Divine Message

I'm still shaking. This morning, upon waking up and opening the blinds, I was greeted with the image above formed by condensation on the window. My jaw dropped and my knees nearly buckled when I immediately recognized the unmistakable form of Mario Cippolini taking his 41st Giro d'Italia stage win at Rieti to Arezzo in 2003. What does this mean? I know it's not the Virgin Mary on a grilled cheese sandwich, or even a Dorito shaped like a pope hat, but this has to be some sort of sign. I'm just a simple man -- I need more guidance.

In other news, I went down the basement and looked at my cross bike. Thanks for reading.

What do you mean train?

"If you keep on doing what you've always done, you'll keep on getting what you've always got."

I'm not going to try to attribute that to anyone.

Do you "train?" If so, what do you mean by that? There are a bunch of definitions. One is "to practice an ability." This implies you already have some ability. You "train" it so that you can keep it, I guess. Then there are some like this: "the acquisition of knowledge, skills, and competencies..." A somewhat different context, now we are "training" as in job training or toilet training. Either of these can apply to bike racing, running, or any other athletic endeavor (a real bullshit word if you ask me, but I'm full of bullshit, so I'm using it anyway).

From the opening quote, you probably already suspect that I'm going to suggest the second definition is in some way more useful than the first. Well, that depends. Maybe what you've always got is just fine with you. Nothing wrong with that, especially if what you've always got is already really good (I really use "really" way to much). Or maybe you just enjoy the process. That's probably good. Focusing on results, or a lack of them, i.e. "what you've always got" can make you miserable. Or just keep you miserable. Some people are just miserable. Just enjoying the ride rather than worrying about the destination has its advantages. You can decide which is best for you.

Either way, if you're going to "train," it might be a good idea to consider the purpose and then make sure you apply the correct definition to your plans. Where do you want to go today? Or more importantly, where do you want to be tomorrow? If it's someplace new, perhaps you need to think different. Yeah, that was lame. At least I didn't try to work "may the source be with you" in there.

The road season is just about over around here, but we've got this big cyclocross mania that still hasn't subsided all that much, so it's the start of the season for some people. Cross is one of those things you have to "train" for, so what's it going to be? Will you stick with "but I've always done it this way" or will you try something new, or at least different? "Training" your strengths is fun, at least for you. That's probably how they got to be your strengths. Fun is good. Focusing on your weaknesses, not so much, but if you want to improve, just do it. Because you suck. Thanks for reading. Sorry about the abrupt end.

Picture This

Presenting my 2008 D2R2 ride report. Warning: The Deerfield Dirt Road Randonee holds the distinction of being the longest (elapsed time) event that Solobreak participates in. You know what that means. This could get lengthy. Sorry. Originally I'd planned to go for an entertaining post, but I just read Doug's report and began to think maybe I owe a more informative piece to the others who shared this adventure, as well as the many curious who've heard about this ride and might consider doing it one year. Now that Doug has scared you all off, I'm going to offer a contrasting opinion, bringing some balance to the situation.

D2R2 does not have to be a "death ride." Hell, any ride can be a death ride if you ride hard enough. Come up to the track Tuesday night and ride the kilo and you'll see what I mean. Anyhow, for D2R2 I made some special preparations. I did not ride for two days before the event. It would have been nice to do some stretching and massaging during that time, but this did not workout. Instead I spent my extra hours fussing with my bike (put 35 mm Paselas on the commuter, cleaned and lubed the chain, calibrated the computer, and unsuccessfully attempted to eliminate incessant creaking when pedaling), and most importantly, downloading some new music for the drive out. I've been using my old car for much of the summer, but for the 3 am drive to Deerfield, I'd take the XBox and its IPod connector. Yes, 3 am, we'll get back to that later. I'd meant to download some Arlo for this trip (see my 2006 D2R2 post title if you don't understand why), but forgot to. Instead I got Isaac Hayes Theme from Shaft, Black Flag doing Louie, Louie, and Blondie Picture This LIVE to replace a CD I used to own. Along with preparing food and getting packed, all this had me in bed by 10:30 pm, but not sleeping until about an hour later. The alarm went off at 2:30, so figure 3.5 hours of sleep at best. Not a big problem, but I did not get a chance to execute my normal "morning routine" before leaving. More on this later too...

We're two long paragraphs into this and we haven't even left the house yet! Woo-hoo! At the Ludlow rest stop, nothing was even open, so no egg sandwich for you. No morning routine there either. By 5:30 I was off 91 and looking for the road to the event when I saw a Volvo with bike on the roof making a U-turn, so I followed him down the dark farm road. I was getting a bit concerned when I finally saw waving flashlights and tents up ahead. "Bang a Gong" was blaring on my speakers as I pulled in, and would play in my head for the next several hours, which was nice, as dirty, sweet seemed like an appropriate theme for the day. I parked next to John L from IBC and got checked in. I was getting dressed when they called the start and we watched Doug and company roll off. I was not all that bummed, as my plan was to start very easy. On a ride this long, if you're feeling chipper after four hours, there are still plenty of miles left to start hammering. Doing it the other way around is how you create a "death ride" situation.

