was exactly what I needed to mentally fight off whatever it was that was getting at me. The combination of cock sauce, chicken, shrimp and lots of noodles did the trick and now I’m firing on all levels, whatever that means. Probably vomit + diarrhea + sneezing + orgasm all at once. So basically a normal orgasm.

Speaking of firing, I’m racing with the Firefighter’s team, which is based out of Washington. Or Sweden. Or maybe it’s an East Coast team from Mexico/CA. I’m not sure. We have riders from everywhere. Here’s our roster:

Mike Olheiser of Cash Call (California)

Adam Carr of 1K2Go (California)

Andrew Seitz of Panther (East Coaster)

Diego Milan formerly of Aqua & Sapone, among others (Spain) Check out his website. My respect for him just doubled due to the fox pic.

Victor Ayala of Firefighters (Mexico)

Leo Don’t know his last name from Mexico? Leo where you from?

Barry Miller of Firefighters (just came back from Sweden but he’s from the East Coast)

Kenneth Peterman of Rio Grande (Colorado)

Team Manager: Allan Wahlstrom of Tri Cities, Washington

Director Sportif: Joe Holmes of Bremerton, Washington. I mean BAINBRIDGE. #upgrade #isolated #ridingwithwinger

But without farther adieu (with an A not a U and as in distance not extent–because it was a LONG trip), I’ll bring us back to the traveling.

Adelaide and I set off  to the bus station at 6:40AM on Friday. I strapped my Pika pack to my back and Adelaide carried my backpack. Luckily it was a strong headwind for the first 20 minutes and a nice crosswind for the second 20 minutes. Gotta get those legs opened back up. I packed my bike at the bus stop, said goodbye to Adelaide, and hopped on the bus. I fell asleep in the back and was woken up by a nice woman when we got to the airport. This is usually what happens. One time I fell asleep heading the other way and the bus driver had to walk all the way back to wake me up when we reached the end of the line.

The flight was good. I slept for almost all of it.

I got my bike at bagage claim and waited for Allen to pick me up. An hour later I was still waiting, watching a fat little traffic cop waddle around with his chest/stomach puffed out, yelling at cars to move along now, bah ya here? The car rental place had our passenger van for us, it was just 100 miles away. So Allan ended up in a small SUV. This could prove difficult transporting eight guys and eight bikes.

But we didn’t have to worry about that just yet. I was the only one Allen needed to pick up at the moment. He finally got to me and we drove downtown to the fire station. One of the firemen was retiring that day and the celebration was just about to get underway. I’m not entirely sure why we stopped there. I think it was mainly to pick up someone’s bike. An hour later and we took off to New Jersey, where Allen would drop me off at our host house. Hmm. New Jersey? I guessed that the state of Pennsylvania must have been all full.

Two hours later and my mouth was getting pretty dry. I hadn’t drank much all day and had now been without food for like three hours. Yeah, I know. It was rough. We drove around the countryside looking for the host house and calling everyone on the team in attempts to find it out if it was #25 or #26. Either way we were screwed because the population of the town we were in was most likely equal to the number of smashed armadillos on the side of the road. I mean this as in there weren’t many houses out there. I realize this simili is confusing because you might assume that the number of smashed armadillos was high. This is actually what I mean. Seeing 50 smashed armadillos would be a high number, though that would be a very small town population. This is what I was going for. In actuality I didn’t see any smashed armadillos so in the end this comparison doesn’t really work. On a similar but different note, I did see a small muskrat/hedgehog-like animal on the side of the road today. He was eating some grass and gave me the stink eye as I rode by.

Back to driving through the lush forests and past the hillbilly shacks and gigantic Wall Street mansions of New Jersey:

Allen, who is an extremely kind and mellow fellow, decided to say fuck it and gave up the search, though he didn’t use that sort of language (yet), and we set off in search of food instead. I slowly realized that, yes, we were going to get food but it was going to be on the way to the JFK airport to pick up Diego, who was coming in from Spain. Okay not too bad. Little did I know, JFK airport was in a different state. Actually I did know that but it sounds funnier if I don’t. What I didn’t know was that it would take us another two and a half hours to get there.

We got turned around somewhere, hit Brooklyn, hit Coney Island, continued not seeing any signs of life other than cars and semis, and finally got to the airport. With some highly skilled packing, we managed to get three bikes, three humans, and a good amount of luggage into the SUV. Back there amongst the baggage, Diego sat intertwined with handlebars and wheels prodding him from every direction. It was now 10:30PM. Probably 4:30AM his time.

