I went to a bike race and a football game broke out ...

Greenbelt, 7/28

First of all, I forgot to bring a jersey. It was laying on my pillow, ready to be packed in the gear bag when time got really crunched and I had to go. So I did the race in a T-shirt that's about 6 years old and has a skate brand on the front. Fortunately, it was a "slim fit" and a lightweight material. We pinned it tighter in the back, and put the number on. By the end of the race I'm sure it looked disgusting soaked in sweat, but it was surprisingly comfortable.

The race went for about 6 laps without notice. Somewhere around the 6th or 7th lap, there was a guy that thought I cut him off when I was going for a line. He was coming up my outside and I was preparing to take the corner, but I didn't see him. So he yelled something like "Don't do that!" give or take. So, on account of how it wasn't something worth being all riled up about, I made sure to show him with my hands where I was going. I pointed to the outside of the road and motioned that I would be riding my bicycle up that portion of tarmac. Then, as we approached the corner, I used my hands to make a sweeping gesture around the corner, to indicate the line I would take, which would have me going from the outside of the corner, through the apex, and then outside again.

For some reason, he felt like I was being a smart-ass. Which I was. Then he took it personally. Which I didn't intend in the first place, but this dude had been yelling and acting immature for the laps leading up to this, so it wasn't exactly a surprise. So he came up next to me and said a bunch of stuff that I didn't really hear because we were on a descent and I've been close to a 5" gun going off on a Destroyer. What I did get, however, was that he was going to "Ruin this kid's race" and "If he tries to go off the front again, I'm gonna stick on his wheel" and "I'm going to make his race horrible." Which all was weird because he was talking to me, but possibly about an imaginary third person? Or maybe about me? I hate it when people talk about themselves in the third person, and it's just confusing when they talk about me in the ... third? fourth? I don't know which person that was.

After a while, I realized he was, indeed, talking about me. Apparently I'm a kid now. There were multiple times that he was talking trash and saying that he didn't care about winning provided he could ruin my race, and that if I tried to go off the front, he was going to stick on my wheel, and if Mojo went off the front, he would stick on his wheel. Later, some would refer to him as 'Chatty Cathy.' So I went off the front a few times just to sit up and wait for the pack. I may or may not have been playing into his little game. I also tried to figure out what was going on a lot. I just didn't get why he was so angry with me.

So Mojo and I did our turns at the front, tried to keep the pace high (It was later grumbled that the pace was higher this week than normal [we high-fived upon hearing that,]) and did what we normally do in a race. On the last lap the pace was about where it had been, and I knew that 'Chatty Cathy' was going to be on my wheel no matter what, so I tried to get behind him but that didn't work so we ended up next to each other. I tried to keep as far left as possible to let the right side open up, but someone else pulled in there and decided to play the waiting game. We were 3-4 abreast and I was starting to wonder if this would be a good time to put my trackstand skillllz to the test when someone went up the left side. The guy that went up the left had a serious kick, and I tried to catch on, but partly didn't have it, and partly thought he went too early. I downshifted something like 4 times in the sprint because we had started out so slow, and I'll be damned if I didn't finish third. The results have me as 4th so I must have missed someone on my side, but that's all good.

I'm not sure where 'Chatty Cathy' ended up, but if his main goal was to ruin my race, he sure failed. I was really happy with my finishing place, even more happy to hear that we had set the pace higher than normal, and of course I was riding my bike and not putting up baseboards, so that was another win.

After the race, it was reported that Mojo had taken his hands off the bars and pushed someone off the road. I was accosted as I turned in our race numbers by 'Chatty Cathy' who took a few steps toward me as he was trying to yell at his teammate that it was my team and some sort of other craziness. After everything he said during the race, I tuned out when he came toward me and focused on body language. I don't know what his deal was, but I'd be fine with never seeing him again.

When we talked to the officials, it was brought to light that the guy that was so brutally pushed off course by the mighty hand of Mojo wasn't actually the one that complained. In fact, the guy that was forced off course was understanding inasmuch as he realized that racing bicycles is an imperfect thing to be a part of, and gave the inexperienced rider a good lesson in how to conduct himself during a sprint. Knowing Mojo like I do, there's no way he would take his hands off the bars for anything other than to grab a frosty beverage, and he is self-aware enough to not run someone off the road unless it's the absolute last possibility.

In the end, I couldn't help but feel like we had just finished playing a football game. A lot of people talking with their mouths and not their legs combined with ungodly levels of testosterone and anger led to a lack of etiquette that I've never seen, much less been a part of, in cycling. I promote this sport to my friends and family as being the quintessential opposite of those things, but apparently it isn't always that way. I'll be back to the series next week but regardless of what happens or what is said, I'll do the talking with my legs.

And I'll remember to bring a jersey.

Hagerstown Criterium of Championships

So, you wanna just skip to the end? We can just cut this whole damn thing right here with three letters. DNS. Anyway, carrying on ...

Everything went wonderfully on the way up to the venue. I had everything laid out in a much more orderly manner than I typically do, and my morning went well. I even got to watch a very boring stage of the Tour.

I got to the race, signed in, got the number pinned, and started warming up. The warm-up went really well, I got the right amount of big efforts, the right amount of spinning, and the right amount of cruising. Everything was going great. 15 minutes before the start, I took a lap of the course and then stopped by the porta-john to make sure I was as light on liquids as possible.

As I got on my bike and went around the first turn, I stood up to get some speed, and crack! My bars went completely limp in my hands. Just like ...

You can figure it out. I thought that the bolts had been loose or come loose, but after I got off and looked closely, I realized that the faceplate of my stem had broke. I figured I was hosed, but I went to the car and got a 4mm allen wrench, and started asking people if they were going to stick around, and if I could borrow their faceplate.

I had no luck whatsoever, and became a spectator. My teammate came in top-10 which was good, but I'd bet that if there were 2 of us, at least one would have been top-5.

This is the part where I give you my opinion that's not related to racing.

The modern bike industry is really pushing its luck. I bought this stem a couple years ago before the Shimano PRO stuff had landed in the U.S. and I paid a pretty penny for it. It was the only 130mm stem I could find, though, and I kind of had to.

The reason the stem broke wasn't because I was using it in an improper manner, and it wasn't because of something ridiculous like over-tightening the bolts. The only way that would work would be if I had tightened them so much that I had flattened material outside of the milled/molded counter-bore. And I've never installed my bars while I was giant, green, and pissed off so I don't think that's possible.

The reason it broke was because Shimano was trying to make the lightest stem they possibly could. I've known the thing is flexy and bendy at all the wrong times, but I didn't expect that it was made with so little aluminum that it would just plain break. Something about that seems utterly wrong. Of course, it's not brand-new, but then neither are a lot of my other components that are on my bike. This, in my opinion, is a bit like the Madone Headtubes that keep breaking.

