I did the first Lars Practice this morning and let me be (not exactly) the first to tell you, the new course is fantastic. Last year, the only cross event it could really be compared to was the Green Mountain Fat Tire Hillclimb, and lets be honest - that race kind of sucked. Dont get me wrong, I loved falling out of bed before dawn to do grass hill repeats, but lately Im a bit burned out on climbing up a mowed lawn.
Like I said, though: 100% improvement. I will dread eating my cereal in the dark and trying to ride half asleep through Allston and Brookline a little less from now on.
This mornings turnout was light, though it was an off day (usually a wed. morning phenomenon). Its cool to see everyone again - the main thing that attracts me to cross is the people, the "scene" as it were. Dont get me wrong, I still hate the kids, but riding with everyone today made me remember why I made such a frantic scramble to assemble a new cross bike in time. Good dudes all.
Speaking of good dudes, Will Crissman - on a single speed mountain bike - tore our legs off during the second set of laps. After cross practice, he and I went to Cutler Park (where he continued to heap abuse on my legs and sense of self worth) for an hour or so. Greg had to work, so he turned around at the trailhead.
And now it is bike building/ modifying/ repairing time. I have made a "playlist" that I intend on listening to at "no one else is home" volume. Here it is:
Leviathan "the bitter emblem of dissolve"
Mare "sun for miles"
Asunder "a famine"
Khanate "commuted"
Botch "c thomas howell as the 'soul man'"
Burzum "dunkelheit"
Godflesh "like rats"
Coalesce "have patience"
Sisters of Mercy "first and last and always"
The Swarm "old blue eyes is dead"
Spazz "go", "spazz vs. mother nature", "spudboy", "chris pooped at the skatepark"
Fantomas "spider baby theme", "theme from the omen"
Carcass "heartwork"
Darkthrone "transylvanian hunger"
Wolves in the throne room "queen of the borrowed light"
Isis "hive destruction"
Cave in "NIB (cover)"
Acrid "fear and trembling"
Thoughts of ionesco "randall"
At the gates "blinded by fear"
Battles "SZ2"
Converge "love is arson"
Charles bronson "batting a thousand"
Fiesel "ruins of this life (whole record)"
I will now listen to metal.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
The 101 on the 101
This was not an event I had planned on doing. But when I heard that friend Thom P was heading down there and I realized I had an open weekend I started thinking that riding 100 miles would be fun. Why not? Local singlespeed and beer consuming legend Mike Ramponi and I have been riding together all summer and he had raved about the event so then it became a no-brainer. I signed up.
Mike and I ride the Blue Hills pretty frequently and pretty aggressively, trying to punish each other as much as we can most Friday mornings. Keeping up with Ramponi and some decent results racing for the last year gave me some confidence that I might be able to hold my own in PA. When Thom and I managed to convince our friend Greg Montello, former SS winner at the 101, to join us, my expectations ramped up even more. It’s a diffusion thing. The more I started hanging out with really fast people the more I expected some of the speed to diffuse into me. I had the same theory with AP Biology in high school which is why I slept on my text book every night. I’m not a biologist. Let’s see how things worked out at the 101.
The drive down began poorly when my sunglasses fell off my head loading the bikes onto the car and I stepped on them. This is not a good look for me. We managed to get all of our stuff together, totally fill up the Fit and hit the road only a couple hours after we had originally intended. There was much talk of Jens Voigt, some decent Christopher Walken impressions, several stops for food and bladder relief highlighted by a gas station in Connecticut where the attendant informed us that there was no bathroom but that there was “vast land” available behind the station. If by “vast land” he meant a dumpster and sandstone cliffs, he was right. It worked.
We pulled into Coburn with enough light left to get in a quick out and back ride of the last section of the course. Greg gave this inspiring interview right before I butchered mine. I could have done so much better for Ramponi. Greg then butchered this section of the Fisherman’s trail (at the end of this video) and I cleaned it (about 5:25). I should have stopped while I was ahead. We returned to base camp, went out for a crappy mac and cheese dinner, returned to camp again to have a couple beers with Ramponi and friends and went to bed.
The morning starts early. I pounded down a bagel and a cup of coffee and got my bike and gear in mostly working order. About five minutes before the start I decided to put a little extra air in my front tire. My wheels were five days old and thus, a little unfamiliar to me. I unscrewed the nipple on the valve without recognizing that I was unscrewing the entire removable valve core. Air gushed out and I had a flat before the race started. Fortunately, I cranked it up again with a floor pump and rolled over to the start without too much panic. I found Ramponi, a friend I knew I wanted to keep close by and without any fanfare everyone took off.
The start was pretty fast down some paved roads. We maneuvered our way through the field and by the bottom of the first long climb I found myself at the back of the second major group. A 29er crew guy cruised up along the left side of the road next to me looking pretty smooth and comfortable passing people. “I want to feel smooth and comfortable and pass people,” I thought to myself. So I hooked onto his wheel and blasted up through the group. The next thing I knew I was staring at the back of the leaders group about 50 yards up the road. Greg told me before the race that the way to do well as a SS was to hang on to the leaders as long as possible. Greg raced professionally in Europe . I’m a hack. I knew I was doing something stupid. But how can you resist?
Ramponi slid up next to me about halfway up the climb and we settled in a bit, generously letting the lead group go. But we kept up a pretty vigorous pace. The climbs were long and the descents were absolutely ripping. Long and high speed. As we turned back uphill after the first really long descent I panicked because my leg started cramping. Bad sign. I quickly realized I was fine, I had just locked my leg out for so long going downhill I needed a quick stretch. Relief. But the pace Ramponi and I were keeping was aggressive and I soon lost one of my goals for the race when I tasted a good portion of my breakfast in my mouth. Ominous.