At last we stopped to get food just before midnight at a big Turnpike convenient stop. The food prices were outrageous, as was the cholesterol and saturated fat. I got the healthiest, least caloric thing I could find, which was two slices of pizza. It just made me hungrier.

The plan to drop me off at the hidden host house was scrapped, and instead I would stay with Allen, Joe, Diego, and Leo at the race hotel back in Philly. I liked this plan…I like this plan a lot. Mainly because I like continental breakfasts. I’ll share a bed with Joe Holmes anytime if it involves free breakfast sausage. No pun intended.

After some more turn arounds, we made it to the hotel just as the clock struck 1AM. Lights were finally out by 1:30 or so. It sounds worse than it really was, since for me it was really only 11:30. But still, a 40 minute bike ride, an hour bus ride, a four hour plane ride, then almost eight hours in the car adds up to a long day.

SATURDAY

I woke at the crack of 9:48, 12 minutes before the continental breakfast closed down (I assumed). I ran downstairs and found the small room where the free buffet was. Sausage, bacon, eggs, pancakes, bagels, just your normal stuff. I made a plate and sat down at a table by myself. The table was set up with nice glasses and napkins, strange for a buffet table I thought. I made it most of the way through the pancakes before I noticed that the other patrons of the buffet were being given what resembled bills by who resembled waiters. Oh shit.

The free buffet was not free. It was $13. My heart began pounding as I realized I’d be dining and dashing, because there’s no way I was paying $13 for what should be a free, crap buffet. I got another plate as I planned. A waiter came over to me, asking if I’d like anything to drink. “No, nope, no thanks!” I said. A few moments later, pretending I was just getting up for coffee, I made my escape. I filled my coffee, took an approving sip, nodding that yes, this was fine coffee, looked out of the corner of my eye to see if anyone was watching, then went for it.

I got past the hostess at the front without incident, saying thank you and smiling on my way past. I continued on through the lobby, feeling lazer beams in my back as I went. At the elevator I mixed in amongst a large crowd of racers and other people, then slipped behind a pillar while I waited. I was on the sixth floor and there was no way I was walking, even in these circumstances. The elevator took forever but I got in, ran to my room, and slammed the door behind me, making the buffet food taste even better.

Since the night before was cut so short and because the other guys had to drive in from way up north, our ride was pushed back to 12PM or later. For me, riding was the only thing on the agenda. For Allen and Joe there was also a thick stack of meetings, finding 1,000 race bottles, race food, switching out the SUV for a passenger van, etc. The other guys had to move all their stuff too, since the host house wasn’t going to work out due to the vast distance between it and the course, plus I think it was only equipped with a single bed (California King) and a small hammock. I heard Olheiser claimed the bed and made the rest of the guys sleep on top of each other in the hammock.

With the cluster fuck the previous day and all the logistics to take care of today, it didn’t take long for the team to start trembling in fear of Joe Holmes. I reassured them that no, he wasn’t angry, no he doesn’t despise you, yes you should stop crying because this is actually him in a happy mood. It takes a while to get to know Joe Holmes. I think it took me the better part of three years. But once you do, things actually run pretty smooth. And just so all you HB guys know, Joe is alive, doing well, and hasn’t changed a bit. Example: directing Allen on how to fill bottles—”What you wanna do is fill it to here (pointing on the bottle and looking Allen directly in the eye, pausing for effect). This is important now. You wanna top it off with a little bit of water, got that? #holmeswisdome

Riding the course was hands down the most stressful ride I’ve ever done. Our mechanic, Jeff, navigated us through the busy streets of Kelly Drive, cursing loudly at cars and yelling LEFT or RIGHT every few seconds. We hopped up on sidewalks, bike paths, went down one-way streets. The traffic was heavy but gave us our space since there were dozens of other teams out there too. The riding was hot and sweaty. My sauna training has already paid off. I felt good and rested, opened up even. I’m insanely excited about tomorrow. I almost never get this excited about races. It’s hard not to with all the commotion here at the race hotel. It’s packed with hundreds of racers. The lobby is crowded and noisy with men’s and women’s teams coming and going. It’s a who’s-who of US cycling. And little old Kennett made it here somehow! I’m not the only rift raft though. They added 10 amateur teams in the last week to make the race have 194 riders. I predict it will be half that before half the race is over.

