Product Review: Castelli Sanremo Speedsuit

The Castelli Sanremo suit of speed might be the best performance-oriented piece of cycling clothing anyone's come up with in the recent past.  No, it won't win races for anyone.  Castelli claims savings of 10-15 watts over a normal kit at 25mph, but this is amateur racing.  The fastest dude will generally win, and he's got way more than 15 watts on you.  What it does do (extremely well) is detailed below.

For the uninitiated, Castelli had the bright idea of stitching the back half of their highest-end Body Paint bibs (shorts, really, as the bib straps are discarded) to an aero jersey.  This gives you the seamless back of a skinsuit, three pockets that actually work, and the ability to unzip your jersey all the way without sending everything in said pockets flying across the road.  In essence, a high-end skinsuit that can be used for a road race, a longer XC race, or (insert 2+-hour-long cycling activity here).  Castelli is already starting with the best kit in the business here.  The Body Paint shorts are solid - comfortable chamois and no annoying silicone gripper.  The jersey that they use for the suit is definitely lighter weight than your average race kit.  The back and most of the sleeves are a light poly material that breathes extremely well (not for cold weather).  The front is a similar lycra to that used in their skinsuits.  Put together, the suit forms a combination that's more comfortable than the bibs and jersey separately.

Did I mention this thing is tight?  More form-fitting than most people are used to in public.  One has to wiggle in and out of it, a pretty funny sight in the race staging parking lot.  You can see most of my scars through it.  You can see my teammates' tattoos* through theirs.  If I had to take an unscientific guess, most of those watt savings that Castelli claims are from The Tightness, not aero dimples or fabric choice.  On the Race Weight scale from Sumo Wrestler Attending Bicycle Classes to The Schon, it's going to fit the 6 foot 130 pound rider best.  But this is a good thing.  There's no slack in the shoulders, nothing for the saddle to snag on CX or MTB remounts, and it generally makes us really really good looking (when at race weight).  The only summer races for which I might skip the speedsuit would be ones where I could reasonably expect to crash, like Gnar Weasels or the Harlem Cat 2/3 crit**, only because they're somewhat pricey and can't be replaced one piece at a time like damaged jersey/bibs.  If we could change anything, it would only be for Castelli to make a lady-specific version of the Sanremo.  Our female racers, who tend not to resemble the human skeletons the suit was originally tested on, found the speedsuit too tight in front and too baggy in back.

* Not actually a teammate's tattoo.
** I'm never going back to Harlem YOU CAN'T MAKE ME.

Kevin forgot to turn his #13 plate upside down.

Stolen Bike Alert

Sadly, one of the unfortunate consequences of owning bikes and investing in them financially and emotionally is that on occasion, these bikes we love and cherish get stolen. Yesterday, two of our friends had their bikes stolen from them and if you could help us look out for them and spread the word, we would really appreciate it.

Our good friend Starr was heading across the country to her new job in Oregon to work for Castelli Cycling. We love our new custom Castelli team kit (especially the San Remo Speedsuit!) and we love Starr, so we were really happy that she's off on a new adventure with Castelli. Unfortunately, at 4am on Tuesday morning in Billings, MT someone cut the locks off of Starr's bikes and stole them. Details on the bikes can be found here. Please spread the word, especially if you know anyone in that area. Starr had to keep moving to get to her new job in time and wasn't able to stick around to check out pawn shops in the area. If you have any information, you can contact her about it via the tumblr.

Another friend of ours, Cary, had his Jack Kane road bike stolen from the Novartis campus in Central Sq, Cambridge during the day on Tuesday. If you could please look out for it, we'd really appreciate it.

Specs: Alu/carbon red/black frame, fulcrum front wheel, Powertap SL+ rear w/ DT rim, Red/Rival ders, 1 red 1 rival lever, Red ano TRP brakes, Force cranks, black Keo pedals, Ultegra cassette, Thomson post, white Toupe carbon rail saddle, white Fizik tape, red Pro 4 tires.

A white/sky blue size Medium Lazer Genesis helmet was also stolen with the bike.

This is the frameset, some parts on it have since been changed.

