October 30, 2007
Greetings, it's been awhile blogettes and other blogees. My first bike racing season ended in mid-August. The season overall was extremely grueling, sometimes difficult to raise killer instincts in order to compete, and physically painful---I loved it! The moment-to-moment thrills were endless. I made new friends and, I suppose, opponents in the races which had many of the same riders from the Tidewater, Virginia area, my former stomping grounds and place where I grew up. I was always inspired by the riders on our team as they competed.
The day following my infamous cheeseburger-toting Tour de Port, I raced in the Tour de 'Peake in Chesapeake, Va. There were around 35 Cat 5 riders like myself. Two riders from my club, Ricky D. and Michael B. were with me. Again we lined up, me first, wheel on the start line, Ricky on my rear wheel, Michael on his. I noticed two riders lined up together on the far right, Cory and A.J. They were from different teams but I knew they were among the strongest I could pick out, and having them together on the start line told me something was up. Cory was on the line followed by A.J., and then A.J.'s whole team stretched out behind him.
I had no idea exactly what I was going to do but I sensed something was about to go bang over there on the outside. The race started. I let the riders to my right, also on the starting line, go forward creating a gap giving me a lane over to the right where Cory and A.J. launched away. I shot the gap, broke into A.J.'s team's line and accelerated like a crazy person to catch A.J.'s wheel. We had about 100 yards to the first lefthand turn (90 degrees, 2 lanes wide). We came out of the turn way fast in a streaking paceline! I had no idea at this point who was behind me or where my teammates were. I glanced down at my computer---30 then 31 mph! "Oh my god, we're in a break," I thought. "I hope other riders are hooked on to help keep this pace. I'll never last the whole race if it's just the three of us. Is the main field still attached to us?"
All I could do was stay tucked down out of the wind, drafting in A.J.'s slipstream as I watched Cory come off the front, slide down along our left side and to the rear of the paceline with it's unknown number of riders. A.J. leading, I would have to take my turn working at the front next. He peeled away on the back stretch right before the turn into the finishing straight. I led us back across the start/finishing line and could hear the race commentator say something about Kitty Hawk Cycling Club in the break.
We again rounded the first 90-degree corner, went about 300 yards and I slid off the front and began dropping back along the paceline's side. I counted riders anxiously as I progressed toward the sanctuary of the rear, where other riders were enjoying the labors of the riders leading them.
Ricky, my teammate, had made the break and was safely working in about the sixth position back. There were a total of 8 of us. Before the end of the race one rider would drop out of our lead group. The main field was quite distant behind us and no threat, the break distance having been created. Our group settled into a 27-29 mph tempo, which functioned well with the number we had and as long as everyone cooperated and took their turn working at the front.
I stayed in the rotation behind A.J.'s rear wheel. Several laps in I knew we were pressing the fitness level of this group as riders would immediately come off the front when it became their turn, or if they were the second rider, stay on the leader's wheel when he came off the front skipping their turn altogether. The cooperation among the riders began to stress, tension and even anger crossed riders' faces as they were pushed more quickly to the point. One paceline became two almost competing lines.
Grudgingly, riders fell back together realizing a group tantrum was only going to empower the riders following us in the main field, and maybe have them bridge up to us. So the unspoken decision being clearly, and convincingly concluded, we fell back upon our group fate to help each other to the bell lap where the gloves would come off and our primal, solo efforts would overtake all else as the only thing in the world that mattered.
I remember the bell ringing as we passed the reviewing stand. A.J. was at the line's head, me huddled on his rear wheel, other riders in the break behind us. A.J. rides for the Fat Frogs Racing Team out of Va. Beach. He is a big, powerful rider, maybe around 6'-2" and 240 pounds with one large eyeball tattoed on the back of each of his calves. I had noticed these and his raw power in time trials earlier in the season. He is a superb time trialist.
As we pushed hard around the back stretch still holding our paceline, I leaned forward and urged A.J. to push harder saying,"let's time trial 'em A.J." Meaning let's ride faster to keep the other riders back while trying to break any of the riders who may be suffering. Easy for me to say when I'm hiding behind his wheel out of the wind right? He answered back to me,"it's too far to the line yet Skip." So we kept up the pace pushing 30 mph again. I found out later, my teammate was on my wheel also enjoying his protected position.
The last 90-degree turn before the finish line was about 1000 yards from the line. Out of the turn we held our positions and stayed on our saddles for about 50 yards and then the race exploded. We all shifted to a higher gear, stood up, broke out of the line all at once groping for an open path to the finish. The sprint was on! Bike frames creaked and cogs and sprockets clacked and clicked. A.J. slowly pulled away from me. Ricky launched out from behind my rear wheel, streaking by me and then A.J.
I poured every cell of strength I could gather down through the pedals, the drive train and to the very rubber tire face engaging the road surface. I crossed the finish line at 33 mph having been passed by one rider on the left, one on the right, and finishing fifth. I had partially dislocated a rib during this race I guess during one of the big efforts. Didn't realize it until the adrenaline faded later. Ricky reached an impressive 37 mph as he took first place, A.J. in second.
I finished my first racing season with a seventh place at the Chesapeake Criterium and a DNF at the Statesville (N.C.) Criterium. Training time has been filled since then with surfing and tempo rides. Won't begin focused race training again until mid-November. Hope to blog you again soon. Let me hear from you sometime.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Preparing for a Bike Race-Tour De 'Port
Do not ever eat a cheeseburger before a bike race unless you intend not to be in the race. Yes, I made that mistake even recently. I carried an undigested cheeseburger with me across the finish line of a race that should have been much easier on me and was virtually crippled by it. That's one of the many reasons I'm a Category 5 racer. They may even have demoted me to Category 6A or B (this category does not exist) as punishment.
Real cyclists/athletes, and even me, have preparation that goes on all year leading to the racing season and which occurs during the hours preceding the race of the day. Last weekend I attempted 2 criteriums on consecutive days for the first time, the Tour De 'Port (Portsmouth) on Saturday, and the Tour De 'Peake (Chesapeake) on Sunday. Wasn't sure how much recovery I would need for a race the following day, but I wanted to test my fitness and see.
Oh yea, the cheeseburger---I ate it 2-1/2 hours before my start time at 'Port. That's plenty of time to digest it right? Ha! No!