John was ready the same time as me and we rolled out in the dawn's early light at 6:11. He fiddled with his GPS and we took it easy. The first half of this ride contains most of the climbing. There was too much fog to get nice views most of the time. I also missed the oddball collection of bikes and saw very little livestock for some reason this year. We did come up upon one dude who was riding an old Miyata. Looking down we saw he had chainrings and a chain on both sides of the bike! The poor guy was trying to eat on a climb, but John queried him about the setup anyway. It was a modified Sturmey Archer 3 speed hub, installed backwards. The left side chain drove a fixed gear, and he could shift it to choose between two ratios. The right side chain drove a single speed freewheel, with a lower ratio than the two fixed choices. You only see this sort of stuff at D2R2... Most of the randonneurs ride very servicable bikes -- Surleys, Bianchis, Konas of steel, with fenders, cantis and triples. And they spin them on the climbs. I guess that's how you save your legs when riding the 400k distances these riders sometimes do.

The route was marked this year. The stops were also stocked amazingly well, with Gatorade and enough food for three times the number of riders they had. For $60 this ride is by far the best value of any organized event in New England. They even had food at the start. You could have shown up with no money, no food, and empty pockets and been absolutely fine. There were also pristine new PortaJohns, stocked with Baby Wipes no less! But I still was not "ready" to take advantage. More on this later...

The descent of East Road was pretty rocky. Some people were riding it crazy. I also saw a ton of people on ordinary road tires. My giant Paselas measure a full 38 mm in both dimensions. I had them overinflated to 85 psi, so I wasn't worried about pinch flatting, and was a bit ahead of John on his 700x28s. 3/4 of the way down I saw an IBC guy changing a flat. This must have been one of the guys John thought we'd catch. At the bottom of East Road, I waited and ate a cheese sandwich. Five minutes and about two dozen riders passed, still no John. Then Matt R and some Rapha dudes came by. They had started fifteen minutes after us and were hammering. F it, I jumped on with them. The next stop was not far away, just up one big climb. The Rapha guys had a photog car following them with one of the Cambridge Bike guys from the track. They took pictures on the climb, but one of the guys had a bike issue. At the stop Matt did several repairs, and I had several PB&J's. Still no John. After twenty minutes they left as a group and I jumped on. We hammered almost like a race.

There is one section of double track Jeep road. It's like an MTB course at that point. These guys were jamming it. There was exactly one big mud puddle, large enough for water buffalo wallowing. It had a slim line around it on the left, and a wider off camber line on the right. I headed high on the off camber, which turned out to be ice-like mud, and my balloon tire slid out in an instant and down I went. Only partially into the mud puddle... I chased back on, but was pretty gassed when we hit the 27% gravel slopes of Achambo Road. I'd cleaned it in 2006, but only the first rider in our group made it this year. I started at the back and Matt and I hooked as he struggled and I tried to sneak by. I ran up and remounted. We motored for a bit more, then suffered on the Hillman Road grind into the sun. The paved descent to 112 was rockin. Then came the long climb to the state line. We caught dozens and dozens of riders on this section. It got almost like a pack as we began the LOOOOOOONG descent towards Green River. One of the Rapha guys flatted. There was waiting, but knowing the next rest stop was less than ten miles away, I continued with the intent of building a time cushion to hopefully make use of the Porta John.

Down near the bottom, a 6 foot 8 guy on a new Vanilla flies by me with a friend. It's Josh. He is an incredible descender. I can't be shown up, so I let out the stops and chase onto him. No sooner do we shake hands then psssssst my front tire goes down. They're gone. I have one tube, and it's a 23 mm. Dumbass. I have patches though... I change the tube and get rolling as Matt and the Raphas come along. A mile later pssssst. Shit. One of the Rapha guys offers a tube. I ask him how many does he have? He says two. I take one. I heard that later he double flatted... Bummer, made me feel like an ass for not bringing two of my own.

I change the tube. This one had a failure near the valve hole. I noticed the rim was still pretty hot. Hmmmmm. It's only about a mile to the stop. They had a floor pump, so I checked the other tube in the river and it's leaking near the valve as well, can't be patched. Double hmmmmm. They gave me another tube at the rest stop. So nice, so deluxe. Great food. Someone says "Dave!" It's Sam Robinson from Maine. I have not seen him in over ten years. Matt and the Raphas, as well as Josh are long gone, and Sam and I catch up on things. He tells me him, Jane, and the kids have been living on their sailboat in the Caribbean for two years, and suddenly my life seems rather ordinary. He's doing the 100k so we can't ride together, but I tell him about the blog. He's already a Nega-Coach fan...

By now John and his mates Kevin and Mike are here and we agree to ride together. I am still not ready for a potty stop... At least I know enough not to eat too much here as it's all uphill for several miles when you depart. With my two flats and the other overly long stops, I have 6:10 on the odo as we roll out, and just over fifty miles to go! My Blackburn Delphi had totally wigged out since the mud bog incident anyway, but John had GPS data. Our gang of four rode steady but at a manageable pace. Parts of the route I remembered vividly from 2006, other parts not at all. Most of them were dirt and uphill. That's D2R2. On Green River road my passport fell out of my pocket and I had to chase most of the way up the subsequent hills after retrieving it. Then we bombed back down to Rt 112 at 50 mph. The course markers were a bit messed up there and I ended up braking heavily before making the turn. Pssssssst. WTF? It seems I must have been heating up the rims and the heat was causing my tubes to fail at the valve hole, despite having thick Velox rim tape. The undersized tube situation probably was not helping. This time I just used a 12g CO2, which gave about 35 psi. Turned out to not be enough, as I did not trust it to stand on the Patten Hill climb. I had to sit the entire way, not a huge deal, as the surface is loose anyway. And so was I... Suddenly I really, really needed to get to the portajohn. It was 2:30 pm and I'd eaten an awful lot today...