Also here is Morgan Schmidt, who I ran into at the Chipotle right next door to the hotel (I’ve been there twice now already). It’s a strange lifestyle to see a certain group of friends only in far off cities in random Chipotles and hotel lobbies. He was with Freddie Rodriguez, who just won the national championships last week and who I’d just been reading about in Velonews and Cyclingnews. Velonews had a pretty bold article, suggesting Freddie to be an unclean rider solely because he raced in an unclean erra. Freddie used Cyclingnews as an outlet to defend himself. It was interesting to see the two competing news sources (both with two opposite stances), who were basically creating news, not reporting it, and then even stranger to sit down with Morgan and Freddie for burritos after just reading about it.

I spent the rest of the day in bed writing this blog, eating more Chipotle, and trying to relax amongst a day of craziness. Tomorrow I unleash. Time to go downstairs and get a beer with Allen to wash down this last burrito and cradle me to sleep. In fact, I may get one more burrito. Still hungry.

Stuff I did last weekend

I wrote this a few days ago, was going to go back and edit/put in some sweet jokes but didn’t have time. Gotta push it through to make room for the BIG one. Stay tuned for the next one. Philly starts tomorrow. I just had a dream last night that I got second twice in a row. Like we raced it Saturday, then again on Sunday. Same course. I’ve always thought that would be a great idea for a stage race. Same course like 10 days in a row. Instead of only the strong surviving it would be only the easily entertained surviving, since everyone else would quit out of boredom.

 

The Stuff I Did Last Weekend

A novel

by Kennett Peterson

(abridged version)

Saturday: rode bikes and shit

Sunday: rode more bikes and did some other shit too.

Monday: see Sunday.

Tuesday: took three craps from all the food I ate over the weekend.

(unabridged)

I slumped over the bars, gasping desperately at the semi-thin, hot mountain air near the base of Linden St. Both my feet were unclipped and spread wide. I was mostly off the road and the blind corner behind me was far enough away that cars could slam their brakes on in time to avoid hitting me if I happend to be farther out in the road than I thought I was. I hadn’t been seeing straight, but I when I’d finished that last effort I had enough wits about me swerve to the right and stop instead of the left. Currently, my crotch rested heavily on the top tube, supporting the weight that my dead legs no longer could. I was continuing to hyperventilate so much that I couldn’t regain my breath in the normal hunched over position that I usually assume after the last hard interval. I got off my bike and leaned over it, now resting my forehead on my top tube with my forearms dangling over the seat and bars. I almost laid down but thought better of it. I’ll should save that for when I really need it. This is just an interval. Lying down should only be for races. A minute later I was recovered enough to get back on the bike, barley able to swing my left leg over the saddle without my right leg buckling underneath. Bile leaked up into my throat but I didn’t throw it up. Throwing up is only for REALLY hard efforts. This was just a normal Sunday.

I’ll have to start before the weekend to bring you all up to speed on my super exciting, top-secret training preparation for the second half of the season.

After the Superior Morgul stage race two weekends ago, I took two days rest to top off my legs for a serious throw down. My goal was to to amass a huge amount of intensity with a fair amount of volume in the week and a half before Philly. Wednesday was my first of the hard days. I did 8×4 minutes VO2 on Old Stage, which is a steep, stair-stepped climb in north Boulder. It’s perfect for these four-minute intervals and close to work so I can get this workout done in two hours or less pretty easily.

The next day was more intervals, this time 8×1 minute with 10 minute rests. You may think this workout is easier since the intervals are 400% less (is this math correct, David?) But you’d be wrong. Dead wrong you damn fool! This is THE most intense effort you can do. Don’t even get me started on the “Well the 30-30 workout is harder because you only get 30 seconds of rest blah, blah, blah” bullshit. Thirty shmirty. When done properly, as in all out every single time, the 8×1 intervals will gladly escort all your hardest intervals to the guillotine. Unless you’re doing 9×1 minute. That would be harder actually.

Anyways, I really like this workout because it hurts so good and it require very little focus compared to a long threshold or VO2 interval. You just start out as hard as you can go and keep doing that until one minute is up. They went okay on Thursday, but not great. I had to stop pedaling for a second on the first one to avoid a deer, then I had some shifting issues on the fifth or sixth one and nutted myself infront of an oncoming school bus. I hope I at least entertained a few kids with that one. I rode home pretty shagged. (Shagged means tired in England. I think because they have lots of shaggy-haired dogs there that mope about with droopy, tired eyes begging for morsels of bread and biscuits. But everyone in England is either too poor to ever drop a crumb or too snooty and proud and posh to help out a stray dog. They aren’t stereotypes if they’re true).

Friday was a rest day. Adelaide’s sister, Lydia, and Lydia’s boyfriend, Jeff, were out of town for the weekend so we got to stay there in the guest room and look after the cat, Apollo. Their apartment is right next to Boulder Creek, which is more like a river right now. I already miss the sound of the rapids and being in the heart of downtown…so close to both Sprouts.