When I arrive at a criterium, the first thing I want to do is register and get my bib. This is the number I'll wear during the race. Usually, like the other racers, I end up parking in an outlying parking lot or a parking garage. In Portsmouth, it was a parking garage on the perimeter of the race course and the TODI Music and Sidewalk Festival. I rode my bike over to the registration table and signed in and got my number.
There was a guy next door who was offering computer chips at no charge that we could mount on our chain stays. With them he could track our specific bikes through the race course and give the race officials our split times, average times,
and fastest laps, and verification of finishing order I suppose. About now everybody's feeling real special. Faster would've been better.
Two Cat 4 riders, Robert and Mark and one of the Cat 5 riders from our club, Mike B. are in the parking garage inside the race course perimeter. Ricky D. and I, both Cat 5's, are together in the other garage. Ricky and his friend Megan, arrive and Ricky registers. My cheeseburger and I return to our garage to warm up.
There is a race in progress led by two motorcycle cops every lap and we must carefully cross the course after the racers pass us. There is a bandstand with live music. Families walk the sidewalks along the race course, racers and their friends watch the race and mill nervously around. Most try to stand in shade to watch the race as it's low 90's and high humidity. Teams and clubs are grouped together along the course. Sidewalk cafe-goers are feasting in the heat planted at tables under trees along the way, some 50 yards upstream of the finish line.
Preparation: Warm-up is absolutely essential for me. I prefer a stationary trainer at the tailgate of my pickup. A cold Gatoraid beside me, a towel draped over my handlebars, an ipod with Jeff Beck's "You Had it Coming" screaming me out of my comfort zone. The stationary trainer is best for me for warming up in strange places because I can control the warm up tempo and how constant and steady it is. They say a long warmup is best for short, fast races, and shorter warmups are often best for long races, like road races maybe longer than 40 miles. The thinking on this seems to be that longer races usually begin slower and that warmup can take place largely during the first part of the race. Only the individual rider can decide what works best for him.
My warmup starts very slow and builds to the point where I'm doing one or two sprint intervals at the end. I'm trying to warn my body of what's about to happen to it.
I finish the warmup. I put things back in my truck, take my bike out of the trainer, fold the trainer, lay it in the truck bed, close the tailgate and rear window, lock it up. I'm concentrating real hard on all the little details now. My tires are pumped up rock hard just under 120 psi, the way I like to ride them. I have one gel and my glasses in my jersey pocket. I'll eat the gel at the starting line so it'll get in me during the race. The glasses are there so that I can inspect my bike closely after a crash. That way I'll know whether it can be ridden or not immediately, or whether an adjustment on the spot will do the job or not. The details have to be right. The tiniest thing missing or not right when your physical limits are being exposed can be excruciating.
To say an amateur racer has a special bond with their bike when they must count on it in a race would be an immense understatement. I am this way. I don't have an extra bike following me through a race or on the sideline of a criterium that I can snatch on the moment of mechanical breakdown or crash. It is just this one. It is everything.
The Category 4 race is right before our Cat 5 race today. I show at the sidewalk beside the course, stand near the finish line in time to see the last few laps.
The bell rings indicating the final lap. Minutes later I see riders rounding the monument at the end of the street, the setup for the sprint to the finish line. I squint into the sun, recognizing the body language of one of two riders who appear to be on the front. They're closer now. Is it Robert? No. Yes! He's hammering off the front, set up perfectly for the win. As he streaks toward the finish the peloton pour around the corner behind him chewing up the distance between them and to the finish beyond me. Other riders rocket up the edges of the course. A few pass my teammate right before the line. He finishes strong in sixth.
When you see a teammate finish like that, setting himself up so perfectly for a win, and you are at the start of your race with the same jersey, I must say it is a sure motivator. We have a moment to take a lap around the course while the Cat 4 riders recover. We come back around and stop, me with my front wheel squarely on the line. Ricky lines up on my wheel with Mike on his the way we usually start.
By this point in the season there are riders we know from the other clubs. I mean we know the ones to keep an eye on---the strong ones who will put the hammer down and are capable of winning. One such team has lined up on the outside. Their big time trialist will be marked closely. It seems I'm taking an adrenaline drip into my bloodstream by now. It's about nothing but the moment from here until the last pulse of energy drains away over the line at the finish.
As crits go, this one was relatively easy. Ricky and I rode as part of the front 10 riders the whole race. I didn't want to fight off attacks by solo riders racing up from behind (as did most of us), attempting to break away from the main field. It was too damn hot! So when we saw them coming up the outside from behind, me or someone else would yell "break" and the whole front group would stand up on pedals and surge as the lone rider or two would go by, gaining only about 15-20 yards on us before we would easily break them, and pull them humbly back into our scolding ranks.
The cheeseburger and I were hanging tough. I was seeing visions and even hearing it suggest once that we should abandon the race. Just where I want to be: me and my secret cheeseburger watching others finish the race. We finally heard the bell ring. Last lap now!
We approached the monument run-up to the finish line and the inevitable surge by the peloton. We wrapped the last corner fast. The cheeseburger and I couldn't muster much of a sprint. But Ricky was off the front giving it to them. He crossed first completely alone crushing the nearest rider with the bike lengths between them.
The cheeseburger and I finished 17th of 35 riders that day. It will be the only time I ever carry one through a bike race again.
Real cyclists/athletes, and even me, have preparation that goes on all year leading to the racing season and which occurs during the hours preceding the race of the day. Last weekend I attempted 2 criteriums on consecutive days for the first time, the Tour De 'Port (Portsmouth) on Saturday, and the Tour De 'Peake (Chesapeake) on Sunday. Wasn't sure how much recovery I would need for a race the following day, but I wanted to test my fitness and see.
Oh yea, the cheeseburger---I ate it 2-1/2 hours before my start time at 'Port. That's plenty of time to digest it right? Ha! No!
When I arrive at a criterium, the first thing I want to do is register and get my bib. This is the number I'll wear during the race. Usually, like the other racers, I end up parking in an outlying parking lot or a parking garage. In Portsmouth, it was a parking garage on the perimeter of the race course and the TODI Music and Sidewalk Festival. I rode my bike over to the registration table and signed in and got my number.
There was a guy next door who was offering computer chips at no charge that we could mount on our chain stays. With them he could track our specific bikes through the race course and give the race officials our split times, average times,
and fastest laps, and verification of finishing order I suppose. About now everybody's feeling real special. Faster would've been better.
Two Cat 4 riders, Robert and Mark and one of the Cat 5 riders from our club, Mike B. are in the parking garage inside the race course perimeter. Ricky D. and I, both Cat 5's, are together in the other garage. Ricky and his friend Megan, arrive and Ricky registers. My cheeseburger and I return to our garage to warm up.