Pictures revealed that Mike and I were up near the front of the group for a good chunk of the start of the race. Here you can see me clearing a tricky rock garden right after Thom went through…walking. I had no business being that far up front. I wasn’t for long.
For the first 40-45 miles Ramponi and I cruised along, hopping in with trains of geared riders and giving it our best on all the flats. I got a little jumpy on a couple climbs thinking that I felt pretty good. I broke away from one group on a climb, putting a big gap between me and about ten riders. As I crested the top and realized they would catch me in about 30 seconds I recognized the folly of my ways. I was going too hard. I had never done an event this long. If it were a 50 miler I would have kicked some ass. But I had another 60+ miles to go and I was trying to break away. Dumb.
We rolled into aid station 2 and I stopped to get some food and take a couple minutes to recuperate. Ramponi and I had not let up because we were just having too much fun. Turns out he wanted the fun a little bit more than I did so he started to take off. Eager to hang with him I decided to leave too. With a mouthful of food. Departing aid 2 begins a massive climb. Really a series of massive climbs. I had cookies and bananas and all sorts of crap crammed in my cheeks trying to breathe and hammer up the hill. I blew up. Ramponi took off. I started walking.
A few minutes later Greg passed me and asked “How you doing?”
“I was great five minutes ago,” I replied. A long walk and little riding later I found Greg waiting at the top of the climb. “I’m with you for the rest of the day,” he said. I was relieved. I was in pain.
The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. There were more long, painful climbs where Greg would drop me and I would slowly make my way to the top. The descents were amazing. Ramponi flatted a few times so I would catch up, say a quick hello and then see him again later. At aid four Greg and I stopped to eat knowing that Ramponi was behind us. We joked that he would somehow catch us and sure enough, just as we were about to leave, he rolled in. All of us turned up the last really big climb and I had nothing in me to ride it. I watched Greg and Mike roll away somewhat defeated. Greg graciously waited at the top again, we cruised along, found Ramponi flatted one more time and we all re-grouped at aid 5. With about 10-12 miles to go I finally found my mojo again and I managed a good clean of the last climb and a fun descent to the Fisherman’s trail where Greg cursed vociferously until he got to the turf and exploded down the trail to get to the finish. I pedaled the whole last section on my own and rolled in finishing in 8:45, which would have been a top 10 singlespeed finish in pretty much every other year, but this year it was only good enough for 15th. Still not bad for my first hundred. I sat in the river for about 20 minutes afterwards, stared into space for about an hour waiting for a massage and finally returned to a baseline of normal sufficient to down several beers and pass out. It was awesome.
Huge props to Montello for carrying me through the second half of the race and for being a good driving companion along with Thom. Ramponi was great company and will be challenged again when we meet at the Landmine or the VT50. And major thanks to the B2C2 team for all the gear support. They’ve made the season a real pleasure. Next race report will hopefully be shorter. And more victorious!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
The Hampshire 100 or, How I Survived The G2R2.
I am going to start this race report on Saturday night. My friend Jackson got married (congratulations!) and had his reception at a huge room inside Kowloon. Between the wildly inappropriate MC ("Vinnie Two-Balls") and the gastrointestinal a-bomb I consumed it was a good time. However, after dropping Alex off at home and getting all my crap together for the race, I was not going to get a good nights sleep. At all.
After sleeping for 3 hours, I threw all my stuff in the car and drove out to Greenfield. I tried listening to NPR, but at that hour they only seem to air the "Most Relaxing Voice In Radio" show - great if you are trying to fall asleep, less great if you are trying to survive a 4am car trip with zero rest. I crossed into New Hampshire with the windows down and Leviathan blaring loud enough to scare moose off the road.
I got to the race before dawn. I peed, signed in, sucked down a muffin and some water, peed some more, set up my bike, peed a little bit, talked to alec and greg about the course, peed again (am I pregnant?), went to the race meeting (which I left early because I had to pee), gathered all my food and bits together in my hydrapak (yeah, I was racing with a "cat 2 waterbottle").
Now, I have ridden New Hampshire trails before; they tend to be tricky, technical, and unforgiving. I was expecting my technical skills to make up for the wattage gap between me and the other pros.
I was, however, completely unaware that I was riding the Greenfield Goat Road Rochambeau.
The G2R2 (as it shall hereafter be called) is an undercarriage-destroying romp through some of the worst jeep roads, game trails, and sandy flats imaginable. The only way that race could be made more unpleasant would be in the rain (oh yes, and it DID rain). Much of the "singletrack" was simply more or less swept hunting trails where I would get to one trail marker, slow down, squint around to try and see the next one, accelerate, and repeat. About 70 percent of the race is a cross between a fireroad and this. And Kowloon was beginning to remind me how much of a bad idea it was to have that second helping of duckchicken.
We rolled out at a pretty low pace, talking and letting alec petro block the wind with his unique build. The expert riders were set loose about a minute after us, promptly caught up, and Claremont Cycles sent 4 guys to the front to push the pace. This was fine, except that mountain bikers are notoriously bad at riding in a paceline. There were some shenanigans (a bunch of stopping short and touching wheels) before an ugly, washed out climb sorted out the group. I made the "selection" but Nick Waite had already checked out for the day. Petro had some sort of mechanical, and me and Jancaitis rode together for a bit. Spinelli (who must have been caught in traffic) caught us and I said to Greg "that is a good wheel to follow" and worked a little too hard trying to follow my own advice.