Mercifully, the stop was at the top of the climb this year, not up and over. The theme song of the day was about to change from Bang a Gong to Robert Plant's Big Log. My apologies to the next poor person to use this thing, the rest stop attendees nearby, the PortaJohn pumping guy, and the PortaJohn pumping guys family and friends. But I'm feeling much better now. OK then. They had a floor pump too, so I got the tire up to about 60 psi and prayed the patch grommet I'd fashioned for the valve stem this time would get me back home without further incident. We bombed the next descent, but not recklessly like Doug's group apparently did. I saw some other incidents with oncoming cars both this time and last. Riders on this ride seem to forget that this is not a race and the roads are open to traffic. Narrow roads. And as JD reminded me in 2006, the locals do not move to middle of noplace, ten miles from the nearest paved road because they enjoy the company of others. Having 300 cyclists suddenly appear in your personal piece of peace rubs some of them the wrong way, and I've learned to stay on my side of the road and live with that.

On the final section of gnarly double track I took advantage of my big tires and fresh feeling and dropped the group. I wanted to at least beat my 2006 ET of 10:15. Back on the pavement I felt fantastic, and easily could have ridden another thirty miles. I TT'd back to the festival and rolled in with an unofficial 9:59:30. My official time will be 10:10 as they punched my start as 6:00 am. I calculate from my Polar just over an hour of stops for food and flats, so roughly 8:55 ride time. I met up with the others and swapped stories, then took the shuttle to Deerfied Academy for a shower. There was still tons of food and drink at the finish, plus we got a meal ticket and free local beer too. My meal was fresh cooked Doug... Perks of being slow I guess.

So lessons? Doing lots of long rides this year was key. I was ready for this. If I'd stayed with grouppo Rapha and not got any flats it would have been pretty hard. I still think it's best to wait until after Hillman before pushing the pace on this ride, maybe later. I would not do this on small road tires. The Paselas were a good choice again. I bought some 28s, expecting them to be 20% smaller than the 35s, but they were about half the size, and I did not trust them, so I stayed with the big ones. The 28s might have been OK. I wanted the big air volume for flat insurance, but that kind of backfired. Next time I'll have a pump for sure, and at least two tubes of the proper size. Running the tires at recommended pressure would be recommended too... And last but certainly not least, I think I'll find a way to get out there Friday afternoon next time, and start the ride in "normal" condition rather than underslept and under, ummm, bathroomed. Thanks for reading. Was this informative and entertaining?

The Neighborhood

Ok, I'm up a little early today, trying to condition myself for the D2R2 3 am wake up call tomorrow. I'm catching up on blogs. With the Olympics going on and all, there seems to be more than just a touch of anti-China sentiment from otherwise seemingly reasonable people. Put the broad brush away. Let's not confuse shitty government with shitty people. I mean, uhh, you know what I mean. There are nice guys and assholes in every neighborhood. Thanks for reading.

USA, USA, USA!

Crystl Bustos is hands-down the Solobreak Favorite Athlete of the 2008 Olympic Games. Thanks for reading.

Ramble on

With Gewilli out on vacation this week, the local blogospheric ozone layer has a big hole in it. Most of you must read Ge, and if you're bored at work, he's the one blogger you can count on to put up some new content everyday -- whether he has nothing to say, a lot to say, or both at the same time. Amusing if nothing else. I've been known to pen a Gewilli parody or two, and Monday on the ride in to work, I had a few ideas, but I'm not sure if it's the right thing to do, or if it's a thing to do right. Maybe it would have gone something like this:

Rode in alone on the bike path today, just me and the Cruller grinding along in the 40x11, hump, hump, hump, pounding out a rhythmic cadence that reminded me of a whaling song we used to sing when I lived on Hokkaido as a kid. Brilliant stuff. The path was almost empty today, jest me and the seagulls. The pathletes all go into hiding once the temperature drops below 60. Not me. I loves this cold. Love it, love it love! OOOOOH can you feel it? It's almost time for cross, wonderful cross. I love cross. Did see one other rider on the path, some fahking sissy on a red Specialized with long sleeves and knee warmers. Fahking panzy. Dude gave me a strange look too. I was dressed perfectly in the cool air -- just a brown paper bag on top, perfect to keep the wind off my chest, all I fahking need, gardening gloves, and my V1 Pro helmet with the Ted Nugent sticker on the back. Down below instead of my skinsuit, I had a special ball sack I made from an old Bellweather seat bag and some Benotto bike ribbon. Brilliant fahking invention of mine. Spent the weekend perfecting it while waiting for some nummy peas and pasta with just a hint of tree bark chopped finely and mixed with freshly grated organic hard cheese and some earthworms that washed up in the driveway. Ohhhhhh so good. First try it came out way too big, so I took an old latex tube and made it into a condom catheter. Brilliant stuff. I ran the other end up my ass crack and then down along the seat tube, with the open end right over the chain behind where the front derailleur would be if I wasn't a pac northwest via michigan hard guy man's man who might work at Brown and cry all the time but still knows how to live off the land and render deer and wear hip waders and bow hunt and all that other manly redneck stuff, soze I run a single chainring. Brilliant. Now I can apply Willilubes ® to the chain on the fly, and save time on pit stops. Now you might be wundahin why all this work on a custom nutsack when I coulda jus worn my regular loin cloth? Ahhhhhh, well see, my other weekend project was whipping up some homemade Bag Balm using just organic flour and some leftovers from my junior high chemistry set. What kinda fahkin retard would pay $6 for Bag Balm when he could waste six hours making his own? That's what's wrong with the world today. There's all these people who aren't me. Ah, fahk it. Brilliant. Peace out, is it time for cross yet? HEDWHENCH.