I woke up early on Saturday at 8:20, excited for my first double day in a long time. The morning called for a 26K TT in north Boulder. After that I’d head to Old Stage and murder myself with some more VO2 intervals. I stopped by home on my way to the TT registration and picked up my TT bike and aero gear. I signed in, did the rest of my warm up and got to the start line with five minutes to spare. A little too much time but I didn’t feel like warming up anymore. I was out of water and it was warm out.

Four minutes later and I found out that I had missed my start time by four minutes. Hey thanks for calling out my name race officials! I was right there so I don’t know how it happened, but I missed my start time. I’d originally read that we started at 11:35, saw that I was second off and assumed that meant that I started at 11:35:30. But, since everyone else seemed to get there on time (by actually reading their start times) I was at fault. Oh well. I started and road hard anyways to see what I could have done. I could have gone fast enough for second place (out of 16) but instead came in second to last. Jim Peterman won by a minute, I found $7 on the side of the road, switched out my bike, and headed to Old Stage for those intervals. The rest of the day was spent at Sprouts and the Boulder Creek fair with Adelaide, scrounging for free samples. I ate 12 garden burgers!

This brings us back to Sunday when our story began. Adelaide and I rode to Amante to meet Matt, who had agreed to join me on my interval quest that morning. I was only doing 6×4, but they would be hard and I didn’t want to completely blow myself up for the intervals that afternoon. But after the first three, Matt told me I should be going harder. If I’m going to take advice from anyone about going harder, I guess it’ll be from him. I pushed it a bit more on the fourth, eeked out a bit more of an effort on the fifth, then blew it all out on the sixth one. I rejoined with Adelaide and we rode home. I ate some granolla and laid on the couch.

Ride number two of Sunday you already heard about in that first paragraph. It was a good one. I averaged 74 watts home and eventually got things ready for a BBQ. Various bike and non-bike people showed up with appetites of large, but not nearly as large as mine. I never got full. Even Liam, who’d ridden seven hours that day up to the newly opened 12,500-foot Trail Ridge Road, only had two or three plates of food. Child’s play.

All week I hadn’t been able to decide upon Monday’s workout. Originally I wanted to do another double day, but after Sunday’s massacre there was no way I’d be able to put out any high-end watts for an interval day. I’d also wanted to do a really long ride that day, like six plus hours, but was worried I’d get sick from that. It seems that whenever I do a really hard block of training I get sick from that one last day where I do too much. So instead of that, I did a medium ride. 4.5 hours with Nick and Liam. We started out with Adelaide, Steven, Haley, and Zack for the first 20 minutes out of town before taking off on our own.

A steady, strong headwind slowed us as we made our way up from Lyons on highway 9. Despite the hard riding and racing over the last two weeks, my legs felt good somehow. I churned away at the cranks until my legs felt like butter themselves. They were weak and shaky when I stood up to climb but I could continue putting out the power despite this. Up at Peak to Peak highway, I kept drilling the pace until I was, left alone by myself to wonder how I still had anything left. We regrouped and rode down Lefthand, stopped to fill our bottles at the spring, and continued down to Lee Hill and then to town. We went our separate ways from there, with me opting to hit up the gas station for a liter of Dr. Pepper and a bag of potato chips.

Fueled for more climbing, I went up Linden, crossed the dirt, and topped out on Sunshine with plenty left in the tank. I would have liked to descend and hit Magnolia to Nederland (adding on another hour and a half) but I thought better of it and coasted down the mountain to home. I mean the apartment in which we were cat sitting. I think I did things just perfect this weekend in terms of riding. Even one more hour would have been overkill. Equally important and fun was the mentally relaxing aspect of the weekend. Hanging out at the creek, swimming in the pool, and walking around the ongoing festival were all a great change from the normal weekend, whatever that is. It was definitely a ying and yang affair. Super strenuous riding, super chill recovery.

Superior Morgul–Racing Like a Fool!

I came soooo close to winning this past weekend’s three-day Superior Morgul omnium, Colorado’s biggest race (other than the USA Pro Challenge). In the end, the three of us on the podium were tied on points, each with 99. It came down to the final day’s stage placing. I can look back on every day and see errors, especially on the last day, where I could have done better. Despite this, I’m still pleased with my race and happy to still be having good form. I was pretty worried early last week that I’d already peaked and my fitness had vanished overnight. Then I stopped dehydrating myself in the sauna. My legs came back two days later, just in time for Friday’s time trial.