And what will Trek's fix for the problem be? They'll add more material to the carbon fiber layup. That's it. Just put material where it should have been in the first place. Instead of making the product as light as possible while still being strong and reliable, we're seeing the big bike manufacturers battle each other for lightness at the expense of making a worthwhile product.

Looks like I've got all the excuse I need to buy that 3T stem I've been eyeing. Unless someone wants to give me $300ish to buy another Shimano PRO stem. Have you seen the one Cav rides? Apparently they hook up their best riders with something worthwhile, and then put a 5000% markup on it.

Crystal Cup

There are some races that I don't really like. Then, there are some races that I absolutely love. I still haven't figured out what the exact formula is for the races I really like going to, but I am slowly starting to piece together the things that will make me really dislike a race.

I've come to the conclusion that when you're at work (the kind that pays the bills -- that you don't really work at, but where everyone thinks they're doing something) it's not the work you do, but the people you're around that make all the difference. Bike racing is the same way. I really like to look around at the start line and see familiar faces. Guys I know take a good line, keep their mouths shut, and do the work that needs to be done.

Now sure, some of these new faces are absolutely wonderful bike handlers, are strong in the pack, and take solid pulls. Then again, some aren't.

It seemed like there were a lot of the latter out there at Crystal Cup. And when you're working with people that you'd rather not be so close to in a corner and the work sucks ... Well ...

I guess it all comes down to safety pins. It bugs the hell out of me when a promoter buys the big box of "Variety" safety pins. If you're not one of the first to get there, you're stuck with either insanely small or cartoonishly large pins.

So the pins bent and because useless when I put my fat ass into my size Large jersey. Then I asked a guy for help that was parked fairly close to me. I say fairly close because we weren't all parked in a parking lot like normal. Instead, we were parked all over Crystal City. Some of us managed to find parking fairly close, but knew damn well we may have to pay an extra "entry fee" that would be stuck under out windshield wiper. I asked the guy that helped me pin my number back on how the course was. He pointed down to a now-tireless Zipp 404 with a crack straight across it. Sooo ... Great.

There was pretty much nowhere great to warm up, so a lot of us ended up battling with city traffic and trying to pretend we weren't warming up with sprint intervals. But we got to the line on time, and had enough time to watch like 6 laps of the Women's race before we could get going.

Most of us having no prior knowledge of the course, we just lined up. No sighting lap, no idle chit-chat, just straight to the line and punch that damn clock.

Once the clock was punched (in the form of an air horn) I'm pretty sure the guys on the front row attacked as soon as they had clipped in. Which is cool. That's racing, and sometimes it can be a lot of fun to go super hard right off the bat.

Did I mention many of us didn't know anything about the course?

Let me enlighten you about the course. There were 7 turns, a long straight, and a tiny bit of elevation change. But only just. Of the 7 corners, 4 were off-camber. A couple had manhole covers in a key point (like the apex), and one was a 180-degree fairly tight corner with a big divot right at the first quarter of the turn, gravel, poor quality in general, and off-camber. On the straight parts there were manhole covers, potholes, and manhole covers encircled by potholes.

The first crash was a simple bunching-up that turned into wheels touching down the straight toward the start/finish. I think only a couple guys went down, but they looked like they went down pretty hard. I know because I was really starting to feel like hell and with every hard acceleration I was loosing a place or two. So the crash kind of happened right next to me. And I had to catch on. Which I hate doing.

Then we rode around in circles some more, my teeth nearly cracked, and the pucker-factor was through the roof. On the last lap we came around the 2nd turn (Which was off-camber, had a pothole, and featured steel manhole covers) and a bunch of guys all decided they wanted to be in exactly the same spot. As the Japanese have known for years, the only way to get more out of a piece of real-estate is to pile things vertically. Which about 8-10 guys did very well. I thought I could get around on the left side, but so did 3 other guys. And they crashed into one another. So I did what any really tired racer does: I unclipped and pretended that I could be of some assistance so I didn't feel quite like I had outright quit. I mean, I could have just come around and finished DFL, or I could try my hand at geometry with a shift lever/spoke problem.

There are a lot of races that I walk away from really not feeling good about, and saying I'll never come back, but a bit of me knows I'll be back next year. This, my friends, was not one of those races. For the pro guys, I'm sure it was a pretty good event. I'd bet there was someone they could call and say "So how do we get the truck into the parking area?" and they could get an answer. For the amateur race, it was an event with barricades and a lot of police, and it seemed to be worse-run and with less info than we get at most of the races put on by a local team.

Then there's the racing. The course sucked. Through and through, it was absolute crap. Because the pro race had such a big draw, the amateur race seemed to have a big draw as well. A lot of guy from hours away, and some that only raced a few races a year showed up. That combination made me seriously consider dropping out of the race a few times so I could save my equipment (I don't have the kind of money to replace my Zipp rims) and my body. I got lucky and I wasn't taken down by the crash, but a lot of guys weren't nearly as lucky.

So in the end, I won't be doing the Crystal Cup again. And not one of those "Until next year" type of things. Unless someone wants to pay me heaps of money to go there, it's not happening. And given my fitness level today, no one will be paying me to ride a bike for a very, very long time.

Ride Sally Ride

First off, the race is titled "The Ride Sally Ride" which is actually quite catchy in context of the street name being "Ride Sally Dr." and then, of course, the song. Without "The" at the beginning, however, it's just a song lyric, and loses its catchiness. So can we all agree to put the three letters at the beginning? Or at least just abbreviate it to RSR.

Now that we've taken care of that business:

Typically, the most exciting thing I do in a week will come between the finish line and 200 meters before said piece of red duct tape. The sprint is one of the coolest things in bike racing, and to be quite frank, it's one of my favorite parts. There's a level of control that you have given your training and form, but there's a lot of unknown going on at the same time. For example, I have no idea if the guy next to me will become the guy on top of me in under a second. And that's happened before, so I feel like I might have a knack for spotting it in advance. Maybe.

That wasn't the case yesterday, however. Driving down the beltway at 7 in the morning on Sunday is probably the only time that the road is anywhere near lightly trafficked. After the notoriously bad "270 spur" the road straightens out, 4 lanes on each side, and keeps going in its infinite loop of the nation's capital.

It was this combination of many easy driving features that made it so amazing to round a bend and see the very final stages of a car flipping, spinning, and generally getting screwed over.

I have to admit that there was a split second where I thought Dude, I'm headed to a bike race. I promised to lead my teammate out ... That thought didn't last long, though, and I slammed on the brakes.