I hung on to the Spinelli wheel-teat for dear life, but slowly, inexorably, General Tso was marching - mounting a two-pronged attack on my gi tract and engaging in what felt like a full-scale naval battle in my lower intestine. I fell about 10 seconds behind on a climb, got frustrated, spun out, turned a corner and... watched the entire elite field walk up a climb. Really? Really.
I was catching back on before we came by an airfield. Next to this airfield was what I can only describe as a 6 foot wide path of beach sand. For a mile and a half. At this point, I was getting annoyed. I was tired, crabby and producing flatulence so tenacious and vile I could barely outride it. And literally none of the 10 or 15 miles we had done so far bore any resemblance to a mountain bike race.
Another Claremont guy caught me, along with some fast singlespeeders. We had the rest of the field in sight, and were moving up. I rode in the back to avoid crop dusting the group, and we rode through one mowed grass field after another. Riding through a wet, freshly mowed lawn is awful. In case you were wondering. At this point, I felt so horrible I would have left the race and rode back to my car if I had known where to find it. We started another completely insane climb, I spun out again, cursed, shifted, and promptly broke my chain.
It was near the top, so I just got off and walked the last few meters. Shaking my fist at the now-opening heavens, I sat down in the sand and went about fixing my chain. I was not in a rush. Oddly enough, not too many people passed me. I was expecting to see Petro blaze by like a charging water buffalo, but strangely all was quiet. Except for the rain. Which was getting worse.
On the descent, I went hard around a corner and up a paved climb. Getting into my Pennsylvania Pain Wagon Mode I could just barely make out a rider ahead, so I started chasing. Man, was this guy fast. I was killing myself and barely making any headway. Squinting through the rain, I tried to make out who it was. No one should be stomping me this badly on a paved climb, except maybe Spinelli or Waite. And thats when I realized I was chasing a guy on a road bike.
I turned around, found the turn I blew by and went back into the "singletrack". Shaking with rage and disintegrating emotionally I bounced off trees and played "find the trail" for another few miles. Not believing that my mental state could possibly deteriorate further, I pushed hard. Too hard. We were warned at the beginning to watch out for a specific climb. I remembered because it is what they were talking about when I had to go to the bathroom for the 10th time.
That was the worst climb. Ever.
What the hell was going on here? I had spent the better part of 4 hours walking up climbs, getting my gooch worked like a speedbag on horrible jeep roads, fighting my way through sand, wet grass and rock waterfalls. The only singletrack had thusfar consisted of random, unridden and halfheartedly leafblown tracks. I was dying. At least a truce had been declared between the warring factions in my gullet; the gas had subsided. Maybe I was just in mortal fear of sharting.
The rest of the race went much the same way - in no mans land, not passing, not getting passed. Relief came, not from the sweet release of death (as I was at this point expecting) but from the last 8 or so miles of decent singletrack. I pulled onto the finishing track, crossing the line dead last in my field and 7th overall (thankfully under my self-described hang myself in the bathroom time of 6 hours). One of the organizers asked how it went - they had all been so nice and genuinely concerned with our experience at their event - I just mumbled something about "maybe some more singletrack" before stumbling off to my car. I had taken a grundle pounding for the ages.
I hung out for a bit afterwards talking to Justin and Nick about bike racing, polar bears, and Christian Tanguy. That was fun.
So what did I learn?
- Pick my battles: 100k of jeep roads, grass and sand is a fight I will likely never win.
- More than 3 hours of sleep before a five and a half hour race is a good idea.
- Never, ever eat at Kowloon and race the next day. (Seriously)
- There is not enough bag balm on this earth to mitigate the damage done to my taint during those 5 and one half hours.
After sleeping for 3 hours, I threw all my stuff in the car and drove out to Greenfield. I tried listening to NPR, but at that hour they only seem to air the "Most Relaxing Voice In Radio" show - great if you are trying to fall asleep, less great if you are trying to survive a 4am car trip with zero rest. I crossed into New Hampshire with the windows down and Leviathan blaring loud enough to scare moose off the road.
I got to the race before dawn. I peed, signed in, sucked down a muffin and some water, peed some more, set up my bike, peed a little bit, talked to alec and greg about the course, peed again (am I pregnant?), went to the race meeting (which I left early because I had to pee), gathered all my food and bits together in my hydrapak (yeah, I was racing with a "cat 2 waterbottle").
Now, I have ridden New Hampshire trails before; they tend to be tricky, technical, and unforgiving. I was expecting my technical skills to make up for the wattage gap between me and the other pros.
I was, however, completely unaware that I was riding the Greenfield Goat Road Rochambeau.
The G2R2 (as it shall hereafter be called) is an undercarriage-destroying romp through some of the worst jeep roads, game trails, and sandy flats imaginable. The only way that race could be made more unpleasant would be in the rain (oh yes, and it DID rain). Much of the "singletrack" was simply more or less swept hunting trails where I would get to one trail marker, slow down, squint around to try and see the next one, accelerate, and repeat. About 70 percent of the race is a cross between a fireroad and this. And Kowloon was beginning to remind me how much of a bad idea it was to have that second helping of duckchicken.
We rolled out at a pretty low pace, talking and letting alec petro block the wind with his unique build. The expert riders were set loose about a minute after us, promptly caught up, and Claremont Cycles sent 4 guys to the front to push the pace. This was fine, except that mountain bikers are notoriously bad at riding in a paceline. There were some shenanigans (a bunch of stopping short and touching wheels) before an ugly, washed out climb sorted out the group. I made the "selection" but Nick Waite had already checked out for the day. Petro had some sort of mechanical, and me and Jancaitis rode together for a bit. Spinelli (who must have been caught in traffic) caught us and I said to Greg "that is a good wheel to follow" and worked a little too hard trying to follow my own advice.