There is a race in progress led by two motorcycle cops every lap and we must carefully cross the course after the racers pass us. There is a bandstand with live music. Families walk the sidewalks along the race course, racers and their friends watch the race and mill nervously around. Most try to stand in shade to watch the race as it's low 90's and high humidity. Teams and clubs are grouped together along the course. Sidewalk cafe-goers are feasting in the heat planted at tables under trees along the way, some 50 yards upstream of the finish line.
Preparation: Warm-up is absolutely essential for me. I prefer a stationary trainer at the tailgate of my pickup. A cold Gatoraid beside me, a towel draped over my handlebars, an ipod with Jeff Beck's "You Had it Coming" screaming me out of my comfort zone. The stationary trainer is best for me for warming up in strange places because I can control the warm up tempo and how constant and steady it is. They say a long warmup is best for short, fast races, and shorter warmups are often best for long races, like road races maybe longer than 40 miles. The thinking on this seems to be that longer races usually begin slower and that warmup can take place largely during the first part of the race. Only the individual rider can decide what works best for him.
My warmup starts very slow and builds to the point where I'm doing one or two sprint intervals at the end. I'm trying to warn my body of what's about to happen to it.
I finish the warmup. I put things back in my truck, take my bike out of the trainer, fold the trainer, lay it in the truck bed, close the tailgate and rear window, lock it up. I'm concentrating real hard on all the little details now. My tires are pumped up rock hard just under 120 psi, the way I like to ride them. I have one gel and my glasses in my jersey pocket. I'll eat the gel at the starting line so it'll get in me during the race. The glasses are there so that I can inspect my bike closely after a crash. That way I'll know whether it can be ridden or not immediately, or whether an adjustment on the spot will do the job or not. The details have to be right. The tiniest thing missing or not right when your physical limits are being exposed can be excruciating.
To say an amateur racer has a special bond with their bike when they must count on it in a race would be an immense understatement. I am this way. I don't have an extra bike following me through a race or on the sideline of a criterium that I can snatch on the moment of mechanical breakdown or crash. It is just this one. It is everything.
The Category 4 race is right before our Cat 5 race today. I show at the sidewalk beside the course, stand near the finish line in time to see the last few laps.
The bell rings indicating the final lap. Minutes later I see riders rounding the monument at the end of the street, the setup for the sprint to the finish line. I squint into the sun, recognizing the body language of one of two riders who appear to be on the front. They're closer now. Is it Robert? No. Yes! He's hammering off the front, set up perfectly for the win. As he streaks toward the finish the peloton pour around the corner behind him chewing up the distance between them and to the finish beyond me. Other riders rocket up the edges of the course. A few pass my teammate right before the line. He finishes strong in sixth.
When you see a teammate finish like that, setting himself up so perfectly for a win, and you are at the start of your race with the same jersey, I must say it is a sure motivator. We have a moment to take a lap around the course while the Cat 4 riders recover. We come back around and stop, me with my front wheel squarely on the line. Ricky lines up on my wheel with Mike on his the way we usually start.
By this point in the season there are riders we know from the other clubs. I mean we know the ones to keep an eye on---the strong ones who will put the hammer down and are capable of winning. One such team has lined up on the outside. Their big time trialist will be marked closely. It seems I'm taking an adrenaline drip into my bloodstream by now. It's about nothing but the moment from here until the last pulse of energy drains away over the line at the finish.
As crits go, this one was relatively easy. Ricky and I rode as part of the front 10 riders the whole race. I didn't want to fight off attacks by solo riders racing up from behind (as did most of us), attempting to break away from the main field. It was too damn hot! So when we saw them coming up the outside from behind, me or someone else would yell "break" and the whole front group would stand up on pedals and surge as the lone rider or two would go by, gaining only about 15-20 yards on us before we would easily break them, and pull them humbly back into our scolding ranks.
The cheeseburger and I were hanging tough. I was seeing visions and even hearing it suggest once that we should abandon the race. Just where I want to be: me and my secret cheeseburger watching others finish the race. We finally heard the bell ring. Last lap now!
We approached the monument run-up to the finish line and the inevitable surge by the peloton. We wrapped the last corner fast. The cheeseburger and I couldn't muster much of a sprint. But Ricky was off the front giving it to them. He crossed first completely alone crushing the nearest rider with the bike lengths between them.
The cheeseburger and I finished 17th of 35 riders that day. It will be the only time I ever carry one through a bike race again.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
Update From the Coast
It's been quite awhile since my last post. I've had a busy Spring between my family, my work, cycle racing, and some surf. At this point in this, my first racing season, I have competed in 4 individual time trials and 4 criteriums. My results in terms of wins and placings are nothing much, but being there has been phenomenal and a privilege. I told one of my brothers I just don't know how we let this sport get past us with as much time as we spent on bikes on roads and trails when we were kids.
The 2007 Tour De France began yesterday with a Prologue Time Trial in London. I always look forward with huge anticipation to this Grand Tour. I realize it carries much baggage these days as do virtually all professional sports. But I still enjoy witnessing the enormity of effort by the riders, the team tactics and the incredible suffering it demands to win stages and finally win the overall race. After competing on a bicycle these past few races, I have some slight idea of what's going on as I watch one of the most nuanced sports I've ever been a part of, and one that is really not that fan friendly as far as watching live races, except maybe criteriums and track races. In the end though, I'd much prefer to race with amateurs than watch the pros. The amateurs, I'm sure, still hold the torch.
I'll check in again soon. Next weekend I'm in two crits: the Tour De 'Port and the Tour De 'Peake.
The 2007 Tour De France began yesterday with a Prologue Time Trial in London. I always look forward with huge anticipation to this Grand Tour. I realize it carries much baggage these days as do virtually all professional sports. But I still enjoy witnessing the enormity of effort by the riders, the team tactics and the incredible suffering it demands to win stages and finally win the overall race. After competing on a bicycle these past few races, I have some slight idea of what's going on as I watch one of the most nuanced sports I've ever been a part of, and one that is really not that fan friendly as far as watching live races, except maybe criteriums and track races. In the end though, I'd much prefer to race with amateurs than watch the pros. The amateurs, I'm sure, still hold the torch.
I'll check in again soon. Next weekend I'm in two crits: the Tour De 'Port and the Tour De 'Peake.