To make a long (and pretty scary) story short, I was the first one there, and ended up in shin-high brush and undergrowth doing everything I could to hold a passenger-side door all of 8 inches open so that a 10 year-old boy and his sister could get out of the overturned, backward, and in-a-ditch car that was now a complete write-off.

A few other people showed up and helped get the boy down off the hill and to the shoulder of the road. We got everyone to a safe location, and I treated the boy for shock (using the term loosely).

In the "Wow, it's a small world" category, one of the guys that stopped was actually headed to the same race I was. Interesting how that works out. We were both looking at our watches, and by the time it was all said and done, we decided to be spectators.

Until we got there with like 40 minutes before the start. Then we decided we'd do what we could. So once the kit was on, I was registered, air was in the tires, etc. I had a whopping 5 minutes of warm-up, 2 minutes of strategy discussion, and then a couple laps of the course before we lined up.

The general plan was to get Tim the W and myself and Eric would work our asses off at the front and then lead-out. The problem is that all three of us race with a nervous disposition. If one guy goes up the road and looks weak, we'll still hunt him down. Even if we're the protected rider. It was for that reason that Eric and I had to really police the front of the race. If Tim felt like we were letting something go, he was going to chase it down. Which doesn't help win the sprint at the end. I did a ton of work on the front, and it was good to know that the race averaged 25.9 mph. That made me feel at least a little better when in the last few laps I wasn't exactly charging along with the surges that kept coming.

Eventually I think Tim figured out that he was behind the wrong horse (me) and he came around to try and get some position. I was completely cooked, and once I saw my 2 teammates safely up the road and sprinting, I sat up.

I finished in the pack and shortly called it a day. Driving home I realized that I had done more before 11 on Sunday than most people had done all weekend. That's a cool feeling to have.

When it was all said and done, Eric came in 6th and Tim came in 9th. Both of them got boxed in on the last corner before the sprint (I'm not a big fan of corners that close to the finish.) Sarah and Daniel both made it into the ambulance safely, and the EMTs said they were fine, but they wanted to take precautionary measures to get them to the hospital. I came home and took a nap while I "Watched" the Philly race.

Here's to hoping next week's Air Force race is significantly less exciting.

Kelly Cup

Should I apologize for not updating this sooner? Yeah, I probably should. I've done a few races, but they really haven't been a ton of fun to write about. Namely, I raced Turkey Hill a few weeks ago where I tried to go with a guy at at about 1.2-1.5K to go, but he didn't have the legs to do it at all, and I didn't have the legs to do it alone. Knowing I was screwed, I decided to just go ahead and pull everyone to the line. It was like leading out absolutely no one and everyone all at once. What I can say is that from 1K to go until about 200M to go, no one came around me. That means I held tempo super high, and would be a killer lead-out man if only I had a teammate right behind me. I didn't, though, so I just ended up with a 12th.

Then at Poolesville I had what is scientifically called a clusterfuck. I lost a bottle on the first trip over the dirt road section. Knowing that I didn't want to lose the other bottle, I closed my cage in closer a bit so it would be more secure. Taking a drink, I went to replace my bottle. It hit the cage where I had closed it down, and then I fumbled it. So I had taken like 2 sips of water for a 50 mile race. Fortunately, my teammate's dad had told me he would give me a bottle at the feed zone. I took him up on that and basically figured that if I could finish the race it would leave me so dehydrated I would be best to find my way to a hospital for a bag of fluids. Oh, and I tried to bridge to a 2-man break. That left me in no-man's land for about 5 miles. Then I gave up and the peloton wanted me to stay at the front. Not cool, guys. Shortly before finishing the 3rd (30ish miles) we went up a slight incline. I had just told my teammate Tim that I was feeling like crap and was almost out of water. He offered me his. Then brakes squealed, the pack bunched up, and someone went right into my front wheel. It just took me off into the dirt, but my chain dropped when it happened. I looked down at it, and though well, I could put this back on and chase to the peloton. That would be a pretty manly move. Or .... nah, fuck it, I'm staying right here. So that was the end of that race.

Today was the Baltimore Bike Jam/Kelly Cup that runs through Patterson Park in downtown Baltimore.

The course is paved to exactly the level you would expect of downtown Baltimore. There were no bits where you could see brick, but you got the feeling it was there every now and then. That and man-hole covers (that had paint pointing them out) that were way too high, and had little round ramps surrounding them. That or the pavers tried to make it less brutal to hit. I'm pretty sure they did a stunt show on those things afterward.

So we started riding, I missed my pedal because I'm a dumb-ass, and about 20 seconds later the attacks started. And they didn't stop. Again, the Team BBC crew was pretty thin for this race, and I knew that there would be no one to pull in the breaks or set tempo at the front. Which left it pretty much up to me. I did a lot of work at the front today, and took a couple digs in an attempt to make a break myself. None of that came to fruition.

What did stick was a solid attack by Mike Cohen from the Kelly Benefits team. With somewhere between 5-7 laps to go, he rocketed off the front. He had been off the front a few times before and I figured he was probably pretty tired. Also, he used to ride for BBC, and I don't mean him any disrespect when I say that I was convinced he wouldn't be able to hold on alone to the finish. I was wrong. We got time gaps from the road of 17 seconds and other numbers around there. He was just barely out of sight.

As typically happens there were only about 3-4 of us that wanted to do anything in the way of bringing him back. There was also rather rampant disorganization which didn't help anything at all. Every time I would take a pull, I would slow a bit, cruise to the left or right, and flick the opposite elbow. Nothing happened. So I would waggle the damn thing in the wind in some attempt to get other people to pull through. Ya know, like a pace-line. Didn't work. The only time people came by me were for attacks. Almost all of those attacks lacked heart and were easy to mark.

So I cruised it up to the sprint knowing that the best I could get was 2nd.

With 250ish meters to go, I dropped a gear and got to work. I looked up for a moment to see Mike Cohen with his arms raised as he crossed the line. Then I looked back at my sick new yellow shoes and kept pushing.

In the end I rocketed past everyone else and got the 2nd spot on the podium. Which means Cohen took the 7 points I needed to get my requisite 20 points to upgrade. That leaves me 2 points shy. I'll get those sometime soon.

There, now you're all caught up. I'll try to update this more often, but life can get in the way sometimes.

And a note on cornering: You may remember a post or two ago I said that people need to practice their cornering. This course really showed that. there was a wicked chicane at the bottom of the course. Last year in the wet it was super duper incredibly sketchy. This year, though, it was awesome! The problem is that most of the time there was someone in front of me which means I couldn't go in or come out as fast as I wanted. Or, there was no one in front of me and when I came out of the corner I had to sit up and wait for people to catch up. So, once again, go find a corner you can rail, and do it. You'll make me happier and we can race together all happy-like. And isn't that what it's all about?