Please contact Cary by email at cfridrich[at]gmail[dot]com if you have any information or see the bike around.

Myles Standish Race Report

After last year's debacle, I obviously needed to come back to Myles Standish and set things right.  The full road, non-selective course, downhill sprint, and small cat 3 field were just too much fun.

I can only assume that my blog from last year is the reason that the cat 3 field DOUBLED in size this year to a robust 40 dudes (ok, 39 dudes and a chick), because everyone wanted some of that FULL ROAD ACTION.  Most excitingly, no less than seven of my Back Bay (p/b Boloco) teammates signed up with me.

Now, with great power comes great responsibility.  We had 8 racers in a 40-rider field, that's twenty-freakin-percent, if you don't get some stuff done with those kinds of numbers then the internet will come a-heckling, dontcha know.  (See:  Green Line Velo, Blue Hills 2011)  As such there was extensive pre-race listserve discussion about how to effectively race our bikes, and of course as a ragged band of cat 3s we didn't really know what to do except "attack a lot."  So that was the extent of our plan.

I should probably note that my official season road cycling goal was "be off the front long enough at Myles Standish to say I was 'in the break.' "  No really.  We had a little "what's your goals?" email thread back in the winter and that's what I said.

Aim low and you'll never be disappointed!

ANYWAY, while B2C2 had overwhelming numbers we also had overwhelming leg sadness.  Five of our dudes did Battenkill the day before (with Preston placing 2nd!) and those same five dudes decided to RIDE TO THE RACE from Boston at 7am.

Apparently five guys on this team like pedaling a lot more than I do.

That did not seem like an optimal prerace plan to me, but that didn't stop Preston (I think?) from attacking literally 100m into the race.

The field did nothing.

Another dude went after him solo.  Then two more.  The four riders coalesced.  On the backside of the course, Andrew (B2C2) launched a solo bridge move and suddenly there were five guys up the road, including two teammates.

There was some conversation in the field about this situation, that made those of us with two teammates in the break feel very smug.  Teams!  They're a thing!

The end result of the conversation was the break getting brought back shortly after the end of lap one and, in my opinion, most of the non-B2C2 field deciding that they would like to avoid future threatening-break situations.

We slowed down and I recognized my chance to meet my season goal, shooting off the front with what could only be described as "incredible zest."

Twenty seconds later I realized I was well clear of the field and TOTALLY ALONE.  And my legs hurt.

Can it count as "the break" if it's just one guy?  Please?

I rode casually for a while.  Needless to say, the field was not concerned about my ability to hold them off for 20 miles solo.  Pretty sure looking back every 10 seconds did not add any credibility to my threat, either.

Eventually someone (Ride Studio?) came across the gap, but that's because the gap was getting small, and the field gobbled us up a few minutes later, well before you could describe us as "the break."  DAMMIT!

I recovered for a few miles and then tried again.  Come on guysssss, let's hang out in the breakkkkkkk!

No luck.  This time, I noticed that it took a mere 10 seconds for me to start thinking about how much I didn't want to be off the front solo.  And start looking back.  Break credibility:  zero.  I might have to pay Myerson to tell me how this works.

So that didn't work.

In between me pointlessly attacking, a bunch of other teammates also managed to pointlessly attack, which tired people out (mainly ourselves), but also kept the average speed up, (25+ for a cat 3 race, that ain't bad, right?) and most importantly meant that no one on the internet would talk about how lame we were after the race.

The main goal of any cat 3 road racer is to avoid getting mocked on the internet for something he did in a race (no, seriously) so I was pretty stoked at this point.

I realized that if no one wanted to attack with me, I could just wait until someone else attacked and then launch a glorious bridge move to them, which would formulate THE BREAK.

I hung out for a bit waiting to enact my brilliant plan.

Unfortunately, no one wanted to attack except Back Bay, and I had said (perhaps incorrectly!) before the race not to ever bridge to your teammate solo because the 2-man TTT break does nothing but enrage the field.

Finally an RSC dude got off the front and I started bouncing off the walls inside the cat 3 prison that was the center of the peloton trying to get out.  And then I bridged!  And by the time I got there he was cooked and we had a massive three-second gap to the field.  SCREW YOU, ROAD RACING.