I hung on to the Spinelli wheel-teat for dear life, but slowly, inexorably, General Tso was marching - mounting a two-pronged attack on my gi tract and engaging in what felt like a full-scale naval battle in my lower intestine. I fell about 10 seconds behind on a climb, got frustrated, spun out, turned a corner and... watched the entire elite field walk up a climb. Really? Really.
I was catching back on before we came by an airfield. Next to this airfield was what I can only describe as a 6 foot wide path of beach sand. For a mile and a half. At this point, I was getting annoyed. I was tired, crabby and producing flatulence so tenacious and vile I could barely outride it. And literally none of the 10 or 15 miles we had done so far bore any resemblance to a mountain bike race.
Another Claremont guy caught me, along with some fast singlespeeders. We had the rest of the field in sight, and were moving up. I rode in the back to avoid crop dusting the group, and we rode through one mowed grass field after another. Riding through a wet, freshly mowed lawn is awful. In case you were wondering. At this point, I felt so horrible I would have left the race and rode back to my car if I had known where to find it. We started another completely insane climb, I spun out again, cursed, shifted, and promptly broke my chain.
It was near the top, so I just got off and walked the last few meters. Shaking my fist at the now-opening heavens, I sat down in the sand and went about fixing my chain. I was not in a rush. Oddly enough, not too many people passed me. I was expecting to see Petro blaze by like a charging water buffalo, but strangely all was quiet. Except for the rain. Which was getting worse.
On the descent, I went hard around a corner and up a paved climb. Getting into my Pennsylvania Pain Wagon Mode I could just barely make out a rider ahead, so I started chasing. Man, was this guy fast. I was killing myself and barely making any headway. Squinting through the rain, I tried to make out who it was. No one should be stomping me this badly on a paved climb, except maybe Spinelli or Waite. And thats when I realized I was chasing a guy on a road bike.
I turned around, found the turn I blew by and went back into the "singletrack". Shaking with rage and disintegrating emotionally I bounced off trees and played "find the trail" for another few miles. Not believing that my mental state could possibly deteriorate further, I pushed hard. Too hard. We were warned at the beginning to watch out for a specific climb. I remembered because it is what they were talking about when I had to go to the bathroom for the 10th time.
That was the worst climb. Ever.
What the hell was going on here? I had spent the better part of 4 hours walking up climbs, getting my gooch worked like a speedbag on horrible jeep roads, fighting my way through sand, wet grass and rock waterfalls. The only singletrack had thusfar consisted of random, unridden and halfheartedly leafblown tracks. I was dying. At least a truce had been declared between the warring factions in my gullet; the gas had subsided. Maybe I was just in mortal fear of sharting.
The rest of the race went much the same way - in no mans land, not passing, not getting passed. Relief came, not from the sweet release of death (as I was at this point expecting) but from the last 8 or so miles of decent singletrack. I pulled onto the finishing track, crossing the line dead last in my field and 7th overall (thankfully under my self-described hang myself in the bathroom time of 6 hours). One of the organizers asked how it went - they had all been so nice and genuinely concerned with our experience at their event - I just mumbled something about "maybe some more singletrack" before stumbling off to my car. I had taken a grundle pounding for the ages.
I hung out for a bit afterwards talking to Justin and Nick about bike racing, polar bears, and Christian Tanguy. That was fun.
So what did I learn?
- Pick my battles: 100k of jeep roads, grass and sand is a fight I will likely never win.
- More than 3 hours of sleep before a five and a half hour race is a good idea.
- Never, ever eat at Kowloon and race the next day. (Seriously)
- There is not enough bag balm on this earth to mitigate the damage done to my taint during those 5 and one half hours.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Blunt Park 1/2 CX and the Tale of Diner Woe
After killing myself at the 24HOGG, I thought, "Hey, I don't want to race this mountain bike anymore. And RMM is the only one registered for this race! And it's only 45 minutes long! Let's go!"
Much like the previous weekend, Justin Lindine showed up to shame everybody. The weather was decidedly CX-like (ie, shitty) which meant I was going to have an good time in the mud and root sections. I got to pre-ride the course a bunch pretty early on, as I showed up early so Ryan could make a bid for his early Cat 3 upgrade in the 4 race. He was sitting 8th for half the race, but was forced to retire due to a left crank arm malfunction.
The 1/2 race began 4 minutes after the 35+ field went out, and I got a pretty crap start going into the first 180 degree turn probably 8th wheel out of 11. I fought a bit to advance on the fire road, and moved up to the "Lindine chase group" consisting of John Hanson, Graham Garber and Mukunda Feldman. Garber went up ahead and I didn't see him again, I fought for position with Hanson but the last minute race decision meant I ran my totally crap clincher tires. Therefore, I had to really dig in turns and still couldn't get enough traction to maintain the speed I needed to stay ahead. I dropped back a bit and sparred with Feldman, though he crashed on a sharp turn through a road section and lost enough time that I had an advantage.
Thanks doublehop, two weekends in a row now!
Before I knew it, the race was over (I got 4th) and I could heckle the 3/4 race under the CB tent. It's going to be here before you know it!
Sadly, we tried to patronize the local Route 66 Diner, but they shut the door on us when we pulled into the parking lot. I guess no one wants lunch after 2pm on Sunday in Springfield.
Much like the previous weekend, Justin Lindine showed up to shame everybody. The weather was decidedly CX-like (ie, shitty) which meant I was going to have an good time in the mud and root sections. I got to pre-ride the course a bunch pretty early on, as I showed up early so Ryan could make a bid for his early Cat 3 upgrade in the 4 race. He was sitting 8th for half the race, but was forced to retire due to a left crank arm malfunction.