Thanks for reading and I'll see you at the races.

p.s. I'll update this post with photos tomorrow or Tuesday

Dolan!

First and foremost, I am hereby instilling the 2 1/4 rule. I know I said in my last post that you should check back expecting some awesome writing and photography from my trip down a bit and then back up Skyline Drive. Photos like this ....

And how could you not want to know more about the ride that brought about a picture like that?

The problem, however, is that I'm not made of gold. If I were, I could quit my job (I actually couldn't, but that's not the point) and I would spend my days doing nothing but writing this blog, riding my bike, and drinking fine beers from across the world. Not necessarily in that order.

Since that isn't possible, I'll have to limit my blog posts to race recaps for the moment.

Hopefully I'll find some time in the future, but training and racing have taken up a solid point, being a family man takes up the other point, and somehow I have to fit my full-time job into the quarter-point. Which is very awkward given that they insist on some sort of draconian 8-hour schedule almost 5 days of every week.

Onward to the matter at hand: The Carl Dolan Memorial Howard County Library Other Names Yada Yada race.

I would love to put a picture of the racecourse map right about here, but it would take me like 10 minutes to figure out how to make that happen. Instead, picture a Nascar course with a tight turn at turn 4. And we kept turning right.

This was as close to a Home Race as I am going to get, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't targeting it. About now, I'm really targeting everything I enter so I can get a ton of upgrade points, but this one I especially wanted to do well in.

Before I tell you how I did, though, I should tell you a bit about the race. First off, it was a field of 125 guys. That's a lot of testosterone, adrenaline, and every other hormone that makes guys do stupid, stupid things. That's why Dolan has the dubious honor of being the sketchiest race I've done in a long time. The last race I did that had me puckering that bad was the Bunny Hop Criterium last year. Apparently I wasn't the only one that forgot to take a few psi out of my tires before the start of a wet race because people were skidding and sliding everywhere. This race was in the dry, though. That means the speeds were much higher.

So let me just say a couple things about being sketchy, and let me acknowledge right now that I don't know everything, I'm not the best bike handler that's ever ridden, and I totally know what it's like to crash because i did something stupid. That's why my jersey has my name sewn on it.

Going up

One of the things that gets to me the most is the up-hill clusterfuck-crash. This often happens when one idiot forgets that the race is about to go up the same hill that it's gone up 10 times before. He forgets to shift into the right gear or stays in the drops too long. What happens next is chaos. I was toward the back when this happened, and fortunately everyone came out alright, but the guy next to me just about watched his carbon wheels become carbon bits at the expense of the curb.

Cornering

Stop sucking at this! Seriously, cornering should be something we're all pretty good at. Have you practiced your corning? I doubt it. Why? Because you want to be hella fast up the hills and across the flats. If you crash in a corner, though, not only will that stuff not matter but you'll be bleeding on the ground with a complete lack of sympathy from anyone. Every time you go around a (safe) corner, rail it with reckless ambition. It's better to crash on your own than to crash on the inside of a corner and take everyone out. Fortunately, again, this didn't come to fruition. I honestly don't know how some of those guys didn't crash, but to the best of my knowledge we all got through.

Except the sprint. If I'm honest, I had no idea there was a crash in the sprint until someone told me.

Before that, though, the circuit course provided ample opportunities for suicidal breakaways and subsequent suicidal drives to bring them back. I had the fortune of watching a couple teammates at varying times absolutely bury themselves to close those gaps down. Of all the things in the sporting world, I think that watching a teammate completely destroy his chances of finishing well in a bike race to save a protected rider is by far the coolest.

An American football player might defend against his QB getting sacked, but he

wouldn't give up his chance to wear a SuperBowl ring to keep some other guy out of trouble. That same analogy goes for basically every other sport i can think of. Watching a lead-out, or one guy bringing in a breakaway, is something you only see in cycling, and it's why this sport is so damn cool.

So with all that, I managed to come into the last lap at least a little fresh. granted, my heart was pounding out of my chest, but that's bike racing.

The sprint started somewhere around the 500m to go mark, and I knew I didn't have the power to sprint away or the endurance to keep pushing the pedals for that long. Everyone else was starting, and I figured it was way too early.

So I started sprinting. Because I'm a moron. I probably could have grabbed a wheel, held on, and kicked with 200m to go, but you know how adrenaline gets. As I watched the signs go by every 100 meters, I had varying thoughts. As I rolled over 200, I distinctly remember thinking "Oh shit, this is going to end badly."

I was totally spent. I kept kicking the pedals over, and somehow I came home somewhere around 6th or 7th.

Which marks my 3rd top-10 in 4 starts. 2 of those races were Cat3/Cat4 races . GamJams even classified me in their Cat3 Cup on accident. Also, this race counts the 3's and the 4's as being 2 different races run at the same time. Because of that, I actually won! So that's a win, a 5th, a 6th, and a pack finish. What's most important to me is that I've proven that I can be competitive with a Cat 3 field. In my book that's more important than winning a bunch of 4/5 races so you can get the points and move up.

That said, next week I'll be in Cancun getting my vacation on. The week after that, however, I'll be in the 4/5 race trying to collect some points out at Turkey Hill. I guess when it comes down to it, I'm ready to race with the 3's, and if I have to do some 4/5 races to make the points up quicker then I will. I think it's kind of bogus that that happens, but I definitely saw a Kelly Benefits rider in the 4/5 race at Dolan that was doing the same thing. Of course, after saying all that, I'll get totally shelled at T-Hill, and go home with my tail between my legs. But that's bike racing, and for some reason I love it.

Also, with the win comes an upgrade in beer selection. Remember to treat yourselves right out there.

Insanity at Tyson's Corner

"They" say that insanity is doing the same thing time and time again while expecting the result to be different. "They" may be right.

I say that because today was the Tyson's Corner Circuit Race, and much like the Vint Hill Crit, I came within the top-10, but found myself a bridesmaid yet again. But why? That's the question you are surely dying to know.

The race started out with a frantic search for an ATM. I hadn't paid my entry fee yet, and I remembered that just as we turned off of the freeway. Thanks to gamjams.net and the handy "List-Lurker" I found out that the Tyson's Corner race was open to registration a bit late. That's because it's still early in the season, and a bunch of guys still like riding their bikes right now. That means the races fill up in minutes, and if you miss the boat you're stuck in the waiting list. Which is alright if you aren't real dedicated to racing that weekend or you don't have the cash on hand given that you don't have to pay to be on the waiting list. You will, however, need to have some cash when you register. Which I didn't.