Monday, March 19, 2007
My First Crit
"Crit" is road cyclist-speak for criterium, a circuit race around a city block or two, usually involving a pack of riders. In this case 46 racers elbow-to-elbow, wheel-to-wheel, and horrifyingly sometimes pedal to spokes---high intensity, hard skids and slamdowns on asphalt, breath-stealing sprints out of corners. See in your mind a school of fish darting 90 degrees on an instant, synchronized, and mostly maintaining their positions relative to each other. When positions are not held, bad things can happen.
My mentors had coached me to try to stay in the front to avoid accidents, avoid passing on the inside (but not always), hold your line through the curves, protect your front wheel from contact, protect yourself from the wind especially earlier in the race to preserve your strength, and don't look back even if there is a crash. You see, I would witness a criterium for the first time from inside the race itself. Even I wasn't sure this was such a good idea. But the knucklehead in me kept saying, go ahead---do it, do it.
I was in the Category 3 race for Cat 5 men, Juniors and Women. This is really a race for novices although some of the racers had raced years before, as had a few of my friends from our cycling club. I felt I represented the Gilligans and Kramers who wanted to bike race.
Chip and Michael, two local bike shop owners from our beach towns, were in this race as well. It felt great having friends in the mix around me.
I had warmed up on a trainer for about 20 minutes, getting myself nice and slathered up. Then I transitioned over to the course, a block in the Greenbrier Industrial Park of Chesapeake, Va., a .6 mile loop. We would do 15 miles---25 laps. There was a start/finish line halfway down a straightaway with a 20 knot wind seeming to blow right down it in the clockwise direction of the race. (Funny thing about a race around a four sided city block: once the race begins, there seems to be a headwind on three sides. I couldn't understand it.)
The race name was Snowball Criterium #2. Snowball #1 had been postponed from February to April 29th due to impending foul weather which actually broke bad that day. All racers gathered with their bikes at the ready in mass before the starting line about 8-10 abreast, around 6 or 7 rows deep. There actually was a clean excitement in the air of perking endorphins and hope. I was positioned front and center at the starting line. My friends' advice like a mantra repeated in my subconscious, "stay near the front and avoid trouble".
When the promoter finished addressing us, we thanked him and his club for putting on a training race of this sort by applauding as a group. I liked that. Then to my shock, he casually stepped back to the curb saying,"Okay go ahead and start." That was the official, formal start to my first crit. I thought he was joking.
When I noticed the front wheels around me rolling forward, I suddenly realized, he wasn't joking---this was the starter's gun so-to-speak. I jolted into a sprint expecting everybody to pack around me on both sides, and 25 yards out in the front, by myself, I realized I was entering the first curve alone working into one of the three sides torched by headwind. Now what? No one was near me. So I broke the first rule and looked back. I figured,"Why not?" no one's in front of me so there's nothing to collide with. My glance back produced a snapshot of the peloton stretched into single file up to my rear wheel, every rider with teeth clenched readying to devour me it seemed. I steadied into a tempo cadence around 24 mph and happily let them by me on both sides as we finished the first lap so that I could find protection from wind and for the small traces left of my dignity.
I was soon engulfed in hunched over racers astride their beloved machines, spokes shredding the air into a million slices, wind jetting over my ears. This was a real race and it was intoxicating, a streaming, constant focus on nothing but this fast moment!
There was talking between riders. Teammates to each other, some urging others to hold their line in the curves. One big rider beside me reached out to my left forearm warning me to take it easy or I would blow myself up too soon before the finish. Timely advice. I was amazed at the courtesy and manner of this group of competitors. I expected a more cutthroat atmosphere, but astoundingly got the opposite. I relaxed and started concentrating on my position and whether I liked the tempo the position gave me. When I got boxed in, the pace usually slowed more than I liked. It was then I noticed the attacks would begin on both sides of the peloton, riders streaking forward along the edges of the course. So I would dig myself out of the middle and go around. The race was separating the slower riders from the stronger riders. Laps followed laps. We now were lapping riders and since they were much slower, represented dangers for the swiftly moving larger group approaching them from behind.
Racing through the curves with other riders close at hand was an exceptional thrill. As my bike rose upright out of each curve I would climb up on the pedals for the inevitable acceleration. The rear wheel bounced as I powered the pedals into the straight.
As we passed the start/finish line each lap, a tripod-mounted stand would indicate the number of laps left. I tried not to look at it as I raced seeing it only as a mental distraction to the immediate action around me, which was plenty.
As we rounded the first 90 degree corner, about the 8th or 9th lap, the close order intensity was finally too much for the Cat 5 riders. Red cones marked the left boundary of the lane we were to remain in after cornering on this side of the course. Nearest the corner, the cones gave us a wider lane as they were placed partially into the adjacent turn lane. About 30 yards down the street, the cones abruptly went from the middle of the adjacent lane back to the single lane width. Here is where the first crash occurred.
The big guy who had warned me to slow down earlier in the race was right beside me on the left. Another rider had gotten caught beside the wider cones near the corner and suddenly found himself outside the cones where they transitioned back to single lane width. He forced his way into the side of the peloton here jamming his rear derailleur into my neighbor's front spokes. Spokes blew out, his front wheel tacoed, and he instantly slammed down on his left side skidding as riders rode around and over him. I heard it but couldn't look down or back because of the reaction shuddering through the riders close around me. The rest of us kept on with the race.
To my shock, the crashed rider was walking with his bike over his shoulder seeming to be in okay enough condition when we came back around on the next lap.
The peloton seemed elastic as the pace quickened, elongating after the corner accelerations and compacting toward the corners somewhat. About lap 15 I believe, on the approach to the last turn before the straight to the finish line I was in the front group on the outside of about six or seven riders. I noticed a rider moving off the front. I wanted to get on his wheel. This, I thought, was my chance to move up so I began moving up the ranks on the outside, first beside Chip to my right, then almost astride the boy rider whose wheel he followed. About then, Chip pulled out of the slipstream of that rider's wheel and crept up between him and me. About 3 feet separated the boy rider from me, with Chip's front wheel moving up between us now in my peripheral vision. We were very close to the sweeping righthand turn to the start/finish line.
With a sudden abruptness completely inexplicable, the boy rider jerked his bike a few feet to the left jamming his left pedal fully into Chip's front wheel and spokes. The front wheel of the perfect, immaculate Independent Fabricators bike I had carefully lifted into my minivan only this morning exploded crushing Chip to the pavement beside and then instantly behind me. The boy rider recoiled to the right from the impact, then just as abruptly, veered hard and full to the left toward me, driving me off the course into the driveway of a parking lot. I worried about my friend on the pavement behind me as he and his new bike were run over by the following riders.