Note how much stuff has happened in all of 15 miles of racing at this point.  And how many times I have been off the front.  I decided it was time to stop playing bikes and let my glorious team take over the work for a bit while I hid from the wind.

Then some stuff happened and I couldn't really remember it but I'm sure it was us repeatedly attacking the field like a brown and teal salad shooter of awesome.

Oh, there was that time a confused car shut down a break, that was great.  And typical of road racing.

Despite all this, we hit the last lap with everything still together, and a field sprint looking likely.

On the one thing that counts as a "climb" on the course, Brian Coate (B2C2) attacked over the top solo, which was impressive to me because I remember thinking "this is as fast as I can ride up this" on the hill.

Brian did a remarkable job of threatening to win the race for the next mile.  It was NOTHING like when I was off the front.  Some large men rode ferociously on the front and yet the gap barely closed.

I would like to say that Brian's seven teammates were getting a free ride at this point, but that's not true, because with the finish coming up fast we still needed to fight for position in the chase.  But at least the big men were working really hard, instead of noodling along looking around.

Brian's attempt was finally shut down into the last few rollers and it became SPRINT TIME.  Having the experience of totally blowing the sprint last year was actually a huge help in knowing where to be this year, and a big effort over the last roller put me into the train in about seventh wheel.  Right behind Mike.

OMIGAWD, this is actually the perfect position at this point, I realized.  "Mike, lead me out?" I shouted.  Mike, ever the useful engine, nodded in affirmation, and WE HAD A PLAN!  Ian Schon (B2C2) was fourth wheel, but it was clearly too late to involve him.

We came out of the high-speed corner on the hill and Mike went full gas.

At this point I should probably mention that we were sprinting directly into the back of a group (10?) shelled racers from another field who had NO IDEA that a 40 mph sprint was bearing down on them.  ROAD RACING!  SO SAFE!

As we were careening into the comet trail of their obliviousness, Mike tried to stop sprinting (he might also have been tired) so I screamed at him like he was sled dog, because adrenaline makes me invincible and prone to screaming.  He kept sprinting.

He finally blew at about 200m to go, right when it was time to go anyway, and I came off his wheel shooting for the remarkably small gap on the left side of the clueless group of riders we were passing.  Geoff Bouchard (NBX) was going for the same gap so we got to bump each other a bit, but since I was coming off a SWEET LEADOUT I managed to slip by him while just barely staying on the road, and that was THAT, nothing but clean air between me and the finish line.

Sprinting all the way to the line turned out to be a very good call because Richard Loring was slingshotting through that draftable- mess of a sprint and came up on my right side disturbingly fast... but AFTER the finish line.

Ian hung on for fourth with no team support and Andrew came through with 9th, making us 100% impervious to internet mockery.  WOOOO TEAM!

There was no payout (and I'm ok with that) so I cut my first-place medal into 8 pieces to share with the guys.

Battenkill: Dirt Roads and Clown Shoes.

Every year, I look forward to Battenkill. And every year, I swear I'll never race there again. Like a college kid waking up at noon after a long night spent painting the sidewalk with vomit, I make promises to myself and others swearing off my ridiculous and self-destructive behavior, only to repeat it time and time again.

I went in to this race with a bit of trepidation: my dad was in a pretty serious surgery the day before*, and I hadn't heard anything yet. I was hoping to get him a picture of me on the podium with a little "Get Well Dad" sign, but didn't say anything to the guys. I knew Battenkill would be a shit sandwich crap shoot, that I had the legs to win but the luck of a man who smashed mirrors for a living, so I didn't want the team to work for me only to have me flat out or get hit by a meteorite or something.

This turned out to be a wise decision.

This edition of Battenkill was easily the worst race I have ever participated in.

Some choice bits:

We were brought to a dead stop on the first major climb of the day due to a crash up the road. We were told to wait 4 minutes, and the field behind us would also be stopped. The field behind us was not stopped. This will be important later, when they catch us on another major climb and we are stopped AGAIN.