So we searched rather frantically for an ATM in a remarkably ATM-unfriendly area. Thanks to the Subaru turbo, we found a cash dispensing device, and promptly got lost trying to get somewhere near the course.

Thanks to the good people at Apple, we got even more lost. Seriously, fix your "maps" app. It seems to suck only when I need it most.

But then we got there, and the course was really well marked, well road-guarded, well staffed at registration, and really rather good. Thanks (not sarcastically) to the guys over at NCVC.

I got all the essentials taken care of, and then took off my heart rate monitor's strap. My Garmin was plugged into the computer at home. Sweet.

So I warmed up without any idea of where my heart rate was. Which was absolute tragedy. I mean, I could have used my finger, a watch, and my neck/wrist/thigh to figure it out, but I couldn't have possibly done that while knowing exactly how fast I was going. And when the race got underway, I knew I'd be hosed because I would watch people ride away from me trying desperately to make a break, and I wouldn't know how fast they were going. Or if I was going to die trying to catch them.

That or I just tossed the stupid strap in the car. It's uncomfortable anyway.

And then the smoke started.

Coming from an NCVC tent was the real-life smoke monster. It smelled strangely like grilling meat, but I guess on Lost, you never really find out what the smoke monster smells like. So right as I crossed the area of the start-finish line, I got to breathe in charring meat smoke, and

think about how sweet that would be for like 20 laps.

We staged up, ready for the race, and were ordered to "Take a lap!" because we had staged earlier than the USA Cycling Ref. would have preferred. It's worth noting that this might have been for our benefit given that we were sitting there right in the stream of smoke.

And then we started racing, and you know what? Not that remarkable. If I'm honest, it was a rather boring race. I didn't help with that at all, and most of the time that I was on the front, I quickly found my way back a few wheels. I mean, really though, I didn't have any other teammates there, and it was destined to be a sprint finish. So I stayed at the front, took a pull when it was necessary, and waited with breathless anticipation. Or I was gassed every time we went up that damn hill. Whatever.

The bit that matters was, of course, the sprint finish. This one went up a bit of a hill, and while it wasn't "A climb" it was definitely an incline. I came into 1 lap to go in absolutely dreadful position some 30 places back or so, and managed to make up about 25 of those spots on the downhill. I don't know how or why, but I seem to descend quicker than most other people.

I'm not really that much heavier anymore, I'm not riding some crazy bike or wheel combo, and I'm actually much taller than most. Whatever. I made up some spots, and sprinted up the hill.

I really mucked up the gear selection, though. about a hundred meters from the line I was spun out, and I was waffling between trying to spin it out all the way or drop a gear. I figured if I dropped a gear I'd lose a place, and if I didn't, it could go either way. So I stayed where I was, looked around to see that I was 5th, was content was that, and then saw someone pip my 5th right at the line.

So why is that insane? Why is 2 top-10s in 3 races bad? Because I'm not first, damnit. I just don't have the kick at the line that I did last year (as in 3 podiums, 1 win). So it's time to hit the gym and get these chicken legs back where they were. I thought it was a good thing that I had lost weight in the legs, but it seems that there have been some side-effects. So why don't I do that, and I'll let you know how it goes.

On a very positive note, I won real money today.

That's $15 to be exact.

And I promptly spent it the way I believe all prize money should be spent.

So if you'll excuse me, I need to attend to said winnings, and watch the rest of Paris-Roubaix.

See you at Dolan next week (Another up-hill finish) and stand by to learn about my ride along Skyline Drive. It was totally epic! OK, so it wasn't epic at all. It was just a really great ride along a road that was laid for no reason other than to showcase how awesome our planet can be in one of the best non-California parks around.

The Easy Race

On my way home from the Union Grove Road Race I was thinking of what to write about it. I had intended on basically writing a big bitch-fest. There was a lot for me to dislike today. Then I went to the bathroom and about 5 minutes later I felt much better, and had decided to do something other than that. Besides, that's not exciting to read.

But I still want to talk about the race because even though there were things to dislike, there were as many things to learn. After all, if I didn't call this a learning experience it would have been quite the waste of time and money.

The day started out early. Very early. Like 4:45 early. With an 8:30 roll time and a 2 hour drive, it couldn't be helped. By the time we got going, I hadn't warmed up, I was freezing (the temps were in the high-20's), and my head wasn't in the game.

Basically everyone had failed to get a proper warm-up, and because of that we had what could be called a neutralized start. Or just a really slow start. Which was cool with everyone. We had 7 laps for a total of 52k to ride. I figured that after the first couple laps we would start the racing in earnest.

It turns out that I was wrong. After 2.5 laps, myself and another guy went off the front and stormed up the short, steeeeeep climb. We had a little gap, but we had been going so slowly that I pegged the rev limiter and couldn't get my heart rate down fast enough to be of any use. So we were swallowed up. I knew once we went off the front the speed would get going, and guys would rip off the front left and right.

I was wrong again. We just went back to a leisurely pace. In fact, I believe that we went from being in a break to being the guys pulling the pack instead of them coming up and just swallowing us up. This race just didn't want to get going.

And it didn't get going at all. Ever. There was, and I'm serious here, not a single point at which I felt like the pace was race-like. Most of the time, the pace wasn't even as high as most of us go on a team training ride. I would get to the front to pull for a while, and when I was tired, no one would come through. I ended up leading the race for at least a lap and a half (of 7) and probably closer to 2 full laps. Most of it was at a pretty slow clip because no one wanted to go faster than the pace I was setting. Which was purposefully really really slow.

What I learned (And I know you're waiting for this part) is that my legs need to be told what they're doing. If I'm taking them out for a training ride then they know that they don't have to go full-out, but they need to learn how to go hard and be efficient. If I'm in a TT situation, they know that they need to find their limit and stay there. And in a race they know to go as hard as necessary for as long as necessary, while leaving just a little tiny bit in the reserves for the sprint.

Today, my legs never got the message that we were in a race. They thought we were cruising. Maybe somewhere between a group ride and a training ride. They just never got to the stage of really doing the work necessary to go fast. Because of that, they stayed cold, never really woke up, and didn't want to do much of anything when it came to the business-end of the race.

At the 1K mark, I was 2nd or 3rd wheel. At about 700m someone went off the front. I tried to follow his wheel but after a hundred meters or so I realized it was probably too early, and I didn't have the legs to do it. So I fell back to the group and figured I'd rip it up in the uphill sprint.

I was wrong again. After not really getting my heart, lungs, and legs into race mode, they all just didn't recover from the initial hard effort, and when it came time to sprint up the finishing climb, I just didn't have anything left.

I probably placed in the 20's or so, and maybe down into the 30's. Which is among my worst results.

