Backwoods Racing

About 4 weeks ago, I went up to Indiana to race and got totally hosed. I was hoping to pull a rabbit out of my hat and do well, but we were flying out for vacation just hours after the race, and a weeks worth of stress and lack of sleep kept my wheels from turning. Not good. It was a long week and I was happy it was over.

Upon returning from vacation, aside from fixing some of the “redecorating” Radar, our 1 year old lab mix, had taken upon himself to perform, it looked like our house had been vacant for years. More work, more stress, The amount of time it takes to prepare for and recover from vacations, I am starting to wonder about their intended effectiveness.

Anyway, poor me. So after almost a month between starts, I was feeling a little twitchy going into Sundays race in Cherokee. A talented field toed the line, Mitchell, Dillman, Schworminator, Richardson, Hauber, Cornelius, and Ray to name a few – it was not going to be an easy day. But what they didn’t realize is I had a plan. This was a brilliant plan at that. You ready? Here it is; get in the woods first, cross the finish line first. And thanks to takin a little time off, getting more than 6 hours sleep a couple nights in a row, I was able to ride the recently resurrected Anthem like a rented mule on lap one and managed to keep the gap through the rest of race. I wasn’t totally happy with how I felt/rode, but it felt good to be able to make the wheels turn and get the win.

With more than a few races left now through October, I hope to put together a decent close to the season, including a little redemption in Indiana. I just need to remember to keep things in perspective, not to get stressed over things I can’t control and no more melatonin the night before a race. And dogs are horrible decorators.

BUMP was my big goal for the season. I was going to be in peak form. While I didn’t think winning was going to be an option, I wanted to be able to mix it up up front for a while and finish strong. Then, life happened. I didn’t want to go anymore, I mean 5 hours is a long drive knowing youre going to receive a severe beating upon arrival. But, I had already registered and I figured this could be the inspiration to get my training on track, or just hang it up. Given my new-found sense of “might as well,” Sarah and I headed down to ‘Bama.

The unusually cool temps were a welcome relief from what is normally one of the first, hot, sticky, and nasty races of the year, but this didn’t make Saturdays STXC any better. In a nutshell, there was one good spot on the course to pass and everyone went for it at the same time and I came out on the short end of it. No big deal, that’s racing. I was just glad my sister was there to let the ladies who criticized my move know what was what and my wife was there to realize “it” (the mouth, the attitude, the I’m gonna get my 2 cents in, call it what you will) runs in the family. Thanks Terry.

The XC on Sunday was looking promising. With much trail added in the last couple years, the folks at BUMP were going to make good use of it with what was, more or less, a 31 mile loop. Even if I had a bad race, a bad race on fun trail ain’t all that bad. Knowing there are some hard climbs, I took the Mtn Goat (XTC) figuring time gained up would more than cancel out anything lost going down. 

It all started well, going into the woods 6^th, with what appeared to be solid riders in front of me and it only took a short time to whittle it down to 5. I was feeling better than I could have imagined – this could be a podium kinda day. Then on the first rocky section, the guy in front of me spins out forcing a dismount and we lose the front three. No time to panic, they are all still right there…then he slips again. For the second time, I am off the bike and running.

I hate running when I should be riding. Throws everything out of whack.

Once we are riding again, I manage to get around him, (before he dabs again), but the two dismounts allowed the front 3 to have ridden out of sight. The next 10 or so miles I rode with two riders nipping at my heals, but I was able to keep them at bay while maintaining a comfortable pace, until I came too hot into a corner where I clipped a tree and went flying ass over elbows.

As I was picking myself up and becoming re-oriented with the world – what happened, where is my bike, do I hear an ice cream truck? – Mr. I Can’t Ride Rocky Trail came blazing past. Jerkstore didn’t even bother with the standard “yewwallright??” Not that any of us mean it, like asking a co-worker “how are you?” it’s largely a formality, but to paraphrase Seinfeld, we’re living in a society here. It’s part of the code.

This came near the base of the longest climb on the course. I was now in 5^thand determined not to lose another spot, so I got myself together and started climbing. I never saw Jerkstore in front of me, but I kept the power on all the way until I crested on the fireroad and began the Jekyll and Hyde, the last big descent to the finish.

I descended in a way one only can when there are cameras, spectators and lap riders – never fearing, feeling no pain and with reckless abandon. Adrenalin pumping, I was launching that hard-tail over piles of rocks, Maxxis tires and Stan’s rims shrunching, poinging, giving it their all. Powering through corners, passing where there was no space, but not crashing anyone, I was flying and it felt fantastic. I take a sharp turn, the trail smoothed out, and there he was. Probably a victim of his poor technical riding abilities, Mr. ICRRT was right in front of me. One more short acceleration and I sat on his wheel.