That might be what it would have looked like... It was chilly last night though. Everyone at the track was crying about it. Good turnout too. We did "real" flying 200s and my time was 14.5 (49.6 kph). Pretty pathetic, but it put me in the middle of the group, and since nearly everyone was an "A" Tony split us up by times for the subsequent races and I ended up on the fast end of the slow group, winning the scratch race. I even made it past the first round of the sprints. At the end of the night we did a miss and out with everyone and I just took off and lasted about eight laps before getting swarmed, last, and the hook.

An oh yeah, I think my road season is suddenly over. There are not too many races left, and I kinda have an attitude about them, so maybe I should skip out. I'm going over the fall calendars (running, duathlon, cx, road, mtb, other) now to try and plan things out. Nobody noticed that the sidebar got updated. I won my age group at Mt A, so I guess the season ends on a high note. At first I wasn't sure if I should count it, but it met all the criteria, open USCF race, 20+ rider field, so there you go. Not exactly a 100 rider field at a spring classic, but I'm clinging to it. Now it's been 58 days since I ran. Last year I did my first run on Aug 21, so it might be time. One thing this past two months has shown me is that I'm a bike racer at heart. I haven't missed the running. It fits in good with the cold though. Ramble ramble. Thanks for reading.

Retro Nostalgia Warning

This stuff is pretty cool. My old Rossin ad from Winning is not there, so I'll have to scan and put that up myself sometime. If you can't relate to any of this, they you're probably a young punk ass who can't shift friction. Thanks for reading.

How fast can a bicycle go?

During the qualifying round of the Olympic team sprint competition, the Hoy, Kenny, Staff team from Great Britain circled the 250 meter Laoshan Velodrome in 12.555 seconds, the fastest lap of the event. That's 71.68 kph (44.52 mph). Since time is taken on the lead rider, it's possible the rider tripping the timer at the end of lap one was not the same as lap two. Which means the actual speed of the rider tripping the timer would be even higher, having been behind the lead rider at the start of the lap. Amazing. Thanks for reading.

Update - Hoy posts a 9.815 200m (73.357 kph) in sprint qualifying. I have yet to break 16 seconds...

Olympic track results with splits


And, like Everest, just because it's there.

The Grim Truth

The last place woman in Olympic pursuit qualifying, Evelyn Garcia of El Salvador, posted a 3000 meter time a whopping 11 seconds slower than second to last place. Yet her average speed was still much, much higher than my PR in the freaking kilo. Better get my sorry ass into the day job... Thanks for reading.

Jaffrey

Since the first bike race I ever witnessed was television coverage of the team pursuit from Mexico City in 1968, we'll go with a semi-Olympic theme today. The fuzzy black and white TV images of quartets of riders circling the velodrome in perfect unison, with the lead rider shooting up to the top of the high concrete banking before dropping just as quickly back down to the rear of the line, made quite an impression on my seven year old mind. Track racing was out of the question for a kid like me then, and to this day I still haven't ridden on a "real" velodrome, but I'm going to make that happen soon. But this post is not about track.

When I eventually started racing eighteen years later (long detour eh), joining the Boston Road Club in 1986, John Allis was the main club coach, often doling out advice to the Wells Ave beginners from the saddle of his wooden-rimmed fixed gear. John had ridden on the Mexico City road team, as well as the 1972 team in Munich, and was revered by everyone at the Wells Ave scene. Retired from racing by then, save for an occasional masters race, he still led a lot of rides for various groups of riders and was "the honcho" around here. One of the rides John used to lead often out of his bike shop was "the Jaffrey Turnaround," a 185k epic from Belmont MA to the NH mountain town and back. The route was rural and the hilliness increased as you approached Jaffrey. If you hadn't ever done this ride, you were pretty much a nobody.

One day Ted Richards, who was a top Cat 2 from the BRC who also coached the beginners at Wells, invited me to do this with him as training. I'd been racing for a year or two then and had got to know the better riders in the club. However, most of my "long rides" back then were on the flat roads near my home in southeast Mass, and usually ended right at 100 miles, because, well, that was enough. This would be the longest ride of my life, with the best rider I'd ever trained with. I took a day off from work and met Ted at his mom's home in Newton (he was a bike bum at the time).

Heading out through Weston, Ted sat on my wheel and told me I was going too hard. My Avocet probably read 19 mph, and this was "normal" pace for me. But I slowed down, a little, but maybe not enough. By the time we crossed the border and the long grades started, I was hanging on Ted's wheel, probably getting gapped at the top. We had lunch in Jaffrey. I remember Ted eating an Italian sub. I couldn't believe it. I ate a sleeve of Fig Newtons. Heading south out of Jaffrey, I did not feel so good. I don't remember all the details, but somehow I must have survived. What I do remember was crossing the 100 mile mark somwhere in Acton or something, and Ted saying "now we're going to pick it up." I was aching all over, my feet burning in my wooden-soled Duegi 101s. I fiddled with my straps as Ted proceeded to drill it at 24-28 mph down whatever road we were on. He was a very strong rider, often taking money against the best domestic pros of the day in the prestigious Wheat Thins pro criterium series. I was getting schooled. Now I knew why I'd been warned about going out too hard. I wasn't pulling now. Fifteen miles of torture later, Ted sat up. "Now we cool down the rest of the way." Back at his house, I had 122 miles, I don't recall the time, but this would stand as my longest ride ever for a long while into the future.