When I cleared the rear wheel of the boy rider, I now looked 40 yards up the course at the rear of the peloton. I was alone in the wind again in the blink of an eye, but in hottest pursuit. Would I have the strength to catch up?
As we entered the last two laps I was somewhere in the main field again still fighting my way back into it, hiding behind other riders momentarily for rest along the way. I had spotted Chip walking with his bike earlier and now had only the race on my mind again. The peloton had stretched out again, the pace really jetting up into the last lap. As we approached that same last sweeping turn before the finish I set my sights on a rider about 20 yards out in my front, got up on the pedals and accelerated hard to my target---gaining, gaining, gaining. He looked back and saw my attack and he was now up and responding picking up speed. Every cell in my body pushed toward this one goal: to overtake this one rider before the line.
I was beside him, lunged to the line. My first crit was done. I let go, relaxed, and dropped my head down resting my neck and watched the asphalt pass below my frame. That last rider was the number ten finisher. I was eleventh of 46. Michael, who had raced a smart, safe race, finished seventh with a great ride.
This would throw a new light on my training and club rides. The only thing that would make this more fun is if other riders from our club would race with us. I am hopeful.
Dismal Dash Time Trial is next.
My mentors had coached me to try to stay in the front to avoid accidents, avoid passing on the inside (but not always), hold your line through the curves, protect your front wheel from contact, protect yourself from the wind especially earlier in the race to preserve your strength, and don't look back even if there is a crash. You see, I would witness a criterium for the first time from inside the race itself. Even I wasn't sure this was such a good idea. But the knucklehead in me kept saying, go ahead---do it, do it.
I was in the Category 3 race for Cat 5 men, Juniors and Women. This is really a race for novices although some of the racers had raced years before, as had a few of my friends from our cycling club. I felt I represented the Gilligans and Kramers who wanted to bike race.
Chip and Michael, two local bike shop owners from our beach towns, were in this race as well. It felt great having friends in the mix around me.
I had warmed up on a trainer for about 20 minutes, getting myself nice and slathered up. Then I transitioned over to the course, a block in the Greenbrier Industrial Park of Chesapeake, Va., a .6 mile loop. We would do 15 miles---25 laps. There was a start/finish line halfway down a straightaway with a 20 knot wind seeming to blow right down it in the clockwise direction of the race. (Funny thing about a race around a four sided city block: once the race begins, there seems to be a headwind on three sides. I couldn't understand it.)
The race name was Snowball Criterium #2. Snowball #1 had been postponed from February to April 29th due to impending foul weather which actually broke bad that day. All racers gathered with their bikes at the ready in mass before the starting line about 8-10 abreast, around 6 or 7 rows deep. There actually was a clean excitement in the air of perking endorphins and hope. I was positioned front and center at the starting line. My friends' advice like a mantra repeated in my subconscious, "stay near the front and avoid trouble".
When the promoter finished addressing us, we thanked him and his club for putting on a training race of this sort by applauding as a group. I liked that. Then to my shock, he casually stepped back to the curb saying,"Okay go ahead and start." That was the official, formal start to my first crit. I thought he was joking.
When I noticed the front wheels around me rolling forward, I suddenly realized, he wasn't joking---this was the starter's gun so-to-speak. I jolted into a sprint expecting everybody to pack around me on both sides, and 25 yards out in the front, by myself, I realized I was entering the first curve alone working into one of the three sides torched by headwind. Now what? No one was near me. So I broke the first rule and looked back. I figured,"Why not?" no one's in front of me so there's nothing to collide with. My glance back produced a snapshot of the peloton stretched into single file up to my rear wheel, every rider with teeth clenched readying to devour me it seemed. I steadied into a tempo cadence around 24 mph and happily let them by me on both sides as we finished the first lap so that I could find protection from wind and for the small traces left of my dignity.
I was soon engulfed in hunched over racers astride their beloved machines, spokes shredding the air into a million slices, wind jetting over my ears. This was a real race and it was intoxicating, a streaming, constant focus on nothing but this fast moment!
There was talking between riders. Teammates to each other, some urging others to hold their line in the curves. One big rider beside me reached out to my left forearm warning me to take it easy or I would blow myself up too soon before the finish. Timely advice. I was amazed at the courtesy and manner of this group of competitors. I expected a more cutthroat atmosphere, but astoundingly got the opposite. I relaxed and started concentrating on my position and whether I liked the tempo the position gave me. When I got boxed in, the pace usually slowed more than I liked. It was then I noticed the attacks would begin on both sides of the peloton, riders streaking forward along the edges of the course. So I would dig myself out of the middle and go around. The race was separating the slower riders from the stronger riders. Laps followed laps. We now were lapping riders and since they were much slower, represented dangers for the swiftly moving larger group approaching them from behind.
Racing through the curves with other riders close at hand was an exceptional thrill. As my bike rose upright out of each curve I would climb up on the pedals for the inevitable acceleration. The rear wheel bounced as I powered the pedals into the straight.
As we passed the start/finish line each lap, a tripod-mounted stand would indicate the number of laps left. I tried not to look at it as I raced seeing it only as a mental distraction to the immediate action around me, which was plenty.
As we rounded the first 90 degree corner, about the 8th or 9th lap, the close order intensity was finally too much for the Cat 5 riders. Red cones marked the left boundary of the lane we were to remain in after cornering on this side of the course. Nearest the corner, the cones gave us a wider lane as they were placed partially into the adjacent turn lane. About 30 yards down the street, the cones abruptly went from the middle of the adjacent lane back to the single lane width. Here is where the first crash occurred.
The big guy who had warned me to slow down earlier in the race was right beside me on the left. Another rider had gotten caught beside the wider cones near the corner and suddenly found himself outside the cones where they transitioned back to single lane width. He forced his way into the side of the peloton here jamming his rear derailleur into my neighbor's front spokes. Spokes blew out, his front wheel tacoed, and he instantly slammed down on his left side skidding as riders rode around and over him. I heard it but couldn't look down or back because of the reaction shuddering through the riders close around me. The rest of us kept on with the race.
To my shock, the crashed rider was walking with his bike over his shoulder seeming to be in okay enough condition when we came back around on the next lap.