With about a mile or so to go, I had waited long enough and I made an aggressive, but clean, pass for which I was scolded, “All you had to do was ask!” Well, if I knew he was the most passive racer ever and the one in a million willing to give up a spot so close to the finish, I would have.  What a tool.

All was going well, I created a big enough gap to not worry about a sprint, all I had to do was ride it out. Then, weird course marking created confusion. The three-way intersection had two options and no course marshall. There are other bewildered looking racers, I stop, Mr. ICRRT catches up. I hear Dickman’s voice over the P.A. system “Left, left, go to your left!” I have no idea if he was talking to us, or if he could even see us, but is was something, so I went left. I gap ICRRT again. But after a couple minutes of riding with no lap riders around and I can’t hear him back there anymore, I panic. Did I go the right way? Am I embarking on a 10 mile loop and giving up everything I just suffered for? I turn around, ICRRT is in fact still back there, so at least we are doing something stupid together. I turn back to the trail in front of me and my momentary lack of focus sends me through a bad line over some rough stuff and I drop my chain.

Sonoffa______.

It only took a few seconds to fix, but that was long enough for him to eek by. Just a couple more corners and I see we are headed out of the woods to the finish. Those last couple hundred yards, I chased hard, but to no avail, the small gap was just big enough. 5^th place, 2 seconds from 4^th and 1 year from being 40. I am pretty happy and I think the form will just keep getting better as the season goes on. Maybe I won’t hang it up just yet.

Thanks to the Days, our awesome hosts, for a great time and to Sarah for supporting an old man’s fading glory.

The one they do on bicycles every year. The one the cycling world goes nuts for. Yeah, I hate it.

I watch it.

I read the recaps.

I leave my browser open for up to the minute updates at work.

Seems like odd behavior for someone who hates the Tour. So, what I really hate is what the Tour isn’t and what happens during it.

What it isn’t. The hype for most any event in life almost always eclipses the actual occurrence and makes you feel a bit let down. In hindsight you realize the event was indeed pretty cool, just not life altering, as promised. Such is the Tour. It never is as awesome as the lead-up to it. All the big show downs rarely happen, 1/2 the contenders crash out before even taking a swing. Then there’s the doping scandals that pop up like a zit before class picture day, no matter the outcome, they leave a mark that taints that years race to some degree. So you take all that, plus the 2 weeks of flat stages (yawn) multiplied by a couple awesome rides, narrow escapes and heroic attacks and wins and you get a Peter Jackson Film.

Yes, the Tour is like Lord of the Rings or Donkey Kong Does New York. All in all, pretty cool, but really, if we could edit it down a bit and just get to the action a bit faster. We don’t need the whole journey to know how they got there. Maybe instead of Peter Jackson, they could make the Tour a Michael Bay production; all stages are mountain stages except the downhill team time trials, and the gap jumps, rings of fire and tiger pits on the 1 flat stage. If these guys are gonna crash out, might as well make it awesome. “I crashed out of the tour because of wheel touching,” that sounds so weenie.

Now, what happens during it and why this post is relevant 3 weeks after the Tour has ended.

June. The race season is really getting going. March, April and May can be great, but spotty. May is generally more consistent weather, but you still may not have the new bike completely sorted, or that bug you caught by being under trained and over raced in April is finally out of the system to where you’re no longer clutching your chest and heaving like Redd Foxx half way up a climb. We then seamlessly roll into July and you’re flying, feeling great, nothing but races on the calendar for the next 8 weeks. It’s summer, life is grand.

Then it happens.

Every year going into July I feel like this year is going to be different, I feel too good right now … but it never is different. Somehow in those 3 weeks since the tour started, the sparkly, race fueled days of summer have given way to “seasons about over and I’m feeling beat.” Like watching those guys cover 3600 miles took it out of me. The stores are in on it too, they have gone from 4th of July picnic displays of great joy to back to school displays of pending doom. You can feel autumn looming and you know just behind it is the Beast that is Ohio Valley Winters.

So, thats why I really hate the Tour; it kills summer and I’m tired at the end of it. With this year’s heat wave, July was especially brutal and now I am lookin forward to forgetting about training for a while and riding because riding without agenda is fun. CX need not apply.

I got second, yet I still won. Nice work when you can get it.

The tight twisties at Capitol View made for some very, very hot and sweaty racing. By the end of lap 2, gloves and chamois had hit their saturation point. An ill-advised, yet delicious, late morning egg, ham n cheese bagel was making some tasty vurps. Mitchell drilling it up the hills. Put all these things together and you got 2 laps of racing, and 2 laps of doing just enough to maintain 2nd.

Yet somehow I still won.

It was the Bluegrass State games MTB race and they score Cat 1 (Mitchell) separate from Pro (me), so I took home more cash and a gold medal. I don’t do many smart things, so not only is second the new first, it’s also exceptional. Nap time.