Yesterday, I returned to Jaffrey for the first time in twenty years. Wednesday night I'd headed up to the track for another attempt at the kilo. It was C & D championships night so I got to watch Miche duel it out with the other women in the sprints too, but Tony let me ride the timed event even though I'd already ridden it in the A's last week. Not sure of my exact time, but my first lap was again slow. A bit smoother, I held it better and went sub 1:21 at the end; don't know by how much, but at least I got a second faster. I wanted sub 1:20 though, and did not make it.

The Cronoman and I had a conference Thursday morning to decide on our route. I told him I wanted to do six hours. He is more of a "your long rides only need to be as long as your longest race" guy, lobbying for a four hour cutoff, but I was having none of it. Of course he caved from my tauntings, and we got out the map. We settled on at trip toward Jaffrey. Now Nashua is a lot closer starting point than Newton, so we'd need to improvise in order to get the distance up. Our loop started through Pepperell and Townsend, and we picked up the turnaround route around Greenville. Through New Ipswich the roads are quite hilly, and my Polar showed us at least 300m higher than when we started. Rolling into Jaffrey just 2:10 into it, we had only a 25kph average going. Hmmm. This time we just got water, and kept on heading west, past the foot of Mt Monadnock. Out here, neither of us knew the roads. Three hours out, we decided to take a road south. Good choice. This brought us into the metropolis of Troy, NH, where we picked up 202 south to 119, which we knew from the map headed back parallel to the way we came out. 119 is a state highway with low traffic, wide shoulder, and long, steady grades up and down. Hammer time. Grinding uphill for five minutes at a time and then flying down into the next hollow. Lather, rinse, repeat for about an hour.

At the four hour food stop in Ashby, a woman wished us well and said she hoped we'd beat the rain... It started pouring as soon as we rolled out. I steered us back north on 31 because I knew if we went straight back we'd come in under six. I wanted more climbing. At 4:20 the Cronoman started cramping. That's what happens when you normally only ride four hours. Luckily Eric is a tough guy and he would endure just about anything in order to avoid a lifetime of me reminding him how he cracked on our ride. So I gave him twenty seconds to pull himself together and then popped it back in the big ring. We also had a three mile serpentine descent in the pouring rain to help him recover before we hit the backside of Mason Road, climbing again for a few miles as the sun reappeared. I'd have loved to find more hills at that point, but being a warm, benevolent, nurturing soul I had to show some mercy. We rode straight back toward home on the flatter roads in Brookline, and he even started taking turns on the front again, making sure we did not take the left for last chance hills in West Hollis. I was bummed, but figured hell, at least this way we can get our average speed up, so ala Ted from 1988, I took us up to 40 kph and left it there all the way across Pepperell and down 111 back to Nashua. At 5:45 I gave the wave, announcing the cooldown.

Final stats 176k, 6:00, 29.4 kph avg, 1755m (5700 feet) of climbing. Not quite matching my ride with Ted two decades prior, but pretty close. And only my fourth longest ride of the season. The Cronoman recovered well after washing his bike... On to D2R2. And I don't have cable, so I probably won't get to catch the team pursuits from the Olympics. Thanks for reading.

More crit photos

Click photos for full-res.


Photo courtesy of S. Gauthier
On the front again, this time trying (unsuccessfully) to bring back the break at Concord with three laps to go.



Photo courtesy of Michael Paskind
In an early break at Nashua with Ciaran Mangan (CCB/Volkswagen).



Photo courtesy of Michael Paskind
Inside of Mike Norton (Cyclonauts) coming out of the chicane.

Photo courtesy of Michael Paskind

It's not whether you win or lose, it's how much your veins stick out in the pictures.

Thanks for reading.

Gate City Cyclone

Photo courtesy of Michael Paskind

On the front, where they pay me to be... Thanks for reading.

Seen at the races

Special Cronoman Edition

Photos courtesy of Sean Suprenant
Here the Cronoman poses with his mouth gaping at the Gate City Cyclone on Saturday.
Does this look like the correct way to ride a crit?. I always suspected that he does not pay attention, and now I know. Notice the NEBC rider in the photo on the right, no doubt a solobreak reader, as he demonstrates the proper way to scan the crowd for hot underage chicks in short shorts. (I have no excuse for having my eyes closed). At least somebody cares enough to study, unlike the Cronoman and the guy wearing baby blue in the back of the photo. There we have Feltslave looking behind him at Norton; yet another "student of the sport" who just doesn't seem to retain the lessons. I try, honestly I try, but this teaching thing can be quite frustrating at times.