The peloton seemed elastic as the pace quickened, elongating after the corner accelerations and compacting toward the corners somewhat. About lap 15 I believe, on the approach to the last turn before the straight to the finish line I was in the front group on the outside of about six or seven riders. I noticed a rider moving off the front. I wanted to get on his wheel. This, I thought, was my chance to move up so I began moving up the ranks on the outside, first beside Chip to my right, then almost astride the boy rider whose wheel he followed. About then, Chip pulled out of the slipstream of that rider's wheel and crept up between him and me. About 3 feet separated the boy rider from me, with Chip's front wheel moving up between us now in my peripheral vision. We were very close to the sweeping righthand turn to the start/finish line.
With a sudden abruptness completely inexplicable, the boy rider jerked his bike a few feet to the left jamming his left pedal fully into Chip's front wheel and spokes. The front wheel of the perfect, immaculate Independent Fabricators bike I had carefully lifted into my minivan only this morning exploded crushing Chip to the pavement beside and then instantly behind me. The boy rider recoiled to the right from the impact, then just as abruptly, veered hard and full to the left toward me, driving me off the course into the driveway of a parking lot. I worried about my friend on the pavement behind me as he and his new bike were run over by the following riders.
When I cleared the rear wheel of the boy rider, I now looked 40 yards up the course at the rear of the peloton. I was alone in the wind again in the blink of an eye, but in hottest pursuit. Would I have the strength to catch up?
As we entered the last two laps I was somewhere in the main field again still fighting my way back into it, hiding behind other riders momentarily for rest along the way. I had spotted Chip walking with his bike earlier and now had only the race on my mind again. The peloton had stretched out again, the pace really jetting up into the last lap. As we approached that same last sweeping turn before the finish I set my sights on a rider about 20 yards out in my front, got up on the pedals and accelerated hard to my target---gaining, gaining, gaining. He looked back and saw my attack and he was now up and responding picking up speed. Every cell in my body pushed toward this one goal: to overtake this one rider before the line.
I was beside him, lunged to the line. My first crit was done. I let go, relaxed, and dropped my head down resting my neck and watched the asphalt pass below my frame. That last rider was the number ten finisher. I was eleventh of 46. Michael, who had raced a smart, safe race, finished seventh with a great ride.
This would throw a new light on my training and club rides. The only thing that would make this more fun is if other riders from our club would race with us. I am hopeful.
Dismal Dash Time Trial is next.
Monday, March 5, 2007
The Weekend's Club Ride
Our club rides seem to get better and better. Saturday nine of us did the Southern Shores---Woods Road---Bay Drive---Wright Memorial loop. We began as usual at the Marketplace at 9:30 a.m. in a chatty double paceline. The weather teased us with warm air and at once we all knew we had a chance to steal one from the heart of the winter. I hadn't thought much about it ahead of time, but one rider on a fixed gear bike had even anticipated a frisky tempo and so, changed his front sprocket for a larger one to give him a higher gear.
The pace picked up on Dogwood as we melted into a single paceline working at about 22 mph. Riders were taking pulls of around one minute as we approached the 158 Bypass light beside Kitty Hawk Elementary School. As we crossed the Bypass to the north end of Woods Road the tempo slid up to 23-24 mph with riders still taking 45 second to one minute pulls giving others a rest in the slipstream. By Kitty Hawk Village Road we were touching around 26 mph and working well together.
We toned it down as we transitioned from Moor Shores Road at the edge of Kitty Hawk Bay to Windgrass Court making our way up the hill to Bay Drive. Here we had the full effect of a 15 knot cross tailwind. This is where we sometimes break apart with some riders attacking and others chasing, and still others restraining themselves wisely out of deference to where they are personally with their own training season. Bay Drive turns into Canal Drive and crosses First Street where we relax back into a double paceline all the way to the monument.
This day we skipped hammering the monument hard as we usually have done wrapping only a few laps, and went over to the front parking lot of the First Flight High School to practice riding through the round-about and parking lot as a group in preparation for the criteriums coming up for some of us this month.
On Sunday only four of us chose to ride north to Corolla. A galling northwest wind was torched up well over 20 knots. This is the kind of coastal wind which makes you feel you are being steadily pushed into the asphalt as you drive into the teeth of the beast. It was Robert, Flo, Mark, and myself. Among this small group is a fairly divergent spectrum of conditioning. Robert and Flo are at the top end of this fitness spectrum, Mark at the other end for the time being as he was sitting on not having ridden enough lately due to illness. We were stoked he was with us. We all know this is one sure way to bring yourself back up to speed and Mark looked deadset in getting back to form directly.
We maintained a steady 20-21 mph for almost the entire 23 miles. This was an improvement for me over the 18.5 mph on the same route in the identical wind conditions two weeks before. Surely this was due to the teaming with stronger riders as I'm sure Robert and Flo were capping their effort somewhat in order to hold our little group together. As I told them, it was great fun being along. It's extremely gratifying to work that hard and even suffer with a group having the same goal.
I've heard this noted as something typically Anglo-Saxon---where the individuals involved in a group effort are more inclined to find reward in subordinating their personal goals to the goals of their team. I've read about this dynamic in reference to around-the-world sailboat racers where romantic/Latin cultures produce sailors who excel more in solo sailing races versus the more team or group successful Germans, Scandinavians, English, and Americans. Yes, I have an Anglo-Saxon ancestry and Norman further back. I guess I'm a soul in conflict at times. I'm sure my friends know this.
The road to Corolla was flat with a few long curves and unrelenting wind. I call the wind here the "mountains of the Outer Banks" to cyclists. I suppose like riding in the real mountains, a cyclist must experience our winds to really know what I mean. A rider is so exposed here to the fetch (open expanses over bodies of water where coastal winds gather much speed), there often is no place to hide.
The wind can also carry huge amounts of blowing sand and salt virtually across the whole island. So if you want to ride on a day when the wind is blowing onshore (from the ocean), then you are smart to ride on the soundside of the island. The finicky and faint of heart from out of town won't even ride their perfectly polished expensive bikes here because of these conditions. Not that I blame them. Those who live here and want to ride watch the wind direction closely in order to avoid as much as possible these conditions. But in the end, if you are super picky about your equipment, you can't ride here at all.