The time trial goes like this: you start out on the top of a hill, ride really hard for about 300 meters, go down a hill into a busy traffic circle during rush-hour where traffic is NOT stopped by a couple half-wit police officers who don’t know what the hell they’re doing, go up the steep Wall, climb over some more rollers, then briefly descend towards the finish line before one last short false flat stretch to the line. In total, it takes 15 to 18 minutes depending on how slow you are. I was fairly not slow on Friday, coming in at 15:30. 15:30 was good enough for third place! It was also good enough for sixth place, which is what I got. Third through sixth were within one second. Scott came in just ahead of me at 5th.

For me, the highlight and lowlight of the ride was getting tagged by a car (or visa versa) in the roundabout. I have a tire mark of the white SUV that done it right on the side of my shoe as proof. I didn’t crash or get hurt, but I got real angry. And right there, clipping back in, was the one second and handful of points I needed!

Day two was the crit, which snaked its way through a small neighborhood alley street, took a quick descent and fast left-hander, then gradually climbed towards the start/finish. I wasted no time getting things going, attacking out of the first corner and pulling hard for a full lap before looking back. The pack was all lined out behind me. I pulled off to the side. A few laps later I took another dig, this time getting away with two others (Jesse Goodrich of Cal Giant and Drew Christopher of Primal). We didn’t stay out front for long, but when we were caught it was by a group of 10 guys, including Scott.

Drew, Jesse, and I.

Scott helped peg it while I recovered for a lap. I thought we might have the winning move right there, but a few minutes later and we were caught. I think I attacked again right away or something, got caught, then followed Robin Eckman (Cal Giant) as he went for a prime a lap later. I lost out on the prime, not being able to outsprint him, but we had a gap. Chris Winn (Horizon), was with us as well. Sweet. Arguably the three fastest guys right there. Robin and I drilled it for 20 minutes before Chris took a real pull. By then our gap was up to 30 or 40 seconds. Pretty soon it was over a minute and we eased off a bit.

Someone got the perfect shot of the move right as it went.

Making the gap grow.

Nick and Scott patrolling the field. Nick got into a two-man move with a lap to go and took 5th.

With five laps to go the announcer called a points prime. I attacked at the top of the lap in the alley way street and held on to take maximum points, sitting up a bit before the line because I didn’t have the confidence to go the rest of the way alone. I figured Chris and Robin would sit 10 seconds behind me and work together while I burned myself to the ground, then I’d get destroyed on the last lap as they came around. In hindsight, I should have gone for it because I don’t think they would have cooperated.

Four laps to go and we began playing cat and mouse. I hate that analogy. I truly hate it. It’s so over-used I can hardly stand NOT punching a cute baby gerbil in the throat every time I hear it. I hate it almost as much as I hate the phrase “youthful enthusiasm.”  Paul Sherwin and Senial Man…SHUT UP already!

So anyways, we did some attacking and whatnot and came to the final lap going about seven miles an hour, all three of us parallel with each other, waiting for someone to jump. Of course I jumped first. I smashed  it as hard as I could for about 200 meters up to the neighborhood alley way street, where I looked back to see Chris a few bike lengths back with Robin on his wheel. I swung off all the way to the right side of the road and coasted, hoping to jump in behind them or have them sit up so I could attack again. Instead, Chris lept up, distancing himself from Robin during his slight moment of inattention. He  looked over at me and I looked over at him, both simultaneously thinking, “Ahhh shit. Racing for second now.”

Chris pulled the perfect move and neither Robin nor I wanted to drag him back for the other to then just go right by. Robin did eventually go for it a few moments later, but it was too late. I got on his wheel and he sat up. I should have attacked him right then and there. Instead, we rolled to the finish line together, with him taking me by a bike length in the sprint for second place.

I wound up sitting second overall going into the final day. Robin was first and Chris was third. Chris won the overall as well as the road race last year and Robin was second in the road race, just inches behind Chris on the uphill sprint on the iconic Wall. The way the points were spread meant that in order to win the overall I would have to beat Robin by two places in the road race and also beat Chris. I knew I could take just about anyone on that length of steep climb, especially after eight times up it. It’s false flat leading up to the Wall for about four minutes, then for the last minute and a half it pitches up to 8 and then 12% before easing off over the top. The finish line is right before the top. A marvelous place for a finish line in my opinion.

The night before the road race, a cone and sign company that does all of Colorado’s cone and sign stuff on highways went out of business. This prompted a very quick change to the road race course, which all of us were very grateful for. It was either that or the road race was going to be cancelled. Hats off to Lance and the rest of the organizers who made this happen.