Speaking of which, the best "seen at the races" this weekend did not actually occur at the race venue at all, but it was close enough. After the crit, as the host club we had a lot of work to do, tearing down all the barricades and what not. Once the last hay bale was stacked and all the Gu packets were picked up (WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE ANYWAY? It was a 45 minute crit. You needed a gel? Dumbasses), I followed the Cronoman back to his crib to get cleaned up. A few blocks away from the race, we're stopped at a light in downtown Nashua and I hear a huge commotion in front of me. I thought it was a Latin gang war breaking out, or perhaps some sort of road rage incident. The crowd seemed to be yelling "Eduardo, Eduardo" but after a few seconds I realized it was "Fucking M*rro, Fucking M*rro." Apparently the "nicest guy in the peloton" (who came up with that? Obviously someone who has never had a wheel hurled at them after a race) is also the "most popular teacher in high school." This scholarly group of young tilt-hatted NH residents had spotted him and was so enthralled by his presence you would have thought they'd seen Elvis or something. This was a mixed-gender group too, and the screaming and yelling continued as they jumped up and down excitedly for a solid minute, when the light finally turned and we drove off. Holy crap. Maybe you had to be there. The Cronoman - Rock Star Shop Teacher. Sorry I didn't have the camera out for that one.

Last but not least, continuing with our Cronoman theme, we have this gem from Mt A:



Who the fuck wears a knit winter hat and a thermal Warsaw jacket when they're on the trainer? For the record, upon observing this crime against nature, I clicked the lap timer on my Polar to record the temperature -- 79 degrees. It was humid as all shit too, so the heat index was probably about 85. And the bonehead wore arm warmers in the race as well. Like I said, I try, I really do, but sometimes it just seems hopeless. Thanks for reading.

PS - Oh yeah, and Feltslave was pretty pissed to see the Cronoman racing in black ankle socks. Apparently this is Feltslave's trademark, and he's not pleased to see the copy cat. What is it about these Hupsters and their sock styles?

As the world turns

There's a lot to be said for being positive and living in the moment, even if both sound rather cliché. Take a situation, for example, when you've just sailed home from the Londonderry track, down 93, across the LZ bridge, and through the tunnel all above the speed limit, only to come to a grinding halt in the middle of the dirty D, a victim of night-paving gridlock. You could choose to cry in your recovery drink, lamenting that it's already after 10 pm, you're tired, you're dirty, you drove two hours each way, you spent $25 on gas and another $20 on entry fees just for three short track races, you're going to miss out on sleep, and you're going to be driving at five miles per hour for the next thirty minutes. You could think that way. Some of my associates do. The older they get, the more grizzled they become, finding the darker side of any and all situations. Poor them. Mofos.

The alternative would be to think "hey, shit, it's summertime, woo-hoo! I can smell the salt air coming off the bay. This was an awesome night. I didn't crash in the sprint repechage after colliding with that dude who was coming underneath me, sending me unicycling up the banking in a nice nose wheelie when I sorta stopped pedaling. Good thing I got a sandwich off the grill before leaving the track or else I'd be hungry right now. Glad I'm telecommuting tomorrow, I can sleep in. Beastie Boys just came up on shuffle, crank it!"

By now you probably figured out I chose option B, and so ends our daily moment of uplifting inspirations. May the smiles be yours...

This was the first New England Track Championships in 18 years, according to Dick Ring. The last one was held at Thompson Speedway. I raced it back then, and I think I was the only alum who raced last night's event as well. And I found out I'm still pretty slow. I think I was the oldest person entered in the "A" field, but that's a poor excuse for also being the slowest, because Steve Gauthier is only two years younger than me and he took the overall bronze.

We'll focus on the kilo here. There were no heroics for me in the points race, other than taking off on the bell and getting the first sprint five laps in. I had a shot at the second one but got swarmed and was not a factor after that. I already told my match sprints story. I was in the repechage for a reason, and ended up last in that... Nothstein isn't hearing footsteps...

So back to the kilo. Since the track is only 318 meters, we do a bit more than three laps. I did not get to the track all that early, and didn't get in a great warmup. I rode some laps up high and got some windtrainer time in while the first riders went off, but wasn't able to do any hot laps down in the groove at all. Some guys had aero bikes, helmets, wheels etc, but I had none of that shit, just the Ghetto-Track. Truth be told, there were five guys who rode 1:16 something, but the fastest had no aero stuff either. Now I know 1:16 for a winning time is slow, but this ain't the ADT Center. The track isn't even that banked. 47 kph for those guys is not too shabby.

Dick was calling out the lap times. Since the first lap for each rider was really a lap and a quarter, the times were high. But we got to hear some indication of how we were doing. The best guys were getting their first split under 30 seconds, a few under 29. Under 23 was good for the second (i.e. one actual) lap. Then they would call out overall finish times as well as the final 200m split, which would be used for sprint seeding. The kilo baffled me. You have to start violently, but it's still possible (probable) that you're going to die, so you can't be an idiot. My first lap was 32 something, one of the slowest. Shit. So I bury it on the second lap, and it's a low 23. Then I don't feel smooth, I don't hold a good line (no practice) and I die, 1:21 something, I think maybe last in the "A" field. I rode a 56x17 gear, so the makes my average cadence ~106 rpm, and maybe 111 rpm over the final 200. That's slow by trackie standards.

Feltslave was one of the last starters, despite being one of the first to arrive. Actually he started once in the middle, but threw his chain and got a re-ride. His first lap was 30 point something. His second lap he looked unbelievable, spinning like a pro, smooth and fast. Not sure of the split. He died a bit at the end, and clocked a time nearly identical to mine. I think his final 200 was faster. But guess what? The knucklehead had his 42x16 winter training gear still on his bike! No wonder his spin looked so good. Yet he beat me. I ran the numbers, his average rpms must have been 135, and his final 200 nearly 140 rpm.