The 1/2 race began 4 minutes after the 35+ field went out, and I got a pretty crap start going into the first 180 degree turn probably 8th wheel out of 11. I fought a bit to advance on the fire road, and moved up to the "Lindine chase group" consisting of John Hanson, Graham Garber and Mukunda Feldman. Garber went up ahead and I didn't see him again, I fought for position with Hanson but the last minute race decision meant I ran my totally crap clincher tires. Therefore, I had to really dig in turns and still couldn't get enough traction to maintain the speed I needed to stay ahead. I dropped back a bit and sparred with Feldman, though he crashed on a sharp turn through a road section and lost enough time that I had an advantage.
Thanks doublehop, two weekends in a row now!
Before I knew it, the race was over (I got 4th) and I could heckle the 3/4 race under the CB tent. It's going to be here before you know it!
Sadly, we tried to patronize the local Route 66 Diner, but they shut the door on us when we pulled into the parking lot. I guess no one wants lunch after 2pm on Sunday in Springfield.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
24 hours of great glen: b2c2 podium extravaganza
Instead of trying to narrate the entire 38 hour span of awake time, I will break down some highlights of our teams exploits at the 24 hours of great glen.
- What are the chances that the same triathlon will be run on the same day as the 24 hour race? Exactly 100%. The chances that the same retard cop will be standing on the corner 2 miles from the race breathing heavily through his mouth and doing nothing at all to direct traffic: Also 100%
- There was apparently a bear.
- If you have a problem with your bike or are simply unable to continue riding, do not stand in the middle of the trail around a blind corner. Crashing into you hurt. A lot. And I am getting one of these for next time.
- Justin Lindine is really, really fast.
- I ride better at night than I do during the day. I also avoid sunlight, dislike holy water and need to sleep in a coffin filled with grave earth.
- Our friend Dakota was racing on another team and passed a guy on a climb. The guy said "man, I wish I had your legs". Dakota only has one leg.
see
- Speaking of Dakota, his prosthetic leg fell off in a turn, crashing him out hard. He finished his lap and went to the medics to get stitches. Before he would let them stitch his face up, he ran to our solo support tent to "see if he could squirt water through the hole in his cheek".
Dakota dosent have a Jens Factor. Jens has a Dakota Factor.
- "On your left" does not mean "swing hard to your left" or "chop my wheel as hard as you can when I try to pass you" or even "stop suddenly in a panic". It means that someone is approaching and would like to pass on your left hand side. Please read this a few times.
- The neutral support was excellent. After my traffic accident, I had to knock my rear derailleur in place with a rock. The Red Jersey guys were incredibly helpful. Sadly, when I went back after the race to thank them, they had packed up already.
- The organizers told everyone to keep things tidy to avoid possible bear incursions.
Pretty sure even a bear would turn this meal down.
- Our 4 man team worked very well together. The only problem was that Justin Lindine wasnt on it.
- The trails were great. Good singletrack, literally all ridable, all the time. The trail folks did a great job elevating some usually flooded trails and making the lines better through the mud field. Of course no rain all summer helps keep things fast. But sweet merciful crap did that first climb suck - you go from zero to ow! my balls! in just one kilometer.
- Making coffee, pasta, ramen and rice with one pot has dramatically changed my flavor paradigms.
- My one real gripe (other than my inability to go faster) has to do with after the race. Guys, if you want to give away a mountain of socks, hats and other shit thats fine. If you want to give that stuff away at random and not to ANYONE that got on a podium during the race (seriously, 1 deep?) I guess thats fine too. But for chrissakes dont make us stand around for hours when its 90 degrees out after racing ourselves cross eyed for an entire day. Thats just awful. The course closes at 1:15. Awards should start at 1:30, and the raffle can come after.
- Speaking of awards, we did really well! I am assuming that other folks will put some stuff on here, but:
1st place, solo women 0-39. (lauren)
1st place, solo women overall (the coveted "dutchess of dirt")
the dutchess
1st place, solo women 12 hour (lori)
lori
2nd place, 4 man team, pro (kevin, greg, colin, mike)
2nd place, 4 man team overall
kind-of-fast-but-not-quite-as-fast-as-lindine
3rd place, solo men 0-39. (taylor)
tired
- A special mention to our solo support crew: Caitlin and Ryan (and what looked like half of loris family). Without them, our solo racers would have had a hell of a time staying motivated and fed.
Good work, everyone.
- What are the chances that the same triathlon will be run on the same day as the 24 hour race? Exactly 100%. The chances that the same retard cop will be standing on the corner 2 miles from the race breathing heavily through his mouth and doing nothing at all to direct traffic: Also 100%
- There was apparently a bear.
- If you have a problem with your bike or are simply unable to continue riding, do not stand in the middle of the trail around a blind corner. Crashing into you hurt. A lot. And I am getting one of these for next time.
- Justin Lindine is really, really fast.
- I ride better at night than I do during the day. I also avoid sunlight, dislike holy water and need to sleep in a coffin filled with grave earth.
- Our friend Dakota was racing on another team and passed a guy on a climb. The guy said "man, I wish I had your legs". Dakota only has one leg.
see- Speaking of Dakota, his prosthetic leg fell off in a turn, crashing him out hard. He finished his lap and went to the medics to get stitches. Before he would let them stitch his face up, he ran to our solo support tent to "see if he could squirt water through the hole in his cheek".
Dakota dosent have a Jens Factor. Jens has a Dakota Factor.- "On your left" does not mean "swing hard to your left" or "chop my wheel as hard as you can when I try to pass you" or even "stop suddenly in a panic". It means that someone is approaching and would like to pass on your left hand side. Please read this a few times.