I never really thought it was possible, but I realized later that the race was just too easy for me. My legs never woke up, I couldn't get into "race mode", and in the end I just didn't have what it took to get fired up for the finish.

A few factors conspired to make the field a bit weak other than their basic laziness. The promoter was a bit lacking. We all stood on line in the shade at 7:45 in the morning when it was 27 degrees for well over 20 minutes to register. Even though we had already pre-registered. The weather was bitterly cold, though it was dry, and most of us didn't get a chance to warm up prior to the race start. I think there were very few of us that really wanted to be there.

What I've realized is that I don't do well under certain conditions. My body doesn't react to the cold very well. I'm from California, so what do you expect? I'm not a morning person. I just never have been. And I don't "race train" at a low level which means that if the race doesn't get hot, I'm rubbish.

So I won't do races that are super cold, early in the morning, and full of lazy blokes. That seems easy enough ... Until I get a 'cross bike.

Presentation

First off, I had started writing this with some sort of intention to be anonymous. That way if I said something that offended someone, it could matter less to me personally. Which was a great idea in terms of keeping myself insulated from anyone with hurt feelings.
It's really a bit hard to write that way, though. You may have noticed that I have hardly written anything here. Last year I kept a blog and I updated it far more frequently than I have this one. A lot of that is in trying to skirt around issues like who I am.
In reality, I realized, I don't give a damn if people get upset. Well, to a point. There are still crazy people out there.

Hi, my name is Brian Parker, and I can be a bit sharp-tongued at times. I'm sorry if that gets you all worked up, but I can't say I'll change it.
So let's get one thing out of the way that I have no problem saying straight-away.

If we happen to all find ourselves in a bicycle race and you feel as though the pace isn't high enough for you then you should, by all means, move to the front and take a solid pull. If your pull is so hard that the guy behind you can't hold your wheel then you may have just made an unintentional break-away. Go you!

If, however, you find yourself somewhere between 10 and 20 wheels back, comfortably in the middle of the back, in a sub-sub-maximal effort zone, and you don't want to get to the front and pull: Keep your damn mouth shut.
"Come on guys; up the pace!" is not what I want to hear after I've been at the front rotating with 5 other guys to pull in some breakaway. We're gassed, and we did it to get the entire bunch up to some other bunch. You've been having an armchair ride. Be thankful for that, and then come around us in the sprint because we just got you to a good position at our own expense. Don't thank me by telling me to go harder.

Anywho,
I realized at last weekend's race that when I'm at that place where my heart can't beat much faster, my lungs aren't taking in enough oxygen, and everything is saturated in lactic acid, I look like shit.
This may not come as a huge revelation to the non-cycling public. Most mortals, in that scenario, look rather poorly. Cyclists, however, tend to have a certain amount of dignity when they're in the red.

Here's Lance Armstrong in the time trial up Alpe D' Huez in '04. Relatively calm, looking fairly cool. Really, he looks like he's not doing that much to his body. The truth is that he's climbing one of the fiercest mountains in the world, and he's doing against nothing but himself and the clock. That's the hardest kind of riding there is. In sharp contrast, I offer:


More specifically:



We all look a bit worn down, but I look like I'm getting ready to shout at someone. Really, I was just trying to breathe. Air in, air out, repeat. That was a bit tough at the time.

What I really noticed based on this and other similar photos is that I have no chance at being a good racer. The fact that I finished 5th in my second 3/4 race (the last one, an insect bit me on the forehead in the sprint) and my 3rd race as a cat. 4 doesn't really matter. If I can't start looking better, no one will want to take pictures of me. If there aren't any pictures of me then there are no pictures of my kit. And how do you convince sponsors that they should get behind a team with a rider no one will photograph? I guess that somehow, I need to start looking much, much better when I'm totally gassed.

At some point in time I may come across the finish line first. If the first person photographed finished second then my win will really be worth nothing.

New!

Well, the new season is nearly upon us. Or, it is if you're me. Or anyone else in this particular area and circumstance.

Which is to say that the training series I would have been racing in every weekend for the past month was cancelled. First, there was a ton of snow everywhere. Then, the snow melted, the ground was saturated, and pot-holes formed. Those holes were apparently rather large, and couldn't be patched cold. I guess someone didn't watch the Daytona 500 this year.

So the first race is next weekend. That's like a week away!

Which means the things going through my head are frantically "Holy crap! Next weekend! Am I ready? Of course I'm ready. I mean ... Yeah, I'm ready. Right? And no crashes! And don't be sketched out by all the people that seem to want to destroy you. Holy crap! Man, I'm not ready!"

This is much different than last year when I thought almost nothing but how excited I was to finally be able to race my bike. I didn't know what to expect, and there was more than a bit of trepidation, but I was just stoked to finally be able to do what I had wanted to do so much.

This year I've got a good idea of what to expect, and I think I know where my fitness is. I haven't been out there racing though, so I really don't know. If the form really is where I think then I should do well. But if I'm just being cocky then this could be a real wake-up call. Oh well, I guess I'll just wait and see what happens at the Vint Hill Classic.

Refinement

This will be my second year as a competitive cyclist, and only my third year as a road rider. Not that I was really a serious cyclist of any kind before that, but I did get to the trails every now and then on a mountain bike. As of now it's been almost two and a half years since I smoked a cigarette, and I'm all of 25 pounds lighter than when I started riding bikes seriously. That's mostly all muscle that I worked desperately to build up, and then realized was quite counter-productive to climbing mountains by bike.

What I'm saying is that a lot has changed in the past few years. It's easy to think that the bike sort of stays as a constant, but the fact of the matter is that our bikes need to adapt with us. We're always looking for new gear and trying as hard as we can to make the most informed choices about the equipment we buy. Sometimes the parts we buy for our bikes are necessary simply because they're lighter or better built, and sometimes we just buy something for the sake of having something new.

One of the things we rarely give enough credit to is the way we sit on the bike with the parts we have right now.

At a training ride, myself and a few others ended up sprinting for an imaginary line at about 40 mph. Or maybe faster. I wasn't really focused on the computer quite as much as the wheel to my left, and whether or not I could turn it into the wheel behind me.

Afterward, it was mentioned that myself and another teammate were at a disadvantage relative to the other 2 because the others had deep-dish carbon wheels with significant aero sections.

I won't mention the placing, but let's just say the advantage seemed rather insignificant. That's not to discount the benefit of having aerodynamic wheels, bikes, helmets, and all the rest. What I'm saying is that at that speed there is something on your bike that acts more like a sail than any box-section wheel.

I speak, of course, about the fat ass atop the bicycle.