This morning I did some checking around the track forums and it sounds like "real" trackies run a gear the same or slightly larger than mine for the kilo (90-91 inches seems to be the consensus) despite going way faster. They are averaging around 125 rpms and hitting 130 at the end for sure. Typical track stuff. More for Willi to ruminate over. Thanks for reading, it was my pleasure being your ray of sunshine on this fine August day. Peace be with you motherfuckers!

Another Race Weekend

August. It's like the witching hour. You may be a bit tired, but you may as well race now, because the road season will be over soon enough. We're already losing daylight. This can be a tough month. Here in New England though, we're lucky to have some great races. The Concord Criterium has been on the calendar since before I started racing, making it one of the oldest continuously held races in the area. The Central NH Road Race aka Bow, might not be quite so old, but it's been going on in one form or another for about fifteen years, and has become known as a classic. As I noted in the comments to Murat the other day, mile for mile it might be the toughest course in New England. Usually anyway...

First up was Concord on Saturday. I only entered the 45+ race, which was only twenty laps of the 1.05 mile course. For Team BOB, this was an important race, carrying the NH State Criterium Championships designation. We would ride for a field sprint and try to set up Duano. As a rolleur, my job would be to keep the pace high and try to contain all the attempted breakaways. Timmy and the Cronoman would have this role as well, along with JG, who would also escort Duano on the last lap, if all went according to plan...

With such a short race, attacks started early. We did a good job keeping it under control. A few moves went in response to prime offerings, but we managed to keep it close and eventually bring them all back. Around halfway, Tom Officer (Cycle Fitness) started throwing down. He's a marked rider anyway, so this hotted up the pace. With a concerted team effort, we kept things together, but I began to tire. Around seven to go we had lost our grip and the front of the pack got lined out without any BOB representation. A three man break of Peter Megdal (NEBC), Bob Bisson (Gearworks) and Keith Ford (Sunapee) got clear by at least ten seconds. I was pretty gassed, as were the others, and no team besides us was chasing that hard. We regrouped and scurried to the front just as Officer took a massive pull up the backstretch hill. He swerved off and Skip Foley (360) and I got to the front to continue the chase. There were five laps to go. It looked like a catch was imminent, but the break persisted. I was still on my limit. At two to go I made my last gasp effort to drill it around the esses and into the hill. Then the Cronoman took over with one to go. Ford and Bisson came off the break and were caught, and the field exploded when Frank Jennings (Gearworks) responded to the loss of his man from the break. Megdal was just dangling in the front alone now, but Duano ended up left isolated for the critical last half lap. He had to close a big gap and was gassed for the sprint. JG somehow got up there at the end for 4th, but Megdal held off the field and won. Oh well.

My average HR for the 47 minute race was 160. That's threshold. I had 27 minutes in zones 5A-5C. The other 20 was between 151-159. Yeah, this was hard. I didn't feel so well afterwards, and just went home to regroup.

Most of my team does not race Bow. They are not climbers. Just me and the Cronoman lined up with almost fifty others in the 45+ race, but the field was strong with the usual suspects. Cycle Fitness had Officer, John Funk, and Mark Luzio, making them easily the strongest team in the race. Most of the others were like us, with just one or two riders entered. Bow has traditionally been a race of attrition and most of us are just looking to survive. A few of the strongest, such as Dougie have other ideas.

The 45+ only do four laps of the 17.5k circuit. I know that doesn't sound like much. What makes Bow unique is there is not one meter of flat on the entire course. I am not exaggerating. It's all either up or down. The climbs aren't the toughest, but normally the race is run under a broiling sun, and the jewel of the course is an extremely steep pitch with a tough grade for an approach. Last year the layout was changed again (there have been at least a half dozen changes in the history of the race), adding more climbing, but breaking up the run in to the toughest stretch with a brief downhill. In some ways, this made the course "easier," but not as much as the official decision to make the start "neutral." For us in the 45+, this meant we would only race the toughest one-two punch of the hills all-out three times. It had a big impact.

I lined up in the front row. Rain showers started right away. When we took to the first climbing stretch neutral, I got right on the bumper of the pace car. For some reason, nobody else in the field followed suit. My reasoning for doing this was twofold: one, there was a headwind, so why not draft the car? I needed a better warmup anyway. Second, being six inches off the tailgate had the effect of making the driver go a little bit faster than he would have otherwise. In fact, I heard later some riders got dropped in the neutral! Heh-heh.

After the first mile of climbing, the race was on and the Volvo pulled ahead. I stayed at the front next to Funk -- for a minute or two. On the steep climb (aka "Anal Sex", so named because one race years ago someone painted that in two foot high block letters across the pavement), Funk stood up and took off. I guess Vonsavage (Muscles Not Motors) went with him. I made it over in the first ten, an odd feeling for me here lately. Dougie Jansen (IBC) immediately took up the chase. I rolled through as the rain got steady on the big downhill, and tried to line it out. Even the Cronoman took a turn at the front at first, but the duo managed to stretch their lead a bit anyway. Given my recent history of getting dropped at this race, I retreated in the group and got ready to climb the hill again.