The type and variety of fuckery occurring in our group simply defied description. Some daffy bastard jammed my thigh between the drop of his handlebar and his frame around a corner and crashed hard into my left butt-cheek. He complained about me the entire way to the ground. Guys were climbing like drunks leaving the bar after last call. Descending, I repeatedly had to play the "just how hard is it to lock up a wheel with a carbon braking surface" game (answer: not that hard). And dear god, the yellow line rule. The one that exists to keep your stupid ass from turning onto some rednecks hood ornament. The one that was only occasionally obeyed, which brings us to...

The Worst Official In All The Land.

Yes, our moto operated in the jerk spectrum somewhere between "overzealous hack" and "drunk dad". Aside from his running the bike a few feet from my mouth on every climb, blasting me with exhaust fumes (after being asked by several racers to give us some space), and tearing up and down the pack at 40+ miles an hour with about 6 inches from his handlebar to our shoulders, he:

- Enforced the yellow line rule only occasionally, but with almost abusive vigor - shouting and cursing at our group while forcing riders to move in with his bike, dangerously compressing the field.

- Woefully failed at neutralizing our race when the group behind us came through, instead bringing us to a complete stop on a potentially decisive climb.

- Dangerously interfered with the race between 1-2k to go, running his moto in our lane, which was already lousy with shelled riders.

So our race was more-or-less clown shoes from beginning to end.

But like I said, I felt good, cresting the climbs with the leaders and staying attentive to any potential moves. The team worked well, even though our "strategy" didn't get much of a chance to play out. Brian Coate did yeomans work in the break, spending most of the day in the wind. The rest of the guys managed to stay fresh and safe in the pack, giving us a few cards to play in the finale.

With 3k to go, there were 3 of us in the top 15 or 20 guys. Ian and I were near the front, Preston was trying on his new invisibility cloak somewhere near the back. My plan was simple: stay in the top 5 guys and bury them in the sprint (like I said, I had "good sensations"). Before I could implement my plan, I saw Preston sneak up the right hand side. Huh.

I had already telegraphed my good form all race, and as such had a bit of a parade going on in my slipstream. With 1k to go Ian (in a scintillating display of tactical nous) shouted "MIKE GET ON MY WHEEL I'LL TAKE YOU TO THE FRONT!" The parade behind me suddenly got very excited about the prospect of a free ride, and I heard all manner of jostling and shift-noises in my wake.

Ian was still within reach. I saw Preston in 5th wheel. We were 500m from the line. I made a split-second decision.

I sat up.

See that huge tangle of dudes back there? I was the hair in the drain. 

Knowing I had a legion of dudes on my wheel and a teammate already in position, it would have been simple arrogance or abject stupidity to fight for my own win.

Preston delivered on the gamble with a fantastic 2nd place with a pretty hot sprint.

We did it.

*Surgery turned out to be a success! Dad is doing well.

Return of the B2C2

This was supposed to go up before Mike's Hop Brook Report, but I've been in Places Without WiFi.

The blog has been quiet, but the team has been busy getting ready for the upcoming season. With all of our major sponsors returning from 2012, we're still well fed, caffeinated, and rolling on fast wheels and in yellow shoes.  We also have the best bike shop and event registration site in our corner for another year.  We added a whole bunch of new riders to the B2C2 roster (see racer bios posted in the last couple months), bolstering our women's squad and bringing on more local collegiate talent than any other team in the greater Boston area*.

As far as the last three months...

We took our annual “training camp” to the Cape in mid-January. It was cold and wet. Brian Coate's bike exploded into a million pieces. The Schon went really really hard. We also threw another successful bike swap – with Geekhouse as our gracious hosts we took over Headquarters Boston once again and people with poor impulse control spent most of a paycheck on sweet, sweet bike parts.

As far as target races for this year...

We're going to send at least someone to most every XC and road event between Maine and Connecticut. With that absurd statement out of the way, Battenkill is an early goal and the men's Cat 3 squad is making the trip to New York this weekend. Assuming Fitchburg isn't canceled for the third year in a row, B2C2 will be sleeping in someone's basement and racing the bikes. Fearless team leader Mike and/or his alter ego “Jim Burns” will be embarking on the annual quest for the coveted title of “fastest slow guy” at the Trans-sylvania Epic. Finally, a good number of B2C2ers will be at the Wilderness 101, because with solid team tactics we can absolutely triumph over Jeremiah Bishop in an 8 hour marathon event.