And, even better, the new course turned out to be vastly superior to the old Superior course. See what I did there? The new course took out the boring, flatter section of the race. Now we just did out and backs along the top section, which is where all the exciting stuff happens anyways. As a bonus, the wind decided to come out and play as well, even more than normal.

Our pre-race meeting was all about me being conservative and waiting, waiting, waiting while the rest of the team took control during the first three quarters of the race. I was to be lazy, to not pull through hard or often if I was in the move, and to let others close gaps and attack. Sounds easy…in theory. In practice? Well, remember I didn’t win now did I?

I followed moves and did some minor attacking in the first couple laps. I think by the third of seven and a half laps Nick was the only teammate of mine left in the group, which was already half its original size. Horizon, Chris’ team, had started with 11 guys and was down to six or so at that point and still ripping along pretty strong. Jim Peterman, the local TT phenom who crushed Haga and Zirbel a few months back in a TT and had also won Friday’s TT stage had been up the road with Jesse Goodrich for the first three laps. He was back in the fold now, most likely hating life, his legs, and his over-zealous move on the first lap. Robin still had teammates Jesse and his strong brother, Yannick by his side.

I got all the photos from Adelaide and facebook, including these two images taken by SportifImages. Thanks for all the great photog work everyone! Check out Dejan’s SportifImages website for a ton of great quality pics of all three stages.

Luckily, I had Nick, who was riding like the Hulk, crushing fools and getting in heated arguments with those who didn’t pay respect. He did a ton of short-lived attacks and followed even more, keeping things together when needed and ripping things apart as well,  softening the field all the while. Midway into the race he got away at the base of the Wall (just after we descended it) with one other guy. They profited from the draft of a dumb, slow motorcycle and got 30 seconds on the field in no time. If the moto aint movin fast enough, get on it! Don’t even try to argue with me that you haven’t done the same thing when given the chance. Just don’t. Don’t even.

After the turnaround a mile later we headed back towards the Wall, where I bridged up to Nick with a few other guys, including Chris and two of his teammates. Robin was nowhere to be found. This was it! This was the move! No it wasn’t! We got brought back after the false-flat headwind section. I didn’t expect that, but I’m guessing Yannick and Robin and Jesse killed themselves once again. That’s some good teamwork right there.

A lap later and I took the Wall from the bottom to the top and dropped everyone by a good margin without having to go all out. At the top I looked back, deciding that to go for it there would be stupid. There were two guys way off the front by over a minute so they would be pretty hard to bridge to. Plus, the top of the course, which was the direction I was heading, had a strong headwind. To face it alone would be stupid. Only a stupid person would do that! I rode easy until I was caught, hoping someone would try to bridge to me but they didn’t. I was playing it smart.

Attacking on the Wall.

My smartness came to an end five minutes later after a series of hard attacks over the top of the next roller. The small group was shattered and echeloned over the yellow line in the cross wind. A few more attacks ensued and I followed on the wheels. I was waiting for the perfect moment–a slight lul just as everyone’s legs cracked. It happened and I squeezed through a small gap and got away by myself. Damn it. It was too good of an attack at too good of a moment. Everyone was too gased to follow or try to bridge up to me, so I stuck my head down low and decided to go for the long haul. Typical Kennett tactics. Dumb missile.

I bridged the minute gap to the most recent breakaway up the road and made contact within seven or eight miles. I thought we could take on the peloton and what was left of the Horizon and Cal Giant gangs  if we had three of us and I took extra big pulls. Unfortunately, one of the guys, Drew, dropped off right away when I made contact with them in the feed zone, just before the Wall. Biomechanical I assume after spending too much time in the strong wind. Now it was just me and the other guy.

We held the pack off for another 20 miles but got caught with eight to go. Now I was hating life and my over-zealous move. At least it had taken a good amount of work and numerous pairs of blown legs to bring me back. I sat on the wheels and let Nick to the chasing until we got to the base of the Wall for the last time. Nick lead it out perfectly, with me right on Chris’ wheel…until I lost it and he moved up on the left while I got slightly boxed in on the right. I can’t really say I got boxed in all that much considering we were down to 15 guys out of the 80 starters, but anyways I lost his wheel in those final couple hundred meters of run-up and opted to stick near Robin instead.

Moments earlier, it got dark and began raining, adding just the right mood of doom to go along  with the high-stress finish climb looming around the next couple bends. As the rain came down we dodged cones set in the middle of the lane, dumbly intended to keep us safe on the way down by allowing more space for the descent than the climb (umm, cones in the middle of the lane aren’t safe). No one paid any more attention to the annoying honks of the moto official as we bounced off the cones. It was time for pure aggression. The rain stopped as suddenly as it started.