Second time up was not too bad. Things were steady. Doug and Alex Petro (Team Psycho) drove the pace, but it was even. I moved up to a good spot. This time, I crested the big climb close to the front, right with Officer and Dana Kellogg (Arc-en-Ciel). Vonsavage came back to the group. We lost about a third of the field that lap, unfortunately including the Cronoman. Third time up the climb was not much different, although we could see Funk just ahead. I was certain that a brutal counterattack from Officer was coming, but I was wrong. I suffered a bit but again made it over both climbs in good position. Next lap as we passed the start/finish, Funk was reeled in. Petro rolled off with a small gap, but no violent attacks. The pace was faster though, and I did not maintain as good of a place in the group this time. Going into the "A.S." climb, I was behind Adam Sternfeld (Millwork One), Sam Morse (Corner Cycle), and Karl Hambrecht (CCB). I dug deep to go around them and scurry up nearer to Kellogg and company, but at the top me and a GMBC guy were slightly gapped. He gave me the elbow and I took over on the downhill and we closed it up, but I was gasping. The others quickly caught us from behind. Petro was still off. I guess Dougie drilled it on the downhill while the field caught its collective breath, and he slipped off and caught Alex.

On the mini climb after the big downhill (left then right turns), they had over ten seconds and were looking good. It was raining pretty hard on that part of the course. I was focused on not cramping more than anything else, and thinking about the sprint. Sadly, the race had not broken up as much as years past, and maybe that's why I was still here... The last mile is ripping downhill, and only the final 250 meters starts to turn back uphill slightly. It would be a fast sprint. Morse attacked on the last wall, but everyone responded and by the crest it slowed. The place to attack was at the crest. There actually is a short stretch of "flat" just before the downhill there, and when I won this race (in ancient times) that is where I made my move. This year though, by that point I was not in a great position, and more importantly did not have the legs to jump. I followed wheels down the hill.

Dougie and Petro stayed away, with Alex winning. Sixteen seconds later our sprint came in. I knew the 200m sign was right where you rounded a small bend and the finish abruptly came into view. Funk led it out for Officer. I took to the left at the point where we had the whole road, and thus never had a good wheel to follow. All the heavy hitters went up the right, with Officer taking 3rd. I had a clear shot but only managed 8th, one spot out of the money. My goal going in was top 10, so I should be pleased, but the race turned out to be not nearly as hard as in recent years; maybe my fitness made it seem that way, but over twenty riders were in the lead group, which is double the norm.

This ended another "taper" week that turned out to be over ten hours on the bike for me. The Gate City Crit in Nashua and the Mt A TT are coming up this weekend. Then maybe I'll start running again. It's been six weeks. Sure helps the bike legs. Thanks for reading this long and pointless entry.

The Daily Pelican

If you don't understand the title, then I guess you haven't been following CReuters's fine blog the past few weeks, and you also don't get your cycling news here. Shame on you (for the first part. I don't get my cycling news there either, though maybe I should). This will be a new thing here, sort of a newsletter, a slight upgrade from the old Friday Links. Before using the title, I ran a quick search on the oft chance some newspaper of this name already existed, and lo and behold the Coalition for Louisiana Progress beat me to it. Louisiana, where they love OUI so much they put it right in the name of the state. That's progress.

I'm going with the newsletter format because it's reached a point where all my friends and acquaintances are so fucking weird that I can't even write about them on my blog anymore. This must be a consequence of getting old. I've never had so many stories good judgment dictates I hold in confidence or risk violence in the streets, violence in the home, bedlam, bedwetting, and continued poverty in that strife-torn nation. I did not set out to have weird friends, it just sort of happened. One day you're perfectly normal (as if normal were perfect, or perfect were normal?), and the next all your friends are nuts. So we'll keep it light. We'll start with this. Jim McMahon and da Bears crushed the Patriots Super Bowl dreams back in 1986, keeping alive the Patsy's dynasty of failure at the time. That's not what made me a fan though, it was his barefoot golfing at the Pebble Beach Pro-Am later that spring. Keeping the game in perspective. It's great to see him doing so well. I found the McMahon story link while following this one, and hence that's how we ended up rolling down the bike lane to petty amusement this morning.

It beats writing about the loss of Manny. Sorry, but I don't care what kind of a head case he is (see paragraph above about my friggin' friends), it won't be the same without him. At least the Dodgers are already my adopted favorite National league team. And all you Yankee fans can continue to go fuck yourselves. You know who you are...

Last but not least, what do you think of Knol? Looks like the perfect place for all my weirdo friends (and me of course) to extol their know-it-all wisdom about some random topic. Gewilli could do an article about microscopic inspection of 40T chainrings or something. I'm actually already trying to convert my lame, half-baked, untouched and unupdated in two years History of New England Cyclocross into Knol format. Would be nice if anyone would get off their arse and actually send me some more vintage photos to use. Maybe I'll open it up to collaboration and all that. Yeah, I know, this is not funny. I just stumbled upon it because the whole point of this post was to NOT end up like one of the never updated links over on the sidebar. I took a peak under the hood of HurleyBike to see why she can't seem to update it, and yeah Miche, I see what you mean. It's like your content is overlaying the editor. Not sure if you're using the dashboard or not, but you can sort of see the nav bar over the top of the blog. When you click it it's opening behind your content. Try opening it in a new tab and see if that lets you hack at it and start over. Thank you very much, drive through please, come again.

Oh yeah, almost forgot. I'm embarrassed to admit (but obviously not embarrassed enough) that I thought Toucan Sam was a pelican. Duh. Then they would have named him Pelican Sam dumbass. Too bad, as Fruit Loops would make a good official breakfast cereal of Reuter's blog. Or this one. Thanks for reading.

PS - funny shit: Holy crap this is good.