Cyclists are finicky about their equipment the same way sailors are. In fact some are finicky about your equipment. They can't seem to help it. The only difference is in sailing, a sailor can get pretty decent performance out of his boat even in races, even if he may not be in excellent physical conditioning. Not so on a bike. I've read that performance on a bike is influenced about 80 per cent by the fitness level of the rider, 20 percent by the bike. Yet both sailors and cyclists are quite compulsive over small tweaks they may be able to put on their setups to improve performance ever so slightly. This has always fascinated me. Many riders I know also have extensive experience owning and sailing yachts, windsurfers, or kiteboards. It's not quite the same people doing all of these sports, but sometimes I wonder.
We reached the turn-around at Ocean Hill, took a two minute break to pull out the gels, bananas, and Powerbars and then launched downwind for the return ride. When a cyclist finally turns his back on the torturing wind and spins pedals with a body having no windload on it, the relief raises feelings of boundless strength. It seems you must be careful here not to jump up too hard into this euphoria and build speed up to a comfortable tempo your mind knows you can maintain all the way home. We found 24 mph right away. We crept up to twenty-six. South through Ocean Sands and into Pine Island holding 26, pushing twenty-seven. When it was my turn to pull the other riders at the front I could still feel the wind in my face, a combination of our exceeding the tailwind's speed and turbulence, I suppose caused by houses and the scrub trees---live and pin oaks to the west of Route Twelve.
We touched 28 mph at some point just before re-entering Dare County. I could feel my quadriceps straining and burning some. My energy reserve I knew was dwindling. My last pull was shortened and I had to get off the front or I would have to drop. As I dropped by Robert I let him know it was fine with me if he and Flo wanted to kick in the afterburners and fly. He said he just wanted to finish hard to the top of the upcoming hill (immediately north of the Town of Duck). I tucked into the slipstream of Flo's rear wheel and hung on feeling the relief of being off the front.
Our speed was increasing now. I glanced at my computer and we were steady at 29 miles per hour and creeping up. I was entranced by the sight of the hill our goal in the distance and the growing hollowness in my quads. Could I make it. I focused on the spinning, steady black tire 8 inches from my front wheel. I pumped at a mad rate. I was bound to push myself here. I peeked upward as we crested the hill revealing two more rises beyond. The pace I thought would drop off started picking up. I didn't need to blow myself up this early in the season so I dropped and watched Robert and Flo burn onward over the next two rises. I steadied up at 22 mph keeping my eye on those two now in Duck. I could tell they were slowing so that Mark and I could catch up.
Robert rode back to my home in Kill Devil Hills with me where he turned around and rode back to Southern Shores alone. I finished with 61 miles earned through the mountains of the Outer Banks. This is our cycling world.
The pace picked up on Dogwood as we melted into a single paceline working at about 22 mph. Riders were taking pulls of around one minute as we approached the 158 Bypass light beside Kitty Hawk Elementary School. As we crossed the Bypass to the north end of Woods Road the tempo slid up to 23-24 mph with riders still taking 45 second to one minute pulls giving others a rest in the slipstream. By Kitty Hawk Village Road we were touching around 26 mph and working well together.
We toned it down as we transitioned from Moor Shores Road at the edge of Kitty Hawk Bay to Windgrass Court making our way up the hill to Bay Drive. Here we had the full effect of a 15 knot cross tailwind. This is where we sometimes break apart with some riders attacking and others chasing, and still others restraining themselves wisely out of deference to where they are personally with their own training season. Bay Drive turns into Canal Drive and crosses First Street where we relax back into a double paceline all the way to the monument.
This day we skipped hammering the monument hard as we usually have done wrapping only a few laps, and went over to the front parking lot of the First Flight High School to practice riding through the round-about and parking lot as a group in preparation for the criteriums coming up for some of us this month.
On Sunday only four of us chose to ride north to Corolla. A galling northwest wind was torched up well over 20 knots. This is the kind of coastal wind which makes you feel you are being steadily pushed into the asphalt as you drive into the teeth of the beast. It was Robert, Flo, Mark, and myself. Among this small group is a fairly divergent spectrum of conditioning. Robert and Flo are at the top end of this fitness spectrum, Mark at the other end for the time being as he was sitting on not having ridden enough lately due to illness. We were stoked he was with us. We all know this is one sure way to bring yourself back up to speed and Mark looked deadset in getting back to form directly.
We maintained a steady 20-21 mph for almost the entire 23 miles. This was an improvement for me over the 18.5 mph on the same route in the identical wind conditions two weeks before. Surely this was due to the teaming with stronger riders as I'm sure Robert and Flo were capping their effort somewhat in order to hold our little group together. As I told them, it was great fun being along. It's extremely gratifying to work that hard and even suffer with a group having the same goal.
I've heard this noted as something typically Anglo-Saxon---where the individuals involved in a group effort are more inclined to find reward in subordinating their personal goals to the goals of their team. I've read about this dynamic in reference to around-the-world sailboat racers where romantic/Latin cultures produce sailors who excel more in solo sailing races versus the more team or group successful Germans, Scandinavians, English, and Americans. Yes, I have an Anglo-Saxon ancestry and Norman further back. I guess I'm a soul in conflict at times. I'm sure my friends know this.
The road to Corolla was flat with a few long curves and unrelenting wind. I call the wind here the "mountains of the Outer Banks" to cyclists. I suppose like riding in the real mountains, a cyclist must experience our winds to really know what I mean. A rider is so exposed here to the fetch (open expanses over bodies of water where coastal winds gather much speed), there often is no place to hide.
The wind can also carry huge amounts of blowing sand and salt virtually across the whole island. So if you want to ride on a day when the wind is blowing onshore (from the ocean), then you are smart to ride on the soundside of the island. The finicky and faint of heart from out of town won't even ride their perfectly polished expensive bikes here because of these conditions. Not that I blame them. Those who live here and want to ride watch the wind direction closely in order to avoid as much as possible these conditions. But in the end, if you are super picky about your equipment, you can't ride here at all.
Cyclists are finicky about their equipment the same way sailors are. In fact some are finicky about your equipment. They can't seem to help it. The only difference is in sailing, a sailor can get pretty decent performance out of his boat even in races, even if he may not be in excellent physical conditioning. Not so on a bike. I've read that performance on a bike is influenced about 80 per cent by the fitness level of the rider, 20 percent by the bike. Yet both sailors and cyclists are quite compulsive over small tweaks they may be able to put on their setups to improve performance ever so slightly. This has always fascinated me. Many riders I know also have extensive experience owning and sailing yachts, windsurfers, or kiteboards. It's not quite the same people doing all of these sports, but sometimes I wonder.