Chris attacked on the left just as it got steep. I responded a bit too slow but came around five guys just as Nick yelled GO KENNETT! I was bogged down in too big of a gear. I ground most of my drivetrain into metal filings as my derailleur fumbled to get in the right gear. No matter, it only lost me a half a second.  I let out a roar, straining for everything I was worth in all-out furry. Chris already had a two second gap on me but I thought I could close on him.

Nope. The finish line was approaching too soon and my legs were dying too quickly. I let out another roar with 50 meters to go, giving it absolutely everything I had up the steep slope just in case someone was about to come around. Chris held it to the line with a clean gap to me as I crossed in second. After that there was a considerable gap to third-place Clayton Feldman and fourth-place Robin. My last roar was for nothing.

My form is pretty darn good right now even if my tactics aren’t. At least in pro races (like Philly) all I have to do is sit in and follow wheels. It makes things so much simpler. 

With the second on the road race I stayed second on GC as well, with Chris and Robin trading places for first and third. I came to a sudden stop on the side of the road after crossing the line and collapsed on top of my bars. Pretty quickly I was surrounded by friends with congratulations, so there was no time to be angry. I guess I wasn’t that upset anyways. With the time spent off the front, to finish second like that was a pretty huge feat. Had I sat in instead of attacked, do I think I could have won? Yes. Of course. I know I could have. But I’ve never been one with the patience to pull that sort of thing off. Someday I will. I hope.

Chris and his team had a very smart, well-executed weekend of racing to defend their 2012 victory. Robin and Cal Giant rode super strong as well. Having this sort of top-end local competition is a rare thing–something that, in the States, only exists here and So Cal. I’m looking forward to the next show-down with these guys.

I was very pleased and humbled with how everyone on Rio rode on Sunday, even if it was just for the first lap or two. Colt, Jake, Scott, and Trevor were selfless, helping me position and chase down early moves. I owe Nick the biggest thanks of all. He was outstanding. I’ll take one strong Nick over ten regular-strength humans any day. With a fifth place in the crit and ninth in the road race, Nick wound up 7th overall after being one of the main agressors in the road race.

While we waited for the podium presentation and the cash to be divvied out, the rain suddenly came back, this time pouring. I scrambled underneath a truck to take cover for about 10 minutes while it passed over us. As if by some crazed plan of a phantom demon white a white beard up in the sky, the promoters gave us podium sweatshirts just as we we began to shiver. Superior Morgul is how races should be: hard, fun courses, good viewing for the crowds along with beer and vendor tents, good sponsors, and LOTS of prize money.

After the race I rode home with Adelaide in the drizzle on the verge of bonking just in the last mile since I hadn’t eaten anything for an hour and a half. I basically bonked right as I sat down at the dinner table with a plate of leftover, homemade pizza, muffins, peanut butter, and honey. Later we had the team and Adelaide’s sister Lydia and her boyfriend Jeff come over for a BBQ to top off a great weekend with lots of meat, beer, and smores over the fire pit.

Finally, Sarah Kuta of the Daily Camera has been doing some fine reporting on this race. It was cool to see this sort of in-depth coverage in an actual hard copy newspaper every day. Thanks Sarah! Here are all four links to the articles she wrote:

Road Race

Crit

Time Trial

The pre-race guide

Now it’s time for another day of rest before the most intense block of training yet to top off my legs for Philly. I will destroy myself if no one else.

Attention Everyone, I have Extremely Bad Herring Farts Right Now

That was a lie. While I have been eating quite a lot of canned herring lately, I do not, in fact, have bad herring farts. That red herring title (thanks for giving me the idea of this awesome pun, Tim) was just to get your attention.

Post stage race depression has left and in its wake, newborn excitement for the next big one has come.

I was depressed after Gila, despite having a much better result than I should have reasonably thought possible. 30th is good right? Wrong. I became upset because now I know just how miserably difficult it really is to sign a pro contract. If you have no “in,” like me,  you’re pretty much screwed unless you can bust out multiple stage podiums or a top 10 on GC at an NRC or UCI stage race. So with that knowledge bitterly stuffed in my back pocket, and my two brief days of sulking behind me, I’ve come up with a brand new plan: WIN Philly at the beginning of the next month.