Getting that fat ass into a more aerodynamic position will speed up every single bit of the ride whether it's the sprint or a descent. It's also worth noting that being more comfortable on the bike will lead to more power in everything you do, and the ability to keep putting that power to the pedals for longer periods of time.

And that's what my strategy will be this year. Don't get me wrong; I'll still be the consumer I've always been, but more than anything else I plan on making subtle changes to my position on the bike in an attempt to be more comfortable and aerodynamic. The changes don't stop at position, though. There are little things that can make a huge difference. Tire pressure comes to mind, as do things like how tight your kit and shoes are.

Hopefully I can find the time to write about some of those things, and shed light on them for anyone who cares to read. A certain Mr. Merckx said the key to being faster was to "Ride lots." That is still true, but there is also a lot to be learned from sitting down and thinking about how you ride, and making the subtle changes necessary to get the most out of your body and your bike.

Gear Review: Too Little

I wrote this a while back and never got around to posting it. I don't really know why. Here it is now, a season late, without any sort of proper segue as to why I hadn't written it earlier anyway.

A big reason for not writing this is what has been a record snowfall. For individual storms, for the season, and for all damn time, we've had more of the white powdery stuff than ever before. This is, of course, one of the worst things that can happen to a road cyclist. I say "a road cyclist" because my full suspension mountain bike is down for repairs, my hardtail jumping bike was just sold, and my 29er as well as my cyclocross bike don't exist. Which leaves me with nothing but a road bike.

On to what matters though: A gear review from someone that just barely knows what he's talking about. Now, I will grant you that there are a ton of places that you can find reviews by people that have very few years racing. I, however, am basically the exact same. Or I mean ... wait ... OK, so the fact of the matter is that I'm not that experienced, but sometimes that's good. I haven't been doing this and learning to hate things, or even worse, refusing to try things. That means I can give you a fresh impression. One that may be much like your own.

The gear I'd like to tell you about: Having too little.

That's right; I'm not going to write on about some brand name or specific piece of equipment that you absolutely can't live without. I'm going to tell you a little story. Hopefully you'll learn just as much from this as you will from hearing that a frame is "laterally stiff and vertically compliant."

A week out, the weather looked piss poor for Sunday, and poor for Saturday. The team keeps trying to get big rides going even though it's winter, but this weekend in particular didn't look so great. As the day came closer, the e-mails began to take a slightly less positive tone. People that were so-so early in the week turned to definitely not making it. People that were going to definitely go became so-so. A few said that we'd definitely be there.

Then, a few became two. Just myself and one other. The other guy that decided he'd make it is originally from Minnesota. That probably should have given me a bit of hesitation. It didn't.

The day of the ride I pulled my car up next to my mate's, and he got in the car where the heater was on full. I pulled out my trusty iPhone where the Weather Channel App told me it was 17 degrees Fahrenheit with a wind chill of -1. It did not dawn on me at the time that this is the exact temperature I keep my freezer set to.

In the time it took me to put on my sock liners, thick socks, shoes, and shoe covers, I had begun to lose feeling in a couple toes. When I was pretty much completely dressed I told my mate I'd need to take a minute before we headed out. My fingers, while being inside super thick Gore-Tex motorcycle gloves, had begun to sting something fierce from the whole 4 minutes it took to put my kit on.

For the record, I've ridden my motorcycle (without any fairing) at 70 mph when the temperature was 34 degrees, and while cold, my fingers didn't hurt like they did before that ride.

After a brief break behind the car and in what you could kind of call the sun, we rolled out.

It was cold. Winds over 20 mph, gusting to 40, and then adding 15+ mph I started to wonder if I was properly dressed. The ride starts with a mild climb, and then descends for a bit. After about half of the climb I was working my way from wondering to getting a feeling. We stopped so I could adjust my scarf and get it up over my cheeks which were starting to sting from wind burn.

A scarf is not only fashionable with the right outfit, but can be a very useful piece to add to your wardrobe when it's cold. I've even used a scarf with great success on the bike. There are certain things that a scarf can't do, though. This was one of those things.

As we neared the top of the first little incline, I began to know I was under-prepared and started to do the very loose calculations of just how much I could stand. We were climbing, so that was the warmest I could expect to be. But I wasn't really warmed up. What about when we went down though? A 35 mph head wind on top of everything? I don't really want that. But what about if the wind dies down on the other side of the road? And besides, I've gotta stick it out. Look at the guy next to me with the walrus moustache hanging out of his balclava. I don't want to disappoint the driving force behind getting the team rides started so early in the year.

Just over the top of the hill, I gave up. My cheeks were starting to feel like they were covered with sand paper and not cotton, my big toes were numbing while the toes descending from them were increasing in their pain levels, and my legs still hadn't even begun to come to life.

The moral of the story is that sometimes you don't have the right equipment for a particular circumstance. When that happens, it might be best to pack it in. If you get outside and realize you don't even want to stand there in street clothes, it might not be the best day for a ride.

My gear was too little, and I do not recommend it to anyone. If you've got the "too little" style of gear then do like I should have done and stay your ass inside. Trust me, it's more fun that way.

p.s. There is always one exception, and that is racing. If there's a race that you're underprepared for then go out there and do it anyway. You'll forget about how cold you are in no time.

Off That

You may have noticed in my previous post that I mentioned my legs being smaller, and that I had no way to confirm that numerically. The reason for that is because I'm not using data this winter.

Currently, I have a Garmin Edge 305 and a couple of CatEye cyclo-computers that all work. The Garmin needs some love every now and then, but you get the point. Why, then, would I not use them?

Because I don't have to. I decided that for the off-season this year, I would ride my bike whenever I could, and I would enjoy riding my bike for the sake of being on it. The theory is that by not constraining myself to training in a digital, numbers-based way, I'll have more fun, train harder, and enjoy myself more. After all, I'm not a professional racer, and that means that I ride my bike for the enjoyment of it.

I know that there are huge gains to be made by following a proper training plan, staying within the specified zones of heart rate or power and playing by the rules of a coach. I just didn't want to do that. I have coaching and training plans very much available and at my disposal, and they're all very good. Sometimes, you just have to realize that certain things aren't for you. Not right now at least.

In the future, I'll spring for a power meter setup and I'll go through all the enjoyment of figuring out my zones so I can train to different specialties.

For now, though, it's all about the fun and the feeling. A lot of people say that's just being Italian, and some might even say it's snobbish to simply rely on the feeling of my training. Really, it is all of that and more. By taking the computers off the bikes, I've really found that I look at the world around me a lot more. Even when there's snow at the side of the road and the sky above looks like it's going to burst open, it's all just so much better to be riding next to a river and really be able to watch the water fall down boulders that have slowly-thickening layers of ice forming. I'm not concerned with exactly how fast my heart is beating, and I'm not concerned with what percentage of my maximum that rate is. I am concerned with the responsiveness of my body on that particular day, how my bike is riding, and how I'm feeling about life.