- The neutral support was excellent. After my traffic accident, I had to knock my rear derailleur in place with a rock. The Red Jersey guys were incredibly helpful. Sadly, when I went back after the race to thank them, they had packed up already.
- The organizers told everyone to keep things tidy to avoid possible bear incursions.
Pretty sure even a bear would turn this meal down.- Our 4 man team worked very well together. The only problem was that Justin Lindine wasnt on it.
- The trails were great. Good singletrack, literally all ridable, all the time. The trail folks did a great job elevating some usually flooded trails and making the lines better through the mud field. Of course no rain all summer helps keep things fast. But sweet merciful crap did that first climb suck - you go from zero to ow! my balls! in just one kilometer.
- Making coffee, pasta, ramen and rice with one pot has dramatically changed my flavor paradigms.
- My one real gripe (other than my inability to go faster) has to do with after the race. Guys, if you want to give away a mountain of socks, hats and other shit thats fine. If you want to give that stuff away at random and not to ANYONE that got on a podium during the race (seriously, 1 deep?) I guess thats fine too. But for chrissakes dont make us stand around for hours when its 90 degrees out after racing ourselves cross eyed for an entire day. Thats just awful. The course closes at 1:15. Awards should start at 1:30, and the raffle can come after.
- Speaking of awards, we did really well! I am assuming that other folks will put some stuff on here, but:
1st place, solo women 0-39. (lauren)
1st place, solo women overall (the coveted "dutchess of dirt")
the dutchess1st place, solo women 12 hour (lori)
lori2nd place, 4 man team, pro (kevin, greg, colin, mike)
2nd place, 4 man team overall
kind-of-fast-but-not-quite-as-fast-as-lindine3rd place, solo men 0-39. (taylor)
tired- A special mention to our solo support crew: Caitlin and Ryan (and what looked like half of loris family). Without them, our solo racers would have had a hell of a time staying motivated and fed.
Good work, everyone.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Gran Prix of Beverly Report
I think I decided to do this one last year, when they ran the first edition and everyone said "wow, that was like a cross race!" You can compare pretty much anything to 'cross and get me excited. If someone ever says "jury duty is like a cross race" I'm gonna be so disappointed.
We had a healthy 5-man team from Back Bay in attendance, myself, Kevin, Mike, Harrison and Avi. We were the 3rd largest team behind ECV and Minuteman, so we concluded prerace that "we better do some shit."
The only part of the plan that actually got enacted was the string it out early. We were those guys who get to the start line ten minutes early and staked out the front row, but with 3 turns of 90 degrees or more in the first quarter mile, I think this is a rare case in which it's a good idea.
We rolled out and I got the holeshot thanks to my mountain pedals. Wow, this IS like a cross race! I hit the first three turns, swung off, ECV guy comes through going HARD with three Back Bay riders on his wheel. Oh man we are totally dominating the beginning and almost certainly inconsequential part of this race!
On lap two Avi took over pulled for the entire lap at like 27 because HE WAS ALSO EXCITED. There was a crash in turn 3 (congrats on making it seven turns without a crash, Cat 4 field) which reminded us all why we were at the front. This crash turned out to be decidedly non-humorous with Nick from Threshold getting an ambulance ride for his participation in it. We were neutral for four minutes or so while the ambulance was blocking the course.
So, late start + two laps + neutral stoppage. Can YOU guess how long the race is going to be, after we restart? Hold that thought.
On the restart I was considerably further back in the field and tiptoed around a few corners in traffic, just long enough to decided I needed to get the hell out of there. I wouldn't say it was unsafe, it was just tedious, coasting for 10 seconds before each turn while your personal space got smaller and smaller.
Somewhere along the way a dude who could only be described as a huge piece of man got rolling off the front and proved surprisingly hard to bring back. I tried to bridge to him on a prime lap with no success, although I did just get a check in the mail informing me that it was a two-place prime. So that would be a success, huh? But it didn't feel like it at the time. Huge man kept on truckin' while I was gobbled up by the field.
Two laps later, he is STILL away solo when Matt from Threshold starts chasing hard. It's been three minutes since my horribly failed bridge so I should definitely get involved here. Getting involved ended up meaning "sitting on Matt's wheel for most of the lap, and then yelling 'NO!!' when he flicked his elbow at me."
At least I'm communicating!
So Matt's effort did bring back the monster man, and get him a prime as well, while I went back into the field to recover.
This was pretty much the state of things until I decided I should check the lap cards five minutes later. It's probably seven or eight to go, right?
WRONG. That bell isn't a prime lap, it's the final lap, because the lap cards say "1." And I'm 20th wheel. Didn't I just give Avi a lecture on how positioning would matter more than power in this race??
I would guess that half of the field (including Kevin, heh) didn't even know the race was ending, so that may have helped me move up. I punched it on the first backstretch, passed five or six guys, dive-bombed a Goguen on the turn, (#0326-D I think, but all the clones look the same to me), and suddenly found myself on Mike's wheel with under a k to go.
Greg has proved that riding Mike's wheel to victory is the best way out of Cat 4, so I took the opportunity for some rare team tactics to yell "Mike, drill it!"
Mike seemed hesitant, so I decided to repeat my instructions with an F-bomb added, which spurred my trusty steed into action. It turns out that all Mike had left was 10 seconds, but that was enough to move us up to 6th wheel. He finished his leadout by pulling off into the field and leaving me in the wind, because we really have no idea what we're doing. I fought my way into the draft and got ready to rail the last turn (ftw).