It's going to be a good year for the team - stay posted.

*I have no way of actually proving this. But it's probably true.

Hop Brook Dam or, Seated Climbing In The Wake Of Rob Stine

I did a bike race last weekend.

I have no pictures. So I will use words.

Just like last year, I forgot that "pro" MTB staging is like CX staging back when Tom Stevens was playing guitar for Foghat. And hey - just like a cross race, I lined up in the back. And got ready for a start that was about 20 feet in a straight line, then a U-turn, then through the feed zone, then down to a two-foot wide patch between a boulder and the lake, then up a wall into the singletrack.

So, this.

In the ensuing melee, (and really, against all odds) someone smacked my rear derailleur. It didn't seem to be much of a problem at the time, seeing as I was mostly concentrating on not going into the woods in 35th place. Oh yeah, there were like 35 of us.

And I was in the back.

Grunting and cursing, I surged, struggled, sprinted, and spat - and got exactly nowhere. So I sat in the conga line of missed pedals, botched turns, and foot downs until the trail finally widened into something resembling a passing lane. Then it was GAME O... oh that's right. Literally everyone in line had exactly the same idea that I had, and we played "square peg, round hole" with the course for another few minutes.

Finally (oh god what am I saying), the road section.

Sweet, sweet passing.

Or at least "that guy in the TargetTraining kit is built like a human cowcatcher, get on his wheel you dumbass".

All was mostly well for the next half-lap. I moved up, reeling in Al Donahue and Marty Allen. Wow, this is great. I'm doing really well!

CHONK.

For all you non bike racer types out there, that is the sound your derailleur makes when some knucklehead has been dry humping it with a Racing Ralph.

I get off and see how bad it is.

Lots of people rode by me.

I was sad and alone.

And god-damn furious.

Tossing the rock I used to fix my bike aside, I set about trying to punish my bike salvaging my race. It took me a few minutes of cross-eyed chasing to bring back Marty. I rested for a minute before going again. When I did, I almost high sided when my gears locked up.

Choosing to ignore my (and Martys) near-death experience, I pushed on - eventually reeling in Stine and this guy Gered Dunne. Who apparently can climb. Teeth hurting from chewing on my handlebar for half a lap, I decided this was about where I was going to stay.

Because by now, I knew I couldn't stand up on the climb without turning my drivetrain into modern art.

So I led up one climb, seated, not able to put down any serious power. Then I managed to put some time in on the descent, and began to formulate a crafty plan. One that, if I was willing to take completely unreasonable risks to body and bicycle, could get me away from these two.

Of course, I would have to get up the climb ahead of them.

Which never happened again.

Gered left us for dead almost immediately. Stine very slowly made me feel worse and worse about myself, eking out a few seconds on every climb. I would murder every descent to bridge back up, but he seemed to know that there was no way in hell I could hold his wheel any time the road went up.

It was true.

Defeated, I rolled in alone.

Well played, Mr. Stine.

9th.

Spring B2C2 Bike Swap and Gear Sale - 3/22/2013

We had such a great time at the Fall B2C2 swap that Marty and the fine folks at Headquarters Boston invited us back and we will be hosting swaps twice a year now! The Spring swap will be on Friday, March 22nd and will run from 6pm until 10pm. If you're interested in a vendor space, please register in advance here - 6 foot by 6 foot vendor spaces are $25 each to pre-register and $30 each day-of. You can purchase multiple vendor spaces if you have a lot to sell or, if you'd like to sign up for just one spot and share the space with friends, you're welcome to do so.

If you're interesting in buying or perusing, general admission is $2 per person.

We're working on pulling together the same degree of awesome as the last event - look forward to amazing vendors, lots of delicious baked goods, great raffle prizes, and more!

All proceeds from the event benefit B2C2 and HQ Boston. Feel free to email Lauren at lauren.j.kling@gmail.com if you have any questions about registering for a vendor space or about the event.





Headquaters Boston - Located on the 2nd floor
12 Channel St
Boston, Ma 02210