Really, that's what bike riding is all about. Even when I get back into the digital style of training, I'll still take a lesson from what I've been doing the past few months and take the computer off for a ride every now and then. Sometimes, that means cruising through the hills and communing with nature while at other times, it's a team ride where we forget about the fact that "Today is supposed to be zone 2-3."

Changes

The past week and a half or so have been warmer than the last couple months. To say this is a welcome variation in temperature is like saying the sun kinda warm. The local news has said that this is known as the "January thaw" and that it happens pretty much annually. Which is odd given that I don't remember anything but cold followed by more cold last year. Maybe I was in a coma for the thaw last year. This year, however, not only was this "January thaw" very much needed, but it was actually an appropriate name. When the warm spell hit, we had feet of snow on the ground, ice frequently covered at least the shoulder of most roads, cars had to be started 15 minutes before they would even start thinking about making efficient locomotion, and my hand-brake froze in the engaged position.

For most people, this was pretty much just a difference in how many coats they put on in the morning. A few mornings it was even possible to get in your car and drive it immediately. Which is an amazing thing after a couple months of not having that luxury.

Most people, however, are not cyclists. Turns out, we're crazy. Temperatures above freezing this time of year almost immediately warrant a good ride. Hell, sometimes we don't even need that. Trying to be manly, a friend of mine and I set out on what was supposed to be a team ride. We were all of the team that showed up. It was 17 degrees with a wind-chill of -1. More on that later.

What I'm trying to get around to is the temperature being warmer, and the fact that at one point that temperatures was just over 50 degrees fahrenheit. I went for a ride that day, but my bib knickers were dirty from the day before. That left only one option: Bib shorts. Well, I guess I technically could have put on the full-length bib tights, but I typically reserve those for sub-freezing days and even then I hate the full-length tights.

So shorts it was. With embrocation, of course. What do you think I am; crazy?

For the record, my embrocation of choice was Mad Alchemy Medium that I've cut down with some mineral oil and just a touch of Bag Balm to make a smoother, more mild embrocation that is easier to remove and better for a shorter ride in warmer temps.

That day I wanted to get out for a longish ride with some hills. Which I did, and the ride was good. Well, the truth is that the ride was really really good. I was going well, the weather was cooperating the whole way, and other than my shoe covers rubbing a bit on my ankles, all was well.

About at mile 20, though, I looked down when I was climbing and noticed that something was different. Nay, something was wrong. Something was horribly, incredibly, absolutely ... smaller. That something, of course, was both of my thighs. They had shrunk. Somehow, throughout the winter and what was a rather extended break from the bike during the fall, my thighs lost on the order of inches from their circumference.

For those of you that may not be cyclists, losing mass in the thigh is like an adult film star losing mass in the ... ummm ... other leg. I mean, come on! Those two groups of muscle are what I rely on when the spring comes. They're how I sprint past everyone else, how I climb faster than everyone else, and how I know that I'm in really good shape when I'm walking and they do that crazy shiver thing with a hard foot-fall. Now ... they're small!

There is an up-side, though. Upon weighing myself, I realized that I am significantly lighter than I was last year at this time. A quick pinch around the spare tire region confirmed that while I'm not quite as pudgy as last year, I am still carrying a bit of reserved energy just in case my stash of nuts, dried meat, and tubers runs empty. And, like I said, I'm going well on the bike. I can't quantify that feeling with data, but I feel it.

So, if I'm just as powerful, still have weight to lose come spring, and have already shed on the order of one stone, what's the down-side?

Vanity! I'm completely and totally vain, and I need my thighs to be big so I feel like I'm fast. The racing season won't start for over a month (and then it's just training races) and I need to feel like I'm going to win in the meantime. Being all lean and light might be good for racing a bike in all actuality, but for the moment, these changes are really the sort of thing that get a guy down.

Ups and Downs: Motivation

Let me start off by saying that I love riding my bike. Plenty of people wax poetic about the connection they feel between themselves, the machine and the road. I don't know about all of that. I like being outside, I like challenging myself, and I like seeing new things. Even on the same ride I've done a hundred times, I'll notice new things.

That's now. It wasn't always that way.

Last year was my first year racing my bike. Which was different in about a million ways than riding my bike. When I'm out riding, it's by myself. I control how hard I go, how far into the hurt locker I venture. If I crash, it's because I was pushing my limits way too hard. Or I've had a seizure.

Racing, someone else controls the pace. Really, a few people that feel good that day control the pace. Sometimes that's great because you can ride at a good clip, have a conversation with the guy next to you, and it's all quite well. Other times it's too slow, and it doesn't feel like you're racing anyone. Then, there's the third kind of pace. That's the one that involves pain. That's racing.

Then there's the sketchiness aspect. Anyone with a pulse and a bike can race in the Cat. 5's. That means you don't need any bike handling skills whatsoever. It's like getting your driver's license without taking driver's ed. Or being behind the wheel except in a parking lot. It's scary.

After a couple of these sketchy races, I decided I wanted to move up in category as quickly as possible. Normally, it would take 10 races. With good results, I was assured, you could do it in fewer. So I raced my ass off. I trained sporadically and always at massive intensity in an attempt to bring in those results. And I did bring in results. In the rain and in the cold, I was racing hard and doing well.

I got that upgrade in under 10. In fact, I got it in about 6 races. I probably could have had it after 4 or 5, but I didn't want to be rejected. What can I say; I'm weak at heart when it comes to rejection.

Then, I pretty much quit. Remember that post from months ago that's just below this one? That was pretty much the last time I went for a real bike ride until winter hit. Then I got out the trainer and some old Tour videos on Netflix. Somehow, on the trainer, the passion started to slowly creep back in. I even decided to dust off the ol' Velomatic blog. I can't say how regular the posts will be for the winter months but when racing starts up, I'm sure there will be more to talk about. Until then, I'll be training, and maybe even letting you know how and why I'm doing what I'm doing.

For the moment, I'll leave you (the readers that once read my new blog and then my new blog and then quit because I quit) with this. Next season will be good. Not because I'm going to win or cat up, but because I'll enjoy riding my bike. And racing my bike. For the sake of racing it, and not in spite of racing it under certain circumstances. Results are good, but I already know that my first race of the year will be working for someone else. It's his birthday the next day, and he's been a good mate that deserves a W. There's just something about seeing a guy bury himself to the point of detonation in an attempt to set up someone else for a good result knowing they're not going to come close to the podium that day.