Last time I took a corner in a crit flat-out I ended up on the sidewalk. With that fresh in my mind, my line was considerably softer, and I didn't jump until I'd finished turning. This is not a good way to make four places in 150m, it turns out, so I could only pass two guys in the sprint and took third with an unnecessary bike throw:
But it was still enough to get a Cat 3 upgrade!
We had a healthy 5-man team from Back Bay in attendance, myself, Kevin, Mike, Harrison and Avi. We were the 3rd largest team behind ECV and Minuteman, so we concluded prerace that "we better do some shit."
The only part of the plan that actually got enacted was the string it out early. We were those guys who get to the start line ten minutes early and staked out the front row, but with 3 turns of 90 degrees or more in the first quarter mile, I think this is a rare case in which it's a good idea.
We rolled out and I got the holeshot thanks to my mountain pedals. Wow, this IS like a cross race! I hit the first three turns, swung off, ECV guy comes through going HARD with three Back Bay riders on his wheel. Oh man we are totally dominating the beginning and almost certainly inconsequential part of this race!
Lap one: WE GOT THIS. [ russcam ]
So, late start + two laps + neutral stoppage. Can YOU guess how long the race is going to be, after we restart? Hold that thought.
On the restart I was considerably further back in the field and tiptoed around a few corners in traffic, just long enough to decided I needed to get the hell out of there. I wouldn't say it was unsafe, it was just tedious, coasting for 10 seconds before each turn while your personal space got smaller and smaller.
Mike and Kevin on the front, while I get my space invaded. [ russcam ]
Somewhere along the way a dude who could only be described as a huge piece of man got rolling off the front and proved surprisingly hard to bring back. I tried to bridge to him on a prime lap with no success, although I did just get a check in the mail informing me that it was a two-place prime. So that would be a success, huh? But it didn't feel like it at the time. Huge man kept on truckin' while I was gobbled up by the field.
Two laps later, he is STILL away solo when Matt from Threshold starts chasing hard. It's been three minutes since my horribly failed bridge so I should definitely get involved here. Getting involved ended up meaning "sitting on Matt's wheel for most of the lap, and then yelling 'NO!!' when he flicked his elbow at me."
At least I'm communicating!
So Matt's effort did bring back the monster man, and get him a prime as well, while I went back into the field to recover.
This was pretty much the state of things until I decided I should check the lap cards five minutes later. It's probably seven or eight to go, right?
WRONG. That bell isn't a prime lap, it's the final lap, because the lap cards say "1." And I'm 20th wheel. Didn't I just give Avi a lecture on how positioning would matter more than power in this race??
I would guess that half of the field (including Kevin, heh) didn't even know the race was ending, so that may have helped me move up. I punched it on the first backstretch, passed five or six guys, dive-bombed a Goguen on the turn, (#0326-D I think, but all the clones look the same to me), and suddenly found myself on Mike's wheel with under a k to go.
Greg has proved that riding Mike's wheel to victory is the best way out of Cat 4, so I took the opportunity for some rare team tactics to yell "Mike, drill it!"
Mike seemed hesitant, so I decided to repeat my instructions with an F-bomb added, which spurred my trusty steed into action. It turns out that all Mike had left was 10 seconds, but that was enough to move us up to 6th wheel. He finished his leadout by pulling off into the field and leaving me in the wind, because we really have no idea what we're doing. I fought my way into the draft and got ready to rail the last turn (ftw).
Last time I took a corner in a crit flat-out I ended up on the sidewalk. With that fresh in my mind, my line was considerably softer, and I didn't jump until I'd finished turning. This is not a good way to make four places in 150m, it turns out, so I could only pass two guys in the sprint and took third with an unnecessary bike throw:
But it was still enough to get a Cat 3 upgrade!
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
100th post! (and a mostly-healthy one)
You may have noticed that its been awhile since I posted anything up here. There are two reasons for that: 1) I havent been racing because I was injured and 2) I didnt want to post anything up here that would incriminate me. Yeah, kid that crashed me out at Fitchburg, I was that pissed.
not as glamorous as having it done on course at 55kph by a guy on a motorcycle
However, in an attempt to keep this blog (mostly) posi, and out of a profound desire to avoid sharing a cell with this guy I will only offer this bit of advice:
When descending in the group, keep your hands on the bars, your fingers on the brakes and your teabag off the the toptube. You are not Heinrich Haussler. You are a mid-pack Cat 4. Please stop trying to kill us.
That said, I abandoned ship on the 24 hours of pats peak (despite its infinitely-improved course!) after 9 hours of pedaling with one functioning leg and then took a few weeks off the bike. Which brings us to:
The 2010 Mass State Championships at Hodges Village Dam!
I really liked this course last year, and though it was dusty and dry (as opposed to the ark-requiring journey it was in 2009) they moved some of the singletrack around and put together a technically demanding but thoroughly enjoyable race. The fields werent terribly deep - I remember more people last year - but some rt. 66 stalwarts, cyclocross strongmen and all-around fast guys were present in the cat 1 and pro field (Justin Spinelli did represent, as did the 'ski).
At this point, I should (with hanging head and dragging feet) say that I did the cat 1 race. Yea, despite pledges and chest-thumping declarations of "never racing the 1s again", I tucked in at the start line just behind the pros. You see (and here is where I will justify my cowardice), its been a few weeks since Ive been on my bike, and my knee has been in almost constant pain...
life is pain
Ok, now I feel better. All I wanted out of this race was affirmation that I was fit enough to start seriously practicing again. I went into this race nervous about being able to finish, not about my ability to perform.
Well, it turned out I didnt really need to be nervous. I went into the woods 4th wheel, not pushing it, settled in behind the leaders, looked around and... was alone. We had a HUGE gap about 500m into the woods. And I felt great. Weird. Move up, old man.