We reached the turn-around at Ocean Hill, took a two minute break to pull out the gels, bananas, and Powerbars and then launched downwind for the return ride. When a cyclist finally turns his back on the torturing wind and spins pedals with a body having no windload on it, the relief raises feelings of boundless strength. It seems you must be careful here not to jump up too hard into this euphoria and build speed up to a comfortable tempo your mind knows you can maintain all the way home. We found 24 mph right away. We crept up to twenty-six. South through Ocean Sands and into Pine Island holding 26, pushing twenty-seven. When it was my turn to pull the other riders at the front I could still feel the wind in my face, a combination of our exceeding the tailwind's speed and turbulence, I suppose caused by houses and the scrub trees---live and pin oaks to the west of Route Twelve.
We touched 28 mph at some point just before re-entering Dare County. I could feel my quadriceps straining and burning some. My energy reserve I knew was dwindling. My last pull was shortened and I had to get off the front or I would have to drop. As I dropped by Robert I let him know it was fine with me if he and Flo wanted to kick in the afterburners and fly. He said he just wanted to finish hard to the top of the upcoming hill (immediately north of the Town of Duck). I tucked into the slipstream of Flo's rear wheel and hung on feeling the relief of being off the front.
Our speed was increasing now. I glanced at my computer and we were steady at 29 miles per hour and creeping up. I was entranced by the sight of the hill our goal in the distance and the growing hollowness in my quads. Could I make it. I focused on the spinning, steady black tire 8 inches from my front wheel. I pumped at a mad rate. I was bound to push myself here. I peeked upward as we crested the hill revealing two more rises beyond. The pace I thought would drop off started picking up. I didn't need to blow myself up this early in the season so I dropped and watched Robert and Flo burn onward over the next two rises. I steadied up at 22 mph keeping my eye on those two now in Duck. I could tell they were slowing so that Mark and I could catch up.
Robert rode back to my home in Kill Devil Hills with me where he turned around and rode back to Southern Shores alone. I finished with 61 miles earned through the mountains of the Outer Banks. This is our cycling world.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Back From Snowball Criterium #1
We just returned from the Snowball Criterium #1. The race wasn't held because of impending rain. Apparently the promoter wanted to be remembered for backing out of holding the event, instead of how they thought riders would feel if the event was held and they "had to ride" in the rain. I would only predict a break between the hardcore purest-type crit riders and the not-so-hardy other riders. I sense fear of injury lawsuits, but that's just me.
One of the guys I was with, who is experienced with this kind of road cycle racing, said he was shocked it would be postponed due to weather. According to him, a race like this is postponed or cancelled only due to unusually dangerous conditions, for instance sleet and ice on the road.
Anyhow, the four of us returned trying to get our psyches to relax having steeled ourselves for the race intensities into which we knew we were about to be immersed.
The re-scheduled race will be held at the same place in Chesapeake on Sunday, April 29th. I'll continue training, stay signed up for that crit, and look for time trials to enter.
For those of you who are not familiar with the different types of road cycle races, a criterium is an all-out road race on a closed circuit, usually around a few city blocks, anywhere from 15 to 25 miles long in total distance(ours would have been 15 miles). Riders, in this case fifty, make turns as sharp as 90-degrees, often making body contact with riders beside them, and sprinting out of the corners getting quickly back to race tempo. They are known for their speed,high intensity, and crashes. I am told criteriums are an American creation in road cycle racing. Sounds just like us doesn't it? Kind of like football or hockey at 25 to 30 miles-per-hour.
Will keep you posted on my first season of bike racing and offer more musings of a lifetime sports tourist.
One of the guys I was with, who is experienced with this kind of road cycle racing, said he was shocked it would be postponed due to weather. According to him, a race like this is postponed or cancelled only due to unusually dangerous conditions, for instance sleet and ice on the road.
Anyhow, the four of us returned trying to get our psyches to relax having steeled ourselves for the race intensities into which we knew we were about to be immersed.
The re-scheduled race will be held at the same place in Chesapeake on Sunday, April 29th. I'll continue training, stay signed up for that crit, and look for time trials to enter.
For those of you who are not familiar with the different types of road cycle races, a criterium is an all-out road race on a closed circuit, usually around a few city blocks, anywhere from 15 to 25 miles long in total distance(ours would have been 15 miles). Riders, in this case fifty, make turns as sharp as 90-degrees, often making body contact with riders beside them, and sprinting out of the corners getting quickly back to race tempo. They are known for their speed,high intensity, and crashes. I am told criteriums are an American creation in road cycle racing. Sounds just like us doesn't it? Kind of like football or hockey at 25 to 30 miles-per-hour.
Will keep you posted on my first season of bike racing and offer more musings of a lifetime sports tourist.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Today's Ride
Today we rode from Southern Shores to Ocean Hill into a 20+ knot northwest wind. From my home in Kill Devil Hills to Ocean Hill and back is 60 miles. It was fairly rough riding into a wind like that. The ride back however, was euphoric blazing along at 25-27 miles-per-hour. It's still base building time for me. I rode with two other club riders, one in his thirties and a new rider to our club, 21 years old and a former rider for the Ohio State Cycling team. His name is Rick. He is very strong.
Next week our club,GS Kitty Hawk/Kitty Hawk Cycling Club, will be represented for the first time in the Snowball Criterium #1 in Chesapeake, Virginia. Michael Gibson, Rick Devennish (the new rider), and myself will be in the C race as Category 5 racers. I have no delusions of grandeur for my own results never having even seen a criterium. I'll treat the race as a hard workout and an opportunity to learn. I look forward to it. I hope I can help our new cycling team have a rider win this event. Rick will have a reasonable chance to compete and it will be a thrill to see him race. I'll keep you posted on the race.
I still have about five more weeks of base building before readying myself for some spring time trials, where I have a higher comfort level. More later.
Next week our club,GS Kitty Hawk/Kitty Hawk Cycling Club, will be represented for the first time in the Snowball Criterium #1 in Chesapeake, Virginia. Michael Gibson, Rick Devennish (the new rider), and myself will be in the C race as Category 5 racers. I have no delusions of grandeur for my own results never having even seen a criterium. I'll treat the race as a hard workout and an opportunity to learn. I look forward to it. I hope I can help our new cycling team have a rider win this event. Rick will have a reasonable chance to compete and it will be a thrill to see him race. I'll keep you posted on the race.
I still have about five more weeks of base building before readying myself for some spring time trials, where I have a higher comfort level. More later.
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