Yeah you heard right, breh. I’m fortunate in the fact that I do have a few hook ups in this sport, which includes a guest ride at the Parx Casino Philly Cycling Classic. I got a call from my old director, Joe Holmes, asking if I wanted to race for the Firefighters Elite Team, which he’ll be directing at Philly. The Firefighters team is one of three amateur squads attending the UCI 1.2 race, so to get an invite to such a big event was pretty awesome. Of course I said yes.

The race will be 120 miles for a total of 10 laps, which includes storming Lemmon Hill and the infamous Manayunk Wall 10 times each. I Rode With GPS’d the route and the course has over 9,o00 ft of climbing. Hey-oh. The Manayunk is a 2-3 minute climb with terrible, cracked, nasty pavement and pitches of 20%. To make it even better, the finish line will be at the top of the climb, where literally tens of thousands of people will cheer and throw beer on us. Philly will be hot, humid, extremely attritious, and rowdy. It’s a race made for a Kennett.

To prepare, I knew I’d have to rest hard after Gila in order to start fresh and build back up with plenty of V02 and anaerobic work in the following weeks. I’ve accomplished step number one already. Step number two depends entirely on the weather. I’m counting on it being really hot. I NEED it to be hot. The hotter it is the worse everyone else will do. I, on the other hand, have a secret weapon up my sleeve: the sauna.

After hearing about some guys in the NRC peloton doing this, I decided to give it some thought. So I did some thinking, some internet searching, and finally some emailing to our hydration sponsor, Osmo Nutrition. I got an answer from Osmo founder, Dr. Stacy Sims, who has done extensive research on physiological response to heat and hydration. She also happens to be one of the main experts on heat adaptation from sauna therapy. Therapy is the wrong word. Torture is more accurate.

The procedure goes like this: end your ride at the gym, preferably entering the sauna no more than 30 minutes after you get off the bike. Don’t drink anything other than the minimal amount to get your recovery drink on. Spend 30 minutes in the sauna at 180 degrees F, and then don’t rehydrate for 3-4 hours post sauna. Sounds easy enough. And it is. You just have to be prepared to suffer. Stacy told me to start out for a short duration and that I might only last for five minutes the first time I went in. I did 35 minutes. I think I was able to last so long because when I first got in I was cold from riding over in the rain. (Side note: the rec center has a co-ed sauna, meaning it’s not kosher to be neked in it. While I wasn’t neked, my towel mostly fell off when I was laying down on the bench, legs spread open wide. I opened my eyes with 10 minutes to go to check on the time and saw a girl sitting next to me who must have gotten more than she bargained for. Or less. I kid. Later, I farted and cleared the place out. Also not accepted sauna etiquette from what I’ve subsequently read).

The next day was harder since I’d done more of a ride beforehand, still not a hard or long ride though. The last five of the 31 minutes were rough. I was growing increasingly disy and disoriented. When I got out I almost began walking into the pool ( I still had no swimsuit–just a towel since I’d ridden there). I  came to before I did this and made it into the locker room for a cold shower, having to hold onto a railing to keep my balance. It felt like I was really drunk. Later I had the brilliant idea of putting a strobe light in a sauna with extremely loud dub step, maybe even the whole room is supported by large springs underneath so it sways back and forth. With that sort of disorientation peyote would seem reeeeeally weak.

Afterwards, Adelaide and I rode to the grocery store, rode home, then made a delicious salad and sweet potato fries—the whole time I salivated over the thought of drinking a cold glass of ice water.

Today I did the entire protocol correctly. I did a ride beforehand, entered the sauna already dehydrated, sat upright in the highest bench the entire time with my legs up too, I refrained from a cold shower afterwards, and I didn’t drink anything at all for a half hour. I drank a small glass of juice once I got home, but since then I still haven’t drank anything. The goal of sauna training is to increase red blood cell volume, plasma volume, and capillary density. If I can get just one of those things I’ll be stoked. If I can get one of those things AND the race is super hot, I’ll be really stoked.

The third step to winning Philly (okay even a top 10 would be acceptable with this sort of field) is to pile on the VO2 and anaerobic work. I have 23 days until Philly. With plenty of recovery days thrown in, a three-day stage race, and two local road races from now until then, I’ll be left with roughly 7 hard days of training, so they have to count. My focus for those hard days will be to sharpen my top end to perfection. I can bust out some pretty big power for 1-3 minutes, but the repeatability of that power is the important thing in a race that’s 120 miles long.

Looking at the team start list for the race gets me pretty hard. It will be the best field I’ve raced against and on one of the most demanding, famous courses in the States. As long as I don’t get sick beforehand and nothing bad happens during the race, I think this could be the one for me.