It turned out that me and the eventual winner (spoiler alert!) were taking pulls (read: sloppily passing each other in the woods) and putting time into the rest of the field. This worked out very well until lap 2. Somewhere in the first technical section, I smacked my pedal down on a rock. Hard. No big deal, right? Not so fast there, blog reader. Back up a few hours, to right before I left my house. My shoes, the ones I had just put new cleats on, were still at work. No big deal, right - I have other shoes. Like the ones I use for cross - you know, the ones that I havent worn since December of last year. Those should be fine.
Well, (surprise!) they werent exactly fine. The cleats were worn to the point of speedplay-like float, and when matched up the the now-janky time pedals on my mountain bike clipped in rather poorly (I believe the phrase is "hotdog in a hallway).
I was coping well with my whorish shoe/ pedal configuration until the exact moment my crank slammed down on that rock. After that, I had about a 2-in-5 chance of remaining clipped in per pedalstroke. Goodbye, guy in the yellow jersey I was planning to attack on the 3rd lap. Hello... Joshua?
Yes, founding member and roboteer Joshua Wright came up on me about halfway through lap 2. He was having a hell of a ride. I offered to help him as best as I could, but with my total inability to navigate technical sections (arguably the only thing Im any good at anyway) and having already checked out of the race mentally, he pulled away pretty fast.
The rest of the race went really, really well. Seriously. I was so happy that my body was finally working properly and the trails were fun and ... Oh hey, its Matt Green! He was looking about as happy as my pedal/cleat interface, so I sang him a little song. I hope it helped.
I finished third, apparently second for the "state championships". Joshua hung on despite flatting in the last section, and got a well-deserved 2nd place (and got the gold as the top Mass finisher!). The rest of us did pretty well - although Taylor and Lori got a bit lost and ended up "racing" the 2s. All in all, a good race: good trails, good organization but oddly a mild turnout. I will definitely have this on the calendar for next year.
not as glamorous as having it done on course at 55kph by a guy on a motorcycleHowever, in an attempt to keep this blog (mostly) posi, and out of a profound desire to avoid sharing a cell with this guy I will only offer this bit of advice:
When descending in the group, keep your hands on the bars, your fingers on the brakes and your teabag off the the toptube. You are not Heinrich Haussler. You are a mid-pack Cat 4. Please stop trying to kill us.
That said, I abandoned ship on the 24 hours of pats peak (despite its infinitely-improved course!) after 9 hours of pedaling with one functioning leg and then took a few weeks off the bike. Which brings us to:
The 2010 Mass State Championships at Hodges Village Dam!
I really liked this course last year, and though it was dusty and dry (as opposed to the ark-requiring journey it was in 2009) they moved some of the singletrack around and put together a technically demanding but thoroughly enjoyable race. The fields werent terribly deep - I remember more people last year - but some rt. 66 stalwarts, cyclocross strongmen and all-around fast guys were present in the cat 1 and pro field (Justin Spinelli did represent, as did the 'ski).
At this point, I should (with hanging head and dragging feet) say that I did the cat 1 race. Yea, despite pledges and chest-thumping declarations of "never racing the 1s again", I tucked in at the start line just behind the pros. You see (and here is where I will justify my cowardice), its been a few weeks since Ive been on my bike, and my knee has been in almost constant pain...
life is painOk, now I feel better. All I wanted out of this race was affirmation that I was fit enough to start seriously practicing again. I went into this race nervous about being able to finish, not about my ability to perform.
Well, it turned out I didnt really need to be nervous. I went into the woods 4th wheel, not pushing it, settled in behind the leaders, looked around and... was alone. We had a HUGE gap about 500m into the woods. And I felt great. Weird. Move up, old man.
It turned out that me and the eventual winner (spoiler alert!) were taking pulls (read: sloppily passing each other in the woods) and putting time into the rest of the field. This worked out very well until lap 2. Somewhere in the first technical section, I smacked my pedal down on a rock. Hard. No big deal, right? Not so fast there, blog reader. Back up a few hours, to right before I left my house. My shoes, the ones I had just put new cleats on, were still at work. No big deal, right - I have other shoes. Like the ones I use for cross - you know, the ones that I havent worn since December of last year. Those should be fine.
Well, (surprise!) they werent exactly fine. The cleats were worn to the point of speedplay-like float, and when matched up the the now-janky time pedals on my mountain bike clipped in rather poorly (I believe the phrase is "hotdog in a hallway).
I was coping well with my whorish shoe/ pedal configuration until the exact moment my crank slammed down on that rock. After that, I had about a 2-in-5 chance of remaining clipped in per pedalstroke. Goodbye, guy in the yellow jersey I was planning to attack on the 3rd lap. Hello... Joshua?
Yes, founding member and roboteer Joshua Wright came up on me about halfway through lap 2. He was having a hell of a ride. I offered to help him as best as I could, but with my total inability to navigate technical sections (arguably the only thing Im any good at anyway) and having already checked out of the race mentally, he pulled away pretty fast.
The rest of the race went really, really well. Seriously. I was so happy that my body was finally working properly and the trails were fun and ... Oh hey, its Matt Green! He was looking about as happy as my pedal/cleat interface, so I sang him a little song. I hope it helped.
I finished third, apparently second for the "state championships". Joshua hung on despite flatting in the last section, and got a well-deserved 2nd place (and got the gold as the top Mass finisher!). The rest of us did pretty well - although Taylor and Lori got a bit lost and ended up "racing" the 2s. All in all, a good race: good trails, good organization but oddly a mild turnout. I will definitely have this on the calendar for next year.
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